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sprout-fics · 1 year

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Machinations

(König x F! 'Maus' Reader)

Part 8 of Little Mouse

Word Count: 4.9k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Hints of yandere König, König POV, Tending to wounds, Uneasy alliances, Jealousy, Unrequited pining Warnings: Mentions of brutal character death A/N: I am no longer doing a tag list for this series as it is has gotten too large to handle. Consider subscribing to this series on AO3 for updates

Sunset.

The Kodori range is pretty this time of year. In the dying embers of summer, the light takes on a golden hue, bronze and warm against the steep cliffs that harden with oncoming frost. In the golden hour before sunset the light ribbons through the Colchian forest, golden strands held aloft by invisible threads. It illuminates the muted greys and greens of the trees, coaxes them towards emerald, the birch a glinting silver.

A beast prowls these woods, his steps cloaked in silence, massive form brushing against thickets and yet still barely managing to make a sound. He's at home in these woods, knows their wilderness like the scars that trace his back, a map forged by history, struggle. He prowls with a primal awareness, steps measured, form hunched, coiled with a taut, focused tension like that of a predator.

Even so, König admits the dewy, golden sunlight reminds him of the illustrations in the fairytales he would read as a child. It streams through the canopy, catches bits of dust and pollen like fairy lanterns. There's a strange magic in these woods, an inexplicable energy that makes the ground seem softer, more pliant under his feet. Moss and pine needles, owl feathers that float down from above, a distant call ringing like the toll of a mournful church bell.

It isn't enough to distract him from his mission. Not when he's finally tracked the two enemy soldiers who have been on this mountain for half a day now, slowly and stealthily making their way through the groves to the periphery of the base where König's allies are guarding. They walk endlessly for hours, their endurance unwavering. He follows them at a guarded distance, blending into the foliage, tracing their steps with his own.

König had been told of this group before. British, mainly. Special forces without a doubt, arguably some of the finest soldiers on the planet. Enough to be an irremovable dagger in the side of KorTac's handler. Yet the information on them remained scarce. Like shadows into the night, they waver at the edge of flames brought from destruction- sinking back into the darkness. Spirits. Ghosts.

König had found two sets of footprints on his patrol. On larger, one smaller, both in the direction of the compound. Like a wolf in the woods König had tracked the scent, followed at a distance until at last he found them at a ruined building on the outskirts of the compound, quietly setting up camp for what appeared to be reconnaissance.

From a bluf above the sniper nest he watches, observes how these two ghosts secure themselves, concealing their forms under camouflage, hiding themselves from sight. It's unclear if they know what is inside the compound, sheltered and isolated as it is. Perhaps they think it's the warehouse of a maverick Russian general, an obscure hideout for an oligarch's private army. Maybe they don't know that the very enemy they seek is the same one that watches them keenly from the woods.

The conversation between you both is muted, consisting mostly of hand signals. Obscured in ghillie suits as you are he doesn't truly take stock until he watches the smaller of the pair pause, pull back their hood and shake their hair and face free.

He sees you then. You turn at the exact right moment, just as light seeps through the trees in a gentle, radiant hue. You don't see him, lifting a hand to blot out the dying sun at his back as you speak to your comrade. Yet the sun catches against your face anyways, glinting off your bright eyes, the tone of your skin, catching the color of your hair. He can hardly hear whatever you say, but for some reason you laugh, the sound muffled at this distance and yet feeling for all the world like the particles of feather light pollen that hover in that same sunlight.

König forgets himself for a moment then. The mission, his company, the intrusion you two pose to the compound, all of it fizzles out into nothingness for the briefest of moments. In its place König feels the strange magic of those childish fairytales appear once more, whispering with unknown words into his ears. Strange, unfamiliar incantations haunt the corners of his mind, and between it all he can make out only a single word, echoed from his own lips like a magic spell.

"...Schön."

-----

"Hey, focus."

König snaps to, blinking for a moment as he regards the man beside him. Aksel. The Norwegian is facing forward, looking at the table the rest of the KorTac operators are perched around. Yet his eyes slide over to König meaningfully, lips scowled into a frown.

"I am focused." König returns seething, arms crossed, gaze grazing across the table where his three other teammates converse.

"Aksel, König, pay attention." A voice snaps, and König's eyes land on the leader of the company, their captain. Declan O'Conor.

The Irishman fixes both König and Aksel in his narrowed stare, his hands braced on the steel table where a map is splayed. He doesn't speak, allowing his glinting, deadly stare to sink into both men, imbue them with an unspoken demand of obedience.

"Sir." Aksel murmurs deferentially beside König, his smaller stature shifting with unease for a moment before settling. König lets his eyes slide to the man, observing the way he crosses his arms, biceps bulging under his gear. Like König, he's brutally strong. The Austrian has seen him snap many an enemy soldier's neck with his bare hands. König himself still has a lingering bruise left from the last time the two of them sparred.

Sensing O'Conor's eyes on him still, König tilts his head at his captain, fixing him with a slow, blinking stare. He doesn't speak, and for a moment König thinks he might be reprimanded for that too, for not supplying an immediate response of acknowledgement.

Yet his defiant silence only seems to amuse O'Conor, for the captain's lips twist into a slight smile under the ginger hair of his beard.

"Right then." He declares, leaning up off the table and fasting his hands to his tac vest. The air in the room shifts, all eyes now focused on the Irishman. "With that out of the way, let's move to business."

König's brow arches under his hood, listening as O'Conor's face settles into a serious grimace.

"We have actionable intel that says the 141 is ready to hit one of our supply rendezvous points in Serbia. Roze-" He turns to the dark haired woman to his left. "This is the cache you set up, so you're taking point on this op, understood?"

König's eyes slide to the smallest member of the team. Roze. Their supplier, their strategist and intelligence operator. Slender, subtle, König has seen her work from the shadows. Like a snake, she hides in the underbrush, coiled ready with hungry, glinting eyes. A wry smile crawls across her lips, and for a moment König sees her glance at him with a smug, hidden knowledge.

"Affirm, cap." She returns, voice even but failing to contain her excitement. "Who's coming with me?"

"That'll be Aksel and König." O'Conor returns, and König's eyes widen at that, surprised. Yet that shock is hidden under his hood with a glower, irritation simmering low inside him. He doesn't like working with Roze. Aksel, he can manage. The two men have come to an understanding in the course of their time working together, though perhaps not a brotherhood of sorts.

