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seeingivy · 7 months

Text

lover

satoru gojo x f!reader

you've loved him three summers, now you want them all

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: FLUFF. good old sweet wedding vibes, you being an idiot, satoru being a bigger one and making dirty jokes constantly, and just being the best lovers in general

an: I named nanami's wife daisy after my sweet @daisynik7 who I always subconsciously associate with nanami now. please make sure to check out her work + support her bc she's the sweetest person to ever person!

Nanami Kento is made for loving. And you only realize it now, minutes away from his beautiful bride walking down the aisle, that he always has been.

“Y/N!”

You’re thrown out of your thoughts to see your lover looking at you just past Nanami’s shoulder, hands erratically shaking in the air as he beckons for you to walk over. You give him a smile, handing your bouquet to Shoko, before you walk over.

Satoru’s quick to lace his hand around your waist, a soft kiss being pressed to your temple, as you look at Megumi and Yuuji in front of you two, horribly failing to put their boutonnieres on.

“Hi boys. Satoru.” you state, leaning into Satoru’s touch. He’s rubbing small circles into your back as he smiles down at you, the soft aura of warmth in the air present in his constant touches.

“Hi Y/N. We-this shit is so hard.” Yuuji states, exasperated as he fumbles with the pins in his hands.

Megumi holds the pins and the flowers up into the air, his nimble hands twisting both in his fingers.

“You’d think this type of stuff is self-explanatory, but it’s starting to feel more like rocket science.” Megumi grumbles.

You fight the urge to laugh as the two of them grow more frustrated with the premise, trying their best to avoid having Nanami come over and put them on himself.

“Okay, how about you both hand me those before one of you stabs each other with the pins?”

You hold your hands out, softly fixing the flowers to Yuuji’s coat jacket, and then Megumi’s, before you pull back and admire both of them in full. Yuuji’s pink hair has been brushed down to perfection and Megumi’s wearing that expensive cologne that Satoru bought him for his birthday last year - the two of them the picture perfect groomsmen. Fitting perfectly in, with that soft love that’s blooming in the room.

You reach forward, cupping the sides of both of their cheeks, as you fight the emotions, that overwhelming, sickly sweet feeling that’s overflowing when you look at them.

“You both look very handsome.” you murmur, rubbing your thumbs on the softness of both of their cheeks as you watch the pink flush rise on both of their necks.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Megumi murmurs, while Yuuji all but wraps his arms around you.

The two of them shuffle away - more like Megumi being dragged by the wrist to go talk to Nanami with Yuuji - leaving you and Satoru standing slightly to the left of the altar. You turn to him, your hands instinctively reaching for his suit, fixing the little flowers pinned to his chest and his pink tie. He brings his hands up, crushing yours in his own, and stopping you in pursuit.

“Y/N.” he states, the tone in his voice teasing.

“What?”

“You’re already losing your bet, sweetheart. I saw those tears in your eyes when you were looking at Megumi and Yuuji.”

A stupid bet the two of you had made, since Satoru’s so convinced that you won’t even last five minutes when the ceremony starts. You roll your eyes, lightly shoving him, before you turn around to look at them.

Satoru’s quick to pull you flesh against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both watch. His soft breaths are enough to tickle your exposed skin, his warmth enveloping yours. Megumi and Yuuji are smiling brightly, laughing with Nanami right at the center of the altar.

They’re made for love too. Overflowing with it even.

“They’re sweet boys, Satoru. I-I’ve seen them in so many compromising situations. Cradling each other’s bloodied bodies, blank faces when they thought they lost each other, they-”

The wave of emotion is back in full flesh, this time tinged with the harshest bit of regret. At the three of them, so animated, when you’ve never seen them like this before. That they don’t get to be like this all the time. That when tomorrow comes, the only difference will be that Nanami will put his life on the line, but this time with a silver band encased around his finger.

A harsher loss if she ever has to lose him.

“Shh. I know, sweetheart. It’s-”

“I’m happy for them. For Kento. It’s nice to be in a room like this, being suffocated by the warmth of love.”

“I think that’s actually just me putting my entire body weight on you.”

You scoff, turning around as you place your hands flat on his chest. He’s pulling you closer to him, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as you jokingly protest.

“Satoru.”

“You love it. Though, if you’re interested in me putting my weight on you in other ways, if you know what I mean, we can-”

“You dog. That didn’t even make any sense. And we’re at a wedding.” you scorn.

“Well, it obviously made sense if you’re scolding me for it.”

“Shut up, you’re so-”

There’s a soft clinking of the bell, indicating that they’re about to start the reception, that Nanami’s soon to be wife is about to stroll down the aisle any second. You turn back, giving Satoru a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek, before you stroll back to the other side.

And relish in the fact that Satoru has the marks of love on his face, that Yuuji and Megumi seem to glance at each other every time the officiant makes a comment about true love, and that Nanami Kento is about to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loves most.

You lose the bet at the two minute mark. When Nanami erupts into a fit of his own smiley tears, when he takes his hand in hers for the first time. At getting to spend forever, with his Daisy in the meadow.

The question, later on, catches you off guard.

“Whose that?”

You turn your head, to where Amelia - one of Nanami’s childhood best friends - is pointing, the look on her face filled with curiosity.

“Who are you talking about, Amy?”

“Him. The tall one, with the white hair and blue eyes.”

You swallow hard, biting the side of your cheek, as you smile.

“Satoru. Satoru Gojo. He was one of Nanami’s groomsmen.”

“Is he single?”

Your suspicions, the ones you’ve held from the combined bachelor and bachelorette party, are confirmed. That Amelia, like many others met you before, wants him.

It’s not the first time it’s happened. Satoru, naturally, has a gravitating sense to him. It’s in the way he stands, the way he smiles and talks that he can’t help but catch people’s attention. And you can’t even blame him for it, because it’s the thing that drew you to him in the first place. That magnetic force about him.

Like you’ve manifested him solely by thinking about him, he’s suddenly right at your side, his hand sliding around your shoulder.

“I saved you a seat at the table. I’ll just be in the bathroom, okay?”

“Okay, love. Sure.” you respond, watching the embarrassed flush spread across Amelia’s cheeks. You give her a warm smile, so as to curb her feelings, as Satoru leans closer to whisper into your ear.

“Blink twice if you’re going to meet me in there.”

You roll your eyes, before clenching them tightly shut and giving him his answer.

“You’re no fun, Y/N L/N.” he groans, pressing a kiss to your cheek before running off to the other side.

You turn back to Amelia, as she all but starts word vomiting.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything and I didn’t even know that you two were-”

“That’s okay, Amy. How could you have known?”

She somewhat deflates, cheeks still bright pink, as she mumbles.

“I really am sorry. I just figured since he wasn’t wearing a ring or anything, you know?”

“Of course. I’m really not mad, please don’t feel embarrassed.”

The two of you link your arms together, as you start strolling towards the table. You take a second to admire the soft fabric of the dresses you’re wearing, at the matching little bracelets secured around your wrists.

“How long have you been dating?”

“It’s been three years.” you state, your affection for him glowing in your chest.

“Are you guys engaged?”

And you’re not sure why, but every fiber in your being is begging you to say yes.

“No.”

“Well, sometime soon. God knows, that’ll be you up there sometime soon.” she states, lightly squeezing your hands before she splits and walks towards her own table.

You turn your head towards the door, to find Satoru excitedly wrapping his arms around Ijichi, that you realize it.

That Nanami Kento is made up of love. That Megumi and Yuuji and Shoko and Nobara and everyone around you always has been.

That most of all, Satoru Gojo was made for loving. And it’s your deepest, sincerest wish that he’s made for loving you.

For the rest of your life.

Almost six hours later, and deep into the night, you and Satoru are both lugging an extreme amount of weight to your front door.

It turns out that Megumi Fushiguro and Yuuji Itadori can not hold their drink for the life of them. Which means that you and Satoru have to drag the two of them home, so they don’t do something embarrassing or commit an accidental murder on the way home.

“Stand there. I’ll come get him in a second.”

Megumi leans a majority of his weight on you, the sweet wine smell hanging on his breath as you watch Satoru lead Yuuji to the living room.

“Satoru. I told you that you forgot to turn the Christmas lights off.” you groan, only now noticing the little golden lights twinkling in the dark of your apartment.

“Chrr-istmas? It’s Jann-uary.” Megumi slurs, slightly shifting on his weight.

Satoru’s quick to catch him before he stumbles, signaling for you to let him go, as you head to the kitchen.

“Well, this is our place, Megumi. If you were so morally opposed to our decorations, maybe you should have stayed sober enough to go home.” Satoru adds, both Megumi and Yuuji dazed off on your couch.

You set the two glasses of water and Baby Aspirins on the table, ruffling their hair, before you shuffle into your shared bedroom with Satoru following. You’re both quick to help each other, you unpinning Satoru’s boutonniere while he attends to taking off your heels, before you both stumble into the bathroom together.

“Satoru.”

“Hm, sweet?”

“Do you remember Amy? Amelia?” you ask.

He pauses for a second, rolling over the thought, before he leans against the counter and turns to you. He’s holding your toothbrush in his hand, already set with the paste, before reaching for his own.

“No. Who’s that?”

“She’s one of Nanami’s friends. You met her at the bachelor/bachelorette party.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Short, long red hair and a lot of freckles?”

“Hm. Doesn’t ring a bell. Why do you ask?”

“Oh. She just thought you were cute. Was asking me if you were single.”

There’s a wide smirk spreading across his face, as he wraps his arms around your waist and makes the motions to tickle you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re too cute! Are you jealous?”

“No.” you grumble, cheeks turning hot at the premise.

“Yes, you are.”

“How could I be jealous? Are you forgetting what we did in the bathroom?”

“Aw, you’re so possessive, princess. It’s so sweet.” he adds, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder, as he makes the moves to start removing your makeup.

Satoru’s love language is acts of service, down to his bones. Meaning that any small task you could do for yourself - like taking your shoes off, making your breakfast - it was something that Satoru always beat you to doing.

But his favorite? Taking off your makeup, massaging your little serums into your skin, and pressing a kiss to the top of your head before the two of you go to bed.

“You’re the only one for me, silly girl.”

“I know that. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Oh?” he asks, fully laughing as you shove him.

“Well, she did say another thing. That got me thinking.”

He sets down the little bottle of wipes, securing his hands around your waist as he lifts you to sit on the counter. He stands in the little space between your legs, squeezing the sides of your waist as he patiently waits for you to talk.

“Well, she asked me if we were engaged? And I was just kind of thinking about….why we weren’t.”

“Oh.”

Satoru’s face is devoid of any emotion, as you make your best efforts to backtrack.

“I-I’m not saying that as an insult to you! I just mean that….maybe I realized that I want to be with you forever. And I’ve always known that, but I really want it. Right now. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the day after, but I know that if something did happen, I’d hate to know we never got to cross that.”

You lock your fingers in with his, rubbing your fingers into his calloused skin as the admission, so vulnerable it makes your chest hollow out.

“You just mean the world to me, Satoru. I want everyone to know it, from the little metal band that goes right here.” you murmur, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a kiss right into the little divot of his ring finger.

It’s at this moment that Satoru Gojo doesn’t know what to do. And he fully curses that bitch Amelia, who he can’t even fucking remember mind you, for putting this stupid thought into your head.

For throwing a wrench into his plans.

Because in earnest, Satoru Gojo would be crazy not to marry you. Not when he loves you so much, when you fill every empty part of him so tenderly with love that he can’t even remember the pain of that loss at all.

So much so, that he’s been planning out the perfect proposal for months. Just for you, here and now, to suggest it to him in your shitty bathroom.

“You don’t have to say anything, Satoru. I know marriage is a big thing to think about. We can talk about it another day.”

He watches you smile at him, so genuine and kind, before you press a kiss and pad out the room to change out of your dress. And the entire moment makes his heart sting.

That you think for a second that he has to consider whether or not he wants to marry you. That it doesn’t even hurt you, that you’re willing to wait for when he’s ready. That you think he isn’t dying to call you yours, to wear a ring proudly on his finger and tell any living, breathing soul that you’re his.

The following morning, he recounts the situation to a very hungover Megumi and Yuuji. And the two of them are half there, which adds up to one fully functional brain, in Satoru’s eyes.

“Shit. So what did you say?” Megumi asks.

“Nothing? I’ve been planning out this stupid proposal for weeks, I couldn’t just do it then and there!”

“You said nothing? She probably feels like shit right now.” Megumi adds, rather unhelpfully.

“Do you have a ring?” Yuuji asks.

Satoru fishes around in his pocket for that light green, velvety box before handing it to Yuuji. He doesn’t miss the way their eyes go wide, the soft smiles on their face, as they admire the ring.

One Satoru took six months to pick out and then had to end up custom designing. So that it could be perfect for you.

“I’m so happy for you, Gojo-sensei. You’re made for each other.” Yuuji adds, excitedly smiling at him as Satoru takes the box back.

He admires the little glimmering gem, warmth pooling in his own chest, as he tucks it safely back into his pocket when you trudge out of the bedroom. You’re half asleep still - one of Satoru’s favorite sights - as you groan and reach for the warm cup of coffee that Satoru had already prepared for you.

“Morning. How are your heads?”

“Pounding.” Megumi groans, bringing his fingers up to his temples as Yuuji slides him a glass of water.

“We’ll make breakfast, yeah?”

You and Satoru move to make the two of them eggs, giving each other soft smiles as you hear the two of them murmur behind your back.

“Hey, Satoru?”

“Yes, princess?”

“About last night…”

Satoru freezes up, giving Megumi and Yuuji a look, as they both all but end their conversation and immediately start eavesdropping.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I-I wasn’t trying to pressure you into something.”

“You didn’t-”

“I did. I guess I just felt weird when Amy brought it up and all, especially since we were at the wedding. But we don’t have anything to prove to anyone and you know, marriage is a social construct anyways, so…”

Satoru can tell very quickly that you’re trying to backtrack from the tone in your voice. That it’s so dejected, that you can’t even force yourself to say the words like you mean them.

"What we have, right now, means the world to me. Your heart has been borrowed and mine's been pretty much blue ever since I was able to know what that meant, but it hasn't been for so long. And that's really all that matters to me, Satoru. Really. That we get to stay together, like this."

And that stupid feeling in him twinges again. That you want nothing more to be together, to be married, but you’d put it aside to keep him in your life if you had to. That you’re more than willing to do anything for him, that you think he won’t move mountains to give you anything you want.

Especially this thing. This thing that he’s wanted since the moment he met you.

You neatly plate the eggs onto the dishes, before sliding them in front of Megumi and Yuuji and giving them bright smiles.

“I’m going to go get ready for work. I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

“I love you.” Satoru adds, rather urgently.

And when you soften, give him your tender smile, Satoru knows that he has to do this sooner than later. In fact, when you arrive home from work.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

You arrive home, particularly sore and bloodied, to find Satoru waiting for you in the kitchen. A horrible habit of his, coupled with his insomnia, means that he always waits up for you, when you’re out on a mission.

Satoru’s quick to move towards you, the metallic smell of blood in the air, as he reaches forwards, his anxious hands running across your skin and feeling for any cuts and bruises.

“Y/N.” he murmurs, nearly pleading as his eyes go wide.

“I saw Shoko before I got here. It’s all minor, I’m just a little sore.”

Satoru’s hands are all but trembling as he wraps his hands around your face, trying his best to ignore that metallic taste of blood on your lips and focus more on the sweet, vanilla taste of your chapstick. He’s breathing hard as he rests his forehead against yours and you absentmindedly bring your hands up to his chest.

“Hi Satoru.” you whisper.

“Hi Y/N.”

“I’m okay.”

“I know you are. It just never gets easier seeing you like this. You getting a paper cut is basically the end of the world for me.”

You giggle, earning a soft smile from him, as he tilts your face slightly up. You press a kiss to the palm of his hand, before deflating directly into his arms and wrapping yourself in his embrace. It’s only then that you notice the lit candles on the dinner table and the smallest bouquet of pink flowers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“You. You and me specifically.”

You look up, giving him a confused look. And then he’s holding a little green box in his hand, flicking it open and turning it towards you.

You immediately feel the tears well in your eyes, the shining engagement ring glimmering in the box.

“Satoru.” you whisper.

“You kill me, you know that?”

You swallow hard, looking at his blue eyes as he pulls you closer to him, his hands secure around your waist.

“You really think I don’t want to marry you? I’ve been waiting for the fucking day since I met you, sweetheart.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been trying to plan it out. For months. For basically the past year. And-and it’s so hard when I want every second of it to be perfect. To be a testament to us and-”

You bring your hand up, the tears freely flowing from your eyes, as you rub your thumbs into the softness of his skin.

“You’re so ridiculous. Anything would have been perfect. It’s you.”

The softness in his tone, your words, are enough to bring the tears to Satoru’s eyes, as he quickly whips out his phone and hands you it. It’s open on a photo album, filled with pictures of you and Satoru. Specifically, Satoru holding up the little ring box with you in the peripheral, unbeknownst to you.

“Satoru.”

“I’ve been taking pictures of you. And the ring for like the past six months. It’s been under your nose the entire time.”

“Oh my god. You’re so fucking stupid, Gojo.” you respond, laughing as you shove him.

He’s leaning against you, your temples pressed together as you look at all the pictures. At his glittering smile, in each and every one of them.

“I hope you know that I’ll always want to be with you, married or not. After everything that's happened, after everything we've been through...I…I just want to be where you are. I want to go where you go and I…I want us to be this close forever.” he murmurs.

He takes the ring box back from your hands, carefully plucking the little ring from the plush, before holding it out in front of you.

“Will you marry me?”

Satoru Gojo is a lover. And you only realize it now, when it’s pouring out of him, in that sweet smile and that honey sweet tone, that he’s always been made for loving you. And you, for him.

“Of course, I will.”

He slides the little band onto your finger, quickly lifting your hand to press a kiss to it, before wrapping his arms around you. And pressing his plush lips against yours, warm and soft and so deeply fulfilling that it makes every bone in your body ache.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, as he laughs.

“Can we consummate our engagement?”

“That’s not a thing, dumbass.” you deadpan.

“I’ll make it a thing.” he responds, all but dragging you by the wrist into the room with him.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist:

@invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

pls let me know if you'd like to be added to the satoru as taylor swift songs taglist!!!

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toshidou · 1 year

Text

woe to the deer who is courted by the wolf . . .

pairing // könig x f!reader

word count // 7.2k

tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, vampire!könig, predator/prey kink, mentions of blood and injury, minor elements of horror (very minor), slightly misunderstood lonely vampire könig, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, rough sex, creampie, biting, blood sucking, blood play

an // after battling with writers block for over a month, who would have thought it'd take a blood sucking giant to free me from the shackles of having no inspiration? anyway this is the most i've ever written in one day, which is only slightly concerning. bone apple teeth!

thank you to @erosology for beta reading this, and forever being my number one hype man ;-;

Pale moonlight peaks through a frame of eerily still clouds, reflecting off the polished black steel planted in the ground at your feet. You can hear the whispers of your friends behind you, a little too old to be snickering and giggling behind the palms of their hands, although you’re entirely too old to have taken their bet in the first place.

It started off as a simple reunion between old friends, a short trek into once familiar woods to the spot you used to set up base for the night, roasting marshmallows over a concerningly large campfire, sharing cliche horror stories whilst swaddled in blankets. This very night had gone about the same, until someone brought up the old manor. An imposing house that watches over the village that surrounds it, well kept and suspiciously pristine, withstanding the tests of time despite the fact that not a single soul has ever been seen to enter or leave the premises.

It had been a longstanding dare, an easy way to get someone to down their drink, ‘I dare you to jump the fence and knock on the door’. No one has ever been stupid enough to go through with it, a couple tried, but got as far as the black iron that surrounds the perimeter before they gave up. And yet, here you stand, too many years later, an individual who should be both older and wiser than to commit several crimes for the sake of a stupid bet and childish curiosity, staring at that very same railing.

