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theteasetwrites · 1 year

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Daddy's Home | Part 1

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 (Alexandria) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)—oral sex (male receiving), dominant-ish Daryl, doggystyle, so much dirty talk, like one tiny spank (just a little one), mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, oh yeah and DADDY KINK, language ❧ Word Count: 4.3k

❧ Summary: When Daryl comes back home from a week away, he doesn't want to sleep. He just wants you.

❧ A/N: Ok so yes I know the title is ridiculous, but like... what else was I gonna call this oneshot ok? Anyway, here's some major daddy kink. Like a lot of daddy kink. Daryl is just daddy. Sorry but he is. I can't explain it. Actually, yes I can. He's a protector, a provider, a big softie. He's a daddy, and I don't even have daddy issues but just let me have this. Goodbye I am never showing my face here again. <;3 Also I simply cannot get over how hot he is in this gif holy mother of god.

The quiet was nice, late nights in Alexandria, gentle summer breeze prickling at your skin. It was nice to leave your bedroom window open through the night. Daryl hated it, always going on about how someone could climb the trellis outside your window and sneak in while you slept, but when he was gone, you’d indulge yourself in that one simple luxury.

When he told you that he was Alexandria’s newest recruiter, you knew you’d be in for some lonely nights ahead. Still, you also knew Daryl was the best man for the job—you’d seen him bring dozens of people to the prison, providing them shelter while expecting nothing in return, and then going out the next morning to do it all over again. That was when he wasn’t going out on his hunts to find food for everyone, often bringing home the biggest deer you’d ever seen, until he’d do it again next week, and bring home an even bigger one.

Yes, there was no doubt about it—Daryl knew what he was doing out there, but it didn’t stop you from worrying about him. Missing him. So while the quiet was, indeed, nice, you still could not get used to being alone, in this perfect little suburban townhouse, waiting.

Your waiting became so monotonous, sitting up in your bed and reading another old Agatha Christie novel, that you decided, at length, to migrate downstairs, the living room. When Daryl would come home, you thought, you’d greet him right away. That was how much you were anticipating his arrival.

One week was nothing, really, but it was the longest you’d been apart since knowing each other, and with the world the way it was, a lot could happen in seven days. A lot of bad, bad things.

So you flicked on the lamp, snuggled yourself into a knitted blanket, and curled up on the sofa, book in hand as you let out a quiet huff. “Daryl…” you said to yourself, scanning your book to relocate the exact sentence where you left off. “Where are you, you big meatball.”

Your nervous jitters only worsened with the passing hour, your legs shaking involuntarily, your finger tapping on the edge of the book, your toes wiggling nonstop. All you needed was the sound of that bike, that big, stupid bike. That would ease your fretful heart. Well, what would really make you happy was seeing that man of yours, no doubt in need of a shower, but still, your man nonetheless.

Speak of the Devil, as they say, and he doth appear.

It started out as just a distant hum, perking your ears and making your spine straighten in anticipation. Still frozen, you listened intently. A rumble, now, mechanical and getting louder with each second your heart began to beat faster. At one fateful moment, the roar of the makeshift machine was at its highest volume, and before you could even stand, a bright beam of white light shone through the blinds of the front window.

All at once, the light and the rumble ceased, punctuated by a low huff, followed by an exasperated grunt. Heavy footsteps plodded along in a familiar pattern—you even recognized the sound of his no doubt mud-caked boots scraping against the edge of the steps leading to the front porch. You could only hope that this time, he’d take the extra precaution of removing his boots before he stepped over the threshold.

There was a spring in your step, you wrapping the terry cloth fabric of your robe over your chest as you flitted towards the front door. Finally, you stood just a few feet back, your eyes transfixed on the shiny bronze doorknob. Inevitably, a wide grin made your cheeks swell until they almost ached, but the wait was worth it.

When he came through the door, his head was hanging low, until he felt your presence. Lifting his gaze, he met your great big smile with a smaller one, though the movement of his body betrayed him. The door shut with a strong thud, just before he stepped forward to let his crossbow fall from his shoulder. With a soft grunt under his breath, he buried his nose in the warmth of your shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

For a good while, he stayed like that, only taking in the sensory relief you provided him—your faint scent of rose, your softness, your tender chuckle as your hands rubbed in vertical motions up and down his aching back. Despite the rigidity of his tired muscles, he melted into you, letting himself bask in the comfort you provided him. To hold him like this was nothing short of a ritual between you two, whenever you were apart for long enough to begin missing each other to the point of near grief.

A man like Daryl—who’d been through so much as he had, who’d seen so much and had still so much room in his heart to give of himself to others—deserved to be held the way you held him. Few people in this world had a heart as big as him, though he did not show it in ways most people would recognize. He showed it in acts of service, in providing for people who could not provide for themselves, in the ones he loved safe. It was what you always adored about him: how he gave of himself, and expected nothing in return.

“Hey, there, tough guy.” Daryl buried his face deeper into you, now snug in the crook of your neck, where he caught the scent of your perfume, applied much earlier in the day, yet still lingering sweetly. Though you adored how much he clung to you, you longed so much to see his face. Your hands grabbed a hold of either side of his head to lift his gaze to yours.

As usual, his disheveled hair hung low over his forehead, obscuring one of your favorite features of his—his eyes. Between strips of tattered brown curtains, you could make out the blue-grey hue of his irises. Pushing them back, you smiled again at those deep-set pools of silvery cobalt blue. You always found their mystery to be intriguing.

“How are you?” you asked, though you knew from the state of him that he must’ve been exhausted. He hadn’t even muttered a word, and yet the more prominent than usual bags under his eyes spoke for him. “You must be tired, hon. Let’s get you in bed.”

But as you turned towards the staircase, a firm grip pulled you back by the wrist, until you were in his arms now, laughing at his sudden burst of energy. Despite your amusement, he did not smile, only looked at you with a heavy, dark gaze, and a lick of his lips.

In your surprise, you hadn’t even noticed that both of his hands were now wrapped around each wrist, so tight that you nearly feared he’d cut off your circulation.

Something was wrong, had to have been. You’d never seen him so… intense. Of course, Daryl could often be intense, when he was angry especially, but this wasn’t that. Anger was something you could recognize in Daryl. He’d never directed it towards you, but you knew it, and this was something different.

“Are… are you feeling okay, sweetie?”

Silence, just that gaze holding you hostage, and a heat rising from his body that you could’ve sworn caused a bead of sweat to form on your brow.

Now he was scaring you.

“Daryl?”

Your voice tempted him further. If only you knew just how much he missed you, how much he needed you. A week was too long. A week without you, a week without your touch, a week without your sweet, dulcet voice. And oh, how that voice awoke in him a terrible burning, a conflagration of deadly proportions, a fire that could only be extinguished by the one he loved.

Entranced by his stare, you hadn’t noticed that he had you pinned against the wall, his strong, heaving chest keeping you there.

And when he pressed himself against you, you knew. It was obvious, the way he nearly thrusted into you.

When you realized what he wanted, you felt a wave of relief wash over you: he needed you just as much as you had needed him the past week. From the night he left, you’d not stopped thinking of him, and when you’d turn in your bed to feel for him, and he wasn’t there, the ache for him only worsened.

There was no way in Hell, though, you were going to initiate sex when he got home. You knew he’d be tired, and a good night’s rest was what he needed before you even thought of asking him to make love to you, but now, with that wild look in his eyes, that hungry snarl in his lip, that flare in his nostrils, that beating of his heart…

“Oh,” you sighed, your teeth biting back your lower lip as your eyes trailed up and down his body. With your hands finally free, you ran them up his arms, letting them settle on the broad, firm shoulders you loved so much.

For just a moment, he leaned forward, forehead and tip of his nose meeting yours. With his hardening cock beginning to dig between your thighs, and his vaguely tobacco tinged musk tickling your senses, you could only utter one word.

A soft, nearly whimpering mewl: “Daddy.”

By the time he got you to the sofa, each of you were already panting, hands moving relentlessly as you both clawed for any part of each other’s body you could get your hands on. Your mouths worked tirelessly, tongues spinning sloppily around the other’s in your haste to finally have each other again.

When you successfully removed his leather angel-winged vest, you worked on unbuttoning his black shirt, but his hands stopped you.

“Need your mouth,” he said.

Leaning back on the sofa with a low grunt, he began unbuckling his belt, while you slotted yourself between his legs, hands massaging his clothed thighs, thick and flexing against your palm.

When his cock sprang out of its confines, you’d already stripped yourself of your underwear and your robe. In only a transparent silk nightgown, your hips swayed instinctively as you watched his hand begin to stroke himself, up and down the long, thick shaft you’d come to know and love so much.

“Come ‘ere.” His hands reached out to grab either side of your head, bringing you down to his cock. Panting lips began to drool a bead of saliva down the side of his growing erection. Knowing what he wanted, of course, you took the reddened, swelling tip into your mouth, much to his immediate relief.

“Fuck.” As your mouth slid a little lower, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. His grip on your hair tightened as his head fell back on the arm of the sofa, a soft breath of your name on his lips.

Returning to watch you, he lifted your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tilting his head to get a better look at you, your eyes fluttering up to meet his gaze.

“Pretty angel.” Even just the utterance of that affectionate pet name made you feel an overwhelming need to touch yourself. With your free hand, you lifted your nightgown to slot your fingers between warm, velvety folds of aching flesh. “Ya look so good like this… Suckin’ on Daddy’s cock.”

It was somewhat of a tradition now, using that phrase, though only in the context of sex, in your most private, intimate moments. It was silly, you knew it, and he knew it, too, but you both found it excruciatingly sexy all the same. It was sacred in that you’d probably die of embarrassment if anyone else besides Daryl knew of your little… kink.

But neither of you could quite help it, you adoring his strong, protective nature, and him just finding it so alluringly sinful. Guilty pleasure type of thing, with emphasis on pleasure.

And besides, his dirty talk was sex all on its own.

As your mouth took him in progressively deeper, your fingers moved faster, increasing the friction against your sensitive spot, then slowly dipping down into the embrace of your entrance.

Not only could he admire your mouth, and your sweet soft moans, but he could watch your fingers enter you, your hand shaking as you penetrated yourself to match the rhythm you knew he liked when he had his cock in you.

“Love when you fuck yourself like that.” He only wished he was the one doing it. “You thinkin’ of me?”

Well, it was hard not to think of him, with his cock in your mouth.

Taking the opportunity to catch your breath, you answered him. “Yes, Daddy.”

His hands pulled you back down onto his cock, your lips forced open by his tip. “Just don’t make yourself come,” he said. “That’s for me.”

Yes, Daddy.

Sliding over your tongue, his cock dug deeper, towards the back of your mouth. Going down on him was always a bit of a challenge, given just how big he was, but the weight of him inside you, wherever that may be, was far more rewarding. And when you got to feel that little twitch, his cock moving all on its own as it begged for release… It only made you suck harder, sliding your mouth up and down, taking him in deeper until you were nearly gagging.

But he liked that, the sound of you struggling just a little to take all of him. Daryl was a sensitive man, yes, but he was still a man—proud of his big cock, even if he was insecure in most other areas. At least he was big, and at least he knew how to use it.

With his hand on the back of your head, firm, but still gentle enough to let you up if you needed it, he pushed you down just a bit more, hearing your gag become more guttural, more strangled. It did not hurt, though. It only turned you on, your fingers curling inside you to tickle that special spot, and your other hand fondling his balls, tightly drawn to the underside of the base of his cock.

For several moments, the only sounds coming from either of you were your strained groans, his slipping from between his agape lips, yours muffled by his length filling your entire mouth. Between those sounds of pleasure were the sloppy squelches of your lips soaking him with your saliva. You were always so messy when you went down on him, but how could you not be? His cock provided you no room to lick up your drool, stuffing you until your spit had nowhere else to go but down his veiny, hard length.

Of course, he’d have to tease you about it, how sloppy you were. “Messy girl,” he said, his hand gripping your hair to pull back your bangs. You fluttered your eyes open to meet his, and you were greeted by his crooked smile, with just a sliver of those shiny teeth showing. “Gettin’ Daddy all wet, huh? Nice and wet so I can fuck you good.”

Yes, Daddy.

Eyes rolling back slightly, he bucked his hips up with a jolt, your sucking beginning to tip him over the edge. Just in time, too, for your hand was getting tired of rubbing, and you needed him to finish you off.

“F-fuck, angel. Imma need ya to get that pussy ready for me.”

Whatever he wanted, you’d give him. After all, you were his good girl. Always his good girl. You couldn’t think of a time you’d ever been a bad girl for him. Daddy deserved his good girl.

Yes, you were a good girl, but you could still be… needy.

“Oh, Daddy.” Now straddling his waist, your fingers went straight for the first button on his shirt. “Want you.” He loved when you whined, just a little, and when you were so needy for him that you couldn’t quite make out a completely proper sentence. “Want your shirt off.”

He let you undo just a few buttons, exposing the hairs on his chest that drove you crazy, made you want to feel those wiry hairs between your pursed lips as you trailed your kisses all over his broad chest, made so strong and big by all the manual labor he did, and that heavy crossbow he always used.

That very same strength pulled at your wrists, then raised you up only to lay you down, sprawled out on the other side of the couch. Now he hovered over you, the tip of his cock hanging down to be tickled by the fabric of your blush pink nightie. He always liked pink on you, matched the color of your cheeks when he talked so dirty to you, made you feel like a whore, but not in a disrespectful way. Never in a disrespectful way.

Besides, you knew you were more than that to him. You knew he loved you. Two years together, through some of the most abject pain and suffering imaginable, would do that. But in moments like this, it felt good to be just his personal whore, whom he happened to love very, very much.

Tenderness blossomed between your lips and his, where he kissed you so deeply, so sweetly. And yet, you still clawed at his shirt, your fingers begging for him to let you see his gorgeous body, after so long away from him.

“Shit,” he laughed into your mouth. Sitting up, he began to undo the rest of the buttons, then peeled off his shirt with his chest puffed up, clearly a bit cocky. When your hands shot up to grasp at his pecs, the faded ink of the tattoo above his left nipple having taunted you, he chuckled again.

“Daddy,” you laughed back, your voice a drawn out, dramaticized whine. “Come on.”

Now you were testing him, and he held back the rest of his laughter to put on a stern, domineering face. “Hey, now. Be a good girl.”

He felt your thighs squeeze together underneath him, and your hips jolting upwards. He knew what you wanted, and he’d give it to you, but this position wasn’t quite right.

With a breathy grunt, he grabbed you by your waist, flipping you over, then lifting your bottom until it was sticking out at just the right angle. Lifting your nightie, he licked his lips to watch you move your hips from side to side, as if to taunt him.

“Cute little ass,” he practically cooed. Leaning over you, his chest pressed firmly to your back, he nuzzled his nose against your pillowy cheek. All the while, you felt his hand slide between your now nearly dripping wet folds. Eyes closed softly, you hummed a soft whimper at the feeling. His hands were always different from yours, so much bigger, stronger, rougher. You’d never felt a touch quite like his, and part of it was because he touched you with such tenderness, even if he tried to manhandle you a little. He was still always gentle, somehow.

In the most honeyed, silky, yet scratchy, voice, he rasped in a whisper, “Did ya miss me, angel?”

“Yes… Daddy, I missed you so, so much.”

“Mm, I missed you, too. So much.”

Finally, you felt his tip just barely graze your hole. Not only was he torturing you, he was torturing himself, but he loved it. He needed it, otherwise he was sure his peak of pleasure would go away just as fast as it would come. With you, in this moment, he needed to prolong the desire as much as he could. He could feel it coming soon, though, that tensing in his muscles, that tingling in the pit of his stomach, that twitching that made his cock seem to bounce against your folds on its own accord.

As he slid further into you, you felt his lips find the back of your neck, where he left little kisses the more he sank into you. It felt so good to feel him again, that fullness. It was a feeling only he could give you, his unique way of moving, his cock fitting so perfectly inside you.

Underneath your nightgown, his hands found your breasts. Tense, strong fingers curled like claws at the soft tissue. Even in his dreams, of which he had many while he was away, he could not recreate that texture—that pillowy soft flesh swelling against his fingers. And the inside of you, the warmth and tightness that hugged his cock and accepted him with each pass, in and out.

Soon, he leaned back to watch your body envelope his, the shiny, milky coating of your arousal making it easier to slip in and out of you, his hips thrusting in ever increasing speed.

“Daddy…”

God, he loved being called that. Much more than he should’ve. But, then again, he’d probably find you sexy even if you were calling him “dickhead.” He really didn’t mind, as long as you were calling him something.

“Mm, angel… Daddy’s here now, sweetheart.” He delivered a harder, stronger thrust, pulling a loud, strangled moan out from deep inside of you. “That feel good?”