Roze, however, he can't help with dislike. The woman is full of hidden agendas and concealed plot. She seems to see straight through the men around her with her keen, knowing gaze. Yet that knowledge is hidden under a needling, almost malicious teasing that digs uncomfortably into König's skin. He feels transparent around her at times, and the realization that Roze may somehow know more about him that he cares to admit is a wavering, thorny discomfort at the edge of his periphery.

"Sir-" A voice states, and four sets of eyes turn to O'Conor's right, revealing the final and fifth member of their team. Horangi.

The Korean's eyes are hidden under his sunglasses, worn even indoors in the crackling, fluorescent lighting of their planning room at their base of operations. A mask conceals the lower half of his face. Like König, the soldier has scars he refuses to bear, the silvered flesh revealing secrets about his past only he cares to know. Despite that, the man is fairly outwardly spoken, his voice a calm, steadying presence that binds the uneasy alliances within the team.

"König has been on the last two missions. Allow me to go."

König tilts his head in consideration, watching the sniper. Horangi keeps his eyes locked on their captain, ever attentive, entirely focused on his mission, gaze unwavering. His eyes never falter from their target, watching like a tiger from the jungle, unblinking, predatory in their fixation when he's behind the scope of a rifle.

König almost wants to shoot the man a grateful glance, but is stopped when O'Conor speaks again.

"No, you're still recovering from your last encounter with this team. I need your arm completely healed before I send you back into the field, understood?"

Horangi deflates an inch, but he never breaks eyes contact with the captain.

"Understood, Sir." He replies, voice clipped. Yet when O'Conor's eyes turn back towards Aksel and König, König sees Horangi offer him a small, conciliatory shrug. The Austrian smiles under his hood, despite knowing his friend can't see it.

"Good." O'Conor declares. "I'll be coordinating from off-site. As I said, Roze is on point for this mission. Should the comms go down or anything happen that I can't help with, it'll be Roze's call to make. Clear?"

"Affirmative." Aksel confirms, but König narrows his eyes at the woman beside his captain, her head tilted a little haughtily at him. He sneers.

"Crystal." König at last responds, voice betraying his displeasure. Yet O'Conor doesn't comment on it, not yet at least. Instead, he nods at Roze, who withdraws another smaller map from her side before splaying it across the table before the team. She begins detailing the logistics of the mission- transportation, targets, enemy movements, expected timelines and ex-fil.

König listens half attentively, idly soaking in the information but providing no questions or comments. Again, his thoughts begin to wander, eyes going blank as a different image begins to filter across his gaze, replacing the scene before him.

----

"Please." You whisper, eyes bright in the dimness of the safehouse. You've taken another step closer to him, like a gentle thing trying to tame a wild, hungry beast. König's eyes fix on you, his heart thumping erratically, excited as you raise a hand to him. Beckoning, an entreaty.

There's an anxiousness in your eyes that pulls at a part of him, makes the primal, starving part of his pull taut with a barely restrained eagerness that hums through his coiled form. Like a wolverine watching a rabbit in the glade, König can't quell the instinct to reach out, pull you to him, see the glint in your eyes up close melt into something softer, something like desire.

"I'll do anything you ask-" He watches, eyes settling on the plush bed of your lower lip as you speak. "So please don't hurt him."

Anything.

He loses himself for a moment then, forgetting his mission, his duty, the man at the other end of his gun. Instead, the world narrows down to just you, your smaller form drawing close, almost close enough to reach out and touch him. The phantom sensation of your fingers grazing across his form is enough to make König stifle a shiver. His mind runs wild with possibilities, of taking you, of escaping with you in his arms, of finally, finally having you completely to himself.

He feels like an electric coil, lightning fizzing in his thoughts, the sparks of him barely constrained. His heartbeat drums higher, like the adrenaline fueled thump of a rabbit caught in a snare. Under your eyes, your anxious, glinting gaze König can't help but feel, for a moment, as if he's the prey here, awaiting the fatalistic end of your touch.

"Anything, Maus?" He asks, unable to contain the tremble of excitement in his voice, watching the way realization, burning and bright, passes over your gaze.

He loses himself in the possibilities. The memory of your form, small, lovely in his arms, tiny like a baby bird and yet imbued with surprising strength, resilience, makes his blood sing a primal, thrilled symphony.

He smiles.

"Then-" He takes a step closer, eyes flashing, heartbeat rising. You're so close now. if he just reaches out-

He sheathes his blade, the blood still coating his fingertips, eyes never leaving your smaller form.

""If I ask, you'll come with me?"

----

"-The taskforce-"

König blinks, ears honing in on the mention of your company. It's Roze talking now, one hand cupped under her chin in thought as she regards the maps. When König shifts, however, her eyes flicker up to him for all of a moment with a keen, knowing smile.

"We don't know how many members there will be. However, considering the specifications of the team members I can make a guess as to who will be on the mission for sure."

Her fingers land on a set of photos near the edge of the map, stopping first over a man with a mohawk.

König recognizes him. The one who stole you away after you were injured in Uzbekistan, hiding you from sight and tending to the wound that the team had allowed you to receive.

"MacTavish." Roze declares almost absently. "He's their demolitions expert. If they decide to bring down the warehouse as opposed to taking control of it like I expect, we should expect him."

"Agreed." O'Conor concurs, and his own hand drifts towards a different photo- a man, grizzled and bearded. He reminds König a bit of Declan himself, exuding an unquestionable authority with his stare alone.

"Price." He announces. "Skilled in convert operations. They'll need to go in quiet, and knowing him, he'll want to do this himself."

"You know him." König speaks at last, and it's not really a question so much as a demand for information, eyes narrowed, head cocked curiously as he leans on the wall behind him.

"I did." O'Conor answers simply, but König sees the way his eyes grow distant, angry, hurt. "Once."

Interesting.

König makes a note to study the thought later, recognizing by the expression written on O'Conor's face that he's unwilling to share more. Yet when his eyes flick to Roze, she doesn't seem surprised at all, instead staring back at König, watching his eyes for any indication to his thoughts.

He returns the gaze passively, refusing to allow her the privilege of seeing inside his mind. She huffs a little, but then, curiously, offers him of all things a smile.