You can hardly hear the whispered words of your friends from where they cower behind you, your eyes transfixed on the looming building that seemingly stares back at you from where you remain fixed at the bottom of the hill. Mahogany brick unblemished, barely touched by weather, towers three stories high, trimmed ivy crawling up the walls as though attempting to reach out to the moon that watches over it. Each window is blocked by scarlet wooden shutters, an old-fashioned touch for a house surrounded by new builds; looking at it now feels like taking several steps back in time.

Not a single spec of light leaks through any crack in the shutters, each room bathed in darkness, the same way it always has. Surely, you think to yourself, surely no one can possibly be in there. Your theory has always been that the house is long since abandoned, its previous owner having died, looked after by a previously employed caretaker who hated to watch a building they loved go into disrepair. And although that doesn’t explain the suspicious lack of activity, it’s the only sane thought that you repeat to yourself as your fingers curl around sturdy black bars, and you begin to haul yourself over the iron fence.

A moment later, and the dull thud of your feet hitting neatly trimmed grass breaks tense silence, your eyes meeting with several widened pairs through steel bars. It’s the furthest anyone’s gotten, and even now, you feel like you’ve gone far enough. It’s certainly not too late to change your mind, to do the sensible thing and throw yourself back into safety, and just as you’re contemplating backing out of the bet, you feel the hairs on your nape stand on end, a chill down your spine so sharp it causes a physical flinch. When you turn around, you’re met with the very same house, not a shutter or brick out of place, yet something, somehow, feels different.

It’s like a siren call, luring you from the safety of your friends that remain frozen on the other side, hardly breathing as though they daren’t make a sound, apprehensive eyes focused on your shadowed form as you slowly make your way up the hill. It’s more daunting up close, no longer a silhouette against a twilight sky, now you can see details the distance has never gifted you, the way the wood shutters that plaster the windows are carved with swirls and intricate patterns, how the ivy hides bloomed flowers amongst pointed leaves, speckles of pink and purple that ease the tension that coils your muscles, only bolstering timid curiosity. And now you’re standing within feet of the house, you’re left in awe by the sheer size of it. It never seemed particularly small, not even from the gate, but the front door alone has you gulping down nothing but frigid air. You take a few tentative steps, eyes raking over the magnificent details carved into thick black oak, the centrepiece that catches your gaze being the solid gold knocker that sits just above your head, halfway up the door.

Two hollow eyes stare back at you, a skull with two rams horns that curl from golden bone, and between its bared teeth lies a ring that rests against ebony wood. It stands out from every other detail of the house, a spine-tingling reminder of where you stand, echoes of the myths that surround this house whispered by your trembling conscience, and yet shaking fingers reach for the ring, curling around cooled metal before lifting it, preparing to knock.

But you never get the chance, because in true horror movie fashion, you’re met with the slow creak of old hinges as the very door you stand before begins to open, and in the void of black it reveals, you swear you see two pinpricks of red that greet you in the darkness. Your entire body goes stiff, still clinging on to the gold loop of the knocker as though it’ll somehow ground you, yet it does nothing to chase away the overwhelming sense of impending doom that screams at you to turn, to run, to get as far away from this wretched place as your legs can take you.

You turn just in time to hear the worried calls of your friends before the door is yanked wide open, dragging you over the edge of the premises with it and sending you careening onto the floor, sliding against wood and scrambling up only to watch that very same door slam in your face.

Frozen. Every single part of you remains stock still as you try to adjust to the darkness. Not even the moonlight dares follow you inside, leaving you alone to dart your eyes in the pitch black, searching for some semblance of light you can latch onto. Yet the house offers you nothing, and you can’t help but see red dots every time you dare close your eyes. In the moment of still you’ve been given, your brain reels as it tries to think of a logical explanation for the door seemingly dragging you into the house with no human in sight to operate it, and in your panic, you can’t help but pray that you’ve fallen asleep by the campfire, and this is all an elaborate nightmare you’ll be able to laugh about when you awake.

A creak from behind you sends you hurtling back into reality, a sure reminder that this is no nightmare, not one you can wake up from, at least. Your head whips to the side, terror freezing your muscles solid as you lock onto crimson orbs once again, so bright they can be seen even with the absence of light to reflect off them, your blood curdling in your veins as they remain fixed on you, unblinking. You scurry backwards, the sound of your back slamming against the solid wall behind you echoing through the dark, fingers curling against peeling wallpaper in a last-ditch attempt to find the door handle.

Your pathetic scrabbling is interrupted by the harsh sound of a match striking against rough material, your eyes drawn to the responding flame it produces, but moreso, the large fingers that dwarf the stick they clutch.

“What a curious thing you are.”

Each syllable rumbles through very walls, practically shakes the structure of the house, a low timber steeped with an accent you can’t quite place, but certainly isn’t local. You daren’t breathe, let alone move, not even when the ground creaks and shakes with every purposeful, creeping step the stranger takes towards you. The flame grows as the match is brought to a wick, the flame whittling away the wood until all that remains is twisted charcoal, before transferring to the candle, the dying fire roaring back to life, casting a flickering golden glow onto the one holding it.

You’re met once again with red, but now you can see bleached tear tracks running from shoddy holes cut into black cloth, a mask fit for the monster that wears it, and as they stalk ever closer, you belatedly wonder how they’re going to navigate the stairs that must separate the two of you, certain that even someone familiar with a house must need more light in order to not fall. But they never begin their descent, and it’s only when the flame lies mere feet from you, yet so far out of your reach, you realise there are no steps. You’re face to face with a giant.

Adrenaline douses you like a torrent of water, your widened eyes alert and stricken with obvious fear, yet you didn’t expect the gentle touch that encircles your wrist, lungs sucking in a stuttered breath as you stare into the hollow red of its eyes. Large fingers draw your arm upwards, moving your frozen limb with ease, until it’s stretched far above your head, your fingers bumping against the smooth wax of the candle the giant passes off to you. Your brain scrambles for words, screams against the shackles of your fear-addled mind, waiting to release a slew of incoherent pleas for your freedom, yet your lips remain firmly sealed.

You feel a weight in your trouser pocket, eyes darting down to see his fingers pushing a box of matches into the gap of the material, only for your gaze to snap back to him as he hunches down, the material of his mask flowing down as his torso towers over you. You’re left caged against the wall, nowhere to run as his face levels next to your ear. It’s silent for a few horrific seconds, until that same spine-chilling voice purrs one single word.

“Run.”

It’s as though all your body needed was the instruction, responding immediately as you tear away from him, feet slapping against hardwood flooring as you careen towards what vaguely resembles an entrance way. The flame flickers dangerously, threatening to leave you in the dark once again, your fingers curling around the candle, whispering prayers that it doesn’t snuff out, that it doesn't leave you alone with whatever stalks you in the pitch black.

You don’t stop running until you reach a hallway, sprinting down the claustrophobic corridor until you finally reach an open door, rushing inside and pushing hefty wood until it clicks in place, sealing you within, safe for now. You hold up the candle to illuminate more of the room, watching as the soft glow bounces off a glinting gold frame and painstaking strokes of oil paint. An obscenely large portrait hangs on the wall in front of you, the image of a handsome man draped in fine purple robes, shoulder length brown hair pushed back with a crown of golden leaves. He sits in a chair, grand and crimson, lined with bronze, legs spread over the expensive velvet, one large hand curled over his thigh, the other propping his head up, his elbow resting against the arm of the chair in a way that can only be described as unbothered, and unamused. But the thing that has you utterly transfixed are the two red irises that stare right back at you, playful and taunting, and hauntingly familiar.

Surely this isn’t the man under the hood, the one who dragged you into his house and watched you scramble out of his grip the second he told you to flee. Because why would a man so handsome hide his face? Why would someone who looks so young own a house that has stood at the centre of your small village for far longer than you’ve been alive? Nothing seems to make sense, not a single aspect of the past 10 minutes feels real, and you can only hope your friends saw what happened and ran to get help, because you’re not sure there’s a way for you to conquer this man alone. It’s as you’re floundering for answers that you hear a noise from outside the room, instincts taking over as you quickly hide under a small dining table and blow out the candle, praying you haven’t given yourself away.

You’re not entirely stupid, you know the meaning of red eyes, and although you could attempt to soothe your psyche with whispered lies about contact lenses and make believe, you know better. The thing that chases you is no man, and certainly isn’t human, at least not anymore. And as terrified as you are, there isn’t a chance in hell you’re about to let yourself become this monster’s dinner.

You sit in the darkness, clutching the smouldering candle to your chest, and wait. Ears alert as you listen for the slightest sound that might give away your hunter, a breath, a sigh, a scratch, you do little more than hope that your hiding spot remains occupied by you, and you alone.

After a tense few minutes, picking up on no other sounds than the thrumming of your own heart, your fingers slowly make their way to your pocket, gingerly plucking the box out and pushing the case off. Despite the lack of light, and the trembling that consumes your body, you manage to fish out a match, and strike it, holding the newly lit flame to the wick of the candle.

Bleached tears. Red eyes. Large fingers. Looming body.

“Boo.”

The scream rips from your throat before your brain can catch up, the candle abandoned as it’s flung towards him in a last ditch attempt to throw him off, knees and hands protesting as they’re dragged along grooved wood, leaving grazes in their wake. The momentary pain isn’t enough to stop you, however, lungs heaving as you tear out of the room, clumsily bumping into walls and ornaments, impeded by the dark, motivated by sheer determination to live.

Your decision to toss away the candle comes to bite you firmly in the ass the second you find yourself tumbling down a set of stairs, and in a move of sheer instinct your hands attempt to slow your fall, only for the skin of your palm to get caught on a loose nail, slicing the flesh and leaving you wailing as your body finally slows to a stop against the cold stone floor you now find yourself lying on. Every bone in your body hurts, aches, but is overshadowed by the sharp sear of white hot pain as you cradle your torn skin to your chest, warm rivulets of blood oozing down your wrist, tracking rivers of red down your forearm until you hear the steady drip, drip, drip of your blood hitting stone.

A light appears above you, a halo of pastel yellow emanating around black cloth, and within a second, the fight leaves you, slumping further into the floor as you accept your death, hoping none of your friends were stupid enough to follow you only to meet the same pitiful fate.

“Please,” You mumble, voice finally found, entirely too late, “Just make it quick.” You hear little other than a hushed chuckle in response, a cat toying with its food.

“I imagine it looks worse than it is, kleine maus.”

You pause at that, curiosity ebbing through once more. You may not have paid enough attention to languages at school, but even in your state, you know enough to recognise those words.

“You’re German?” You mumble, fear forgotten in your shock-ridden state. The man shakes his head as he crouches next to you, extending his free hand towards the injured one you have secured to your torso, tittering again as you flinch. But you have little other choice than to let him pry your hand away, watching with wary eyes as he examines your sliced skin. He holds the candle closer to the wound, a soft tut passing his lips before he holds the candle towards you, urging you to take it with a gentle nod.

“Austrian. But close.”

It all feels strange, foreign, as though you’re being lulled into a false sense of security just so he can tell you to run once again, laughing maniacally as he watches you bleed over his floor. The fear returns once you have the candle securely in your grip, eyes locked on the way his fingers curl around the material that hides his face, and begin to remove it. Inches of once cloaked skin is revealed, a defined chin melts away to pursed lips, a smattering of dark facial hair that frames his mouth and curls up his jaw, the material pulled further only to reveal a hooked nose, and two narrowed eyes that reflect the candlelight in a way not dissimilar to precious gems, rich and vibrant. Maybe it’s the shock, or limited blood loss, but you can’t help but marvel at just how pretty he is.

Of course, it doesn’t last much longer, not when survival instincts kick in, the realisation that your bloodied hand is now near the mouth of a creature that lives entirely off the thing that keeps you alive. But the grip on your wrist is ironclad, strong yet not uncomfortably so, a strange juxtaposition between monster and man as he cocks his head at your wound. With a nod, seemingly more to himself than you, you can do little more than cry out as you’re hauled over his shoulder, his arm secured tightly around your waist, the hood forgotten in a small puddle of your blood on the stone flags.

It’s mere minutes later that he places you down on soft sheets, your body sinking into a plush mattress, left to watch him as he ambles around the egregiously large room, muttering foreign words under his breath as he roots through an ornate chest of draws. You must be in a fever dream, unsure how you went from running for your life, to being patched up by the very thing you were certain would kill you. And yet, here you are, watching as he almost awkwardly sidles to your seated figure, and kneels in front of you, once predatory eyes unable to hold your gaze as he sets out various medical items by your feet.

“Your hand, may I see it?”

You present your palm to him, watching as his eyebrows knit together, giant hands placing tentative touches against your skin as though he’s concerned about hurting you, the thought of which does nothing to aid your spiralling confusion. But you say nothing, you simply watch as he takes a damp cloth and begins cleaning your cut, fixated on the way his eyes snap to you with every pained hiss and suppressed whine, picking up on the way he ensures each subsequent touch is a tad gentler than the last. It’s not too much longer until he’s wrapping your hand with bandages, making sure the gauze is tight enough to keep your blood in, but not enough to cut off circulation, the type of gentle care you never would have suspected from the giant at your feet. Your curiosity has increased tenfold, not a trace of fear left to lick at your nerves and render you speechless, replaced only by the overwhelming need to know more, to learn everything.

“What’s your name?”

It’s his turn to freeze, ruby irises briefly flitting to yours, rounded with surprise, before they snap back down, making himself busy as he gathers up a scattered array of bloodied cloth.

“I… I have had many. The one most people knew me by was König.” It’s strange, the croon of his voice sounds almost nothing like the one whispered to you in the dark, from low and horrifying, to gentle, almost timid. You’re nothing short of fascinated, leaning forward as you scan over the contours of his face.

“Why’d you drag me into your house and tell me to run?”

“Why were you trying to knock on my door?”

Touché.

Heat licks at the skin of your cheeks at his brazen reminder of your attempted trespassing, your uninjured hand coming to rub at your neck in lieu of a response. After a moment of silence, he sighs, deflating into the plush carpet below.

“It has been a while since I last had any visitors. Your arrival was… Unexpected. You caught me off guard,” He pauses for a moment, pupils dilating as his fingers curl around the rags he holds in his hand, covered in your blood, “It has been even longer since I have been around fresh blood.” It feels surreal to have it confirmed, that the creature that sits before you is one you’ve seen only in movies and read in far-fetched romance novels. Yet, you feel no fear, that emotion all but vanished the second he halted everything just to care for an intruder's wound.

“My friends dared me to knock.” He cocks his head at that, a single eyebrow arching, bemused at your admission. “It’s been a dare for years, no one ever actually had the guts to do it.”

“Until you.”

A pause, your head dipping forward in an unsure nod.

“Until me.”

He’s staring at you unabashedly now, your eyes wandering over the rich details of the bedroom you reside in as an excuse to save yourself from his piercing gaze, an unreadable expression swimming in carmine eyes.

“I am glad it was you.”

You hate the embers of arousal that spark at his words, perturbed by your body’s reaction to seemingly innocent words spoken from a man you were sprinting away from less than an hour ago, and yet his eyes do nothing to put out the fire, intense and smouldering. You can’t bring yourself to look away, nor to quash the way your heart flutters as his torso leans closer to your thighs that subconsciously part to make room for him. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, nostrils flaring as sharp eyes zero in on the way your legs spread against silk sheets.

“And why is that, König?”

It’s as though you uttering his name opens the floodgates, black engulfing vermillion until only a sliver remains, thick fingers circling your shins as he leers further into the gap your parted thighs created, that same ravening stare that once sent fear trickling down your spine now leaves you gasping for breath for an entirely different reason.

“Because I haven’t seen something as pretty as you for a very long time, and I don’t know if I have the strength to stop myself again, maus.”

You couldn’t prevent the whispered whine of his name if you had tried, eyelashes fluttering as you move to curl your fingers in his shirt, giving pathetic little tugs to the soft material of his silk shirt, eyes dipping down to where loose material tucks into black pants. Your back arches, a shameless display of desire as you slide your body closer towards the edge of the bed, and further into his touch.

“Who said anything about stopping?”

Your words remain suspended in the air around you, two sets eyes locked onto each other, blown black with barely-suppressed lust, and yet you don’t dare to make the first move, waiting, wanting for him to shed his timid skin and swallow you whole, become the beast that stalked you through rooms just to feel the thrill of the chase. His hands leave your legs, instead balling up into tight fists against his own thighs, the skin around his knuckles taut as though restraining himself. For a mere moment, you fear he may have changed his mind, that is until he utters the word you craved to hear.

“Run.”

You ignore the lingering ache in your joints, your thighs burning as you dash from the bedroom with renewed purpose, fuelled by the all-consuming thoughts of what’s to come, excited to finally be caught, a far cry from the unbridled terror that sent you scrambling before. This time, he makes no effort to prowl in the shadows, your heart beat soaring as the loud thuds of footsteps echo from behind, the floorboards quaking under your feet from the force of his steps.

You know there isn’t a chance he’s running at full speed, but even then he catches you almost embarrassingly quickly, built arms encircling your waist and crushing you against his torso, bringing you to the floor in an instant, leaving you to writhe helplessly between his body and the floorboards. You don’t give in, however, limbs thrashing, nails clawing against whatever they can reach, whether it be the arms that pin you down, or the wood underneath you, feigning an attempt to escape.

That is until you feel two sharp points dig into your nape, not enough to break skin, but the threat of it leaves you frozen under him, a doe caught in the wolf’s jaws. But you don’t fear the bite like wild prey would, somehow, you crave it, to feel his teeth sink into you, to let him lap at your blood and drain you near dry, anything just to feel like you’re his.

The pressure of sharpened canines begins to lessen, his teeth slowly peeling back from your skin, although anticipating your body to begin thrashing once again. But you remain subdued, the embers now engulfed by crackling flames that lick at your nerves and set your skin alight. It’s only when his hips shift do you feel the tent in his pants pushing against the top of your thighs, your eyes fluttering shut as you push your ass down to grind shamelessly against his cock.

“Temptress,” The word is almost incomprehensible through the growl that reverberates through his throat, a sound that gives away entirely how affected he is, rough and wanting. “You should be trembling beneath me from fear and yet…”

His words trail off, a stuttered gasp replaces your heavy breathing when you feel sizeable fingers trailing down your sides before sliding under your body, cupping your inner thigh. Your heart hammers against your ribcage from the chase, now bolstered by the scandalous touch as his fingers skim past your clothed core, only catching onto the way his fingers curl into the material until it’s too late, hardly leaving you enough time to yelp before he’s tearing you bare below him. The tattered remains of your pants are haphazardly discarded, joined soon by the threadbare silk of your ripped panties, one of your favourite pairs torn in half with hardly an ounce of effort.

“Yet here you are, schätzchen, quivering with need, dripping for the cock of the one that hunts you.”

The rough pad of calloused fingers swipes against your exposed cunt, unable to suppress the heady whine that leaks past your agape lips, your forehead meeting the hardwood floor with a soft thump. That single touch renders you limp, muscles going lax as you melt into the glide of his fingers as they tease your folds, slowing on every up-stroke to rub slow circles against your clit. It’s maddening, the pace in which he picks you apart, leaving you to grind on his fingers like a wanton whore just to feel the surmounting pleasure that builds in response to his touch. A tut sounds from above, heavy breath cascading over your nape as his head dips down, lips dragging from neck to the shell of your ear.

“What a desperate little thing you are, maus, you know what we call things like you in my native tongue?” Your head shakes, a breathy ‘no’ muffled into the floor, “Schwanzschlampe, cock slut.” Embarrassment mixes in equal measure with arousal, curling one of your arms under your head to hide your face, the action short lived as strong arms flip you onto your back, one large hand gathering both your wrists together and pinning them above your head, exposed before him in every way. It’s undeniably more intimate in this position, your eyes given little other option than to lock onto his as his other hand continues to tease your dripping cunt, carmine swimming with unrestrained desire pinning you to the floor as effectively as his near crushing grip on your wrists.

