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libby-for-life · 3 months

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Title: Adam Dies

Summary: Adam dies. Or does he? When he's reincarnated back to when he was first created, Adam realizes that he has a chance to live a better way. One where he doesn't die nor does he have to make the same mistakes. Can Adam make a better future, one where he isn't so alone?

Chapter 1: Rebirth (preview)

Adam didn't really think he would die today. He actually came down to do the killing. Who would have thought that he would be stabbed in the literal back by some maniacal demon? He could hear her insane laughter as she stabbed him over and over again, burning firey pain running through his veins with each stab.

He felt her hop off him just as he heard the sound of Lute's voice yelling for him. "NO!" Adam whimpered in pain when he felt himself being rolled over. Lute's devastated face came into view. The first thing he noticed was that her arm had been ripped off, golden blood gushing from her wound. And yet, she was worried about him. He had never had someone look at him like that before.

He couldn't help but smile gently at her. Lute was loyal to the end and if it were possible, he would never forget that. He felt himself close his eyes as he heard Lute yell one last time. "ADAM!"

Darkness.

The darkness around him seemed never-ending as if he was stuck in an abyss with no way out. It was cold and lonely, and he couldn't see anything. Was this his hell? The thought crossed his mind more than once. He tried to shake it off, but the feeling of despair lingered. It was like a heavy weight on his chest that refused to lift. He wondered if this was his punishment for his sins. He was once Adam, the first man created by God. But now, he was nothing but a lost soul, floating aimlessly in the void of darkness. At first, he was filled with anger and indignation. After all, how could he, Adam, be confined to such a fate? He should be lounging in heaven, basking in the glory of God.

XxX

As he floated aimlessly, Adam's anger gradually faded into a deep sense of denial. He couldn't even begin to fathom how long he had been stranded in limbo. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he was cast out of Heaven. For he has to be or they would have come for him. But he held on to the hope that he would be brought back soon and all of this would be forgotten. After all, he was the first man and a pivotal figure in the creation story. He wasn't just anybody - he was somebody important! Surely, Heaven needed him. And God needed him too! Who would lead his army of angels without him? These thoughts swirled in his mind as he desperately clung to the belief that he would soon be rescued.

XxX

Adam found himself still lost in the pitch-black darkness, unable to see anything around him. He had no idea how long he had been drifting in this state, but it felt like it had been far too long. He realized as he had nowhere else to go, that maybe he had been too brutal in his killings when it came to demons. And yes, he could have been more attentive to the rules instead of skirting along them. If any could hear him, he's learned his lesson now! He would be much more careful in the future.

As he called out for help, he hoped that whoever could hear him would understand the gravity of his situation and come to his aid. Despite his pleas, the silence remained unbroken, leaving him feeling more alone and helpless than ever before.

XxX

The oppressive darkness seemed to stretch on endlessly, causing Adam's desperation to grow with each passing moment. He couldn't help but wonder if anyone would come to his rescue, but deep down, he knew that he was alone. After all, what use did heaven have for him? Lute, his right-hand angel, could easily take over his duties and the archangels were more than capable of carrying on without him. Perhaps it was only right that he suffer the eternal consequences of his actions. It was his own fault, he couldn't deny that. Adam had made grave mistakes, and now he had to face the repercussions of his wrongdoings.

It was fitting, wasn't it? If Lilith could see Adam now, she would be enjoying his eternal suffering. She was as beautiful as she was dangerous. Even in the idyllic setting of the Garden of Eden, Lilith was a force to be reckoned with. She was fiercely independent and determined to do things her own way, no matter the cost. He remembers how he would force himself on her, saying that God wanted this to happen and that it was their duty as His creations to do as they were told. He...didn't like it either but he didn't want to displease God in any way.

He learned the hard way that there was also a darker side to her nature, a ruthless streak that made her dangerous to those who crossed her. Adam made the horrible mistake of ever hurting her and paid the price when he was tempted to eat from that damned apple. Poor Eve, so innocent in nature. So dainty and submissive, the exact opposite of Lilith. He didn't like her either.

Eve was always hanging off of Adam, no matter what he did. Her amazement was unceasing and it seemed that everything Adam did was an incredible feat of strength and intelligence. At first, Adam was flattered by her constant attention and empty praises, but he soon grew tired of it. He couldn't understand what was so great about picking up a simple rock or performing other everyday tasks that he found mundane. Despite this, Eve would still cheer and clap in admiration, which only made Adam feel more annoyed. He wished that she would stop worshiping him for things that he considered to be trivial.

Eventually, he thought this was how he should be treated and expected as such when he first came to heaven.

Adam was now aware of the fact that Eve was a product of a highly patriarchal and oppressive system. The system had been designed in such a manner that after Lilith's rebellion had resulted in Eva being put in her place instead. Consequently, men and women were no longer considered equal. The angels, who had been entrusted with the task of restoring order, had decided to make women more submissive in nature. Adam supposed that this strategy had worked, considering there was no more fighting or rebellion against the order. However, despite the apparent success of this system, Adam couldn't help but feel unhappy. He couldn't shake off the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong with this situation.

As he floated in the dark, for how long Adam couldn't remember, it came to him. Love. He wasn't in love with Lilith at the time of creation nor was he in love with Eve after it. That was why he was unhappy during it all even after he ate the fruit of the forbidden tree. In fact, this was why he had eaten the fruit to begin with. He was so depressed with his life that he was willing to even sin if that meant change.

'And look where that landed you. If only he could do things differently, maybe you wouldn't have died.'

Suddenly, a yank at his core made Adam yelp in pain. What was going on? And then he knew no more.

So, what do you think of the preview? If you're interested in my book, Adam Dies, then go check it out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53883259/chapters/136385803

#adamsapple #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #preview #chapter 1

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poolsidepanic · 11 months

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@bigdumbbambieyes *throws a fic back at you*

The waters ripple around the passive flick of Chrissy’s tail. A gentle tide lulls against her side, where bare flesh meets scales. It’s peaceful up here, with her head above water. Maybe not quiet, but calm. Like the world itself is lying in rest with her, basking in the fading glow of moonlight.

She’s been out here, above the surface, for longer than she maybe should have. But it’s hard to draw herself back into the depths when a breeze as soft as this reaches out to caress her skin, and bubbling sea foam catches against her skin in streaks of white pearlescence. She may love her home below the waves, hidden away in stalks of reaching seaweed and dug into powder-soft sand, but nothing compares to this; the occasional indulgence in the simplicity of surface life.

So, yes, perhaps she should hurry to dive below those rolling waves and keep herself safe. Waters such as these are no strangers to human fishermen, nor their mer-hunter brothers. It doesn’t matter to them that merfolk are quiet and secretive, that they pass their days away deep below the surface, away from human eyes—the tales are out there, of dazzling scales and lullaby voices. To most they may be myth, but to the truly dedicated they are a chance at glory.

Chrissy hates man’s arrogance, and the fame it eternally seeks. She especially hates the way it steals away her freedom from her, with each rising sun.

With a sigh, she steadies herself, shifting on the slimy, algae covered rock on which she had found refuge, and prepares to return to where she belongs. But that’s when she hears it, when she feels the waters around her ripple with an echoing cry.

Something is wrong.

Everything Chrissy has ever known tells her to swim, to hide away, find a submerged cave and don’t emerge until the danger has passed. Suddenly the moonlight seems daunting. The darkness presses in around her and the light tinge to the horizon spills forth with encroaching doom.

Chrissy is not safe here.

But the ocean itself reacting in such a way can only mean one thing: another merperson is suffering. She isn’t sure she could live with herself if her cowardice left someone else in pain and alone.

In the end, Chrissy does dive below the waves. But she swims towards the danger. It doesn’t take long to find.

On a stretch of island shore, not that far away from where Chrissy had been before, she spots three men dragging something up from the shallows. Except it’s not a something at all, actually. A someone; the screeching makes it all too clear.

These are hunters, and in their net is a struggling mermaid. She thrashes against the binds and hisses at them with bared fangs. Dangerous eyes flash at them in a warning they pay no heed to. And Chrissy’s breath catches—in horror, in fear…

In awe. Chrissy does not know this mermaid, but she’s beautiful. Beneath the shimmering reflection of her scales is the corded line of well-earned muscle. Black hair clings to salt-slick skin, and flicks out with beads of water as she twists and writhes in rage and fear.

Chrissy has to help. She has to. The ocean cries in time to the mermaid’s shrieks, a deep resonance that vibrates into Chrissy’s very being. It’s a call to anyone that she has taken upon herself. This is now a call to Chrissy, even if this mermaid does not yet know Chrissy has bound herself to this duty.

Sneaking up on the distracted mer-hunters is easy enough. They are distracted with their net of thrashing, angry woman, spitting furious words in a dialect foreign to Chrissy. It even seems that one of their number is new to this; a younger man being trained in the way of this cruelty by the older two.

Chrissy goes for those two first.

The first is caught enough by surprise that Chrissy has no trouble. She swims up to where they stand in the shallows and grasps him about the ankle. One strong tug and the twist of her tail are enough to send him crashing down into the ground hard enough to knock him out. A lucky strike. The next is not so easy.

He shoves the net into the arms of his panicking protégé and launches himself at Chrissy. The momentum throws them both back into the spray of salt water. Her dorsal fin crushes uncomfortably into the sand and stone as it scratches against her gentle skin. For a moment, the hunter looks pleased, a sick, greedy gleam in his eye.

I caught two, his grin screams as clumsy hands clamp around Chrissy’s shoulder and wrists.

She hisses up at him with blunter teeth than his other victim, but with just as much venom pouring from her heart. And that’s when she twists, throwing off his grip and flipping them. Her arms grasp for a controlling grip around the human’s torso, arms, neck—

Somehow he frees a dagger from a sheath she had missed. The edge of it slices shallow across her skin as he sweeps it in a wild arc, just deep enough to draw blood. At that, she snarls, shooting forward to sink her teeth into his arm until, startled, his grip on the blade is lost. Another moment’s tussle and the man is trapped, caught in the constrictive grasp of her tail, having underestimated it’s strength and dexterity.

When Chrissy’s eyes snap up to the final, panicked human, the mermaid in his grasp bucks and twists out of it—still tangled in net but now out of his hold. A dangerous look has him raising his hands and backing, stumbling away from her wrath.

Good.

She releases her hold on the second hunter, ignoring the way he breaches the surface to take sputtering, gasping breaths of air. Instead she takes up his dagger and twines her hands in the netting, beating the steady length of her tail to drag them away into the depths of an ocean embrace.

The other mermaid struggles still, maybe trying to get out of her binds or simply having not realised Chrissy was not just another foe. It’s hard to swim like that, but Chrissy pushes on until they’re deep enough that she is confident the humans will not be able to reach them again. That is where she unties the other.

The mermaid brushes the sliced net away like it burns, pushing herself free and taking heaving gulps of water into her lungs. Brown eyes flicker around them before training on Chrissy, half-hesitant and half-amazed.

“What’s your name?” Chrissy asks in the common mer-tongue.

“Heather,” the other answers, then pauses in thought. “Why did you do that?”

Chrissy blinks.

“Because you needed help,” she says, because what else is there to say?

Heather huffs a disbelieving breath, and it makes the water between them shudder.

“Sweet thing,” she coos, and Chrissy’s face burns, “that was foolish. But I owe you now.”

Chrissy goes to brush her off, to tell Heather that that’s nonsense, but before she can the other continues on.

“I do owe you. And I will stay by your side, doing what I can to help you, until I feel that debt is repaid.” Two beats of Heather’s tail have her directly before Chrissy, intense eyes staring into her own. “Allow me to stay with you.”

It should be a request, but in Heather’s voice it comes out as more of a command. Not that Chrissy minds. Her heart stutters and her whole body seems to weaken along with her resolve. Faintly she nods, and Heather beams back at her.

“Where to now, sweet thing?”

——

and angry tied up heather cause of course i had to draw it

#cunningway #chrissy cunningham #heather holloway #back on my mermaid bs 😎#its just such a fun au #this is like… pre-relationship cunningway #i imagined this being a couple years before the robin thing. but could be a whole different thing altogether tbh haha #mermaids 🧜‍♀️💦#fics 🌸✨#art 🌸✨

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blackbird0blog · 1 year

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Uchiha Madara’s Guide to Defending Your Chastity

Madara doesn’t know where this absolute maniac came from, but he had quickly established himself as the most frightening thing to walk the land.