"And her-" She declares, and her fingers stop over one more photo, and König can't contain his surprise under his mask when he recognizes it.

You.

"Their sniper. No doubt Price will have her on overwatch as he and MacTavish clear the interior. She'll be the first to notice if anything is off."

"You think she'll be alone?" Horangi asks, tone lilting in disbelief.

"She's capable." Roze returns. "Sneaky, as I'm sure some of us have seen." Her eyes dart to König, and he makes another note to ask what that is about later.

"She's surprisingly slippery too, like a rat. Hard to trap."

A mouse. König corrects silently, frowning.

The thought that your captain would send you out alone to cover him and MacTavish, put you by yourself, vulnerable, chafes at the inside of König's thoughts. The reminder that this is the same team that allowed you to get hurt, that allowed you to get captured, makes irritation simmer inside him. They don't know how to take care of you. Not like he can.

Still, the familiar excitement of getting to see you again shivers inside him. The idea that with every encounter he peels away a little more of your shield towards him, revealing the beauty, the intoxicating honesty beneath your stare makes a familiar rise of warmth flush through him. He wants it, wants to hear your voice, wants to see the dizzying truth of you, the way the steel exterior of you melts away into something softer, more tender.

"We'll rig the building." Roze declares, and that draws König's attention. "Moving most of our supplies first covertly, and then using it as bait to trap and hopefully eliminate Price and MacTavish."

O'Conor hums then, a hand grazing his beard in thought.

"MacTavish, their sniper, I don't care about. Price however-" and there's a glint in his eyes then that makes König pause, try to understand his abrupt fixation on the enemy captain.

"I want him alive."

Roze hesitates, brow furrowing as she digests the expression on her captain's face. She looks like she wants to challenge him, mouth briefly opening before she decides against it.

"Fine." She then turns to Aksel and König. "You have full execute authority for MacTavish and the other. Price is to be captured. Copy?"

König doesn't respond, desperately trying to hide his growing panic at the thought of you getting caught by either of his team members. The image of your eyes going blank, your final memory a single flash of red at the end of Roze's aim, of your face caught between two of Aksel's massive hands, mouth opening in a desperate plea before there's a sickening crack-

He shivers.

"Copy." Aksel manages beside him, and König's eyes find Roze's once more, glaring.

"...Copy." He offers, even as his stomach churns with a putrid, hateful anxiety.

"Good." Roze offers, and her smile is sickly sweet somehow, knowing. It coats the back of König's tongue and leaves a burning aftertaste. "Captain?"

O'Conor nods once, seemingly satisfied. He looks up, regards the operators in his team before nodding once more.

"You have your orders." He states evenly. "Do not fail. Dismissed."

The rest of the team stands at attention, and on instinct König does as well, his eyes trailing O'Conor as the man vanishes beyond the doorway of the planning room. König waits until the other have begun to follow, shuffling and ducking under the too short doorway before making strides down the corridor.

He doesn't get all of ten steps before there's a voice behind him, high and feminine, teasing.

"Gott im Himmel." He mutters to himself, head raising as if asking the heavens for absolution as Rozlin trots up to catch him. He turns, fists already curled in irritation. "What?"

Roze pouts up at him, eyes twinkling in mischief.

"Oh, don't be like that big guy." She whines, a single finger prodding at him. it only makes his frown deepen, face drawing into a scowl. "We're going to be working together, you should try and be nice to me for once."

He brushes her hand aside. yet the motion does little to deter her, seems to only encourage her as she smiles.

"What do you want, Rozlin?" König asks tersely, not bothering to hide his irritation. "I'm busy."

"Busy being distracted, you mean?" She asks impishly, and König feels a prickle of warning crawl across his shoulders at that. it must show through his eyes, because Rozlin seizes on it, like a coyote with a piece of meat. "I saw you in the meeting. You were zoning out."

"I was bored." He shoots back. "Your plans are not exactly enthralling, frau."

There's a thrum of satisfaction when Roze actually does look annoyed at that. Yet then that annoyance fades as that damned, knowing smile crawls across her lips once more.

"You didn't seem so bored when I mentioned her." She purrs.

König stiffens.

Shock, a dawning horror at the realization that somehow she's found it, that she knows about this secret infatuation he's developed has him pausing, muscles drawn tight in shock. Yet he tamps down on it as quickly as he can, refusing to offer Roze even an inch of ground on which to advance.

"I don't know who you're talking about." He seethes in return despite the uneven thump of his heartbeat.

"Oh?" Roze doesn't buy it. He can tell. There's a keen, sinister grin twitching on her lips. It digs at him, inside him, sends a prickle of defensive fury tickling along the underside of his skin. "You're telling me all this sneaking around on missions you've been doing has been for no reason? That you didn't linger in that safehouse in Mozambique to see her?"

"Unlike you-" König growls, stepping forward, looming over the smaller operator. "I have more important things to worry about than keeping track of a single enemy sniper."

It's a movement meant to intimidate her, and for a moment he sees Roze's eyebrows rise, craning her head to look up at the taller soldier. Yet when she opens her mouth to retort, there's another voice that floats down the hallway.

"König."

Both König and Roze turn, catching sight of their own sniper hovering at the edge of their conversation. he glances between them, taking stock of the confrontation before turning to König.

"I need to assess your stitches before you're deployed." He states calmly, almost clinically, voice careful not to provoke either of his team members. Then he turns to Roze. "I'll be borrowing him for a few minutes."

It's not a request, but neither is it a demand. Horangi's voice is smooth, even as he speaks, as if talking down an animal.

Roze wrinkled her nose at him in distaste, obviously displeased the sniper has ruined her fun. Still, she takes a step back, withdraws so she can regard both men fully.

"Fine." She bites with a roll of her eyes. "Go on an see the doc, big guy."

Roze turns with a little dismissive wave, pausing to give König a look over her shoulder.

"And König? Remember to kill your food after playing with it." She hums, then paces down the corridor back the way she came.

König watches her leave, still trying to tame the simmering frustration and anxiety roiling in his blood. Roze's needling, her smug knowledge, her ceaseless almost malicious teasing reminds him too much of the things he used to endure, of sneering expressions and laughing voices that even now makes anger, red and warm, flush through him.

Horangi settles beside him, watching Roze vanish around a corner before at last looking up to the taller man beside him.