“Fuck, yes!”

As if to praise you, he delivered just a small, weak slap to your bum. That was about as hard as he was willing to spank you, given how much he hated the idea of hurting you, but he knew you liked it, and he liked it, too, the clench of your body from the slap making him jolt forward.

“Takin’ it good… Real good.”

With one hand still squeezing your breast, the other now drawing tight circles over your clit, he made your lips tremble and your muscles tighten as you began to approach the height of pleasure. You could feel it, just on the brink of release. And he felt it, too, which was why he pulled himself out of you, flipping you over again like a ragdoll.

You were startled when he pulled you down by your ankles, until you were closer to him. He gave his fingers a good, long lick, then let them sink into you, where his cock had left you stretched wide open and dripping wet.

Three fingers. Three thick, strong fingers, curling up inside you, making you writhe and groan as your hands shot up to grasp at his shoulders. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched his neck bulge with the strain of trying to keep himself from coming, and it only aroused you more—those muscles flexing and throbbing and burning underneath hot, sweat-dripping skin, tanned by days on end out in the sun.

What he needed so badly was his own release, after so long of working so hard out there, risking his life for the good of Alexandria. As his forearm and biceps flexed with every push of his fingers inside of you, his chest heaved harder and harder, while you reached between your legs to find his cock. With your hand pulling on his length, and your walls clenching around his fingers as your release reached a tipping point, you both would soon be giving each other much needed relief.

“Daddy,” you sighed, tugging harder on his cock as frustration overtook you. The closer you got to orgasm, the more you couldn’t wait any longer. “Make me come… I wanna come.”

“Ah, angel… I’m gonna come, too.”

Just moments later, you tensed and gasped and writhed and moaned, rocking your hips upward as his fingers stayed inside you, squeezed by your contracting walls. “Oh, Daddy!”

He leaned forward to lay on top of you, his sturdy weight keeping you in place as you rode out your high, soaking his fingers with your arousal. The heat of your cheek seemed to burn his lips as he kissed you there, then rubbed his button nose in delicate circles to soothe you. “Yeah… Daddy’s got ya, sweetheart.”

With your hand still tugging on him, he gasped a heavy breath, spilling out over you right then and there, his hips thrusting into your hand in desperate, sloppy motions. The orgasm was so strong that he lost his composure for a moment, his head falling into your chest as he groaned your name, over and over and over again.

And now he freed his hand, using it to rub up and down the sides of your torso, your skin like fine silk under his worn, calloused fingers. In his hair were your hands, massaging his scalp the way you knew he liked, until he lifted his head to offer you a gentle smile.

“Mm, I’ll never get tired of that.”

You tilted your head with a wide grin. “I didn’t think you’d want to do it tonight. I thought you’d be exhausted.”

He breathed a low huff before rolling over onto his side. You did the same, letting him hold you with his chest pressed firmly to your back. There wasn’t much room on that tiny couch, but you made it work. After all, even if you were in bed upstairs, you’d probably still be this close to each other, clinging for dear life, never wanting to be separated again, though you knew someday you’d have to.

“I am,” he said. “Just… I dunno, needed you, s’all.” Observant as he was, he took notice of your shivering, and reached back to grab the knitted blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He covered the both of you, then tucked his chin into your shoulder, where it seemed to fit perfectly. “Missed ya so much, could hardly stand bein’ without you.”

Even now, after you thought you’d be used to his sweet words, he still had a way of sending those butterflies aflutter. “Well, now you’re back home.”

That sounded so good to him—back home.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Masterlist

Part 2 (coming soon)

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead smut #twd smut

2K notes · View notes

6-zao-xing-9 · 5 months

Note

HIIIII can i request prsk boys as dads? headcannons plzzzzz! tysm!

Dads

Pjsk x fem! reader

Summary: How do the boys act as fathers?

This writing contains.... Aged up! boys that are married to reader....

A/N: I WAS WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO REQ THIS anyway thanks for requesting! I had so much fun writing this :p hope you like it🙏

Kamishiro Rui:

sweet

Hes so sweet

You guys are such a happy family

He'd be a weird dad tho

Sweet but weird

When hes feeding the baby, instead saying something normal like “Here comes the airplane.”, he'll be like “Here comes the Antoniv Boeing Wright Blériot Stratolaunch 225 Mriya.” (its supposed to be a type of airplane or airplane model)

The baby be giving him that side eye like "wtf"

He probably made a machine that automatically changes diapers

Bro was prepared

His child is prolly a mischievous one ngl

Imagine hes just talking to you using big words like "discombobulate" or smth and the child is just staring at him, confused like "thats a word??"

He would prolly teach them how to make smoll things

As if rui alone wasnt enough, you have to convice both of them not blow up the house

Thanks to rui, your child will also despise vegetables

Again, as if rui wasnt enough, you have to hide vegetables in both of their foods

Rui would find it and then dump in the childs bowl, then the child will find it and dump it in your bowl

Honestly youre the only mature one in the house(if you even are)

Other than those shenanigans, hes a pretty good father

He'll make pretty much anything if your child is feeling down or sad

And if their sick, he'll make a robot of their favorite animal to entertain them

Now, when the child was a baby, he'd probably like to sweet talk them a lot and squish their chubby cheeks

When their a toddler, he'd probably let them ride on his neck a lot while going on a walk

When their a young middle schooler, hes more likely to carry them on his back instead of his neck for obvious reasons

Id think he'd be ready for the teen years and if any drama or anything like that happens at school, he'll be right there for his child.

He was super close when they were younger, so it's somewhat easy to run to Rui when things go wrong

Hed be a silly and goofy father I feel like

He'd by the type to kiss the forehead constantly

He'll do it 10x if they pushed him away and were embarrassed by it

He'll definitely defend his child and even talk to the principal if needed if his child gets bullied at school

He'd hate it if his child felt how he did when he was in school

Does his best to cheer them up and suceeds half of the time

Probably a bit strict

If your child ever said that they liked someone, he will want to meet the person, but also give them advice

He just wants his child to be happy but also doesn't want them to get their heartbroken

Will be so surprised when his daughter brought a boy home

He welcomed him warmly and slightly seriously

Definitely asks questions

Tenma Tsukasa:

Hes prolly the most fathery father if you know what i mean

Honestly idk how you child cannot be close with him

Hes literally like the best father

Definitely says here comes the airplane everytime he feeds the kid

If he tried to change a diaper, itd probably just end up tangled

Once he finallh successfully changed a diaper but then he forgot the baby powder so he had to redo it again

He definitely leaves his child with any of his troupemates for playdates if they have children

His children hangout with aunt Saki every weekend

Idek how your child can ever be sad he will literally always brighten their day

I mean he is a star after all

If your child doesn't know what they like or wanna be when they grow up, he'll definitely teach them different things like how to act, play the piano, or sing

If your child is an acter then theyve just grown 100x closer

If thats even possible

If youre an acter as well

Honestly he couldn't be happier with the family he has

If he has hed prolly want 2 or 3, or maybe even 4 children if you like

He likes his children having eachother and never feeling lonely

If one of them gets sick, he'll do his best to take care of them, but also to not neglect the other children cuz he doesn't want his chold to feel like how he did when he was neglected

His morning routine is kissing everyone in the house

He wakes up, gives you a morning kiss on your lips, then goes to his childrens room to kiss their foreheads

depending on the age and personality, I feel like his children would be embarrassed by him

He will definitely cheer for his child/children loudly if they like to play any sport and will hold up a huge sign saying something idk

Whether they do good or not, he will always run to them after the match and spin them around and compliment them

He would totally freak out if their child said they liked someone

Remember how he acted when he thought Saki was going on a 'date'?

He'd prolly freak out 100x for his child

While his child was away and on their date, he would be panicking

He'd constantly want to call his child to see how its going, but of course he doesn't want to interrupt them

Once they come back home, he bombards them with questions

If they say it went fine then he'll sigh in relief

If they say it went bad, then he'll get super tense and only ask them more questions

Hes definitely the one who talks the most at the dinner table

Loses all his sanity if his child ever brought someone home

Nervously asks them questions while they eat

Aoyagi Toya:

hes definitely the most careful dad out of the bunch

He thinks about everything he does and says very carefully before speaking to his child

He just doesn't want to mess up or accidentally say something wrong

On the babys 1 yr birthday, they plopped their hands all in the cake and them rubbed toyas face with their hands

He just sat there, blinking before chuckling and licking some of the cake

probably doesnt know how to change a diaper

Plz help this man

He tries to be strict but hes not very good at it

He definitely read his child bedtime stories when they were younger

Will do anything for his child to be happy

Even playing the piano or violin

He might teach them how to use them if they want

Hes super careful though cuz he doesn't want them to feel pressured and uncomfortable like how he felt when he was taught

He'll definitely give the best advice to his child if they are ever in need of it

When the teenage years arrive, he'll try his best to be by his child

If they get bullied in school, then, like Rui, he might have to talk to the principal or even switch schools if it gets that bad

I feel he's a very good role model maybe idk

I feel like An would babysit his child if needed often

Akito would be that one uncle that takes the child out often(maybe?)

If his child ever wants to go on a date, he will be supportive and try his best to give advice and to warn them about how difficult or how relationships take a lot of effort

If the date went well, then he'll prolly just pat their head and smile

If the date didnt go well, then he'll just quietly listen to them explain or talk or whatever they wanna do and just try to cheer them up with his soft words and advice

If his child likes to play sports and when they win, he will quietly congratulate them and maybe make a small celebration at home

If they lose, then he'll compliment them regardless and tell that there's always next time

Shinonome Akito:

the most aloof

He'll act like everythings fine and he knows what hes doing, but in reality, he doesn't know a thing about parenting

he tries to be strict.... And it works.... Sometimes

Auntie Ena would definitely occasionally steal the baby away from him and take pictures of her and her niece/nephew and post them on social media

Akito definitely gets suspicious and starts to think she only likes his baby for the fame/hj

he'll definitely sweet talk his baby and play with their fingers but immediately stop when you enter the room

if you tease him about he'll just deny it of course

But then you see that the baby is happier then when you last saw them so you no hes lying

Doesn't know a friggin thing about changing diapers

The first time you asked him to change their diaper he was like “Uh.... Yeah.... So um.... What do I do again?”

Of course you have to teach him to change it and it probably took him three tries to get it right

He once swore in front of his toddler but then immediately cut himself off after remembering his child was there

He was like “W-Wait, no, don't say that..”

And then of course he had to deal with your scolding afterwards

One time he almost swore but stopped himself after seeing that his toddler was watching “Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiioooot....”

I feel like he'd get embarrassed if his child asked him to sing them to bed

But of course he cant say no to him so he does

And then you walk in

He immediately stops singing and then the child is just staring at him like why tf did you stop

Then youre like, “Did I interrupt something?”

Suddenly the atmosphere is awkward

He coughs it up and then searches for a book so he can read to the child

If your child plays sports then he will happily and loudly cheer them on

Bonus points if they play soccer

He will always ruffle their hair and tell them good job whenever they win

Whenever they lose hes like “Don't sweat it, you still did great.”

If his child ever goes on a date, he'll try to act chill but again, he'll be freaking out in the inside

While the child is gone, he'll unintentionally ask you every 10 minutes “You think they'll be okay?”

Of course you have to reassure him theyll be fine or he will literally go crazy

When they come back he immediately greets them at the door and asks them how it went

If they say it was good, then he'll let out a huge sigh of relief he didnt even know he was holding in

If they said it went bad, then he'll be like “What?! How? Did something happen?”

If his daughter ever brings home a boy then he will mildy freak out and will watch him like a hawk and subtly glare at the boy as if to say “You make one mistake and youre out.”

Reblogs and likes are appreciated!

#lets ✨write!✨#lets ✨request!✨#project sekai x reader #akito x reader #kamishiro rui x reader #rui kamishiro x reader #shinonome akito x reader #toya aoyagi x reader #tsukasa tenma x reader #akito shinonome x reader #aoyagi toya x reader #tenma tsukasa x reader #tsukasa x reader #toya x reader #rui x reader

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toranesu · 11 months

Note

AHAHAHA i actually do not feed myself anything to get such ideas, i just get them 😭😭😭

had another thought for u <3 (omfg i feel nasty for having sm thoughts)

but hear me out on this one,,, not sure if im the only one who has it but i secretly have aaaa size kink?-

BUT.

HEAR ME OUT AGAIN.

SIZE KINK W/ TINGYUN.

tingyun cannot rlly choose which hole she wants you to use, but u tell her u can use all!!! pick her up and push her up against a wall in her room, tear her bottoms apart and plunge ur cock in, she'll be putty in ur hands in no time.

poor foxian girl cannot stop her screams, as u continue to assault her wet insides, srsly cannot get over the fact how u pick her up so easily and fuck her up within just a blink of an eye

and also gonna add the fact ur dick could make bulge on her plush stomach, proving just how aggressive u plan to be w/ her.

and it doesn't stop, srsly, it goes on for so long that she'd be leaving her room with heavy amounts of cum dripping down her legs <3

-anon kei

kei i am so sorry for getting back at you so late 😭 im trying i swear 🙏

sub tingyun x dom gn amab reader | cw. amab reader, belly bulge, size difference

tingyun loves loves loves sneaking off with you in the middle of work! she'll definitely get an earful, but it's always worth it to have you plunge into her pussy like a fucking machine!! her ass, her pussy, her mouth—how good would it be if she could just have all her holes filled up with you.

the moment you grab her by the waist and tell her you need her, she easily complies. once you're in her room, you don't pause and immediately attack her, pinning her down on the wall and aggressively kissing all over her neck, suckling on her skin whilst your hand roams wherever you can touch.

her skin is smooth and delicate, she's so gorgeous. oh, how you love marking her beautiful skin up. she moans deliriously, loving the power you have over her.

you hurriedly rip her clothes off, your fingers pressing on her wet cunt. "fuck. already dripping for me, tingyun?" you mutter out, grazing your teeth on her collarbone.

"mmn, how can i not be?" she wraps her arms around your neck. she's looking at you with those starstrucking eyes and giving you that signature smile of hers.. oh, how you wanna fuck her up.

you've had her just the night before, and yet you can't stop yourself from wanting her now—neither can she. not wasting any time, you strip yourself and manhandle her down onto the bed, towering over her. she swears she could just cum from the size difference alone.

your hands find their way onto her hips, while you thrust your aching dick inside her wet cunt. the fluids from tingyun's juices alone enough to help you slide right in, along with the fact that you've just fucked the night before.

tingyun moans noisily as you bottom out inside of her, gritting your teeth and suckling onto her neck. your hand finds it's way to squeeze her boob before starting to thrust into her at a rough pace, the sound of skin slapping and the two of you's moans and groans surrounding the room.

as you've done this a thousand times before, her eyes draw towards the bulge on her stomach. tingyun just nearly squeals at the sight, her hand pressing down on the bulge while she clamps around you.

you look down towards her stomach, grinning smugly at the sight. your size is certainly something you're proud of. "shit. so full of me, babe," you groan out, watching the way the bulge moves according to your thrusts.

when you put your hand on top of hers, pressing down gently, she cums. that act of affection from you—oh, tingyun's weak.

#demoaning #sub tingyun #tingyun x reader #sub honkai star rail #sub hsr #dom reader #top reader #top male reader #gn reader #amab reader

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tenjiiku · 9 months

Text

21 : only

The chime of the shop rings with prominence. You already know who it is without lifting your gaze from your newspaper.

“Darling, love of my life, fire of my heart,” The man sings — an annoying, sickly sweet tone — his volume increasing as he glides his way to the front reception desk, “The machine is broken again.”

You cough, adjusting your newspaper. He is so abnormally tall his hair is all you can see from your periphery. Why he presents himself in such a way you never want to know.

“Then go to another laundromat,” you murmur quickly. You have grown accustomed to dismissing his outlandish behaviour. It is a second instinct at this point.

“Nah. I wouldn’t receive such service anywhere else — you are special, you know? One of a kind.”

You choke a little at his hoax of his compliment, “You make me sick.”

A large hand puts your newspaper down. You allow it, only because you wanted this interaction to end. Even seated on a swivel chair, elevated to its highest position, you have to crane your head a little to meet him in the eye. You see yourself in the reflection of the dark glasses he cunningly chooses to wear inside.

When you scowl he returns it with a cheshire grin.

“Thank you. You’re too sweet.”

“What do you want, Satoru?” You do not use his last name or any honorific to address him despite his age. He was older than you by a few years — but certainly did not act the part — so you do not think he deserves your respect. Your host father told you he does — something about his being from a prominent private school as an educator, which you cannot possibly fathom being the truth. But only in front of you is Satoru Gojo an inane, odd man with a need for clean, dry-cleaned clothes that, for some strange reason he has conjectured in his equally baffling mind, only you can provide.

