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feralforfrank · 2 years

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ENCHANTED.

BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW X FEM!READER

summary (based on enchanted by taylor swift) you're visiting your childhood friend, natasha, when your eye happens to catch a very attractive pilot.

cw SOOOOO MUCH FLUFF. friends to lovers! NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.

a/n i'm kinda proud of this one. there's goingnto be a part two someday.

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It was a hot Saturday night when Natasha—your childhood friend—invited you to the bar she frequented. After officially settling down in North Island, she had begged for you to take as many days off from work and visit her. And, of course, you couldn't say no to her.

A messily packed suitcase and a tearful reunion later, Natasha led you inside the bar called the Hard Deck. You could describe the atmosphere as anything but dull. Old music played from a jukebox. Men and women wearing uniforms and civilian clothes conversed and drank. You shrunk in yourself as some turned with a curious glance towards you.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to my friends," Natasha yelled over the chatter and music.

You pushed past the crowd to the pool table, where a few people your age greeted Nat. A guy with glasses waved, and you realised that it was Bob. He was the only guy you knew from the countless times he'd popped in while you were facetiming Natasha.

"Hey, guys! This is my friend from home." Natasha went ahead and introduced you as you awkwardly waved at them.

After Natasha introduced her friends to you, you excused yourself to get a drink. Nerves were eating you from the inside out. Nat seemed relaxed around them, but you barely even knew them. You needed to chug a drink or two to gain confidence.

There I was again tonight;

forcing laughter, faking smiles.

You spent most of the night conversing with Nat's friends, occasionally cheering her game of pool against Hangman—or Jake, as he had politely asked you to call him. Too polite—in your opinion—his words bordering on flirty. Although you seemed fine from the outside—all smiles and laughter—guilt consumed you.

You wanted to go, but the problem wasn't Nat or her friends. It was you. You felt too awkward to open up to anyone, especially some of the guys who were complete flirts, clearly trying to get in your pants. Of course, you laughed at their jokes and entertained their discussions, but it was draining you.

Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy

vanished when I saw your face.

All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you.

Your eyes lazily looked around the packed bar after Coyote left you to play darts with Hangman. Nat was still playing pool with Bob on her side, but her opponent was now Payback, with Fanboy cheering him on.

As soon as he walked in, your eyes locked on his figure. The way he carried himself made your jaw drop ever so slightly. He wore jeans, a white tank top, and a yellow Hawaiian shirt, with sunglasses resting low on his nose. Who wore sunglasses inside, especially when it was almost dark outside?

You watched him greet people as he made his way to the bar. Penny, the bar owner who had introduced herself to you, gave him a beer before he could speak his order. So, he was a regular. He leaned at the bar for a second, looking around—probably trying to spot his friends.

His eyes fell close to you, and he smiled, pushing himself from the bar and walking to—what you quickly realised was—the pool table. Oh, shit. You watched as he greeted Nat with a smile and a hug. Does he know her? Do you know him? Your eyes never left him as you tried to figure out if you knew him. Nat had introduced everyone to you...So who was he?

Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?"

'Cross the room your silhouette

starts to make its way to me.

You didn't have time to react. The stranger's eyes met yours. He squinted his eyes in question. Fuck. He caught you staring, shit. You try to look away—it's the polite action to do—but you can't bring your eyes to move. And then he excuses himself—you read his lips. And he's walking towards you.

Your cheeks are heating up faster than a plane's engine, and you subconsciously tighten your grip on the beer bottle. The stranger is smiling—smirking, actually, knowing he caught you staring.

The playful conversation starts.

Counter all your quick remarks,

like passing notes in secrecy.

"You know, it's rude to stare," he says while making himself comfortable on the chair next to you.

"Who told you I was looking at you? Maybe I was glancing around, or perhaps, I was looking at my friend, Nat." You tried to play it cool while desperately trying to hide your trembling hands.

"Oh please, I caught your stare as soon as I walked to the bar," he countered.

Your blush deepened. "Sure, you did because you can see so clearly with those sunglasses." The playful sarcasm was evident in your tone.

"I'm Bradley Bradshaw," he extended his free hand, "but my friends call me Rooster."

You turned to face him with a questioning smile. "M-My callsign. I'm in the Navy." He added.

Oh. He's the Bradley. You finally shook his extended hand, telling him your name in return. "You're the Bradley Nat always complains about ruining her clothes."

"Hey! That was one time. And it was my first time doing laundry. It's not my fault!" You laughed at his defensive tone.

"Yeah, but I was the one she called to fix her clothes! You know how hard it is with the time difference and all?" You both laughed.

God, his laugh was so beautiful, and his neck, biceps, nose, jawline, cheekbones—everything really. Your gaze fell to the floor as your blush rose on your cheeks and ears again.

"So, what do you do?" His voice was soft and curious.

You scratched your neck. No one had asked you what your profession was ever since you'd gotten here.

"Um, I'm a teacher—kind of. I help elementary kids with speaking or writing disabilities—like a tutor. I have five students so far, and I go to each house for a few hours to help them with homework and work on the lessons ahead."

You were proud of your profession. It was rare for teachers to take on such big responsibility, but you loved teaching and kids. It's the perfect combination for you. Plus, it didn't matter where you moved, for there's always a child in need of you, and you're glad to help.

"That sounds so cool." Bradley beamed, and you chuckled.

"Not as cool as being a pilot. How's that working out for you? Got any awards yet?" You lightly elbowed him.

His head snapped to your side, a confused smile adorning his face. "How'd you know about that?"

"Nat told me one of her friends was getting an award for saving an old guy or something. I assumed it's you because there's no way Hangman could be getting it." Bradley snorted. "Am I right?"

He just nodded with a smile, sipping on his beer. "It's my godfather, yeah. But I don't really see a point to this. I rescued him because it was the right thing to do, not because I wanted an award." Show off, you think.

"You're a hero to our nation, anyway." You turned to face him. "Thank you for serving this country, sir," you saluted him, trying to keep your expression serious.

"Stop," Bradley whined, turning away to hide his blushing cheeks. His grin widened, though.

"What? I'm being serious! Take me seriously—what is it? Is it Lieutenant?" He nodded lightly. "I'm being very patriotic, Lieutenant Bradshaw!" Your giggles were on the verge of becoming uncontrollable.

Bradley couldn't help but laugh. "Are you drunk?"

"No, I just like watching you blush and squirm away," you snorted.

"You're a menace." You shrugged in response.

This night is sparkling—don't you let it go!

I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home.

You hadn't had this much fun in so long. You found yourself entertaining Bradley and his silly questions about everything—apparently, since you're a teacher, you're a walking encyclopedia—all night. At some point, Nat called for Rooster to play the piano, and your conversation was cut short.

The disappointment you felt dispersed as soon as you heard him sing. Great Balls of Fire, an ancient song you had a special spot in your heart, resonated through the bar. Bradley played the piano expertly and sang like an angel. The whole bar joined him, most patrons using their beer bottles as microphones. You hugged Natasha sideways, your eyes meeting as you screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs.

After a few songs, most civilians went home, leaving only the pilots. You yawned against Nat's shoulder as you listened to Jake narrate a story. Your phone read thirty minutes past midnight, and you decided it was time to head home—a small house by the beach you'd rented for two weeks.

"I'm going to head out," you whispered to Natasha, who nodded and patted your thigh in goodbye.

You slipped unnoticed since everyone was invested in Hangman's story to see you leave. You waved goodbye to Penny, who nodded back with a smile and continued wiping the counter.

Your stomach dropped in disappointment as soon as you stepped outside. You wanted to say goodbye to Bradley, but he'd excused himself to the bathroom, and he hadn't come out when you left. You'll see him again, though. Right? He was Nat's closest friend after you and Bob, so there was no way he'd leave your sight anytime soon.

You fished for your car keys, only to realise that Natasha had driven here. "Fuck," you muttered.

"Hey." You spun around, startled.

There stood Bradley, a small smile on his face, his hands buried in his jeans' pockets. You softly smiled back, your stomach doing multiple flips. His glasses were perched on his tank top, and you could see his eyes now. The sky was dark, but the moonlight and lights inside the bar made him look more attractive than ever.

Good fucking god, you were shamelessly checking him out.

"Are you waiting for someone?" He asked, bringing you out of your trance.

The knowing and growing smile on his face told you he had caught you checking him out. Again. Heat rose to your cheeks for the umpteenth time tonight.

"No. I just realised Natasha drove here, and I have to Uber home." It sounded like an exhausting nightmare.

"Sounds exhausting," you snorted. "Come on." Bradley signalled for you to follow him, but you froze in place, staring at him.

He stopped next to a Bronco—you should have guessed this car was his. "Are you coming or what?"

You snapped from the trance his action had set you in, speed walking to the car door and opening it. The seat was comfortable, and a content sigh escaped your lips. Your back hurt from the uncomfortable way you sat all night. So you leaned back and closed your eyes for a second, relishing how your spine relaxed.

During those seconds, Bradley leaned over and buckled your seatbelt, causing your eyes to open again. You could smell his cologne. It was fucking intoxicating. Did he actually just put your seatbelt on?

"There you go. Just don't fall asleep on me before you tell me where you live." You chuckled tiredly.

After giving him your address, your head turned to the window. You watched the scenery go by, very aware that you were in Bradley Bradshaw's car, which also smelt like him. A blush covered your cheeks and—you were pretty sure—your ears and neck. The man was driving you crazy, and he didn't even know.

The drive was over quicker than you wanted it. The music playing in Bradley's car—old eighties songs—was comforting. The smell of the sea and his cologne in your seat were soothing. His presence, alone, calming enough for you to escape in a state between blissful sleep and consciousness. Why did it have to end?

"That's the house. Right there."

"Oh, you got a garden?" Bradley asked curiously, and you couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, yeah. You should see the backyard! It's full of flowers and three apple trees!" Your smile caused his to widen.

"I'll come around soon, then. I wanna see that view." His tone was soft, and you wondered if he meant something else.

You nodded. "I could give you my number?" Was that a desperate move?

Before you had time to rethink, he beamed at you. "Yeah! Put it on my phone, and I'll text you."

Your fingers brushed, and tingles shot up your spine. It felt like you'd just gotten electrocuted. Oh fuck. His hands are...nice.

Your exchange was short, and you got out of the car a blushing mess. After shutting the door, you looked up for the last time to say goodbye. Bradley was already looking at you with an unrecognisable look in his eyes.

"It was nice meeting you, Bradley," your words were almost a whisper.

"You, too, sweetheart."

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew,

I was enchanted to meet you.

He waited for you to unlock the door, get into the small residence and switch on a light. He saw you through the open curtains as you threw the keys and phone at the kitchen table, deciding he had been enough of a creep and finally drove away.

You heard the Bronco's engine come to life again—when had he shut the engine?—and speed down the empty street. You moved to the window, watching the headlights disappear.

"It was lovely to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw."

The lingering question kept me up.

2 AM, who do you love?

I wonder 'til I'm wide awake.

You're crawling under the covers in no time. Your thoughts are racing a hundred miles per second. The only thing in them is Bradley Bradshaw. You can't understand why he has plagued your mind.

You wonder if he has someone. He has a charming smile, a kind heart, not to mention a remarkably fit body and a steady job. He was in his thirties, making you the same age as him or a year or two younger. He even was at the right age to have a family, but you spotted no ring on his finger. Your heart fluttered with hope.

Fuck, you turned to your left side. Does he look like he's good in bed? I mean—he has this look that screams big dick energy, but is that a thing? Well, you'd love to find out.

What about his girlfriend?

The thought lingered. Bradley had been friendly all night, but there was no sign of a girlfriend. Maybe she wasn't a pilot. And she may not even enjoy crowded bars. Or maybe, there is no girlfriend.

But what if he likes someone? Like a crush?

God, these thoughts were ruining your scenario-making. It was true that there was always a possibility he had a crush on someone else. But the sheer need to feel loved and appreciated—the exact emotion Bradley had awakened in you tonight—was overpowering the insecure thoughts and fuelling the butterflies in your stomach.

Who do you like, Bradley Bradshaw?

You turn your head to look at the digital clock on the bedside table—it reads two fifteen in the morning. God, I need to sleep.

And now I'm pacing back and forth,

wishing you were at my door.

I'd open up, and you would say, "Hey."

But you can't. So you drag yourself out of bed, thinking that maybe cookies and milk will do the trick. You grab your phone from the nightstand, press on Netflix, and then Friends. Balancing your phone on the coffee pot, you searched the cupboards, looking for the Oreo cookies you'd stuffed earlier.

God, what is this infatuation? I just met the man.

You bite the cookie as you pace in the small kitchen—from the entryway to the fridge and back. You wish you could've said more. It was nice meeting you, Bradley—come on, that's so stupid. I think I fell in love with you at first sight is a much better sentence.

I wish he were here.

The thought caught you off-guard, but you didn't hate it. You'd love to have Bradley here, watching Friends and munching on Oreo cookies instead of day night-dreaming about him.

You worked the scenario in your head. You'd be asleep when he knocks on the door. You'd have that cute messy hair look and sleepy expression on your face like the girls in all the movies you watch. You'd unlock the door and look at him. He'd be panting for some unknown reason—maybe he ran from his car to my door (I don't know, the guys in movies always try to catch their breaths)—and he'd throw you a casual but oh-so-raspy-and-sexy hey.

You snorted, and suddenly, the picture in front of you dissolved. Jesus, I need sleep and to get out of the house more.

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#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster fic #miles teller #miles teller x reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun fic #fluff #fluff and romance #mutual pining #frank writes

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 9 months

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May I please request Daemon Blackfyre with the prompt: Summer Wine? (Feel free to delete this.)

Hello!Thank you for the request! I confess I have not yet reached the part of Daemon Blackfyre in Fire and Blood, but I will try to do my best. I hope you like this!

"Redgrass field"

Pairing: Daemon Blackfyre x Fem. Reader

Themes: Secret love / Lost love / Angst

Warnings: Alcohol use | Brief mention of kissing and intimate activities (very very brief and very very mild)

Word count: 600 approximately.

Summary: It is not everyone who captures Daemon Blackfyre's especial attention. But what happens after that?

Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

You could still remember the first time you saw him.

The bastard son of Daena the Defiant, the one known to all as Blackfyre, rode up to the lists, all proud and tall and fierce, with his beaten silver hair and bewitching lavender eyes that could beckon even the most resolute of maidens like a siren's call. His silver spurs jingled sweetly even as they glinted wickedly in the brilliant summer sun. His milky white courser had been resplendent in red and black silks that swirled around it whenever it broke into a run.

It was the most beautiful of days, all bright and golden and glorious. The crowd roared every time Daemon broke his lance and unhorsed his opponent. They would gasp when his foe fell to the earth with a sickening clangor. They would applaud when the fallen knight struggled to his feet. Daena would cheer louder than all the rest, her eyes filled with unbridled pride. Daemon was her child, her light, her life, and her joy. And yet, it was not her he sought out, but you. Out of all the ladies present, Daemon sought you out.

"Victory would be all but assured, sweet lady," he had declared, "if I had the great honor of wearing a token of your esteem."

You honored him, bestowing upon him not just a bejeweled token but a great many other things even as the days melted into each other. It was you he came to for companionship; it was you he turned to in the dances. He would tenderly lead you, his feet as light as air, his touch as gentle as a feather. His laughter would ring across the grounds, as clear as dawn bells. There was magic as light and sweet as summer wine, and the two of you drank deeply during those heady nights.

Oh, how heady indeed were those nights. Daemon wooed you and courted you, his kisses tasting like strawberries and cherries and bright spring mornings. His hair smelled like warm summer nights. His skin tasted of sunlight. You both knew it would never last, for he was the son of a Targaryen princess, and you were of little consequence to be considered a worthy consort for one such as him. Still, the two of you made the most of what the Gods gave you that season, delighting in summer days and summer nights and sweet, sweet summer wine. And when he left, you wept not, content to hold onto the memories that kept you warm many a cold autumn night, thinking that perhaps, some day, he would come for you and take you for his own.

That would never be. He wed another, quarreled, and warred, and now you were here, in this faraway field, standing before the great winged warhelm that was all that remained of his grave marker. The wonder and terror of his age, your summer love, snuffed out in the blink of an eye. If you did not weep then, you wept now, your eyes filling and stinging with uncontrollable tears. Did he think of you, of those glorious days and nights the two of you shared? Had he ever considered seeking you out, even for a moment? Unspeakable grief welled up and spilled over like a mighty flood. The lady he would go on to marry had his children. You had nothing of him, save for his winged warhelm, and, of course, the memories of summer days and summer nights and sweet, sweet summer wine.

#daemon blackfyre #Daemon blackfyre imagine #Daemon blackfyre x reader #x reader #reader insert #house targaryen #asoiaf #asoiaf imagine #asoiaf x reader

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tiutale · 7 months

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The overwhelming din of battle had finally settled. Days of fierce back and forth between Morgoth's forces and theirs had led to exhaustion. Many casualties. More injured than their healers could manage. Fingolfin limped over to the edge of his tent. A spear had surprised his open side while he had been locked sword to sword with three opponents. His armor had held but barely. His broken ribs did not fare so well.

Exhausted he wondered at what priority should have his focus. His people he had already spoken with. Helped care for some while he awaited his ribs being wrapped. And the slash on his leg he had not even felt. He had seen to the beginning burial for their kin. The cooks were in high spirits as they welcomed them home with hot meals. It amazed him what they could do with so little.

A soft sound at the over the distance drew his eyes. Rochallor stood over a downed horse. Feet curled under it looked exhausted though unhurt. Rochallor was nosing it softly. He smiled. Limping over to the two he gave a soft whistle. Both horse's ears turned to him. But neither looked. Reaching for a bucket of feed and water he ignored the anger of his injuries bringing both over.

"Eat valiant one. You have carried your rider well. I know the grief you feel at his loss is beyond measure. I assure you he will be properly mourned."

Rubbing the horse's velvety nose he sang a song of mourning. The horse drank after. He did not expect it to eat. Rochallor bumped his head against his shoulder. Smiling, he burried his face against the strong solid neck. The first tear was held at bay. "Your herd has served us honorably dear heart. It grieves me to see them so weary and hurting."

Rochallor flicked his tail swatting flies from his tired herd mate. Air puffed in a warm snort. He was proud of his herd. Worried for his Nolo. His lips nibbled at the lose strands of dark hair falling from Fingolfin's tigh warrior braids. He would not see his friend face his own grief alone. His herd was safe. Their fallen mourned. Now he could care for this one.

Fingolfin smiled tiredly as he felt his hair tugged. "I know. I will rest when all is settled." He laughed softly wincing as his ribs protested at Roch's indignant snort. "Aye. Do not chastise me for that which you are avoiding yourself."

Rochallor's ears swivelled out annoyed at the truth of his Nolo's words. His herd was well he would sleep when his last herd mate would rest. Would grieve. He could smell the sorrow trapped within. He would not let it fester this close to the Dark thing. Stepping forward he lowered his head. His neck level with Fingolfin's face.

He allowed the warmth of Rochallor's body to engulf him for but a moment. His hands came up to bury in the braided mane. Pressing his face against the horse's neck he inhaled the scent of beast and blood. The first few tears were unfelt. Until a small quiet sob followed.

Rochallor stood still. His ears attuned for interruption. He would bite any who dared. Quiet. Steady. As this elf had been for their herd mates and his own. Rochallor stood silent and still a gentle heart shielding his herd mate from the horrors around them.