"What was that about?" He asks curiously, and König only shakes his head.

"Nothing." He murmurs, trying to clear his thoughts before looking to the shorter soldier. "What was it you said? Ah, my arm, right."

Horangi offers only a small nod before jerking his head down the hallway, towards an unused room. König follows, larger form all but dwarfing his friend.

It doesn't take long before König is divested of most of his gear, shirt removed so their temporary medic can properly assess the long, snaking wound left as a parting gift to him by Garrick.

"You were lucky." Horangi tells him, lifting a single hefty arm above him to peer at the underside of König’s tricep. "If you hadn't reacted quick enough, he could have sliced through your artery. You could have bled out."

"I know." König growls, the reminder smarting against his skin. He didn't consider himself an easy man to get the drop on, and the fact that Garrick had not only managed to avoid being shot, but had injured him as well was as worthy of irritation as it was of respect.

One he'd have to return the favor for.

The reminder of your smile, of your easy gentleness and camaraderie around the sergeant itches at him. One of his legs bounces against the floor. Impatient. Irritated.

He's seen you with Garrick a few times now. First in the forest, at sundown, hours before you had even set eyes on him for the first time. Your laugh, bright and airy, echoed out in response to something Garrick had said. König had seen the way the sergeant's eyes had softened at the sound, his lips a tender, pleased smile.

So too had König seen the way you'd clung to his arm in Mozambique, hidden as he was from the shadows of an alleyway as he hastened to the safehouse before you could beat him there. The gesture then had been a feigned one, meant to disillusion any passerby around you into thinking you two were simply a couple. Even so, König had seen it then too, the hidden smile Garrick tucked away from your worried expression.

Even now he can hear the accusation the sergeant had levied at him, thunderous, venomous, absolutely fatal in his intent.

"Don't touch her!!"

"If you hurt her again, I'll-"

König hadn't had time to deal with it then, but now the reminder of his words made him scowl under his hood. Hurt you? His Maus? Of course, König could see why the sergeant made that assumption, but it remained far from the truth. Kong would never hurt you. He wasn't above stealing you away to some place quiet, ensuring you were safe from the hail of gunfire and smoke, but hurting you?

A grumble, low and deep, rumbles from him just as Horangi prods at one of the stitches close to his elbow.

"Ah, I'm sorry." He offers to König, but the Austrian merely shrugs, not caring to explain the true source of his irritation.

Yet then Horangi pauses, and without looking at him König knows he has fastened him with his gaze.

"What?" He asks without meeting the Korean's stare.

"She's right, you know." He starts gently. "You...have been distracted."

Ah, so he did hear that conversation after all König realizes, closing his eyes with an irritated sigh.

"I'm tired." He explains half-heartedly. "I barely got a chance to breathe after getting back from Minsk before I was sent out to Mozambique."

Horangi nods, seemingly accepting the explanation he's been given. Even if he doesn't believe it, König is grateful that he doesn't press the issue.

"She wants to get a rise out of you." He states then, and König blinks, looks at him. Horangi keeps an even stare with the larger man. "Roze, I mean. She likes getting reactions from people, and it's easy with you."

"She's a petty little witch." König hisses in return, scowling. "Why O'Conor keeps her around is more than I can understand."

"You haven't thought about it?" Horangi asks then, pressing an inch forward, only for König to automatically draw back. "That she and O'Conor seem to know more than the rest of us?"

König pauses. He hadn't really considered it before. He took this job because he enjoyed the adrenaline rush of being in the field, the ring of bullet rounds singing against his veins and thrumming through his ribs. He craved it, loved the violence of it, the bloom of red against a wall with the slash of his knife in the throat of a worthy opponent, the disastrous cacophony of a frag grenade thrown into a hiding space, echoed by his thunderous battle cry.

"No." He responds, slowly, curiously, eyeing Horangi from the corner of his vision.

Horangi settles backwards in his seat, stripping his hands of the latex gloves he used to inspect König’s arm.

"I think about it." He declares simply. "We were never told where our funds come from, our supplies, we're only paid enough not to ask questions."

König watches him, at last locking on Horangi's gaze, trying to find something beneath his sunglasses, trying to discern the true meaning of his stare.

"There's something here we don't know about." Horangi offers at last, voice low, distant. A warning.

König scoffs then, ignoring the prickle of awareness, of curiosity that itches along his thoughts.

"Think about it on your own time." He mutters dismissively, reaching for his shirt and gear. "And make sure your own injury is healed before your next mission. After all-" and he turns, offers a tilt of his head that betrays the smile under his hood. "If you were killed, who would stitch me up after?"

Horangi chuckles at that, with a little toss of his head that lets König know he's rolling his eyes.

"You're all set. Try not to get injured this time, so I have more of my own time to think." He offers as König stands with a roll of his shoulders that has his joints pop. "And don't forget to bring home your captive."

König smiles then, under his hood, feeling a familiar excitement boil higher in his veins. His heartbeat picks up, racing in time with his thoughts. Hungry, driven, fixated on the thought of you once more, of your wide eyes as he springs his trap on you, hands reaching forward to grasp you once more.

"No." He promises, grinning, shivering with an untamed, frenetic energy. "I won't."

#König #könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x oc #cod mw22 #fic: little mouse #my writing #my fic #reader insert #Don't expect anything from me for the next 5-7 business days I'm spent

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

The Perfect Girl - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Summary: Dave Miller sees you hesitate. Perhaps reluctant to stay alone in the dark. Perhaps some sense of self preservation is finally kicking in, making you wary of following a virtual stranger more than two decades older into the recesses of an abandoned restaurant.

No one knows you’re here.

Anything could happen.

Also available on AO3

Fate brings you into the man calling himself Dave Miller’s path on a Monday afternoon.

You’re in line ahead of him at a kiosk at the mall, where a vendor sells bags of artificially colored and flavored popcorn. There are a variety of unusual offerings like chocolate orange and strawberries and cream and peanut butter and jelly, the latter dyed purple and yellow. That was a personal favorite of his.

You’re next. You take a step forward and Dave moves right behind. He hooks a thumb in one of the belt loops of his security guard uniform pants and fiddles with the heavy ring of keys. There are so many. He doesn’t even know what half of them are for, in truth; only concerned with the ones that matter.