“You.”

The wrinkle that had formed between your brows drops in less than a second. This was the typical routine. You would get annoyed — and he would get a sick kick from that. You refused to be his entertainment, so, for once you decide to be the bigger person.

“My friend is a police officer. He is five minutes away,” you retort, not being the bigger person. Though actions did speak louder than words.

Satoru places his elbow on the desk. He has to bend his back in an uncomfortable manner to do so — and he leans his face on his palm which only makes the position and his stature appear more cretinous and acute.

“You’re pretty when you’re angry, do you know?”

“Go die.” (You are being a bigger person today only through your actions. Not your words, you quickly decide.)

“Can you let me buy you a coffee? Put me out of my misery?”

“Leave me alone. I will scream for A-chan.” (Your dog, sleeping peacefully somewhere in a corner near the dryers.)

“Awh,” he coos, tilting his head only more. You wonder if he has back problems. “That’s vulgar. I thought you were a good girl.”

At this, you flounder. Fisting your hands together, you rub at your forehead. Satoru possessed the putrid ability to irk you like no other. You look down at your textbook — you were on chapter five, studying deadlock before he came — and it was certainly fitting given his arrival.

“I am. For people I can tolerate.” You retort, monotone to not please his sadism.

He smiles anyways and leans forward, gazing towards where you look — a few sheets of loose-leaf paper with your begrimed writing. You can catch a glimpse of his azure coloured eyes through his lashes from this angle. At first they scared you. It was an utter oddity to you — you had seen nothing as strange from all your years tending to this run-down laundromat. People who came and went were not as nearly as fascinating as Satoru Gojo’s eye colour, unfortunately, but that was not to say they were not as interesting. Odd characters entered every now and then considering your laundromat being less than 5 metres away from a graveyard — which only begged the existence of Satoru all together.

Perhaps he was visiting someone every time he came. You liked to make stories of customers who you would encounter. That was Satoru’s because you could not think of anything else.

You never asked, he never said. This was how it went.

“What’s all this?” He questions, his tone softer than usual. You feel his eyes travel to your right shoulder, making you self-conscious.

For a second you think he knows of the pain you have been feeling there.

You shake your head of the plausibility.

“Homework,” you reply, curt and straight, adjusting your posture in your seat as a sudden wave of bashfulness has overcome you.

“For what?”

“My operating systems class.”

Satoru coos — treating you like you are some sort of stray cat when he is the one encroaching on your property. “Sounds hard. You’re real smart, then?”

You look up, mouth falling into a line as you mumble a small, “Yeah.”

You want this conversation to come to an end. But Satoru liked to season his prey and you were not an exception. You remember encountering one of his students once — you think their name was Megumi — who had told you to steer clear of Satoru if you wanted your sanity to remain intact. It was solid advice, the only possibility it did not cover was Satoru forcing himself in front of you no matter what turn you took.

“You have to give me something to work with here,” he moans dramatically.

You take some money from the tip jar and hold it out in front of him as an incentive.

“I’ll pay you ¥800 to leave me alone?”

Satoru takes the money, but he doesn’t leave.

“You’re a tough one, aren’t you?” He sneers at you. You crack your shoulders and decide to get started on the problem at hand because at this rate you will never finish your homework.

Walking towards the washers, you start speaking, not looking behind you to see if he is following because you already know he is.

“I don’t have time for this. Which machine isn’t operating?”

For once in his life, maybe out of the glory that overcame him from getting the upper hand on you once again, he complies.

“Third washer on the left, near the door.”

You walk towards it. Satoru stands next to you. His clothes float in a puddle that has formed within the washer — a drainage problem. Taking his clothes out of it, you rinse the soaked water in the sink and place them in another washer. If he chose to use half his brain he could have solved this himself. But after observing his smiles from your periphery and through the reflection of the glass door you come to realize he is enjoying himself.

An hour comes and go. Satoru talks your ear off at the reception even as others come and go. He puts his wet clothes in the dryer and folds them when they are finished, into a duffel bag.

When he stands in front of you, silent for the first time since his arrival, you know he is about to leave. You always give him a nice goodbye.

“Time for your weekly departure? Please do not bring clothes stained with blood to be dry cleaned next time. Mother almost fainted last week and is growing suspicious.”

Satoru smiles at you which lets you know that he understands your joke. He is handsome but he is nothing of your world, you realize. He only ever exists within the four wall of your parent’s laundromat and will only ever smell of floral detergent. It was better this way, you think.

“Awh. You’re worried for me?”

Your lips lay flat and you look down at your textbook.

“Have a nice day as well,” he murmurs, low. It catches you by surprise. When you lift your head up, he is already gone.

The pain on your right shoulder has stopped when the chime of the door opening and closing rings.

You pretend to ignore it — the feeling of his eyes and the growing aches surfacing within you — and go back to studying.

Satoru waits five minutes after he has left you to acknowledge his student following him. He stops near the abandoned phone booth he had found you sulking in two weeks prior — curled up with your legs tucked to your chest — pondering on about nonsensical things.

It was not the worst of the side effects you possessed after leaving your clan years ago and starting a new life with the Kobayashi’s at their laundromat.

“Megumi-chan, care to join me?”

He smiles when he sees his student scowl at him and he only continues to walk as he catches up.

“Why do you insist on pestering her? You know she will never remember. Yaga-san will be mad,” his student asserts after meeting his shoulders

Satoru does not answer right away. He recalls a fragment of a memory from his childhood. He had been doted on since his birth. You were a refreshing rarity, always hoping for a life greater than the one you were subjugated to — the daughter of a lowly maid, a normal girl for all purposes yet never treated as such. He remembers a small conversation you shared for less than a minute when he was only eight years old and you were five — how one day you wanted to be able to go to Hokkaido for the ice sculpture festival during the Winter. It was such a naive thing to aspire for. A cruel irony, really, that you still remained the same after so many years.

A snowflake falls towards Satoru’s shoe, but never quite graces its body.

Slinging an arm around his student, he answers brazenly, “I don’t know. I suppose I’m bored these days. Entertain me.”

#writing #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x female reader #Unfortunately this lunatic still has his grip on me.

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vibratingskull · 8 months

Text

Fake dating part 2

Part 1

Tag list

I took @al-astakbar‘s idea and run with it.

Resume : Alone on an strange planet with a little chiss girl you walk desesperatly trying to reach coordinates given by a beacon. Here you are saved by Grand Admiral Thrawn’s crew and he proposes you an incongruous solution to your problem...

You silently follow the Grand Admiral through the numerous corridors of his ship, it’s enough for you to lose your way you worry. There are so many paths and doors, it hurts your brain. You do your best to follow his long strides on the cold metal floor without shoes. You cross paths with some officers, they all stop on their track to salute their superior and then you feel their curious gaze on you, wondering who you might be and why you’re here, you quickly avert their gaze and lower your head in their presence, careful not to anger anyone. Apparently they are not used to seeing their Grand Admiral followed by someone with a slave collar, that thought is somewhat reassuring. You look at the back of the head of the man holding your life in his hands, detailing his height and imposing measurements. The tight fabric of his uniform does not hide his muscles and Makers know you want nothing to do with them. Those are his assets to kill… You shudder at this thought.

“Here we are.” He softly announces.

He engages himself in a corridor with a large bay window giving on to an operation room, and on the table is…

“Moarorou!” You shout, pressing yourself against the window.

“She is in good hands.” He simply says “I trust them to save her.”

Asleep and perfused, the little girl seems at peace while the droids operate her. You wish you could hold her hand.

“I want to be with her.” You ask, turning towards him.

“Out of the question, it is a sterilized room.” He flat out refuses, “You will see her once they are done.”

You lower your gaze and turn back to the little girl. Poor sweetheart… You feel a burning gaze on you and you don’t dare meet it.

“We should head towards the second room, you need treatment too.”

You do? You’re so used to being beaten and bruised by now… But it is true, you have scars all over your arms and legs and a burnt wound on your flank.

You obediently follow him to a room where a droid greets you and guides you to an infirmary bed. As the Grand Admiral leaves to give you some intimacy, it proceeds to do a complete check up, from weighing you to blood test and mandatory vaccines after dressing your wounds. You mechanically obey the machine, too used to receiving orders, it would have asked you to shake hands like a dog you would have without asking any questions, this is how deep it is ingrained in you…

“Here.” says Grand Admiral Thrawn right behind you.

You jump out of your skin. When did he come back?

He hands you a pair of boots exactly your size. You take them, unsure. You didn’t have the right to own shoes as a slave, you forgot how it feels. You pass them on after thanking him. It feels like a second skin. Strangely you feel more confident with them. You thank him again.

“Do not mention it, I cannot have anyone walking bare feet in my ISD. Now, do not move.” He slides behind you and you feel him manipulating your shock collar.

He must check your number to verify their registers. You refrain from sighing, an imperial remains an imperial, whatever happens.

You hear a click.

And your collar falls on your lap. You look at it, dumbfounded.

“Sir?”

You thought he would have waited for your response and sold you back on the black market if you refused his offer…

“You thought I would not get rid of it?” he asks, seeing your confused expression.

“Well… no, not before I gave you my answer at least…” you explain.

“You brought me back a valuable person. Consider it the payment of my debt to you.”

You massage your throat, touching it for the first time in years.

“You… you have the right to free someone?” you ask with a small voice.

“I am a Grand Admiral, little is forbidden to me.”

You accept his answer as a fact and don’t press the matter. You mask it but hope is flourishing in your stomach, after so many years… finally!

Karyn Faro enters the infirmary, saluting the Grand Admiral.

“Sir! You asked for me.” She asks in a strong and clear voice.

“Yes, I want you to guide our guest to her new quarters, I will go back to the bridge.” He orders

She nods and signifies to follow her and quicker than that. You hop on your feet and follow her in another maze of corridors, but you start to recognize the patterns, you’re less lost this time.

“There it is.” She opens a large door with a card that she hands you “Do not loose it.”

You enter the room, or rather the suite and stop, turning back to her.

“Are you sure this is the good room?” You wonder.

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

Well it's… Big. You’re standing in a small living room with sofa and kitchenette, giving on a large bedroom and a privatized bathroom. You’re more used to the cell shared with several other slaves.

“No, it’s… it’s perfect. Thank you.” You bow to her.

She simply nods and goes back to her duty.

You walk into the living room, timidly, afraid to take too much space, to make too much noise, even though you’re alone. You find a remote on a table and press the buttons, curious. A part of the wall opens for a TV screen to appear, you press another one and music starts. Another one pushes a bar off the wall. Okay that’s too much. You tidy, close back the walls and cut the music, put the remote where you found it, like you never touch it and go see the bedroom. It is a large room with a double bed, a wardrobe, a big mirror and a bay window giving on space. The wardrobe is full you notice, with a safe hidden as a drawer. The bathroom is white and clean, with a bath and clean towels, you touch them, they are soft and fluffy. everything for maintaining basic hygiene is here. You can’t resist the urge to brush your teeth when you see the new toothbrush waiting for you. It feels so good and fresh! What a delicious sensation!

Returning to the bedroom you notice a datapad on the bedside table. You take it and turn it on. You’re curious of that Grand Admiral Thrawn. You search the holonet about him, finding different biographies and videos of him at different ceremonies. An article of the Universal Encyclopedy informs you of his greatest victories and gives you a resume of his life, or at least his life since he appeared in the Empire. What you suspected was right, him and Moarorou aren’t from the Empire, but are from the Unknown Region. He accepted to answer interviews of journalists of the regime but consistently refused to answer anything about his life previous to the Empire. So you got an incomplete portrayal of the man.

You don’t know much about military things, but his record seems impressive, victory after victory, promotion after promotion, from one medal to the other he seems to supplant any adversaries. Except on the political field. It appears each and everyone of his victories came with a political scandal.

But he manages to get out of it everytime.

You reopen your eyes when you hear knocks on the door. You must have drifted to sleep without realizing it. You open the door to Faro, awaiting for you.

“The Grand Admiral awaits you for dinner.” She indicates with her strong voice.

You must have slept more than first anticipated, dinner already?

You nods hurriedly and close the door behind you. She looks at you up and down, clearly judging you but says nothing.

“This way, please.”

You walk in silence behind her but curiosity devours you.

“Is it in your prerogatives to take care of priso… of guests?” you dare ask.

“No.” That is all she answers.

“Oh… Then why you-”

“He orders and I obey, simple as that.” And like that, the conversation ends.

You don’t dare raise your voice anymore, and she’s not one to do small talk.

You reach a door with stormtroopers guarding it, she gives one of her cylinders-thing and they step to the side.

“Here.” She says, and left you here, alone with the guards.

The door open and you enter a large suite, rich with decors. The Grand Admiral is standing, hand clasped behind his back, observing something.

You don’t say a word, to not disturb him, fidgeting your fingers.

“Come closer.” He simply says, without even turning towards you.

You approach. He seems enthralled by some vase on a stand.

“What do you see?” he inquires

What? Is he asking you your opinion on how he decorates his chambers?

“A vase.” you answer neutrality.

Never give your opinion.

“And?”

You approach again, observing it more intently. It’s a terracotta of three complimentary colors, surely a wine carafe. It has fine details and some speck of gold sprinkled in the clay.

“Huh… Looks like a hutt jug.” You notice.

He slowly nod.

“Indeed. Can you see anything else?”

“That’s the kind of jug we find in their northern worlds, the south would have used metal. But outside of that…” You shrug, unknowingly.

“That is well.” He murmures. “Dinner is ready.” and he heads to the dressed table.

He pulls a chair and gallantly invites you to take it, as you approach he looks you up and down.

"You did not change clothes ?" He asks, puzzled.

You could ? You do not touch what your masters don't need.

"I thought the order was to come immediately." You explain

"You could have taken the time to put on more comfortable clothes than this hospital pajamas. I would not have held it against you, you are my guest."

Yes, you heard that.

You sit down and he pushes your chair forward, like he would have done to a high Lady. The table smells deliciously good, making your mouth water with different types of salads and vegetables, a main course with fuming meat, rice and lentils and a bottle of wine. He opens it and serves you first, then himself.

"Because I brought you someone important ?" You ask as he sits down.

"Yes."

"And if I did not ?"

"What do you mean ?" He inquires, cutting his meat.

"If you only found me, a slave alone in the forest, would I still be your guest ?"

He looks into your eyes with a stern expression

"Does it matter ?"

"Yes." You try to control the shivers in your voice "It matters to me."

He doesn't respond, letting silence take place.

"No. Probably not."

You sigh internally. You knew it. Under his gallant behavior and nice dispositions, he remains an Imperial. A slave trader.

"Those hypotheses do not matter." He says camly, taking a bite of his dish "The fact is you came together, and you took care of her. I cannot let this good deed go unreward-"

Your stomach growls suddenly, a deep hollow sound. Deeply embarrassing. You flush immediately.

"Why do you not eat ? Is it not to your taste ?"

"No !" You hurriedly says "I just… Waited for your permission to eat" You confess

He raises an eyebrow.

"This is an order you had to obey ?"

You nod.

"Those times are behind you." He designates the table filled to the brim, encouraging you.

You slowly serve yourself, a little of each, not too much and start eating delicately using table manners you've seen your masters use.

He looks at you intently, like he would observe an animal behind bars.

Your stomach growls again but you don't press yourself.

"There is nobody to impress here, eat as you please." He says casually.

You look at him to see if he's serious.

Then you dive on the meat, with your hands you bite into it hungrily, tearing it apart, getting back from years of malnutrition.

Maker this is so good ! It has been years since you had meat. You gulp it down feverishly, licking the sauce off your fingers, growling with satisfaction.

He looks at you, caressing his chin.

You stop.

"Too much ?" You ask embarrassed, sauce dripping from your chin

"Everything is well." He shakes his head. "Like I said, those times are behind you. Let's focus on the future."

You listen, munching down your meat with lentils.

"About this offer I made, you might want to know what it entails."

You nod, mouth full.

"You would hold the role of the wife of a Grand Admiral, it comes with some… Obligations. You will need to escort me to galas, ceremonies, spending time with high ranked rich people and pretend you are from the same world. Adopt their codes and customs, abide by their rules. Everywhere you will go you will represent me and all I stand for, your failures will be mine. We will make you a proper high standing lady and need to get your education right as Moarorou's, we will train her and care for her like true parents. There will be a lot of stress and pressure."

"Until we sent her back ?"

"Indeed." He nods

"And after ?"

"After you will be free, you could live your life as you want."

"And if I refuse ?"

"Then we will disembark you from the ship on a nearby planet with some money and your new life will start that day."

You slowly nod, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

"And Moarorou ?"