Fingolfin did not allow his emotions free reign for long. Pressing his wet and reddened cheek against the coat of his horse he sighed. He did not speak. Simply moved his fingers to each of the horse's favorite scratch spots. Rochallor's groan of joy made him smile through his sorrow. "I will see your herd fed and watered. And blankets brought before we settle for the night. Thank you my dearest heart."

Later that evening after Fingolfin finally laid upon his bed a shadow moved quietly through the camp. No one is certain how it occurred, but rumors spread swiftly through the camp. Their King's guard found him sleeping peacefully beneath Rochallor's blanket. The horse's head resting on the side of the bed. His ears pinned in annoyance at the intrusion.

#Nolofinwe #Rochallor

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thewritingowl · 6 months

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Hey!!! First, thanks for the tag --- second: I am morally obligated to ask about the 'Danny Cannibalising Himself' wip because holy hell that's speaking to me I neeeeeeed to know 🙏🙇‍♂️

Ah, of course, thank you for the ask!!! I figured that one would catch somebody's attention, lmao.

(For those reading, this ask is about this post. :) )

So I have a history of self-injury (I'm currently 9 months and 2 1/2 weeks clean), and I've found that writing gore really helps with my urges. This fic was born out of a really intense moment of intrusive thoughts and self-injury urges and just ended up becoming a plot hook that I actually find really interesting. I haven't worked much on this WIP in the past few months, but looking back at it, I definitely want to get more into it. This kind of gorey moment led to me wondering what it would be like if the League of Assassins found an immortal Danny (who is closer to a Death God than regular person at this point) and tried to clone an army of him. However, they keep coming up with imperfect clones because they test the clones by having them fight Danny and he just keeps killing them. Just a very traumatized boy who eventually gets found and taught how to be (somewhat) human again. :) Here's a snippet under the keep reading bar! Please be warned there is some cannibalism, depersonalization, self-injury (kind of, it's a clone), and general gore.

Danny stopped wondering if he was the real Danny.

Or at least, he thought he had. Staring down his opponent, he found he wasn’t sure anymore. They panted in sync, wounds symmetrical as they circled each other. Maybe he was fighting a mirror? But then they pounced at each other and Danny felt the scraping of claws as he snarled at himself. Pain raced up his back, but he was quick. Had to be quick.

Killing himself shouldn’t have become so easy.

Danny snapped his own neck, watched as the body fell to the ground and bright green ectoplasm trailed from its lips. Danny reached up to his own lips, pulling back to see the bright red staining them. Okay. He was real. He thought.

Still, his audience was waiting, and Danny knew if he didn’t take advantage of this then he’d have to wait another week. His stomach growled, and Danny sunk to his knees. The body felt warm. Most bodies felt warm when they first died, Danny thought. Their hearts still pumping blood, though the clones could never quite replicate blood like his. They either ended up too human or too ectoplasmic. Never striking the right balance.

It helped, he thought. Or at least he liked to think.

He tore straight into the clone’s thigh, skin digging under his nails. He carved the meat out with far too much ease, holding the sickly green soaked chunk, red flaking the sinews as Danny shoved it in his mouth. Raw meat exploded across his tongue, and he kept digging. Ripping his own corpse apart as he gorged on his own meat. He wanted to be mindful about it, but he couldn’t. Not when the whispers grew louder, and his time was running out. He broke his own ribs off, sucking out the marrow and sipping at the blood that ran through his bones.

Ectoplasm always quenched his thirst better than blood could.

He sank his teeth into his own heart, and it burst with a pop in his mouth. Ectoplasmic blood drenched his tongue, and Danny drank as deeply as he could. The whispers grew frenetic, but Danny was still so, so hungry. He reached back for the corpse as a rope caught his neck. He snagged his own arm, tearing it off. He held it close as he was drug back to his cell. Surely the whispers wouldn’t let him keep a precious gift like this. Thrown onto the moldy straw bedding, Danny resumed his consumption. He wondered if he should hate himself as he bit into his own arm, tore its flesh off the bone.

By the time the whispers returned, not even the bones were left.

#cannibalism #Starting off the tags strong #self-injury #self harm #dpxdc #Owl Writes #dpxdc fanfic #Just a snippet though #gore #cw: gore #Danny is having a Rough Time #Thank you so much for the ask! I hope I didn't write too long of a response lmao #Honestly get me started on any of my fics and I *will* talk your ear off #I have so many thoughts and ideas #Thank you again for the ask! It was a really nice surprise to wake up to. :)

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who-is-this-weirdo · 2 years

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I finaly got time to write down this idea I had

The sun shining above him was beating him down with each of it's beams. He had gone far too long without water. He fell to the ground, in his own blood. He gave a look at the corpse of the creature beside him. Daevas, it was a daevas. He heard the word before, in whispers of the elders. His people feared them, hated them. Ironic, pathetic even, that he was dying side by side with it.

They looked very little alike. The Daevas was tall, wide, muscular, with dark red-ish skin and dark fur running down it's back, two sets of black horns on it's head, little spikes on it's back and elbows, and tusks. He was tall, for his specie yes, but was little compared to his companion of grave, slim, dark scales but of a sandy hue, long black mane, his fangs where hiden.

The most striking difference was their eyes. The Daeva had thoses eyes, yellow turning amber near the pupils, they looked like jewels, even in death. His, never had any color, there wasn't much difference between his eyes in death and when he lived, at least, he guessed so. He felt alone. He still had some strength left in him, he wanted to get closer to his opponent. He didn't wanted to die alone.

He wanted to get closer, to huddle next to the creature, just to feel something holding him as he was dying. He wanted to feel ... loved. He was sent here by his people, to deal with an army, without anyone by his side. Not a single one of his friend, not even his partner, proposed to accompany him in this ordeal. The heat was scorching him alive. Burning him. The call of the void was getting stronger.

He closed his eyes. Then, a voice came, calm, collected, deep like an abyss. And he felt something, wrapping around his body, he was pulled toward something, he didn't felt the scorching sun anymore, just the strange material, neitheir hot or cold, smooth, it kinda felt like the scales of a bettle or a scorpion. The words spoken by the thing weren't clear to his ears. Just a rumbling, like thunder.

" Get him water and something to eat. Now. "

Thoses were the first words he understood, his eyes were too heavy to open, he let out a pleading noice, pathetic that a warrior made that sort of sounds, really. He tried to move, but find he couldn't, he had no strength left. He was prisoner to his own body. Every fiber of his being asked him to fight back, to get away from the thing holding him but he couldn't. Father was right about him.

Then, he felt as he was layed down into something, soft, warm, as something that felt like a claw was tracing down his back. He felt something cold beung brought near his mouth, something that felt like a cup. He drank, it was water, at least he thought it was. He drank until the cup was taken away. He tried to open his eyes again. Something was wrong. The thing standing in front of him.

" Ah, you are awake, good, good. "

The most accurate word he knew that could describe the thing was ... a shadow. It wasn't accurate enough thought, a shadow doesn't have that distinct shape, a shadow is flat, a shadow isn't glistening and a shadow doesn't have dozens of red eyes on it's ... torso ? Shadows don't have thoses strange horns that looked like branches of trees. Terrified, he was terrified, tears running down his face.

" Well ...? Was half expecting that to happen, even though I hoped not ... "

" Demon ... "

" Hmm ? What is it ? "

He didn't notice thoses words escaped his mouth, if he did, he would have prevented them. Trembling like a leaf he stared up at ... the thing ...? Tears still running down his face. What have he done to deserve such a thing ? He was always the most obedient of sons. He told no one what he saw his father doing to Qayin, how he saw his father put something in the food of his brother. Never.

" I feel fear coming from you. It isn't deserved, I won't hurt you. I asked my servant to get something for you to eat, you'll feel better afterwards. What's your name young one ? "

The thing asked for his name, never tell your name to a demon, his mother alway said so. The thing, the demon, however, seemed to get somewhat impatient. He couldn't die like that, could he ? His reason and his instinct were arguing loudly in his head.

" We found this your highness, will it be enough ? We can find something else ... "

" It will be enough, cook it, I'm not sure if they eat raw meat or not. "

" Good, we're on it. "

The attention of the demon was back on him. The thing reached a claw to him, scratching his back, looking at him but ... also looking somewhere else ? The claw was the size of his head, if the thing wanted, it could kill him in one swing of one claw.

" It has been a long time since I saw one of your people this close ... we'll talk after you've eaten. Is that good for you ? "

" Y-yes ... th-thank you ... "

He thought he had stopped stuttering a long time ago, his father always got angry at him when he did. But what else could he do in front of that thing ? Did the other voice called it "your highness" ? Who is this ...? He already met people from his tribe ?

Something approached, it looked somewhat like the daeva he had killed some time ago, widely different thought. It was holding a sort of plate, with meat on it, cooked meat. Just the scent of it drove him to sat up, he was starving, a pleading growl escaped his throat.

" Hungry hm ? Go on, eat young one ... "

It was an instruction he could only obey to, the moment the plate was layed down in front of it he mumbled a "thank you" before immediately tearing throught the items on the plate, the meat was flavourful, tender and just perfect, everything he could have craved.

" Well, how long have you been alone in the desert, you were starving ...! "

" Huh ... father send me there ... a mouth ago I think ...? It's ... blurry ... who ... are you ...? "

The demon smiled, it felt like that at least, was he amused ... or delighted ...? Why would he thought ...? Now that he thought about it. The demon looked familiar, well, he never saw it but ... he described him ... kinda like ... that thing the elders where talking about.

" Too many names to remember, your people call me the scarlett king. Who are you ? "

A chill creeped up his spine, then, when the word finaly fully registered a wave of confusion crashed down him.

No, the story didn't told of a somewhat respectfull creature, talking calmly, full of hospitality. He was supposed to be a danger.

" My ... my name is Hewel ... "

He said without really thinking about it. The demon smiled, it wasn't of amusement, but of delight. But why ...?

" Oh, nice to meet you Hewel ... seems like it was destiny then, I have a deal to make with you, the best part, you have nothing to loose. "

" What ... is it ...? "

" What about we take a walk, so I can explain "

#scp foundation #fanfic #scp 076 #the scarlet king

21 notes · View notes

rayslittlekitten · 2 years

Text

Hot Ones

“Crush” Masterlist

A/N: So there's probably going to be more of these little snippets and moments of BFF Benny and reader because I enjoy doing stupid fun things with Benny.

Rating: T

Word Count: 939

Pairing: BFF! Benny Miller & BFF! GN!Reader (reader is F in some of the other fics in this universe, but this can be read as GN)

Plot: You and Benny take up on a spicy challenge.

Contains: cursing, shenanigans

You’re sitting across from your best friend with both of your palms on top of the table and the two of you are sizing each other up. Benny’s eye twitches slightly as he stares intently at you. It’s the same look he has on his face right before he touches gloves with his opponent. Your finger twitches.

“Last chance to back out. You don’t need to prove yourself,” Benny tells you.

“You don’t either. I know you won’t survive this so you’re just trying to scare me into backing out so you don’t have to go through this,” you shoot back.

“Oh, trust me. I don't need to prove anything to anyone. I know I got this.” Benny tilts his chin up higher and puffs his chest out a bit further.

“Uh huh. Bring it," you nod to him.

“Alright. First one. Let’s go!”

You and Benny grab the first fried chicken wing that you each have lined up in front of you. Each wing is coated in the hot sauce that the bottle is aligned with on the table. The both of you eye each other while devouring the wing. Benny quickly gets the meat off the bone clean before you do.

"Okay, that's not so bad. How are you doing?" you ask Benny.

"Not even a tingle." Benny drops the empty bone onto the dish without breaking eye contact or flinching.

"Ready for the next one?"

"Let's do this."

The two of you reach for the next one in line and again, devour it as quickly as you can.

"Okay, okay, there's a little kick," you breathe.

"You need some milk or something?" Benny teases.

"Pft. No." You lick the excess sauce off your fingers. "Ready for another?"

"I've been ready. Just waiting for you to catch up," Benny taunts.

The third wing gets annihilated in the same fashion, but Benny starts to slow down.

"You alright there, Benny boy?" You ask with a raised brow.

"Never been better," Benny sniffles and then coughs.

20 minutes later...

The front door opens and in comes Santi and Will, who is holding a case of beer. They find the two of you moaning and groaning at the humble dining room table. Benny is sitting back and looking at the ceiling like he's contemplating his life decisions while you are bouncing around on your feet and fanning your mouth with your hands.

"What the fuck, guys?" Will walks over to them. "What happened?"

"Ben... Benny dared me to do that hot sauce challenge," you manage to quickly croak after sucking in some air to try to cool down your mouth.

"This was your idea!" Benny shouts. His eyes are pink and tears and snot are dripping down his red sweaty face. "And now I'm gonna die!" he sniffles.

"Will, we drank up all your almond milk," you tell him.

"What? I just bought that yesterday!"

"Also, almond milk doesn't help." You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and start doing breathing exercises, hoping it'll make it less painful for you. "I still can't feel my lips."

Santi walks over to join the rest of the group and curiously looks at the hot sauce bottles.

"Why the hell are you guys even here? Why couldn't you do this at one of your places?" Will places the case of beer on the table.

Both of you still feel like you're breathing fire. Benny starts taking a big gulp of ice water.

"That's just gonna make it worse, man!" you warn him.

Ignoring you, Benny thoroughly rinses his mouth with it before finally swallowing it.

"You have an air fryer. We've never used one before," Benny finally answers. "I think my intestines are gone. It feels like I swallowed fire and I'm getting burned from the inside out."

Will looks over at his kitchen to not just find his air fryer clearly used, but also opened and empty bottles and cartons of milk, juice and other drinkables mostly from his fridge all over the counter top. He also notices his small tub of Ben and Jerry's sitting by the sink with a spoon in it. He was saving that for a cheat day.

Santi reaches for a slightly eaten wing off Benny's plate and takes a bite.

"Rest in peace, Pope," you say, then brace yourself on the back of a chair and hunch over, hoping that changing your position might help you.

"This is what you both are crying about? What is this?" Santi picks up the hot sauce bottle. "‘Da Bomb’?"

"Everyone suffers through that one," you groan.

“I don’t get it. I don’t feel— ooh there it is!” Santi's face perks up.

"It hits you later. You’re going to be in so much pain—“ Benny cries. "I'd rather get shot right now. That's how bad this is."

“I like this. It tastes pretty damn good. I like the spice level too. Muy picante," Santi says without even a little hint of any effects. "Hey Will, we don't need to order pizza for the game. We got these wings."

"Fuck that shit. Those are all yours if you want 'em. I don't do spicy well and I'm not dumb enough to try," Will shakes his head.

"What?! How the hell?" Benny turns to look up at Santi who is obscenely polishing off the wing. "I use to eat packets of hot sauce straight up with no problem when I worked at Taco Bell!”

"Taco Bell hot sauce? Benjamin, you are adorable.” Santi licks his fingers clean before reaching out to pinch Benny's face, but Benny dodges him.

#Garrett Hedlund #Garrett Hedlund fanfiction #Benny Miller #Triple Frontier #gn!reader #triple frontier fanfiction

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sundaysundaes · 3 years

Text

Thirst

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff | 3.8k | Vampire AU

Summary: You have walked the earth for more than a hundred years but your eternity finally means something the second you meet a human boy with smiles brighter than the sun.

Warnings: Vampire!Reader X Human!Hyuck, unprotected sex, blood sucking

“Wait, ah…”

You pull back at the sound of his voice, fingers squeezing his upper arm. “Nervous?”

Donghyuck throws his head back and runs a hand over his face. He averts his gaze, slightly hiding behind his lean fingers. “Of course, I’m nervous,” he confesses, the tip of his ears turning scarlet. “I have a cute girl sitting on my lap, about to drink blood from my neck—how could I not be nervous?”

You reach out to him, gently running your fingertips at the side of his throat, and see him swallow hard at your touch. You can hear his heartbeat soaring, which only fuels your thirst for his blood. It has been days since you last drank from him and the flame in your throat is scorching. You know that if you don’t do something about it fast, you’ll lose what’s left of your humanity.

“Hyuck…” You plead, gripping against the collar of his black shirt. “I’m… I really need to drink…”

All the anxiety on his face is replaced instantly with concern. “Shit, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, unfastening two of his top buttons to reveal more of his collarbones. The previous bite marks have begun to fade on his skin, appearing almost as faint as the little mole he has on his Adam’s apple. He’s beautiful, so beautiful, that if your mind wasn’t too clouded with the thoughts of consuming human blood, you would praise and cherish every little detail of his features with your lips.

Donghyuck closes his eyes, eyebrows adjoined in the middle in anticipation of your bite. His hand is fisting his collar, slowly tugging it down to reveal more sun-kissed skin to your glowing eyes. “H-have it your way.”

The way he’s reacting like a child curling up in fear of a syringe being plunged into their skin, makes you feel contrite but there’s no other option but to consume what he offers. Otherwise, your thirst for blood will drive you to the brink of your sanity, forcing you to do something even more terrible to him.

You try your best to divert your attention and focus more on trying to comfort him, even when your entire body nearly blazes in flame. Softly, you brush your lips against the column of his throat.

Donghyuck shivers, his breathing tatters. “Don’t—“ He curls his fingers, nails sinking into his palms when he feels your mouth move to lay wet kisses down his chest. “Don’t do that, please.”

“I’m trying to calm you down.”

“Well, you’re doing the opposite 'cause then I’ll be nervous for an entirely different reason.” Donghyuck brings the back of his hand to his mouth, murmuring the words against his skin. But despite the heat that warms his cheeks, he does seem a bit more relaxed, slightly smiling sheepishly at you over his flirtatious words. “I’m fine, just do it.”

You nod, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. Caught off guard, the blush blooms a little wider on his face but he tenderly strokes your cheek. “We’ll do that again after you’re finished,” he promises, “A lot of that.” His hooded eyes are captivated with the way your lips glisten under the slide of his thumb. “Right here.”

You smile in return. Landing yet another soft kiss to his jaw this time, you extend your fangs and make your mark.

Donghyuck winces away from the pain of your cuspids puncturing the skin under his jaw, right between the earlobe and the collarbone. His hand immediately finds your shoulder, fingers twisting against the fabric of your dress. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes shut close as he endures the pain, but in the next few seconds, his breathing gradually becomes slower.

His head swirls as the rush of endorphin fills his system, elevating him with bliss. He slides his hand down from your shoulder to your arm, resting it on the dip of your waist. You can hear him curse under his breath but he slowly relaxes, his body reclining with you pressed tightly against his chest.

“You’re not so gentle today, are you?” He chuckles softly, slurring a little bit as his thoughts become hazy with ecstasy. “You don’t usually bite me like that.”

You can’t respond, too busy drowning in the pleasantness of his blood.

“So serious.” He quietly laughs. “Well, I guess, it has been a while since we did this so you must be very thirsty.” His free hand slips around your neck, tangling your locks around his fingers. He lets his lips brush against your strands as he murmurs, “I’m sorry… It must have been painful.”

It was painful. So painful that you were about to lose your mind, but with Donghyuck’s arms wrapped around your body protectively, his warm skin under your fingertips, and his sweet, sweet blood on your tongue, every pain, every suffering, every torture you’ve experienced vanishes into a blur.

“Calm down,” he whispers, his honeyed voice soothes you more than anything else in the world. “You don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

And as he relishes the feeling of your tongue on his skin, your teeth sinking to draw even more blood, he closes his eyes again, and witnesses a flashback behind his eyelids.