“You can’t hide your pretty face from me, liebling, I want to see how much you crave my touch.” He presses his forehead to yours, low candlelight from lamps that line the corridor walls glint off the two long fangs that peak past reddened lips with every word spoken. And it’s seemingly your turn to catch him off guard, your head tilting upwards to push your lips to his, swallowing his surprised gasp down greedily, arching your chest to push against his. The kiss is desperate, messy, a combination of saliva drips down your chin, moans and rumbled grunts creating a symphony that drifts down the winding halls of his home. With a nudge, you ensure his eyes are locked to yours as you part your lips, your tongue curling over his teeth before brushing over the point of his elongated canine.

With a push, you feel the sting as his fang just barely dips into soft flesh, a drop of blood beading at the surface before you push the muscle to his, locked onto the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, the growl momentarily starting up again before his lips lock around your tongue, sucking at every morsel of blood that springs from the pinprick cut like a man starved. A man that has most likely been starved of blood directly from the source for more years that you’ve been alive.

If you thought that you’d unlocked the beast within him before, the taste of your blood brings out an entirely new side. His lips part from yours, the crimson in his frenzied eyes transforming before you, as though enriched from just a taste of warm iron. You watch as his pupils dilate and constrict, each push and pull between black and red prove hypnotic as his eyes slowly begin to refocus, the colour to his irises seem dull in comparison to the bright vermillion flecked with gold that peers down at you, still wild with hunger, driven by need.

The moment is broken mere seconds later when his head drops to your neck, sharpened teeth dragging along the throbbing pulse at the base of your throat, and just when you expect the bite, you’re left gasping for an entirely unrelated reason as your shirt comes apart against sharp enamel, shredded where it surrounds your naked torso, leaving you entirely bare. Yet all it takes is a singular glance to realise he remains fully dressed, not a single article shed.

“König,” Your voice comes out strained, practically whining as though prepared to beg, “Let me undress you?”

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking up to you from under his lashes before the grip on your arms lessens, his legs folding under him as he rights himself into a kneeling position over your body. He suddenly seems unsure, maybe a little self-conscious as you lean up brushing your fingers over flowing pristine white silk, taking your time as you unfasten each button, never once letting your eyes stray from his. And despite the hint of bashfulness, he keeps his gaze pinned to you, a wary lion caught off guard by brave prey.

After the last button falls undone, you let the tips of your fingers trace up revealed skin, before pushing the shirt from his shoulders, and watching as it billows onto the floor, exposing a defined chest highlighted by a smattering of scars that tell stories you could only dream of hearing. He’s nothing short of ethereal, otherworldly in every sense of the word, a behemoth of a beast, with the face of an angel.

“You cover up a lot for a man as handsome as you are.” Your disguised question prompts a flinch, solid fingers clutching into fists at his side, but before you can rush to amend your words, he slumps, resigned to your curiosity.

“I have garnered a reputation I do not wish to catch up to me. It is safer to keep myself hidden, maus.” You make a mental note if you somehow find yourself in his company after this night to ask him more, a carnal need to know everything that makes up the being knelt above you. But you tuck them away for now, refocusing your attention to the waistband of his trousers, deft fingers wasting little time undoing the silver clasp and dragging down the zip until the front peels open.

“Good thing you don’t have to keep hidden in front of me, huh?” Your lips tug upwards into a playful smirk, your hands planting on the solid muscle of his chest before you’re pushing him backwards, letting his legs splay out either side of your now free body before easing both his pants and underwear down the corded muscle of his thigh, marvelling at each inch of skin revealed to ravenous eyes. His trousers join the crumpled mess of clothes that lay scattered across the floor, giving him no time to adjust to his new found nudity before your head is ducking down, tongue flitting out to lick a long strip from the base of his cock to the tip.

Your enthusiasm is immediately rewarded with a faltered whine, watching from under your lashes as his head lolls backwards, trembling fingers coming to cup either side of your face. He’s big, his cock twitching against the defined muscle of his abdomen, thick and long, and nothing short of daunting. Yet you choose to focus on the way your pussy clenches around air at the mere sight of it, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you’ll understand what it is to be split open by him, to be fucked by him. Your tongue darts out once more to press against the tip, the small cut on the surface only just healed over, your spine shuddering at the dulled sting that follows as you begin to take the head of his cock between your lips, mouth stretched almost painfully around the girth.

It does nothing to dissuade you, however, tears clouding your vision of his blissed out expression as you swallow him down deeper, hardly taking more than two inches before your throat spasms around him in protest, coaxing a throaty whimper from spit-shined lips that has your hand darting down to your clit, fingers rubbing desperate circles into soaked flesh.

The following whine that reverberates around his cock swiftly gives you away, crimson eyes focusing in on the way your hand disappears between your thighs, before flitting back to the way your watering eyes remain locked to his, hissing out several curses in German at the sight of your lips wrapped around his straining cock.

“Your mouth… Gott, your fucking mouth,” strong fingers guide your head off his cock, your lips separating from the tip with a lewd pop, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting your lolled out tongue to his cock. “Need to fuck you, schätzchen, I can’t wait any longer, verdammte hölle—”

You’re not given any warning before he’s pinning your back to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and bending you in half, a feat you didn’t know you were capable of before his strong fingers moulded you into the perfect position to take his cock. Folded like this, you can’t help but feel like a doll in his hands, your height and weight rendered meaningless under the sheer size of the monster above you. Trepidation begins to simmer under the surface of your skin, trying to imagine just how your body could ever make room for him.

But he doesn’t leave you much time to fret before his head falls to your thighs, thick fingers twitching from where they hold up your legs as his nose buries into your pubic bone. Long strands of brunette block your vision, startling as you register the feeling of something thick and wet pressing against your folds.

“K-König!” Your cry prompts a responding groan from the man below you as his tongue licks firm stripes up the length of your cunt, glassy eyes drifting up to you as though intoxicated, drunk of the heady taste of your arousal. With a jolt, you’re left helpless to watch as one of his hands slides down your thigh, stuttering through another gasped moan of his name as you feel a single thick digit slide into the wet heat of your pussy, eyes watering at the stretch that merely one of his fingers provides.

He doesn’t hold up, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking the second he feels your walls clamp around him, slowly easing your muscles into accepting a second finger, distracting you from the momentary pain by lapping his tongue against your engorged clit. But even so, taking two of his fingers feels like more of a challenge than any cock you’ve taken in the past, eyes rolling backwards as he begins to crook them within you, calloused fingers rubbing against the gummy walls of your cunt in a way that has you convulsing around him, warbled sobs hiccuping past your lips as you feel your first climax rip through your body.

“One more, maus, I need you to take one more so I know I won’t hurt you.”

Tears track down your face, still processing the intensity that just wracked your body, but you nod down at him anyway, rewarded with a gentle smile and whispered praise as he cautiously eases a third finger into you, pausing the second he hears a pained hiss after the first knuckle. He hums, placing tender kitten licks against your still throbbing clit, letting you push past tender overstimulation to help pull your mind off the burning stretch, refocusing your attention to the pleasure his mouth provides.

“Doing so well, liebling, almost there…” His words are whispered against your glistening pussy, eyes firmly fixed on yours as he guides you through, until finally all three of his fingers are pushed to the hilt, cooed praise following immediately after.

“König, need you, I need you inside of me, please.” Your sniffled plea evokes nothing more than a playful smile from him as he cocks his head to the side.

“Am I not inside of you right now, maus?” His tone is teasing, words accompanied by a wiggle of the fingers that remain buried in your cunt, coaxing a depraved moan from your already raw throat.

“Your cock, wan’ your cock so bad,” It takes a second to search for the word that sits on the tip of your tongue, your eyes sparking when it finally comes to you, “Bitte, König.”

It’s immediate, the way his fingers pull from your cunt and secure themselves back around your thigh, darkened rubies glinting with that same predatory stare you’re all too familiar with now. He wastes no time as the tip of his cock bumps against soaked folds, your fingers wrapping around his veined shaft as you guide him inside, mouth parting in a silent cry as the tip pushes past the first ring of muscle and leaves you breathless.

There is no mistaking that three of his fingers gave you a mere taste of the stretch, belatedly wondering how on Earth he’ll fit amongst the tight walls of your cunt, and the other organs that surround it. But by some grace of God, he continues to move, inch after thick inch swallowed by your cunt as though it were made for him, a perfect match, the monster and his plaything, the predator and its ever willing prey.

A rush of air finally fills your lungs once the dull slap of his hips meets your ass, unfocused eyes widening as you take in the protrusion of his cock, the bulge obscenely large where it stretches out your skin.

“S’big, you’re so fuckin’ big, what the fuck—”

Slurred rambles are cut off with a searing kiss, passionate and fiery as his hips begin to draw back, swallowing down frenzied curses as he slams back into you, setting a cruel pace right from the start. You never had a chance, you should have known, and yet you regret nothing as he pounds into your abused cunt, your cervix meeting the tip of his weeping cock with each forceful thrust, thick veins rubbing against the walls of your pussy and leaving you glassy eyed and cock-drunk.

Mindless babbles flow from drooling lips, your neck drooping to the side as you hope your eyes convey your needs without resorting to incoherent words. But it takes little more than exposing your throat to him before his lips latch onto the flesh, sucking a line of bruises into your skin before finally settling over your jugular, the only pre-warning of the oncoming bite being the scrape of fangs before they’re puncturing skin, flooding your veins with a venom that has your toes curling, fingernails digging into the muscle of his back and dragging thick red lines against shuddering flesh.

His pace never falters, hips still careening against yours as his lips suck around the two minute incisions, drinking down your blood with a thirst you’ve never witnessed. Whether it’s the subduing poison that flows through your bloodstream, or the shift of hips as his cockhead nudges the walls of your cunt in a way that has stars blooming behind your eyelids, you find yourself hurtling into another climax, whimpered cries and bloodied nails evidence of your earth-shattering orgasm.

His lips finally part from your skin with a slick sigh, lips painted the most beautiful shade of crimson that drips down his chin, a line that marks your possession, evidence he’s consumed by you, drunk on you. And it’s as you lean down, your tongue dragging against the bloodied stubble of his chin, lapping up what remains of your scarlet ichor, that he finally succumbs to the pleasure, his cock jolting within you as he releases seemingly endless spurts of cum against your cervix, buried as deep within your body as biology will allow.

Panted breaths intermingle as his forehead presses flush to yours, lidded eyes, now nearly entirely consumed by gold peers at you, an interesting mix of fascination and something that looks almost fond discernible in his gaze. You still have so many questions, intrigued and just a little bit obsessed with the man above you, yet it’s apparent that your feelings are far from unrequited, and one day, every question that burns at your tongue and begs for answers will be satiated. For now, you’ll bask in his looming presence and tender care, grateful to have found him in the first place, however unfortunate the initial meeting was.

Just as his lips ghost against yours, the distant sound of creaking has you both freezing in place.

“H-Hello? You still in here?”

“... Scheiße.”

1K notes · View notes

biblio-smia · 5 months

Note

one bed (ends up cuddling) trope with Mike Schmidt please! thank you & congratulations :)

thank you!! | part of v’s 800 follower celebration!

when you'd picked abby up and she told you about the upcoming overnight field trip her class would be taking, you were signing up as a chaperone before she could even finish speaking. you'd assumed mike would be busy and you were happy to keep an eye on abby. you'd thought it was settled, then, and you spent the afternoon with her until mike came home.

you'd fallen asleep on the couch after abby had gone to bed, mike's late shift keeping the house quiet until a little after eleven. you wake at the sound of keys jingling and by then, you've forgotten all about abby's field trip.

it really slips your mind until you're at the schmidt's, right and early, overnight bag in your backseat. mike is confused, telling you that abby has a field trip today.

"i know," you say hesitantly. "that's why i'm here?"

the two of you turn to look at abby, who's giggling to herself.

"abby!" mike starts with a sigh but it's clear abby feels no remorse.

"they said we could have up to two chaperones!" she defends.

you give mike a look that says well, what can we do? and get abby's stuff in your car.

and really, you don't mind. you'll never protest against time spent with mike and abby, arguably some of your favorite people in the world.

however, you had not anticipated the accommodations.

you'd skimmed through the section briefly before signing off, under the premise that you'd be accompanying abby alone. while students would be spending the night "under the stars" in the observatory, parent chaperones were sent to a nearby hotel.

and, of course, assuming that two chaperones for one student were together, you and mike found yourselves sharing one room - and one bed.

"i can... call? or go to the front desk, we can try to get another room," mike offered quickly, avoiding your gaze, holding on to his things in the instance that he would have to leave the premises.

"that's okay," you say a little weakly. but really, you don't want to shove that responsibility onto mike.

"i can sleep on the floor," mike suggests.

"mike," you say, almost laughing. "i don't mind."

neither of you dare speak of it out loud, taking turns getting ready for bed in silence. it's awful and unlike any time you've spent with mike in almost the entire time you've known him (save for the very first time you'd met). there's a strong avoidance of eye contact as each of you climb into bed on very opposite sides - you're almost afraid mike is going to fall off.

you've been physically closer before, but now there's an intimacy surrounding both of you that frightens you. you're nervous, overly self-conscious of every little movement you make, every habit you have while lulling yourself to sleep.

you wonder what goes on in mike's mind with your backs turned on each other and suddenly you decide you can't take it anymore.

you roll onto your back and, a few moments later, feel mike do the same. you take it a step further, roll onto your side to face mike.

"i bet abby's having so much fun right now," you say with a grin.

"oh, i bet she is passed out," mike challenges.

"i don't know," you hum. "this is, like, the ultimate sleepover."

mike hums and then he's quiet again until finally rolling over to face you.

"is this awkward?"

"i think you're making it awkward." you reach out to pat mike's shoulder. "we've taken naps together before."

"right," mike nods, laying flat on his back again.

you take a chance. you scoot closer to mike, wrap your arm around his. he turns his body towards yours, inviting you closer. you bite your lips as you lean into his shoulder, trying to relax.

"goodnight," you say quietly.

"goodnight."

mike fights, very hard, to resist the urge to kiss your head.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fanfiction #mike schmidt fluff #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf #v + mike #v writes #v's 800 follower celebration #does this plot make sense #not really #i tried

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bettyfrommars · 4 months

Text

v a c a n c y

Eddie x afab!Reader

This is a short snippet of a world I've been thinking about for a while, loosely inspired by the film Equilibrium where feeling is a crime punishable by death, but also by my fascination with abandoned places, wastelands, and the idea that, even though love sets us up for pain and grief, life is not worth living without it. I hope to expand on it eventually. Hint: this might also be interwoven with my nightmare Eddie.

wc: 1.3k

18+MDNI, dystopian au

This is rough, I just spit out this scene because I needed this Eddie to cheer me up.

The sting of the frosty air bit your cheeks when you stepped out of the motel room you shared with your aunt Ramona. Wiggling the knob to make sure it was locked, you zipped up your coat, and then checked to make sure it was locked one more time for good measure.

Nearby, someone whistled to get your attention.

You snapped a look across the way to find that the newest resident of the Grove Motel was out in the parking space in front of his room working on his van. He waved a wrench in the air at you. “She needs tender loving care when it’s cold outside,” he shouted, possibly unaware of the noise ordinance for loud voices on the premises.

You wondered if perhaps he had mistaken you for someone else, so you adjusted the bag on your shoulder, turned your back on him, and kept going.

The steel of the wrench clinked to the cement, and then, at a jog, he caught up to you, and extended the spread out fingers of his hand for you to see. “What do you think?”

He was referring to the new skull ring he wore, and was about to tell you a story about how a Hell’s Angel traded it for a six pack, but you were fixated on something else.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” you gestured to the chipped, black polish on his short fingernails, not to mention the jewelry adornments he so proudly wore. “If they catch you, you’ll get a fine.”

“Fuck ‘em,” he put a cigarette to his lips, lit the end with a metal zippo from his pocket, and then clapped the lighter shut, keeping the coffin nail in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “They can put me in jail, wouldn’t be the first time.”

You came to a full halt on the pavement then, unnerved by his unique and utterly idiotic nonchalance. His gaudy rings, the flash on his vest over his leather jacket, his long hair, everything. Hell, you could very well get a fine for just associating with him. “They banish people too, you know? To the Outer Limits, I bet you wouldn’t be so cocky then?”

He puffed a laugh out his nose and leaned in, his voice a murmur that melted into a purr. “Well, then, you don’t know shit about me, sweetheart.”

You dodged to the side to avoid him, marching ahead with brutal determination.

“Hey, hey, hey, please wait,” he jumped in front of you, waving his arms. “I’m sorry okay? Just...wait,” and then his hands were up, palms out to mime the invisible wall between you.

Your gaze lingered on the dead tufts of grass around the sidewalk, but then cautiously rose to his brown orbs rimmed in gold.

“My name’s Eddie,” he bobbed forward before bouncing back on the balls of his feet. “I’ve been seeing you around for a couple weeks and thought maybe I’d introduce myself.”

“I know who you are,” you swallowed. “You moved into Curtis and Janey’s old place. They were friends of mine.”

“Oh shit, that’s right. He was taken away, wasn’t he? By those rent-a-cops with the cowboy hats.”

You nodded, working your jaw. “Curtis and his wife, they were always holding hands and kissing and…” a part of you worried you’d get in trouble just for speaking the words. “...being really affectionate with each other.”

Eddie gave an exaggerated grimace. “Yikes, that sound like some hardcore stuff.”

“Don’t make fun,” you inclined your head. “This is serious.”

He broke into a chuckle, biting his lip. “I can tell that you think it is.”

You kept walking, only to have him take backwards steps to keep pace with you, wallet chain bouncing with each jolly movement. “So, what’s your name?”

“You’re not from around here, I can tell,” you let him know, mumbling your name so it was almost inaudible.

“What gave it away?”

“Do they not have laws against feelings and self-expression where you’re from?”

“No, they do,” he spun on his heel to face the same direction as you. “I guess I just don’t care about their rules.”

You came to another abrupt stop to gape at his casual smile. You’d never met anyone like him before, and it made you curious almost as much as it infuriated you. He appeared to welcome your assessment of him with matched intensity, rolling his bottom lip through his teeth a few times.

“I have to get to work,” you stepped from the curb, gnashing your teeth.

“Are you taking the bus?”

“No genius,” you spat over your shoulder. “I’m waiting for my limousine to pick me up at the curb.”

At that, Eddie guffawed with laughter and sprang up next to you, shuffling in little hop-steps. “You had me worried there for a second. I thought maybe you were dead inside like the rest of them.”

“I’m plenty dead inside,” you muttered, thinking it was time to take your pills again, the medication that kept you from feeling anything and sucked any and all joy out of life.

“Do you want a ride?” He exhaled toward the sky, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I know a guy with a van who has some time to kill.”

“No thank you,” was your quick and curt response.

“Suit yourself,” he flicked the butt into the street just as an old, rusted Plymouth cruised by with a huge dent in the door. “But if you ever need like, milk or sugar, you know where to find me.”

“I won’t.”

A few yards from the bus stop, he called your name, and you spun around to face him, brow creased with irritation.

“Was that Led Zeppelin I heard coming from your place the other day or was I dreaming?”

You froze, panic flushing arctic ice through your veins.

The enjoyment of music was absolutely forbidden in your territory, and the only thing on the radio were news and religious stations. You’d kept your dad’s old cassette player and a shoebox full of tapes hidden in the wall behind your dresser for years. It was a secret you’d kept so long, you were always very careful about when you listened and how loud.

You were shaking your head, moving your jaw, but no words could come out. He would tell on you, and then the Troopers would come and ransack your room and take the only thing of your father’s you had left.

“Please don’t,” you took cautious steps, searching his face. “I can’t, I won’t listen anymore, but please don’t tell anyone. I’m begging you.”

Eddie frowned and grinned at the same time, confused. “I would never—” and then he realized you were actually freaking out, and his tone got very soft. “Hey, listen, it’ll be our secret, alright? I like to listen to music too.”

You looked around, worried that the aluminum skeletons in the junkyard next door had ears. You believed him, you had to. You’d been caught and you were at his mercy.