It isn't the man’s bowl cut – which made Hashirama’s boyhood hairstyle look fashionable – that's so terrible. Nor is it his green leotard and legwarmer combo – a look that should be banned from all corners of the world – that makes Madara so wary. And yes, his eyebrows are a bit alarming, but he's dealt with worse things before.

No, that would all ordinarily be fine; Madara’s ignored many people dressed strangely before, and while Gai’s style certainly takes the cake, he could ignore him too.

And he would – if only the man would stop stalking him wherever he goes, popping up when you least except him to like an overly persistent rash, yelling out how one day, he Maito Gai, Konoha’s Sublime Green Beast of Prey, will marry Uchiha Madara - and together they will live out the Springtime of their Youths for the rest of their years!!

Madara doesn’t know from which layer of hell Gai crawled out of, but he would give his very soul to just make him stop.

Hashirama finds Gai’s persistent proposals romantic because of course he does; Hashirama is as big a freak as this guy and why couldn’t he be the one to deal with all of this shit? Why is Madara friends with him in the first place?

Why is this happening to him, just – why?

…

Madara can’t even beat him up to make him leave, because whatever else Gai is, he’s also the most incredible taijutsu expert Madara has ever met, and is unbelievably adept at fighting sharingan users.

The one time he tries, it only makes the man even more enthusiastic, and the subsequent spiel about his youthful vigour and coming at him with such flaming passion had caused Madara to flee back to the Uchiha compound, not emerging for an entire week.

He spends that time looking up old mission records for any mentions of the madman, because Madara would swear it was as if Gai had spent years creating a style to counter the sharingan.

But his search comes up empty – none of the clan have ever seen him and Maito Gai is unforgettable, even without the photographic memory granted to them by their doujutsu.

(Unless… unless they had encountered him and never had the guts to admit they’d been beaten by a man screaming about enjoying the springtime of his youth at the top of his lungs.

If so, Madara will find out and when he does, his revenge will be legendary.)

Madara tries fobbing him off on Hashirama –

“Hashirama is indeed most youthful! But I would never try to interfere with the beautiful love he shares with Mito-san!”

– and even Tobirama –

Gai pauses just long enough to raise his hopes.

“Tobirama is incredibly hip and cool, but he is far too similar to my eternal rival Kakashi, who is my best friend!

"So have no fear, Madara,” Gai beams, blinding white teeth shining and the sun gleaming off his bowl cut. “My heart is as steadfast as my muscles!”

And he then flexes, his skin-tight bodysuit turning the innocent movement obscene. Madara chokes and has to avert his eyes.

“Destiny has brought us together; I am yours for life!”

- to no avail.

The worst part of it all is he can’t even run away – him, Uchiha Madara – since the man is a stamina freak of never-before-seen proportions.

Instead, he must suffer his presence. Every. Single. Day.

“Yosh! Madara! Today I will get you to go on a date with me or else I will build a hundred houses for the Uchiha clan!”

“Madara! Let us get to know one another and bask in the shared strength of our passion!”

“Today I will get Madara to acknowledge my feelings with the burning, all-consuming power of YOUTH!”

This is how Madara is awoken, at dawn, to the deafening bellows of Maito Gai’s daily proposals.

Madara valiantly holds out a week before snapping.

He tries to bludgeon the other man to death with his giant war fan, to which Gai promptly rejoices, blocking his blows with the nunchucks he’s pulled out of nowhere, face nearly splitting from the force of his grin.

Madara releases a Great Fire Annihilation jutsu, enormous clouds of destruction sweeping over the landscape, and Gai dodges it all with a shouted: “SPLENDID!”

He summons the kyuubi – the greatest of the bijuu, a demon filled with all the world’s hatred – and tries to flatten him. The green-clad taijutsu master beams as if he’s met an old friend, and proceeds to do… something, spontaneously combusting on the spot.

Madara honestly believes in that moment that Gai’s body hadn’t been able to contain his Gai-ness and simply gave out.

It is not to be, and the man runs literal rings around them, cheerfully dodging bijuudama and scolding the twelve-story fox as if it’s a child throwing a tantrum. Madara doesn’t know who gained more trauma in that fight; him, or the kyuubi.

They wind up destroying the entire forest on the village’s northern side, as well as creating a new valley several miles from the settlement.

The fight ends with Madara having exhausted his considerable chakra reserves, and Gai - looking sooty and drenched in sweat - but infuriatingly, impossibly still alive.

He even has the temerity to look ecstatic, beaming like the fool Madara knows he’s not. At this point, the Uchiha is convinced he had burned down his home, killed Gai’s family and friends, then proceeded to sit atop the ruins, smirking at him.

This is all an extremely sadistic method of revenge; it must be.

When a collection of Konoha shinobi inevitably arrive to see why new maps will have to be drawn, Gai beams at Hashirama, bright and blinding and so cheerful it fills Madara with existential dread.

“Madara is one of the most youthful shinobi I have ever met! The sweat dripping from our brows, the movement of our bodies against one another, the burn in our lungs – MADARA AND I HAVE BEEN ENJOYING OUR SPRINGTIME OF YOUTH TO THE FULLEST!” Gai roars. Loudly.

Madara chokes on air and his face flushes straight past red and into purple.

“You – don’t say it like that you bastard!” Madara splutters, and gods he can feel his ears burning.

This… this shameless filthy liar is insinuating things about them.

Hashirama looks absolutely thrilled and is one step away from sobbing gross, happy tears all over him. Mito looks like all her dreams have come true and gazes upon Gai like he is the gift that keeps on giving. Tobirama is utterly gobsmacked, and any other time Madara would have gleefully savoured the expression on the Senju’s face.

But all he can feel – beyond the exhaustion in his muscles and the humiliation from the stares – is a sinking feeling of complete and utter dismay.

He knows in his bones that this is not the end.

Madara has never once wished more fiercely that he wasn’t terrible at earth jutsu, just so he could command the ground to rise up and swallow him whole.

When Maito Gai finds himself back in the Warring States Era, it’s easy to decide that he’s going to save the world. It’s a bit harder to decide how he’s going to do this, but Gai will figure it out. The Uchiha have always suffered from the Curse of Hatred, so logically, Love should cancel it out, right?

In which Gai seduces Madara with the power of youth, inadvertently raunchy proposals, and his gorgeous, blinding grin.

This is part of The Ultimate Guide to Surviving Shinobi Life series.

#Madara has Issues #Most of them are called Gai #The Madara/Gai story you need in your life #humour #crack fic #time travel #naruto fanfiction #naruto #fanfic writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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blue-kyber · 8 months

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"Out There" folklore.

THE TALE OF BELAKETH AND YUNEATH

.......................................

Will sat on one of the white boulders peppering the Utray homestead valley with Siffon and Terra watching the sun set into the ocean.

As its light dimmed, and the green flash appeared at the last of the sun’s set, the glow of the planetary ring above began to take over.

Will sat criss-cross style on the rock looking up at the blue glow of Source Field energy within the ring, “Siffon?”

She looked over at him, tucking her hair behind her slightly pointed ears from the chill late autumn breeze.

“What happened to Ilthall’s third moon?” he asked, “How did it get to be,” he gestured upward, “that?”

Terra’s green eyes cast upward at the ring. She laid down to watch the swirls of Field energy, “Selka said something destroyed it over a thousand years ago. That’s why it’s not a full ring yet. Does it have a name?”

Siffon smiled at her two best friends. It made sense that they would ask. They weren’t from here. Ilthall only became their home just over a month ago. “The ring is called Yuneath. It’s the brother.”

“Brother?” Will questioned.

“Like all three moons were siblings?” Terra guessed.

“Are,” Siffon said, “Yuneath is broken, but still there.”

Terra’s excitement flared, “Please tell me there’s folklore to go with it.”

“She loves that kind of thing,” Will added, poking his sister’s shoulder from around Siffon between them.

“Yes,” she loved her friends’ sibling relationship, “It’s a well known one every Ilthallan is taught when we’re little. It’s called the Tale of Belaketh and Yuneath.”

Will’s nose scrunched up, “I don’t like anything with the word ‘keth’ in it.”

Terra poked him back, “Shut up, Sparky, I want to hear the story.”

He grumped at Terra using Yune’s name for him as a joke.

Siffon was more than happy to teach her friends an aspect of her history, and their new home, “It happened about three thousand years ago.”

Will and Terra instantly set their imaginations into story mode.

“Belaketh was the first to exist in this system. She’s the sun. For eons, she cast her light upon the worlds she governed. Three of them became home to life; Ilthall, Jinuuba, and Tyriell. The one she adored the most was Ilthall. It had the strongest, more powerful light of the three.

"She enjoyed casting her rays upon the people of Ilthall so they could bask in the warmth she gave. The people used her sunlight to grow their crops, to hunt, and to flourish. They thrived in her light.

"The people loved her, and praised her, but they loved their mother, Ilthall, and her children, Yoneath, Vyu, and Ashryn, even more. Ilthall gave her light to the people and her children. The people were part of that light - the life of Ilthall - and it was part of them. They were tied to it. They could hear Ilthall’s voice and that of her children in a way Belaketh could not.

"Although the people were connected to the life-light she emitted, it was nowhere near as strong as their connection to Ilthall and the triplets. She became jealous of that.

"The siblings never hated her. They played games with her, but like the people, they wouldn’t come near her. Her fire would consume them as it had the people of Jinuuba, turning that once verdant world into a desert when he ventured too close.

"He had wanted to be near her, and he suffered for it.

"Hurting Jinuuba broke her heart. She craved the kind of connection the worlds she looked over had with their peoples.

But she was a star. She could never be touched or loved in the same way. And although she held great power, she could not change her nature nor theirs.

She knew that she was destined to remain distant, and because she's a star, she would live long after the death of the worlds she loved. The ones closest to her were doomed to perish at her own hand."

"The planets closest to the sun," will went through his astronomy knowledge, "A red giant. It'll expand to absorb the inner solar system."

Siffon nodded, her teppin moving slightly with her motion, "Belaketh’s vitriol against Ilthall grew, poisoning her in her loneliness and jealousy until it consumed her.

"One day she declared war on Ilthall and the siblings. She would steal what the people loved most: Ilthall’s light. Then, with that incredible power at her command, she could become the one they loved. She could change them to connect with her.

"And if she could not have it, then no one could."

"Wow, what a bitch," Will snipped.

"Will," Terra poked him in the head.

"What? Ok, then, she's a nok."

"That's just the same word in Aurdemic," she poked him again.

"It's Yaalian," Siffon corrected them while they engaged in a poke fight.

They stopped, "I thought it was Aurdemic," Will blinked, "Yune uses that."

"He speaks Yaalian, too," Terra said.

"I knew that. Just not the word," Will defended himself.

"Then what happened?" Terra wanted to get the story back on track.

Will laid back to stared at the ring as he listened. Both he and Terra were enraptured by the story.

Siffon continued, "Belaketh reached deep into the core of the sun, to its hottest depths, and created an arrow bearing the full strength of her power. She fired it straight at Ilthall’s heart. The arrow would kill Ilthall and her inhabitants, but Ilthall’s light would become hers.

Yuneath sacrificed himself to save his sisters and their mother by taking Belaketh’s arrow to the heart. It shattered him into countless pieces."

"He died?" Terra's eyes began to well up, "Poor Yuneath."

"Wow," Will agreed, "That's so cool."

"Belaketh fired arrow after arrow in anger that her attack failed to kill Ilthall, yet killed one she never meant to harm," Siffon said, "Still, she would not relent until the planet and the people on it burned. She grew more obsessed with obtaining Ilthall's power.

"The loss of their brother enraged Ashryn and Vyu. They blocked as many arrows as they could, but a powerful bolt sliced past Vyu, and evaded Ashryn."

Terra gasped, "It hit the planet?"

"No. Yuneath blocked it. He still lived. Yuneath surrounded the planet with his body and his power in a shield that protected Ilthall from the arrows. He was weakened, but refused to give up.

"The auroras in the sky caused by the battle could be seen around the globe.

"Because of the virtue of his sacrifice, Belaketh’s attacks could not reach the people.

"Defeated, Belaketh retreated back to her realm of fire. She swore that one day she would pierce the heart of Yuneath, destroy him and his shield, and take Ilthall’s light for herself."