Eight years-old Lee Donghyuck stood on the frozen ground with his tiny gloves covering his trembling fingers. Smokes of warm breaths were clouding over his mouth. His teeth chattered from the cold; a weird, repetitive melody to his ears. And although his tears were no longer falling, his reddened cheeks were still lined with them.

“Jaeminnie…” He sniffed, one arm hugging himself by the waist while the other one moved to rub his puffy eyes. “Jaeminnie, where are you…?”

His warm chocolate brown beanie was no longer covering his head—a small reminder of how he had previously tripped himself and scraped his knee on the way down. It hurt. His trousers were ripped open from the fall, enough to show the small bleeding wound on his right knee. Kissed by the cold, his ears were red to the tips, freezing.

He was alone. And lost. And no matter how much he called out for Jaemin’s name over and over again, no one ever came to reply.

Losing strength, Donghyuck fell to his knees. His gloved covered fingers sank into the five centimeters deep white snow and he began to cry, as loudly as he could, just like how he usually did at nights when he was too scared of the monster lurking under his bed.

He cried, and he cried, and he cried, and then he stopped.

He was not alone.

Donghyuck had his gaze on you; his big, watery, round eyes blinking in surprise. Your dress was tainted with splotches of red, fresh liquid that dripped from your chin as you just feasted upon a human. Turning around to look at him, Donghyuck noticed something peculiar.

Your eyes were glowing, strikingly so. Even in the darkness, even when the moon didn’t set afoot to shine that night in the silenced forest, Donghyuck saw them shining like the stars. And they were brighter, much brighter than anything he had ever witnessed.

The little boy stopped crying and gazed back at you. But no matter how cold your eyes were as they raked in his features, Donghyuck was not as much afraid as he was curious of why you could stand in the middle of December, wearing nothing but a sleeveless knee-high summer dress. And he was still starstruck with your glowing topaz eyes.

When he reached out a hand, you took a step back by instinct. Humans made you nervous, especially after your last encounter with the hunters. The memory of one of them nearly driving a stake into your heart made you more cautious than ever, even when your opponent was only a child.

Donghyuck stood up and dared himself to take another step and this time you bared your teeth in response. Your natural human face suddenly dispersed into a form of fear the second Donghyuck saw your teeth.

They were fangs, small but sharp enough to tear skin apart. You snarled, like a beast in a corner, ready to pounce when threatened.

But Donghyuck’s fear only lasted for a minute, while his curiosity and admiration lasted forever.

“You…” Donghyuck spoke, his voice quivered from the cold and perhaps, excitement. Blood was still dripping from the corner of your mouth and he saw a long cut, spreading from your right palm to her wrist. “Are you hurt? You’re bleeding…”

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, blinking twice before your shoulders began to loosen.

“If you’re hurt, I have band-aids,” Donghyuck said, immediately shoving his small hand inside his pocket to grab two blue band-aids with soccer balls printed on them. He showed them to you, his teeth still chattering from the cold. “See?”

You examined him more, looking for any kind of sign that he might be a threat to your existence but it was no use. Donghyuck was as harmless as he was adorable. He didn’t even have the strength to keep his little, stubby fingers steady from the cold.

“Why are you crying?” You asked instead, standing a little better in a less offensive stance.

Donghyuck finally remembered. “Nana… Jaeminnie’s gone… He fought with his brother so we went out here to have some time for ourselves but… But we got separated and now he’s gone...”

“In the woods like this?” You wiped the blood off your mouth with the back of your hand. “What, do you want to die? It’s not safe.”

“N-no—I don’t want to die… I didn’t mean it to be like this.” The little boy shook his head. “I was just trying to help… Jaeminnie looked sad and I wanted to help…”

You fell quiet for a moment, noticing how Donghyuck’s eyes had turned watery once again. You retracted your hands, no longer had your claws out to defend yourself. “Maybe your friend’s already gone home first.”

“Y-you think?” Donghyuck’s eyes grew hopeful and that was when you realized that the boy was not crying because he was lost in the woods late at night, nor was he crying because he thought his friend abandoned him. Donghyuck was crying because he was worried sick about him. “W-well, if he’s home then that’s great… I really hope he’s with his family again… Fighting is bad…”

So frail, you thought, humans are so frail. Leave them and they cry. Break them and they die.

You sighed. You couldn’t find the heart to leave him alone.“Come with me,” you said, “I’ll help you find your way out of the woods. You can check whether he’s home or not after that.”

And Donghyuck was not one to think twice when people offered him help. With a bright smile, he let his little feet carry him closer to your spot. “I’m Donghyuck,” he said, smiling brightly as he stood beside you. “And you are?”

You glanced at him, noticing how his bangs were fluttering from the winter breeze. His nose was red and his skin, although it was slightly tanned, was thin and easy for you to sink your teeth into if you wanted to.

You told him your name and you had to repeat it twice until he could pronounce it correctly. He smiled even warmer. “Your name is pretty. Just like you, Noona!”

Noona? You almost snorted. When was the last time someone ever called you that?

But you kept yourself in silence and although you appeared cold, Donghyuck managed to find your charm in his own way.

“Can I hold your hand on the way out, Noona?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, brat.”

Twenty years-old Lee Donghyuck smiles at the memory, even when he’s somewhat dazed from the chemical of your saliva. He embraces you tighter, sighing close to your ear, “It took a while before you warmed up to me. I’m just so glad you accept me the way I am.”

That’s my line. You close your eyes, fingers curling against the back of his shirt. You can faintly hear his heartbeat growing slower and during the time you begin to worry, Donghyuck caresses your cheek.

“Can we…” He breathes heavily. “Stop for a moment?” His head swirls, always an aftereffect from having his blood sucked more than he can contain. But even then, he still smiles like always.

“Oh…” Embarrassed and startled, you pull away, immediately wiping the trace of blood on the corner of your lips with the back of your hand. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… Umm…” Donghyuck witnesses your fangs before they’re fully retracted, as you turn away, shy and ashamed, hiding the only thing that distinguishes you from a normal human.

Donghyuck smiles wider, and wider, until he produces this little chuckle that always sends a trickle of warmth and desire through your soundless heart. “You’re adorable, come here,” he says, hugging you from behind and tugging you closer to his chest, your intertwined hands lying idly on your lap.

After years have passed by since your first encounter, Donghyuck has become stronger and taller, with broader shoulders and veiny muscles appearing along his wrists. You, in return, stay as young as always, never changing. But like this, sitting above his thighs and curling up to his chest, you look like a normal girl, perhaps even a few months younger than he is.

“Hyuck...”

“Hmm?”

“Did it... hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?”

You don’t indulge him with his jokes. “When I bit you, did it hurt?”

“Yeah, but I like it.” He grins, placing his chin on your shoulder. "Seems like I’ve developed a kink for it.” When you don’t mirror his laugh, he embraces you tighter. “I’m fine,” he whispers to your ear, tickling you with his warm breath. “Just a little low on blood, but come on, it’s nothing new.”

You don’t say anything but Donghyuck understands how guilt is gnawing at you from the inside. “Hey,” he gently turns your body around until he has his eyes peering into yours. You’re reluctant, not sure how to face him with the look of guilt on your face. “I said I’m fine. Can’t you see?” he coos, smiling with his chocolate brown eyes turning crescents. “Don’t look like that. You know I don’t like it when you’re blaming yourself for drinking my blood.”

“But it’s…” You nibble on your lower lip. “It’s not right.”

“You’re just filling your needs,” Donghyuck corrects you. “What’s wrong with it? I do it all the time. Think about this as your late-night snack.”

“Hyuck, I’m snacking on your blood.”

“And yet you’re the one who complains about it. You see how weird that is?” You shoot him a glare but Donghyuck counters back with a pout—a habit from his childhood days that somehow only occurs more often now that he’s an adult. “Look, I volunteered to do this. I want you to drink my blood.” He swats the bangs out of your eyes, leaning close. “I’ll be pissed-off if you drink from someone else, actually. You’re supposed to be mine, just as much as I am yours.”

It’s funny how you’re superior than him in terms of experience, strength, and possibly anything else, but he shamelessly talks like he owns you. And you don’t mind, not at all, because after living behind the shadows for so long, it’s nice to have someone as bright as the sun holding you captive under his light.

You trail your fingers through the blood on his neck, painting his skin with crimson. “I’ve made a mess,” you mumble to yourself and Donghyuck stiffens, even stops breathing for a second. You dip your head into the crook of his neck, darting out your tongue to wipe the rest of his blood away, slowly and gently so you won’t scrape his skin with your fangs.

“Don’t hold back.” He holds you closer until your teeth are grazing against the supple skin. “It’s okay if you want to do it again.”

The temptation is too much, too strong, and you can’t find the will or strength to decline. “T-then... Just a little more.”

Donghyuck’s ragged breathing devolves into soft moans that ring in your ears, and you want him so desperately in every sense of the word. “Fuck, it’s so weird that it feels this good,” he sighs, the back of his head pressed against the wall behind him. “Do I taste this good to you too?”

You hum, squeezing his shoulder.

He smiles between deep sighs. “Then, I guess, we’re both each other’s drugs.”

You only take a sip of his blood and lick the rest until nothing seeps out from his wound. Donghyuck is in a haze, eyes nearly closed when he smiles softly. “Are you done?”

You nod, wiping your mouth clean. “Thank you.”

“You’re being too formal.” He titters. “But you’re welcome. Anytime you want.”

You don’t really blush, not when you’ve lived for more than a century, but Donghyuck has his way to break into your facade and knows when he’s succeeding. He says there’s just something in the way you avert your gaze, the way you lick your lips nervously, or the way you put a hand on his chest as if you were about to push him away, but at the same time, making sure that he stayed near.

Donghyuck understands all that. He knows you like the back of his hand.

“Listen to me,” Donghyuck says, cupping your face with both hands so he can stare directly into your glowing eyes. “If you ever crave for blood, you come to me, okay? I won’t let you starve. I won’t let you die. You can drink from me, as much as you want. I want you to.”

You’re surprised at the sudden pressure on his words and Donghyuck’s hands are hot, nearly scorching compared to your icy cold skin but they’re comfortable. He reminds you of the sun, of its heat on your skin during the day, reminding you how good your life was as a human.

“But I’m not even alive, Hyuck,” you say, smiling weakly as you lean more into his touch.

“Scientifically, no.” He shifts closer to press his forehead against yours, his heat seeping through your skin. “But to me, you’re much more alive—and you make me feel more alive than anyone I’ve ever known.”

You want to meet his eyes, but his stare is directed to your lips. “Is that a compliment or a white lie?” You whisper, and his eyes grow half-lidded when he sees you moving your lips to form a sentence.

“It’s the truth.” Donghyuck swallows the soft noise you make directly with his mouth, lips slanting against yours perfectly like pieces of a puzzle. He groans from the back of his throat when he tastes a hint of his blood on your tongue, kissing you deeper with more passion.

Being with Donghyuck is suffocating and it’s funny because you don’t even need to breathe to live. It’s suffocating in the sense of how desperate his kisses are, how there is only one innocent kiss at the beginning that only lasts for a few seconds and then vanishes entirely, changing into hard, bruising, deep ones that feel possessive and dominating.

But being with him is also comforting. He gives you solace you don’t know you need. His touch, a stark contrast to his kisses, is gentle, almost silky smooth whenever his hands glide on your skin. He’s the only one who knows how to make you laugh, even when you can hardly remember how or the sound that you make when you do. His laughter is contagious, his protested whines are both annoying and endearing. He’s the fire that keeps you alive.

“Hyuck—” You circle your fingers around his wrist, feeling the heartbeat that faintly beats under the skin. “Wait, you’re losing a lot of blood—”

“I don’t care,” he gasps against your mouth, yanking his hand from your hold so he can cup your cheek. “I’m fine, so let’s just—“ You let him overpower you for once to do as he pleases and he pushes you down to the carpeted floor, crawling on top of your body. “I want you—for two weeks, I’ve been—I’ve missed you—”

Donghyuck is adorable when he wants something so desperately, like the way he furrows his eyebrows as he runs his fingers on his keyboards. The way he’s shouting a train of expletives at his computer screen before he leaps out of his chair, punching the air when he finally completes the mission.

Donghyuck is captivating when he desires to achieve something in his life, like the way he practices dancing over and over again to earn a scholarship to college. Or the way he told you he loved you a few months ago, and no matter how many times you said no, telling how ridiculous of him to even think about being with a vampire, he never relented.

And Donghyuck is beautiful—so out worldly beautiful—when he wants you.

It’s beautiful, the little moan that escapes his lips when you touch him back. Even the slightest touch at the right spot can make him shiver and he blushes when you notice him react that way, immediately saying, “It’s just cold here, okay? And your ice-cold skin isn’t helping.”

It’s beautiful, the way a bead of sweat rolls down his temple as he’s sheathed deep inside you, not quite moving yet as he tries to catch his breath, his cheeks flushed. “You’re driving me insane,” he confesses, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, grazing his lips against your skin as he sighs. “Can we stay like this forever?”

It’s beautiful, the way he laughs when you answer him with, “Actually yes, we can, if you’re willing to be turned into a vampire.” The appalled look on his face only stays for a split second before he beams at you, his smile bright enough to replace the sun. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he giggles, taking your earlobe between his teeth as he whispers, “Any man would be happy to sacrifice their souls to be able to make love to you for eternity. Including me.” And as he moves back to your lips, he adds, “Especially me.”

It’s beautiful, the way he throws his head back in pleasure at the feeling of you clenching around him. The way he murmurs expletives while biting his lip as he brings his eyes down to you. His expression is erotic, his voice obscene, his lips are parted and bruised. His hands are on your knees as he spreads your legs apart, pushing himself deeper inside. “I can never get enough of you. I—“ He flinches when his thrust hits your sweet spot and you squeeze harder around him in response.

It’s beautiful, the way he rambles when the sensation becomes too much. “The way you feel around me—” He places open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hips moving frantically at a faster pace. “Y-your entire existence—” His hand heads over to your breast, his thumb sliding over your nub. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And it’s fucking beautiful, the way he says your name in a soft gasp as he comes inside you, his arms trembling when he places them on the floor on each side of your head to keep him from collapsing on top of you. His temple is pressed against your collarbone and he quivers when you kiss his hair. His lips immediately chase after yours when his name escapes your mouth, and he kisses you again, and again, as if he hasn’t been kissing you a thousand times already.

“Stay with me,” he begs, his hooded eyes nearly hidden behind the bangs that are damp from his sweat. “I’ll keep you alive—as alive as you make me feel so please just…”

Don’t leave me.

***

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le-poor-writer · 3 years

Text

Serve at First Sight (Kageyama Tobio x F!Reader)

"I bet I can..." Hinata mumbled and narrowed his eyes at him.

"Hah?" Kageyama glared back. "What did you just say?"

"I'm not good at setting. BUT I BET I CAN HIT THE LONGEST AND FASTEST SERVE!"

"IS THAT A CHALLENGE?"

"YOU WANNA GO NOW?"

"Uh... Kageyama, Hinata, Stop messing around or else you'll get an earful from Daichi-san." Yamaguchi tries to mediate the situation. The last time the idiotic duo did something stupid, all the first years had to run extra laps. And he was not up for that today.

"No use talking to idiots Yamaguchi." Tsukki sneered. "They have an IQ capacity of a teaspoon."

Hinata stood at the line of the court, deciding to go first. Throwing the ball into the air, he jumped as high as he could. As if he were a crow that leaped into the sky. His ball managed to land a good one meter away from line of the opposite side. A loud bang resonating the court and he beamed smugly at his tall opponent. Kageyama had a ball ready in hands as he took Hinata's place. Itching to outperformed the record set by the orange-head. Closing his eyes, he briefly replayed Oikawa's diabolical jump serve from their previous practice match. He knew he was a hundred years too early to be able to do that. Doesn't mean he won't try his luck though.

With a deep exhale, he took flight. Blocking out all sounds surrounding him, save that of his squeaking shoes and the volleyball as he slapped it forward. The stinging sensation felt on his hand causing him to grin. Not quite like Oikawa's, but still powerful. This is it, it will definitely plunge further than Hinata's. And it did. The ball flew pass that one meter mark. And hit a person. Kageyama's eyes blinked twice before the situation finally seeped through his thick skull. He had hit someone's head! Suddenly he could hear his surroundings again. Hinata panicked scream. Yamaguchi running towards the unfortunate human being who fell to the ground. Tsukki trying not to laugh at this slapstick comedy.

Kageyama sprinted towards the person. A hundred thoughts running through his mind. Is the person alright? Is he going to get in trouble with Daichi for this? Where are the third years anyway? Most importantly, when was that person there? How is it he did not notice them? What were they doing there in the first place? Surely no one would actually collapsed from that hit, right? He stood behind Yamaguchi who was trying to communicate with the seemingly unconscious person. And that was when Kageyama noticed, the person was a girl. A petite girl. He kneeled beside Yamaguchi. She seemed to be a little pale.

"Hello?" Yamaguchi tapping her shoulder. "Excuse me, can you hear me?"

No reply.

"KAGEYAMA KILLED SOMEONE!" Hinata hollered.

"What are you going to do now Kageyama?" Despite knowing that she only passed out, Tsukki decided to humour Hinata.

"I'll take her to the nurse's office." Immediately he carried her and jogged out of the court. Hoping not to run into anyone. Especially Daichi.

He couldn't help but glance at her face every three seconds. Wondering if she will wake up midway. But she didn't and that worried him more. If it weren't for her soft faint breaths he would have thought that he actually committed manslaughter with his jump serve. Besides, she has such a small frame. He was afraid if he really did break her. Kageyama held her closer to his body. Noticing how she fit snugly in his arms. And when looked closely, she's actually really cute. A blush spread quickly all over his face. What was he thinking? He doesn't even know her.

~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) blinked slowly. Feeling slightly dazed.

She woke up late today, all because of that stupid extra Japanese literature homework that had to be submitted during first period. And because she woke up late, she skipped breakfast. She wanted to get something during lunch, but had to drop by the school library to return some books that were due today. Well what do you know, apparently everyone needed to return their books today. If she had known she would've asked her friends to at least get her melon bread. She had about 10 minutes left before lunch ended, but she ran into her senior and was reminded to submit the club activities report today.

It was so hard to focus on classes for the rest of the afternoon. She drank lots of water in hopes to delay the impending dizziness. It was somewhat working. She only needed to wait until clubs and activities time. She'll get a sugary drink from the vending machine, then tell the club leader that she's going to head home early. But karma really had to be a bitch today. Her wallet was not in her bag. (Y/n) dreaded the fact that she might have dropped it somewhere. Searching for her wallet with this now nasty migraine is really going to be such a pain. That is until she suddenly remembered she left it in her drawer at home. She had forgotten about it amidst the rush.

(Y/n) crouched in front of the vending machine. What are the gods playing at exactly. Is it really so hard to get a single bite? Is this karma for denying Mr. Snuggles his treat last week? Well it was not her fault that he knocked over her pudding off the table! She was on the verge of tears when she heard the sound of volleyballs. Oh right, the vending machine was sort of close to the volleyball court... Didn't Yachi say she was recently the co-manager for Karasuno's volleyball club along with that beautiful senior Kiyoko. There is hope. She only needed a little money to get that small carton of drink.