He can smell your fragrance from here. Not some cloying perfume that older women seem to favor, but something fruity and vibrant. A body spray of some sort perhaps. He also detects a light floral scent from your shampoo. You’re not long out of the shower, he thinks.

You order Wacky Watermelon. The kernels are colored red and green. You rummage in your purse. A tidy little thing, compact, thin strap, single compartment. It appears you’re a little short on cash.

“I’ve got it,” the security guard says, stepping beside you, reaching for his wallet.

Your cheeks flush. Such a pretty pink hue. “That’s ok, I…”

“It would be my pleasure.” He smiles. It’s a large one, lips stretching over sharp looking teeth. A bit intimidating.

“Oh, okay. Th…thank you,” you stammer.

So now you are indebted to him. At least, that is how he sees it. You collect your bag of popcorn and smile nervously.

“I’ll treat you next time. I just got a job working over there.” You point to a clothing store for young adults. He can hear the music blaring inside from here. The mannequins in the storefront windows are currently wearing distressed denim leggings and cropped hoodies. The fashion of today’s youth is something that eludes Dave, but then again, he supposes every generation has their trends. He’s seen bell bottoms and leg warmers come and go. Earth tones and neon. Now this blatant exposure. A jarring mismatch of wanting to be covered but also exposing tantalizing amounts of flesh. And he was not supposed to look. Well.

You don’t appear to subscribe to that same sense of style. Your clothing is demure. Everything covered. Not too tight. Hinting at nothing. Leaving it to the imagination. He likes to imagine.

He nods and a piece of the dark hair that’s a bit untidy falls over his brow. He sees you swallow thickly. How lovely your throat is.

“So I gotta get back. I’ll see you around.”

Oh, indeed you will, he thinks.

***

It’s Thursday. It’s pouring outside and the mall is crowded, people driven to find activities indoors. The pizzeria would have been very busy on a day like today, if it was still open.

He wanders the dusty rooms. Brushes fingers over the joysticks and buttons on the arcade cabinets. Draws back the stage curtains to view the animatronics frozen in place, waiting patiently for a future peformance. He’ll wake them again, when the time is right. He returns to the security office and surveys the monitors. There are intruders on occasion, but they’re rare, as the restaurant is actually concealed behind a wall, its existence forgotten. Those that do happen to stumble into it, well. They don’t live to tell the tale. So it remains hidden, secret. Like his real identity as the former owner of the establishment, William Afton.

He eases back into the office chair and it creaks loudly in the stillness. He can spare a few more moments before he returns to his actual job patrolling the shopping mall. How tedious it is. Assisting customers when they’ve locked themselves out of their cars. Giving directions, usually to the restroom even though there are mall directories everywhere. The occasional shoplifter. Reuniting lost children with their parents. That last task was especially difficult to keep a straight face during. It’s a waiting game, something to do to fill the in between times, until he can begin the work again. At least it gives him an alibi, an excuse to be near his old restaurant.

He’s thirsty.

The soda vending machines are empty, of course, the supplies of the franchise’s stock long depleted. No more Freddy Fazbear’s Fizzy Cola or Bonnie’s Bodacious Orange Blast. He’ll need to get something from one of the vendors in the food court. Perhaps you’ll go with him, pay him back as it were.

He has found you coming into his mind all week.

He’d seen you a few times during his patrol. Paused to watch you refold sweaters and organize pants hanging on a rack when he thinks you’re unaware. Sometimes he waits for you to notice and he waves and smiles. A softer gesture, no teeth. You wave uncertainly back.

The wheels drag across the floor as Miller pushes back from the desk and rises to his feet. It’s time to leave his beloved pizzeria. For now.

***

You’re in high school. Senior year. Eighteen, an only child. Parents divorced. You’ve just purchased your first car. Want to study Archaeology, specialize in Egyptology.

You’re babbling, alternating between nibbling on a chocolate bar and sipping lemon lime soda. Dave patiently listens to the prattling. He likes the way your glossed lips look wrapped around the straw, the suction you apply. He takes a sample of his own cherry soda and leans back. The metal cafe chairs in the food court aren’t the most comfortable, especially since his legs are so long, his six foot four frame cramped. But he’ll endure it, and gladly. The chatter and the discomfort pale in comparison to what he wants to take from you.

“How long have you worked here?” You ask him, taking another bite of milk chocolate.

“Two years, nearly.”

“What’s the most interesting thing that’s happened? Like, did you ever have to call the police or anything?”

“There are the occasional shoplifters. Nothing dramatic.” The security guard takes another pull from his drink.

You look a little disappointed. “Oh, okay.” The candy wrapper is empty. He can hear the ice rattling around in the nearly empty cup. Your time together seems to be running short. “Well, I gotta get back. It was nice talking to you.”

“Likewise. I appreciate the beverage.” He finishes his drink and dumps it into the trash bin nearby.

Dave accompanies you back to the clothing store. There’s no reason for it. You don’t need an escort or a guide. But it’s an excuse to be by your side a little longer. You’re wearing a different body spray today but this scent is equally as appealing. Vanilla. Warm and sugary.

“Have a good rest of your shift,” you say, stepping back into the store you’re employed at. Dave watches your thread your way between the shelves and the racks and he thinks he’s going to bring you into the darkness of the pizzeria very soon.

***

The following Sunday. Sunny, mild, the perfect spring day. The mall is less crowded, customers seeking the good weather outdoors.

Dave braves the music and enters the clothing store you work at. You’re leaning against the counter. He’s watched you wipe down the same clean space five times in as many minutes. Keep glancing at the clock, eager for the shift to end. You’re clearly bored.

The security guard joins you at the counter and leans. Narrow hips much higher next to your curves. Arms folded over a gray shirt with black epaulets. Long and lean. The heavy ring of keys jangling when he shifts positions.

“Is it me, or is today incredibly dull?”

“Oh my gosh, yes,” you agree immediately.

“What time do you get off?”

“Two.”

“I’ve got something to show you.”

The phrasing throws you off. He can feel you stiffen a bit beside him, your breath catching.

“I’ve found an old arcade walled up at the other end of the mall. Thought maybe you’d like to go explore. It looks pretty interesting.”

“Oh!” You exclaim. He feels the tension ease in your limbs. Back to trusting again. “That’s kind of neat.”