"She will need to remain hidden on the Chimaera, alone in a cabin with only droids or complete strangers she can't communicate with to care for her. It would be an oppressive and uncaring environment for a child her age. If you accept, she will get to have two parental figures and a proper education you would take part into, you could use my apartment on Coruscant and offer her, and yourself a better lifestyle."

"For a time…"

"For a time" He concedes

"Why not simply send her to Coruscant ?"

"I cannot send her alone in this black vipers nest."

"Why? You speak of her so highly, is she some kind of Royalty in your world ?"

He smiles enigmatically

"She is so much more valuable than Royalty."

It doesn't advance you. He rises from his seat.

"Sleep, and tell me your answer tomorrow. The choice is yours."

You follow him to the door, hiding a burp behind your hand. You eat too much.

"You said I could see her!" if he thought you would forget that…

"Once she wakes up from the operation, you will be free to see her."

He politely escorts you back to your room. You don’t say a thing but you you’re tremendously disappointed, you hoped to Moarorou right after dinner.

“Is there something wrong?” He suddenly asks, stopping in his track.

“No… No.” you lie.

You castigate yourself. ‘Hide what you think, hide what you feel. Do not let them see.’

He shrugs and continues.

"I wish you good night." He greets you and disappears.

You spend the night tossing and turning in those fresh clean sheets. Questions assault your mind, and memory of the crash alike.

What to do ? What to do ?

Remaining with him could give you protection against your masters, but remaining with an Imperial ?

Could you do it? Close your eyes on all the atrocities he will commit ?

But you can't leave Moarorou alone with him. She trusts you. You can't abandon her…

You sigh.

In the morning you pass on decent attire. You wince, there are only dresses. You take the most concealing one and walk directly to the Grand Admiral's office. It seems like he's at work for several hours already.

You inhale deeply, gathering your courage.

"I accept"

@thrawnspetgoose

#thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo

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soraviie · 1 year

Text

subject: write to me.oneshot

━ type: Jungkook x gn! reader ━ masterlist ━ word count: 6k

━ summary: Jungkook is certain of it — you have disabled your work email and as such what's the harm in finally spilling everything that he's ever felt for you? You certainly won't read them...right?

━ connected to: "you think it's unrequited"

━ genre: pining!!! extreme pining!! angst, barely any fluff

━ c/w: Jungkook goes through a depressive episode

━ leave a comment otherwise I’ll feed you mouldy cheese, don't test me. If you like my work and want to tip, here's my ko-fi. Thank you so much if you do!

Seoul in particular is the kind of city that never sleeps. Jungkook is once again made aware of it when he arrives late at night, kicks open the doors to his apartment and goes to lay down on the bed. Traffic, endless traffic and long strings of people trembling the air with an incessant series of enraged horns. Half-heartedly he greets Bam, plucking the squeaking toy out of the dog's mouth and flinging it to the far side of the room.

Fuck, he thinks, these are outside clothes; I should probably change.

He doesn’t.

Eagerly, Bam noses at his owner's arm, trying to get the man to play with him but at most Jungkook lazily pats his head. Lately, the only sound in his home had been the scratch of Doberman's nails against the glossy tiles. As he gets up Jungkook finds his head slightly spinning.

Eat, you should eat, he reminds himself. He has to do it himself now.

You didn't care for him and left, and he had to do this stupid thing all by himself. Immediately he shakes his head, chasing the resentment away. It wasn't your fault, none of it was your fault. And maybe it wasn't even his. It was just...not meant to be.

For the first time in weeks he actually manages to put forth some effort. Brushing back the hair from his face, the headphones squeeze tightly on his ears, preventing any sort of noise of traffic or ambulatory sirens. He cringes when seeing the biochemical weapon that is a half-finished bowl of ramen sitting next to the sink. There's even an egg there. Some days had gone by good but lately….it all grew to be very bad.

"When did I...? When did I even have this?" he mutters to himself but Jungkook lives alone. There's no one to answer.

The trash that veers dangerously over the side of the bin has to be split into two separate trips. The plastic bag is thin and it rips easily from the strength that Jungkook has to grab it with. Hence, two trips.

The floor needs cleaning, he does so. Laundry...he takes a disgust ridden glance at the array of dirty socks and underwear littered all over the bathroom floor that cannot even be seen from the sheer scale of used clothes piling on top of it. Yeah, laundry definitely needs doing.

As the washing machine goes off in the distance, with no small amount of guilt Jungkook looks at Bam. The dog's eyes are wide and glistening, holding no grudge towards his depressed owner. His tail wags expectantly the longer Jungkook keeps staring.

"Who's a good boy?" his voice though betrays him and cracks, failing to at least simulate the same joy Bam exudes. Jungkook reaches for the snacks — the empty paper crumbles between his fingers. He should go out and buy them. Thank god for Young-mi; had she not volunteered, Bam would have probably not been going out for his much needed walks. He should go out...not just for Bam. The dog has probably seen more sun than Jungkook has, but the mere thought of leaving his house kills a small part within him. It takes all of his strength to even make this empty home of his a somewhat habitable environment.

When he's done, hours into cleaning, there's almost a sense of accomplishment washing over him but before the pleasant feeling can fully settle into Jungkook's bones, finally turning his life back into somewhat normal form, the realization hits him. You won't know that he deep cleaned his apartment, you won't know that he cut his finger washing the knife and neither will you point out the choice of his band-aid (green sharks) with that distantly curious gleam in the eye because Jungkook himself won't be able to tell you any of this. Because you won't be here. Sometimes it hits him too hard and he cannot find his way back to the surface anymore.

Bam comes up to his leg, poking his wet nose into Jungkook's knee. Numbly he turns to look down.

"Sorry, boy, no walks tonight."

Bam's head droops lower and it isn't long before he waddles sadly away, settling in the corner to disinterestedly chew on his favourite toy. Whatever scraps of seaweed and rice Jungkook can scrounge up from the deserted fridge, he eats quickly and with little interest. The bed and his subsequent need to rot in it is begging for his attention but the glint of his laptop — open and left behind on the coffee table — catches his attention at the very last second.

He won't be able to tell you...in person that is. It's been a week since he last wrote to you. He misses you.

Grabbing the laptop, he digs himself underneath the covers, waiting for the email to load.

How many messages has he written to you? 100? 200? By now he's stopped counting. What's the point?

Clicking on a new message, he gathers himself. Despite knowing that you've certainly deactivated your email by now, knowing that you won't ever read this he still feels some semblance of anxiety ripple through his body. Gasping in a deep breath, he relaxes himself, finding strength in the newfound mantra.

They don't care about you. They won't read any of this. It's like talking to yourself.

Hey, no one said mantras had to be happy, right?

to: [email protected]

subject: btw I did a deep clean :D

Hi!

It's been a week since I last wrote to you. Can't say it's been fun. How are you? Are you fine? Are you still liking life back home? You used to complain that you couldn't get the proper ingredients here in Korea...

"Still" liking the life back home...Jungkook scoffs at the choice of his own words, aggressively bringing his finger of wrath upon the backspace button. "Still"...as if you had liked it here. As if you had liked him! He shakes his head once more. For all the supposed numbness that he felt instead of pain, there was a surprising amount of bitterness breaking ever so often through the flimsy pretense he had constructed ever since you left.

“You need any help?”

He didn’t even particularly want to help you. It was 2:30 in the morning and only now he could go home. He was drenched in sweat and undoubtedly stinky, the strands of hair clung disquietingly to the back of his neck and he just wanted to go home. But you looked so damn…confused. Frankly, if he wouldn’t help you it most likely would be a violation of the civil law.

Your tired eyes travelled from the dimly lit phone in your hand to his face and as you scrutinised him from head to toe, he unwittingly shivered.

There’s no such thing as ghosts, Jungkook told himself, ghosts don’t use phones.

The blankness of your stare disturbed him and after hearing a quiet, barely audible “no” fall out your lips, he bolted, jumping into an elevator without a single glance backwards.

So much for a meet-cute.

He blinks out of the frayed memory, taking in the newly reviewed mail

to: [email protected]

subject: btw I did a deep clean (of my house) :D

It's been a week since I last wrote to you. Can't say it's been fun. I hope you like being back home.

I like you.

He reads it with a heavy sigh but proceeds to send it anyway tossing then his computer aside with an easy flick of the wrist. Not like you’ll ever read it.

to: [email protected]

subject: where did you go? :0

Hello, _____________. This is Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Of BTS… but I’m sure you probably know that.

I got this email address from one of my managers, well, I may have bullied them a little bit (ヾ;￣▽￣)ヾ but it was for a good cause!

Anyways I was wondering about next week’s show. You promised me to help with the speech, you know my English is not good╥﹏╥ but I’ve been trying to find you for the whole week and it’s like you disappeared! Even my managers were all incredibly tight lipped about it. Just let me know if you’re still up to helping me. If not, it’s fine.

I hope you’re not sick, health is important you know!

Whichever it is — whether you’re sick, out of Seoul or just don’t want to see me, please, write to me so I’d know (⌒_⌒;)

Sincerely,

Jeon Jungkook.

to: [email protected]

subject: are you okay?

So uhh…the show is over and I haven’t seen or heard from you. The speech didn’t go so well since I was so worried about you my head was fuzzy but it’s whatever. Life goes on hahaha. I am starting to get a bit worried haha don’t scare me haha. I asked even other members about you but no one knows. The staff is telling me you didn’t have a desk to begin with so it’s not like I could just wait for you there…not that I would do that. I wouldn't….haha. Well, you were our jack—of—all—trades little helper, right? You always helped me with my jewelry and mic, and papers so it makes sense, doesn’t it? That you didn’t have a desk? Idk idk I’m suddenly shy (,,>﹏<,,)

Maybe you’re on vacation? I just thought of that lol it’s probably that. Sorry for bothering you, I hope you rest well! You deserve it, our little fairy!

Still if you could be so kind as to answer this message when you receive it, I’d be forever in your debt if you would!

Sincerely,

Jeon Jungkook.

to: [email protected]

subject:

You’re not on vacation. It’s been a month. HR hasn’t approved of you going away and you’re not on a sick leave.

Yes! Yes! I went to them! You’re not answering and I’m worried, and angry!

I thought we were friends! If you’re going through something then, please, let me know! How can I help? What can I do so you come back to us?

Sincerely,

a very pissed Jeon Jungkook.

to: [email protected]

subject: you left

The truth is out. I already said it in the subject but I’ll repeat it again, maybe to make it real. Maybe so that I would believe it.

You left. Wrote a resignation, packed up your shit and left. Just fucked off without saying why, without saying goodbye.

That’s what hurts the most. I wasn’t even worth enough to say goodbye to.

I really hate you.

to: [email protected]

subject: i don’t know, something

….hi.

It’s been a month.

How have you been?

I’m…not too good. I’m still here but…eh, I don’t know. The members say I’m sulking and I am in a way but more than anything I’m missing you. I’m missing the chances I had but didn’t take.

You know it took me a while to even like you. I thought you were so cold, in fact, I thought you despised me, hehe, well, maybe you do but I won’t know now, will I? I can’t exactly ask you, can I? Not to you who would answer as I’m fairly certain this email has been deactivated.

It’s the possibilities that hurt the most, you know. I don’t really know you, do I? I’ve never been at your home, never met your family, friends. I don’t know what type of water you like and I don’t know how soft your blanket is. Whether you use mouthwash or whether you shower in the morning or night. I don’t know these things but…I could have. Why didn’t I just ask? Why didn’t you for that matter? Was I…not the one for you?

Did you think the same as I did?

I remember when that first thought of you crossed my mind, of us being something…different. It was in the middle of a concert, remember? After the one we had in Seoul. You were maybe 6 months in, still awkward around everyone. You didn’t speak much I remember that. In those days whenever I asked anyone about you, they would say “real quiet but reliable”. I was sitting on the sofa, trying to catch my breath. It was Jimin’s solo so I could have some few seconds of peace and you were there, right in the centre of the pandemonium, absolutely calm. I remember how I wondered: "How can they be so collected? Do they not care?” but you did care. You were working on Namjoon’s jacket, weren’t you? Wardrobe malfunction. You weren’t even supposed to. Little helper is one thing but you’re not a stylist. Still you stepped in and calmly, diligently you made it whole again.

You probably don't know but you did the same thing to me. Only, of course, you undid me as well.

The decorations on top of that stupid jacket broke, just after we were finished but you didn’t mind. Namjoon showed it to you and you laughed. That was the first time I ever saw you happy. You said that it has fulfilled its duty and there’s no reason to worry anymore — it was all fine.

You never knew it but as I watched you from the sidelines I thought what if I would join you, offer a joke, make your smile last longer. I really wanted to but…

…but I didn’t. I wasn’t blind — you found it hard to fit and I didn’t want to intrude. You didn’t seem to enjoy my presence and if some people would see me with you, they’d give you a hard time and I didn’t want to burden you. You were just blooming open, my touch no matter how well-intended would just damage your petals so I didn’t. I packed up my things and I walked past you without saying anything.

What if I had? Would you have stayed then? Or would you have left all the same? Neither of us know the answer.

I don’t hate you, I’m sorry for writing so in the last letter. I didn’t mean it. I would never mean it. All I can hope for now is that you’re happy wherever you are.

Sincerely apologetic,

Jeon Jungkook.

to: [email protected]

subject: april again

Hello!

It’s April and you know what that means, I get saddled with a new tutor yey (⋟﹏⋞) It’s strictly formal now and honestly kind of boring. I know you weren’t really my tutor back in the day, just helping me on the side hehe but I still appreciate you. It was also April then, April 28th, that we finally spoke like two human beings. Your voice was so tired but you seemed curious—

Jungkook lifted his head from the laptop of his home, suddenly feeling the betraying sting bite at the bottom of his eyes.

“Don’t cry!” he scolded himself. “What’s the use of crying now that everything's done?”

Sensing his owner’s distress, Bam cautiously approached the crouched man and pressed his nose into Jungkook’s shin. He stared down at the dog, surprise in his expression hinting at the fact that for a second he’d forgotten Bam existed. For a second he was back with you.

April 28th

“What are you doing?” the voice sounding near him was quiet. Somewhat curious but even more so perturbed. Jungkook detached himself from the table he’d slouched upon in the throes of his utter defeat.

Seeing you though, the sleepy disquiet within him frayed and he swallowed nervously, trying his hardest to appear at complete ease.

“Regretting life choices,” he groaned conversationally. “You?”

“Just getting a soda,” you tossed your head towards the vending machine. It had an indent at the side. Rumour had it that one night Jin kicked it because he didn’t have enough money on him to buy a candy bar. It was, of course, just a rumour and Junkook knew it because he was the one who kicked the machine.

He did sort of feel bad about it but he had been hungry.

“Nothing nearly as dramatic.”

An awkward quiet settled between them. What are you thinking, Jungkook thought. He noticed the way your eyes lingered on him, a touch too long to be absolutely casual, and then quickly averted away as your lips pursed into a straight line, almost like you were reprimanding yourself.

Maybe because you were prohibited from talking to him? It wouldn’t be the first time such an order took place as much as Jungkook hated it.

“Do you need help?” your voice had been low, so deadpan he entirely missed that you’d spoken at all but when the realization hit, he had to force himself to not be too happy.

“It’d be nice if you did,” he gave a small smile, shuffling to make space for you on the couch. You stared at the newly liberated spot for a second but ultimately sat down if a bit stiffly.

Peering into his notebook, you asked him:

“What do you have to do?”

“Answer these questions using 10 words or less.”

You leaned your head to the side and as he took the next, shuddering breath, the scent of your shampoo filled him whole. It fit you like a glove. Immediately, he wanted more of it.

“That’s a strange exercise,” you muttered and as Jungkook’s throat grew dry, he only shrugged in response. You’d given him details, solid answers and explanations but he still failed miserably. He hadn’t heard a thing you said over the sound of his heart rushing.

Only the wet cold of Bam’s nose roused him from the memory. With a sad smile, he patted the dog’s head, feeling suddenly guilty to be looked at with such adoring eyes.

“Good boy,” he whispered as Bam’s tail thwacked against the floor of his empty and quiet apartment. “Good boy, Bam.”

to: [email protected]

subject: what’s next

Hello!

Have you been eating well? Have you been meeting up with friends? I remember you told me once, probably thinking I’ll forget it, that they’ve been missing you and you’ve been missing them. I didn’t forget — I remember. I hope you’ve gone out with them and that your cheeks glow the way they do when you’re really, really happy. I haven’t forgotten that either. I don’t want to.

I…uh…I’ve stopped crying. I don’t why that’s so awkward to say, I mean you’re not even here. If anything I’m talking to myself. It’s a bit sad, isn’t it hehe. Don’t judge me, please.