She stood up quickly and regretted it. God, this migraine is killing her. With every ounce of determination she had left, she dragged her feet towards the court. Swaying a little every now and then. The sounds were getting louder, The ball hitting the court, shoes squeaking and people yelling? This is a good thing, it meant that she was getting closer. This is also a bad thing, because it's splitting her skull. Everything around her blurred as she entered the hall. Shit, where is Yachi? She took a few more steps before she felt a hard impact on her head. Dear lord that hurts like hell. And she lost all control of her body before everything went black.

"Oi." a gruff voice distracted her thoughts.

She sat up immediately. Hitting her head on the bed post in the process. She has realized by now that she must have passed out and someone from the volleyball club took her to the nurses office. It must have been this boy sitting beside her. But that still didn't mean she wouldn't be caught off guard. She has always been somewhat intimidated by the male species. Especially those tall towering ones that had to bend a little to talk to her. It's one of the unfortunate things one has to endure being 4'10 and having a small frame. People often joked that she could fit in a suitcase. Though seeing her other shorter friends did brought her pleasure, it still doesn't change the fact that a lot of people around her were giants.

"Idiot."

"Excuse me?" she glared. What's the big idea calling her an idiot out of nowhere. He was the one who surprised her. Sitting on a stool at her bedside, ain't that too close for a stranger, sir? Who is he again? The volleyball club is pretty popular here in Karasuno after they managed to get into the finals of Inter high recently. It was unfortunate that they lost to Aoba Johsai, but everyone acknowledged what a monster the school was. Yachi said everyone felt down but it didn't dampened their spirit, for their next chance will be the Spring Tournament.

"S-sorry." the guy replied.

Dark eyes darting away from her face. She could make out an intimidating look on his face. Eyebrows furrowing sternly. Lips set on a grim line. Yet his cheeks flushed. Or was it because of the orange hue from the setting sun (she couldn't really tell), which also made his black hair glow. It dawned upon (y/n) that if he could just smooth away his frown, he would be handsome (she thinks). And if only he weren't being gruffy. Wait a minute. Tall volleyball player, black hair, intimidating frowning face but yet somehow still good looking?

"I'm Kageyama Tobio-"

"I know."

Silence... Well that was awkward.

She cleared her throat. "I'm (L/n) (Y/n). From Class 5. Um, Yachi's friend."

"Oh." Shoot. He didn't know she was Yachi's friend. What will the manager say about this. "I'm sorry. That my jump serve knocked you out."

"No no no! I was actually a little hypoglycemic. So your uh, jump serve was just the final nail in the coffin." Damn, she knew that getting hit by any ball was going to hurt. But the ball just now, it felt like it could tear her head off. Or maybe that's just an exaggeration of being starved the whole day. She realized his expression went from frowning to horrifying. "N-not that it will literally be the final nail to my coffin! It was just an expression. Maybe not a good one. Sorry I'm just bad with words when it comes to strangers. I mean not that you're an absolute stranger. It's just that- I'm sorry, I'm blabbering too much."

"Not at all!" he yelled. Ah, he got too animated. He didn't understand why. But he just thought everything about this girl is cute. From her petite stature that makes him want to shield her from the wind. To her way of talking that showed just how shy and awkward she was as how it is with him. Trying to reassure him that it was fine. He couldn't understand this sudden grip in his heart and the tingling sensation at his fingertips. Though maybe it was because he hasn't touch the volleyball for a few hours now.

Another awkward silence ensues.

"Anyways," (Y/n) was still a bit shy. She was after all talking to one of the most popular boys at school. But seeing as how he is now, she thought she could loosen up her guard a bit. "Have you seen my glasses?"

"You wear glasses?"

They rushed back together to the volleyball court. Yachi attacked her with a hug as she lamented about the news she heard from her fellow peers. Daichi scolding him to be careful next time whilst Tanaka giving him his infamous gangster glare. Hinata coming forward with his head down as he presented (Y/n)'s broken glasses. He accidently stepped on them when he was panicking, though he only realised it when she was sent to the nurse's office. Her glasses must have fallen off her head when she got hit. That hard huh. Really God, you want to test her that much today. Fine, she'll apologize to Mr. Snuggles when she gets home.

Unbeknownst to her, Kageyama felt even worse than earlier. His ball caused her to knocked out, and now it even knocked off the glasses from her head and broke it. Stuttering on his words, he apologized again. Hands balled into a tight fist. He just felt so bad. Suga noticed how dejected he sounded. But he also noticed how pink his ears were. Oh? Well even if it wasn't what he thought, there was no harm in... light teasing. Besides, they'd looked adorable together, no?

"If you really feel guilty. Then you should walk her home today." slinging his arm over Kageyama's shoulder, Suga tried to keep a neutral expression. Well there was a slight smirk, but he tried. "What if she falls down on her way home? Or run into a pole?"

"I am short-sighted Sugawara-senpai. Not blind." (Y/n) said through gritted teeth. Really these eyesight jokes should be old by now. "Besides, I will need to stop by the optic shop to have new ones made."

"All the more for him to accompany you. It will get dark soon. Might be dangerous to be walking alone with such bad eyesight."

"Oh no, I wouldn't want to burden-"

"Let's go." Kageyama interrupted. And when she declined again, he argued back. "Stop being a stubborn idiot. You still haven't eaten, you can't see well and you're so light that people can just easily carry you away."