“I was just going to say we need to get you some headphones.” He bucked his chin and gave a proud wink, “I know a guy.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson blurb

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moumouton4 · 7 months

Note

Hii!! I saw the first time/losing virginity with the founders and was wondering if you would like to do some of the other Naruto characters!! I had wanted to ask since i think request are open?? Anyways thank you and i love your writing so so much!! (This is a plea for anything Rock lee)

First Time - Virginity Loss || Rock Lee x reader

A/n : Hello dear, this is a very good idea to do this prompt with other characters of Naruto but genuinely this takes so much time to write as there is a lot of possibility for a character. Things can go in every ways

Warnings : no mention of gender for reader, first time, grinding, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 1964

Again a character that I bet is a virgin. I mean look at him, he is always so dedicated to his training, when could he even have found the time to ?

In addition, I don’t think he has ever watched porn nor delved into this subject to know the erogenous parts of a woman's body. Even making children would have stayed a mystery for him if it wasn’t on the school science curriculum

You weren’t really the one to actually go to him and ask him to jump your bones, because he himself wasn’t the one to do something like this - did he even know he could ask ? - so you thought it was just as fine if it were to happen naturally by itself

And seeing how everything went so slowly today was certainly not the day you were expecting such a thing to happen

Yes you guys had a good experience in kissing matters. It seemed that it was the only form of language he had ever known when he was with you. For a hello, a good morning, a goodnight, a bless you, a you’re the best… and so on so for

Making out wasn’t something that happened a lot but as surprising as it was he seemed to know what he was doing during those heated moments

You were chilling in the living room, a book in your hand and a cup of warm tea / hot cocoa that was your best friend with how cold the weather was. A little before you decided you had enough of reading you heard the front door opening, announcing the return of your amazing and flamboyant boyfriend. Little did you know that those were only the premise of something you were eagerly expecting

His arrival was very quiet compared to what it usually is. He didn’t zoom to kiss you hello, nor did he brag on and on about the training he did nor how Might Guy was amazing. You decided not to point it out and wait for him to come up to you

After a moment he entered the living room, a not flashy at all good afternoon escaped his lips as he plumped on the couch, right next to you. Not bothering staying upright and slowly sliding on his side. It was really a pitiful scene to witness

“Love ?” you tried softly, your hand coming to rest and then rubbing in his arm “Did everything work all right ?”

For only answer he turned his head to face you and you literally saw waterfalls coming through his eyes. You knew he was quite the sensitive and passionate one so you didn’t freak out but still you were worried

It didn’t take you long to make him talk about what had happened that day. And it was quite the story, Might Guy had earlier this morning dared Kakashi to run across a frozen pond. During the race Kakashi was a bit ahead of Guy and the latter threw a kunai in the ice to disturb his opponent’s stride. But the karma struck at him and what was solid under his feet quickly started to crack. Kakashi managed to make it to the land and Guy, well he took a cold bath. He caught a cold and didn’t come this afternoon to Rock Lee’s training. It wasn’t really a problem per se, as your boyfriend trained as - and maybe more - hard and diligently as if his senseï would have been there. But still he felt like he didn’t do enough

“Please let me do everything today” he pleaded “All the shores, everything. And I’ll do even better than I’ve ever done”

You knew you couldn't even start to argue back because he wouldn’t have relented

Inching towards you he stated “I’ll start with our reunion kiss. I’m going to give you the most passionate one anyone, even me has ever given you” and with that his lips crashed - softly at first - onto yours

But then it got out of hand, and you didn’t really catch that kissing even more passionately would ineluctably lead to this. As you made out, you both felt your bodies started to tingle in places you didn’t know could feel like this

Still focused on kissing you like never before, Rock Lee kinda didn’t react to you being - by him - pulled on his lap, on his now quite straining bulge. It’s only when he felt like the kiss would be even better if he pulled you closer by the hips, when he felt you core grind on his erection, that he realized that he was painfully hard

A groan escaped his mouth, passing directly to your, his hand gripping your hips tighter and for just a second he froze, as if wondering if he could continue to kiss you, as if wanting to let you tell him if what he was doing was acceptable and respectable

You showed no signs of reluctance, quite the opposite in fact, you went back to kissing him hungrily but this time you were the one initiating the movement. You move your hips back and forth, grinding efficiently on his length, eliciting even more groans and somehow whimpers from him

After a moment of tantalizing friction you pulled back and you almost gasped when you saw the look his eyes were shooting you : he looked so fucking turn on

His hands held you hips still for a movement - as if he knew that he wasn’t strong enough to resist the power you had over him - his voice was hoarse as he whispered, making it even more intimate “And what if with this too I could show you that I can give my everything to make it the best experience for you”

“Please Lee” you moaned and his gaze turned even hungrier - you really made him snap

He didn’t lose any more time as he brought you to the bedroom. He carefully set you on the bed before turning to the drawer from where he took a condom. Why did you guys have those ? Well Naruto told him it was one of the strongest weapon against the pregnancy threat ( lmao I want children so much so don’t take the joke seriously )

His dark hair was already sticking to his forehead as his hands fumbled with the package, he was feeling so hot right now. And he seriously thought he was going to explode when he turned back to you and saw you naked before him, his face was so red, it could compete with the Uchiha’s Sharingan

It pumped even more pressure in his veins as he was now fumbling with his green suit ( how the heck is that green thing called ? ) His already hot and sweaty body stuck to the slim fabric as he tried to get it off of his sculpted body

After a long struggle, his length sprang free, standing proud and tall as he finally wrapped the protection on his throbbing member. He was now crawling between your legs, his mouth came back to yours and this time you could clearly feel his length poking and nudging against your thigh

He asked 2874624625 times before he was sure you were consenting. Once this done he carefully lined the tip of his needy member up with your entrance. His eyes bore into yours as he slowly pushed forward, making his way inside your tight warmth “Oh… this is mmh wet”

Moans and grunts cascaded from his lips as he concentrated himself not to act on the urge of simply slamming his hips into yours. With a little, delightful extra time he was finally fully sheathed inside you. He held still, far from wanting to cause any pain inadvertently

“Lee you can move now” you said softly holding back on your own sounds. But to your surprise he stayed still, as if he didn’t hear you “Lee ?” you asked again, but it seemed that feeling your velvety walls pulsing around him was the most distracting thing ever

“Huh what ?” he snapped back “Yeah yeah sorry I’ll just… ah” his body arched as he gave a subtle experiential thrust

He keeps a slow rhythm to make sure you’re doing fine, but as soon as he felt you were getting used to his size, he sped his pace. The room filled with the soft noises of his balls slapping against you, a soft thud in the darkness of the room

His want of making it the best experience ever for you became an overwhelming desire, one that pushed him to go faster and faster. He didn’t know how long he could hold back, he doesn’t know either where he can hold you to keep you in place without hurting you as he pounds into you

He may not be in complete control, he knows, no, he can feel you’re getting close - in the case he knows what an orgasm is. If not he is just going to hold back the pressure he feels in his stomach as much as he can. When you’re going to come you’ll tighten to viciously around him that he wouldn’t have any other option than to cum himself and fill the condom

As well as for making out he is surprisingly a good shot for some reason - you’re already planning on asking him if he has any experience - and he has luck too because his thrusts are getting so rough as he overs above that it allows him to graze your clit with his pubic bone

You’re gripping his arms so tightly you know there will be rest marks tomorrow. Suddenly as you feel your climax washing over you, you wrap your arms around his neck and swiftly pull him down for another heated kiss, making him gasp

As expected not long after he falls over the edge, his body spasms above yours, before his arms give out ( I tend to think that even for those ninjas sex is still somehow very draining ) he also moaned very loudly, making you very happy and grateful to not live in a terraced house

His arms snacked around you after he had pulled out and took off the condom, then he snuggled up against your warm body. His head nestled against your neck, his lips peppered your skin with soft kisses

At this point he doesn’t know anymore what he is doing, he is on autopilot as he nuzzles against you. He shivers and you pull the blanket over his naked body

And when you ask him if he is doing okay he goes “Huh ?”

“I said, are you happy with your performance ?” you teased

“I-I love you Y/n” he whispered, his fingers drawing patterns on your bare skin

For now you guys stay in each other’s arms and enjoy the afternoon, maybe take a nap or something, but either way you’re staying together

You chuckled at the effects the afterglow was having on him "I love you too"

That’s fine you’re going to wait to know if he was happy with your first time having sex. But he would only be satisfied if you were

From this day, love making became something casual that your boyfriend would always ask you about in the intimacy of your home, just to make sure you’re not missing anything - well with time he learns to be a little bit more implicit about it

He also somehow gets more protective of you, as if he kinda understood in a more complex way what it meant to date someone

There was only one thing he'd finally got wrong that day, and hopefully, this first time wasn’t going to the best experience for you, because with him many others would come, and each one better than the last

#naruto #naruto imagie #naruto smut #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden imagine #naruto shippuden smut #rock lee #rock lee imagine #rock lee x reader #rock lee smut #smut #miri-writes

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hornyhornyhimbos · 1 year

Text

Goofy Sex with Steve Harrington Headcanons

look how cocky he is, lil bitch

warnings and tags: MINORS DNI (18+) AFAB!Reader, oral both!receiving, protected PIV sex, mentions of ass eating i'm sorry, Steve refers to his 🍌 as "Little Steve" because i think it's funny, queefing, accidental cum swallowing, explicit language, references to marijuana use in the past, S3 Steve bc I said so, Steve is a sarcastic ass but what's new, transition-y bits are in red

Author's Notes: I feel like we as a society don't talk enough about goofy and silly sex with Steve Harrington so that's what this is, hope y'all enjoy 🤩

inspired by this post by @parkermunson <3

What sparks the whole thing wasn't even inherently sexual. Steve had taken the rest of the day off from work due to "aches and pains" and called you over on the premise of having a lazy day and cuddling.

You're watching cartoons, nothing inherently sexual happening. And then... the characters end up in a compromising position.

"Hey, what do you think sex would be like in that position?" he asks. Facepalm, you respond. "Hey, you wanna find out?" he asks. "Aren't you experiencing aches and pains?" you ask.

He glances down, then back up at you. When you don't catch his drift, he does it again. When you still don't get it, he says, "OK maybe I wasn't the one who was experiencing said aches and pains... it might've been Little Steve."

You cut your eyes at him and threaten to leave, but he meets you with a puckered-out bottom lip and a, "Pwease? For Wittle Steve?"

Somehow, the two of you end up making out on the couch for a little while. Tongues and lips graze against each other when all of a sudden, Steve pulls away.

"Babe, what-" "AH-CHOO!" Steve is a loud sneezer but that's a headcanon for another time

The two of you can't help but giggle, but you go back to it anyway, continuing to kiss as he begins to lead you from the couch to his bedroom.

BLAM!!!!

You're scared Steve might've broken a bone from how hard he hit his arm on one of his mother's decorative tables, but Steve insists he's alright. "I'm fine, but fuck my mother and all her damn end tables."

Luckily, you make it to his bedroom in one piece. You start to lie back on the bed, but Steve stops you, an almost devious grin plastered to his lips. "Have you ever thought about riding my face instead of my dick?"

You're sure he's meant to say it seriously, but the tone he used sounded so sarcastic, you almost thought it was a joke. Still, who are you to deprive your boyfriend even if he is being a little shit?

That's how you ended up grasping the bed posts, his nose nuzzled against your clit, his tongue hitting all the right places.

"Finally, something's going right," you thought to yourself.

Suddenly, Steve's moving his hands to your hips, hoisting you away from his lips and gasping. "Sorry," he managed to say, "couldn't breathe in that position."

So, you move on to something more fun for him: giving him head.

His hand slides down your cheek as your beneath him, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

"I bet a U.S.S Butterscotch isn't the only ice cream you wanna lick."

The room is silent as you both process his words. Eventually he says, "Yeah, I'm gonna pretend I didn't say that."

You've barely got his Scoops' uniform shorts pulled down before his dick springs into action, slapping you hard on the chin. You laugh as you take it in your hands, ready to proceed with the task at hand.

"Told you Little Steve was needy today."

You're tempted to leave again, but his dick looks so nice, you can't just say no. Next thing you know, he's sliding his dick into your mouth, moaning louder than he ever had before.

He's barely a third of the way in and you're barely licking the vein when he just releases, sending so much cum down your throat you nearly choke.

His eyes bulge as he runs over to the bathroom, making a cup of water and sprinting back over to you, his cock waving about. The sight only had you choking harder.

After a couple minutes of catching your breath and washing down his seed, you finally feel up to doing what you'd been in his bedroom for all along.

He grabs a condom from the bedside table, jokingly lifting it to his mouth. "You think I could make balloon animals with one of these?"

"Steve that is SO unsanitary."

"Look, my mouth's already been where this is going anyway, right?"

Despite his last sarcastic comment, you soon find yourself laid back on his mattress, his dick sinking into you. His hands are clasped around yours, he's trailing kisses from your boobs to your neck to the shell of your ear. The moment feels happy, close, intimate.

When all of a sudden... you queef.

At first, you're mortified, until Steve just continues pounding into you, letting out low, rumbly laughs from deep within his chest.

But finally, after all the ups and downs of this afternoon, you cum for the first time and it's pure bliss as he follows soon after.

He lies down beside you, a hand raking its way through your now sweat-matted hair. The moment is peaceful and quiet and overall, just feels like bliss.

"Isn't it funny how vaginas can make noises like that?" he says out of nowhere.

You roll your eyes, slapping him hard on the chest. "It's not funny!"

"I'm sorry, did you hear the same noise I did?"

You pout, sticking your tongue out at him. "Yeah well, at least it didn't make the same smell it does when your ass makes noises like that."

He slaps your buttcheek hard, a chuckle nearly escaping his lips as he watches it jiggle. "Says the one who's asked if she could eat my ass before."

You grab one of his pillows covering your face in embarrassment. "OK, that was one time and it was Eddie's fault." "How was that Eddie's fault?" "He gave me the weed in the first place."

He slaps your butt again. "Oh, don't blame the weed for amplifying your cravings for my ass."

Soon enough, the conversation has turned into a fit of giggles from both parties. You watch intently as his eyes scrunch closed with laughter, admiring the cute lines that form by his eyes.

He notices that you've gone silent, and gives you a soft smile.

"So... I'll be here all week, you know."

☆ taglist: @liberhoe @writer-in-theory @esoltis280

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assaily · 1 year

Text

Been a while since I’ve posted anything fic related, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever talked about this fic before.

The basic premise is the Handler/Commission put some kind of kill switch in Five that would slowly destroy his body planned obsolescence style in the event that he ever successfully defected. It’s essentially a sickfic and another one of those no sparrow, no season 3 au’s bc i wrote this a year and a half ago and the season wasn’t even out yet. I found it again this morning bc I finally had some thoughts for it after all this time.

Anyway, here is some gratuitous angst and Diego cuddling Five. CW for mild suicidal ideation.

---

Five looked miserable. Pale and shivering, he looked so frail and small, so old and young at the same time. Diego wasn’t a fan, he didn’t want to be in the room any longer than he had to. The space heater next to the bed was blasting like a Mojave wind, and still Five shivered quietly on his bed.

Five didn’t complain, not even to inform them he was cold. He hadn’t complained this whole time, and maybe that’s what was getting to Diego. Five was miserable, it was obvious he was hurting, it was obvious he was struggling just to stay conscious enough to mechanically munch on his peanut butter crackers. But he didn’t say a thing.

A cracker was left half-eaten between two fingers, his head drooped and his eyes slipped shut. He slumped into himself, still shivering. Diego frowned, slapping his knees as he stood from the armchair. “Alright.”

His voice startled Five, likely having forgotten he was there again. He flinched, head popping up, bloodshot eyes confused and darting before landing on Diego’s face. The relief was palpable, his shoulders slumping, something relaxing in the pinch of his expression.

“Diego,” he croaked.

“Yeah, just me bud.”

“Are you leaving?” He tried to make it sound like an innocent question, tried his damndest to keep his inflection flat, Diego could tell. But he could also hear the quiet fear burbling beneath it.

“No,” he lied, and almost sat back down again.

Five nodded and seemed to remember his cracker. He nibbled on the corner of it again, his arm shaking with that little effort. “It’s not stale,” he remarked, hardly above a whisper. It was the third time he’d said that about the cracker and every time it struck at something soft in Diego’s chest.

“Fresh crackers, just for you.”

“Fresh…” he rolled the word around in his mouth like he was tasting it. “Where’d you find them?”

“The store on fifth.”

Five nodded slowly, processing. The last two times that was the end of the conversation. Diego hoped it would be the end of this one too, but then Five looked over at him, a stark confusion breaking through the dead-eyed exhaustion. “Isn’t the roof…?” he made a fluttery motion with his hand, dropping crumbs into his lap.

“Roof is fine, Five.”

He shook his head, brow pinching. “No, I remember it collapsed.” He paused, Diego at a loss for how to answer. “There’s a pharmacy on tenth, it still has stuff. There might be medicine there.”

“We have medicine for you,” Diego said, gesturing at the table with the small battery of bottles atop it.

Five looked over at it, expression falling blank as he failed to process something. He stared for too long, unblinking and unmoving, that Diego figured he’d lost him again. Lights on, but no one was home.

“I hurt,” Five sighed at long last, breaking the silence and his stillness with another shiver.

Diego chuffed a surprised laugh. “I bet you do.”

“I’m done,” he said softly. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Diego swallowed down the lump that jumped into his throat. Five didn’t complain, not about the pain, the confusion, the exhaustion.

Five shivered again, cracker forgotten.

Diego couldn’t stand it anymore. “Okay, okay.” He needed to do something, anything to help. He couldn’t just stand there watching Five in misery, watching over him as he got worse and worse, as even the pills and syrups and whatever pain meds Mom tried to give him failed to do a goddamn thing.

“Are you still cold?”

Five looked up at the question, considering him for a solid ten seconds before nodding clumsily. “It’s winter,” he said as if that explained everything.

Diego didn’t have the heart to tell him it was the dead of August. “I’m cold too,” he said, reaching down to turn the heater off. Diego was sure Five didn’t even know what the damn thing was but his shivering took on a new ferocity the moment the coils darkened. He looked confused, lost and as Diego approached the bedside, suddenly defensive. His arms curled over his chest, jaw clenching, pulling himself back as if he could get away from Diego.

“You’re not--” he started, aborted with his mouth open, eyes darting around the room. “Wait, I don’t--”

Diego crouched at the bedside, realizing he was looming a little. “You’re okay, it’s just me.” He reached out, careful to keep his palm up and gesture slow. Five watched his hand, pulling back from him as he tried to touch his arm. “It’s just me,” he repeated.

Five didn’t complain, and he never talked about why he was so damn untrusting of them in his confused state. Diego didn’t want to think about who could have planted that mistrust and why. He knew why. He’d spent enough time with Lila. He’d met her mother. The first person Five interacted with in decades. Diego would have trust issues too.

“Diego,” Five said flatly, more an affirmation than anything else.

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

He almost wanted to know where ‘here’ was for Five. Somewhere cold, somewhere beyond the end of the world, somewhere lost in his own past. “I’m here to save you.” It sounded stupid coming out of his mouth, feeling it burn in his eyes.

Five paused for half a second, something in his eyes growing sharper than it had in days. Then he laughed, a single mournful guffaw that threw his head back and nearly toppled him back into his pillows. “Save me?” he asked, incredulous. “How? You’re dead, remember?” He smiled wide, shoulders shaking with more than just cold. “You’re dead.” His mirth turned to grief in a second, his expression twisting into honest fury if he’d had the strength. “You can’t save me,” he spat. “I have to save you.”

Diego reached across the bed and put his hand over Five’s arm. His skin was cold as ice, his wrist sharp and bony under Diego’s palm. “You already saved us.”

Five’s anger was smothered by the touch on his arm, his entire attention drawn to it. He opened his mouth, but only a half-aborted burst of air made it out.

Diego didn’t waste time. With the heater off, Five had nothing keeping him warm and Diego didn’t dare let him go now. “I’m cold, too.” Diego said again, catching Five’s attention back to his face and voice.

“I’m cold,” Five said, and Diego couldn’t tell if he was saying a truth or just repeating the last thing he heard.

“Let me in there, then.”

“Huh?”