"In her grief and love, Ilthall wrapped her light around her son, holding him together, preserving his light, and strengthening his power with her own so that it and he would never fade.

"He guarded Ilthall and her people, and in turn, his sisters guarded him.

Will and Terra could only stare up at the ring and the light within. It became some more than just Source Field Energy.

"Yuneath’s protective power was so strong that it hid the people from Belaketh’s sight," siffon said.

"Hid them?" Will blinked, "Like how?"

"She could no longer see them nor feel them. No matter how hard she tried, Yuneath's shield prevented her from locating anyone beneath it.

"Like a cloak," Terra guessed.

"From that point on, Ashryn and Vyu would block Belaketh’s view of Ithall on days when her rage swelled. Every winter, when she reached her full might to attack, both sisters would block the path of her arrows in a double eclipse. Whatever made it past them would be stopped by their brother’s impenetrable shield.

"As long as the people remain beneath the ring, they would always be safe from Belaketh’s destruction."

Will and Terra were silent for a moment, absorbing the tale.

"That was a great story," Terra said with a wistful smile at the sky.

"They say Yuneath’s light is still there protecting us. I like to believe that's true."

"That sounds like solar flares and a ring of fire," Will said, "or a meteor impact that took out the moon, or even...even the keth."

Siffon leaned back on her hands, "It probably is about a massive solar flare, or an asteroid that hit the moon instead of us. We know properties in the ring can block severe radiation from extreme solar storms that get past the magnetic field. It causes world wide auroras. I’ve seen them. They’re beautiful. They occur every winter."

Will reached his hand up toward the ring, pretending to grab hold of a rock, "Do you think Ilthallans really are part of the planet?"

"Minister Ardwan did. He'd tell me that anyone born on Ilthall is born with her Light inside them. It's part of our own. It's what connects us to her. Whenever I’ve left the planet, I’ve felt like I’ve left something important behind. I’ve never liked being away from home for too long."

"So that's him up there," Terra gazed upward, "That's his light."

"I didn’t believe that part of the story before until you, Yune, and Jeina said you can see the ring’s light, and Ilthall’s. Jeina told me It’s real. I believe her, and I believe you. I know it's real now."

Siffon laid on her back with her friends, "Maybe Yuneath really is up there. Maybe his light really is protecting us from danger, and hiding us from dark forces we can't defend ourselves from. If he is, I hope he knows how much we love him, and how grateful we are that he’s there."

Terra smiled. Yune's name sounded similar. She couldn't help but see a commonality between the two, "Yeah," she smiled up at the ring's light, thinking about both, "Me, too."

Will agreed.

#writing #the lore #out there lore #yup it's lore for mah wurl #Fact: Yune's name is the modern form of Yuneath which became very common. Like space John.#Another fun fact: he was named after that ring #THAT'S THE EPIPHANY THAT HIT ME LAST NIGHT

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mentalhealtvent164366 · 9 months

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What is it that separates us from the animals? The beasts? Is it that we scrounged up shiny things from the dirt and mud and placed it upon our heads? We deemed ourselves kings in a world of monsters, and subjected them to horrors that are worse than nature could ever muster, and yet we are different from what lurks in the dark? I sprawl my heart across the page the same a puffer fish does the sand, i sing like a bird does, i thirst for liquor like a fruit fly, and yet i am different?

Why has my stupid mushy human brain agreed that I as a human am on top? I cannot bask in the sun when i am tired, I cannot drink water freely, nor is food something I can guarantee.

My back aches, my eyes grow evermore tired as I lose myself in a mess of existentialism, working day in day out, isolated for the service and benefit of others for what?

A crown made of things found in the dirt and mud?

Why was I cursed with thought? For it to be used to only force me into a box where thoughts are not free? Where to stay sane i have to spend my money on booze and sweets?

Why was I cursed with emotion if half the time im numb and don't even know if this is how it feels to be human most of the time.

What was I even made for? To suffer? Work? Starve? Die?

I want to be free and feel human

But what does that even mean?

#vent tw #feelings i guess #vent post #extisentialism kinda #what does it mean to be human anymore

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babyboibucky · 3 years

Text

Obvious

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are more than friends but less than lovers.

Word Count: 1,700

Warnings: slight angst??? mention of injury???

A/N: Inspired by Ariana Grande’s “obvious” because I fucking love that song lmfao. Let me know if anyone wants to be included in my Bucky Barnes tag list! Will do separate tag lists for everything Bucky and Babysitting Bucky. Feedback is highly appreciated!

MAIN MASTERLIST

---

You and Bucky weren’t lovers, no. But you were definitely not just friends either.

There were kisses early in the morning, while both of you were cuddled in bed basking in the warmth of the sunlight spilling through the thin curtains; soft and subtle touches in the afternoon as the two of you navigated through the kitchen in an attempt to bake together. Slow touches late at night, cold metal fingers grazing you in just the right places that made you feel like on fire. And the exchange of whispers in the wee hours of night after coming down from the high of exploring each other’s bodies, uttered so softly, words meant only for each other to hear.

More than friends indeed, less than lovers? Maybe. Maybe not. Does it matter though? Because even without the words of affirmation, you loved Bucky and was sure that he loved you just as much.

Besides, you were obviously head over heels for the soldier. Not that you were denying or hiding it, in fact, you felt like you showed it a tad bit too much.

“Leaving so soon, soldier?” You’d asked with a pout as you watched Bucky leave your side on the bed.

“Duty calls.” He told you as he began to dress up.

Noticing your frown, he chuckled and approached you on the bed, bending down to press a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He reassured you, smoothening out the crease on your forehead with his thumb.

“But I wanna cook you dinner.” You told him.

The thought of you and Bucky spending a domesticated evening together always elated you. You loved daydreaming about it, about sharing a life with your super soldier. Him coming home after a mission and you making sure to take good care of him. Maybe run him a bath while you prepared dinner. Silly, it seemed but you couldn’t help imagining all the possibilities with Bucky. Letting him sleep in on Sundays while you go on a jog, only to come back home with pancakes and bacons waiting for you in the kitchen. And Bucky of course, fresh out of bed with his hair sticking up in different directions.

Being with an Avenger of course, made it difficult to experience all these things. Sometimes you’d wake up alone but Bucky always made sure to leave you a little note.

I’ll be back soon, beautiful.

His notes found a home in one of your drawers. There were plenty and although these notes symbolized his absence on most days, they also meant promises. Promises to make it up for the lost time, promises that were never broken nor forgotten.

Dinner dates were often postponed, sleepovers a rare occurrence— spending time together in general, wasn’t as easy as it was for other couples out there.

But that’s okay. Because you’d always wait for Bucky. You’d wait for him to come home and even if it’d take him three days, one week, two months or even a year, you’d still wait and welcome him with hugs and kisses and affectionate whispers.

Sometimes you wondered whether Bucky knew how much you loved him.

Disagreements were of course, unavoidable even between you and Bucky. Oftentimes, the arguments would stem from his carelessness and selfless decisions during missions. Your super soldier, always so giving and generous and kind. You couldn’t care less about what others thought of him and his days under the influence of monsters. The moment you knew you loved Bucky, you had already accepted him. And that included his demons and dark days too.

To you, Bucky had always been kind and put others first before himself. Sometimes a little too much that you couldn’t help but feel hurt that he didn’t seem to care how you’d feel if ever he wouldn’t make it home.

If Sam hadn’t called you that night, you wouldn’t have known about the serious injury inflicted on Bucky while on a mission.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked as soon as you barged into the medical bay, ignoring the nurse who immediately scrambled out of the room.

Bucky laid in bed, bruised and wrecked and unable to respond upon seeing you seething with anger for the first time ever.

“Were you even planning to tell me in the first place?” You scoffed.

They needed to infiltrate another Hydra base. Raid the base, get all possible information and blow it up to ashes. But then Bucky found a secret basement at the very last minute, young women and men were kept— future Winter Soldiers. The serum hadn’t been injected into their systems yet, they were merely poor teenagers in captivity. Bucky knew he couldn’t let these young people suffer the same fate as him. With barely a minute left before the bomb was set to explode, Bucky did his best to save everyone in that basement.

Never mind the Falcon’s orders to abort his mission, never mind the back-up they had called for to help them out. Bucky knew the choices he had: walk away unscathed knowing that the back-up wouldn’t arrive in time to save the children, or stay behind and do his best to make sure that no one will become another toy for Hydra to play with.

Even if it meant risking his life, even if it meant leaving you back home unaware of his fate.

“They needed me. I couldn’t just leave them behind.” Bucky explained.

“And you didn’t think I needed you too?” You asked, eyes rimmed with tears.

God, you knew you were selfish for feeling hurt but you couldn’t help it. Did it not cross Bucky’s mind that if he had died, you’d be left behind too? Did you not cross his mind during that time?

“Look, I understand what the superhero life is all about. And I know that it’s fucking selfish of me to say this but...Bucky, I need you too. As much as the world does.”

It was a conversation that you and Bucky had many times now. But with how your love grew for him with each passing second, the thought of losing him, it had become too much for you to suppress.

Waking up without his little notes of reassurance that he’d be back soon, no more cold fingers tracing against the smooth expanse of your skin and having to sleep knowing that the next day, Bucky wouldn’t be there anymore— just the mere thought of losing him broke your heart.

“I can’t...” you breathed out, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Buck.” You admitted with a shaky sigh as your tears continued to fall.

Bucky wanted to get up and pull you to an embrace, but he was too injured to do so. How we wanted to kiss your tears away, all he could do was extend a hand towards you, inviting you to come closer and touch him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I should have told you, I’m sorry. C’mere.”

Despite your anger, you didn’t think twice and immediately went to hold Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tightly as if you were trying to make sure that he was fine and real and that you didn’t lose him.

“Please stop being so reckless. With how much I love you, it drives me crazy whenever you come home all wounded and bloody and now—“

“You love me?”

Bucky had asked the question as if he couldn’t believe that yes, you do love him. Sam really wasn’t kidding when he said how dense Bucky was.

“Is it not obvious?” You asked, wiping away your tears.

“I mean yeah but...I just didn’t want to assume that you do because we never really talked about it.” He explained, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

His metal fingers, although cold and hard against your skin, had always been your favorite. They were gentle when they needed to be, or at least whenever Bucky touched you. They were cold and made you shiver but always in a good way.

“Bucky, I’ve talked about wanting a future with you. You still didn’t think that that was love?” There was a hint of playfulness in your tone despite your deadpan expression.

Oh no, what if you interpreted everything the wrong way?

“Do you not...oh my god, Bucky am I the only one in love?” You asked, panicked.

“Oh god, no.” Bucky immediately clarified as he pulled you to sit down on the bed beside him.

“I love you. So much. Please don’t think otherwise.” He said, cupping your face and wiping away the remnants of your tears.

A smile followed by a quick peck on the lips. Bucky moved and gave you enough space to lay down beside him on the hospital bed. Suddenly, everything felt right. Not that it wasn’t before but with the both of you finally uttering those words, it felt different.

The perfect kind of different.

You laid your head against Bucky’s chest and listened to his heartbeat as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. You can’t imagine a life without being this close to him, your super soldier.

“I thought of you, you know.” His chest rumbled as he spoke.

You lifted your head up to look at him in confusion. He smiled at you lovingly, “During the mission. Every mission I go to actually, I thought of you.”

Bucky thought about how you always waited for his return no matter how long he took. He imagined what you’d be doing when he’d come back, would you still be asleep? Perhaps you’d be in the shower, singing. Bucky thought about how he’d kiss you as soon as he comes home, how he’d make you feel how much he missed you and your scent, how your smooth skin felt against his.

Every single time, Bucky thought about coming home to you. It was his motivation to stay alive no matter what. He knew you needed him as much as the world does.

Because he needed you just the same.

More than friends, indeed. Less than lovers? No, you and Bucky were more than that.

You were each other’s worlds.