Did he just called her an idiot for the second time in the short the period they have known each other. How rude! Not that his points were invalid. He was right. But boy does this person lack delicacy. In the end, she agreed to let him accompany her. He bought two cartons of milk from the vending machine. One for each of them, and they set off on their merry way.

~~~~~~~~~~

"No- Okay. Once again. Osmosis only works with solvents. Simple diffusion, both solvents and solutes. So in osmosis, solvents will move from low solute concentration-" (Y/n) stopped explaining when she noticed how Kageyama's brows were almost touching. His lips formed a small pout. "You know what, we have been revising for more than an hour. Let's take 5. Then continue for another hour. It's getting late and although my mum likes you, my dad wouldn't like you being in my room for too long."

Ever since that day where he sent her home, she began hanging out more with Yachi and the volleyball club. Not that she never hung out with her close friend, it's just that (y/n) felt out of place when she mingles with unfamiliar crowds. But now that every member knew her as the girl who got hit by Kageyama's jump serve, that became the basis of her acquaintanceship with the club and she got to hang out with Yachi more. And before she realized it, Kageyama has just been around her circle. Always there. Heck he has been walking her home more often now that even her mother likes him. Then they became just friends. Or she hoped it stayed that way, because she noticed her emotions began crossing unknown territories.

(Y/n) has come to learn a few things about Kageyama Tobio over the course of their friendship. One, he is an obsessed volleyball freak. A prodigy people say. But what (Y/n) sees is a person consumed by passion for the things he loves. And that isn't necessarily bad. Two, he can be quite childish. He fails to control his frustration which later comes off the wrong way whenever he expresses them. But really he means no harm, because when he is happy, he expresses them genuinely. And three, he is quite sensitive. He may want to show that he didn't care, but he actually takes things to heart. He may feel down about a comment, but he will learn to improve from it.

"Sorry."

"What for?"

"For having to teach an idiot like me."

"Oh stop it. Everyone is good and bad at something. We can't all be the perfect prodigy. That's just how things are. You may be bad at studying, but with your volleyball skills I bet you can represent Japan one day." noticing his eyes lit up, she continued. "So in order for you to attend your camp. Let's just try our best okay?"

Kageyama nodded. It was a little embarrassing to have her comforting him like this. But at the same time it brings him immense joy. When he first met her, he would get flutters looking at her cute appearance. Now, he just feels all warm and fuzzy whenever she talks to him. He liked that she didn't judge him or anyone she's ever met. She would scold him sometimes, but at the same time explained her reasoning. And he really appreciated that, how patient she was with him. It does make him guilty, but at the same time he wants to start behaving better. Is this what Suga meant when he said he has a crush on (Y/n)? Kageyama doesn't really know. He will need time to analyze everything.

"(L/n), do you have time during our Spring Tournament?" he tried looking anywhere else but her face.

"You want me to cheer on the club? Sure thing."

"Yes." Hearing her reply made him smile. With a steady gaze he stared straight into her eyes. "Watch me play, (y/n). I'll show you a really strong serve."

(Y/n) could only smile back as she felt butterflies in her stomach. "Then we better get back to studying."

#kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fandom #haikyuu fanfiction #karasuno #short reader #kageyama tobio x (y/n)#kageyama x fem reader #haikyuu fanfic rec #cute #haikyuu fluff #oneshot #one shot #accidents #haikyuu oneshot

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forcebewitht · 3 years

Text

The Loving Curse Of A Wicked, Beautiful Queen Of Mean (Overblot!Vil Schoenheit X Reader)

(Fanart Link: https://twitter.com/mtzk00/status/1349799061218488322?s=19)

A sigh was all too quick to escape your lips as you observed the spectacle that was going on. You had been receiving bad vibes from Vil here and there for quite a bit now- and it was finally time. You just knew. Grim and yourself decided to hide behind a corner to spy on Vil. His body was honestly rather rigid...yet loose as he walked. Like a doll that had learned to walk and was preparing to swing out a long, thin arm at any moment. Vil delivered some swift knocks to Neige's door within the hallway of the backstage area of the arena currently being used for the VDC. You were quick to shush Grim and peer around the corner. Vil's expression was…void. Utterly barren of any and all emotion, as though the great star was finally beginning to dim out. Neige soon opened the door, and an exchange between the two was given. Vil had tried giving Neige some apple juice as a "gift"....that is, until Rook strided in on the scene. The sound of Rook calling Neige's name down the hall sent a shock through Grim, Vil, and even Neige himself. You noted that Vil's eyes grew a bit too large, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. "NEIGE!" Rook was quick to stride over. The gentle, sweet boy named Neige soon turned his head to Rook as he walked over. Rook smiled a bit at Neige as he approached, a faint dazzle being seen in his eyes simply by looking at the boy. "I am sorry to disturb you. One of the staff members is looking for you- they wished to ask you something about the performance. Roi Du Neige….-ah. I mean Neige." Neige peered curiously at Rook. He allowed his head to angle to the side, his skin as pale and precious as snow and his hair as black as the night sky itself. "Roi Du….the way you speak…..are you, perhaps…?" Rook suddenly was very quick to exclaim after Neige's odd observation. "A-AH! I apologize, I just simply am so thirsty after searching for you for such a long time! Ah…but that apple juice you are holding looks delicious. Care to help me out a bit and give it to me, Ro- ahem. Neige? Please?" Neige blinked numerous times, already handing the juice over as humbly asked. "Y-yes, of course! Not a problem at all! Here you go." You notice Vil's posture go even more rigid at the sight of this event. His eyes grew just a bit larger, and you could have sworn that you heard a suppressed grunt. Your eyebrows furrow. He…..he looked like a schemer who had just been caught...nay….a murderer who had just been caught in the act.

Rook beamed out a dazzling smile to Neige, now continuing on with the juice bottle in his gloved hands. "Ah….thank you, Neige. Now, run along to the stage. And….don't come back again." The sudden shift in Rook's tone took you a bit off guard, now watching him a bit more closely. Neige seemed just as confused, for he bats his eyelashes faintly, his already precious, large doe-like eyes widening just a bit. "...Eh? What do you m-mean by that…" After Neige's delayed question, Rook's body seemed to seize up. He suddenly shouted a bit right at the boy, and you could see his eyebrows furrowing under his bangs. "GO, NOW- HURRY UP!" Neige was quick to listen to the instructions and take off in a sudden sprint. Vil's eyes were locked on Neige as he ran away, now slowly fluttering over to Rook. His lavender eyes squint at his Vice Dorm Leader, the star seeming to back up a bit. "Rook….why…" The Vice, however, did not listen. He seemed to be sniffing the bottle's contents with a content smile, his emerald eyes shutting promptly. "Mmmmm~....what a fresh scent. I simply smelled this alluring beverage for a mere moment, and a delicious, prime, red apple just appeared within my very mind. This product from Epel's hometown is really wonderful!" Rook's eyes soon snapped open, the Vice locking eyes with Vil. He seemed to smile, but a dim in his eyes was evident as well. His tone suddenly became more dry yet heightened, as though a mere zombie under the whims and gaze of the Schoenheit male. "I'll drink all of this without sparing a single drop….Roi Du Poison…" Rook began to tilt the bottle up to his lips. Vil seemed to panic, his eyes widening even more as he rose a hand and backed up some more. You and Grim almost ran out, yet the voice of another stopped you both in your tracks- it was Kalim! "ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOK! STOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPP- NO!" The leader of the Scarabia Dorm suddenly dashed over to Rook with an intense speed. His hand flew out and was quick to smack the bottle out of Rook's hand entirely. The contents splashed onto the nearby wall. Rook backed up in shock, now locking his confused gaze onto Kalim. "Roi D'or?! What are you doing here?! Wait...Grim and [Y/n] are here, too!" You and Grim ran over and stopped before the small group. Grim was the first one to speak, his bright blue eyes widened. "Kalim, did you just smack that bottle that Rook was holding?! Why?!" You were quick to fold your arms over your chest and straighten, staring at Kalim's freakishly serious expression. "He would not have done so without a good reason." Kalim was currently out of breath, gasping for air. "Ah...haaaa…..I made it in time!" Vil's eyes widened evermore, now taking yet another step back. "What….are you….doing…?" Suddenly, an odd squelching sound was heard from the wall where the juice had shattered and splashed. The contents of the juice began to both darken and thicken considerably, the juice itself now a deep, sickly green shade. Your eyes widened as you almost immediately were able to lock onto what was going on thanks to your dreams- it was poison! Grim soon expressed his concerns with the juice's appearance while Kalim turned his head to Vil. Even still, the normally bright boy looked utterly serious. "...Vil. This is the juice that you put a curse on with your Unique Magic, right? I had a bad sensation that something was going to happen concerning you….when I saw your expression whilst watching Neige's rehearsal performance." Kalim's voice deepened a bit, now allowing his eyes to faintly squint at Vil from his current position. "....It is the same expression Jamil had on his face before he Overblotted during the holidays." You turn your head to look at Vil- and freeze. He had locked his gaze right back onto Kalim...there it was again. A bone-chilling, void, utterly vicious stare. His body seemed stiff as his arms rested at his sides. He didn't even look to be breathing, a shadow now being cast over his eyes. This soon changed slightly as he turned his head to Rook. "....Rook. Why did you want to drink the juice? You should know better than anyone….that you would not have remained alive if you drank it." You and Grim shared a worried look- so he was going to murder Neige! Rook blinked a few times at the question, soon giving his answer with the utmost confidence and grace. "I wanted to believe you. The star that has been shining and streaking so far across the sky to reach the top. I believed that you would never commit such a crime and hinder your precious beauty...but. At the same time, if your precious magic and hands had crafted such a wicked tool of vengeance to smite your opponent...I wished to taste it only once. The taste of your poisonous fruits of your obsession for beauty!" Vil backed up a bit more, the sweat running down his forehead once more. Kalim was quick to retort, now worried himself. "What are you talking about, Rook?! I will not let that happen! Hey, Vil! Do you understand how stupid your actions were?! Let's show the other team a performance that will make them feel like worthless potatoes in a sack...Didn't you say we have to win the contest with our show-stopping performance?! Why?! Why would you try to kill Neige just to succeed?!" Vil's expression had shifted back to the blank one as Kalim spoke. Suddenly, upon the last few lines, he began to chuckle. "Heh...heheh…I wish to know the answers myself. But...I have come to realize….THAT I WON'T BE ABLE TO WIN AGAINST HIM! That's w-why I...i wanted to end his life...by my own hands!" Vil's voice trembled and shook with raw power and rage as he boomed out his reply throughout the halls. You gasped as you felt a sudden, odd shift in the air. The poisonous juice upon the ground was beginning to shift into a deeply purple appearance, now. A smoke began to build up from it, already beginning to restrict the proper patterns of breathing from the members of your little team. Kalim began to cough, closing his eyes as Rook warned everyone not to inhale it. "[Y/n], Kalim, Grim! Do not inhale it! This is Vil's Unique Magic- Fairest One Of All! He can put a curse onto any object. That poisonous juice has now been transformed into this restricting mist! If we breathe in a certain amount, our bodies will become paralyzed within an instant! But….one bottle of this could not have turned into this mess….unless….no!" Vil began to back up even more. His eyes widened, tears pricking at his eyes. "D-don't look at me like t-that...STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! Why….I wanted to become the most beautiful being in the world...but...why am I so...ugly...ugly….UGLY!"

Rook and Kalim began to jump to Vil's defense and say that he didn't kill anyone...but you could already feel the truth of what he was feeling. Vil had acted….like a villain. He was going to murder someone just like one. Your expression was quick to morph into one of raw pity, now watching Vil with a worried expression. He looked so panicked. Like a little boy who had lost his mother within a candy store, or a deer caught in headlights. The male's voice suddenly trembled at Kalim's declaration and boomed out again. "SHUT UP! WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ME?!" Your group began to panic, now watching the juice bubble and fizz into more mist. Vil let out a bone-chilling, deeply crazed laugh of triumph at the sheer fear. "AHAHAHAHAHHA! T-that's right! That's what I want! If everyone else around me becomes ugly….finally...finally….I CAN BECOME THE FAIREST ONE OF ALL!" The air around Vil began to shift. He beamed out a devilish smile. You stumbled backwards- and that was your mistake. Vil's head was quick to whip over to you and lock on. His eyes dazzled as he stared at you. Oh, [Y/n]. Sweet, sweet little [Y/n]. He had to admit, he actually had so deeply wished to allow you to be on his team and not be shunned to the sidelines with that pest of a monster. And yet, you counted as one student. Thus, if he let you in, Grim would have to come along with you. Oh, how he despised that little rule. Vil got a good look at you, his head tilting to the side. My, my...even with that fear, the darling had a certain grace about them that was almost too rich for Vil to ignore. His lips perked up into an even bigger grin. He began to stalk forward, you feeling your legs begin to shake from the sheer intensity of his stare. And just like that...the boy began to sing out a declaration of his own. "I'm so tired of pretending….where's my happy ending? I followed all the rules, I drew inside the lines...I never asked for anything that wasn't mine. I waited patiently for my time...but when it finally came….they called his name. And now, I feel this overwhelming pain! I mean, it's in my veins! I mean, it's in my brain! My thoughts are running in a circle like a toy train...I'm kind of like a perfect picture with a broken frame...and I know exactly who to blame." Vil began to stalk towards you, stepping over his own juice as Kalim and Rook began to cough even further. They began to attempt to fire spells at him to keep him back, but it was useless. He was utterly transfixed on you, now. "I never thought of myself as mean...I always thought I'd be like the Queen! And there's NO INBETWEEN! 'Cause if I can't have that? Then I shall be the leader of the dark and the bad….now there's a devil on my shoulder where the angels used to be….and they're calling me the Queen.." You began to backtrack a bit further. Vil was quick to suddenly grab you by the arm, now slowly dragging you towards him. You fought and struggled against his vice grip, your eyes wide in confusion and sheer panic. Grim got riled up and began firing more fire spells- but Vil's mist seemed to dissipate most of them. Vil smiled down at you with a bright grin that could make even the toughest of people's blood run cold. "Being nice was my pastime...but I've been hurt for the last time...and I won't ever let another person take advantage of me- the anger burns my skin, third degree. Now my blood's boiling hotter than a fiery sea! There's nobody getting close to me! They're gonna bow to their Evil Queen! Their nightmares are my dreams! Just wait until they fall to my wicked schemes~" Right as Vil had gone to caress your cheek, you were able to jerk yourself from his grip. You stumbled back into the wall, now slowly backing up with the still sputtering Kalim, Grim, and Rook. Vil just smiled even brighter. "I never thought of myself as mean...I always thought that I'd be the Queen! And there's NO INBETWEEN! 'Cause if I can't have that? I would be the leader of the dark and the bad. Now, there's a devil on my shoulder where the angels used to be...and he's calling me...the Queen of Mean….the Queen of Mean!" Vil's head suddenly snapped over to the shattered apple juice bottle, as though he heard a voice. He slowly bent down and picked up a shard that had an apple on the front of it with part of Epel's family name. "The Queen of Mean…." His head slowly craned up, that blank stare back once more. Then, his lavender gaze trailed back to you. He slowly began to stalk forward once more, his head tilting. "Something is pulling me….it's so magnetic. My body is moving...unsure of where I am headed...all of my senses have left me defenseless...this darkness around me is promising vengeance. The price that I'm willing to pay is expensive- there's nothing to lose when you're ugly and friendless. So...my only interest...is showing that 'princess'...THAT I AM THE QUEEN AND MY REIGN WILL BE ENDLESS!"

The mist whipped around your group and knocked Kalim, Rook, and Grim back into the nearby wall. The poisonous substance along with some ink whipped around Vil's form. You gasped, watching the transformation take place. Vil had now Overblotted. He beamed out an even larger smile than before, raising his hands which displayed long, flowing, dark pieces of fabric that attached to the rest of his form. His right eye erupted in a deep purple, fiery glow, a veil upon his head. He looked...wickedly beautiful. Vil's hands raised as his eyes widened, the sheer power that was now coming off of him in waves utterly taking your breath away. "I WANT WHAT I DESERVE! I WANT TO RULE THE WORLD! SIT BACK AND WATCH THEM LEARN! IT'S FINALLY MY TURN!" Suddenly, the whipping of a carpet's tassels in the wind combated with a shouting voice cut through the air- it was Jamil! "EVERYONE, QUICKLY, HOP ON!" Kalim's gaze lit up at his Vice Dorm Head, and he did not hesitate to get on. Rook followed, then Grim. Right when you were about to join- a hand with sharp, claw-like nails curled around your top and yanked you back a bit. Vil made extra careful care with you to ensure that you did not puncture yourself upon the oddly sharp, jagged knive-like belt around his waist. The others began to cry out to you, but you soon locked eyes with Jamil. The boy stiffened, taking heed in your current gaze...and he understood. He was quick to get the flying carpet out of there. You were far more cunning than you looked. You could handle this. Vil seemed to laugh in his triumph, now allowing his hands to trail down your waist and watch the group go... they could wait. "If they want a villain for a queen...I'm gonna be one like they've never seen. I'll SHOW THEM WHAT IT MEANS! HAHA! Now that I am that! I shall be the ruler of the dark and the bad…'cause the devil's on my shoulder where the angels used to be...and he's calling me~" Vil pulled you even closer to him, gently arching your back a bit so that you would not injure yourself upon the belt on his form. He began to trail kisses along your neck in a sickly sweet manner, taking his prize for his wickedness. He chuckled at the feeling of your soft skin against his lips, keeping the motions up. Soon, Vil gently pulled away and spun you around to face him. You felt as though you could shrink under that gaze. "The Queen of Mean….the Queen of Mean…..I WANT WHAT I DESERVE!" Vil's lips suddenly smashed upon your own as he yanked you closer to him. Right as he did so, a crackle of lightning seemed to rumble and shake the grounds of the very stadium, a sudden burst of that mist shooting out past the two of you. Your eyes widened as he kissed your lips, his lips irresistibly smooth, soft, and plump. And funny enough...his lips tasted like apples. Perhaps this was his own, personal poison...the loving curse of a wicked, beautiful queen of mean.

((Hello hello, my lovely Readers! The day has finally arrived, as this fanfiction has! Rook, Kalim, Neige, and Vil were honestly a welcome surprise to write for! I hope everyone enjoyed this, and I shall see you in the next one~ <3

#vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #twisted wonderland #twst vil #overblot vil #overblot vil x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 6

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 6 - This Venerable One's Shizun

Xue Meng had lived on Life-Death Peak since he was a child. He was familiar with shortcuts and terrain so he had no problem catching up with Mo Ran

He escorted him all the way to the back of the mountain. The back mountain of Life-Death Peak was the closest place to the ghost realm in the whole world, separated by an enchantment, behind it is the netherworld.

Looking at the miserable situation in the back mountain, Mo Ran immediately understood why that person was clearly at home, but still needed Madam Wang to treat guests in the front hall.

It wasn't that the man didn’t want to help, but he couldn’t step away--

The barrier of the ghost world was broken.

At this moment, the entire back mountain was filled with a heavy spiritual resentment. The ghosts that hadn't taken on a body howled and hovered bitterly in the air. At the entrance of the mountain gate, there was a giant breach ripping through the sky. Behind the breach was the ghost realm, and a tall, bluestone staircase stretching thousand of steps escaped from the barrier cracks. Seeing out from the staircase, the fierce spirits that had regained a flesh body were climbing down this step disorderly and chaotically, rushing from the underworld to the human world.

Any ordinary person would be terrified at the scene unfolding. The first time Mo Ran saw it, he was shocked to the bone, but he was used to it now.

The barrier between the human and ghost realms was set by Emperor Fuxi in ancient times. Today, it was very weak. It would grow weak spots every now and again, which need to be repaired by immortal cultivators. However, this kind of thing not only does little to improve one's cultivation but is thankless with how much spiritual energy it consumes. It was a real drudgery, so few immortals in the upper cultivation world were willing to take this job.

When a fierce spirit was born, the people of the Lower Cultivation Realm were the first to come under attack. As the protectors of the Lower Cultivation Realm, Life-Death Peak was forced to undertake the task of repairing the barrier. The back mountains of the sect faced the weakest point in the barrier all to ensure they could be repaired swiftly.

There would be breaks in the barrier about four or five times a year. It was just like an old, chipped pot; useless.

Now, at the entrance of the ghost world, on the long bluestone stairs, a man stood there with snow-coloured clothes and wide sleeves flowing in the wind. He was surrounded by the aura of his sword, the golden light shimmering. Using his own power to clear out the evil spirits and ghosts, he repaired the small holes appearing in the barrier.

The man had a slender waist and an elegant appearance, with a holy aura and a handsome face. From a distance, it was easy to imagine he was a scholar reading an ancient scroll under a flowering tree. However, looking closely, he had sharp eyebrows, phoenix eyes slanted upwards, and the bridge of his nose was straight and narrow. While he seemed to be gentle and elegant, his eyes were mean and seemingly unkind.

Mo Ran glanced at him from a distance. Although he thought he had prepared himself, when he saw this man appear in front of him alive and healthy again, it made him tremble down to his smallest bones.

Half fear, half. . . excitement.

His Shizun.

Chu Wanning.

This was the person that Xue Meng had cried and begged to see when he arrived at Wushan Hall in the previous life.

It was this man that ruined Mo Ran's ambition, ruined his plans, and was finally imprisoned and tortured to death by Mo Ran because of it.

Logically speaking, if Mo Ran had the chance to avenge himself and defeat the enemy that had blocked his progress.

The sea is wide and free for fish to swim in, the sky is high and the birds could fly endlessly, no one could reign him back anymore. At least, that's what Mo Ran thought.

However, that doesn't seem to be the case.

After his Shizun died, something else seemed to have been buried along with his hatred.

Mo Ran was not a man of culture and didn't recognize any other feeling than being evenly matched with a worthy opponent.

He only knows that here on out, he had no archenemies.

When Shizun was alive, he had been afraid, paranoid, and anxious. When he saw the willow vine in Shizun's hand, the hair on the back of his neck stood on up. He became just like a beaten mutt, just the sound of a wooden club slap caused his teeth to ache and legs to give out. Even his calf muscles would spasm from fear.

Later, when Shizun died, the person Mo Ran had feared the most was finally gone. Mo Ran felt that he had grown and matured, being able to finally commit this act of murdering his teacher.

Afterwards, when looking at the mortal realm, no one dared force him to kneel down, and no longer slapped himself in the face.

To celebrate, he opened the pear blossom white wine, sat on the roof, and drank wine all night.