Anyways I’ve stopped tearing up at random times. Now I’m just…I don’t know — numb? Unmotivated? In those few rare free days I don’t do much — just lie in my bed. I don’t have the strength to get out of it. Though some days it’s not so bad — I’m almost the way I was before. I go out, I eat ice-cream, take Bam out for good long walks — it’s almost normal but then inevitably I crash and I don’t want to move or go anywhere, or even speak with anyone.

In fact, for the last week this is the most speaking I’ve done — writing this to you. I don’t why I keep it up but it helps. I myself don’t quite understand haha. I hope that tomorrow it’ll be a good day. My house has been a mess, my hair is kind of dirty and I think Bam is getting antsy cramped inside for extended periods of time. I have been declining my mom’s calls cause I don’t want to hear me like this. She’ll only worry and it’ll make the whole situation worse. I need to move but today I’ve sat here all day and thought of you.

to: [email protected]

subject: why?

wh do i =kep writinng to u? u;re nhot here whats the point?? whats the goodammn point>

jimin found ou t about the leterc

he didnt saay nuthign but the way he lookred at me…

pity

is ti a crime?????? to lvoe someone?? to want to tlak to them?? everyien else is lucjkf they cqan talk to thei r loved cnes but em?? im aloen so yesh i write yo you!! i wan t to be delusionalf i dont care fwha anyer says! youre my friend! iw ill talk to you aven if tis patheti c even if tish thoguht lettters youll nevar read! i dont caare1

jminn thiggks im crayz

an I?

have u maed me crazy?

to: [email protected]

subject: I’m sorry

So…I got really drunk yesterday (≡ε≡；) I can hold my liquor, don't get me wrong, but Jiminie drinks like he’s got a new liver lined up °՞(ᗒᗣᗕ)՞° But reading it over this morning (barely, my eyes are swollen) I recalled the fight that we had and that I never did apologize. I’m sorry that I took my anger out on you that one time. I should have said sorry already then. I didn’t but I was. Still am.

May, 22nd

“You were supposed to go home hours ago.”

By now, he was well familiar with the voice and its disinterested tembre. You always sounded so…bored and for some reason today of all days Jungkook got pissed off because of it.

You were always…looking down at him. Just like the others. You were judging him, weren’t you? Why else were you so distant? Why else did your face not change expressions as he got near you? You couldn’t stand him. You could see what he was behind the carefully curated smokescreen of what Jeon Jungkook was supposed to be. You saw him. Those weary, disturbingly observant eyes drilled right through what was supposed to be a charming, yet impenetrable wall. He didn’t truly know anyone and no one was supposed to truly know him. Yet in front of you he suddenly found himself bare.

“Why? Because you say so?” he spat from where he’d fallen on the floor. His ankle had given out and one point and when you came in he was panting from the pain. Of course, you’d see him in such a humiliating state.

You blinked mutely at his sudden harshness. You weren’t friends, you weren’t allowed to be friends but still the relationship was amicable. For coworkers. Barely.

“You’re upset,” flatly you stated, one hand gripping the door handle far too tightly.

“Yeah, no shit,” he grumbled. Why were you looking at him like that? Like you saw him?! Who even were you?!

“You’re upset but that’s no reason for you to talk to me like this.”

As cold as a bucket of winter river. Your voice washed over him and Jungkook found himself not an injured wolf baring his teeth and protecting his den but a puppy, sopping wet and scrambling uselessly against the palm that had seized him by the scruff.

“I’m a grown man.”

“Not right now.”

You both came to standstill, glaring obstinately at each other.

It had been the longest eye-contact Jungkook had with you. Shame it was out of anger.

You drew an exhausted sigh as Jungkook brittled.

“I understand you’re in pain and wanting perfection but be nicer to yourself.”

He scoffed harshly.

“I don’t need your pity.”

Something in your gaze grew utterly frigid and all at once he was rendered deeply afraid.

“And I’m not offering it to you.”

to: [email protected]

subject: I’m sorry

So…I got really drunk yesterday (≡ε≡；) I can hold my liquor but Jiminie drinks like he’s got a new liver lined up °՞(ᗒᗣᗕ)՞° Reading over that garbage this morning (barely, my eyes are swollen) I recalled the fight that we had and that I never did apologize. I’m sorry that I took my anger out on you that one time. I should have said sorry already then. I didn’t but I was. Still am.

For these last few days I keep thinking about what you said afterwards — when I finally mustered up the courage to grovel three days later. That I’m not someone you would pity and that I need not to apologize just change. You were so different then. You were strong. Stern. You didn’t take any of my shit and for that — thank you. I don’t know why but it made me love you more.

Huh. I just said it.

It’s kind of sad that you’ll never hear it.

to: [email protected]

subject: catching up! :D

HELLO!

It’s been two whole weeks since I last wrote to you. We’ve been so busy, I’ve barely had the time to sit down >⌓<｡

How are you? How is life back home? Did you meet up with those friends of yours? Did you find a new job? Did you find someone…new?

Maybe don’t tell me that last one haha

I’ve been…good. It’s a surprise really. I don’t miss you any less than I did yesterday or I will tomorrow but there’s not that horridly heavy sense in my chest today. I don’t know what happened in the moments before I wrote to you last and now. Maybe because I remembered how miserable you were here. You ate alone, no one really spoke to you. They liked you! They really did! I just guess…it’s too different here. It couldn’t have been easy to always think about what to say, how to say it and how people will perceive you. I pondered how I feel when overseas and I…I understand now why you were so closed off. You must have been protecting yourself, weren’t you? Like I was that day when my ankle was twisted.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that you came here at all, that we met but…I don’t want you here at the cost of your happiness. I think I’ve finally come to terms with that you left. Better you’re happy somewhere else, at your home with the people and things you know rather than you’re miserable here with me. I was not much of a help to you, wasn’t I? Always so scared of my own feelings and possibilities of future failings that I never even considered the present and how lonely you must have felt. I’m sorry that I wasn’t better for you.

I hope you’re among better people now. You deserve the world.

to: [email protected]

subject: something weird happened

So as I said in the subject, something weird happened?? Do you remember Eun-joo? She came to the studio one day and you asked me whether she was my lover. I blushed so hard then (>\\\\\\<) I don’t even know why. Just hearing you say the word “lover” aaaah it sounded so scandalous hehehe I must be crazy

Anyway, back then I said no, well, I yelled it and your face scrunched up in that adorable way it does when you’re both surprised and confused but yesterday she…uh…asked me out? On a date?

You never knew this but uhm…I kind of had a crush on her before you came along. I never asked her out because our schedules conflicted so much we barely spoke and I’ve always liked better to ask someone out in person, you know. And then well you arrived and uh…

I think you get it.

But now you’re gone and I said yes to Eun-joo.

Uh…was I allowed to do that? Why am I asking you? 「(°ヘ°)

to: [email protected]

subject: hah

So….I went on a date and uhm…

I rejected her.

Well, somewhat. By the end of the evening, she was asking me about whom I was thinking about so much and well…it is true. I spent the entire night thinking about what you would have done, what you would have said instead of her. Unwittingly I found myself yearning not for her enthusiastic compliments but for your dry ass remarks.

We’ve decided to stay as friends.

I don’t think I’ll be dating anytime soon.

I’d say that I’m absolutely okay with you seeing someone but you know me — I’m jealous as all hell just thinking about it (￣ε￣)

Seoul in particular is the kind of city that never sleeps. Jungkook is once again made sure of that when he tries to sleep but cannot. Bam’s snores fill up the otherwise quiet room as he tosses to and fro. This last letter, about the deep clean, is not giving him rest. He keeps recalling that rainy day in the park, not even wishing he’d done things differently but just wishing he could still see you. That this…hope, twisting around his neck like a noose, would end. If he would bear no hope he wouldn’t still dream, would he? He would be able to rest, wouldn’t he?

God, he needs to rest. He’s given you his mind and soul and if you were his sun, you could spare him at least some clarity. He didn’t care anymore — be it cold or cruel. He needed to be let go even if he probably won’t let you go himself.

Jumping out the bed, he makes a quick beeline to the still running laptop. Bam rattles in his cage, disturbed by the sudden movement but his eyes fall too heavily to muster up a bark. Seconds later, he’s already slumbering. While Jungkook is wide awake, fingers clattering noisily against the keyboard.

June 16th

The small bottle of milk flowed just underneath his nose as heartless rain continued to pelt the ground below. Thick smell of petrichor swirled the air around. Stunned, Jungkook lifted his head and traced the hand that held the milk for him.

Seeing you he gave a feeble smile.

Of course you would be here when he thought he was alone.

“How did you find me?” he rasped, accepting the bottle though not moving to puncture the small foliage.

With a sigh, you settled on the swing next to his — it produced a horribly dragged out screech.

“I didn’t,” you shrugged. “I just walked by and saw you.”

“And just so happened to have my favourite brand of milk?” he arched an eyebrow and because the rain made his eyes blurry, he thought, he deluded himself for a second that you blushed. Blushed and darted your gaze guiltily away to settle upon the crowded Seoul horizon.

“I’ve noticed you drinking it so I bought it…to try,” you coughed and silence fell upon the world.

The day was hot, extremely humid, even the falling rain did not help in the matter. Why did he come here, to this empty park on the far side of the city Jungkook did not know. Could it be….no, that was impossible. Nothing so childishly romantic could not take root in a cruel, unforgiving reality.

“You’re feeling down again?” you inquired, swinging back and forth, the plastic bag swinging next to you. He wondered what you bought, what you ate to feel good and full.

“Yeah, just a bit,” he lied, scuffing the soles of his shoes against the ground.

“A bit,” you repeated in a barely audible mutter. “Are you sure it’s a bit?”

“Do you think I’m lying?”

But despite the shortness of time, Jungkook had changed. His voice held neither malice, nor challenge. In fact the irony was all but obvious in the lilt of his tone. He was lying and you knew that he was.

“Yes,” easily, you replied, pulling a snort of amusement from the depths of his chest. “You’re mostly a terrible liar but also surprisingly good when it comes to hiding yourself.”

“And are you?” Jungkook asked, daring for the first time to take a proper look at you. It was so…difficult. For him it was like staring at the sun. It was oftentimes easier to not look lest he dreamt too much. “Are you a good liar?”

You stared at the ground, closing your eyes for a brief second of what seemed to be utter heartbreak.

“I’m an excellent liar,” you murmured. When you opened your eyes once more, the bout of sudden vulnerability was gone. You shuck it off like dogs did water and once again Jungkook sat absolutely mesmerized at how you were able to do it.

“But it can’t be helped,” you concluded firmly.

“Why are you an excellent liar?” Jungkook teased you further, feeling the beat of his heart stumble and clamber. Maybe…

“I’m in love with someone but…it’s not reciprocated,” you swung back and forth, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

The excited dash of his heart came crashing down, punching up arid bile at the back of Jungkook’s throat. In love with another, huh.

“Why do you think it’s not reciprocated?” gently, he questioned, gripping the milk between his trembling fingers.

“It just can’t be,” you refuted stubbornly. “I think he sees me in the same way people do…desks. Or notebooks.”

“Notebooks?”

“Yeah, you know,” you pursed your lips and the sheer amount of grief that passed your features made Jungkook sick. Whoever this son of a bitch was that made you this said deserved a motorbike in the face. “People can genuinely like their stuff until they’re in good use but once that use runs out,” you sucked a breath through your gritted teeth. “They replace it and forget all about them in the end. It’s that sort of like.”

“That smooth-brained son of a bitch,” he cried out angrily. “Damn, I should beat that foul smelling dickwad to the last inch of his life. How dare he treat our fairy like that?!”

Tearily you laughed and more than anything Jungkook wanted to hold your hand and lull the pain. But he couldn’t. He had no place in your life. Not really. So he held the milk instead — the bottle popping up from the pressure underneath his palm.

Dumbly, you both looked as it leaked down onto the ground.

“Smooth-brained,” you chuckled to yourself. “Perhaps. But he smells nice.”

Jungkook tried not to sulk at this new piece of information. Too many nice-smelling but dumb people rolled around the circles of his acquaintances — he couldn’t track the son of a bitch down even if he tried. He had no idea how lucky he was. Jungkook’s sun was giving him warmth and he dared not to care for it.

“What’s got you looking so dour yourself?”

“Oh,” he swallowed nervously, his gaze rapidly growing so hazy, even when staying still, he could swear the world was trembling. “I like someone myself. They’re kind to me, strict albeit kind, however…” he sat, transfixed somberly on the ground. One glimpse at you and he’d break. One glimpse and he’d force this ocean of his feelings upon you. He’d make you feel bad — it was always awkward to hear a love confession from someone whom you did not like. So he had to be strong. Had to be strong for you, as strange as it sounded. “I’m not good enough for them.”

“That’s nonsense,” you scoffed, beginning to swing back and forth. The ends of your shoes grew wet as briefly you found yourself amidst the rain.

“I meant me, just Jeon Jungkook, is not good enough,” he clarified with an eye roll. “I didn’t mean Jungkook the idol.”

“Neither did I."

The rain kept pouring the entire afternoon and it was one of the happiest days Jungkook had ever lived through.

Shame you left soon after.

to: [email protected]

subject: please

Even if...even if the year we spent together meant nothing to you, that the kindness you extended towards me, that the help you sent my way unknowingly pulling me from a pit of inescapable darkness is nothing but an empty void, no more deserving of your attention than the dirt on the side of the road, I beg of you to be gracious once more. Just write to me. Just one letter is all I ask for. No matter what you have to say, should it be something as little as one singular "bye", please, write to me. I'll keep you in my thoughts, forever most likely as you've made your home in them.

Sincerely,

Jeon Jungkook.

tagging: @pinkcherrybombs; @devilsbooksworld; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @chimchimmarie; @smalliechelle; @koostarcandy; @flitzerj; @royallyjjk; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi267; @jung-nika-hoseok; @silverliningsandstorms;

#bts scenarios #bts angst #jungkook x y/n #jungkook scenarios #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts drabble #bts oneshot #jungkook drabble #jungkook oneshot

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porcalinecunt · 1 year

Text

𝐈 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐘 — 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

✟ 𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐊𝐀𝐈, 𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐘𝐀, 𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐈, 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐈

✟ 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅

𓂅 ✧ tokyo revengers boys kissing their boyfriend for the first time + finding out they like boys

𝐜𝐰 — some suggestive themes. biting (kokonoi!). more tooth rotting fluff.

𝐚/𝐧 ❥ yup, more gay hc’s bc im gay and i do what i want on this acc AHA— but anyways, yall wanted a pt 2 thanks to the poll i posted a long while ago. sorry for the delay, life got busy and i’ll probably have slower updates for now. enjoy! 🤍

𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐀

gay panic

poor baby is weak around pretty boys!

always had eyes on you ever since you accidentally bumped into him trying to find the bathroom.

you were a good friend of yuzuha, so it’s no surprise you’d see hakkai a lot.

every time she’d invite you over to study, hakkai would have to lock himself in his room. so you wouldn’t see his beat red face.

despite that, you curiosity got the better of you.

you’d start to pay more attention to the blue haired boy, looking his way and smiling at him innocently.

you cannot lie, you love the way he practically melt when you look at him. hiding his face to avoid embarrassment, but only drawing you closer.

the gap between you two would close however, when one night, yuzuha would run out to grab some snacks. it was only you and hakkai sitting the the living room.

despite the effort, you two couldn’t ignore one another forever. one thing lead to another, and suddenly, you were talking to him.

maybe the topic of crushes comes up? to your surprise, hakkai revealed that he never had a romantic partner. sure, he did have a few crushes, mitsuya being one of them. however, he could never muster up the courage to say anything.

the both of you knew what the other was trying to say, there was no point in hiding it anymore. not with hakkai’s pink cheeks and your flushed face.

“you like me, don’t you?” you’d asked an already flustered hakkai.

there’s was no point in denying it anymore, he could only utter the word “yes.”

moving your face closer to his, you hear his breath hitch and his cheeks grow beat red. awaiting your lips to make contact with his.

it wasn’t anything intense, a quick peck that becomes a smooch when you grabbed his face and presses it closer to yours. his face was hot against your hands.

it only lasted a couple seconds, before you pulled away, meeting a flustered hakkai.

“c-can you do that again?”

𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐘𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈

absolute heartthrob!

it’s no surprise that a couple guys would end up crushing hard on him, including you.

after passing by his club a couple times, you couldn’t help but peer in. curious to see why mitsuya was so popular with the girls. safe to say, you got your answer.

you also decided to join the club, despite you never touching a sewing machine in your life.

despite constantly pricking your fingers, messing up a couple threads, mitsuya never once lost patience with you.

your heart flutters every time mitsuya speaks with you, whether he helps you with the sewing machine or small talk, hearing his voice only made you fall deeper in love with him.

so it's no surprise when one afternoon, you decided to shoot your shot at the club leader.

it was only you and him alone in the clubroom, since you stayed over to help him clean up.

however, as the time to leave inches closer and closer, you still couldn't spit it out. your mind became a train of thoughts that discouraged you from confessing.

you feared the thousands of possibilities of your confession going wrong, maybe he isn't into guys? does he only see you as a friend?

just when mitsuya was about to leave, you quickly stopped him before he could walk through the door.

impulsively, and messily, you finally told him the truth through stutters and shake hands. your face grew hotter and hotter from embarrassment.

shutting your eyes, you braced yourself for the rejection, when you felt a soft hand touch yours. looking up, you practically jumped when mitsuya's was near yours.

you froze when his lips touched yours, it was gentle and sweet. the taste of berry chapstick kissed your tongue, as you loose yourself to him.

pulling away, you could barely look at him in the eye. this is not how you'd get your answer, then again, you weren't complaining.

"wanna walk home with me, love?"

𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐈

my favorite bisexual ♥

you didn't pull him, he pulled you!

a couple of flirtatious remarks and even more flirtatious texts was enough to sweep you off your feet and into his arms.

but even then, you have yet to give him your first kiss.

it's a bit laughable, but poor you couldn't even look at koko without getting ridiculously flustered.

however, koko enjoyed having such a shy boyfriend.

as much as you try, he knows you'll never initiate a kiss. no matter how much you claim to or would want to "prove it", Koko can already imagined you melting into a puddle.

your first kiss with him would be a surprise.

the both of you are on one of your typical dated, ending with a simple walk through the park.

while he was talking, you were barely listening on what he was saying as you kept staring at his lips. the urge to just give them a quick peck almost took over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“hey, are you even listening?”

koko snapped you out of your trance, now his whole body is facing yours.

gazing into those eyes of his made you want to scream, trying to find a way to break it without it getting awkward.

“why the red face? i know you wanna kiss me love.”

your heart was pounding at this point. he was right, you did want to steal a kiss from him. but how could you?

cold fingertips touched your warm cheeks, which only got hotter as he rested his palms on them. your mind was running in circles at that point. the only thing you could do is shut your eyes as your boyfriend finally did the very thing you couldn't do.

what you didn't expect was a a bite to the earlobe, forcing a yelp out of you and clinging onto his shoulders.

beyond flustered to even look at him, he could only laugh at your reaction. something he both expected and enjoyed.

"what's the matter? shy?"

𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐔 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐈

scary boyfriend who loves you!

despite all your doubts, you somehow managed to score a date with inui. boy oh boy, did that man flick a switch in you.

similar to kokonoi, you have yet to steal your first kiss with him despite dating for a good two years now.

only difference is, inui is the shy one!

attempts to kiss him ends with his hand over your lips, all while he tries to hide his flustered face and reddened cheeks.

of course, that never stopped you. it surely didn’t on the night of a certain date.

sitting in the car after spending the evening at a diner, you two were just talking, occasionally staring into one another before one of you got too shy.

suddenly an idea came over your head.

maybe you two are doing a at home date, snuggling and watching a movie. inui loves physical affection, so it’s natural for him to be a cuddle bug!

at one point, you snuggle extra close to him. maybe plant a little kiss on his shoulder.

he notices, a pink hue begins to form on his cheeks. you would keep going, kissing his shoulder up to his cheek. till he turned his head around, and you stole the opportunity.

the kiss was sudden, until inui succumbed to it.

it was slow and passionate, with you resting your hands on his shoulders to calm his tense nerves.

pulling away, inui was more flustered then before. however, he cracked a small smile before looking down at your hands that were now holding his.

“that was…better then i could imagine. 🤍”

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earth616variant · 2 years

Text

the send-off | s.r; 1

summary | Being his best friend and assistant, Howard Stark asked you to be the first one to be tested on his time machine project. After some unexpected errors, you ended up stuck in the modern times of the 21st century. Where you meet the man you thought died years ago: Steve Rogers.

pairing/s | steve rogers x reader, avengers x reader

word count | 4.6k+

genres | angst, fluff, crack, time travel au, unrequited love au

warnings | mentions of death, maybe a little self deprecation

note | The first chapter is here! This is my first time writing here so I already apologize for any errors. I hope you enjoy reading it! Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. Thank you! :)

series masterlist | next chapter

"You cannot sacrifice a stray cat but you are willing to sacrifice me to your brainchild?"

For the last two days, Howard has been following you around like a tail. You tried to focus on your other projects. But your best friend has been pretty consistent with getting on your nerves and asking you to help with his new invention. This is nothing new as you are his assistant and you always lend a hand with his every creation. But this one is no easy task.

"I'm not sacrificing you–"

"Stark, you are asking me to be the first living being to try your time machine,” you told him, crossing your arms. “Do you even know how risky that is?"

Howard sighed and you can see how another idea got into his head, "I'll pay you higher clams. Higher than every man in this lab–"

"Wow, Howard. Money can surely make up for my possible death," you spoke deadpanned.

"You are not going to die! I am not going to screw up. I assure you...” He paused, making you finally look at him. “Y/N, you are the smartest person I know other than myself.”

You rolled your eyes as you tried not to smile at his slightly arrogant statement. Meanwhile, Howard smirked when he saw you biting your lower lip, an indication of you almost smiling. He continued,

“And you are the only one I trust in doing this project. You’re my best friend! I know that you know how important this project is for me. I am sure that you know the reason why I began working for this time machine.”

Setting your papers aside, you paused and stared at him. You can easily read through his eyes and so he is. You two can even communicate through silent stares and nods. So even though he will not specify his top reason for constructing this time machine, you knew damn well why. He wanted to make some things right.

It took you a minute to speak once again, “Let me think about it more.”

Fortunately, Howard granted you your request to have more time to think. He said that you can leave the laboratory earlier than usual, even adding that you can have a few days off to fully think about it. Typically, you stay with him late since you really enjoy what you do and you don’t have any more things to do back at your spacious apartment. But here you are now, walking your way home, all alone as always.

It’s not like you were never alone before. Growing up, you were an only child. Your father died in the war when you were barely one while you lost your mom to some viral, infectious disease when you reached twelve. Your rich uncle, who was your only left family member, took you under his care until he died six years later. He left all of his inheritance to you and you only. You finished your studies with that, determined to find a career in the future instead of confining yourself to gender norms.

So, you did. You accepted an offer you received from Howard, whom you met and became friends with during college. He asked you to work with him as his assistant for every work he is planning to make in his new Stark Industries. He believed in your potential, unlike other geezers who underestimated you just because of your gender. Because of that, people often mistake the two of you as lovers but you two would always just laugh it off. Howard never seemed to commit while you never found yourself attracted to anyone.

Not until years ago. But that did not work out good too. Especially when you never really had a chance to express your feelings to that person. You think that it was too dramatic to say that the causes of having zero chances are timings and his death two years ago. But that was the truth.

“Good evening, Ms. Y/N!”

You were just opening your apartment with your keys when you heard that familiar, little voice behind you. You looked back and smiled as you spotted Donny with his mom, Susan.

“Oh, good evening, Donny!” you greeted with the same enthusiasm as him. You also smiled at his mother, “Hi, Susan.”

“Papa rode the train today.” Donny randomly shared.

The six-year-old boy often tells a lot of stories whenever you see each other so you thought it was just one of those. You just responded, “Oh, really? Is he going somewhere?”

“Yeah, he said he’ll be back before I knew it.” he slowly frowned.

That’s when you noticed his tear-stained chubby cheeks and little puffed brown eyes. But Susan chuckled before explaining more, “Robert just got sent out of the city for the subject he’s writing for. This little cookie right here did not take it well.”

“Oh, that’s why…” you nodded your head.

“May I ask? Have you had your dinner already?” Susan asked.

You shook your head, “Ah, no. I just came from work. I don’t really plan on–”

“Mama is going to make Jell-O!” Donny interrupted with a smile back on his face.

“Yes. I’m actually making some meatloaf for tonight. I figured you would like to join us since you got home early and Robert is not coming home.”

It did not take you long to answer as you easily accept her offer, “Oh, that sounds good.”

“Yay!” The little boy squealed, even clapping his small hands.

“Great. Dinner will be prepared at six thirty. Please, don’t hesitate to knock.” she quipped before entering their apartment.

You went straight to your kitchen as soon as you got in your unit. Not wanting to go emptyhanded to Susan and Donny’s, you dug in your refrigerator to see what you can bring. Luckily, your eyes landed on the Tupperware of cookie dough you just made two days ago. You were bored then and decided to bake cookies. But just when you were done making the dough, Howard called for you in the lab. Now, you will finally have the chance to bake it. So you set it on the sheet pan in the oven for a good ten minutes. You were excited as it was your uncle’s recipe you decided to follow. Just before the clock strikes six thirty, you were already knocking at your neighbors with a glass container of chocolate chip cookies in your hands.

Susan welcomed you into their household. This is your first time going for dinner in their place even though you have known their small family ever since they moved in a year and a half ago. You are friends with the couple but you never had the time to accept their dinner invite before. She thanked you for the cookies and called her son as you two sat at the prepared dinner table. For the first time in years, you enjoyed dinner in a family-like setting. Donny filled the whole time with his wonderful stories, leaving no silence on the table as he munched on his meatloaf.

“Ms. Y/N, when I grow up, I’m going to be a teacher like you.” he babbles.

You chuckled, “But Donny, I’m not a teacher.”

“What? But you are smart!” he frowned, shoulders slumped. “Papa said you work with one of the smartest men. What’s his name again– Oh, Howie Stank!”

He grinned like he was proud that he recalled the man’s name. While you and Susan laughed at his innocence.

“Baby, it’s Howard Stark.” his mom corrected him and Donny repeated it slower. Susan continued, “By the way, Ms. Y/N brought us something tonight.”

“What is it? What is it?” Donny asked while shifting excitedly on his chair.

You watched as Susan stood up and reached for the jar of cookies from the kitchen counter. Donny’s eyes were filled with delight as he saw it. He jumps from his seat.

“Cookies!”

But before she hands him a piece of your baked dessert, she uttered, “Now, what are we going to say to Ms. Y/N?”

The kid ran to you and gave you the most adorable hug you’ve ever received, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Donny.” you smiled.

The night went on. Donny enjoyed the cookies while both you and Susan cleaned up. You insisted on washing the dishes but Susan told you that you can just help her with drying them off with a towel.

“You know, Donny is a real sunshine,” you told her.

Susan smiled at the compliment, “He is everyone’s sunshine. But I guess, you are his favorite. He cannot stop talking when you are around.”

“Oh, please!” you giggled. “Kids are always chatty.”

“And you are the only one who has the patience to sit through Donny’s tales. There was a time his dad even fell asleep while listening to him.” You two laughed.

“Where’s Robert off to anyway?” you asked as you wiped another plate.

“Oh, there’s this event in Manhattan that he was asked to write for. He told me it was an opening of a new business by a socialite there. I forgot the name. But I recalled he told me, it was one of Howard’s old flings.”

You chortled with that, “Oh, I won’t be able to name that socialite. Howard’s list of flings is already above my paygrade.”

“Well, maybe you can change–”

“Please, Susan. If this is another attempt to push my friendship with him further, I am taking back the cookies!” you joked. “We’re just friends and I am his assistant. I do like working with him but that’s it.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. It’s just that you two really work closely with each other. It’s hard not to make news about it. My apologies again.”

After finishing the chore, she offered you coffee before she prepare Donny to sleep. After that, you two continued chatting in their living room.

“But don’t you want to do more?” you asked her out of curiosity since you two went to topics about careers.

“I’m a fuddy-duddy, Y/N. Before I even married Robert, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be a wife at home: cooking different foods, cleaning every corner of the house, and being with my baby for every hour of the day. I am happy I get to do it.” she shared, sipping on her cup. “But we wanted different things, right? I also feel happy seeing women who are in the workplace. Especially seeing career women who are also single.”

Your eyebrow raised, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong.” She giggled. “I love everything I have and where I am now. But sometimes, I felt like I did it too early.”

You and Susan are both of the same age: twenty-nine, just one step forward to your thirties. Obviously, you two are on different life paths and goals. But you understand what she means.

“This may sound crazy. But if there’s this machine that would take me back to my younger days, I would definitely have to go dancing more in every place I was invited to, Maybe I would fool around more. I was too conscious before to enjoy everything that has been happening. It was my only regret.”

…if there’s this machine that would take me back to my younger days…

That one stuck in you, remembering Howard’s time machine and its purpose. You laid on your bed that night thinking of everything. You asked your best friend for free days to be really alone and have some peace as you went through the pros and cons of this project and you being the first person to try it. You fear what may happen as you will be the test trial. But at the same time, you cannot help but think that you don’t really have much to lose. Yeah, you have money and enough material things. But you are alone in life and you don’t have people to leave anymore unlike Susan with Donny and Robert.

After giving yourself exactly a week, you arrived at work with a clearer mind and decision. Howard was obviously jumpy when you walked into the laboratory mouth shut, wearing your usual work clothes. He tried to be patient as he waited for you to say a word or just a simple greeting. Instead, you turned around and directly locked eyes with him.

“You’re such a pain in the neck, Howard. You know that, right?”

His eyes slowly widened after a few seconds. “Is that your way of saying yes, Y/N?”

You sarcastically let out an exasperated sigh, “Yes. Let’s do this.”

Howard embraced you tightly while whispering endless gratitude. The machine was ninety-five percent done at that point. And instead of asking you to help him, he even gifted you more time on your own. But since it’s you, you still worked with him throughout the remaining process. The only change is you tried to bond more with the only people you bond with other than Howard. For a week, you had dinner with the Smiths, including Robert this time. You also had a picnic with Susan and Donny, where you shared with Susan what you had been planning to do. At first, she told you how equally scary and amazing that is. But in the end, she expressed her support. With Howard’s authorization, you invited the family to the day of the event. You even asked Robert to document everything.

“Okay, what do I need to do again?”

You stood on the platform of the device. You and Howard already went through the plan countless times. But It was unbearable to show unsureness with everything but there is still a big part of you who is confident with this test.

“Just take a shot. But don’t interact with anyone.” Howard handed you the latest model of the polaroid camera.

“Even to one person?”

“Even to one person.” He repeated as an answer.

“How long am I going to stay there?”

“Approximately ten seconds. So, just capture anything you see in front of you.”

“Where am I going again?”

“Same place as now. But seven days ago,” he replied. “Small steps. If that works, we’ll try going on further times and dates.”

You gulped, “Okay.”

Unconsciously, your response sounded like a stressed exhale. You have this weird feeling in your stomach and suddenly, your heart beats louder than anything else. Your hands were both sweaty and a little shaky as you try to compose yourself on the platform. Too distracted with your thoughts, you did not notice Howard walking up to you.

“Y/N, sweetheart…”

His warm hands moved up and down on the side of your arms in an attempt to calm your nerves. He can see that you are nervous even though you won’t say it.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine…” you stuttered, shaking your head. “Let’s just do this. It will do great. It will. It will, right?”

You asked your best friend, looking straight into his eyes. You were hoping for confirmation, an assurance rather. You are aware of how dangerous this is. There is no guarantee on what would be the result of this brand new time machine. You just want to help Howard with this by being the first living being to try this prototype. You are giving your full trust to him but hearing a positive answer from the main inventor himself might help you feel a little more relieved in doing this. Even though that answer can be a mix of lies.

“Of course. This one will be a big success, Y/N.”

“Okay.” you sighed again. You and Howard shared a long, tight hug and you whispered something in his ear, “You better take me back. I have plans on Sunday.”

“For real?” he chuckled, whispering back.

“Some anchor clacker invited to a dance before he leaves on Monday.” you quipped since you tow both know that you don’t really go out on dates with anyone.

“Well, This fella must be an eager beaver. He managed to make you say yes to him.”

“Shut up.”

You pushed him away as you laughed. Seeing you crack up even a little somehow gave assurance to both of you two. Before going back to the controls, you shared a simple smile and you nods at him. Looking around, you see Robert nodding at you. Susan and Donny waved at you from the viewing glass.

“Okay, on the count of three, you’ll go to another time. I will give you ten seconds to look around. Then, I will get you back. Understood?”

You nodded.

“Good luck, Y/N. 1… 2… 3…”

“Come on, people. Get up.” Tony clapped his hands as he stood up from the table. “Peter can do the dishes later.”

“But Mr. Stark, it’s not my schedule today–” Peter tried to save himself from the said chore but the older man shushed him off.

“Shh! Everyone in the hangar.”

Other avengers left the room like they were ordered to. Sam and Bucky were teasing the hell out of their youngest member, Peter. Wanda and Vision were having their own little world as they walked side by side. Bruce is already in the hangar as he also helped Tony with his new project. Leaving Clint, Natasha, and Steve at the dining table.