#bbbwrites #oneshots: bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x reader #sebastian stan

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givemea-dam-break · 3 years

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can i request a hiccup x reader with lots of hurt/comfort?? i’m just such a whore for that trope and hiccup ugh. maybe reader is the strong type who doesn’t like to show that they’re hurting but hiccup can tell something is up. bonus points if he confronts reader and they just break down and he has to comfort them. those are just some ideas though, write what you want and i’ll enjoy it either way <3

a/n: yes, yes and yes. i am an absolute sucker for that trope too so let's hope i can do it justice! Warnings: character death, mild angst, the big sad but with comfort Words: 1.2K Gender-neutral reader

Fire dances around you in swirls of orange and red, basking everything with unbearable heat. Sweat drips from your brow and coats you in a second skin, of sorts. Your throat hurts not only from the smoke but also from your screams. Your parents are still in that house, buried under the rubble. Hands grasp you tightly, pulling you further and further away from your home. The sight of it ablaze and collapsing has you unable to do anything but scream, and the absence of your parents at your side feels like a sword has been driven through your heart and twisted. "They're gone!" people shout. "Please, stop screaming! They're gone." But you can't stop. As the fire rages on, swallowing your small house in a raging swarm of flames and smoke, all you can do is sob and scream and cry out for the gods, begging to know why they couldn't spare your parents, why they of all people have to suffer. The flames are bright, almost neon, against the dark sky. Smoke rises, blocking out any view of the moon and the stars and any hope that the gods can see you. Dear, Odin, how did this happen? you think, choking on sobs. A figure hugs you, smelling of a mix of wood smoke and pine trees. Their arms are large and strong and comforting, but not comforting enough. "I'm so sorry, my dear," the person says softly. "I am so terribly sorry." -- "You never told me how you got here," Hiccup notes, attaching a new foot to his leg, seeing as Toothless had run off with the other. "Or why." You shrug, sharpening your knife against a wet stone. "Got here by boat with merchants. As for why: I just needed a change." "What was so bad about your home?" Hiccup asks, shifting ever-so-slightly closer. You tense a little in response. "Nothing," you say. "It was just constricting. No room to breathe." Though Hiccup nods, you can tell he's a little sceptical. There's no reason for him to be - you are telling the truth, just not the entire truth. Testing how the knife cuts on a piece of leather from your tunic, you glance up at the man in front of you. You've known him for a few months, now, and quickly became close. He wasn't hard to get close to and it made it especially easy seeing as he didn't - and doesn't - know the entirety of your past. It means less sympathy and pity friends - you can't be done with them. "Astrid said she heard you talking in your sleep," Hiccup says. "She'd been going to wake you up and said she heard you mumbling some things." "What kind of things?" you ask absentmindedly. "Things about your parents, them and fire, or something. She couldn't tell." You shrug. "Not sure what you want me to say, Hiccup." "Y/n, I get that you want to be strong - and you are, don't get me wrong - but if there's something wrong you can talk to us about it. We're all family here, including you." The Isle of Berk has never been your home, nor do you see it being your home for the foreseeable future. The only thing that's kept you is Hiccup and his persistence to be friends, for you to have a place to relax and not worry about the world beyond the island. The people of Berk are not your family - your family is no longer around, and no one can replace them. "People can say weird things in their sleep," you say. "Doesn't mean it links to their real lives." "But I think it does, in this case." You look up at him, dropping your shoulders. "I'm fine, seriously. Can we just drop the subject of my weird sleeping habits?" Hiccup hesitates. "Your parents died, didn't they? That's why you came here looking so devastated." You freeze, gaze locked on his. Where has the air in your lungs gone? Why can't you breathe? Gods, it feels like that day again where the smoke clogged up your airways. "You don't just go around saying that," you manage, brows lowering in a scowl. "Do you realise how inconsiderate that is?" "But, am I wrong?" It's your turn to hesitate. What are you meant to say? If you say he's right, you'll end up sobbing, just like every time you think back to that day. If you say he's not, it's going to feel like your dishonouring the

memory of your parents. "You're right," you say after a few minutes. It feels like the wind has picked up slightly, and it smells like wet soil and pine. "They did die - in a fire, actually." Hiccup says nothing. "But I stand by what I said, that was inconsiderate of you." You rise to your feet, not even sparing your friend a glance as you turn to leave. "Wait," Hiccups insists. "I'm sorry." You shrug and continue to walk until your wrist is grasped and you're tugged backwards. With a grunt, you try and pull your wrist from Hiccup's hand but he's got more strength to him than it seems. When he sees the light sheen of tears, the tremble of your lip, he lets go. "Gods, y/n, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to -" Without thinking, you fall into his chest, burying your face in his shoulder and wrapping your arms around him. Your body shakes slightly as the memories flicker through your mind like the dancing flames. Hiccup's arms wind around your frame softly, holding you close as you try not to cry and you can practically feel the surprise coursing through him. "I don't know how it happened," you explain quietly, voice wavering. "I just woke up to the smell of smoke. I... I managed to escape, but the floor fell as my parents were trying to escape. The other villagers were too slow to try and dig them out of the wreckage, especially with - with how bad the fire was." Hiccup's hand drifts over your back in an attempt to soothe you. "I had to leave - I couldn't stay there when my only home was destroyed and my parents dead. It was killing me." Hiccup says nothing, opting to just listen instead. You ramble on about the day, struggling for air between your words. The warmth of his hands helps calm you down, along with the slow thrum of his pulse. "I'm sorry," you whisper. "I should've told you -" "You're not obligated to tell me this stuff," Hiccup says softly. "But I'm glad you did, and I'm sorry for - for just coming out with that. You're right: it was really inconsiderate." You breathe out a laugh, sniffling. "Damn right it was." Hiccup smiles against your hair, his hands pulling you even closer. He presses a light kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing circles over your shoulder blades and spine. "I'm here," he reassures you. "I'm always here."

#hiccup x reader #hiccup haddock x reader #httyd x reader #hiccup haddock #httyd #httyd fanfic #httyd reader insert #reader insert #x reader #how to train your dragon #hiccup how to train your dragon #toothless #fanfic #givemea-dam-break

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molotovmetro · 2 years

Text

Day four: (Lagom, Melancholic, Farm)

Admittedly I had to google Lagom and so I hope I interpreted it right. I missed three but I'll be catching that up later!

Chis Redfield x gn reader

Words: 711

Warnings: mentions of alcohol abuse, overthinking, characters dealing with PTSD everything that comes with it. NSFW. While not too explicit, there's still strong hints to adult content. Minors dni.

Heaven beside you

It's nice out.

Spring is rapidly approaching and the thick layer of snow that covered the land is slowly giving way for the grass to peek through here and there. The cows and chickens come out more, and Chris has seen more wildlife out and about lately than there was in the freezing winter.

The air is is moist and cold as he sits on his old chair on the porch but it's comforting to the man.

He likes it here. Loves it, in fact.

But it also hurts.

He is lucky enough to get to sit here, coffee in his hand on his porch, on his beautiful piece of land that he bought when he retired. His lover inside, under the warm blankets of their soft bed.

But how many never made it this far?

The S.T.A.R.S. team, the people in Raccoon City, the people of Kijuju, his team that he lost in Edonia, poor Finn was still so young. Piers...

They never got to retire, to live the rest of their lives peacefully, to leave the fighting to someone else.

It doesn't feel right. Why him? What did he do to deserve this?

Jill would probably smack him if she knew he's beating himself up like this. And she'd be right, too.

"Whatcha thinking about, big guy?" Arms wrap around his shoulders from behind and he squeezes the hands attached to them.

"Hmm. Nothing important."

"That so?"

"Uhuh."

The arms leave and soft lips find his own.

"You are important, Chris."

He hears these words often, but they manage to bring tears that threaten to fall from his eyes every time. He's trying to learn to believe them.

A hand runs through his hair, "Now, I gotta go feed the chickens. How about after that we go inside, an' I make us breakfast?"

"Alright."

As Chris watches them leave he feels bad that he didn't offer his help, but he's sure they wouldn't have let him anyway.

Something about watching them interacting with the animals and just doing something so domestic instead of the endless fighting makes him feel at ease. A sense of peace that he's not very familiar with.

When they come back, they go inside together. They sit at the table of their farmhouse and laugh as they eat and just bask in each others presence.

Their lives aren't perfect. But it's enough. He doesn't need nor want picture perfect. They have their fair share of worries, but most importantly they have each other.

He's pretty sure there's a swedish word for the feeling that he can't be bothered to think of right now.

Retirement is odd to him. He's used to fast paced days, jumping from one assignment to another... It's taking time for him to get used to lazing around whenever they're not caring for the animals or the land, but they pull his face back to theirs and he doesn't care anymore.

While his memories plague him, and his lover too, he knows they suffer in the same way he does, if you told him he died and went to heaven he might believe you.

There's no more fighting. Instead he spends his days in their arms, indulging in each other for hours on end.

He has his fair share of nightmares, but with them next to him, most of his nights he gets to sleep peacefully. Its foreign to him, to not have to resort to whatever bottle is closest on the hope of shutting up his mind. He has better ways to occupy his mouth now.

When his mind starts drifting, they're there to pull him back, as if they have a sixth sense for when he needs them.

Chris tries to do the same for them, but he tends to doubt his abilities for just about anything when he's not on a battlefield. Most of the time he feels like that's all he's good for, but those doubts disappear to the very back of his mind when he sees you fall apart under him.

Sometimes he regrets not retiring earlier. Maybe back in 2013, like he planned. He would've saved himself a lot of pain.

But he has the rest of his life to heal. With the love of his life by his side.

#i tried to really incorporate that lagom part as well as the melancholy part by showing the contrast of the thoughts that plague his mind #vs the comfort his so brings him #chris redfield x male reader #chris redfield imagine #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield x gn reader #minors dni

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saabbi · 3 years

Text

Regret part 10

Moonlit conversation

Genshin Impact Adeptus! reader

warnings: -

word count:~1.3k

notes: happy mid autumn festival! This chapter is purely about Childe and Tsarista.

[previous] [next]

The Tsarista is hard to understand.

“Your highness?” the gingered male peeked into the dimly lit room carefully, making sure he's not disturbing his archon.

Deep blue eyes searched the room until they landed on a lonely figure by the window sill, silently gazing at the Snezhnaya waters.

The Tsarista looks back a bit, gesturing to him to come closer.

Childe obliges. He came to find her to have a talk, even if he has yet to figure out what to say. The Tsarista has been rather fickle lately, it seemed like she was making rash decisions.

Even though he knows the Tsarista always have everything planned out. The reasons behind her actions were surely ones a mortal like him couldn’t understand.

The Tsarista is hard to understand.

Not even her closest subordinates - harbingers, could see through her. All her thoughts are masked with the iconic smile, one not sinister nor genuine.

It’s just one without any emotions, an eerie and intimidating smile.

To say the least, the Tsarista is someone incredibly… calculating. Each step she takes, each word she utters, are all through careful consideration.

Fickle and unpredictable. No one could guess her next movement. She slips away like ice.

Which is why, small talk coming from her is completely uncalled for.

“The pier was lively today.” Her quiet and breathless voice caught Childe off guard, shoulders flinching at the unexpected voice.

Has the sun risen from the west? Has the snow melted in Snezhnaya?

Childe carefully observed the divine being, perturbed by her unusual behaviour.

Silky hair pale as snow, cold as ice. A sharp and glacy gaze that sends even the most arrogant humans shivering. Contrasting to her bitter cold appearance, a burning desire could be felt within her glacy pupils. A being said to be so ethereal that just one glance would captivate all men and women across Teyvat-

Except something was a bit different from usual. Childe rubbed his eyes to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

Is she…frowing? Could it even be considered a frown?

Very slightly, almost goes unnoticeable, was her furrowed brows and tired eyes that observed the pier.

Her usual smile remains, but less… stoic?

Not one necessarily of affection nor gentle, but rather… relieved?

The Tsarista mostly appear to be disinterested in a lot of things, usually displaying an indifferent attitude.

Yet somehow she feels expressive today.

As if her cold facade had faded just for a bit, walls thinned down just a little.

He feels it’d be okay to ask her.

“Your highness…” cautiously, while being wary of any change in her expression, “why did you...?”

Why did she do that to you? What was her intention in exiling you after draining every last bit of your power? Remains unsaid.

She glances at her harbinger once, before refocusing on the sea, watching the wobbly reflection of the moon in the gentle tides.

“There was no need to keep up the pointless charade, is there?” the words themselves are cold and harsh, but something lies beyond.

“It’s been far too long. That child has been by my side for so many years. ” Childe patiently waits for the Tsarista to continue. It seems that she is in the mood for talking today, willing to share more.

“My initial plan to utilise adeptus power has been met, there is simply no need to keep that child around any longer.” The soft moonlight basking her figure made her even paler.