“Don’t tell anyone about it, okay? I don’t want people to find out. It’s just our little secret.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll come back at two to get you.” He pushes off from the counter, raking a hand through the dark locks that are just a touch too long.

“Okay.” You sound a bit uncertain. But the deal has been struck. It doesn’t matter if you’re a bit wary.

He’s got you right where he wants you.

***

Dave Miller doesn’t really need the flashlight.

He knows his restaurant by heart, of course; knows the placement of every machine and table and chair and counter. But he has to illuminate the path, for your sake.

You follow close behind him. He has a habit of stopping abruptly and you collide against his spine more than once. You don’t see his feral grin.

He beams the light around so you can see the remains of the pizzeria’s glory: the claw machines and the pinball cases, the partially stocked prize counters and the arcade cabinets.

“What’s behind the curtains?” He sees you looking curiously at the stage.

“Animatronics.”

“Like Chuck E. Cheese?”

Miller scowls. “A superior version. They copied Freddy Fazbear’s.”

“It’s a shame there’s no electricity. I would totally give some of these games a try.”

“Oh, there is. I just have to hit the switch. It’s way in the back near the offices. Are you going to come with me or stay here?”

He sees you hesitate. Perhaps reluctant to stay alone in the dark. Perhaps some sense of self preservation is finally kicking in, making you wary of following a virtual stranger more than two decades older into the recesses of an abandoned restaurant. No one knows you’re here. Anything could happen.

“I’ll come with you.”

Dave grins. “Follow me.”

#william afton x you #william afton x reader #dave miller x reader #dave miller x you #william afton #dave miller #fnaf fanfic

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septembersums · 2 years

Text

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 9 | 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

pairing: toji fushiguro x reader

summary: you've never met your mysterious sugar daddy, but you know that you're lucky to have found one who's so fucking hot. he's dangerous, but you like dangerous-- you like him.

or...

toji decides it's the perfect day to pay his pretty baby a visit. he's waited more than long enough to fuck her.

an:: there's a part 1 to this fic, but feel free to read it as a standalone ;)

Things got more serious with your anonymous subscriber after that night, more personal, more intimate. Whereas before, he'd drop into your stream once a week to give you some cash and some compliments, it was impersonal and distant.

Now, you're talking throughout the day every day, and more at night.

Giving him your phone number might've been a mistake, given your line of work and the amount of money that he has, but he has this irresistible charm about him that you can't seem to shake yourself from thinking about.

There's also this sense of danger that you get from him that's equal parts terrifying and exciting all at once. He doesn't tell you what he does for a living, and you're afraid to ask.

That's not to mention... The money. You're not naive enough to think that someone has that much disposable income without doing some shady shit to get it.

It's enough that you're looking at new apartments, enough that you're buying yourself expensive jewelry on a regular basis, enough that you're carrying a versace handbag now, and you don't even have to worry about the price.

You find yourself getting so comfortable with him that you almost don't worry about being frugal anymore.

And he doesn't ask for much in return for being your glorified sugar daddy, all he wants is the ability to see your body whenever he asks. If he asks to see your tits at work, by all means you run off into the dressing room and show off for him.

Even though he's seen every part of your body already on your streams, he still wants more from you. You accused him of being greedy once or twice as a tease, and he wholeheartedly agreed.

He is greedy, he wants it all.

A couple months pass, and you learn things about him that you never thought you would. For instance, he's thirty-five, a bit older than you (a little over ten years older, to be precise).

Sometimes he sends you pictures of himself, but only from the lower half of his face down. He's usually smoking a cigarette, showing off his scarred chest and abdominal muscles.

There's a scar that runs perpendicular with his face, through the right side of his pretty lips, moving down his chin. You subconsciously find yourself looking for people who have that matching scar when you're walking down the street, but to no avail.

His abs are so well defined that you can imagine how they'd feel under your tongue. He's muscular and tall, vascular everywhere, but especially right around his happy trail.

Your sixth sense was so right, he's hot, hotter than he could've been in your wildest dreams.

He's got veins and ridges that lead toward his cock that you'd love nothing more than to run the flat side of your tongue along, before moving lower and sucking his--

The bell at the front door rings, letting you know that someone's walked into the shop. You shake the unholy thoughts away, straightening out your shirt before you greet them.

"Hi, welcome in to..." your voice trails off, your eyes widen, you shake your head and finish your greeting quickly, telling him your name and asking if he's looking for anything in particular.

He's tall with black hair and thin, green eyes. He's wearing a black face mask, but his eyes crinkle up like he's smiling when he sees you. He's wearing a black sweater, black pants, and combat boots. The only colorful thing in his ensemble are those mesmerizing emerald eyes of his.

You must've been hit with a random wave of deja vu when you saw him, because you could swear that he's familiar...

"Nah, I'm just looking around. Thanks, baby," he says with a friendly gaze, or at least you think it is...?

The mask hides the majority of his features-- most importantly, it hides his mouth, which is the part of him that you're most interested in seeing right now.

But it can't be him. If it were, that would either be one hell of a coincidence, or a terrifying breech of boundaries that you'd rather not think about.

"Alright," you answer, trying to sound chipper, "just let me know if you need help finding anything."

He looks around for a minute, and you realize how incredibly alone you are in this store right now. You're the only one working today, after all. It's a small boutique, it's not rare for you to be the only person here.

But now it's just you, and this mysterious, large man who's wandering through the aisles and sneaking cheeky glances at you when he notices you're staring at him.

He catches you staring for the third time since he's walked in, you mutter a "shit," to yourself, as you turn around and try to make yourself look busy.

In reality, you're just pretending to fold thongs that don't need to be folded and biting your cheek like it's going to be your last meal.

"Actually, I might need your help after all," he purrs, now standing behind you and startling you.

"Shit-- I mean, sure! Of course. What-- uh-- what are you looking for?"

You curse yourself for stammering, but dear god he's so large and intimidating. When he's standing right in front of you, you can clearly see that your head is about level with his pectoral muscle. He must be a foot taller than you, and so broad that he blocks the warm, sensual overhead lighting.

He looks around at the aisles and displays that are filled with nothing other than bras, panties, bodysuits, and thongs, and he comes to his decision.

"Lingerie, I guess."

You mentally slap yourself. Well, duh, of course he's looking for lingerie in a lingerie shop.