Diego didn’t wait for him to figure it out. He half-stood, slipping his shoes off and dragging back the covers in one move. He pulled himself under the blankets, one arm around Five’s shoulders, the other making sure his brother was still covered.

“What are you--” Five realized half-way through the sentence that Diego was warm. The question forgotten, Five pressed himself into Diego’s side, shivering fiercely. “Oh,” he sighed, hands finding warm places to shove themselves into.

“Yeah, thought you might like this better.” Even though the old man would never admit it in his entire life. Neither would Diego. No one was home to see this blatant display of affection, so Diego could deal. He was pretty sure Five wasn’t going to remember a thing about this later.

He flicked the half-cracker to the floor, got himself comfortable, Five slumping more and more of his weight against him. His shivering was easy to feel, his whole body so cold. This wasn’t normal, and it settled uncomfortably in Diego’s gut. He wrapped his tiny older brother in his arms, tucking him against his chest to lay on the pillows together.

It took a while for the shivering to subside, took even longer for Five’s breathing to ease and his body to relax. “Diego,” he whispered, so quietly Diego nearly missed it.

He hummed, letting it rumble in his chest so Five could hear it where his ear was pressed against him.

“Diego,” he said again, and that was all. Nothing else to it, but Diego understood this time. An affirmation of gratitude in a whispered little tone, hidden every time he said their names. He’d fought so hard for them, and now Diego couldn’t stop imagining him when he was actually thirteen, alone and starving and whispering their names, putting everything into surviving so he could see them again. So he could come home.

It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t even have that.

Diego held him a little tighter, frail and bony and so, so cold. “You’re gonna be alright.” He was going to get better.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Five said softly, still below that careful whisper.

A laugh burst from Diego, surprised and a little wet. He swallowed the burning lump in his throat and closed his eyes so the tears would roll away and get lost on the pillow. “Thanks.”

“Don’t cry over me.”

Diego couldn’t answer that, couldn’t hold him any tighter, he could already feel his bones creaking. “You’ll be okay.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Go to sleep.”

“I’ll wake up,” he promised.

Diego let out the breath he was holding like a balloon, eyes clouding. “Shut up and go to sleep.” It wasn’t even a fear, he refused to acknowledge it.

“I’m not worth… all this.”

“Shut up.” Diego gripped the back of his neck, too hard at first, making Five tense. He softened his hold, kneading his thumb into the muscle, feeling Five’s heart fluttering that awful off-rhythm beat against his fingertips. “Were we ever worth all that?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “You were.”

Diego shook his head, his chest aching, scratching gently into Five’s scalp. “You’re a part of this family, too.”

Five didn’t answer. He didn’t rebuke, didn’t affirm. Diego could feel him thinking about it, and hoped somewhere in that muddled little head of his that he’d at least internalize that. How could someone who loved so hard think he deserved so little in return. It wasn’t fair.

No more fair than how hard Five had to fight, only to die a few months after achieving it all. No, Diego refused. Five wasn’t going to die. Not yet, not this year or this decade. Five did everything in his power to protect them. It was time someone stepped up and did the same for him.

#in case it wasn't obvious i have a serious soft spot for Diego taking care of a semi-delirious Five #i mean Five being taken care in general but this specific flavor of it appears to be a favorite of mine lol #tua #the umbrella academy #fanfic #fic snips and bloopers #tua fanfic #tua fic #Five Hargreeves #my stuff #my fics #planned obsolescence #i considered saving this for masked author/artist coming up but i doubt this will be any condition for AO3 by may #and i feel like i'd get clocked so fast posting something like this #also i have a shit memory and i already had a planned obso tag so now im worried i;ve posted this before and have simply forgotten #if i did tumblr ate it #hope y'all enjoy :)

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keepyourpantsongohan · 23 days

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Ayesha Liveblogs Cherry Magic S1

For anyone who doesn't know the premise of this series, it is about developing touch telepathy from 30 years of virginity. Believe it or not, at least in live action, it is a much more sincere, kind and lovely show than that premise might lead you to believe

"It's not a very useful power, and it's hell while commuting on the train." Anime Adachi is a bit more sombre than I expected. Grumpy little man

Interesting that the anime actually immediately confirms bisexuality for Adachi in a way that the live action only implies

"This is my colleague, Kurosawa. He's handsome, good at his job, friendly to gloomy plebs like me." Ah, the original Colleague Adachi Thinks About Such A Normal Amount

"You better have a crap personality." HAHAHAHA Adachi, please

"He's so close. He's so cute. I love him so much." I do love the visual representation of Kurosawa's thoughts going a mile a minute

"I thought I gained magic powers, but what if I imagined all of it?" I've said this so many times before, but it is INCREDIBLE that Adachi was fully willing to believe that he had magical telepathy until he learned his coworker had a crush on him and he was like, 'Unrealistic. Blocked.'

I gotta say, the flirting is so far not as cute in the anime as in the live action. Timing, perhaps? Tone? Not sure

"Maybe, I'll have you thank me with your body next time." This is an INSANE way to ask your colleague to dinner, Kurosawa!!!!

I do appreciate the consistency in Kurosawa only having nice thoughts. Also the pajama fantasies continue to be funny

"His place is dripping with popular guy vibes." At least in this version, Adachi says this about Kurosawa's bachelor apartment with FOUR houseplants instead of one. That's growth!

[Thinking about Kurosawa with this shirt half-open] "Would this have been simpler if one of us were a woman?" As a fellow bisexual Adachi: No, probably not

"Kurosawa likes me, right? So why didn't he make a move?" [Blushes, thinking about Kurosawa leaning over him] "That makes it sound like I was hoping he'd try something." Oh, Adachi, you're in it now

The way they both can't sleep through the night because they're too nervous thinking about each other is very sweet

"Try to get along, boys," said the director, as he set them up on a little thank-you barbecue date

"This is actually kinda fun. Kurosawa seems to be having fun too. This is pretty fun." Adachi is having such a good time the barbecue date he had to say it in three different ways

Adachi feeling guilty about wanting to leave things as they are... kind, sweet man

"It's not like I can reciprocate Kurosawa's feelings," said Adachi, like he doesn't compliment Kurosawa in every other thought and mentally flashback to him with his shirt unbuttoned

"It sounds like he's being nice to you. Why not use it to your advantage?" "What? I can't do that." Tsuge has absolutely NONE of the moral reservations that Adachi has about imposing on Kurosawa's kindness

"This is why you're unpopular. Too earnest, too awkward, too dense," Anime Tsuge handsome, but a hater

Also Tsuge, babygirl, your only other friend is your cat. WHO ARE YOU CALLING UNPOPULAR

Also, I looove Udon the cat sleeping in the bookcase. Babyyyyy

"Instead of worrying about what you should do, maybe you should think about how you feel about him." That's actually really solid advice. Good job, Tsuge!

"I bet he'd be really nice if we dated." HAHAHA it didn't take Adachi long to start fantasizing himself!!

Fujisaki first spotted!! I can't wait for more of her as well

"At first, I wondered why I had to get such a stupid power. This is the first time I've been glad to have it." I LOOOOVE that the first time Adachi sees an advantage in having his powers is for him to rescue Kurosawa from work trouble. It is so sweet!

Lmaoooo the gendered alcohol is so funny. Why are men only allowed to drink beer and women only allowed to drink wine

Kurosawa giving a Adachi forehead kiss while mentally saying "Sorry," for them being roped into the King's Game dare also gets me in the heart every time

"I'm sorry, Adachi, for falling in love with you." KUROSAWAAAAA

Adachi clarifying that he doesn't mind that Kurosawa kissed him is perhaps the flirtiest thing he's done yet

"For the first time, I want to get to know him better," said Adachi, while Kurosawa swerved into him ready for Kiss #2

"What were you two doing?" "Nothing!" HAHAHAHA I take it back, the flirting is fun. Also this is just as, if not more suspicious, than standing 1cm apart:

"I think I might've gotten ahead of myself." Realistic Rooftop Romance Re-Evaluation

"I was glad to hear he didn't dislike me, but I rushed things. I don't want to bother him, so I'll act normal at the office." Kurosawa is sooooo attuned to Adachi's needs

Every time they show them from behind I keep being distracted by what an ass Kurosawa has. Baby got back!

Also also also. The Yaoi Hands proportions of it all hahahah. On one hand, Kurosawa is also very tall in the JDrama. On the other, Adachi wasn't this short or slight of frame in it

"I hope it ends soon," said Adachi, only a little bit talking about karaoke, and otherwise mostly thinking of the women flirting with Kurosawa:

"It's Rokkaku, the recent graduate!" I also love Rokkaku. He's Valentina, an ally. Also the IRE in Adachi's voice

"You're surprisingly considerate, Ando-san." "It's Adachi." HAHAHA I now understand why the ire

Wild that Rokkaku's main characteristic is being a playboy. I guess everybody needs a trope

"Frustrated the words that came to mind were 'what a handsome face.'" I LOVE the text interjections about what the characters are thinking. A new angle only the anime could provide. Also LOL Adachi

"It'd be hilarious if someone so handsome were tone-deaf. I really want to hear." Shockingly mischievous of Adachi hahaha

LMAO, EVERY VERSION OF KUROSAWA IS CURSED WITH BEING HANDSOME AND TALENTED AND LIKED BY EVERYONE:

"Why would someone so handsome sit next to me?" Because he loves you, stupid

"If someone like [Fujisaki] liked me... No, nothing that convenient would ever happen." I think it would be too much to ask to have TWO of your coworkers in love with you

It's interesting to see how the JDrama really tried to ground them in every day work tasks but instead the anime (and presumably the source material) has the Punks Bother Fujisaki all as part of a Karaoke Confrontation. They have such a busy post-work social life!

"D-do you think you could stop?" You tell 'em, Adachi!

"I had no idea I was so narrow-minded," thought Kurosawa, like jealousy wasn't a normal human emotion that we all feel sometimes

"Until now, I thought Kurosawa was perfect and always composed. But he actually isn't. He worries and gets anxious too... Just like me." Hot Coworkers: They're Just Like Us

Also Adachi working himself up into getting annoyed at Kurosawa for being perfect and then liking him more because he ISN'T perfect is really a 'Congratulations, you played yourself' moment

Awwwww I love them sneaking off to get ice cream, very cute

Ah, the sauna adventure that made it into the Thai adaptation but not the JDrama. Let the embarrassment commence!

In the anime tiddy debate, Cherry Magic says: Men DO have nipples

"I know Adachi isn't interested in my body, though." Give him a second, he'll get there, Kurosawa

"I like Adachi, and I've fantasized about him, but I've only ever dated women before." Honestly I have never really given Kurosawa's sexuality much thought, he just seemed like he was pretty settled in his feelings regardless

"[Adachi's stomach] probably feels really nice. No, it definitely does." "'Steam conducts excessively strong thoughts.'" CRAZY WORLD-BUILDING. Tell me more

Kurosawa's tragic backstory being that he's too handsome is still the funniest explanation for inner turmoil I've ever seen. Sweet angel, I want to study you:

"Adachi. He doesn't know how how to brush off people like that because he lacks tact." Kurosawa said: I like them tactless and tense!

Kurosawa falling in love with Adachi because he sees him as an individual with flaws is sooooooooooooooo. They are the blueprint for Park Bench Romance:

"I never thought I'd experience what feels like a first love at my age." <3 We love finding yourself in your 30s

Also I have also said this many times but: I love love love that Kurosawa's feelings far predate the powers. The powers give Adachi some confidence to reach out to Kurosawa, but they are NOT what brought on the feelings

"If I said it felt like magic, would Adachi laugh at me?" Only out of extreme nervousness that you can also read minds

So engrossed was I in the love story of Adachi and Kurosawa, I didn't even think about the fact there's really been no Tsuge B-plot in these first three episodes.

Udon the Cat may in fact be my favourite side character. I hope Tsuge gets to read HER mind

"I thought he was a just a shut-in, but he's a good guy after all." Hey now, Party Boy Minato, you can be a shut-in AND a good person

Tsuge feels SOOOO normal through the lens of anime LOL. This show can never match the energy of "what emotion does this image make you feel" "lust"

"Would you like to like to come again some time? Udon seems to miss you." OKAY TSUGE, SMOOTH

THAT'S MORE LIKE IT. This is the slightly off-putting vibe I expect from Tsuge:

"In fact, [Kurosawa] completely overshadowed me." "And yet you seemed to have enjoyed it." Hee hee, I love how Kurosawa brings out a more sociable side to Adachi

"Damn it. I always end up thinking about Kurosawa's face." Adachi starts to admit that Kurosawa perhaps is a colleague thinks about more than a normal amount

"Of course he's got an ex or two. I should've known. [Gasp] Why am I so shocked by that? I don't understand." Adachi experiences romantic jealousy for the first time

HAHAHA not Adachi reliving all his romantic traumas after seeing Kurosawa talk to one pretty girl. Connect the dots, my love

LOOOOL it's funny how in the JDrama they had Adachi get sick at work and THEN Kurosawa takes him home (reasonable), as opposed to the anime where he just shows up out of nowhere on Adachi's sick day (much less reasonable, how do u know where he even lives).

"It means they'll be your first, right? I think that would make [who you end up dating] really happy." [Silently] If it were me, I'd be really happy. KUROSAWAAAAAA, I love how what Adachi sees as a flaw, Kurosawa sees as something to love

"It makes me feel like I wouldn't mind experiencing all my firsts with him." Adachi recognizing his feelings <3333333

I thought Adachi might actually kiss him until the interruption

HAHAHAHAH NOT KUROSAWA'S SISTER FOISTING HIM UPON ADACHI AS AN INVOLUNTARY ROOMMATE:

SCREAM KUROSAWA HAVING TWO INNER KUROSAWAS FIGHTING BETWEEN REASON AND DESIRE? I guess that's more realistic than him never thinking lustful thoughts

"No wait, Adachi's getting over a cold. I shouldn't be getting happy over this. But we're so close." [Quiet laugh] I'm amazed none of that ever shows on his face. Adachi is SOOO endeared by Kurosawa's thoughts

Adachi blushing through their train chat is adorable as hell

HAHAHA I also never tire of Adachi inviting Rokkaku to ALSO stay with him to avoid the romantic consequences of his situationship

[Internally, in a sea of mental flames] "You're not ready to try to win over Adachi with food." The energy of this was SO threatening I genuinely had to look up if Kurosawa was ALSO the VA for Sukuna from JJK. He isn't!

"He's such an idiot. He can't eat spicy food, but he will for my sake." The prophecy of the spicy true love chocolate returns <3

"It won't kill him." HAHAHAHA not Kurosawa making the spicy food challenge lustful in his mind and Adachi abandoning his plan to help as punishment for his spicy thoughts

[Rokkaku, internally] "I still dream about it sometimes. Aw, man. I'm still not over it. That's so lame." [Adachi, aloud] "Why not?" "What?" "You got good enough to compete in a tournament, right? Why not dance sometimes?" I absolutely love when Adachi uses what he learns to comfort people. That is what makes him so loveable. Not that he can know what others are thinking, but the desire and ability to help them with that knowledge

"I thought he was just some shallow playboy, but he seems kinda cute to me now." Bold move to call your coworker cute in front of your situationship

"What were you going to say last night before my sister showed up?" Kurosawa said: I will hold my silence on our romantic tension no longer!!

NOT Rokakku and Kurosawa experiencing the "there was only one futon" trope LMAO I love a romantic trope turned comedic

OH NOOOOOO not Fujisaki fetishizing for her coworkers. I miss when she was their ace homie being a confidante for their office romance

"Maybe it's not that I fell in love with Kurosawa, but I'm just happy that somebody likes me." This is a valid question for Adachi to ask himself

"I love you. Not as a colleague or friend." Kurosawa said: While we're defining our feelings, I have some to share

Extremely fair of Adachi to need to ask himself if his romantic interest in Kurosawa is about Kurosawa's feelings or his own

"I don't know much about her personality, but she's earnest." Maybe it's good for you to know less about Fujisaki, Adachi

Adachi only hearing the first half of every thought Fujisaki has is killing me. If you're GOING to eavesdrop, eavesdrop fully!!

"Does she really have feelings for me?" No, she doesn't, she just wants Kurosawa to rail you

"Dating him would probably be a pain." While true, not dating him won't unbisexualize you, Adachi

Awwww, I kind of like that Adachi doesn't know Fujisaki doesn't like him, because it means even when presented with other romantic options, he chooses Kurosawa

[Internally] "It would probably be easier to remain coworkers. But, I... No one's been able to touch Kurosawa's heart before... and I want to know more. Kurosawa said he'd treasure all of me, and now I want to treasure him too." ADACHI GOT THERE EVENTUALLY

"Me too. I'm in love with you too." YEAHHHHHHHH ADACHI!

"But perhaps I became a wizard in order to touch Kurosawa's heart." I will never tire of this line. He touched Kurosawa's heart much before this, but to be grateful to a power you once spurned because it opened the door to you deepening your relationship. To believe the universe has brought you together. It's such a nice way to reflect on falling in love:

HAHAHAHAH them both having the realization about the PDA at the same time

I LOVE THE REASON VS. INSTINCT ARGUMENTS IN KUROSAWA'S BRAIN, AND HOW REASON EVENTUALLY GIVES UP. ALSO LMAOOOO @ ADACHI APPEALING TO REASON KUROSAWA IN HIS MIND AS IF HE IS NOT EQUALLY CAPABLE OF ENDING THE HUG:

Hahahahaha Adachi shoving Kurosawa away at the speed of light so they don't get caught canoodling by Colleague Asahina

"People who engage in office romances are crazy," said Adachi, tits deep in office romance

"Damn it, stop thinking about him." Adachi's brain has left the building and now lives in Kurosawa Town

Adachi feels guilty about feelings Fujisaki doesn't even have

"For some reason, these two have been spending a lot of time together recently." Oh, I cannot wait for Detective Rokkaku to try and piece this one together

"Kurosawa-san and Adachi-san are... working together to use a carrot-and-stick method to help me improve! They must really love me!" HAHAHAHA gets me every time. Rokkaku at their wedding: I can't believe you're going to mentor me together for the rest of your lives <3

Also the fact that Rokkaku's inner monologue has Adachi's name correct implies that he messes it up on purpose. Incredible!

HGKJHGKJHGKJHG Tsuge just ordering deliveries to see his deliveryman every day without once questioning himself on what motivates him to do so

You know, I'm so used to calling him Flashy Minato (or in the case of the anime, Party Boy Minato), I did not remember that Tsuge doesn't know what the fuck Minato's name is:

LOL, Tsuge considering buying a How-To Book for romance. Valid! He needs the help

"Worrying you're wasting your time, anxiety about the future, doubting your own abilities, and fear of being an outcast are all feelings I know well. However, you don't rue want to give up yet, do you?" "How do you know that?" "You wouldn't practice until your shoes were falling apart if you actually want to stop." Wow, Tsuge can be emotionally AND physically observant! Good for him

"I knew I'd lost my mind when I realized I wanted to buy him all the shoes he wanted." That's love, Tsuge

Adachi and Tsuge having meltdowns at the same time in different places is true friendship

"His voice is scary hot. His face is distractingly handsome, but not being able to see it makes me nervous, too." I love Adachi's Loverboy era

HAHAHAHA did they Eren Jaegerize Adachi's date outfit for just a second? I feel like they did. They were like 'we're releasing at the same time, gotta get our jokes in while we can'

Adachi worrying that Kurosawa is out of his league and Kurosawa immediately unintentionally comforting him by thinking of how cute he is and how he loves that their hoodies match. GOD

KUROSAWA MAKING A SONG ABOUT THEIR DATE IS SO MUCH FUNNIER THAN HIM MAKING A POEM. GREATEST 10 SECONDS OF ANIME I'VE EVER SEEN THAT WAS SO UNEXPECTED:

"The lyrics are insane, but he sings them so well." This is the man you have chosen to love, Adachi <3

Adachi doesn't need to mind read, Kurosawa wears his heart on his sleeve and his thoughts on his face

"When a man gives someone clothes, it's because he wants to undress them." Bold take, shopkeeper, tell me more!