The queen of Snezhnaya is hard to understand.

Her words were so subtle and ambiguous, hard to fully uncover the hidden meanings.

Childe may not be the brightest, but for some reason he thought he might just have a faint idea on what she’s conveying.

Archons make the mistakes too. He recalled what Zhongli once told him, when he was still naive enough to not realise his true identity.

Archons, deities with absolute authority. But the geo archon had him realising even divine beings feel remorse for their own actions.

But guilt doesn’t seem to be the right word to describe what the current Tsarista is feeling.

It’s something else, hiding deep behind those walls.

“Did you know? There’s a tradition in Liyue for families to reunite under the full moon, no matter how far they parted.” she gazes at the luminous full moon.

Snezhnaya’s queen does not have any love left for her people - a saying he had heard from somewhere long ago, describing the one and only ruler of his home.

Being an archon does not mean they’re perfect, nor can they protect all their loved ones. In Zhongli’s case, he learnt, would be giving up his beloved adeptus for the sake of his people, and losing close friends in the ancient war.

Then how about the Tsarista? She must have lost something precious too.

But that is not for him to butt into.

“I’m sure the weather would be nicer there, without the neverending snowstorms and hail.”

Does the Tsarista truly have no love left for her people?

“As a previous envoy to Liyue, I guarantee that it’s warm and cosy.” a cheeky grin started to form on his face, getting wider and wider.

But perhaps he already knows the answer.

The Tsarista lets out a soft hum at his response, somewhat sounding relieved.

“Your highness, did you know? Morax frequently forgets to bring mora…”

“And he bought a vase for 1 million mora, and I had to pay!”

“Then La Signora knocked Scaramouche’s hat off! He was so pissed!”

“And that moose-deer being talked! I had no idea it was an adeptus!”

Light chuckles and giggles filled the quiet atmosphere along with Childe’s innocent and non-stop rambling.

Just for today, it’s okay for her to drop her facade.

Maybe, the Tsarista is not as unfathomable.

An archon may not be so different from human mortals, after all.

“I’m sure that Zhongli and them are having a great time.” his grin so wide and bright, “that child, well, a child older than me, is finally back home after all.”

“Happy full moon day, your highness.”

“I believe the correct saying is ‘happy mid-autumn festival’, Tartaglia.”

Childe awkwardly rubbed his head and broke out into a loud laughter.

“Could you help me deliver something when you visit Liyue again?” She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a tarnished necklace.

One that is cracked, but pieces of it has been carefully assembled and glued together.

One that resembles the shape of a flower he hadn’t seen in Snezhnaya.

One that seems to be of very old age, considering the oxidized parts. It couldn’t be worth much. Who is the Tsarista giving this to?

“It’s something that child left behind.” Ah. A sudden realisation hits him. So it was not the Tsarista’s own belongings.

“What was done was inevitable for the final destination, I don’t regret it. Yet… that child has been with me for quite some time.”

“That child had quite a hard time. This… is something they held dearly before.” She points at the necklace, running her fingers over the flower. “I wasn’t sure how to give it back.”

So that was why the Tsarista held onto something that seemed so… worn out.

Even though Childe still disapproves of her actions towards you which caused you to suffer, he feels as if he gained a deeper understanding of his archon.

She is meant to be someone brutal who would commit atrocities just to achieve her goal, even if she believes it will lead to peace.

Perhaps that’s why she always kept a certain distance from you. The Tsarista has done terrible things, so, so many heartless and ruthless deeds.

Or maybe, the archons are just not good at communication. Childe huffs at his own thoughts, recalling both Zhongli’s and Tsarista’s expressions when talking about you.

Archons are just as imperfect as mortals are.

The archons sure are hard to understand.

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miyaagis · 4 years

Text

demon lover

+ pairing. incubus! oikawa / fem reader / incubus! kuroo

+ genre. dark, smut

+ word c. 2,378

+ warnings. snuff, dub/non con, implied somnophilia and stalking, facial, choking, fellatio, creampie

+ author n. part 2 of monster. there are some references from it, but u should be able to understand the story even if u didn’t read that one before :)

it has been around five weeks since your encounter with oikawa and you’ve felt restless ever since.

it doesn’t matter where you are —on the streets, at uni, even in your own bathroom— there’s always an unsettling feeling of being watched.

but the nights are worse.

as soon as you close your eyes, images of him smirking down at you plague your mind and dreams. he’s repeatedly having his way with you, fucking you and making you come over and over again until you wake up. leaving you sore and wide awake for the rest of the night.

the days go by and it’s as if your energy is being sucked out of you, not even coffee nor energy drinks are able to keep you awake and away from the haunting dreams.

your body feels weak, you are weak. your fragile-looking body, covered in bruises and dull, sunken eyes easily attract looks of concern from your friends and family. but what’s most concerning it’s the fact that even if you’re restless, you keep thinking about that night.

your body and soul ache for him and you wonder if it’ll take another year until you can see him again.

it’s not until you’re at your weakest, delirious, and on the verge of insanity when he shows up. or at least that’s what you hope, being unable to distinguish your dreams from reality anymore.

“you’ve been such a good girl,” he coos in your ear, stroking your hair out of your face and leaning closer, “have you been waiting for me?”

you nod frantically, whimpering when his lips touch your cheek. he shuts you up with his mouth, his thumbs grazing the skin of your cheekbones and making you melt.

the blissful state you’re in vanishes when an unknown pair of hands start removing your clothes.

your eyes widen, trying to get a look at the intruder but oikawa keeps your face fixed on him with a strong grip on your jaw.

“i brought a friend, hope you don’t mind.”

you take a peek over his shoulder, and your eyes meet a pair of menacing ones. you recognize him immediately as oikawa’s friend from the party —another demon.

“hello, kitten. don’t mind me; i just had to see with my own eyes the pretty pussy that he has been bragging about.”

the dark-haired demon’s lips curl up in a smirk when he sees the troubled look on your face. but it’s true, oikawa hasn’t shut up about you so it's reasonable kuroo asked him to share.

his hands roam over your legs, forcing them open and keeping a firm grip on them when you try resisting him. he takes his cock out of his pants with one hand and lines it up with your entrance, marveling at the sight of your folds.

“oh and you can call me master too.”

he slides in without warning nor prepping you, the burn of your walls stretching as they make room for his cock bringing tears to your eyes.

you don’t want him. it should be oikawa, not him.

“s-stop, please,” you whine, looking at oikawa when kuroo refuses to acknowledge your pleas. but his eyes harden, a dark look taking over his features.

“don’t be rude to our guest and shut up.”

his words break your heart, tears now falling freely down your cheeks as you keep being fucked by the other demon.

“shit, kitten. i can barely fit inside your pussy. let me stretch you out, yeah?” kuroo groans as he keeps forcing his way inside your walls, his girth finally sheathing in and causing him to breath out in relief, “that’s it, sweetheart.”

“isn’t she amazing?” oikawa smiles brightly at his friend, craning his neck to the side to observe your pussy being abused by kuroo’s cock, “the neediest cunt i’ve ever had.”

you clench involuntarily at oikawa’s words which make kuroo groan.

his hand slaps your thigh only to grab a handful of it and squeeze it, “i knew you’d love my cock.”

you’re about to protest when kuroo places your legs over his shoulders and leans forward, resting his upper weight on top of you.

“no! wait– please. too much! ‘s too much, please!” you try to push him away, your nails digging into the skin of his forearms but your desperate wails fall on deaf ears.

kuroo’s pace is relentless, every graze of his cock against your snug walls feels like fire.

your eyes lock with oikawa’s, he looks pleased —much to your dismay— and you feel your heart drop when he catches you staring and smiles.

“enjoying yourself?”

a cry escapes from your lips when kuroo picks up his pace, the distinctive sound of his cock thrusting inside your pussy taking over the bedroom.

“fuck, shut up. you’re getting annoying,” kuroo groans but you’re way too preoccupied with the pain to register his words.

you keep sobbing your heart out, your desperate cries getting louder as he continues his assault on you.

his large hand suddenly covers your mouth, concealing your sounds and making your eyes widen.

“i told you to shut the fuck up, stupid whore!”

“can you control yourself and not kill her before i get a turn?” oikawa’s irritated tone reaches your ears, “you always do this.”

the tears refuse to stop, kuroo’s actions plus oikawa’s words wounding you both physically and emotionally.

“i’m close, fuck– so close,” kuroo’s grunts in your ear, the snap of his hips picking up its pace as he draws to his end.

a few thrusts later and he’s finally reaching his high, emptying himself inside of you. his cock pulses as it pumps his cum inside your raw walls, moaning in relief at the way they wrap around him.

once he lets go of you, you curl up around yourself. your soft cries are the only audible thing in your bedroom, pain tugging at your heartstrings as the weight of what just happened falls on you. you’re so lost in your own suffering that you miss the quiet sound of clothes rustling.

it’s not until oikawa’s familiar scent reaches your nose that you look up —teary-eyed and with your eyelashes wet with tears— and observe as he crawls up his way on top of you.

“will you be good to your master?” he asks while wiping your tears away, pouting at you mockingly.

“please,” you don’t even know what you’re asking for, your mind too hazy and your body too weak to comprehend what's going on around you.

but he goes in anyway.

his hard cock enters you easily, sliding in thanks to kuroo’s cum still coating your insides and bottoms out almost instantly.

“shit, it feels way better when you’re awake.”

he starts a slow pace, basking in the feeling. his hands start kneading your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh under his fingers, and then running the pads of his thumbs over your nipples.

the sensation has you involuntarily gushing around his cock, wet sounds starting to echo around the room and prompting kuroo to lazily stroke his hardening cock again.

“naughty kitten, you want more don’t you?” a devious look takes over kuroo’s features, but he instantly dismisses your presence by turning to oikawa instead, “does she give good head?”

“why don’t you–hah, see for yourself,” oikawa struggles through his words, brows furrowing in pleasure as his hips collide against yours.

kuroo wastes no time, making his way next to your head while his hand keeps pumping at his now fully erect cock. the weight of it falls on your parted lips, running the leaking head over them and coating them with pre-cum.

you’re not given a warning, kuroo’s fingers get a tight hold on your jaw and force it open so he can slide in, the head poking at your inner cheek and making it bulge out in an obscene way.

“there you go, kitten. you are way better when you shut up,” he smirks down at you, thrusting up into your mouth, “all you needed was my fat cock.”

drool leaks out of your mouth but at this point, you don’t care anymore. you are drained, basically a corpse for them to fuck and fill with their semen.

you have a hard time trying to focus your vision on the demons before you, your head throbbing at the lack of energy. but it only gets worse when you feel a pair of hands fumbling around your throat.

“if only you could see how fucking gorgeous you look right now,” oikawa praises you as his hands wrap a collar around your neck, almost moaning at the sight underneath him, “my good girl, do you like your master’s cock?”

the leather fabric tightens around your neck, the leash allowing oikawa to jerk your head up and making kuroo’s cock slide out of your mouth in the process.

“oi! don’t hog her!”

your groggy brain barely registers them arguing over who gets to control you.

“shut the fuck up. i found her first,” oikawa tries to get his point across by lifting your legs over his shoulders and pounding even harder, your whimpers turning louder at the new position.

“but you’re fucking her cunt! at least give me control over her head!”

oikawa’s too busy thrusting his cock inside your plush walls that he eventually gives in. once the leash falls on kuroo’s hands, he wastes no time and pulls your face towards him, making you gag around his cock.

your muscles contract at the intrusion which only heightens the blissful feeling, transmitting waves of pleasure through his body.

“ah fuck, i can feel her trying to suck my cum out of me. such a cum-thirsty whore.”

what both demons miss, it's the way your face starts to turn purple. the tight grip of the collar plus kuroo’s tugging at the leash preventing the air from reaching your lungs.

with the last bits of energy you've left, you try to rip the collar off of you. your hands desperately claw at the material as your eyes widen in realization of what will come next if you’re unable to free yourself from their grip.

but your actions seem to anger kuroo, who growls and drops the leash only to grab you by your head and shove your face all the way down his length.

you start to choke, his thick girth taking so much space in your mouth and when you try to take a deep breath through your nose, he pushes in even more. coughs erupt from your chest, his pre-cum and your saliva reaching your lungs while dark spots start to cloud your vision. their voices sound far away, numbness taking over your body as you start growing dizzy and a violaceous hue tints the skin of your face at the lack of oxygen.

both demons pay no mind, too busy chasing their ends to notice how you’ve stopped fighting them. their moans echo freely all over the room, the lewd sounds of their cocks abusing your holes bringing a sense of hunger to them.