"Sure, yeah, of course," you mutter, coming around the counter to help him out, "is there a style or a color you're looking for?"

As you move through the different sections sort of hastily and nervously, he leisurely strides behind you, seeming to take pleasure in how nervous you are.

"What do you like?" He asks. His voice is sweet and smooth like molasses on your tongue.

"I... like all of it," you answer diplomatically, "because I work here, of course. These in particular have been popular this month," you state, guiding him towards the newest and most expensive bodysuits.

"Black lace with intricate patterns to accentuate your curves. They're elegant, sexy, and... crotchless," the last word comes out accidentally, but the man chuckles regardless.

"Hmm," he hums, leaning over your shoulder to look at the fabric in your hands, "and why would they be crotchless?"

He smells like dior, you think, but there's a hint of cigarette smoke overtop of it.

Oh, fuck.

"You... can't think of a reason?" You ask, testing the waters a little playfully.

"I can think of several," he replies, "but I wanna hear you say it."

His arm slips around you, and you watch with baited breath as his larger hand encloses yours. And you know these hands-- you know the vein that pops out on this thumb, you know these deeply scarred knuckles.

"For fucking," you reply softly, as his other hand wraps around your waist, pulling your back tightly against his chest, "it's made like this so that you can get fucked when you're wearing it, without having to take it off."

There's a rumble in his chest sort of like a growl, as he runs his nose along the junction where your shoulder and neck meet, inhaling your scent deeply.

"You shouldn't have come here, Toji," you mutter quietly, as his hot breath sends shivers crawling up the length of your spine, settling on the back of your neck.

"Mm, you're right," he hums against the side of your neck, having pulled his mask down at some point while you weren't paying attention, "and I shouldn't have locked the door behind me when I walked in, either."

"You did that?"

You hadn't even noticed-- too busy trying to figure out if he was who you were hoping him to be, but he locked the door and turned the sign around to closed.

"Mhm," he purrs, pressing a featherlight kiss to your pulse, "go try this on for me, baby."

"What if I don't want to?" You ask indignantly, trying to hold onto some semblance of self-respect before you inevitably fuck this man at your workplace.

"Oh, you don't want to?" He laughs against your earlobe.

A scarred hand moves lower, thrusting itself into your panties. You gasp, your knees threaten to buckle, as he toys with the wetness that's pooling in your underwear.

"You say that," he mutters huskily, "but your body tells me you're lying. Look at you, creaming all over my fingers like a whore."

"Fuck, Toji," you moan, pressing your face against his neck, "don't stop."

He's a bad listener, because he stops right as you say that, retracting his fingers from inside of you. He turns you around, thrusting his slick-covered fingers into your mouth.

You suck on them diligently, running your tongue along his fingers and between them, giving him lovestruck, wide-eyed stare as you do so.

"Fuck, you're hot," he hisses impatiently, as he grabs your waist and crushes his lips to yours.

His kiss is deep and fierce, your tongue laves over the scar on his lips, he moans when you do so. He licks your tongue and explores your mouth, sharing the taste of your cum between the two of you.

When he pulls back, there's a string of spit between your kiss-swollen lips, and his hands are gripping both of your asscheeks aggressively.

"Go put on something sexy for me," he demands, slapping your ass hard with one of his big hands before pushing you away from him and towards the dressing room.

You resist the urge to giggle at the absurdity of it all, as you finish fastening the straps of the lace bodysuit you chose for yourself, crotchless of course.

When you step out from behind the curtain wearing nothing but lingerie, thigh-high stockings, and the heels you just so happened to choose today, Toji practically growls at the sight of you. The sound that escapes him is nothing less than animalistic.

"Fuck, I've wanted you for so long now," he rasps, as you approach him, "get on your fuckin' knees for me."

He's sitting on a seat right in front of the big mirrors at the end of the hallway, waiting for you with his legs spread and a salacious grin on his face. You listen to his command, lowering yourself down to your knees in front of him.

"May I?" You ask, running your hands along the tops of his thighs, moving towards his belt.

He puts his hand on your wrist right before you reach his belt-buckle, grinning at you somewhat mischievously. You scrunch your brows up in question, as he reaches down and removes a fucking gun from his waistband.

"Were you expecting things to go badly today?" You ask, trying to lighten your own momentary panic with a joke.

"Not with you, baby,” he purrs, watching your eyes follow the gun with intrigue as he holds it in his big hands, "wanna touch it?"

"What's it for?" You ask, running your fingertip along the smooth metal barrel luxuriously.

Toji smirks down at you, "What do you think?"

It's the danger about him-- that's what gets you every fucking time. The feeling in your stomach where you know that you should run in the opposite direction, far, far away from this man, but you don't want to.

“Is it loaded?”

“Always.”

You watch his movements, making sure his finger stays away from the trigger, as you turn the barrel towards yourself. You're dripping slick onto the stone flooring beneath you, as you run your tongue along the side of the gun seductively, holding eye contact with him.

"God, baby," he groans, "you're fucking crazy, huh?"

Instead of answering, you kiss the tip, before sucking it into your mouth. Your lipstick smears along the barrel, just like it does on those sex toys you suck for him.

"So fucking hot," he breathes, "you trust me that much, baby? I could kill you right now."

You groan along the barrel, before slipping it out of your mouth, watching the string of saliva link your lips to the glistening metal.

"You won't kill me," you reply, reaching underneath his arms to unzip his pants, "I trust you... At least enough to let me suck you off first.”

"Mm, fuck, you might be right about that," he groans, as you free his cock from his briefs.

It’s bigger than even the pictures made it seem. Thick and pretty with a few prominent veins running along either side.

You slide your tongue along his length, moving from the tip to the balls in wet strokes, before sucking the head into your mouth. You bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks so that your mouth suctions around his cock perfectly.

He moans, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing you to take it deeper, all the way down to the base. He's groaning with every bob of your head, all the saliva that's dripping down his length.

"Fuck, that's it," the growls, "that's it-- deeper-- relax your fuckin' throat, just like that. Just like that."

Tears stream down your cheeks, as you take his as deep as he can possibly go, and he fucks up into your mouth like he'll die if he doesn't fit as much cock as he can into you at once.

"Goddamn, baby, fuck that's good," he growls, before using his grip in your hair to pull you off of him entirely. His hand grips the base of his cock, holding it tight so he doesn't cum on your face.