THEM CONTINUING THE KUROSAWA SONG AS THE DATE SOUNDTRACK HAHAHAH

Adachi shocked that on his and Kurosawa's date people can perceive that they are on a date

"A walk, like I said. In the sky, that is." Insane way to ask someone to join you on helicopter ride, Kurosawa????

[Kurosawa, aloud] "I wanted to talk privately." [Adachi, internally] "That's not the problem, here! What is this, a trendy Showa-era drama? This isn't something 30-year-old men should be doing! To be honest, helicopters scare me, and I can't hear what he's saying because it's so dang loud!" REAL LMAO. Except for the 30-year-old men thing, what's the problem with an adult man taking a helicopter ride?

"I really like your smile." The helicopter pilot also on the same radio channel hearing what Kurosawa is saying into his headset 👁👄👁

Hahahahaha I see how they translated this into an amusement park ride in the JDrama. Much more grounded, same result of Adachi not being able to stomach the date activity

"Next time, I need to tell Kurosawa how I feel." Maybe I don't watch enough romance anime, but I feel like Adachi is the only anime protagonist I've ever seen to realize the solution to dealing with your relationship problems is communicating your feelings

NOT KUROSAWA SO UPSET HE MESSED UP THE DATE THAT HE'S DISINTEGRATING TO ASH AT WORK

I looooove Adachi taking Kurosawa to read manga they both like and to a dinner spot where he's comfortable so they can relax with each other. He is so good at acting on his feelings

"There's no point in going on a date unless you have fun, too." [Soft gasp] It's kind of heartbreaking that Adachi has to TELL Kurosawa explicitly that his feelings matter. Baby boy, how have you been living?

"It doesn't matter others think or if I know what I'm doing or not. I just want to have fun with you." ADACHIIIIII

I truly do love the visual representations of Kurosawa's thoughts:

[Kurosawa, internally] "'The moon is beautiful tonight.' I wonder if Adachi's familiar with the romantic meaning of that statement." [Adachi, aloud] "I know that one." The Psychic Boyfriend Ball begins to drop

"I'll be 262 days older than him. For some reason, that excites me." "What, why?" Hahahah Adachi's aware that his boyfriend is a little weird

"There's no way he can dance. He's not that kind of guy." I hope this leads into a High School Musical-esque I Don't Dance Number

It DID lead to a (brief) dance interlude, and now Tsuge has twisted his ankle HA

I do actually like the Minato/Tsuge better in the anime. Maybe it's that their age difference feels less apparent (or rather, Tsuge specifically looked older than 30 to me in the JDrama) or something about the smiles and nice animation:

"I don't know much about dancing, but I thought your dancing was beautiful." Awww that's sweet, Tsuge

"When he takes off his glasses, he's actually kind of hot." HAHAHA, what is this, a 90s teen movie Minato?

I'm really curious what the hell Adachi and Kurosawa's company actually does. They were a stationery company in the JDrama, but now they are doing customer panels for exercise equipment? Are they broadly like a consulting/consumer data collection firm?

"I guess normies have normie friends." I haven't really talked about this but every so often Adachi thinks something vaguely spiteful about 'normies.' Is this just because he likes manga/is an otaku? Seems a bit of an extreme divide? I have friends who like anime and friend who do not

Also. Kurosawa likes manga ALSO. What is your normie definition, Adachi? Handsome guys? People with relationship experience?

[Internally] "'He's our top salesman and my boyfriend. 'I could never say that." Being in an office romance is tough

Distracted by the fact Adachi AND Kurosawa's ties change colour for their close-up. Animation error or colourblindness error?

"So that's the odd man who's in love with Adachi." That's right. I hope that one day this is his contact name in Tsuge's phone

"I can't help it. Love has made a fool out of me, too." "Love?! Wait, were we just having a conversation?" (Subtitle: Wizards can communicate telepathically.) HAHAHAHA what a way for Adachi to find out

"Be more confident in yourself. You're nice and actually pretty good-looking." Pot-kettle, Adachi!

"I've never seen Adachi smile like that when he's with me." He is distracted by your hotness and many thoughts, Kurosawa, both of which make him nervous and embarrassed but also very happy

I do absolutely understand why Kurosawa would be worried about their relationship given both Tsuge and Adachi staring at each other (talking telepathically) and the overheard mention of love

"I've been reading your thoughts the whole time. Since before you told me how you felt, like how you think I'm cute, how you love me, how my stomach looks like a shiratama, or how you bought pajamas that would look good on me." HAHAH Adachi, while it's good you're being honest, I don't know if you should be THIS specific

Also I can't believe they're having this whole conversation in an office supply closet!

"You reallize how I felt because of that, right? Then, I'm glad." Kurosawa takes the Psychic Boyfriend news better than anyone could expect

"Does that mean the more you touch me, the more you know how I feel?" Kurosawa said: I have already figured out the positive for this situation!! He's not top salesman for nothing

I cannot believe we are macking in the office supply closet. New Office Romance Achievement Unlocked

Good for them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

JDrama Kurodachi Elevator Kiss Found Dead on Scene; No Witnesses

[Mentally, to Adachi] "I'll show you all your good qualities." Kurosawa has immediately found multiple benefits to having a telepathic boyfriend

I do like that Tsuge's mind-reading is now starting to come up in a different way as well with him finding out why Rokkaku and Minato are avoiding each other. I hope like Adachi, he gets the chance to help them through it

"Where have you been? I already started cleaning up!" Macking in the office supply closet

"Maybe they're just friends now, but he's more likely to get along with someone who isn't almost eight years older than him! I needn't help rivals." HAHAHAHA once again Tsuge proves his moral compass is a little more floppy than Adachi's

"We can still make friends as adults, but college friends you can speak frankly with are hard to come by. Both for you and him." Awww Tsuge, you couldn't help but help

"I feel safe around him, like he's my dad." BRUTAL review for Tsuge who was worried about being a 30-year-old with this 23-year-old Minato

"We'll be sending a few veteran employees to the new branch in Nagasaki." Awwww, not the Nagasaki Long Distance Relationship

HAHAHAHA Adachi getting jealous because Kurosawa as better at using Adachi's magic power situation than him

"I can't imagine leaving Kurosawa." It's tough having to choose between your career growth and your boyfriend!

Maybe I'm just Canadian and used to being in a huge country, but I think he and Kurosawa should just fly to see each other. Like yes maybe it's 10 hours by train but it's a two hour flight and some of the flights cost less than Adachi's jacket purchase on their date!

"I get anxious when I can't see his face, because he's good at pretending to be perfect." AWWWW that's so sweet, wanting his powers because he wants to understand Kurosawa

Honestly although it's ultimately Adachi's decision whether he denies the transfer or not, I appreciate that Kurosawa wants Adachi to 1) not miss out on this opportunity for him and 2) be willing to discuss it with him instead of handling what involves a relationship decision all by himself

"Unlike you, I don't know what you're thinking unless you tell me." Extremely valid, Kurosawa, this must feel very one-sided

ALSO: I LOVE THAT EVERY VERSION OF CHERRY MAGIC IS ABOUT LEARNING TO COMMUNICATE

"Without an audience, writing is meaningless nonsense." Disagree Tsuge, you can write for the joy of writing

I do enjoy Tsuge and Minato's chat about their respective passions

"He can't read your mind, unlike us." "You're right." Adachi had to hear it twice for it to stick

"Even if I can read Kurosawa's mind, I'll never get anywhere unless I tell him how I truly feel." YEAHHHHH ADACHI

"I figured this was God telling me to give up." Wow, Minato, bleak

Minato and Tsuge's story is sooo much more well-developed in the anime, going to the focus group together, repairing Minato's relationship with Rokkaku, Tsuge helping him get to his audition, no ex-boyfriend, the push-and-pull of Minato's dance dream vs. the office job opportunity

"Why are you so nice to me?" He looooooves you

"Because... I have ulterior motives." HAHAHA wild way to start telling someone you love them

HAHAHAHA is Minato MIA because he's trapped into an idol no-dating contract?

"Even if we're dating, I have no right to dictate Adachi's choices." That's a healthy perspective, Kurosawa. You get an opinion, not a vote

A letter is a nice way to communicate. Good advice Tsuge!

"But there's one thing I hope you believe. I love you so much that being away from you makes me anxious." Adachi, you romantic bastard

Awwww Tsuge unable to write about Minato because he cares about him too much (it's such a "If I loved you less, I'd be able to talk about it more," moment AHH)

"I wasn't sure how I felt about it, so I couldn't text you." Actually an incredibly reasonable reaction from Minato

"I resolved my feelings by writing books about the people I fell for." I think this makes a lot of sense for Tsuge. Also. NEW TSUGE LORE UNLOCKED!

Also also. Tsuge: Actually all of my protagonists are self-insert OCs

"No story compares to the real you. Minato. I'm in love with you." TSUGE, you're good at this!! 10/10 confession

"Oh, come on, can't you figure it out?! You're a romance novelist?!" HAHAHA they left out the 'baka' in the translation. Also I love Minato just like, implying repeatedly that he loves Tsuge rather than saying it aloud

I can't imagine what it was like for someone who read the manga and whose favourite couple was Minatsuge having to watch the JDrama first, because the energy here is LEAGUES different. My god, this is romantic. Giggling and kicking my feet:

"Your eyelashes are really long, Kurosawa. I thought you were handsome since I started working here, but I'm amazed that I find you even more handsome now. It's cool that you don't let on how much reasearch you do, or how hard you work for your job. I've never heard you speak poorly of anyone either. Also, even though you're normally calm, your thoughts are so excited. I thought you were a perfect person, but surprisingly your expressions show on your face, and you have a narrow-minded and jealous streak. And sometimes when you're trying hard to act cool, you end up looking lame instead. I think it's cute." Adachi sharing every single thing he likes about Kurosawa, even things Kurosawa doesn't like about himself. THIS IS SO SWEET

Adachi kissing Kurosawa because he can't express how he feels in words alone <3

[ProZD voice] Oh, they fuckin'

"We finally did it! I could hear his thoughts the whole time." OH MY GODDDDDD I've had this thought before, I can't believe Adachi is confirming it

"I thought I became a wizard because I was still a virgin when I turned 30, but... was I wrong? Is my definition of virginity wrong?" HAHAHA not Kurosawa making coffee in the background while Adachi has a crisis over the logistics of Virginity Magic

"It wasn't your magic power that first touched my heart. It was your words." YEAH IT WAS <333333333333

"But now, if I ever get anxious, I'll use my words. I know we can touch and be touched to confirm how the other feels. That's it. I finally figured it out. It's because I felt like I'd be okay with you even without my power. That must be why I lost my power!" The way that Adachi orients the rules of the universe around his feelings for Kurosawa is the most romantic thing in the world

"When I'm around you, I'm incapable of being perfect. But for some reason, I don't hate that version of myself." Kurosawa learning to love his imperfections through Adachi!!!

"I think I'd go crazy if I fell anymore in love with you." [Seriously] We can't have you acting any crazier." HAHAHA ADACHI. Honestly fair, Kurosawa's got a lot going on mentally

I do love Adachi going for the transfer <3 He really has such a growth in his interests and capacity at work

HAHAHAHA Tsuge accidentally finding out Adachi lost his Virginity Magic by accident, because he hasn't yet (clearly this version of Minato isn't so fuck forward LMAO)

I really do love Kurosawa and Adachi navigating their long-distance and trying to trust that if there's something to know, the other one will tell them

"There are things that can't be conveyed with words. But some things have to be conveyed with words." <3 COMMUNICATION

"Why are you here? I was on my way Nagasaki." HAHAH I predicted this for the movie (that they'd both try to visit each other at the same time), they didn't lean into the trope though. But I was right, after a fashion!

"When I finish the job in Nagasaki and return to Tokyo, I want to live with you!" Adachi moving the forward as a couple by clearly sharing his desires. That's growth, baybeeeee

WHAT DID I SAY? MASTERS OF PARK BENCH ROMANCE:

I LOOOOOVE HOW AT THE END OF ALL OF CHERRY MAGIC MEDIA THEY GO 'YEAH, THEY GET MARRIED. LEGALIZE GAY MARRIAGE. MARRIAGE 4 ALL JAPAN!!' I wish I could kiss all of the people who made Cherry Magic on the mouth. It is such a gorgeous, kind show that deserves every good thing that has ever been said about it. Both the JDrama and anime have carved their own places in my heart:

#ayesha talks anime #cherry magic #cherry magic series #liveblogging #long post #u know. after i describe 30 images in a row i do start to wonder if anyone reads or uses them LOL but it's the thought that counts i guess!#CHERRY MAGIC FOR PRESIDENT OF MEDIA THAT MAKES U FEEL GOOD AND NICE #if ur going to watch this. i say go jdrama first bc it's more grounded. then watch the jdrama movie bc it's perfect and necessary #then watch this as a fun silly dessert of media

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snekberry · 2 years

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Please infodump anything you've thought about for the au where elias takes over jon you cannot give me brainrot like that and then not say anything else

HI ALRIGHT <333

So the whole premise of the AU is that when Elias learned that Jon was planning to blind himself and run away with Martin, he decided to act before that could happen by transferring his eyes into Jon and taking over his body.

Random snippets of information about the AU that i daydreamed about :

First of all, Jon is still alive. Since Elias didn't do any irreversible damage to Jon's eyes when he body hopped, Jon is still connected to the Eye, and it refuses to let him die. However, he's stuck in a state of dreaming, similar to what happened after season 3. He's back to watching live statement givers in their dreams.

Jon subconsciously contacts the Web in his dreams. He ends up making a deal with the Web to gain some control over tape recorders so that he can communicate through them as a disembodied voice in exchange for him somehow feeding the Web.

Elias probably notices the spiders that occasionally approach him, but he interprets this as the Web giving him its blessing.

Elias possesses Jon sometime between MAG 154 (where Jon asked Martin to run away with him) and MAG 158 (Panopticon episode). Martin, having isolated himself from the others, doesn't know about what happened to Jon until MAG 158.

With the Web's help, Jon can talk through tape recorders now, but he initially has a hard time controlling this power. When he tries to contact Martin, his voice comes out as a sudden loud garbled noise that startles Martin from time to time.

Peter takes Martin to the Panopticon and tells him that he needs to kill Jonah Magnus. When Martin asks where Jonah's eyes are, this is when "Jon" shows up and says "Exactly where they’ve always been, Martin. Watching over my Institute."

Martin is baffled at first by Jon's surprise appearance, but as soon as he takes a good look at him, he immediately realizes that there is something deeply wrong with his eyes. Peter can recognize quite quickly that those are Jonah's eyes in Jon's body (Peter is... intimately familiar with his eyes LMAO)

Martin gets angry because if Jon is dead, then everything that he did to keep him safe was for nothing. He makes a move to kill Jonah Magnus, but Elias swiftly informs him that Jon is still alive, and he dies, Jon dies along with him.

Martin does not kill Jonah Magnus. Peter loses the bet, becomes enraged, and throws Martin into the Lonely as per the conditions of his bet with Elias. Even though Elias originally wanted Peter to do this to orchestrate a mark for Jon, he still lets Peter do it anyways since he no longer has any use for Martin.

There are tape recorders in the Lonely. Jon suddenly Knows that Martin is in danger, and he reaches out to him. This time, Jon manages to talk to Martin through the tape recorders. He explains to Martin about what Elias had done to him, and he guides Martin out of the Lonely with a disembodied voice. Martin's determination to save Jon is enough to anchor him and bring him back to the real world.

Yeah that's all I thought of so far

#ask #tma #jonah possesses jon au #tma spoilers

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arumisalbum · 1 month

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Zaplarizch

"The Zaplarizch, a being not so easily described."

CHALLO THERE - how are you doing? Hopefully it's good!

The short story here is a snippet I made when I originally got a story idea. The actual story itself is what I'm currently plotting, and will also be more detailed and have build up to the events described here :D so mild spoiler warnings for that!

The premise is about a creature I made myself, which a random creature name generator graciously named The Zaplarizch. How do you say that? I don't know, to be honest. But, I can mildly describe it! The Zaplarizch is a rather tall beast, maybe 10-15 feet or so. It's mainly a skeleton base, the spine and bones in its arms very visible. However, its shoulders are really bulked out, and the skin is a mix between large balls of pus, random bloody eyeballs, and patches of human skin. Kind of like an Ed Gein monstrosity given life.

WARNINGS It's graphic, I would say. I'm not sure exactly what people expect warnings for, as I don't get triggered easy and usually skip them. But it does feature a couple of things!

Somewhat vivid descriptions of murder?

MC is fearing for his life

Also mentions of deadly pranks

MC being guilty about murdering his brother :P

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO - let's get started!

The cloth of my sweater and pants stuck to my skin uncomfortably, almost like someone skinned a cow and sewed its skin onto mine. My eyes moved rapidly, my hair stuck to my forehead like wet seaweed trapped in a net.

I ran fast. Tried to.

The breath was taken from my lungs as soon as I saw it. Like it was stabbed on a skewer and pulled out of my lungs, leaving nothing but bloodied alveolus. My legs were sore before I even started running, muscles too tense to even run without pain. I bumped into the trees, the tension leaving my body through the blood dripping out of my veins.

The forest was large, and I was too far away from town to get any help. Perhaps that’s why this house was there, in the end of it. That thing wouldn’t want one to find help.

I thought it was innocent enough. A manor that was rumored to be haunted in the middle of the forest. Spooky, sure. But ghosts didn’t exist, not like anything could be haunted.

What I hadn’t bet on was what existed other than ghosts. What could be still living in the abandoned manor up the top of the hill in the back of the town.

What I hadn’t bet on was my brother’s head hanging off a doorknob.

It was stupid, really, dragging my younger brother into this. I felt horrible, bile building in my stomach as soon as I saw his hair acting as a noose. But it was too late to save him, part of his spine sticking out of the bottom of his decapitated neck.

I should’ve taken that as a sign. I suppose the whole body might’ve been closure.

There wasn’t closure.

I was running now, trying to.

The hill was steep, my feet tripping. I fell down, like a steep dirt slide with rocks slinging onto my face. I tried to stop, a rock hitting my feet at the end. I tripped, falling forward onto the ground.

My arms and legs were cut from the twigs, my face battered from the gravel that hit my face. My palms stung, ripped open by the ground. I looked down at my clothes, ripped open from the fall down.

I stood up and continued to run, not having time to catch my breath.

I heard the thudding getting louder and louder, whether it was my heart or the thing chasing me I had no idea.

But I didn’t have time to discern it. The world started to go black.

The trees moved around, the sticks stabbing into the ground like pogo sticks. I slowed down, from running to jogging, jogging to trudging.

I fell down to the ground, turning around to view the thing chasing me. Its face was burnt, the skin at the top wrinkled and covered in burn marks. Its jaw was gone too, leaving nothing below its top

Its arms were nothing but bent sticks, destroyed muscles connecting them to the rest of the body. The spine of the creature was sticking out, muscle coming to wrap around it like strings of chewed gum being pulled to its very limit. In the middle of its stomach laid intestines of different sizes, all bloody and hanging out of the muscles holding everything together. There were skeletal arms hanging out, moving on their own free will. Its feet were loud, stomping heavily on the ground. The muscles wrapped around its legs in circles, eventually leading down to the bone and claws that it used to latch into the dirt.

What scared me most were its eyes. Its eyelids were burnt, leaving him with just white sclera to stare at things. They glew in the moonlight, leaving every other part of him lying in darkness. Like they had a light of their own.

I sobbed as I saw it, trying my best to back away with my stretched muscles and bloody veins. I felt as powerless as a baby, unable to do anything. At least babies could scream.

The sticks it used as arms stabbed my heart, sneaking past my ribs and directly into the left ventricle of my heart. I sobbed, coughing up blood as it moved to stab my lungs.

From my heart and lungs to my stomach, down my abdomen and to every part of my body. It must’ve had magic to ensure I was alive, I could feel every single strand inside my abdomen splitting in two as it tore me in half.

I bled, that was my last memory. Torn apart and stapled together in the weirdest of ways.

fin.