“shit, baby you feel so good. i’m gonna cum in your sweet, needy cunt and fill you with it m’kay?” oikawa announces, his orgasm rapidly approaching and inciting him to thrust harder, getting lost in the way your walls rub against his twitching cock.

kuroo lets out a low groan as he finally cums in your mouth, pulling out just enough to paint your face with it and smear it all over your lips. he sighs in relief, smiling at the sight of your pretty face covered in his sticky cum. the way it sticks to your eyelashes and drips down your face to your parted lips etching itself on his mind.

he can’t remember the last time he had such an erotic sight.

but when he notices a lack of movement from you after a minute, he couldn't help but curse out loud. thankfully, it goes unnoticed by oikawa since his moans got louder, his own orgasm sending shivers down his body and causing him to lose focus on his surroundings for a while.

“ngh– fuck,” oikawa spills inside your pussy, his cock throbbing as load after load pumps out of him and fills you to the brim.

his eyes are closed, breaths ragged as he basks in the afterglow of his orgasm. it’s not until he opens them to admire your fucked out face when he finally finds out.

he’s confused for a moment before it dawns on him. he slaps your thigh gently, calling out your name in a futile attempt to get you to answer him back.

“sweetheart, this isn’t funny.”

but as he turns to face kuroo in search of an explanation, one look at him is enough to answer his question.

“i swear i didn’t mean to!”

a nervous-looking kuroo, fully clothed by now, stands awkwardly by the door. he’s well aware he fucked up—big time.

“fucking hell!” oikawa rakes his fingers through his hair in exasperation, “did i not tell you to control yourself?!”

he can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness since he did grow a liking to you thanks to his nocturn visits. but the sentiment quickly fades away when his eyes fall on your form once again. a pleased smile appears on his handsome face as he takes in the sight of your legs spread wide open, his cum seeping out of your pussy.

“she remembered how much i like this,” he coos to himself, plunging one finger between your folds and smearing the fluids.

he’s so lost on you that he doesn’t notice kuroo disappearing from your room and leaving him behind—not like he cares. his hands reach out to smooth out your hair, traveling down the side of your face and stroking the skin of your cheeks with his long fingers.

you look so peaceful, so pretty, covered in their fluids, and with the choker still adorning your neck.

the nostalgic feeling returns, tugging at his heart and prompting a gentle smile to take over his lips. with a kiss on your forehead and then one on your lips, oikawa finally bids his goodbyes.

“don’t worry, baby girl. i have a spot in hell saved just for you.”

#yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere kuroo #tw.snuff #tw.dubcon #tw.noncon #tw.somnophilia

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iminarce · 2 years

Text

perfect

cw: a fluff-fest! first kisses (with some whimpering) and hand-holding wc: 2622

every time i take robin on a date, i can’t help but wish it lasted longer - he’s just so cute whether he’s high or low confidence, and it always makes me smile :) also does anyone go on the movie date with robin and actually watch the movie? couldn’t be me.

you were propped up on robin’s only pillow, settled in a seated position so that robin could lay his head in your lap as he balanced precariously on the border of waking and sleeping. the room was silent, save for the occasional clicking of his controller and the muted video game noises.

despite his drowsy state, robin insisted on continuing his game, even if it meant that his performance suffered as a result. you had even tried getting him to sit up as a means of staying awake, but he had refused adamantly.

admittedly, you prefer it like this anyway.

with his head in your lap, you were able to indulge yourself and play aimlessly with robin’s hair, undoing every small tangle, and even scratching his scalp every once in a while as a makeshift head massage, drawing out small hums of delight from him whenever you did.

normally, you would have been more than content to let the day end like this, basking in robin’s company.

and that had been your plan all this while, but it had been a while since you took robin out somewhere. all week you had been putting it off in favour of school or work, and now that you two both clearly had nothing to do, it would be perfect.

even if that did mean getting up from this dangerously comfortable position. which neither you nor robin seemed to want to do.

well, there was no harm in asking anyway.

“let’s go somewhere,” you murmur softly, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of robin’s video game.

he immediately pauses said game upon hearing you speak, and shifts in your lap so that he can look up at you.

“where?” he asks as you brush his fringe from his eyes gently, admiring the soft slope of his nose and round curve of his cheeks.

“how about the cinema?”

immediately, robin’s eyes light up. to your surprise, he sits up with a renewed vigour and pulls you to your feet in one smooth motion.

“great idea!” he exclaims, already palpable with excitement. you can’t help but find his enthusiasm infectious, and soon, what had only been a throwaway idea of yours suddenly evolved itself into something that you found yourself looking forward to as well.

as you two step out of the orphanage together, robin brushes the back of his hand against yours, timidly linking your pinkies together. you wait a beat to see if he’ll take your hand in his, and when he doesn’t, you take his hand in yours.

the action lights up robin’s face, but to your disappointment, it’s a little hard to tell under the golden glow of the sunset. when robin pulls you along though, fingers interlacing securely with yours, you forget about your disappointment all together.

hand in hand, in the light of the setting sun, you and robin chat happily as you make your way to the cinema.

when you finally arrive, you pay for two tickets to the newest romance movie and buy a bag of popcorn to share. you had offered to buy him his own bag of popcorn when he asked, but

“it tastes better when we share,” he had said, a sweet smile on his lips, a rosy blush on his cheeks.

you two take your seats in the middle of the theatre and settle in to watch the movie.

it’s pretty slow, if you’re being honest. there are moments when you can’t believe you paid for these tickets.

but all it takes is one glance in robin’s direction, and you are at peace with the money you forked over for this movie.

robin’s engrossed, his face contorting in a melange of emotions appropriate to whatever was happening on the screen. it’s even better entertainment than the movie.

you’d be lying if you said that this wasn’t the predominant reason you liked coming to the cinema with him, anyway.

something dramatic must have happened just then, as robin’s gasps softly in shock at whatever revelation is made, and it makes you giggle to yourself, finding yourself much more interested in watching robin than the silver screen.

the small noise grabs his attention, and he glances over to look at you, eyes widening in surprise when he catches you already staring at him. without missing a beat, his lips spread into an bright smile, as warm as the look he gives you.

charmed, and unable to help yourself, you lean towards him, resting your head on his shoulder. you feel him tense under you, but he’s soon relaxing into you as well, wrapping a tentative arm around your shoulder and giving you a small, affectionate squeeze.

“i could stay like this forever,” he coos softly as he leans into you, resting his head on top of yours, and this time its your cheeks that flush, taken aback by the tender fondness that laces his sweet whispers.

the brisk night air takes no prisoners, immediately nipping at your nose and cheeks the minute you step out of the cinema. robin sees your slight shiver, and reaches forward to take your hand in his, intertwining your fingers again, like that’s where they belonged.

the contact warms you enough to fight off the chill.

the sun had long set, giving way to the numerous stars twinkling happily on their night stage, delighted that they finally get their time to shine. the streets were much emptier than before, only a few couples strolling past, a few lone stragglers milling about.

only the crickets and frogs kept the two of you company on your walk home, filling the air with their chirps and croaks, another reminder of the hour.

you strike up light conversation as you walk home, though robin is much more eager to discuss the movie than you. a couple of times you find yourself blanking, unable to formulate a proper response to some of his comments.

though to be fair, there were multiple times when you had decided you’d rather watch robin than the movie, so it was only to be expected that your commentary would fall a bit short here and there.

robin doesn’t seem to mind - or notice, you can’t tell - and continues to prattle about the characters, the plot, the drama. he quotes a couple of the male lead’s lines, and then turns to you, asking you what your favourite scene is.

the question catches you off guard for a bit, unsure if you had even watched enough of the movie to actually have a favourite scene. you think for a moment before settling on a simple answer,

“the kiss scene,” you tell him. it’s a romance movie after all, right? robin grins and nods with excitement before launching into a monologue about how romantic that scene was - how sweet and heart-fluttering.

a playful smile settles on your lips at his enthusiasm, and you have half a mind to tease him.

so you do.

“i loved when she said, oh...what was it?” you pretend to ponder, stopping in your tracks under a streetlight as if it would help you think. robin stops obediently beside you, waiting patiently for you to speak, a look of genuine curiosity on his face. you feel him give your hand a squeeze of encouragement.

he’s so cute.

“ah, that’s right. she said,” you clear your throat and put on a bit of a voice, trying your best to imitate same tone that the actress had, “i wish you would not call me my dear because it’s what my father always calls my mother whenever he’s cross about something."

you watch as a robin glances away for a moment, perhaps because he feels bashful, or perhaps because he is hesitant to return your teasing. but the moment is short-lived, as he turns back to you, a familiar confidence in his voice when he recites,

"what endearments am i allowed, then?"

“well let me think,” you pause like the lady did in the film. “lizzy, for every day. my pearl for sundays, and...goddess divine. but only on very special occasions.”

robin’s face flushes warmly under the yellow glow of the streetlight, his gaze shifts from yours briefly, and you can see the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows hard before meeting your eyes again,

“and what shall i call you when i’m cross? mrs. darcy?”

“no!” you give him an exaggerated look of scandal, one that he giggles at. “no, you may only call me mrs. darcy when you are completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy.”

“and how are you this evening,” robin continues, much quieter this time, his voice fading considerably as he recalls the meaning behind those words. “mrs. darcy?”

you don’t say anything in return, content to beam at him instead, watching with adoration as he shifts shyly under your gaze. he’s the first to break the silence, releasing a small, awkward laugh as he notes in the softest of whispers,

“and then we kiss.”

he waits for barely a second longer before he’s turning away, ready to speed walk back to the orphanage in silence, already proud enough of himself for having made it to the end of such a conversation without running away prematurely.

but his hand is still clasped in yours, fingers still intertwined, palms still touching.

so he doesn’t get very far before he turns back, a quizzical look replacing his bashful one, wondering why you won’t move.

you smile back at him mischievously, and robin can feel a shiver travel down his spine. he knows that smile. you’re not done teasing him yet.

“and then we kiss,” you say, repeating his words louder, announcing them to the still of the night, where there is no audience. no one but you and robin and the silence.

even the crickets have quieted for you.

you think you see him gulp again. in fact, you’re sure you do, because you can feel his hand growing clammier in yours as the weight of your words settle into the night air and permeate into every nook and cranny of robin’s stream of consciousness.

robin finds himself frozen to the spot. he knows his eyes are wide and his cheeks are the reddest they’ve been all night. he can feel the burn up his neck, on his ears, all over his face. his breath comes in small pants and he feels like suddenly it’s hard to breathe.

it’s hard to look into your eyes, but it’s also hard to look away. he doesn’t know what to do.

he barely registers the small tug you give his hand, pulling him closer. his body - completely on autopilot at this point - moves closer of its own accord. he certainly didn’t tell it to do that.

and when he stumbles closer to you, he’s both mortified and ecstatic. he tries to figure out which one he feels more of, but his mind is still a jumble at the implications of your words and actions, and he abandons thinking all together.

he gazes down at you, the wistful longing in his eyes meeting the playful expectancy in yours.

robin feels and hears his breath hitch in his throat as you begin to lean in closer. the entire situation is just becoming too much for him. he finds himself both eager to kiss you, and yet reluctant to do so, the vestiges of the threat of rejection still lingering in the back of his mind.

you were just teasing him, after all, right? what if you were just joking about the kiss, too then?

he flounders, at a loss, so he settles for squeezing his eyes shut, deciding to let you do whatever you wanted with him.

he would let you kiss him if you wanted. because he wanted you to. or, at least he wanted you to want to. wanted you to want you to want him to?

robin tries to quiet his thoughts.

seconds pass. and pass. the anticipation in his stomach builds.

and yet, nothing.

he feels a soft puff of air on his lips from so close and then, the distinct melody of your laugh. warily, he cracks open his eyes to see you, eyes full of mirth, cheeks pink, lips stretched in a large smile, laughing at him.

but you can’t help it. he’s being too cute!

the way he had shut his eyes, pursed his lips, and stood there, still as a board, completely at your mercy was both parts endearing and silly, and before you knew it, you found yourself first holding back giggles and then full-on laughing at his antics.