That night, under the influence of alcohol, the scars that Shizun had inflicted on his back when he was a teenager seemed to feel hot and painful again.

At this moment, when he saw Shizun reappear in front of him, Mo Ran started, filled with hate and anger, but there was also a slight twinge of ecstasy.

Such an opponent, lost and now regained, how can he not please?

Chu Wanning ignored the two apprentices who broke into the back mountains and continued concentrating on fighting the scattered undead.

His facial features were elegant, his eyebrows are evenly long. His phoenix eyes were cast downwards, his cool demeanour powerful. Amidst the demonic air and blood rain, his expression had not changed. His face remained calm, as though he might sit down and burn incense or play the guqin at the moment.

However, such a gentle and beautiful man, at that moment, was holding an icy exorcism long sword dripping with red blood droplets. With a flick of his wide sleeve, the sword's energy sliced through the bluestone steps in an explosion. Crushed stones and bricks rolled down, cracking an immeasurable chasm from the gate all the way to the bottom of the mountain, splitting the staircase and its thousands of steps!

So ferocious.

How many years had it been since he had seen his Shizun's power?

This familiar and powerful dominance made Mo Ran lose all his strength. Shakily, he fell onto his knees with a thump.

It didn't take long for Chu Wanning to kill all the ghosts, and neatly fill in the holes in the barrier to the ghost world. After doing all this, he fell from mid-air and went over to Mo Ran and Xue Meng.

He first glanced at Mo Ran kneeling on the ground, and then raised his eyes to look at Xue Meng, his phoenix eyes holding a powerful chill.

"Causing trouble again?"

Mo Ran sucked in a breath.

Shizun had the ability to always correctly assume any situation.

Xue Meng: "Shizun, Mo Ran went down the mountain, committing the two crimes of stealing and prostitution. Please punish him accordingly, Shizun."

Chu Wanning was silent for a while, expressionless. He coldly remarked: "I know."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

Xue Meng: ". . ."

Both of them were a little confused. Then? Is that it?

However, just when Mo Ran thought tat he had gotten off lucky, he looked up at Chu Wanning and caught a a glimpse of a sharp golden light suddenly cutting through the air. There was a lightening-like crackling sound that slashed across Mo Ran's cheek!!

Drops of blood splashed everywhere!

The speed of that golden light was so fast, Mo Ran didn't even have a moment to close his eyes, let alone dodge it. The skin on his face was flayed open with a fierce pain.

Chu Wanning stood with his hands clasped behind his back, standing coldly in the chilling breeze of teh night air. The air was still filled with the foul aura of fierce spirits and ghosts mixed with the smell of human blood. It made the forbidden area of the back mountains appear even more eerie and terrifying.

In Chu Wanning's hand was a willow vine that had whipped Mo Ran. The vine was narrow and long, with green leaves sprouting from it, hanging down near the edge of his boots.

It was clearly sucha graceful object. Looking at it would have made people think of poems such as "Pliant is the the willow branch I gift to my beloved".

It's a pity that Chu Wanning was neither pliant or had a beloved.

The willow vine in his hand was actually a magic weapon named Tianwen. At this moment, Tianwen was glimmering with golden red light, piercing through the surrounding darkness, and also reflecting in the bottomless depths of Chu Wanning's eyes.

Chu Wanning pursed his lips, and said sensibly: "Mo Weiyu, you are so bold. Should I really not do something to discipline you?"

If this really was the fifteen-year old Mo Ran, he might not have taken this exclamation seriously, thinking that Shizun was just trying to scare him.

But after being reborn, Mo Weiyu had thoroughly experienced Shizun’s "control" with his blood in his previous life. He immediately felt the roots of his teeth ache and blood rushing to his head. His mouth was already moving, ready to deny everything and clear his name

"Shizun. . ." His cheek still bleeding, Mo Ran raised his eyes, staining them with a thin veil of tears. He knew that his current appearance must look extremely pitiful. "This disciple has never stolen. . . has never laid with a prostitute. . . why did Shizun listen to Xue Meng's words and strike me without even listening to my side of the story?"

". . ."

Mo Ran had two tricks to get out of trouble with his uncle. First, act cute. Second, pretend to be pitiful. Now he tried these out on Chu Wanning, trying to look so pitiful that tears almost fell from his eyes: "Is the disciple really so worthless in your eyes? Why doesn't Shizun even give me a chance to defend myself?"

Xue Meng stomped angrily next to him: "Mo Ran! You, you piece of shit! You truly are shameless! Sizun, don't listen to him, don't be fooled by this bastard! He really did steal! All the stolen goods are still on him!"

Chu Wanning looked through his eyelashes, his expression cold: "Mo Ran, you truly never stole?"

"Never."

". . . You should know the consequences of lying to me."

Mo Ran's arms were covered in goosebumps. How could he not know? But he still foolishly persisted: "Shizun, please!"

Chu Wanning raised his hand, and the shiny golden vine waved again, but this time he did not draw it on the face of Mo Ran. Instead, he used it to tightly bind Mo Ran.

This feeling was all too familiar. In addition to whipping people on the regular, the willow vine "Tianwen" has another function——

Chu Wanning stared at Mo Ran, who was held tightly in Tianwen's grasp, and asked again: "Have you never stolen?"

Suddenly, there was a familiar stabbing pain straight in Mo Ran's heart, as if a sharp fanged small snake had slid its way into his chest and was playing with his organs.

Accompanied by the severe pain was an irresistible temptation. Mo Ran couldn't help but open his mouth, his voice hoarse: "I. . . never. . . ah. . . !!!"

Tianwen's golden light seemed to pick up on his lies, glowing harder. The pain caused Mo Ran to break out in a cold sweat, but he still desperately resisted such torture.

This was Tianwen's second function: interrogation.

Once tied up by Tianwen, no one could lie. Whether it was a person or a ghost, dead or alive, Tianwen had a way of forcing them to speak and reveal the answer that Chu Wanning wanted to know.

In his last life, by relying on a strong cultivation base, there was only one person who had finally managed to keep a secret under Tianwen's influence.

That person was the person who had become the emperor of the mortal realm, Mo Weiyu.

After being reborn, Mo Ran had hoped he'd have a bit of luck, thinking that he would still be able to resist the forced interrogation of Tianwen. But after biting his lip for what felt like forever, with big beads of sweat dripping down over his dark eyebrows and full-body trembles, he finally bowed before Chu Wanning's boots in pain, gasping for breath.

"I. . . I. . . stole. . ."

The pain abruptly disappeared.

Mo Ran hadn't even caught his breath before Chu Wanning asked another question, his voice even colder than before.

"Did you commit debauchery?"

Smart people don't do stupid things. Since he hadn't been able to resist before, it was even more impossible now. This time, Mo Ran didn't even resist, and when the pain struck, he went so far to even shout: "Yes yes I did!!!! Shizun please! No more!"

Xue Meng's face turned blue at his side. He exclaimed with shock: "You, how can you. . . That Rong Jiu is a man, you actually. . ."

No one paid attention to him. As the golden light of Tianwen slowly dimmed, Mo Ran gasped for breath, his whole body was drenched as if he had just been fished from the water. His face was as white as paper, his lips still trembling, and he collapsed on the ground, unable to move.

Through sweaty eyelashes, he looked up at Chu Wanning's elegant figure, wearing a green jade crown and wide sleeves that fell to the floor.

A strong hatred suddenly surged into his heart - Chu Wanning! This Venerable One wasn't wrong in is treatment of you in his past life, that much is true!! Even after being reborn, the hatred still burns strong! Fuck all eighteen generations of your ancestors!!

Chu Wanning didn't know that this crafty disciple was going to fuck all eighteen generations of his ancestors. He stood there for a while with a sullen expression, and then said.

"Xue Meng."

Although Xue Meng knows that men were the popular choice among rich businessmen and wealthy households, and many people play with male prostitutes just for something new and not really because they liked men, he still couldn't digest it. After a while, he said: "Shizun, this disciple is here."

"Mo Ran went against the three mandates on corruption, debauchery, and deception. Take him to the Yan Luo Hall so he can repent. Bring him to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil tomorrow morning so that he receive a public punishment."

Xue Meng was startled: "What. . .? Public punishment?"

Public punishment means taking the disciples who have committed severe transgressions in front of the disciples of the whole school, in front of everyone, even the ladies in the dining hall, and punishing them for the crowd.

Utterly shameful.

It should be known that Mo Ran was a disciple of Life-Death Peak. Although the disciplinary measures in the school were strict, because of Mo Ran's special status - his uncle pitied him for losing his parents so young and was scavenging outside for fourteen years - he couldn't bear to punish Mo Ran. No matter what Mo Ran did, he would just get a small lecture in private, and he would be beaten.

But Shizun wouldn't even save the face of the sect leader. He wanted to take his precious nephew to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil and publicly punish and shame Young Master Mo in front of the entire sect. This was something even Xue Meng hadn't expected.

Mo Ran, however, wasn't surprised.

He lay on the ground with a sneer at the corner of his mouth.

How great and selfless his Shizun was.

Chu Wanning was truly cold-blooded. In his previous life, when Shi Mei died in front of him, Mo Ran cried and pleading, pulling on his clothes, kneeling on the ground and begging him for help.

But Chu Wanning turned a deaf ear.

And so his disciple had breathed his last breath before him, and even with Mo Ran crying his heart out next to him, Chu Wanning simply stood there and ignored his sobs.

Now all he was doing was putting him on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil to be dealt with before the public. There was nothing strange about this.

Mo Ran could only resent how weak his cultivation base was now. He couldn't peel off Chu Wanning's skin, rip out his nerves, drink his blood, can’t pull his hair back, can't insult him, can’t torture him and destroy his dignity, make him desire nothing but death. . .

He hadn't been able to hide the beast-like hatred in his eyes, and Chu Wanning picked up on it.

He faintly glanced at Mo Ran's face, a stoic expression on a gentle and elegant face.

"What are you thinking about?"

Fuck!

Tianwen hadn't been removed yet!

Mo Ran once again felt the vines tying him up, and his internal organs felt like they were about to be squeezed into mush. He yelled in pain, panting and roaring out the thoughts in his head——

"Chu Wanning, you think you're so refined! Watch me fuck you to death!"

No one made a sound.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Even Xue Meng was stunned: ". . ."

Tianwen suddenly retracted Chu Wanning's palm, turning into a small speck of golden light before disappearing altogether. Tianwen was made from the bones and blood of Chu Wanning and could appear when summoned and vanished at will.

Xue Meng's face was pale and he stuttered: "Shi-Shizun. . ."

Chu Wanning didn't say a word. His delicate black and slender eyelashes lowered, examining his palms for a while. Then, he raised his eyes, his face even, but his complexion even colder. He glared at Mo Ran with a gaze saying "this disciple deserves death", then said in a low voice:

"Tianwen is broken, I am going to go fix it."

Chu Wanning threw down these words, turned and left.

Xue Meng was kind of slow: "How could an immortal weapon like Tianwen be broken?"

Chu Wanning heard it, and glanced back at him with a look of "this disciple deserves death" as well. Xue Meng shuddered.

Mo Ran lay on the ground, half-dead, with a blank expression.

What he had been thinking really was looking for a way to fuck Chu Wanning to death. He knew that the Master Chu, who held titles like "Yuheng of the Night Sky, Beidou Immortal", had always paid attention to elegance and correctness, and he couldn't stand being stepped on by others, defiling him.

But he didn't want Chu Wanning to know that he was thinking that!

Mo Ran whimpered like a stray dog, covering his face.

Thinking of the look in Chu Wanning's eyes when he was leaving, he felt that he probably did not have long to wait until his death.

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#the husky and his white cat shizun #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #2ha #2ha translation #2ha novel #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #mo ran #chu wanning #yaoi novel

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dream-a-little-bigger-darling000 · 3 years

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Author's Note: Hi that isn't my GIF. But this is my fic and I would really appreciate it if you told me how you thought it was, and if you especially like it, my requests are open friends. :3 I have the spicy sad right now, and needed a little angst with a happy ending. Ok, be fed I guess.

This has 3,000+ words, are you proud of me or what!?

From the prompt: As teenagers, a boy and a girl agree to marry if neither have by their 35th birthday. Follow the boy as he attempts to sabotage every relationship the girl has until then.

"Hey Tommy? I was thinking."

"That's a shit idea, you should stop doing that"

You swiped at the back of his head.

"Shut up you ass, I'm serious."

"Hi serious I'm- OW fucking hurt is what I am it's a joke, learn to take a-AH." You hurdled a handful of playground pebbles at the 17 year old.

"Alright, alright gorgeous, hit me- No! I meant hit me with the question you little shit." It was getting hard to breathe when he got you to giggle so hard.

You're laughter died down. You looked down, unsure if you could look at his face when you said this.

"I don't have a boyfriend." He abruptly stopped laughing, hiding the obvious fact that he almost choked on his own spit. You breathed a laugh again.

"I don't have a boyfriend. And you don't have a girlfriend." Your smile slipped off.

Tell him. Tell him, you're almost there. I don't have anyone, and you don't either except we do we have each we have each other we have-

You looked to Tommy, his boyish presence fitting on the swing set made for much younger kids. You were much younger kids when you met for the first time, on this very swing set. You think about telling him you fell in love with him when he pushed Jackson Paloski down on the asphalt because Jackson said trailer-trash can't play on the nice swing set. You didn't know it was love though, you were in the fourth grade but your heart still beat a little faster and when you asked him if you could sit beside him during lunch he huffed and complained, showing off he was moody and tough and haughty, but he very obviously made Michael Welsh move from his spot beside Tommy so that the pretty new girl could take her place beside him. And you stayed there. For years. Right beside him.

You felt the breath leave your lungs as you thought about telling him you can't stop thinking about him lately.

Can't stop hoping your skin will touch when he asks you to pass him something.

Can't help feeling like punching every girl that makes a scene trying to gain his attention. You're usually so focused on glaring at the girl that you miss the way he shrinks in on himself, the way he actively turns his body to you.

You think about telling him. And how telling him could mean you could do more, be more.

You think about telling him. And you think about him pulling away from you, gently gathering his things as he stumbles over how to let you down easily, unaware that that's not an option any more. Tommy letting you down would mean shattering.

You clench your jaw. His eyes try to tell you something.

"So. So since. We don't have someone." You look toward the Shell gas station across the street. Tommy wets his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue.

Your throat twinges, the twinge you get when you're trying to hold back tears. You shrug to yourself and let out a breathy laugh.

Coward.

"So since we don't have hot dates, we should make a deal." You make your voice upbeat. You know Tommy can call your bullshit but he doesn't, sit's quietly.

"If by the time we're 35, and we don't have a, someone, to, ya' know. We should get married." Your heart clenches. "If we don't have. Like if I don't have a husband, and you don't. Have a girl, or-" Tommy is quiet. White hot panic races up your spine. You look over at him.

Tommy looks-

He looks like he's frozen, like he's still a few sentences behind, and you're about to throw in the towel and swallow a few of these pebbles so you'll choke and die and won't have to hear his laughter tear apart your heart.

Then Tommy blinks and kind of hunkers in on himself, looks anywhere but you, eyes shifting and darting. His smile isn't his when he manages it.

"Oh, you're so on, sweetheart."

It's not quite right. The atmosphere is still tense and you feel like there's a conversation you're meant to be having, like there were supposed to be different words spoken and heard during that time.

But having Tommy, even if it's like this, even if he doesn't want you like you ache for him, is better than not having him at all.

Beside you, while you hurt quietly beside him, watching the sun set, rocking back and forth on the too low swing, Tommy swallows down self-hatred and overwhelming feelings. Instead, he schemes.

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It's been five years since you've made your little deal with Tommy. Five years, and every single time you've tried to move on from the man, it's ended in catastrophe.

The time you two had just graduated high school and drove to Tommy's house so his older brother could congratulate you two. Brendan had had a buddy over that night, not much older than you, and you would be lying if you said you didn't flush appreciatingly at his sly smile toward you and the way he actively tried to add you in on the conversation.

The night ended rather abruptly when Tommy had spilled hot tea all over the guys front. Tommy was always collected, and it was rare moment when he was clumsy. Never mind the fact that Tommy never drank tea, and actively made fun of you drinking the stuff.

Or the time you two reluctantly went to Brendan's wedding. You loved Tess, and thought they were a great couple, but stomaching an entire ceremony of the two being gross and affectionate, all while you and Tommy couldn't boo and throw miscellaneous items at them? The entire evening was spent with Tommy snuggly against your side snarking quietly in your ear, so close you could feel his warm breath on the entire side of your face.

Yes, your plan of moving on was going swimmingly.

Then Tommy went to the bathroom, and a handsome man smiled at you across the room. You tentatively smiled back, and he moved as if to cross the distance. Then immediately stopped, his face dropping and his eyes widening slightly as he spotted something a little over your shoulder. You saw him clear his throat and veer toward a large group laughing.

Your felt your face slightly warm and your heart drop a little, self consciously looking over your shoulder.

And let out a noise of surprise.

Tommy stood behind you, so close for a second you thought a very well dressed wall had somehow appeared while you weren't looking. You had just enough time to see 'The Expression'.

Tommy was an amazing fighter. And all throughout high school, he made sure while he minded his own, he could also hold his own, and everyone knew it. He had developed an expression, one that scared every single boy in this town shitless. It was a mix between unbridled rage and open invitation. The message was pretty clear and universal.

Come get some.

You usually laughed and teased him about it, because to you it just looked like he stubbed his toe and he was trying not to yell.

You weren't expecting to see it at his brother's wedding, and you certainly weren't laughing now.

In a blink it was gone from his face, and he turned to you with his beautiful sweet smile, the smile that showed just a little peak of his slightly messed up front teeth. He usually reserved that smile for you. You had never seen anyone else on the receiving end.

"Tommy, why were you just-"

"This blows, I just passed Tess and Brendan flirting. They're already married, why would they keep doing that." He rolled his eyes, moving to your side as his hand disappeared behind your back.

"Tommy did you just square up to the guy checking me ou-"

"Brendan's friend is here, the one who can can do a Kick Up."

You stared at each other for a long moment. You felt his hand barely ghosting over the small of your back. His eyes where sharp, a little desperate.

"Tommy."

"There's also a rumor he killed a guy with just a playing card."

You licked your lips. He raised his eyebrows, his lips getting distracting.

"Shit Conlon, why didn't you start with that, take me to him."

Or the time, more recently, when you went to a match to watch Tommy completely destroy his opponent. You loved going out to see him fight. Loved the adrenaline and the satisfaction when Tommy won, making him less timid, a little more rowdy and confident, a little more touchy and feely.

You've kind of given up on the whole moving on thing, even if it was driving you up a wall.

Tommy had just won, and you were eagerly waiting to congratulate him, excited to hug him freely, without him wondering why you were hugging him to begin with. And maybe to hold on a little tighter. Maybe to allow your hands to rove a little more freely.

Hey, was it not a night for celebration?

A man started to chat you up. You smiled patiently and gave some noncommittal grunts and affirmations as you continued to scan the crowd, looking for the familiar mass of Tommy, all hard edges and bulk. You were bouncing on the balls of your feet.

The guy moved closer, making a joke you didn't really hear. You laughed, your eyes darting and searching.

"You look beautiful by the way. I saw you watching the fight, crazy that you're into this stuff. Not a lot of women I know cheer like that."

You finally glance over to the man, but quickly get back to standing on your tip toes, looking above heads.

He doesn't even look that bad, and it's obvious he wants to get your number. He's just not the man you want chat with, and definitely not tonight. Not on a night that Tommy just won, and a night he'll want to come over to yours, joking and teasing, touching you much more confidently than he normally would. Falling asleep much more easier with his head on your lap.

You tamp down a smile. You wouldn't want this guy to get the wrong idea.

"You know, there's a really good Thai place down the road- Ah, fuck, watch it buddy. Can you not look where you're go-" You hear the man choke off the sentence, trying not to smile as you imagine the other guy. probably a lot bigger than he is. Wouldn't want to completely ruin his night by laughing at the guy.

"Fuuck me, buddy, sorry. I did not know who I was talking to." You could hear the man swallow. "Hey, I think you did great in the ring tonight, real good job of... Knocking that guy out. With one punch."

You whirled around, smiling so wide you felt the strain on your cheeks. There was only one guy who did that tonight.

Sure enough, Tommy was standing there. He had put on a shirt and took his gloves off, but he was still sweaty and breathing hard. He completely stanced up, like he is in the ring, and his expression was-

Well, you chalked it up to the testosterone flowing freely through the place. Probably just mad that he ran into another dude.

It still didn't stop you from running and jumping directly on him, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, legs completely circling his torso. You giggled into his neck, exclaiming how proud you were of him, how good he looked out there, completely stroking his ego, but not caring at the moment.

You felt his arms immediately span your back, feeling like his hands where trying to be everywhere at once. That was new. That was new and you couldn't say you hated it.

What you didn't see was the look on Tommy's face. The cold calm of someone who just threw a punch so hard at a man who was bigger and faster than him and shut his shit down. Directed at another man, much slower and smaller in comparison.

You didn't see the stranger's face pale, but you distantly heard the sound of chairs clatter to the ground as he turned tail.

Five years of pining (not so) quietly for Tommy, the man you had fallen in love with, but without a doubt did not love you back.

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Tommy knew without a doubt that he loved you.

All those years back in fourth grade, when he let it slip that his favorite snack was those crackers with the cheese filling, and you showed up with a whole pack of them to share, smiling this big goofy grin with your beautiful eyes and warm presence.

God how could he not.

The problem was how he was supposed to convince you to like him back. Him, Tommy, who fought most of his way through high school, who didn't like to get too close to people, who didn't like eye contact or conversation that ran too long or too forced. Who loved you though.

And who was very annoyed at the boy flirting with his girl.

It never failed to make Tommy's blood boil. He knew he had no right, because for one, he spent five years doing his damned best to break up every chance at you leaving him.

Just until you guys turn 35, right Tommy boy? You can probably keep that up.