“What’s happening?” Steve asked. He was busy for the last four weeks due to solo missions that he did not get ahold of what others were doing.

Natasha answered, “Remember the blueprints he found months ago?”

Steve nods, picturing the time he saw Tony around the compound with a cardboard box, which has Howard’s name on it, in his hands. He remembered smiling to himself that time because Tony looked like a little kid who found new toys to play with. It was probably four months ago.

“He figured he will try to recreate one of his father’s works,” Clint replied this time. “I think he chose to remake his dad’s time machine this time.”

“The time machine?”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together as he repeated that. One of the biggest news he heard of ever since he went back from ice was Howard’s attempt at building a time machine back in 1947. Only a few people knew about it as it was kept almost a secret because of its unfortunate result. Although a little number of people only knew it, there are still rumors or theories about what happened.

Natasha stood up, picked up her plate, and went straight to the sink. She continued talking, “Yeah, Bruce helped on improving some parts of it to avoid what happened a long time ago.”

“You know, to avoid what happened to…” Clint paused.

Steve cannot tell if Barton forgot the name of the last victim of the time machine or if he just doesn’t want to mention it around him. So, Steve decided to end his sentence.

“Y/N.”

He said it at the same second that Natasha just turned off the faucet, making the silence so loud between them three. What made Steve a little mad and confused about this whole time machine thing is how everyone who knows the result agreed to act like it didn’t happen. Like someone like you didn’t go missing. No one knows where you went and no one wants to talk about it.

Steve tried to make a search by himself in his first few years back from the ice, hoping that one of the rumors was right. A rumor where it was said that you simply changed your name, not wanting to do anything with SSR or Howard Stark anymore, and moved somewhere else to live a simpler life. But that one failed too. He tried and tried. But it always ends up to one thing: nothing. You simply became the world’s biggest hidden mystery.

“Why don’t we go see what happens there?” Natasha broke the silence.

Clint nods and moved from his chair, “Yeah.”

But Steve remained seated in his seat, he was staring at the table. This was not the first time Natasha saw him like this after your name was mentioned. He often turned into a silent, staring-into-nothingness thinking machine when someone tagged your name into the conversation. It happened only a couple of times. Natasha tried to make him open up about it one time but God knows how long Steve takes before trusting someone with his thoughts.

“Steve?”

Steve finally blinked and meet their gaze, “You should go. I’ll just head straight to bed.”

He didn’t wait for their replies and simply left the kitchen shortly after washing his plate. Natasha followed him with her eyes as Steve walked to his room. Clint, on the other hand, shrugged it off and pulled her to the compound’s ample hangar.

Tony, being the most extra person that he is, even prepared decorations and chairs with safe feet away from the time machine he newly built. There’s even a handmade banner– probably made by Peter– that hung behind the machine.

“Where’s the capsicle?” Tony asked them as they sat on the remaining vacant seats next to Pepper.

“Went to bed early,” Clint answered.

“What? Gosh, that old man–”

Natasha cuts him off before he starts his unnecessary rant, “Just show us your new project.”

“Okay, okay.” Tony rolled his eyes as he walks in front of his own version of a time machine based on his dad’s blueprint. “I’m going to skip any more introductions because I am so excited to show you guys this time machine. Sure, it had issues before. But Dr. Banner right here helped me to modify it. Hopefully, it will work well and this can be the first-ever working time machine ever!”

His enthusiasm was evident on his face. He continued, “So, here's how it will work. The time machine will be powered on and to avoid any living being disappearances like before, I’m going to place this camera on the platform. I’ll set it into timer mode. Bruce will quickly click the controls to send it out. When it gets to another timeline, it will just take a snap of whatever it sees. Then, we will immediately bring it back here.”

“How long will it stay to another time?” Sam asked in the background.

“Roughly five seconds only.” Bruce, who stood near the machine’s controls, replied. “This is literally our first test trial.”

“Any more questions?” Tony asked and everyone in the room just shook their heads. He smiled and stood next to the lever for power on. “By the way, there might be bright flashing light– Please accept the glasses that are being handed out by Ms. Potts.”

Pepper distributed dark shades from the prepared box to everyone. She later sat back down, wearing the same eyewear. The two scientists also wore them. Tony placed both his hands on the big lever next to the controls.

“Okay, let’s start. Switching on the time machine in 3… 2… 1…”

After pulling the heavy lever, a blinding, white light engulfed the whole room.

It was just a blink of an eye.

As you felt a different, cool blow of wind on your face, you slowly opened your eyes, immediately seeing a group of foreign people sitting in front of you. It worked. It worked! Your eyes widened as you realized it. But before you can even click the button on your camera. You realized another thing: everyone is looking at you. You are in a distant timeline and you can tell just based on their fashion.

Dang nabbit, Y/N. You only have a few seconds. Just take a polaroid.

You clicked the shutter. Its small sound made everything more awkward against the quiet and seemingly shocked crowd. Then, you mentally count down to ten as you wanted to get back to Howard to show him the image.

Five.

“Hello?”

You cocked your head to the man who spoke on the side. He was in the controls with another guy who strangely looks like Howard. Were you in another universe? Was multiverse real? Although shocked, you didn’t react since your best friend advised you to don’t interact with anyone.

Four.

“Miss, can you hear us? Where were you from?”

This time, the Howard-looking guy with the weird goatee asked you the question. You remained quiet.

Three.

“I don’t think she can understand us.”

Two.

But then, someone stood up from the seated group of people. A bearded man with shoulder-length brown hair from the back. He removed his sunglasses and you squinted your eyes to identify him. His piercing steel blue eyes as wide as he spoke,

“Dr. Y/N?”

No. No. No! This cannot be real!

One.

“Sergeant Barnes?!”

You immediately covered your mouth as you unintentionally called his name at loud. Gasps and inaudible whispers followed. You held the polaroid camera in your chest tighter when you see some of them standing.

Why is he here? He fell from a train during a mission with the Howling Commandos a couple of years ago. Steve saw it himself.

“Wait, you are Dr. Y/N, Howard Stark’s assistant?!” A teenage boy asked and everyone turned to you, waiting for you to say something again.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you took a step back when you noticed the time on your gold wristwatch. Suddenly, there is a drop in your stomach. You watch as the smaller hand ticks, indicating that a minute had passed.

Damn it.

As if on cue, your camera spews a polaroid picture you took not long ago. Your heartbeats went faster and it was like you were drowning underwater. Sweats formed on your forehead. Your fingers shake. What is happening?

“I’m calling Cap.” you heard someone say and ran out of the room.

“C-Cap?” you stuttered, voice shaking. You prayed that they were talking about someone else as the only person you called Cap was already dead too. Out of desperation and fear, you looked at the two guys standing near what seems to be the controls. “Bring me back!”

You see them panicking as they click on the various buttons. The other one pulled down the large lever and everyone screamed as there were booming sounds and sparks everywhere. Your knees were on the ground as you smelled the smoke. You were starting to feel lightheaded. Your vision was slightly blurry but you can still see people leave the room.

“Oh my god. Let’s go.” A woman with long auburn hair walked to you.

“But I–” you were pointing at the smoking time machine before another spark happened.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. They’ll fix it. For now, we should go.” she replied and you accepted her hand.

Your knees were weak as you stood up, almost falling again. But another woman stood next to you holding you up by the waist. They assist you, walking you out.

“A-Am I dead?”

Your feeble voice whispered. But they didn’t seem to hear you. Incoming heavy footsteps were heard.

“Where is she?”

That voice was like a snap in your brain. Like memories played in your head the moment you heard that deep voice. You know that voice. God, you missed that voice. You felt like crying with all the overwhelming emotions mixing in your system. But instead, you gulped and collected all the remaining sanity in you to look up to the guy coming.

“S-Steve?!”

You called his name so frail but it didn’t hide the fact that you were surprised to see him. You see his lips move but you cannot hear anything anymore as everything turned dark.

THE SEND-OFF TAGLIST [open. please make sure your account can be mentioned :)]

@supraveng @yourallihave @et-homephone @sunflower-golden-vol6 @curi0usc4t @caitlyn-who @bitchy-bi-trash @therealwritersblog @stilltoomuchafangirl @emievns @sshina555 @blinkszamsstuff @tokaixi @saviorcomplexrry @matisse556 @ragingsammie @gitasor

#steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers au #steve rogers series #steve rogers enemies to lovers au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers time travel au #avengers x reader #avengers fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans angst #chris evans fluff #the send off steve rogers

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20dollarlolita · 11 months

Note

Pink!! Thank you for all you do. I’m not in Lolita yet (lack of funds so severe even your guides cannot penetrate it), but I can’t wait to make use of your tutorials.

In the meantime, I have a question! I was given a sewing machine for Christmas in 2021, an Ever Sewn Sparrow 20. Unfortunately for my birthday in 2020, I was given Horrific Depression, and I still haven’t managed to find the receipt for it. My sewing machine has been in its box, never used, for a year and a half.

Recently I got some clothing from goodwill that I need to alter so that I can wear it, and I’d like to use my sewing machine. I know how to thread it and wind a bobbin and do all the normal setup things, but I wanted to ask: is there anything else I should check in addition to the normal setup things? Am I going to need to get it serviced before I can use it?

Thanks!

The most common problems that people have when they take a machine out of storage are problems based around the fact that the machine was in storage. Baby, they are born to run. You won't start a car up for the first time after leaving it alone for years, and expect it to be perfect. Your machine is the same.

So there's two main concerns: dust, and locking up. If the machine was somewhere that dust could get on it, make sure dust didn't get in it. Generally, most machines have holes near the bobbin winder where things could get messy. If there's a lot of dust in the machine, you might want to take the plastic cover off and see if you can clean it. Otherwise, vacuum is your friend. Take your vacuum's hose and vacuum the dust out as best you can. It won't get everything, but better is better than nothing.

Locking up can be a bigger problem. Even if your machine was greased and oiled before it sat, sitting doesn't things to the oil. If it's gotten hot and then cold and back again, the oil and grease could have melted into weird locations. Sometimes, you will try to turn the hand wheel, and it just won't go. First, stick a flashlight up to the thread uptake lever, and see if there's any thread in there. If it looks clean, then it's probably an oil bind. (if there is thread, you're going to have to take that out first. Info on that in a minute). Patience is your secret here. Even if it won't turn much, if you can get a little bit of movement, you can usually get a locked up machine un-stuck. Rock your hand wheel back and forth for a few minutes. Remember that your eventual goal is to turn it forward, but get whatever movement you can however you can. Once it's free, turn it by hand for several full cycles. I like to go with about 20, but it's really until it feels pretty free. Then, plug in your machine and run it for a few minutes. I put a piece of paper under the foot and "sew" along the paper until I've filled the whole paper up with holes.

If you've tried and you really just can't get it free, try putting it in a hot car for about five minutes and then coming back to it. Melty oil turns better than cold oil. Try to run it while it cools so that you don't have pooling oil in strange places.

If the machine is locked up, there's a good chance that the presser foot had gotten sluggish or locked as well. Movement is key here, as well. You might need to put the foot down and then physically pull the foot down, but just like breaking the machine free, you can break the presser foot free with repeat motion.

So that's the first things I check: dust, wheel turning, presser foot going up and down. If it looks clean from out of the box, good news!

I then generally do a fast oil. Most modern machines don't need the user to oil it, and you can get into trouble if you oil it where you shouldn't. We usually tell customers at my work to never oil their machines, and let the service tech do it. However, if you're not going to, here's some info on it. Most importantly, you only want to oil metal-on-metal joints. Oil plus plastic isn't long term good.

I'm using a Janome Derby here because it was the easiest machine for me to get that wasn't a Viking or a Pfaff. Those both use security screws and make getting into it a pain (and my Viking is still under warranty and don't want to void it). The parts are the same in most machines.

Take off your metal plate so that you have access to your feed teeth and your bobbin case.

Make sure there's nothing stuck in the bobbin case, like thread. Especially check your tension spring.

Under the bobbin case is a joint you want to oil. Many machines have a felt pad here to hold and dispense oil. If you have a felt pad, you want to put however many drops on it as you need to get it full of oil. If you do not have a felt pad, you will want to do one drop of oil, right in the center.

On this machine, because all of this is plastic, you don't want to use any oil. However, any competent machine will have metal down here.

Check the top of your bobbin case for needle strikes. If there's a really bad strike, you might need a new bobbin case. If you have any plastic burrs sticking out from a needle strike, you can usually carefully shave the sharp parts off with a sharp razor blade.

Check the plate for needle strikes around the needle hole. If there's any burrs, you can use a nail file or some high grit sandpaper to remove them.

BTW, your bobbin case has Batman ears on it. Batman's ears point up. If the bobbin case is in the machine properly, Batman's ears will be point upward and the case won't be able to rotate when you try to turn it counter-clockwise. There's a little finger on the 5 o'clock position of the bobbin case, and that usually rests against a stop or sensor to stop the case from turning.

If you have a Brother or a Baby Lock, your machine may have a metal throat plate, and then a little L-shaped plastic collar. If it does, put the metal plate on first, then the bobbin case, then the plastic part. This will help make sure the bobbin case is straight.

Most machines will let you take off the front cover here. This gives you access to two important places.

If your presser foot is sluggish, cleaning and oiling the presser foot bar will free it. I like acetone on a q-tip for this, just cleaning all the parts of the bar that I can reach. There will be two metal sleeves that the bar passes through. Put one drop of oil on the top of each with the foot up, and then put the foot up and down to get the oil in the sleeve. You'll want to oil this even if your foot isn't sluggish.

Your thread uptake is the part that goes up and down when you thread the machine. It's the thingy that's the reason why you need to put your needle up before you thread your machine.

Thread loves to get wrapped around this. Take some time to see if there is thread, and if there is to unwind it. You usually have to turn the wheel backwards to get the thread off.

You'll also want to oil the piece that connects to the uptake. It's a big part. If your machine has a little hole on the front of the crank that turns the uptake, you will want to fill that up with oil. If there's no hole, put a drop on the seam between the two pieces and hope that some of it gets down there.

And that's about all I do. Stick the front plate back on (if it's a Brother, make sure you're getting the needle threader lined up with the little lever on the face plate that moves the threader). You should be good to go.

Remember: only sewing machine oil should go in your sewing machine. No other oils, just good old sewing machine oil. NOT three in one oil, no matter what the can says. You also only want to put a single drop on any space, unless there's a felt pad or a hole to hold more than a drop.

And plenty of people will pull their machine from storage and use it with no problem. I'm just sharing this info in case you or someone else wants to do this. A lot of machines are considered disposable or not worth professionally servicing, and knowing how to do this can add some life to your machine. Just remember the number one rule, no oil on plastic parts.

#sewing machine help #long post

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v--143 · 7 months

Text

Day 6- Chase

[Lee! Han]

[Ler! IN]

“Where is it?” IN yelled at the members in the living room.

“May we was what ‘it’ is” Seungmin said mockingly.

“You know! My hoodie, literally the one I always wear” IN replied (dramatically).

“I haven’t seen it” Hyunjin said, head in Chan’s lap.

“I haven’t either”

“Not me”

“Dang it” IN whispered as he continued to look around. That was, until.. Hanji walked into the room.

“What’s up my mammals” Han imitated Sid the sloth with the audio blasting. He was in one of those moods today.

“HANNI” IN screamed as he stomped over to Han who was on the other side of the room.

“What?!” Han shouted as he shuffled away from the younger, “What’s wro-! Oohhhh..”

“‘Ohhh’ yeah you’re wearing my hoodie! Where’d you find it?! Why are you wearing it.”

“Washing machine, it was warm” Han said, smiling.

“Give it back” IN said while walking closer to Han. He just continued to take steps back.

“Now” IN emphasized.

That was when Han ran out the room.

All the members burst out laughing, some of them yelling “run Han!!” or “go him Ayen!”. A bunch of instigators (<3).

Naturally, IN began chasing Han and was actually not that far off from catching the crazed quokka.

“I’m sorhorry!! Leave me ALONE!!” Han screamed as he ran through hallways and jumped over furniture. They were both laughing, Han more out of nervousness as he hugged IN’s hoodie to himself as he ran. This didn’t last long though as IN suddenly wrapped his arms around the older and held him in place

“Let me go!!” Han yelled as he writhed from side to side.

“Give me my hoodie back!” IN yelled back as he, still hugging Han around his waist, dug his fingers into his sides.

“Hehahaehey!! HEY! Ayehen stOHOP!” Han shrieked as he began to jump as much as he could while wiggling in IN’s arms. The little movements of IN’s fingers across his sensitive sides and ribs were bad.