Thank you so much for reading this all the way through! Hopefully I managed to tag it properly, I'm honestly not the best at tags.

I'm working on a more fleshed out story now, but I honestly kind of spoiled the ending here. Which isn't the worst thing in the world! Because I still really like this clip here anyways, it can honestly be used as a teaser to.

TAG LIST

@thatphantomtroupelady

#writers #writing #my writing #writeblr #horror #body horror #monsters #cw blood #tw death #violence kinda?#idk how to tag this #guilty brother stuff #mildly inspired by FNAF?#barely tho #ok i think thats it #i need sleep

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hermesserpent-stuff · 2 months

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@lirabuswavi and I’s convo about the mystic misunderstanding au

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Au premise: in which hiccup being a runt would have made him revered in the hunter tribe and when they find out they start giving him offerings.

this post focuses on the Hunters and Viggos adoption schemingl!

L stands for them and H stands for me.

H: Hiccup tries to avoid the hunter's island for a bit to stop the harassment of the other riders, aside from the promised wedding. He even refuses to ride toothless/stops operating the fin. This leads to issues. But Astrid's happy cause hiccup’s not vanishing as much.

L: Oof, I bet the hunters are real unhappy. They've displeased the soothsayer! Even worse, they upset him! They have to fix it! I can imagine their idea of 'fixing' things will either go really well, or really badly.

H: They end up at the edge all looking sad. This turns to rage when it is revealed that it's hiccup trying to please the dragon riders. Who might have just earned eternal enemies. Hiccup gets a little bit kidnapped by toothless working with the hunters, a sure sign from Freya that hiccup should stay with them for a bit.

L: Surprisingly, the twins help Hiccup out. Not out of any charity, mind you. But when Hiccup was disappearing often, they got up to a lot more shit with Hiccup not there to stop them and they liked that freedom. Also, Hiccup's moping face when he was there was annoying and bringing down the moods of all the dragons. Barf and Belch hardly wanted to play with them anymore! Unconscionable! Also, it would really piss Astrid off and she's been annoying them a lot lately. Go forth Hiccup! Do your soothing things! Don't think about it too hard, just go!

This act of generous anarchy disturbs the hunters. It's good for Hiccup to have the fleeting favour of such beings of chaos, and when he doesn't have their favour he can still manage them. Hiccup's wasted on these riders. If they become dragon riders, maybe it'll force Hiccup to spend more time with them!

H: Hahhahhhahaaaa and thus the dragon training begins

L: Astrid's going to lose it when she finds out. She accuses Hiccup of endangering the dragons, which is a step too far. She can accuse Hiccup of endangering himself all she wants, but the dragons? Accusing him of deliberately putting them in harms way, as if he hadn't personally vetted every new dragon rider and observed their match ups himself, and regularly checked in with all of them to check for mistreatment on either side? He's hurt. He thought Astrid knew him better, knew he'd never endanger a dragon (as long as they weren't already trying to eat him). If she thinks Hiccup's a total screw up then she can just leave him alone, like everyone on Berk did before he had Toothless. Like she did, before he had Toothless. Astrid fucked up big time, and the Acumens ceartinly won't help her any. Curses upon her for questioning and insulting the soothsayer. Whatever she gets is what's coming to her.

H: HA HA pain!!! Hiccup just is just swamped in memories of Berk pre toothless from his dad's reactions to the Astrid's words. He spends a lot of time hiding in his house/shrine with the Acumens. They have a lot of knowledge that makes staying easier and Viggo is fun to talk to when they are not in a semi war state.

L: Y'know, with former hunters starting to become dragon riders, I think they'd have a lot of underlying guilt. They love their dragons, they’re their friends. They can't imagine hurting them like they've hurt others of their kind. Hiccup holds a semi-formal group councilling session of resolving past guilt over it. He shares the story of how he's the one who shot down Toothless, and he's the one who stole his flight. But then he tried to do better, to fix what he'd hurt, and look at them now! Inseparable! It's okay that they feel guilt over what they've done, it's perfectly understandable. But what matters is what they do with it, and learning how to be better and do better is a worthy pass time.

H: They love him all the more for his kindness in talking them through the emotions and are determined to treat their dragons with enough love to fill the ocean. Hiccup is then invited to come oversee and bless egg hatchings.

L: Aww, so cute! Hiccup's happy that the dragons trust him too, not just their riders. He really feels like he's doing good and making a difference here. And when he compares that to how he feels on Berk... well, he doesn't particularly like the conclusions he's coming to. How is he making more of a difference here than he ever did as heir there? What kind of cruel irony is it that the very thing he was shunned for is what the Acumens love him for? Almost makes him wish that he was born to the Acumens than the hairy hooligans.

H: Bum bum bum. He better not say that aloud too .. well anyone but especially not Viggo and Ryker who are very glad for the happiness of their tribe and the new ways of making money that are way more profitable than trying to hunt and fight hiccup at the same time. They might ... Give him a statue.

L: I'll be honest, I forgot about the adoption statue so I assumed you meant a literal frieze of Hiccup. And I can imagine how that conversation would go.

Hiccup: The people want to what? A statue? Of me? Anything but that?

Viggo, loophole exploiter extraordinaire: Anything? Okay, how about we downsize. Just take this little one. And keep it on your person in a visible area for the next week, just so people know we're already doing something.

Hiccup, slightly desperate: Done.

H: HaHAHA now that would be wild. Yesss Viggo would totally do that and the tribe would very much approve. They know it's probably not a spoken adoption but it's up to the gods to reject it if thats the case. So when the statue remains unlost they start plotting a party.

L: Hiccup: This is in no way what I meant.

Viggo: You said anything, my dear. You should know better by now. And I can also see that you still have statue, even knowing what it means.

Hiccup:... I'm not going to be the one to explain this to my father.

Viggo: Don't worry! I've been wanting a chance to talk to him for quite a while.

Hiccup: Ominous, but okay.

H: They have to hold a Thing!!!!!!

It'll be great!!

Both tribes can show up and the hunters are not impressed at all

L: Many a backhanded comment aimed at Hiccup. Wow, I can't believe HE'S getting adopted. Their traditions are so... quaint. Really, running away from his responsibilities again?

Hiccup is very uncomfortable. The Acumens are angry. This is supposed to be a nice thing! How dare they ruin it! But they know fighting would only upset Hiccup even more. Their best strategy is distractions and getting in between them, letting the new brothers take up most of Hiccup's attention.

H: They have their own back handed comments to give. A three hundred year war with dragons and they still question if living with dragons in the village is a good thing and sent them away more than once? How... Barbaric. Oh, you didnt think to use dragons to find other dragons till toothless came to save hiccup... Who they put in danger to begin with?? How funny. This tribe is . Just. So. Funny. Side whispering to Viggo about whether if a baby war just to take over Berk would be worth it or if it would make the people more obnoxious

L: Conquering them would mean being forced to live with them, because killing them all would upset Hiccup. Easier to just... keep them over there. Ignore them. They might be even more offended to be dismissed than it would to go to war with them. So an overt war is a bad idea. Now, a passive aggressive war comprised of petty vengeances that cannot be overtly proved as in bad faith? Very much up Viggo's alley. Maybe they can even negotiate an agreement with the twins as their inside people. They'd get payed to prank people? Sign them up! Just don't be surprised when they turn on you. Which Viggo wouldn't be, he's familiar with alliances of convenience and how they can turn.

H: tribe wide pettiness ensues. and there is a whole part of the tribal budget dedicated to paying off the twins. its a bit of a tribute too to keep loki from messing with the tribe too much... and it seems to sorta work lol.

L: Ruffnut and Tuffnut would be delighted to be properly recognized as disciples of Loki. They like that the Acumens take them seriously, as opposed to Berk's begrudging tolerance and overall mockery. Y'know, if you think about it, you could see some parallels between Hiccup and the twins. They didn't really have any friends before the dragon riders. They were mocked and their ideas not taken seriously by everyone. But where they really differed was in how they adapted. Hiccup hid and stayed small to keep attention off of him. The twins went big and loud, so no one could ignore them. They made themselves unpredictable and quasi-intimidating, so no one could push them around like people did to Hiccup. And, most significantly, they had each other. Hiccup has no one, but the twins always had each other to back up. But Hiccup didn't have anyone before Toothless. I wonder what it would be like, if there was only one twin? How much quieter would they be, would they hide like Hiccup?

If you can't tell, I really like the twins.

H: they would not have survived, they are a matched set.

but they would love the recognition yes

#mystic misunderstanding au #httyd #httyd au #hermes speaks #hiccup haddock #viggo grimborn #dragon hunters

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shadowthief78 · 1 year

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Thoughts about Ego’s Backstory

Warnings for manga spoilers for Blue Lock below the cut!

So Ego is obviously one of the driving forces behind Blue Lock: he’s the organizer, the head coach, and I’m willing to bet he probably designed a good portion of the building/Blue Lock holograms/etc as well. But for such a majorly impactful character, we really don’t know much about him.

What we do know is:

He had a restricted diet sometime in the past

He has some kind of old friendship with Noel Noa

He used to have a job that required a special diet (possibly an athlete)

Above: Proof that Ego had some kind of career in the past that restricted his diet so he couldn’t eat instant ramen.

Above: Proof that Noa and Ego knew each other before Blue Lock.

I would like to put forth the consideration that his backstory went something like this:

Very talented athlete, went overseas because Japan was too small for him (much like Sae Itoshi), met Noel Noa along the way, failed to score a winning/somehow very important goal, returned to Japan and faded into obscurity until Anri hired him for the Blue Lock Project.

Here’s why I think that, and also take this with salt because it’s really mostly circumstansial evidence.

Firstly, in chapter one. The imagination story that Ego gives: pass or not at the World Cup? Maybe he’s just being imaginative but from what has been shown, Ego isn’t the kind of person to tell stories for the sake of stories. They’re always an allegory, like the famous “luck is bird shit” one. Is Ego drawing form parsonal experience?

Now, I’m not necessarily sure that he’s played in the World Cup. It might have been another game. But the possibility is there.

I also find the following page intersting: even though Isagi is speaking/narrating the “nameless striker” part, Ego is the focus of that panel. Heck, Isagi hardly earns a spot this page! This might be me just not noticing a lot of things, but it seems odd that Isagi referring to himself is superimposed over Ego and not, say, a picture of Isagi having lost. So, is/was Ego also some “nameless striker”?

What really made me consider all this was the panel below, from ch56, when Ego is explaining to the JFA why Blue Lock is necessary instead of just natural talent growth. Again, this might be a strech, but I don’t think it’s too far off to say that Ego might have experienced something very similar.

Afew pages after, we get this shot: Buratsuta saying failure isn’t allowed and Ego without a snarky comaback, for once? I do think this speaks to Ego having some failure in his past that impacted his philosophy of Blue Lock today.

And finally, Ego is so careless about his life after Blue Lock. Take a look at these three pages in Ch 131:

Ego doesn’t care! He’s giving up! He’s completely abandoning the one single thing he’s spent months or possibly even years building and defending!

Why?

What could have possibly affecte him to the point of willingly and knowingly giving up on something he’s spent countless hours designing the best possible training regimen for?

Listen, I really think Ego wants to help the Blue Lock participants succeed where he couldn’t. That’s why he calls them “lumps of talent,” “diamonds in the rough,” etc. Yeah, he does it kind of insultingly, but those things... they aren’t bad at all?

And it’s also worth mentioning that in the three panels, he’s basically lying. Not about the end of Blue Lock, I do think he was genuine about that part, but about the whole premise fo Blue Lock. He said right at the beginning that 299 out of 300 would die (more or less as a metaphor but, still...) but here he’s planned for the future of the remaining Blue Lock members. I don’t know if this was a lie all along or he planned it this way, but his promise of making a single #1 striker would have been broken here had Isagi not refused to accept this future.

Anyways. Ego is such an enigma and I really want more of his backstory. Maybe someone smarter than me has said this all before and I’ve just given an incomplete summary. My brain is shot after all this.

#puffin says stuff #blue lock #ego jinpachi #bllk

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pisupsala · 1 year

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Of All The Stars in The Sky | 8 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 5.6k

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Chapter 8—Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

His eyes follow you around the room as you pace, brow furrowed. Your teeth have been driving into your bottom lip for so long; Bradley wonders how you’ve not yet drawn blood. He’s sitting on the edge of his neatly made bed—no matter the circumstances, some habits are so ingrained he does them automatically. He likes things neat and precise.

Hand resting on his knee, he’s letting you stew. Every time you walk by, the fabric of your skirt brushes against his knuckles. You are good at not talking or talking and not really saying anything, but this borderline catatonic pacing is setting him on edge.

You just can’t get the words out. Last night, you barely slept; your brain ran through every possible scenario, trying to come up with any solution. Every time you just about had it, it felt like you lost the thread and had to scramble again. Your whole head feels like it’s boiling over.

Finally, you plop yourself down on the bed next to Bradley. He looks surprised.

“How much do you trust me?”

It’s the first complete sentence you’ve said to him since you laid out the whole problem in a few concise, clipped sentences a good 10 minutes ago. After that, you started to say something a few times, only to shake your head in frustration, turn on your heel, and start pacing again.

Bradley had wanted to say something, but he thought better of it every time the words almost left his mouth. If you were wrapped up in walls before, you now carry a thunderstorm.

“That’s… kind of a loaded question, Anya.”

You are looking at him intently, your lip slightly swollen from incessant chewing. Bradley’s eyes wander over your face, but they keep coming back to your lips —he wonders if they would look so blushed and swollen after a kiss because he bets you would taste so sweet he couldn’t stop. But right now, it’s distracting him from the question —and he can see your eyes narrowing.

“Forget it.” You push yourself up from the bed again, sighing heavily. The slight crease between your eyebrows is a full-on frown now. Where were you even going with that question?

But before you are fully upright, Bradley grabs you by the elbow and pulls you back onto the bed. You stumble backward gracelessly, half falling into Bradley. His strong arms steady you, but you move away, flustered. His fingers remain firmly wrapped around your arms —he won’t let you escape. However, he’s also not ready to answer your question.

“What are you planning?” His voice is low, serious. It’s not a time to be playing around, not with everything at stake. “I need you to talk to me, Anya.”

Taking a deep breath, you purse your lips for a moment. Bradley is so close to you, holding your arm, looking at you with those warm brown eyes, and you are suddenly all too aware you are sitting on his bed.

“You have to promise to hear me out, Rooster.” You say soberly. He opens his mouth to reassure you, but you cut him off. “I mean it—you can’t…” You trail off. Laugh? Get angry? Bradley is looking at you expectantly.

“I promise.” His voice is so steady and warm, making your heart jump.

“It’s too dangerous for you to travel right now,” It feels like you’re trying to bluff your way through an oral exam in school by reiterating the premise of the question. “And we don’t know when it will be safe again—if ever.”

“Which means I can’t get to the radio.” Bradley supplies, like he’s impatient for you to get to the point.

“And we can’t bring it here.” You continue, undeterred. “Which brings me back to the question: how much do you trust me?”

Bradley doesn’t respond, his fingers practically burning a hole through your sleeve.

“Because,” You swallow before looking him right in the eye. “I could send the message for you.”

Involuntarily your hand tightens into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm as you wait with bated breath for his reaction. Bradley is just looking at you, eyes narrowed ever so slightly—you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. But why isn’t he saying anything? Doing anything?

The longer the silence stretches, you think to yourself that actually Bradley laughing would be preferable, as it would at least be something. But if anything, it’s annoying you.

“Look, it’s our best shot right now,” You urge. “The tide at the Eastern Front might be turning, but where will they retreat to? The situation might feel dire now, but it will get worse before-” “I get it.” Bradley cuts you off so sternly you almost recoil from him physically. There is a flash of something akin to anger in his eyes as he looks at you harshly. Nevertheless, you refuse to look away. “You ask if I trust you like I have a choice,” His voice is icy as he stares you down, but you refuse to flinch. “But it’s not about that. It’s not about whether I trust you; it’s about whether I can trust your capabilities.”

You narrow your eyes. Your capabilities? “Tell me, doll face, how good is your memory? Before you can even start replying, he continues in that same stern, cold tone. “Have you learned morse somewhere? How quick are your fingers? Because it’s not just what is sent, it’s about how it’s sent. Too slow? Too fast? Rhythm off? They’ll peg you for a fake, a foreign agent that tortured my single-use emergency code out of me.” His fingers are tightening around your elbow, jerking you closer to him. “You’d have one shot at this or essentially sign my death sentence.”

Vaguely you wonder where the joking, teasing, and smiling Bradley suddenly disappeared to.

“Yours as much as my own.” You reply testily, pulling away from him again, trying to put more space between your bodies. “And I’m a quick study.” It comes out more arrogant and haughty than you want it to, but you don’t like the implication that you are somehow unaware of the risks of this endeavor like you haven’t thought it through. You’ve barely slept, running every possible iteration through your mind, turning the problem upside down and inside out.

If Rooster has a better idea, he’s welcome to share it, you think bitterly.

“I can do this.”

“I won’t let you do it if you’re not up to par.”

Bradley’s cold, bossy tone raises your hackles—let you? Just who does he think he is? You are the reason he’s still alive in the first place, you seethe.

He watches your lip curl up in anger. “Just watch me.” You snarl, pulling back further from him and wrenching your elbow from his grasp. God, you look so cute fired up like that—despite the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but take in how your eyes blaze with determination, your shoulders are set, and your jaw is clenched.

His little spitfire.

“I trust you.” He admits, voice a lot softer. It feels nice to say it out loud. Bradley does trust you—so far, you have given him no reason not to. It’s also scary because it feels like he’s revealing something about himself that is sensitive, real, and fragile. He doesn’t particularly make a habit out of that.

Your eyes grow wide, anger deflating under the gravity of Bradley’s words. Your shoulders relax as your arm brushes against his again.

“Thank you,” You reply in a half-whisper. “I trust you too.”

“We’re going to get through this together, right?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his question. You’ve been physically close together, almost challenging one another to take another step closer, but it never quite felt like this. So sincere. So vulnerable. You’re just sitting next to each other, not ever really touching.

“Of course we are.” You smile up at Bradley. It’s not even a lie because if you are going to get through this, you have to believe it more than anything. He smiles back, and suddenly your heart is racing again.

***

From that moment on, every bit of your time is devoted to practicing Morse code. You only have five days and need to memorize Rooster’s code and execute it flawlessly, but you must also note down the reply.

As you clean, your index finger taps out the code against the mop handle; when you try to read, tap the rhythm out against your cheek, and as you walk down the street, your hand is moving in your pocket, tap tap tap against your thigh.

And to your utter desperation, you are struggling. You just can’t seem to get the hang of it, and this has honestly never happened to you before. Yeah, of course, you weren’t great at everything you tried (dancing comes to mind…), but you’d always make progress nose-on-the-grindstone. Under pressure, you usually perform exceptionally. But now you can barely get past the first string of words of the code without a mistake, let alone the coordinates. And on the rare occasions, you get it correctly, at least in part, it’s too slow.

Rooster isn’t helping, necessarily. He tries to be patient, but you can see the frustration bubbling under the surface; his eyebrow twitches whenever you miss a letter or tap the wrong one. You hear his sharp exhale when you’re too slow.

It’s putting you on edge even more.

You didn’t think this would be so hard, but the absolute horror is dawning on you that you’ve bit off more than you can chew. And that you’re disappointing Rooster.

That thought stings more than you’d care to admit.

It’s late Friday night. You have until Sunday morning to get this. Tapping out what must be the thousandth attempt, your eyes are stinging. You feel entirely depleted—after work, endless practice, Rooster’s sharp looks—every fiber of your being feels exhausted.

“Start over.”

Rooster sounds so strict; you wonder if that’s his officer voice. He’s sitting across from you, arms crossed, and watches you shake your head in frustration and start tapping the code from the top.

You never thought you’d miss the annoyingly jokey and smiling Rooster. But you’d like to hear him crack a joke now or make some innuendo. God, you could use a hug right now. Your sleep-addled brain wonders if you should just ask for one. Typically, you’d be pretty sure Rooster would happily give you one—hell, he might even welcome it.