Tommy breathed in a shuttering breath.

He just wanted to buy you your favorite drink at your favorite café. That's all he wanted to do. And maybe find and excuse to hold your hand without burning up from the embarrassment of actually having feelings (can you imagine?).

But of course, some dick-head always noticed how beautiful or kind or warm you were, and had to take their shot.

Well, Tommy was fucking sick of it.

Tommy thought of all the times, and there were a lot of times, when he had to step in and derail the situation. He knew this would be the last time. He had to do this, get rid of the unrelenting ache he felt while going to sleep, looking at you, thinking about you.

Tommy moved toward the you and the man you were talking to like he was entering the ring. With the mindset that he could get totally and irreversibly hurt, but he was gonna fight to the bloody end beforehand.

"Do you need directions?" Tommy asked as he slid up behind you, closer than he would have ever before. He felt your confusion even if he couldn't see your face.

"What?" The man was just as quizzical.

"Oh, I was just asking if you needed directions or if you could get lost on your own." Tommy raised his eyebrows, setting his hand on your hip, trying not to think about the many, many questions you'd have about that.

The man thought about arguing, but then he really looked at Tommy. Looked at you, then back to Tommy. Decided he didn't want to bleed tonight, and huffed out an angry sound.

You at least waited until he was out of ear shot before whirling on him.

"What. What was that?"

"Ok, I know what your probably thinking-"

"That you're out of your mind Tommy?! Are you kidding me right now? 'Get lost?' Get outta here with that shit, what was that?"

The two of you were pretty far back in the shop, but he still lowered his voice to make sure no one was bothered.

"Ok, yes, you're mad, I can see that-"

"Oooooh well I'm glad you can see that Tommy." You felt your face start to turn red, feeling exhausted and confused. "Explain. Explain to me Tommy, that every time a guy wants to have a nice, civil, God forbid, flirtatious conversation with me, he high tails it out of there just as fast, Tommy, explain."

Tommy felt an expanding ache somewhere behind his left eye.

"Ok. Ok I'm gonna say something stupid-"

"You always say something stupid, stupid-"

"Can you just. Can you let me finish." Tommy felt exasperated and a little insane. He was about to confess in a coffee shop to the girl he loved and things would never be the same again because she was about to leave, but fuck it if he wasn't at a boiling point.

"Ok. You know how we made a deal?" You looked at him, raising your eyebrows.

"About who could spray the most whipped cream in their mouth? Yeah it's me, it'll always be me. So you got so mad you're trying to, what, make sure I die alone, I don't..."

"What? No can you not, can you focus right now?" Tommy's palms were starting to sweat and he clenched his eyes shut tight. He breathed in and let it back out in one harsh huff. "When we were seventeen-"

"Seventeen?"

"When we were seventeen you said that if we weren't married by the time we were 35, that we should marry each other." He watched as your eyes widened and your face warmed a little. "Well, the deals off. I'm not doing it any more."

Tommy wasn't sure what to expect, but the flash of utter pain that tore across your face was not it. You stepped back, looked like you were about to bolt, your eyes wild. You tried to pull yourself together but it was really hard to breathe. No matter how many times you tried to prepare yourself for this day, you could have never imagined how it actually almost brought you know to your knees.

"So. Here's the new deal. If in like, five minutes, you're still single, and I'm still single..." Tommy swallowed hard, licking his lips. "We should just." His eyes darted to your lips.

You froze. Tommy caught his lush lower lip in between his teeth. He'd never been more nervous his entire life. So nervous for the inevitable laugh, the pity laced rejection, because really, it was one thing to be friends with a shy awkward boxer, but another to look at him and think, 'yeah, that'll do.'

Tommy had approximately five seconds to wallow in self deprecation and pure terror before he had a handful of you, and something that suspiciously felt like lips on his lips. But that's funny, because he's almost positive that that's not the case.

Then he felt your tongue swipe his lip and decided he cared fuck all and proceeded to get lost in you, your breaths, God he could feel, taste, your breath as you both got consumed by each other.

Someone coughed disapprovingly your way. The two of you broke apart, panting slightly.

"Ok, ok please don't. I really don't want you to hit me but I'm really fucking dense, right, and I just have to ask, you did that because you. You like like me- OW I said I didn't want you to hit me!"

You felt yourself laughing, felt your never ending ache subside and your love sky rocket.

"Oh, you're an idiot," You pecked his lips, he tried to catch your mouth fully but failed. "You are such and idiot- Oh my God we're both idiots holy- Hey. Hey, you, you've been. Have you been sabotaging-"

"Did you hear that?" Tommy tilted his head and looked toward the ceiling. "Ope- oh yeah. No. yeah, that's for sure the sound of-" He cut off, dropping his serious expression, grinning as he leaned down and kissed your mouth again, this time taking your words and any objections, affectively cutting off any questions that would leave him looking stupid.

You two would need to sit down, to talk about how you've felt all these years, how you were both so stupid that you both refused to confess to each other.

But for now, you lost yourself in the taste of Tommy, and the heady feeling of someone you've loved for seemingly forever, loving you back.

Real Quick: Would you be mad if in the next fics I write I called this man Tomithy? Asking for a friend.

#tommy conlon #tommy riordan #tommy conlon x reader #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #warrior #warrior fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #angst with a happy ending #fluff #reader insert #tommy conlon imagine #fanfiction prompt

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amonrawya · 3 years

Text

The Greatest Gift of All

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(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town.

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky.

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning.

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out.

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast.

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief.

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being.

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now?

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life.

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them.

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition.

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her.

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

Text

A little drabble exchange for @theamazingbard that accidentally became more of a ficlet. Threw in a little hispanic nursery rhyme since I don’t know if we have them in english for making pain go away. I tried googling but it was unhelpful.

TW: Descriptions of blood, drinking it, gross stuff like that. Canon-typical wounds. References to drinking and inebriation.

WC: 2617

Lips Black as the Rose

Featuring highervampire!Jaskier as he tries to figure himself out after being turned. A bit of spice in there. Am I picking and choosing parts of the lore as I see fit? Yes. Is it very sexy of me to do so? One hundred percent. Will I beta this before posting? Oh absolutely not, you know the drill. ‘No beta, we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments’ is my go-to Ao3 tag for a reason.

Under no circumstances would Jaskier ever cause harm to another living thing, but the world did not reciprocate that exact philosophy. He’d been chased and held at the business end of many a sword, dagger, lance, and—on several unfortunately memorable occasions—a startling variety of available flatware. Things were rougher after meeting Geralt and having his usual human pursuers overshadowed by the threat of monsters.

Where once a spoon in the hands of a rabid duke would seem a most threatening opponent, Jaskier now found himself on the run from a more literal array of rabid beasts, and he could quote the running speeds the prove that having an extra pair of legs did indeed give certain monsters a leg up, so to speak, on the competition. But then, having no legs at all could prove a better advantage, and such creatures as those often had the additional advantage of long, venomous teeth.

Suffice to say, it was a difficult thing to be a lover in a world of fighters. Particularly when one falls into the company of another presumed lover, only to discover that their invitation to dinner was, in truth, an invitation to be dinner.

A vampire. Young, wine drunk, and foolish, Jaskier allowed himself to be led into the vampire’s den. It had been many years ago, he no longer remembered the details. He only remembered a sharp pain on his shoulder, followed by a woozy numbness, and he awoke in a strange bed, in an inn he did not check into, with his reflection missing from the mirror. He’d run away from home shortly after, fearing a bloodlust that was never to come.

It was a strange thing, being a vampire. After months of research, Jaskier came to no conclusions as to what it meant to be one exactly. He experimented with the content of old myths, touching silver very cautiously, taking delicate bites of foods prepared with garlic. He could cross a river just as well as any man. All in all, there was not much wrong with him, and he wondered what all the fuss was about. Well, there was a bit of fuss in that he could no longer be sure of his appearance, and he’d become more vain than ever, relying on the opinions of others to assure him that he looked presentable. This was a particular bother where Geralt was concerned, for he rarely paid compliments—if ever—and was not inclined to offer opinions concerning such trifling things as fashion or appearances.

Jaskier felt sure that Geralt would have noticed right away, but when their paths crossed again, Geralt seemed entirely ignorant of Jaskier’s dramatic change in biology. Running his tongue over his teeth, he could find no fangs. People complimented him on his eyes, still cooing over how bright and blue they were; and he’d been so afraid they’d turned a ghastly red as in the stories. From what he could tell, he appeared human. He had no violent urges to drain the blood from red-cheeked virgins, nor had he transformed into a bat and flown into the night. Sunlight only burned his skin as much as it had before, though it might have been harder on his eyes. He found himself squinting more in the afternoon, and it was unpleasant hot at times.

All in all, he was relatively normal.

“Such beauty ought to be preserved evermore.” That was what the vampire had told him that night. A great favor, immortality, but he wished he might have been offered a list of instructions to go with it. Figuring things out on his own was exasperating. And though he was not quite compelled to drink blood, there were times when he was … drawn. By curiosity.

When Geralt returned from a hunt, his flesh torn and body bleeding, Jaskier found it challenging to tend his wounds. Many times, he’d almost given into temptation. It did not help that he’d wanted to know the taste of Geralt’s skin long before the transformation. Now, there was an intoxicating layer to the fantasy, and the smell of Geralt’s blood made him hazy, like the bouquet of a strong wine. Or more realistically, the cloud of bitter vodka. If it had been a particularly nasty fight, Jaskier was sure he could taste Geralt’s blood by the smell alone, so powerful it made his nose wrinkle. He could get drunk on the fumes, and it was not always so pleasant.

He never dared try. There were too many things to consider. For a start, there was no telling what the blood of a witcher would do to him—and that was before factoring potions into the equation. Having never fed of blood, Jaskier did not know how his instincts would react, and he was sure he had some animal instinct to him now. He might drain Geralt dry in a matter of minutes, or the taste of blood might make him go insane and start tearing at his surroundings like a mad beast! Or, simplest and frightening of all, Geralt might kill him. So Jaskier kept his secret, never giving in to his curiosity.

But one day, he’d slipped.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. He clenched his hand and a sharp smell pervaded the air. In sharpening his sword, his hand had slipped. He’d cut the meat of his palm, just above his wrist.

Jaskier was up at once, Geralt’s bag in hand, ready to wrap the wound. He was very quick these days in getting things bundled up as soon as possible. Once the wounds were wrapped, the smell was not as pronounced. He fished out a strip of cloth and had it round Geralt’s hand in a matter of moments, working efficiently with good practice.

Geralt smiled ruefully. “A clean wound, at least. Should stitch itself up by morning.” He chuckled and inspected the wound, his eyes flicking over to Jaskier. “Haven’t done that since I was a child sharpening my first dagger,” he said.

“Did you cut yourself often in training?” Jaskier asked.

“No, not so often. We didn’t waste wrappings on such small scrapes either.”

There was a distracting shadow of red seeping through the cloth. Jaskier scoffed. “So you let it bleed into the open air, did you?”

“We were less inclined to coddle than humans.”

“Coddle?” Jaskier said, raising an offended hand to his chest. “My dear, a dressing is hardly evidence of coddling. If I wished to coddle you, I’d kiss it better and sing a little chant.”

Geralt presented his hand to Jaskier, smirking humorously. “Then do it. I’ve never heard of humans having such power as to kiss wounds better. Would save me a lot of trouble.”

“Erm … ” Jaskier flushed, considering the proffered wound. He nearly made a joke about lacking such power, being no longer human, but he bit it back. To cover his hesitation, he took Geralt’s hand and gently sang the rhyme his nurse used to calm him after a scraped elbow or knee. His tongue rolled musically as he rubbed the dressing carefully. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.” Then he bent his head down to kiss the place.

“I don’t see what frogs’ tails have to do with my hand,” Geralt joked.

But Jaskier did not hear him. Instead, he felt oddly fixed in place, a metallic tang on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and licked at his bottom lip to chase the memory of the taste. As he did, his tongue scraped the end of a long, pointed tooth. He stumbled back unsteadily, muttered his excuses, and fled to the safety of his bedroll across camp. There he sat, writing nonsense in his notebook as though struck by sudden inspiration.

He’d tasted Geralt’s blood. And now he wanted more.

The next few hunts were blessedly without injury. Jaskier found he was able to breathe again. It twisted his gut whenever Geralt went off to fulfill a contract, and his conscience was at odds with this new obsession. He wanted Geralt to come back whole and unharmed. But he wanted some cut, some smallest scrape upon which to lathe his tongue. When he thought of it, he felt a stirring in his gums, and touching the place, he found the fangs had grown in again. It took concentration to hide them again. He took to smiling with his mouth closed after the first incident, and he developed a habit of biting his lips.

When they came to a larger town, Jaskier went straight to the butcher. To quell his growing need, he bought fresh meat, sneaking a sip from the blood dish beneath the draining sheep’s carcass while the butcher’s back was turned. It had the strangest effect on him. Within minutes of leaving the butcher’s shop, he felt light-headed. He felt drunk, in short, and he wobbled his way to the inn, a giggle in his throat.

For dinner, he asked the potmaid to send the loin to the cook and surprised Geralt with it: a small treat to celebrate his recent hunting success. In truth, he wanted nothing to do with it, festering in the shame of his lie. The loin had merely been an excuse: something to keep the butcher busy while he drank his curiosity like some writhing leech dredged up from the water.

It made him drunk. He made note of it in his book and swore that would be the end of things. This odd affair made it easy to forget, his stomach turning in guilt and disgust at the thought of repeating the act. He was fine and healthy without blood, therefore there was no need to partake. He could go the rest of his life perfectly happy never drinking another drop. Until the day it fell from Geralt’s lip.

Jaskier stared at it from across the room. Geralt had just returned from a fight, his eyes and blood black with potion. His armour was scratched up, covered in foulness from monsters unknown, but he was alive and whole, hardly bruised. Jaskier tried to focus on the smell of the guts dripping from his armour. It was still as disgusting as ever, even with vampiric senses to influence his opinion. The wretched blood was still unappetizing. But above it, he smelled a strange scent: sweet, a touch of iron. And there, shining on Geralt’s lip, the wet glisten of blood.

He swallowed hard as Geralt wiped the cut on the back of his hand. The blood smudged along his chin, all the more enticing. His knuckles turned white on the sheet of his bed as he held himself in place. Ordinarily, he would be up on his feet to help coax Geralt out of his armour by now, but he did not trust himself to be so close.

Geralt shed his shoulder pads, looking at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. “It’s a bit slippery,” he said. He inclined his head, beckoning Jaskier over. That was their way. They did not ask things from one another. It was simple routine, and the brief lapse was something awkward to acknowledge.

What excuses could he provide? Jaskier stood on trembling legs and made his way, biting his own lip to hide the fangs he felt beginning to grow. His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the clasps, far too close to Geralt’s face. His breath caught, watching a bead of dark blood roll down his lip, over his chin. His lip was stained black.

Geralt had always had nice lips, Jaskier felt. He was always reminded torturously of this fact when he helped Geralt out of his armour. How could one undress such a man without indulging in the fantasy of what came after, even a little? But oh, it was a dangerous line of thought. Now he was bewitched by his senses, his focus single-mindedly drawn to that point on Geralt’s lip. To kiss him now, to lick the blood from his lip—it would be divine. He felt his heart beat faster at the prospect, his hands stalling to unbuckle Geralt’s breastplate as he stared. Just one taste. One kiss was all he wanted.

A hand pressed against his chest, stopping him short. Jaskier startled out of his unconscious reverie and looked at Geralt in horror. He hadn’t—! Had he? His attention flicked between Geralt’s eyes and his lip, and to his relief, the blood remained untouched.

“Not just now,” Geralt said, voice rumbling in his chest. “The potions might paralyze you—at least for a day. Anything lesser would die from a drink of it. It turns my blood to poison.”

Jaskier blinked, edging back. “I … don’t understand your meaning,” he feigned.

Geralt followed him, stepping forward. He raised a hand, caressing Jaskier’s cheek gently. “I know,” he said. “You’re not the best at keeping secrets. I noticed some time ago you stopped aging, and there’s no shadow at your feet, even on the brightest afternoon.”

He swiped his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. Jaskier gasped, his lips parting, and Geralt pushed in. Then, his thumb was pushing Jaskier’s top lip away, revealing a glistening fang. He nodded, satisfied, and stepped back once more.

“You’re a vampire,” Geralt said. “And not a common one either. My medallion doesn’t react to you at all.” He chuckled and added, “As if you could be common by any measure.”

Jaskier turned away, picking up one of Geralt’s shoulder pads. He clutched it to his chest, whether for protection or for comfort he could not say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was afraid to tell you … afraid what you might say. What you … might do.”

A warm hand smoothed down his arm comfortingly. There was a teasing quality to Geralt’s voice when he spoke. A hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, making him nearly jump in surprise.

“In regards to what: the knowledge that you’re a vampire, or the knowledge that you want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, words hot against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier shivered, the adrenaline of his fear quickly turning to something sweeter. “Both,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to understand Geralt’s intent.

“You cannot drink of me tonight,” Geralt whispered, “but I can satisfy that other hunger, if you only have the discipline to keep your teeth to yourself.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” The way Geralt’s hand slipped lower and lower down his front, Jaskier thought he knew. Even so …

Geralt chuckled, nose pressing to the back of Jaskier’s neck. “I’m saying I’m tired of the way you look at me like a man starving and refuse to do something about it. It’s gotten worse. It was bad enough before, waiting for you to make your move, but since your turning, it’s insufferable. I feel like the centerpiece of a banquet, waiting to be devoured.”

“You said I couldn’t kiss you,” Jaskier said, breath coming up short as he felt himself pressed back against a firm chest, a second hand coming up to tug at the edge of his chemise. “I have no discipline whatsoever. And you know that.”

“Well then.”

Jaskier dropped the plate of armour as he was pushed backward. He fell, his knees caught by the edge of the bed. Arms caged him on either side, and above him. Geralt smiled, a drop of blood falling onto the sheets below. He pressed his thumb to Jaskier’s mouth once more, something ravenous in his eyes.

“Well then,” he repeated. “Looks like I’ll have to devour you instead.”

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #vampire!jaskier #highervampire!jaskier #showing off a bit of my culture there with the little rhyme #mexican / irish blended household baby!#sadly though I learned the rhyme from spanish classes instead of from my family lmao #such is life #lips black as the rose fic #persie's tag #I TOLD you I'd leave things unfulfilled #suffer

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sahsoosahku · 3 years

Text

FanFic - Chaos Commencing at Konoha's Korean BBQ

On their night off the Konoha gang get back together for some Korean BBQ! But knowing these ninja's - something is bound to go seriously wrong. Poor Ino and Tenten, their organised night was ruined by Soju Sasuke and Drunk Lee.

Characters: Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, Shikamaru, Choji, Ino, Sai, Lee, Tenten, Hinata, Kiba, Akamaru, Shino, Drunk Lee, Charasuke

Pairings: Sasusaku / SaiIno / Naruhina

______________________________________________

This only happens once in a blue moon!

The gang is back together!

Somehow all of Team 7s classmates aren't on any missions or busy for just one night. Naruto, Sasuke, Kiba and Shikamaru just returning from their weeklong mission, and late tomorrow Hinata, Sakura and Sai leave for 2 days.

Tonight, they reunite for some babbling, eating, and of course drinking.

Ino and Tenten organised for this rowdy bunch to relax in front of an open flame for some Korean BBQ at Konoha's finest. Ensuring there were 12 seats ready to go, Tenten smiled at the display before her.

One by one familiar faces rolled in. Sai, greeting Ino with a peck, Choji appearing from the corner as if he was already in the restaurant. Hinata, Shino, Shikamaru and Kiba with Akamaru soon followed, bowing their heads and thanking the ladies for their thoughtfulness and hard work.

"HEY!" Kiba yelled soon after "Where is Akamaru going to sit?"

"You know dogs can't be here!" Retorted Ino.

Kiba responded with a puppy dog frown then winked over at Akamaru who burst into smoke becoming a carbon copy of Kiba. "Sit! Sit here Akamaru!" He leaped into a seat Shino was just about to take.

And then finally, team 7 (who are always late), burst in with Naruto's "WOW! THIS IS GREAT! The Genin's are back together!"

"Speak for yourself, Naruto" laughed Shikamaru.

"Oh yeah" frowned Naruto, looking over at Sasuke, knowing at least he wasn't the last Genin there.

"Wait a minute-" Sakura searched "Where's Lee?"

"He is somewhere training" brushed off Tenten "He always adds another thousand something finger push ups before a big meal, don't worry, he'll be here soon!"

Sasuke and Sakura took the last paired spots beside Ino and Sai, Naruto trying to squish into the booth with them.

"HEY! NARUTO! Just what are you doing!" Yelled Sakura, who was sitting on the edge trying to push him off. "But I want to sit with you guyssss!" he sulked leaning on Sakura.

"We were just on a mission together Usuratoncachi-" scowled Sasuke, pushing Naruto's face off of Sakura "Go sit with your wife!"

"But she let me!" He pouted looking at her for confirmation, Hinata nodding with a smile and polite wave.

"NOW!" Kicked Sakura.

And with a frown he leapt to Hinata and whinged "NOW THAT THEY ARE TOGETHER, THEY DON'T WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME ANYMOREEEEE!"

"It's ok Naruto-kun" patted Hinata, "I can feed you some pork belly!"

"Did someone say Pork belly?" Interjected Choji, munching on the sides.

And with a smile Naruto hugged Hinata tightly and filled her face with kisses repeating "Ah I missed you!" "You're the best Hinata!" "I love you so much!" Then blowing a raspberry at Sakura and Sasuke.

They looked on with blank faces, embarrassed for their irritating teammate.

"Can I sit here? Thanks Shino!" Naruto rushed - half his butt cheek already shoving Shino off - forcing everyone to shuffle around. "How troublesome" sighed Shikamaru and everyone laughed.