“You should’ve given it back when I gave you the chance idiot!” IN said lovingly and entirely too close to Han’s ear and neck. He squealed away from IN as he laughed out.

IN soon stuck his hands into the hoodie pockets, which IN knew had a super thin layer separating them from the skin.

“NOAHA HAHA” Han yelled as IN tickled him crazy from inside the pockets. His knees folded and he began to fall to the floor.

“Plehehase!!!” Han begged as he curled up on the floor in an attempt to make IN’s hands move slower.

“Fine, I’ll take it off if you myself” IN said. And so he dug his cold hands under the hoodie.

“AAHA HAHA HAHA” Han yelled out as IN went crazy on his torso. Han quickly got back up and began shuffling around weirdly, trying to run to one side of the room and then directing his body another way to get away from IN’s fingers.

“STOHOAHAP!”

“Give it BAHACK!” IN retaliated.

“Fihine!!! Take it O- OHAHAFF TAKE IT off MEHE!” Han yelled through loud laughs.

IN began to pull the hoodie off of Han by tugging the hood up… until it got stuck right at the point where Han’s arms were shot in the air.

“IN.” Han said sternly.

“Mhm” IN giggled.

“No. Take it off” Han couldn’t even see at this point as the hoodie went from his neck to his arms only.

IN poked his stomach and stepped back, Han flailing around. He couldn’t run because… well… he couldn’t see.

He poked him again.

And again.

And again and again until Han was a puddle on the ground with nowhere to go except curl up into himself.

IN eventually let up and took the hoodie off the older, making sure to tell him to wash it again and not put it on once it was done drying.

But of course… Han didn’t listen.

———————————————————————————

Popipopipo pipo

I cannot believe day 6 is on day 11 my bad y’all just pretend I’m on schedule 🙍🏻‍♀️

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queer-geordie-nerd · 11 months

Text

I talk about Mira a lot, and I’m doing so again 🤷🏻‍♀️

She was a beautiful woman, and a powerful and talented actor and writer, no doubt, but much more importantly, I feel, she was also a woman of vast and deep integrity - she fought against injustice and nationalism/racism all of her life and her principled and public stance against the war and ethnic divisions in Yugoslavia cost her dearly and yet, it was a position she never ever moved away from and believed in profoundly. It is very easy to have principles when they are not being tested, and another thing entirely to stake your very life on those principles.

Even when her stance cost her her home, her career, and her friendships, and the enormous amount of threats against her life forced her to leave her country, she never once backed down from her belief in unity and cooperation.

The anti war essay she wrote and published as she fled is still one of the most powerful pieces of writing I’ve ever read and I am going to post it here in its entirety because it is fierce and amazing:

Letter to my co-citizens

I hereby wish to thank my co-citizens who have joined so unreservedly in this small, marginal, and apparently not particularly significant campaign against me. Although marginal, it will change and mark my whole life. Which is, of course, totally irrelevant in the context of the death, destruction, devastation, and blood-chilling crimes within which our life now goes on.

This is happening, however, to the one and only life I have. It seems that I’ve been chosen for some reason to be the filthy rag everyone uses to wipe the mud off their shoes. I am far too desperate to embark on a series of public polemics in the papers. I do, however, feel that I owe myself and my city at least a few words. Like at the end of some clumsy, painful love story, when you keep wanting, wrongly, to explain something more, even though you know at the bottom of your heart that words are wasted; there is no one left to hear them. It is over.

Listening to my answering machine, to the incredible quantities of indescribably disgusting messages from my co-citizens, I longed to hear at least one message from a friend. Or not even a friend, a mere acquaintance, a colleague. But there was none. Not a single familiar voice, not a single friend. Nevertheless, I am grateful to them, to those noble patriots who kindly promise me a “massacre the Serbian way”; and to those colleagues, friends, and acquaintances who, by remaining silent, are letting me know that I cannot count on them any more.

I am grateful also to all my colleagues in the theatre with whom I played Drzic, Moliere, Turgenev, and Shaw, I am grateful to them for their silence, I am grateful to them for not even trying to understand, let alone attempting to vindicate, my statement concerning my appearance at the BITEF Festival in Belgrade, the statement in which I tried to explain that taking part in that production at that moment was for me a defense of our profession which must not and cannot put itself in the service of any political or national ideas, which must not and cannot be bound by political or national limits because it is simply against its nature, which must, even at the worst of times, establish bridges and ties. In its very essence it is a vocation which knows no boundaries.

I know that all this talk about the cosmopolitanism of art seems inappropriate at a moment like this. I know that it may seem out of place to swear to pacifism, to swear to love and to the brotherhood of all peoples while people are dying, while children are dying, while young men are returning home crippled and mangled forever.

How can I say anything which won’t sound like an ill-fitted nonsense at the moment when, for absolutely unfathomable reasons, Dubrovnik is being threatened, the city where I played my favorite role, Gloria?

But I have no other way of thinking. I cannot accept war as the only solution, I cannot force myself to hate, I cannot believe that weapons, killing, revenge, hatred, that such an accumulation of evil will ever solve anything. Each individual who personally accepts the war is in fact an accessory to the crime; must he not then take a part of the guilt for the war, a part of the responsibility?

In any case, I think, I know and I feel that it is my duty, the duty of our profession, to build bridges. To never give up on cooperation and community. Not the national community. The professional community.

The human community. And even when things are at their very worst, as they are now, we must insist to our last breath on building and sustaining bonds between people. This is how we pledge to the future.

And one day it will come. For my part, until recently I was willing to endure all manner of problems in transportation, communication, and finances to trek the 20 hours across Austria and Hungary between Zagreb and Belgrade. I was willing to use risky, even dangerous modes of travel, just to keep holding my performances in the two warring cities, to appear at precisely 7:30 on stage with my Zagreb or Belgrade colleagues and to alternate Corneille and Turgenev for the sake of professional continuity, for the sake of something that would outlive this war and this hatred which is so foreign to me. Time and time again I was willing to make my life a symbol of a pledge to the future which must be waiting for us, until that day when some ardent patriot finally does slaughter me as so many have promised to do.

I was willing and I would still be willing to undertake all and any efforts, if the hatred hadn’t suddenly overwhelmed me with its horrendous ferocity, hatred welling from the city I was born in. I am appalled by the force and magnitude of that hatred, by its perfect unanimity, by the fact that there was absolutely nobody who could see my gesture as my defense of the integrity of the profession, as my attempt to defend at least one excellent theatre performance. I had no intention of acting further in performances outside the BITEF Festival, as I stated in my letter. BITEF as an international theatre event attended by the English, Russians, French, Belgians, and even one Slovene seemed to me worth participating in, especially because any decision not to participate would have meant betraying a performance I had worked on under the most difficult circumstances during the March 9th Belgrade tanks, daily threats of a military coup, etc., etc.

It is terribly sad when one is forced to justification without having done anything wrong. There is nothing but despair, nausea, and horror.

I no longer have any decisions to make. Others have decided for me.

They have decided I must shut up, give up, vanish; they have abolished my right to do my job the way I feel it should be done, they have abolished my right to come home to my own city, they have abolished my right to return to my theatre and act in my performances. Someone decided that I should be fired from my job. Thank you, Croatian National Theatre; thank you, my colleague Dragan Milivojevic, who signed my dismissal slip. I know that lots of people are losing jobs, that I am just one of many, simply part of a surplus work force. I constantly ask myself whether I have any right, at this moment of communal horror, to make any demands of my own. One thing seems certain: I plan for quite some time (how long?) not to perform on any stage in this crumbling, mangled land. Perhaps they needn’t have hurried so in firing me. Perhaps this would have simply taken care of itself. With more decency. And dignity. Not so crudely. Of course, this is not a moment for tenderness. But won’t someone out there have to be ashamed of this? And will this someone necessarily be me, as my fellow actors try to convince me in their orthodox interviews? Can the horror of war be used as a justification for every single nasty bit of filth we commit against our fellow man? Are we allowed to remain silent in the face of injustice done to a friend or a colleague and justify our silence by the importance of the great bright national objective? I ask my friends in Zagreb, who are now silent, while at the same time they condemn Belgrade for its silence.

It is hard to write without bitterness. I would like to be able to do that, because we should “Love Our Enemy.” I wish we all could. Herein perhaps lies the solution for all of us. But I fear that we are very far from the ways of the Lord. His is the way of love. Not hatred.

To whom am I addressing this letter? Who will read it? Who will even care to read it? Everyone is so caught up by the great cause that small personal fates are not important any more. How many friends do you have to betray to keep from committing the only socially acknowledged betrayal, the betrayal of the nation? How many petty treacheries, how many pathetic little dirty tricks must one do to remain “clean in the eyes of the nation?”

I am sorry, my system of values is different. For me there have always existed, and always will exist, only human beings, individual people, and those human beings (God, how few of them there are !) will always be excepted from generalizations of any kind, regardless of events, however catastrophic. I, unfortunately, shall never be able to “hate all Serbs,” nor even understand what that really means. I shall always, perhaps until the moment the kind threats on the phone are finally carried out, hold my hand out to an anonymous person on the “other side,” a person who is as desperate and lost as I am, who is as sad, bewildered, and frightened. There are such people in this city where I write my letter, the city my love took me to, a feeling it seems almost indecent to mention these days. Nothing can provide an excuse any more, everything that does not directly serve the great objective has been trampled upon and appears despicable, and with it what love, what marriage, what friendship, what theatre performances!

I reject, I refuse to accept such a crippling of myself and my own life. I played those last performances in Belgrade for those anguished people who were not “Serbs”; but human beings, human beings like me, human beings who recoil before this monstrous Grand Guignol farce in which dead heads are flying. It is to these people, both here and there, that I am addressing my words. Perhaps someone will hear me.

The punishment meted me by my city, my only city and my theatre, my only theatre, the only theatre I felt was mine, is a punishment I feel I do not deserve. I was working in the way I have always felt I had to work, believing in people and our vocation which is supposed to bring people together, not tear them apart. I will never “give up my Belgrade friends”; as some of my colleagues have, because I do not feel that these friends have in any way brought about this catastrophe which has afflicted us, just as I will not turn my back on my Zagreb friends, not even those who have turned their backs on me. I will try in every way possible to understand their panic, their fear, their bitterness, even their hatred, but I plead for the same dose of understanding for me, that is, for a story which is different than many others, for a life which has deviated, due to the so-called destiny, from the expected and customary. Why must everything be the same, so frighteningly uniform, leveled, standardized? Haven’t we had enough of that? I know this is the time of uniforms and they are all the same, but I am no soldier and cannot be one. I haven’t got it in me to be a soldier, soldiering just isn’t my calling.

Regardless of whether we will be living in one, or five, or fifty states, let us not forget the people, each individual, regardless of which side of this Wall of ours the person happens to be on. We were born here by accident, we are this or that by accident, so there must be more than that, mustn’t there?

I am sending this letter into a void, into darkness, without an inkling of who will read it and how, or in how many different ways it will be misused or abused. Chances are it will serve as food for the eternally hungry propaganda beast. Perhaps someone with a pure heart will read it after all.

I will be grateful to that someone.

Mira Furlan,

From Belgrade and Zagreb, November 1, 1991.

#mira furlan #anti war #this woman was fucking incredible #babylon 5

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millepara · 4 months

Text

about waccha primagi.

it's ending.... (mega long who cares-type post)

once again, I've seen this coming for a while so I don't have a particularly big emotional reaction to it now. the anime not continuing immediately -> at all, the huge spotlight on idol land at the same time (and--bearing in mind that I don't know anything about anything--possible lack of people/time/money to support primagi as a result), the decrease in original coords and content in the game.... this alone was enough for me to start mourning primagi's loss way before it ended.

I haven't played for over a year, but I hope I can play again before it's over. I'd like to record a vid for each of the new songs I like at least... but I'm busy with yet another cross-country move to god knows where and possibly changing jobs so sadly this is very much on the back burner. maybe after work...? I'm so tired though (ｉ _ ｉ)

I've seen people wondering if the machine will be updated for the new series' game. but: recall that in the past, the new series was teased in pvs and stuff as the next step of pretty series, and that was it. yesterday's sort of stoic text discontinuation of service message is not a normal part of the change to a new series. and it's bad business practice to make us all depressed about the series ending without giving us something new to get excited about first. I think the cabinets will be removed from arcades eventually. I also think that will be the end of idol games in arcades period.

BUT--there is a new series coming. and I cannot imagine any possible reason for them to make an idol anime without an idol game for it to advertise. so that means... surely there must be a new game coming as well!! that leaves 3 possibilities as I see it:

1) actually the cabinet is just changing over normally and they're announcing it in the most disadvantageous way possible. why would they do this

2) another new cabinet?? what a waste of money that would be!! why not set it on fire instead??

3) a game on another platform?? likely smartphone, right? but then look what happened with idol land--how can they manage two apps at once? how can they expect anyone to trust them to do so?

I also would not trust them to do two separate idol apps at once without tanking both, but 3 is still my first choice here because it means people outside of japan can play too, and I don't have to dig out space for yet another card collection. but who knows what will happen. and we'll find out more about the new series soon enough--feb 2 is when the next Ciao with more info is out.

even though a new series is guaranteed, I still don't feel great about it. there's no guarantee yet that it will even be a full anime and not some piddly little webseries that's predestined for death. even if it is, there's still some stuff I feel primagi seriously whiffed on that could have helped its longevity, and some other circumstantial stuff that they had no control over, but which also hasn't been resolved. in the whiff category, the main thing I can recall atm is--why did they never make toys for this kids' anime? kids still want toys, right?? overall, the game felt a little less accessible for kids... or like they weren't pandered to enough? (not nearly to a degree as bad as Planet, though.) I mean, as with everything else I talk about ever, I don't know enough about the topic and am just saying things, but this always stuck out to me a bit. I remember commenting on it a couple times.

the circumstantial stuff is more significant, though. the big one is covid. of course Japan is business as usual by now, like everywhere else I know of, but I just have not seen as many people playing in arcades since 2020. that is especially true for aikatsu and pretty series. the other one: I wonder if idols in general are losing their appeal? I know of a few idol game apps that have ended in the past couple years, and then of course there's aikatsu... recently even Idolm@ster Cinderella Girls Starlight Stage, a game I have played religiously for years, has been making suspicious movements that have really put me on edge. is no one interested in idol series anymore? more broadly speaking, does it seem like there is less anime oriented at young girls overall today as compared to several years ago, or is it just me...?

with that as the backdrop in my mind, though, primagi ending feels more tragic. I may not be drowning in tears, but I am really, truly going to miss it. I honestly think that it had the best story of all of pretty series. I know Rainbow Live is everyone's fav--I like it too!--but it did have this soap opera level of drama that felt facetious and silly if you thought about it too hard. I think there is a certain type of person that will say "but that's why it was the best!! primagi would never!!", and don't get me wrong!! I just said I like it and I think it's fun too!! but I am not talking about opinion, or which was more tongue-in-cheek so-ridiculous-it's-good, which I think is another way to like something ironically. I am only interested in liking things genuinely (bc of the mental illness), and I think primagi was a more genuine example of storytelling with less drama for drama's sake. it also had interesting and unexpected and heart-warming character interaction in the same way RL did. it wasn't perfect, but it was very good. I wish it was longer.

and god, the game looks SO GOOD. I still can't believe how good it looks. I miss notes in the game all the time bc I'm too busy staring with heart eyes at how cute and cool and pretty my idols are in it. the music is SO GOOD, and I know that's very much a matter of opinion, but even by a vaguely more objective metric: I don't find myself thinking "discount kpop" like in Aikatsu Friends sometimes or feeling absolutely, totally unimpressed like in Planet always. the songs were unique for idol anime and kids' anime, and different from the popular stuff my students listen to as well. even if you didn't like the music, it was certainly interesting.

and the coords are AMAZING... they really took advantage of the game's graphics to do fun things with textures and shapes, and even the most fantastical outfits are designed realistically, by which I mean, I know exactly how I can recreate them irl to look exactly like they do in the anime AND ALSO look pretty... given access to enough money. (this was true for pripara as well. but it was something that bothered me a lot in prichan, bc there were a lot of coords that looked like bad papercraft or just plain bad, and would be impossible to recreate irl, and might look awful even if you could.) even though the game is ending and I have to save for the move, I want to buy up all of the cards for coords I like just to have them! and don't get me started on how cute the cards themselves are!!

...but primagi is still ending. I'll live. I don't expect much from the new series in terms of longevity or how much I like it, but I do still hope to be proved wrong.

and in the end, you know what? I never got a decent hairstyle for Biscuit. I'm stuck with the starter twintails to this day. they never released a DARKER SKIN COLOR. maybe primagi had to die all along.

#milk idol diary #praying so hard to be able to meet tapioka in whatever the next pretty series entry is. please please please

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