However, since you’ve started this crazy-paced drill, Bradley has been keeping his distance. Every day he’s taking you to task in endless training loops, hours upon hours. You wake up for work exhausted after the long days and nights, restless dreams keeping your brain and body from catching up on the rest you need.

The only thing you have going for you is that you are managing to correctly transcribe the codes Rooster taps out for you at lightning speed. It makes you feel a little bit better that your brain isn’t completely broken. But it still doesn’t make him smile.

It’s only half the mission, after all.

Your fingers don’t seem to be capable of doing what your brain wants them to, however—shaking, stuttering, struggling through every movement.

“Again, from the top.”

You purse your lips and blink heavily, starting the sequence anew. Tap, tap, tap. The pad of your index finger is starting to feel sore. Miss. You hear Bradley sigh.

“Again.”

You stop yourself from swearing, biting your lip instead, and starting over.

This time you get a lot further, and just as you feel the tiniest glimmer of hope, you might actually make it to the end without any mistakes; your brain completely misfires.

Suddenly Bradley’s palm lands on the table loudly, shaking the wood. Then, with a scream, you jump up, your chair loudly scraping over the wooden floor. Your fists are balled at your sides like you’re ready to fight.

Bradley has gotten up from his chair, hunched over, leaving heavily on his palms. The anger and frustration are rolling off him in waves, but you don’t move. His sleeves are rolled up messily, muscles straining in his forearms, and veins bulging.

A painful silence settles between you.

You wait for Rooster to start accusing you, releasing some of that anger he must be feeling. He can’t help but run his mouth under every possible circumstance; what’s stopping him now? Clenching your jaw, you meet his angry eyes.

Your heart is beating so hard it’s making your fists shake. It’s like you are waiting for impact: you can hear the bomb whistle through the air as it falls, but you have no way of telling when it will hit you. But Rooster sits down, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

“Give it one final go for tonight, Anya.” He grunts, not looking at you.

Cautiously, you pull your chair back in. Trying to gather your nerves, you let out a shaky breath.

Bradley looks at you through his fingers. You look absolutely exhausted. Miserable. He hadn’t meant to make you jump like that, but you had been so so close to finally getting a flawless run; his frustration got the better of him when you stumbled. Again.

He noticed that despite your loud yelping, you didn’t look scared. On the contrary, you looked ready to swing at him if you had to—his little spitfire. A fondness settles in his heart again. You’ve made incredible strides in an enormous short amount of time through pure determination and discipline.

While he hasn’t told you, he’s impressed. No matter how often he tells you to start again, you simply go, the crease between your eyebrows deepening. Despite the late nights, despite your shoulder sagging every time you miss a beat—you haven’t complained once.

By god, if only your fingers weren’t so clumsy. Sometimes Bradley wants to grab your hand and guide to through every dot and dash until it’s forced into your muscle memory. But you need to be able to do this by yourself.

On your final attempt, you don’t even make it halfway. Bradley sighs but tries to push rising anger and disappointment away. You look at him as you get from the table without saying a word. For a moment, you look so incredibly crestfallen he almost gets up to wrap you in his arms to assure you that you’re in this together and you’ll find a way to make it work. It’s what he keeps telling himself when he tries to fall asleep at night.

But he stays seated as you grab your coat and bag from the bed. Bradley has noticed that sometimes you don’t put your coat on, despite being cold outside. He figures you’re staying somewhere close, somewhere that doesn’t disrupt your daily routine. But you’ll never share that information with him.

You don’t wear your coat tonight, leaving it folded over your arm.

“Sleep well, Rooster.” Your voice sounds thick with sleep. You don’t wait for him to reply before you walk out the door.

“Sleep well, Anya.” Sounds his reply just before you close the door behind you. His voice sounds flat, like a knife twisting in your gut. Your eyes are stinging from tiredness, from tears—you don’t even know anymore. You have an overwhelming urge to cry but need to be quiet. It’s late, and you sure as hell don’t want to alert any neighbors as you sneak back to your own building.

Crying won’t solve anything anyway. What you need is sleep and buckle down once more tomorrow: it’s your last chance to get it right; otherwise, you’re going to miss your window of opportunity to send the message.

Trust your gut. You can do this.

Except Saturday is just as miserable. In the morning, Eva remarks you don’t look so good and can barely reply from the incredible wave of anger that suddenly consumes you. So instead, you pitch your half-drunk tea into the kitchen sink and partially run out of the kitchen. You hear her call you a bitch, which knocks most of the anger out of you. You just want to go back to bed and sleep and pretend non of this happened. The whole war was just a bad dream; you’ll wake up on a sunny day in September, grab your books, and start a new year at university.

And practice with Rooster really isn’t going any better. He seems to have buried his frustration deep inside, but that only means nothing else is left. Not a smile, not a joke, not even a curse—just stern commands.

It’s sometime in the early evening—the sun is just going down—when after another failed attempt, you drop your forehead onto the table heavily, the noise reverberating through the wood. You don’t say anything, your eyes screwed shut (the uncontrolled impact of your skull against the tabletop actually hurt). Instead, Bradley looks at you—hand-rolled palm up, your messy braid, and the shallow breaths rocking your shoulder.

“Come on…” He starts carefully—he feels as tired as you look. “Let’s keep going.”

“No,” You moan, almost pathetically. “Just give me—like, a minute to rest.” You raise your head a fraction of the table to look at him. There’s a red spot where your head collided with the table. “I promise I can do this. I just need a break—please, Rooster.”

Your pleading tone tugs at his conscience. You’ve been practicing for hours without a break, going at the code over and over and over. It’s worrying him that you can’t seem to get it. It’s not easy, sure, but it’s not precisely flying a plane, either. On the other hand, you memorized the alphabet quickly. You were able to transcribe messages with high accuracy in a matter of days, so it’s clear you grasp Morse as a concept: why, for the love of god, are you so incapable of tapping the message out then?

Your hand is still resting on the table in front of you, fingers slightly curled up, practically inviting him to reach out to you and touch you.

Bradley is frustrated and progressively feels like the room's walls are closing in on him. He used to look forward to seeing you every day, but this week has been a soul-crushing grind. He doesn’t want to get angry—hell, he doesn’t want to feel this furious—but it’s hard to stave off the emotion every time you miss a beat. It’s not that you’re not trying; you are, but… He doesn’t know how to explain it, but you are getting on his nerves.

Despite that, he reaches out, needing to feel something other than anger and anxiety. He brushes his fingers along yours, lingering for a moment.

It feels nice.

He missed this. Even though it’s been only a few short days, less than a week, since you walked down the street together, hand in hand. Or when you wrapped your arms around his neck, looking at him with such fondness—and god, he knows it’s your job, but you are so painfully good at it. He’s been all too happy to play along, of course, enjoying every moment you welcomed his touch.

Bradley knows he should pull back again, not drag out the moment. But, instead, he’s setting himself up for disappointment. It’s been all fun and games before, and he enjoyed flirting with you—but the reality is that you have a mission. Namely, getting him out. He needs to stay alive and not complicate matters.

However, before he can move again, your fingers thread through his, keeping him in place. You don’t look up; you don’t say anything or acknowledge in any way that you’re holding his hand now. So he won’t either; instead, he wraps his hand around yours and savors the moment of peace between you.

Your stomach is in twists. For days you had been hoping Bradley would reach out to you again, try to make you laugh again. And now that he finally touched you again, you had to grab onto it. You hold your breath for a moment, afraid he will pull back—he’s been so distant, and you hate how much it stings. You’ve been struggling with getting the code down as is, but Bradley pulling back from you, not even leaving you the illusion of being your not-husband, just feels like another kick in the gut.

But now he’s holding your hand, actually reciprocating your gesture. It fills you with some hope—you are in this together, and you have to rely on each other. You squeeze Bradley’s hand, finally lifting your head from the table again.

“Okay, I’m ready now.” You say determinedly, a slight smile on your face. Bradley nods, holding your hand just a moment longer before pulling back again.

You don’t know where you’re getting the energy or the motivation from at this point. But you finally restart the practice with renewed vigor—you are even more determined to get it right. For the next hour, you start again and again tirelessly, not even waiting for Bradley to tell you to start over, cutting him off with a sharp shake of your head and tapping the dots and dashes again from the top.

Finally—you’ve lost count of how many attempts you’ve made since your break; the whole sequence goes off without a hitch. The moment you finish, you freeze, looking up at Bradley to confirm. He looks back at you, half in disbelief, and just nods.

You want to jump up in joy and cheer, but you just sag back into your chair, sighing deeply instead. Stretching your arms above your head, you feel your spine popping. It’s pitch dark outside. Bradley looks like he has finally relaxed, too, his shoulders eventually sagging from the tense and stern posture he’s been holding. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s clear how heavily this has been weighing on him too. When he looks up at you, because you’ve been staring pretty much, his eyes look so much older than his twenty-eight years.

“Told you I could do it.” You tell him jauntily, hoping to tease a reaction from him. But, instead, Bradley rewards you with that trademark lopsided smirk of his—and suddenly, it’s like there’s a different person in front of you again. The person you’ve missed more than you’d like to admit.

“Why don’t you show me again, sweetheart?” He teases right back, leaning towards you. ***

You’ve barely slept. Again.

Every time you managed to fall asleep for a short time, vivid dreams would wake you up again—you are terrified of fucking this up. So when you sit on the train on your way to the town where the engineer lives, you start up, tapping out the code on your thigh but stopping short.

It’s like going to an exam: there is a cutoff until when practice and revision are useful. After that, you’re only psyching yourself out. Fuck up now, and you’ll fuck up when it matters.

You can do this.

Trust your gut.

To keep yourself from trying to practice, you fidget with Rooster’s ID bracelet in your coat pocket. You somehow keep forgetting it’s there, although it has never left its hiding spot since you tucked it in there after Rooster threw it at you. You’ve never mentioned to him you still have it, although he never asks about it either. But it brings you comfort right now, the cool metal sliding between your fingers, the ridges of the embossed U.S. Navy shield pressing against the pad of your hand.

You’ll return it to him in due time, you promise yourself.

It’s sometime past noon when you trudge up to the sunny yellow house, Kaya barking excitedly the moment you come into view. Slipping through the green metal gate, the dog sniffs and whines, pushing her wet nose against your palm. When you move to give her a good scratching behind the ears, she shoots away, sniffing around the gate you just closed.

You scowl. Is Kaya looking for Rooster? The dog met him once and already preferred him over you?

Scoffing, you turn away and walk towards the house. No belly scratches, then.

Although you wish Rooster were here with you. It would make you feel more at ease, besides the fact that the onus of successfully sending the emergency code wouldn’t be solely on your shoulders.

The engineer’s wife immediately pulls you into the old coal cellar. She seems as anxious as you are.

You both kneel on the dirty floor before the radio, built into a suitcase and perched on top of an upturned apple box. The orange light of the old gas lamp flickers eerily.

“You look as scared as I feel, Auntie.” You try to joke, although your voice is quivering.

She just sighs heavily in response.

“The parts you brought were rusted; the radio keeps shorting out.”

You swear, trying to take a look at the machine. It looks normal, but then again, you’re not much of an engineer. “Do you think we have shot at at least sending one message?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Auntie wipes the back of her hand over her forehead. “Sometimes it shorts the moment your press the transmitter; sometimes it holds off for about a minute.”

You chew your lip.

“A minute is more than enough.” You reply confidently. “Is it all setup?”

Auntie nods as she flips a switch on the board. A low buzzing emits from the radio, punctuated by a few clicks. The contraption is littered with buttons, dials, and tiny lights that blink intermittently.

“Do you have the frequency?” Auntie asks, pointing to a large dial in the right-hand corner. You nod mutely and squint, trying to get a good look at the small white numbers around the dial. Then, fingers shaking, you start turning it. Somehow, you expected it to go smoothly, but it feels like sand is stuck in the rotation. As you pass each frequency, you hear voices—English, Germans, Czech, Polish—mixed with music, static and mechanical beeping. You're met with a ghostly silence when you finally arrive at the frequency Rooster designated for you.

You look at Auntie, who is following your movements wide-eyed.

“Do we actually know this works?” You breathe as you shift uncomfortably on your needs on the dirty, coal-stained floor. She shakes her head.

“We can’t send a test message.” She swallows nervously. “There’s no one to receive it; it would only open us up for interception.”

“How do we know this message won’t be intercepted?” You can’t really keep the panic out of your voice now.

“It probably will be,” Auntie replies matter-of-factly. “All we can hope is that they don’t take an interest.”

“Hope seems a dangerous thing to rely on.” You counter anxiously.

“It’s all we have, Anya.” Auntie cuts you off. “You better start before the whole thing shorts out again.”

The moment you press the little lever and it goes down, the low buzzing suddenly stops, and the little lights die out. The cellar suddenly feels a lot darker and quieter. Hesitantly you press the lever again, but there is no reaction.

“Shit.”

Auntie suddenly moves closer, swatting your hand away from the radio. So it shorted. Your anxiety is only worsening, your fingers trembling as you dig around for Rooster’s bracelet in your pocket. Trying to get your breathing under control, you watch Auntie open a side panel on the suitcase and moves the light away to take a closer look. From her apron, she digs out a small screwdriver that she uses to poke around in the cavity of the radio.

You are too scared to ask if the radio will work again. So instead, nervously, you glance at your wristwatch—you’ve only been down here for about five minutes, although it feels at least ten times that long.

“Come here, Anya,” Auntie motions you over. “Your fingers are younger and more nimble.”

“I can’t—” You hesitate. “Just do as I say, girl.”

You can hardly believe you’re being scolded right now. You shuffle over, sinking onto your knees by the open panel in the side of the suitcase.

“Now what?” You are clutching the bracelet in your hand like a lifeline.

“Reach in carefully.” Auntie’s breathing is heavy—the air in the small cellar is damp and strangely warm. “With the tip of your fingers, you’ll feel several wires—one looser than the rest.”

You nod, nervously wiping your hand on your coat. Suddenly you are keenly aware of the weight of the metal bracelet in your pocket. The back of your neck is prickly as sweat starts beading down your hairline. Breathing through your nose, you carefully edge your fingers through the opening. The flickering orange light of the gas lamp is absolutely no help—the gap can’t be that deep, you surmise, but it’s impossible to see anything.

“Slow and steady wins the race.” Auntie encourages you. Feeling around in the darkness, you keep your eyes strained on the shadows dancing on the wall. You feel metal ridges and bumps under the tips of your fingers. In the uncomfortably contorted position you’re in, squatting down, your feet are starting to hurt—the creased leather of your boots is cutting into you.

“Hold on.” You mumble, pulling your hand back for a moment as you sink on your knees, the fabric of your pants grinding against the dirty and dusty floor.

Biting your lip, you slowly move your hand into the opening again. Lightly the tip of your fingers brushes against what must be the cable. “I can feel them.” You announce.

“Good.” Auntie’s voice sounds steady, clinical almost. “They should be three wires.” You nod. “Two of them should barely move—you should be able to feel they’re attached on both sides.” She continues.

“Okay, okay, yeah, I feel them.” You try to sound calm, but your voice sounds uncomfortably loud. “The third one feels loose—it gives when I touch it.”

“Is it completely loose on one side?” Her voice doesn’t betray a thing.

“No, it feels like it’s still hanging on by a thread.”

Auntie exhales deeply. “Good, that means the wire hasn’t burned through all the way yet.”

She wipes her forehead with her sleeve again. “Now, here’s where I need your nimble fingers. Grab the loose wire, and push it up on the right side, as far as it will go.”

“How will I know it’s gone far enough?”

“When you let go, it should hold in place.”

“Okay, that’s easy enough.” You mutter, more than anything, to assure yourself it will be alright.

But the opening is small, and between the hard metal ridges of the suitcase interior, twisting your fingers to get a good enough grip on the wire is tough. You curse under your breath as it slips between your fingers, the sharp edges of the suitcase digging into the skin of your wrist.

By now, you can feel sweat travel down your spine. The air in the cellar is oppressive. The cable keeps slipping between your fingers, your wrist scraping along the sharp metal edge. Finally, you get a good grip, awkwardly pinching the cable between your index and middle fingers. You press it up—expecting some sort of click or any indication the cable is back in place. There is nothing. The only way to find out is to let go.

Hesitantly you relax your fingers—the cable doesn’t sag.

“Oh, thank fuck.” You exclaim, carefully retracting your hand.

“Watch your language.” Auntie admonishes you, tone still completely serious. In the moving light, you can see the red marks along your wrist and the back of your hand—they sting as you move your fingers. You grunt an apology as you move back into position before the radio. Auntie clicks the panel back on and flips the power switch. You know you have no time to waste now. The frequency has been set, so as soon as all lights are on and the low buzz fills the room again, you need to start sending the message—you wish you had a moment to gather your thoughts, to run through the sequence one more time mentally, but there simply isn’t time.

You wipe your hand over your coat again—through the fabric, you feel Rooster’s bracelet safely tucked away in your pocket. Trust your gut.

Decisively, you start tapping out the message—hoping, praying someone is listening. You know the code; you can do it flawlessly.

Trust your gut.

A sudden flash blinds you temporarily. Your fingers, which had been on the metal lever, are suddenly red hot. There is no explosion after the flash, just a loud pop, and arid smoke immediately filling the small room. You fall backward, flinching as you break your momentum with your hands—your burned fingers screaming in pain as you skid over the dirty floor. You see colorful spots; purples and greens are dancing in front of your eyes in fluid shapes. You hear cursing and scrambling—ironic, you think, half-dazed, as you’ve just been told off for that.

Suddenly you are hoisted by your arm and pulled out of the coal cellar. Auntie is yelling at you, and as soon as you get steady on your feet, she pushes you up the stairs. You stumble into the house's hallway, the dirt—coal dust; you see now—falling off you in small black clouds.

As your vision returns to normal, you sag down onto the floor, the colorful blobs melting into the background again.

Auntie comes up the stairs, coughing heavily. It smells like burned ozone. You fully expect to be scolded again for sitting on the floor, coal dust fluttering down with every move. But Auntie just closes the door and slumps down next to you.

With that comes the ice-cold realization: that radio won’t work anymore.

Tears fill your eyes, but you angrily blink them away. The words are on the tip of your tongue several times, but you bitterly swallow them each time. But ultimately, would you rather know the painful truth or live with the uncertainty of not knowing?

“Auntie…” You start hesitantly. Just finishing the question makes your chest feel tight. She looks up at you with a motherly look as if she already knows what you will ask. “Was it my fault?” You grind out like there is a vice around your throat.

“Oh, poor girl, no.” Her voice is warm and assuring. “So many parts we rusted or otherwise damaged; that wire couldn’t have been the cause.”

“How do you know?” You’re not sure why you keep asking, but somehow you want some sort of reasonable explanation for Rooster.

Oh, Bradley. He’s going to be devastated.

“That wire couldn’t have caused enough sparks for something to catch fire,” Auntie replies matter-of-factly. “The coil probably overheated.”

You hear Kaya padding around in the kitchen down the hall.

“It’s a lost cause, isn’t it?” You stare at the neat white wall of the hallway, almost too scared to look Auntie in the eye. “There is no way the engineer…”

“There’s nothing that can be done.” Auntie cuts you off. “Come on, get up. You look like you’ve just climbed out of a mine.” She heaves herself up from the ground as she keeps talking to you in that same motherly tone.

“Take off your coat; I will brush the dust for you.” She instructs you. “Go wash your face in the meantime.”

You comply, your head too full of questions and worries to argue.

***

Before you leave the house, you stop in the doorway. Kaya is weaving around your legs excitedly, wanting to play.

“Auntie…” You frown. “What do I say?”

She shakes her head at you. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can say. You can only listen.”

You sigh. It seems such a small comfort, hardly enough to soften the blow of reality.

“Remember, Anya,” Auntie continues, touching your shoulder. “Hope is all we really have.”

“What if that isn’t enough?” You can’t help but scoff lightly. Hope. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like enough right now.

“This too shall pass.” She squeezes your shoulder. “And everything we do is to hasten that passing; remember that.”

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