somehow, the unimpressed look on his face now only make it funnier.

the street is silent, and robin lets the sound of your laugh fill the air without interruption, infusing the cold night with your familiar warmth. despite not getting a kiss, robin still finds comfort in the happy sound of your laugh, and lets that sink into his bones as he takes a deep breath, trying to recompose himself.

once you’ve finally calmed down, you part your lips to speak, but you don’t get the chance to say anything.

you barely get the chance to catch the look of disappointment in robin’s eyes, the pout his lips are settled into, the small whimper he exhales before he leans forward in one confident motion and meets his lips to yours.

you still in shock. and delight.

and then disappointment as robin pulls away as fast as he pushed in.

his kiss had been barely a peck. his lips had only just met yours, and he was already pulling away?

not a chance.

you recognise the look in his eyes as he does so - apologetic and panicked. but you don’t pay it any mind and use your free hand to pull him by the collar back down so that he was eye level with you again, crashing your lips onto his with perhaps more force than you had intended.

robin squeaks in surprise, but quickly melts into the kiss himself, his apologies long forgotten.

he brings up his free hand to rest on your waist, the warmth radiating from his palm seeping past the fabric of your top and staining your skin in the most delightful way.

his lips are chapped and clumsy, but eager and enthusiastic enough to take your breath away anyway. you tilt your head slightly, deepening the kiss, pushing yourself closer to him, and he whimpers softly in appreciation.

you find yourself about to moan back in response, but catch the sound in your throat before you let yourself go entirely.

here, on some nondescript sidewalk, standing next to some overgrown brush.

an old streetlight illuminating your two figures, already pressed so close together and only trying to get closer.

you have half a mind to pull away, to continue this later. you could still kiss in the (relative) safety of the orphanage, after all. in the warmth of your room or the cosiness of robin’s bed.

as opposed to out here. where it’s definitely not safe. and definitely not romantic, warm, or cosy.

but when you finally pull away for air, and robin whines softly against your lips in protest, you can’t help but pull him into another hungry kiss, lungs burning and head dizzy.

his lips slot against yours again after only seconds apart - seconds too long, might you add - and you can’t stop the satisfied sigh you let fall into his mouth.

turns out, it doesn’t matter where you kiss robin because it’s always going to be warm and cosy and romantic and perfect.

as long as it’s with him.

i must admit, i don't watch very many romance movies, so writing this included googling "best movie kisses," and after watching countless videos, i finally ended up settling for a scene from pride and prejudice (2005). a movie that i, admittedly, have not seen, so i didn’t even know they kissed in it. but i thought the dialogue was just too cute! had i not found the kiss scene in pride and prejudice, the alternative would have been that one fountain scene from the princess diaries 2: royal engagement (2004). would’ve been a way different fic, that’s for sure.

#degrees of lewdity #dol #robin the orphan #dol robin #i love robin so much #please direct me towards any and all cute robin content thanks #this is a plea #not tumblr deleting my first painstaking edit of this and ruining my day 🙃#i think the princess diaries version would have been more cute and funny #every time i proofread this piece it gets longer lmfao

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cryptiql · 3 years

Text

riptide

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, some mildly suggestive flashbacks + detailed descriptions of drowning. as always, please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 4.9k

a/n: welcome to the sequel of smoke signals. perish :)

dabi made a mistake. the knowledge sits in the bottom of his stomach like a lump of lead; his innards twisting into a knot whenever the memory of you crosses the expanse of his sleep deprived mind. the burns under his eyes might as well be bags, but they aren't large enough to bear the weight of his guilt. it isn't much better sitting on his shoulders, but the repercussions of pain are what keep him from letting it go, and that's exactly what he wants. no—it's what he deserves. he deserves the feeling like his head is going to burst; the ache in his spine from too many hours spent hunched over himself with a bottle clutched between his shaking hands; the burning intensity from overuse of his quirk. the extra inches of marred skin serve as reminders of what he did, but it's not half as satisfying when the pain doesn't last.

he wants to scratch at the wounds until they ooze that bitter garnet liquid; until he's suffocated by the metallic scent and forced to endure as the taste of blood engraves itself on his tongue when he chokes on it. he wants to suffer—the slower the better—because not even the strongest alcohol can cleanse his sins, nor the stench of his regret.

dabi made a mistake. it won't be the last time, he's able to admit, because his ego is too shriveled from the lack of your warmth, and his heart yearns for the passion of your kiss that still lingers on his lips. when the loft echoes with fragments of the city's ambience, drowning him in an incessant racket, he longs for the lighthouse. this place is infested with selfish ingrates, scuttling about in search of the next outcast to torment, and it makes him wish he still had that safe space at the shore. your siren song was a drug to put him at ease, and now he is without it, and the withdrawal has taken effect.

he knew this would come to pass. dabi overdosed on your love; your affection; your everything; all while watching the consequences unravel at a snail's pace, almost as if he were being teased by the inevitable end. he let it happen. he did this to himself, so he won't shake his hands at the sky, cursing gods he doesn't know exist; as if they would concern themselves with the faults of men like him.

he knew this would happen.

but then, so did you. you had to have known by the empty space in your bed where he used to lay; by the dates that kept getting postponed and the meaningless promises made to make up for them; by the shortage of visits, even just to say "hello" before he dropped from the face of the earth once more. if this were true, it meant that you were suffering just the same—nay, more than him, by forcing yourself into a state of compliance whenever he told you it was time for him to go. dabi could pretend like he didn't see your fingers twitching; resisting the urge to reach out for him; just as he could pretend like the rivulets of tears on your cheeks did not exist, though they begged to be swept away by him. god, he wants to hold your face again, noses brushing together and your dreamy sighs melding with his raspy laughter.

he had told himself that you wouldn't deter him from his goal, but even that seems like a pipe dream now. he feels like an underachiever, chasing a future that can't be set in stone when he already had you, which should have been enough. dabi realizes that the flames of his own passionate desire for freedom have burned you in the process, and it hurts more than he can put into words. you were always better with words, he reminisces, tracing the coffee stained parchment sitting in his pocket.

dabi has long since stopped reading the letters you sent, but he still carries them with him wherever he goes. they anchor him to both earth and sky; the reality that he's lost you, threatening to swallow him from under his feet; and the hope that he'll find you again, one day, after all this is over. "and just what do you think you're doing?"

you can see his reflection in the stove's glass sheen, his mouth drawn up into a devious smirk as he leans on the bedroom doorframe, clad in nothing but his briefs from the previous night. the purplish burns scaling his collarbone and abdomen give him a roguish look that—if you possessed no self-restraint—would normally have you lunging at him like a starved beast. you manage to smirk back at him, subtly shaking your hips while opening the stove door to pull out the doughy mound of bread inside. to your delight, you hear him grumble something not-so family-friendly before he snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. you had never once thought that the feeling of staples against your skin would feel so good, but now you can hardly imagine being without it, and you immediately melt into dabi's touch.

he breathes softly in your ear, chuckling when you flinch in response, goosebumps stippling your flesh. by the way your cheeks puff out in embarrassment, he should take that as a sign to stop, but fuck, your pouting is just too cute for him to resist, especially when your worship-able body is basking in the afterglow of dusk. you keen when dabi starts peppering your shoulder blades with kisses, but nearly dropping the pan causes your senses to return, and you whisper a plea. luckily, he appears to be in a merciful mood, because he relents his onslaught of affection to rest his chin in the crook of your neck.

when he finally notices what you're making, he can't help but squeeze you tighter.

"is that a cake?"

you turn to give him a peck on the nose, which is rewarded with a halfhearted snap of his teeth just millimeters from your mouth.

"that'd be right. though, i'm astonished you know which way is up after last night." your sing-song tone of voice spurs him to squeeze your thigh, and you would have shooed him away if not for how much you liked it. dabi murmurs something unintelligible, the vibrations shooting straight down your spine, and proceeds to remove himself from you in order to better observe the baked delicacy.

"mm. what's it for?" he asks, discretely swiping a bit of the pink colored icing from the bowl to his right. sweet, but not sickeningly so.

you are none the wiser when dipping a spatula into the contents and smoothing it over the cake, a soft smile playing at your lips.

"you never told me when your birthday is, so i'm taking a wild guess. figured i'd whip this up as a surprise, but you woke up earlier than i suspected." dabi swears that his heart is about to burst from behind his ribcage, and all because you're too goddamn perfect. you may as well be a priceless work of art in museum that he's been prohibited from touching. however, the fading marks on your skin signify that he's done more than just touch, and he takes pride in the fact you can't seem to move further than two steps in any direction without faltering.

"i know angel food cake is your favorite—" dabi silences you with a kiss; bruising and passionate; and takes the spatula from your hand, blindly setting it aside on the counter. your protests are short-winded as he lifts you from your behind before promptly turning the oven off and spinning on his heel. he's memorized these halls well enough to not bump into anything during his trek back to the bedroom. you pull away, albeit with a hint of reluctance, just to glare at him.

"what about the—" dabi kisses you again, and while you don't seem too happy about being interrupted twice in a row, the shared heat between your bodies distracts you from being upset.

"you're off by about two months, doll. besides, i think i'd much rather have you as a late birthday treat."

dabi clenches his jaw at the memory, his knuckles whitening with how tenaciously he grips the tattered fabric of his jeans. the league's new base is just as rundown and close to crumbling as he feels, but his despair is masked by the rage that overpowers it. why couldn't you have been a normal couple? why couldn't dabi have grown up with a father who loved him; with a quirk that didn't gradually destroy him and without the resulting scars that made him a hideous monster in the eyes of all who saw him? why couldn't he be as beautiful on the inside as you said he was on the outside? why couldn't he just be happy, after all this time?

why? why? why?

dabi finds his answer hidden in the ashen battleground strewn with rubble and remnants of burnt remains. he finds it in the fear of his victims' expressions before the snare of death claims them in a flourish of blue inferno. it's written there in bold, ichor dripping from his fingers as they smear the message with red.

the privilege of living a normal life is, and always will be, beyond his reach. murder does not warrant mercy, and the only person willing to give it to him is miles away, still desperate for him to come back.

as fate would have it, you and dabi lived worlds apart, but you still look at the same sunset; the same array of stars forming constellations that told stories of your life shared together. they replay in his head like a record stuck on repeat, and only when the song ends does he find himself back in the clutches of his childhood trauma, rather than your embrace.

"dabi? dabi!" his trademark scowl automatically takes place when a finger prods and pulls at his cheek, the familiar voice of twice shaking him from his deep contemplation. jin has been so unfortunate as to suffer minor scorches from the ravenette's flames, on account of him being too bothersome at the wrong moments, and so he instantly backs away at the first indication of danger brewing in the air around him. with how on edge he's felt lately, he really should have gone on a walk to relieve some stress, but the looming knowledge that he can't go to the lighthouse would only ruin the trip.

dabi is fully prepared to smack jin's hand away until he sees what he's holding. he'd recognize that handwriting anywhere, and even without it, the scent of saltwater and freshly baked bread clings to the paper, altering him of yet another one of your efforts to communicate with him. dabi feigns indifference towards the object; quite the contrary to his thinning patience as twice waves it above his head excitedly.

"you've got mail! who's is from? probably a useless nobody! or maybe a secret admirer? but who would admire you?"

to his dismay, the commotion has grabbed toga's attention, and she veers over to their location with a giddy grin on her face. she all but drapes herself over dabi as he snatches the letter from jin, and it doesn't help his struggle when she clings to him like a koala. after a bout of kicking and shoving, he manages to break free of her grasp, grimacing at her lengthy, high-pitched whines of disapproval.

"and can you believe hawks was the one to deliver it? i didn't take him for a carrier bird. . ."

dabi doesn't hear the rest, nor does he intent to, because he's already making his way to the nearest exit with haggard breaths. whoever calls out for him and whatever they say are the last of his concerns right now, and they're abruptly cut off when he slams the door behind him. the summer heat wills beads of sweat to paint his forehead, but he soon finds comfort under the shade of a tree, cicadas buzzing noisily overhead. he would sooner keel over and die than thank the birdbrain hero for catering to him—and by extension, you—but now that the note is there, begging to be read, he can't help but feel some sort of gratitude.