"Let's order!" Smiled Tenten and Choji cheered along. "Let's also make it 10 bottles of Soju and a beer for everyone, does that sound good?"

______________________________________________

The sizzling kobe beef and pork belly were barely heard over the sound of laughter and chatter. Sasuke, mainly silent, munched away at his Kimchi and seafood pancake.

"Sasuke-kun! You barely touched your beer" smiled Ino, already a few shots of soju in. "Here let me pour you some soju, it's grape flavoured!"

"He is a light drinker!" Insisted Sakura, also a few drinks in "He can stick to his beer"

"Wow Sasuke! I see who wears the pants in this relationship" Ino teased, embarrassing a somewhat intoxicated Sakura.

"I-" Sasuke began.

"HEY, WATCH IT! Before I fry you on this grill myself INOPIG" Jumped up Sakura with a fist ready to go.

"I'm just saying! C'mon I know he has never tried soju before, isn't that right Sasuke?" Ino purred grabbing a shot glass to make him a drink.

"I haven't-" Again Sasuke said trying to get a word in.

"HEY! If anyone is going to be pouring him a drink, IT'S ME" scowled Sakura.

"OI! I am the one who offered" growled Ino back.

"Go make your own boyfriend a drink!" Jumped Sakura over Sasuke, trying to grab the shot glass and bottle from Ino's hands.

"Sai- doesn't- mind-!" she said fighting Sakura for grip.

"I don't mind sharing my girlfriend!" smiled Sai from behind Ino.

"See! Now- let- me- pour-!"

As the girls where wrestling each other over an irritated Sasuke, he tsked and snatched the soju bottle from their hands and quickly shot up.

To everyone's amazement he threw beck 6 long gulps, finishing the bottle. And with a scrunched face he smacked his lips and frowned "it's sweet"

Shocked, everyone looked over. Sakura, frightened by the amount of alcohol a cheap drunk like Sasuke just drank, she carefully whispered to him "Sasuke… Soju is not like beer… it's a lot stronger…"

Sasuke sat down slowly and burped "I feel fine"

The onlookers giggled and whispered, "I wonder which drunk Sasuke we are going to see tonight" "Happy again?" "Sad?" "Angry" "Oo- I hope is dancy" "No- no- SINGY! Then we can go to karaoke!"

"Hey, Akamaru eat up" smiled Kiba, feeding his twin. Then..

BANG!

Sasuke's face slammed down into his food.

"I guess it's a passed out Sasuke" sighed Shikamaru. A tipsy Naruto burst out laughing, followed by a howling from the other boys.

"Oh no" sighed Sakura, trying to pull Sasuke up "I told you he can't hold his liquor"

Ino apologised grabbing tissues and moving his plates aside to make room for a sleeping Sasuke. "Is he going to be alright?"

"His vitals feel fine, but he usually blacks out after 2 or 3 beers… Maybe I should take him home?"

Nooo! Everyone replied urging her to stay. It was too rare to have everyone together again.

She wiped his face and slowly put him back down on the table for a nap.

______________________________________________

The night carried on, bringing laughing tears into the eyes of anyone who remembered that Sasuke was there.

"Just like back in the day I suppose" Chuckled Kiba, "Not hearing a word from Sasuke!"

"HEY!" Naruto responded and Sakura giggled. "Just like the old days" she recalled. Oh, the silly antics Team 7 and the others used to get into.

Almost done with their meals an excited Lee blazed in with his legs up and hands to the floor. With a flip he announced "HELLO MY FELLOW BRETHREN'S LIVING IN THE SPRINGTIME OF THEIR YOUTHS! I, ROCK LEE, AM READY TO ENJOY A HEARTY MEAL WITH PALS!"

"Lee!" The drunken crowd cheered, for once meeting his enthusiasm.

"Where were you, Lee? We are almost done!" Asked Tenten, blinking slowly.

"My apologies Tenten! I just finished training; I lost my count 3 times at around 700 so I started again! And with every time I miscounted, I added another 1000!" He beamed too proudly.

"Seems a bit excessive" she sighed making the others laugh.

"Ah I am famished! I do desperately need a glass of water!" And with the slip of a hand Lee grabbed the bottle of soju rather than the jug of water right beside it.

NooooOooOooO

Everyone yelled in slow motion jumping for Lee, but no one could match his incredulous speed. By the time Naruto, Choji, Kiba and Shikamaru were pulling back his arms and hands, the empty bottle shattered to the ground.

"Oh no-" said Tenten

"Fuck" muttered Shikamaru as Lee slipped out of their hands.

He reappeared beside an unsuspecting Sakura, wobbling beside her and with a drunken smile. He blabbered "Hey, girl, wasssuppppp"

Freaked out Sakura wailed "Eeehh?! Knock it off Lee!" trying to push him off.

Shikamaru tried the Shadow Imitation Technique but somehow Lee's speedy feet just kept missing him.

"C'mon give me a little sugar" he mused to Sakura sending her air kisses while easily dodging her punches.

...

There was a shift in mood.

Suddenly the air turned sinister.

"HEY! WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!" Grumbled Lee.

Behind Sakura was a dark shadow looming over them. "Back off" growled Sasuke, preparing his Chakra.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the guy who copied my Taijutsu!" Spat Lee, almost tripping over his own feet.

"And I was better at it" slurred Sasuke.

"Now, now, calm down!" Sakura pleaded standing between them.

"I CHALLENGE YOU!" Pointed Lee.

"YEAH, WELL TRY ME BROWS!" Pointed Sasuke back.

"OH YEAH"

"YEAH"

Lee grabbed another bottle of soju from the poor people behind him to arm himself. Sasuke did the same snatching another bottle from Sai's hand.

Sasuke activated his Sharingan ready to copy, ready for battle.

And Lee with a smile prepared his greatest weapon –

- guzzling the soju.

Sasuke mirrored his actions, trying to beat the speed of the other. Finishing at the same time they extravagantly threw their bottles on the table smashing and spraying it onto a grill, causing a minor flame.

Everyone was mortified, and in shock Hinata and Ino quickly threw water on the grills to extinguish the fire.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooo"

Cried Choji, watching the meat bubble and sear in the coals.

"Haha a worthy opponent!" cackled Lee.

"Let's take this outside!" Hiccuped Sasuke.

"I guess Sasuke is an angry drunk on soju" Naruto commented following the crowd outside.

...

"…And on my birthday" sighed a wet Shino, covered in spilled water from the glass attack. Hinata still by his side smiled and said, "I didn't forget your birthday Shino."

*Poof* They turned to Akamaru reappearing beside a wailing Choji crying over ruined beef. "WHYYY!"

"HEY" screamed the shocked hostess "NO DOGS!"

______________________________________________

Lee and Sasuke stood before each other on the open street. Civilians passed by whispering and watching the ensuing mayhem.

"WE WILL FIGHT FOR SAKURA'S LOVE!" Exclaimed Lee.

"Ew" Sakura loudly thought.

"FOR SAKURA'S LOVE!" yelled Sasuke, confident in reply.

"Not you too... Sasuke" everyone sighed.

Everyone pleaded for them to stop but a powerful Lee interjected "This is between me and Sasuke!"

Both men began to prepare to fight. Lee unlocking his third gate yelling "DRUNKEN FISTS" and Sasuke replying with "MANGEKYO SHARINGAN"

"WHICH ONE OF YOU IDIOTS DESTROYED OUR GRILLS!?" Yelled the hostess with a swinging ladle in one hand and dragging Akamaru out with the other. Shino, Hinata, and Choji appeared behind her.

As everyone pointed towards Sasuke and Lee, the two drunkards used it as a signal to start charging towards one another.

AHHHHH

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

they both yelled and bracing themselves.

AHHHHHHHH-

AHHHHHH-

THUD.

CRASH.

SPLAT.

EEEHHHHHH!? Reacted everyone seeing both Lee and Sasuke trip over themselves.

"CHOJI NOW! SHADOW IMITATION TECHNIQUE" prepared Shikamaru, strapping Lee down at any chance he could get. "EXPANSION JUSTSU" Choji formed and rolled onto Lee.

"Sakura!" Ino yelled "RUN!"

Sakura quickly pulled a passed out Sasuke over her shoulders and began to sprint home hearing the echo "YOU TWO ARE BANNED FOR LIFE...!" follow her down the road.

"HEY WHATS THE BIG IDEA!" Cried Lee.

Amongst the current chaos Sai turned to Ino smiling "What a fun night!" You did a great job!" he said earnestly. Ino groaned into her palm.

"Oh Yeah!" Blurted Kiba, "Happy Birthday Shino!"

_____________________________________________________

I love the silly antics the gang gets into. I hope you enjoyed my story, if you did please leave a review on:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13943114/1/Chaos-Commencing-at-Konoha-s-Korean-BBQ

Drunk Lee is the best and always has me dying from laughter. I found most of my inspiration from this episode of "Rock Lee and his Ninja Pals"(Drunk Lee Ruins Tsunade's Picnic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqnz3v_vsRY).

I wanted to start a series of Sakura dealing with drunk Sasuke and was inspired by this comic strip: ( https://www.instagram.com/p/CFcE6NcFvX6/ ) I really wanted to showcase the multiple personalities Sasuke has depending on the amount and type of alcohol he drinks. In a later SASUSAKU smut chapter, soju Sasuke becomes Charasuke which I was trying to allude in the line "Fight for Sakura's love." I just thought it would be hilarious to combine Drunk Lee and Charasuke in a fight.

Also third wheel Naruto get me going as well. In my mind, he instantly reacquainted himself with Hinata after the mission (if you know what I mean) and being Shino's birthday, Hinata wanted to spend the night with her team mates, encouraging him to third wheel the two love birds.

I hope you guys enjoyed my story! Stay tuned for part 2.

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nyd-needs-cuddles · 3 years

Text

Emperor’s New Clothes

Finders keepers, losers weepers!

When Sanji is wed, the Strawhats are too little, too late.

They come upon bloody bodies stuck on tables and chairs, all looking similar to their beloved Cook sans a large man with the only defining feature of blonde hair. They’re all barely alive, clinging to air for how knows long. Chopper is immediately upon them, panicked but steady, shouting instructions over Pedro and Brook’s direction as Carrot tries not to puke with Nami helping her out.

Luffy stands in front of the altar, quiet but not for long.

“Nami,” he says, without looking away at the place where Sanji had been forcefully thrust upon some random girl. He knows he likes women—loves them, even. But this place is a cage hidden with sweets and food that Luffy would never glance at, and Luffy should know (he nearly lost a brother to a similar, golden cage—). “Where?”

Nami stops from where she’s rubbing circles on the Mink’s back, sees the steel line on Luffy’s—no, her Captain’s shoulders and feels a comforting weight settle on her like a protective blanket, and she understands. She may not have Zoro’s innate understanding, nor Robin’s intelligent observations, or Ussop’s easy camaraderie, but she’s his Navigator. She’s the one who guids his anger and let him loose.

It isn’t raining, and there is no Aqua Laguna to run away from, but a nakama is missing (taken away from their home—) and if she has to set the World Government Flag on fire, she will.

“Follow me,” she answers, and knows it’s true.

(They’d give up their lives for him, but knows it’s harder to come back after turning him away)

—

Sanji is found in a small cottage, asleep and with a girl—his bride, but she looked no older than Shirahoshi—who cries and attempts to kill them with a grin on her face.

Luffy bats her away, then breaks the pistol and knife on her grasp. Face devoid of any joy, he asks, “Are you going to hurt him?”

Speechless, she doesn’t speak. But Luffy’s eyes tell stories when he doesn’t have the patience to, and she tears up as she nods, “For as long as I live.”

Nodding, and deeming her sincere, Luffy walks up to his Cook’s slumbering form and sets his hat on his chest without a word.

Exiting the safe haven amidst a cake-frosted wonderland, Strawhat Luffy leaves for war.

—

Katakuri sees the man in front of him, thin but whipcord strength hidden underneath his fancy clothes, a fedora atop where a strawhat should be.

He sees, then, still only for a moment, but what he has yet to hear staggers him.

“Move, I have no reason to fight you.”

It takes him a few beats before he realizes that Luffy had spoken in the present, and he can’t help the confused, “What?” Even as he already knows his answer, which was more baffling than the first one.

“Pigtails would cry, and she likes Sanji so I won’t make her sad,” was his simple reply. It was dumbfounding. “So move. I don’t wanna fight you.”

“And why should I?” He finds himself asking, and feels the breath knocked out of him when he gets an answer.

“I have business with Big Mom.”

—

Jinbei sets down the red cup, no fear whatsoever, for he knows his Captain will be the Future Pirate King. A mere Emperor should not faze him.

Then he comes, decked in red and black, his signature item gone but Jinbei isn’t worried. Luffy-kun is calm, eerily so, and it reminds him starkly of his desperate run towards his brother.

But this is different. This time, Sanji-kun is somewhere safe with a protector by his side, and Luffy is not alone.

“Oi,” he says, unheeding the others’ murmurs and incredulous stares. “You’re the one who took my Cook, right?” His brows furrow. “And you made Fishman Island your territory. You’re doing a pretty sucky job at it.”

“Oh? Aren’t you that pesky rookie who claimed Fishman Island as your own?” Big Mom sneers, haughty and confident in her powers. Around them, her children stir in unease, but refuse to show weakness. “Come here to prostrate yourself? Hah! As if I’d let you live.”

Then, in a rare occurence of seriousness, Luffy-kun’s face is shadowed as he shoots back, “I should be the one saying that to you.” And then he’s a blur of rage.

Big Mom meets his haki-coated fist with one of her own, the collision an explosion of wills that sends majority of those present flying, and Jinbei watches in awe even as he struggles to stand.

This... is a fight between Conquerors.

He sees one of Big Mom’s children—a little girl, who looked severely displeased—try to hit Luffy-kun woth her weapon, and he sends a stream of caramel towards her. Shifting into his favored stance, Jinbei faces the children of the soon-to-be defeated Emperor and introduces himself, palm up, “I am Jinbei of the Strawhat Pirates, and I shall be your opponent! Let’s not bother them, yes?”

—

They’re still fighting.

Pedro knows what Strawhat is doing is risky, knows that they still need to get to Wano, but Strawhat is still fighting and he’s losing.

“Pedro!” Nami yells, secure with the fact that they’ve gotten a copy of the Red Poneglyph. “We need to go! We’ll just get caught up in the crossfire at this rate!”

“But your captain—“

“Luffy will be fine!” She interrupts, and smiles. It’s not without worry, but filled with faith. Not blind faith of someone who worships gods, but one that has seen happenings people would call miracles when it was merely a kind and brave act of a human soul. “He’s gonna be the nest Pirate King, remember?” She winks, and Pedro...

Pedro remembers watching the Pirate King’s execution, remembers the rain against his fur and his sword slipping out of his paws.

Then he remembers all that they had done—infiltrated Tottoland, stole a copy of a Red Poneglyph, allied with another Worst Generation Rookie, successfully retrieved their crewmate—and lets himself hope that the sun will shine again, and bring about a new dawn.

Perhaps, after this, he’ll see his home bright and happy (truly happy) once this is done.

—

Luffy unlocks Snakeman, but it’s not enough.

He knows he’s not strong yet, knows there’s a reason Torao became his friend before going after Kaido, but Sanji was hurt and his family nearly got killes and Sanji—his kind, sweet Cook with a bleeding heart and kicks as hard as steel—would forever blame himself if he didn’t do anything about it.

Sanji is strong, but not as strong as he is. And Luffy is the Captain, so it’s his turn to help him.

Once more concentrating on his haki, he stores up all the helplessness at Sanji being taken away (yet another failure, what kind of captain is he?), the fury (how dare they steal Sanji’s freedom!?), the sorrow (oh, he’ll be sad. He’’ll cry. Luffy can’t let that happen), the glee (he’s safe he’s here he’s whole he won’t die like Ace—) and glares down at Big Mom, huffing and puffing and the flames on her hair dying. The cloud was taken by Nami, so he won’t have to worry about that. He’s rubber, anyway.

He recalls Katakuri’s resigned admittance, the way he’d said, “I can’t leave my family.”

It sounded like—(“Leave them. If I come back with you, leave them.”)

It doesn’t matter now. He’ll beat up Big Mom, make Crybaby-Hoshi’s home safe, and take back the Mochi-bastard with them to Wano. He’ll like the donuts Sanji’ll make.

Decision made, he jumps and meets Big Mom head-on and, this time, it’ll be the last time.

—

When it happened, nobody knew except those in Tottoland had any idea what was going on (not even those who watched it with their own eyes could dream to describe it).

It starts like a thunderclap, but silent. An abrupt hush all over the world, enveloping everything within, and left all wondering but largely unafraid.

Only one can put it into words, but that was only because he’d lived through it before.

Rayleigh looked up not at the sky, but the sea in the horizon, and mused, “Took you long enough,” as he drank a glass of whiskey.

Roger’s had been more like a roar, a threat and a promise all wrapped in one.

“Let’s turn the world upside-down,” he said. And he did. Oh, how well he did.

But Luffy’s was different. A declaration of war, a simple fact with no room for arguement:

“Mine.”

And Rayleigh can’t help but laugh, for the boy who only wanted freedom and adventure, will be the one who conquered all.

—

He couldn’t believe it. Mama, Mama was—

Dynasty decapitated—

Oven looked at where Mama’s body had flown, sinking into the depths of the sea she loved so. Strawhat Luffy was barely standing, but the sight that he was, that Mama was the one who wasn’t—

“I told you, didn’t I?” He heard, and saw the other Strawhats emerge from where they were hiding on their ship. The busty gingerhead was smiling smugly at a jaw-dropped Pedro, Zeus (coward traitor that he was) cowering behind her shoulder.

—you just might see a ghost tonight.

“Luffy!” The racoon(?) yelled, worry in his features and pale, “You’re injured—heck, you’re worse than any physical dismemberment I’ve seen in my life! And let me tell, you, Doctorine made sure of that!”

“Luffy-san!” The skeleton yohohoho’ed, but the grip he had on his guitar was, well, bone-white. “Come, let us come home! Our nakama is waiting for us!”

Groggily, Strawhat lifts his head up, gaze blurry and almost catatonic. If he moves now, he could—

“Don’t,” Oven gaped at his triplet, and barely has a second to understand what he meant before Strawhta speaks up, voice shaky but with a command that said, Listen.

“You...” he whispers, coarsely. “This place... and Fish...’n Island...”

Oven knew what he was about to say, but nothing prepared for him to be pinned down by a stare heavier than gravity itself,

“They’re mine now.”

Then Katakuri flinches, seeing something with his advanced sight as he chokes out a, What!? And then he realizes Strawhat wasn’t done. Not yet.

Finger pointed solely on his big brother—their Katakuri, Luffy announces, “Him too.”

There’s a stillness, like the whole world was holding in its breath. And then—

“I can’t,” Katakuri answers, and he looks so sad and small that Oven can’t believe he’ve never seen this. Never seen the longing and sheer want that Katakuri’s gaze held as he watched Strawhat fight and breathe like he was God’s Word come to life. “I—“

“I...” he pants, but his eyes are determined—the same determination that brought Mama down with his fists and pure spite. “...are you happy?”

Katakuri doesn’t answer. It was enough.

“Go,” Oven murmurs, and Katakuri looks so shocked that his heart clenched. Had they really been so blind to their brother’s woes? “Join him. Call us sometimes.”

Daifuku claps his shoulder, and Smoothie nods. Amande takes out her cigar, and Annana is too young but smiles supportively nevertheless. Katakuri watches his family wait for him, and feels tears pool his eyes.

Brulee pushes him, only able to move him because he was idle, and she tears up as she says, “Be free, brother.”

You’ve done so much for us, let us return your love.

“It’s not goodbye,” Daifuku says. “It never is.”

Throughout it all, Strawhat is patient, and the rest of his crew don’t move. Though the racoon seemed to be a second away from sprinting on land and dragging Katakuri back himself.

Swallowing, Katakuri approaches Straw—no, his Captain, and kneels. Not in deference, but to meet him eye to eye.

Slowly, he unravels his scarf, and despite the horrified intakes of breaths, all the Charlotte Siblings had eyes on were Luffy.

And he doesn’t disappoint (not like Mama—Big Mom)

“Huh, cool teeth...” he grins, tired but so full of warmth even Oven feels safe looking at it. What more to Katakuri who’s been accepted without a second thought? “Like... Barto’s... you guys should... meet...”

“Of course,” Katakuri says, and it sounds like a vow, like I’ll follow you beyond death.

Oven doesn’t blame him.

“From now henceforth,” Smoothie suddenly breaks the atmosphere. All look, expect for Luffy who is carried by Katakuri as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. Maybe it was, maybe it is. “The Big Mom Pirates are now underneath the Strawhats’ Flag. Any opposition?”

None, save for Luffy’s dismayed groan of, There is no Strawhat Grand Fleet!

Scattered laughter erupts, and Katakuri looks more relaxed than Oven has ever seen him just by being with Luffy, and feels more glad of his decision.

And so Katakuri carries Luffy back home to their ship, with Jinbei and the Sun Pirates following, and Oven feels content.

—

Sanji can’t face him, doesn’t even dare to look at his—at Luffy, the strawhat a heavy reminder of what he left behind, of what he’d done.

“I can’t be the Pirate King without you!”

“Sanji,” Luffy starts, and Sanji can’t hold back his sobs. How could he, when the floor he’s looking at is the welcome sight of Sunny’s wonderful kitchen, when he’s away from that hellhole (and his blood family was alive, by the gods—), when standing before him was a Messiah that refused to be known as anythinh other than simply Luffy.

But he lifts his head up still, meets unfathomable dark eyes, and as they soften with a knowing look, Sanji—

Sanji breaks.

It’s messy, a loud keen tearing from his abused throat. His wrists are free and he still has his hands, his Captain is kissing them like they’re pure gold itself, and he’s wrapped in an embrace like nothing can touch him and he knows it’s true. Knows that, for him—useless, unwanted failure of Germa 66. Simple East Blue cook with a debt never (could never be) repaid and skirt-chaser. Vinsmoke Sanji. Blackleg Sanji. Strawhat Sanji—Luffy would break heaven and raise unimaginable hell. For anyone he considers as nakama—

For anyone he loves and Sanji can’t—

“I’m sorry,” it’s weak, nothing compared to the feeling of his Captain’s face smashed against his shoe, and he wants to cut his legs off—“I—I wanna go home.” I wanna go home with you.

I wanna go to the sea with you.

I—

“Silly Sanji,” he shishishi’s, and it sounds like forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. Curved crescents and a blinding grin. “You’re already home. We’re in the Sunny, remember?”

Welcome home.

Sanji laughs, hysterical and so full of relief. And then Luffy’s—his Captain, by god—dragging him out to the deck to meet “Mochi-bastard, he loves donuts!”, and it doesn’t matter that Nami had slapped him when she’s hugging him so tearfully like he’d slip through her fingers, doesn’t matter that he lied to Chopper when he’s clinging on his leg with insults spewing out, doesn’t matter that Brook was a skeleton when he shakes and rattles as he holds him close—

Because Sanji... Sanji’s finally home.

I wanna give All Blue to you, my Captain.

—

Torao looks at the way Blackleg-ya had a piece of Mugiwara-ya’s yukata on his hand, like a child that could get lost in a crowd. He looks at the unmistakeable forms of the Former Warlord Jinbei-ya’s “First Son of the Sea”, and Charlotte Katakuri “Dogtooth” having brunch with a three-eyed woman. He looks at Roronoa-ya’s unsurprised and exasperatedly fond look and just. Throws his hands up in the air and walks away.

He’s not paid enough to deal with this shit.

—

Shanks takes one look at the newspaper the News Coo gave him and spits out his drink.

“Capt’n?” Yassop asked, early-riser that he is. “What’s—“ he stops, and Shanks feels his shoulders shake.

There, bold in and huge, were the words printed for the world to know, “Big Mom, Defeated! Strawhat Luffy Is Crowned Emperor of the Seas!” And “Fishman Island and Tottoland, Flies the Strawhats’ Flags!”

Shanks finally guffaws, loud and like his old Captain’s, and he yells to the bastards he called nakama, “See this? Anchor’s an Emperor now! Just like your Captain! DAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“What,” is Benn’s first words in the morning. Yassop is still looking at the newspaper as if it could answer the questions of the universe. “He just brought down Joker, can’t that brat take a rest for us old folk?”

“Nope!” Lucky Roux beams, drumstick at hand. “It’s how we met him, remember?” And Shanks does. He really, truly does. Just like how he ran up on the dock of his West Blue island home and yelled at Roger to take him in.

Feeling for the phantom of a strawhat loved and dear, Shanks faces the sea and hollers, “All hands on deck! Set a course, my fellow bastards!”

“Where to, Captain?” Benn asks, but his grey eyes already know.

Gleefully, he screams an announcement of his own:

I’m taking back the crown! I’m all dressed up and naked!

“Wano! I wanna see Anchor plummet Kaido to the ground!”

I see what’s mine and take it!

“Make way for the King.”

#one shot #one piece one shot #nyd writes #bday gift from me to me #one piece #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy #au #whole cake island #whole cake island arc #katakuri and pudding joins the strawhats #good charlotte siblings #except for flamoe #fuck her

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