"i need you to do something for me."

the bristles of hawks' feather hover over dabi's pulse in a threatening manner, but he feels no more in peril than he would at the cruelty of a baby chick. he knows the number two hero won't harm him, at least not without regretting it later, and this is the perfect time to use that to his advantage. hawks narrows his eyes at him, nose wrinkling in accord.

"why would i do anything for you after that stunt you pulled?" he snarls, and dabi almost has to laugh at the drastic switch in personality. the way he presents himself to the public is a true contrast compared to the persona only he and the league have had the pleasure of seeing.

"because if you don't, everyone will know you've been fraternizing with the enemy, and we wouldn't want number two falling off his high pedestal, now would we?"

this time, dabi audibly laughs when hawks' guise wavers. the other grits his teeth, slowly withdrawing the feather and allowing it to fall limp at his side. he revels in his victory, short though it be, and reaches into his pocket to procure a letter marked with your name and address. putting your location at the disposal of a hero isn't something he's proud of doing, but it's all he has left, and he doesn't have the resolve to tell you directly.

coward, his conscious mocks as he holds it out for hawks to take. the winged man stares at it with befuddlement, his movements stalling here and there when he seizes the paper between his thumb and pointer finger. dabi tuts lightly but menacingly, yanking hawks towards him by the wrist and igniting his quirk to leave a faint mark there.

"you're gonna deliver this for me, no questions asked. don't you dare open it."

despite the clear uncertainty, hawks took heed of the ominous demand and carried it out later that night. he had not expected a young man with tear-stained cheeks to greet him at the door, much less the endless babble of 'thank you's as you took the letter with shaking hands.

dabi hadn't wished for you to send one back, but the ongoing stream of them was considered fair, after he'd left without much of a trace. still, he had promised himself that he would never read them, for fear of it opening the wound inflicted by having to say goodbye.

dabi can't understand the sudden change of mind for the life of him, and yet, he finds that he doesn't care whether it opposes every rule he set to keep you safe—to keep himself safe. he tears open the envelope and slumps against the tree trunk, bark and leather grating together as he hesitantly unfolds the parchment, briefly shutting his eyes as a last act of resistance to the helpless cry from within; longing for the familiarity of your poetic words. instead of the delicate precision that was to be anticipated, dabi stared down at your messy scrawl, a carnal fear rising from within and causing his throat to clamp up. the memories begin to flash at a faster rate, like an old-timey picture film. dabi has just finished putting the kettle on to boil when hears the floorboards creak, followed by the sound of your slippers shuffling across the floor. he snickers, remembering that the only pair you have is the one he bought you; a well worn match that looks oddly like cloud bunnies. you've made sure to exemplify how much you love the gift by wearing them around the house on rainy or lazy days, all paired with a wistful smile. this morning is no different as you worm your way under dabi's hold and press your face into his chest, a satisfied groan escaping you when he cards his fingers through your hair and scratches the scalp.

the robe you wear is half-hanging from your shoulders, which makes for an enticing view from where dabi stands, but he simply kisses the crown of your head and continues waiting for the pot to simmer.

"did you hear that noise?" you slur, just barely discernable over the kettle's shrieking. dabi quirks a brow in question as you rub the leftover grogginess from your eyes, tiredly nodding at the back window.

"little past midnight, i think. coulda sworn i heard somethin' rifling around in the trash." dabi squints at this new information while eyeing your appearance. the dark circles and intermittent yawning indicate a lack of sleep, and if he weren't there to keep you steady, you might collapse onto the floor as a snoring heap. if it really disturbed him, he should have woken me up, he thinks, pulling you closer with an ever-deepening frown. you snuggle up to him as if it's second nature, sleepily giggling away when his digits stray too close to your side.

"s'probably raccoons, but if you're worried, i can stay longer just to make sure." you look up at him with nothing short of pure, unbridled adoration, cupping his face and squishing it gently, to your own entertainment. after a moment of consideration, you shake your head.

"nah, you're probably right."

the feeling hits dabi like a tidal wave, dragging him below the raging surface; far below where the light of day cannot touch. it suffocates him and brings rise to the sickening taste of bile on his tongue, but he doesn't have time to spare in throwing it all up, so he swallows it. withered patches of grass crunch under his feet as he peels himself from the tree and breaks into a dash, sparing your letter the flames fueled by his anguish as to let it drift in the breeze, the single sentence written on it already engraved in his mind.

it wasn't raccoons.

dabi doesn't care what shigaraki will have to say about this when he gets back. the only thing he cares about is that you'll still be alive to say anything to him when he reaches you, and that whoever has invaded your home is willing to die for what they've done, or what they're currently doing, and fuck—he isn't even sure if this is you calling for help or not, but he can't risk being right.

the distance between the base and the lighthouse feels lightyears apart, yet simultaneously at arms length when dabi is running at speeds he hasn't ever been able to achieve before. if he stumbles at any point during his sprint, or if he happens to bump into an unsuspecting civilian on the street, he doesn't notice. the resonant thumping of his own heartbeat is all that he can hear as he thanks the gods for the flow of traffic being so spaced out, otherwise it would be near impossible for him to reach you in time.

in time for what? he has to ask. dabi doesn't even want to think about the repercussions, but the scenarios arrive in rivulets despite the mental trapeze he goes through to push them down, and they only continue to grow into oceans; darker, colder and harboring thoughts too gruesome for even someone of his caliber to handle. he won't realize until much later that he'd forgotten to put on his disguise, but the way people ogle at him with fear and disgust does not suppress the need to protect you.

even now, he can sense the pressure building behind his eyes, though it's more painful that it used to be. dabi hasn't cried in months, and it shows by how unabating the rivers of blood trickle from his skin grafts, despite his feverish attempts to stop them. look at yourself, holding together by a thread and weeping in public like a child whose lost his mother in the crowd. it wouldn't have come to this if he had stayed.

something shifts in the scenery; a distinct line drawn between the city and its neighboring countryside; but it makes no difference to the impending peril that looms ahead. the closer he gets, the sooner he'll find you waiting for him, dead or alive. dabi staggers, his breath hitching at the thought, as well as the harsh sting of pain that erupts when his knee collides with the gravel below. he pushes himself forward in little time, a strangled yell ripping his throat raw as his vision settles on the top of the lighthouse, peeking over the hillside. you have to be there—you just have to. he isn't done with you yet, and you're sure as hell not done with him.

the earth is damp beneath his feet, and it soaks through the canvas of his shoes whilst he darts past the boulevard and onto your property, crying out to you. surely, you must hear him. surely—

dabi practically hurls himself at the front door, his blood running cold when it opens for him effortlessly and swings ajar to reveal the living room, upturned and scattered with broken bits and pieces of furniture. there's no sign of you or whoever did this. the oakwood flooring groans under his weight as he barrels down the hall, peering into every room, beneath your bed and any other place where you could be hiding. nothing. his search ends in vain at the front doorstep, where he stands hunched over and dry heaving. no, no, no. you can't be gone.

"y/n!" he shouts. his only response is the crashing of waves against the shore and the incessant cawing of seagulls. for a moment, dabi forgets how to breathe, and then the ability returns to him; his legs aching horribly as he rushes to the beach. the arrangement of rocks is sporadic at first, but they gradually form large clumps the further he carries on, urging him to squeeze between the narrower openings. it comes with some difficulty, but at last he is able to hobble onto the sandy coast and rest his sights upon the vast sea. he can recall when seeing its murky blue sea would have put him at ease, but now it only causes his senses to be clouded with distress.

"y/n!" the once calm ripples rise into rolling billows that drench the shoreline in frothy heaps of algae, wreckage and blood. it curls and disbands within the ocean to pollute its cerulean hues with ones of scarlet red, and just like that, dabi's heart sinks like the titanic. he'll never forget the sight of you, face-down in the water; your favorite shirt slashed to shreds, clinging to your body as nothing more than a tattered mess. dabi wades into the water until it reaches his ankles, completely numb to its freezing temperature as he sinks down to hoist you up. he rests you on his thighs and presses his lips onto yours with urgency, shortly pulling back so that he can thrust his palms upon your chest and push. he doesn't care to remember how many times he repeats this, but when he finally sits back on his haunches to release a stifled curse, the feeling of dread has only just begun to take control.

you've never looked so pale.

a guttural sob wrenches itself past his grinding teeth as more tears arise, dappling your cheeks like raindrops. it wracks his body and sends forth a surge of agony to course through his veins. dabi cups your face with a shaking hand, the other secured around your waist while he kisses you, his erratic pleas falling upon deaf ears.

"come back. . .come back." his bawling ceases to end, no matter the abrasive pain blossoming in his gullet.

"c'mon, doll. where's that sweet voice of yours?" his thumb strokes your bottom lip as though beckoning you to speak. when nothing follows, he makes a pathetic sniveling sound mixed with something broken; a blubber or whine, he does not know. the burden of your lifeless form causes the reality to set in; a dagger piercing his insides and twisting as to drag the most blood-curdling screams from him.

dabi loved you, and he wishes he had the strength to say it when you were still there. it was only within the presence of his own demons that he was able to utter his affections; curled into himself and waiting for a reply that would never come, carried on the wind that bit his skin. he loved you because you held him like a child when his father hadn't even the heart to acknowledge him as his own. you spoke his name—his real name—as though the blood on his hands was not there; like you had washed it away yourself through acts of tenderness that he did not deserve.

and now you're gone.

you're gone, and—

dabi's entire body jolts with a start, a familiar heat dancing across the grafts of his marred skin. a faint blue glow radiates from his fists, which are tightly fastened the weighted blanket that lays crumpled atop his legs. he lets go with a shuttering gasp, observing the black smudges that reside where his flames once were, then blinking owlishly at his surroundings. the room is shrouded in darkness, all save for the bedside table to the left of him that is dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp. that, and the spaces illuminated by the moon's brilliance, showering the floor with multicolored spots as it glistens through the stained glass window. something slots into place, but all it does is send dabi's mind into overdrive.

where is he? where are you? are you really dead? everything hurts.

his nails drag down the length of his arms, seeking some sort of comfort in the pain that blooms there. it doesn't last long, however, when the bed suddenly dips, and a soothing warmth is placed on the small of his back.

"touya?" you croak, your words lingering with the remnants of sleep. dabi—no—touya, swears that he could cry again, right then and there. his eyes flit over your torso, where several scars in varying sizes have desecrated the skin. as he idly traces the pink lines, one final memory surfaces from the depths of his subconscious. him, desperately pounding your sternum; the last threads of denial snapping in tune; and you, coughing and spewing both curses and whatever seawater that had clogged up your lungs. touya held you in that same position for hours, listening as your ragged wheezing turned into hiccupping sobs. hauling you inside had been no easy feat, and having to hear your muffled groans while he stitched you up by the crackling hearth was no better, but the evening after had been pleasant.

you could not recollect the face of the intruder, and with such little information to go off of, touya was left to wallow in self-loathing for love he had almost lost. no amount of therapy could prevent the following nightmares and panic attacks, but in time, the rekindling of your relationship was proved successful, and dabi was prepared to repay you for the moments where you consoled him.

it wasn't just a dream. it had all happened, and yet here you were, alive and well.

a pensive look crosses your features when you note how quiet touya is, and you take it as a sign to break the tension with a tried-and-true method from the past. he doesn't resist as you coo softly, pulling him under the covers and wrapping yourself around him, a garbled tune fleeing from past your lips before you press them to his shoulder. you trail the faintest of butterfly kisses along his neck, his jaw, his cheeks and so on. the anxiety coiled in touya's chest starts to untangle, leaving him as a trembling bundle of nerves in your arms as you shush him, your nimble fingers carting through his hair.

if he weren't so tired, he would have laughed at how the tables have turned; with you cradling him in the way he's so used to doing. still, not even he can deny that it feels nice to be held like this.

"s'alright sweetheart. i'm here. . ." you whisper, and the effect is instantaneous. touya stills as he inhales the scent of buttercream and fresh pine that wafts into the bedroom, his eyelids fluttering shut. all he can hope for is that your presence will drive away any nightmares that foreshadow his well-needed rest, and that when he wakes up in the morning, you'll still be at his side.

dabi made a mistake, and thousands more will come to pass, because underneath the grit and grime that makes up his callous exterior, there is a human being; struggling to survive and struggling to please, just as much as the next. but he'll never leave you again. he had promised you as such with the band of gold now encircling your ring finger, and as long as he lives, he'll never break it.

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