He's panting now, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his cock is leaking precum.

"Ride me right fucking now," he orders, pulling you up onto his lap, "as much as I wanna cum on your pretty face, I need to feel this pussy for myself."

You're already dripping when he reaches between your thighs to massage your cunt, shoving two fingers inside of you a little aggressively. You bounce up and down on top of them, bracing your hands on his shoulders.

"Look," he grunts, grasping your jawline with two fingers, forcing you to turn your head around and look at your reflection, "watch."

In the mirrors, you can see his thick cock pulsing against your entrance, you can see yourself straddling his lap, your asscheeks spread apart by his hands. You can see the cum dripping from your hole down onto the tip of his cock, so wet and ready for him to fuck you.

And then he grabs your waist, impaling your smaller body onto the thick length of him. You watch it enter you, inch by inch, thicker and wider than any toy you have. He hits your cervix when he's fully sheathed inside-- you can feel it.

"Your pussy is so tight," he groans, bouncing you up and down on his wet cock, "so fucking tight-- so fucking good-- even better than I imagined it when I was fucking my fist to those videos of you."

"Fuck, Toji-- Fuck-- Fuck--" You're moaning and falling apart already. The tears on your cheeks haven't even dried yet, and he's breaking you in half with this monstrous third leg of his.

He touches you everywhere, but he gropes your ass the most, holding your asscheeks apart so that he watch himself impaling your cunt with every bounce of your body.

He likes seeing how much he stretches your pussy out when he drives himself into you, he likes watching your face contort with pleasure like it does every other night, he likes watching your tits bounce and inevitably fall out of that bodysuit.

When you cum on him, it's a gush and a cry of his name, and he fucks you through it like a man fresh out of prison, a man fresh out of hell. He kisses you deeply, searching the inside of your mouth like there's gold inside of you that he'll fuck out if he tries hard enough.

He massages your clit, he bounces you along the length of his cock until your legs shake, and you're gushing and creaming around him again, and again.

He won't last much longer, he's soaked in you and biting down on your neck while you wrap your arms around his, boneless and just taking whatever he gives you. He's panting and growling against your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.

"Gonna cum, baby-- fuck, i'm gonna cum," he moans, "where do you want it? Hm?"

But no, it doesn't matter where you want it. It matters where he wants it, and he's already pulling you off of his cock, back down to your knees again, shoving himself into your mouth.

You take him willingly, desperately, staring up at him with hollowed cheeks while he bucks into your mouth only three times before gripping your head with both hands and cumming down your throat. You gulp and swallow, as he fucks his release onto your tongue.

"That's it, fucking swallow it for me-- yes, yes, yes, take it-- take it-- fuck--" he growls, watching some of it dribble out of your nose when you pull away.

Panting for air, he takes a look at you in the mirror, on your knees before him. The lighting in the dressing room is immaculate, so maybe that's why he sees a little bit of his own cum leaking out of your pussy onto the black floor beneath you.

You're cleaning him up with your mouth, as he gazes down at you affectionately.

Oh, well, doesn't really matter if he didn't pull out in time. He was always going to make you his. If something happens... well, that's just more incentive for you to say yes.

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avatar-anna · 2 years

Note

for professor and h maybe like a bad pap expirence

The Professor Series

Harry Styles and Girlfriend Spotted on Secret Getaway

Singing sensation Harry Styles and his long time girlfriend Y/n L/n were caught sharing a rather intimate snuggle this weekend.

A photo of the usually reserved couple on their vacation in Bali, Indonesia.

While remaining mostly out of the public eye, Styles and L/n made their first public appearance together years ago at the 2022 Venice Film Festival, where Styles was debuting his film, Don't Worry Darling. Since then, questions have circulated, though no one has ever been sure when the couple began seeing each other, or how long they've been dating for.

One thing is clear, however: the couple is very much in love.

This weekend, Styles and L/n were spotted together on vacation in Bali. Photos of the couple doing more than just innocently holding hands began circulating a few days after they were said to have arrived.

Styles and L/n sharing a sunset kiss in the ocean!

Y/n L/n, or Dr. L/n, as her fans on social media call her, is known for her educational videos online and quirky personality, but it seems that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to the Cambridge University professor (And thank goodness for that! Many often wondered how a woman like Dr. L/n garnered the affection of someone as sexually liberal as Styles).

“They were all over each other. I’m pretty sure they were on their honeymoon or something like that,” a source tells us.

Now we can’t confirm or deny rumors of possible wedding bells, but the source also said they saw rings on a very particular finger, so one can only assume!

Subscribe for more details about the world’s steamiest couple and photos of their getaway in Bali!

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

You found Harry in his home gym, his hands wrapped as he repeatedly slammed his fists into a punching bag. Walking up to him, you waited for him to finish his last round so you could talk. Except he didn’t stop. Harry just kept punching, the same furious look on his face as the punching bag swung around from the force of each hit. You could almost picture the face he was imagining every time his fist swung back.

Hesitantly, you said, “Harry? Love?”

He stopped at the sound of your voice, his chest heaving. “What?” he asked, looking over at you harshly. When he saw your widened eyes, the anger was immediately wiped from his face. “Fuck, I—I’m sorry, darling. That wasn’t—I’m not angry with—”

“I know. I was coming to check on you, but I suppose I have my answer now,” you said, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. He’d been so quiet the last couple of days. You’d given him his space to work things out on his own, but you decided it was time to talk. Despite the sweat, you reached forward to cup his face. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“You wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for me,” he said, not looking you in the eye. His voice was harsh, but you knew he wasn’t angry at you. He was angry with himself, but you didn’t want him to be. “The photographer I hired leaked our photos, even the ones we sent him to be developed, and now everyone knows—”

“Everyone knows what? That we have sex? We’re adults, Harry. That shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.”

Harry’s brows furrowed as he scanned your face. “You’re taking all of this surprisingly well.”

You shrugged, trying to appear like you didn’t care, but on the inside, you were freaking out. This was not at all what you were expecting when you and Harry went on vacation.

What the article said about you was humiliating, to say the least, and the way those photographs were leaked to the public when they were only ever supposed to be seen by yourself and Harry and the photographer was completely violating. The way the article hoped to perceive your relationship with Harry was out of line and unnecessary. Why did people feel the need to comment on things they knew nothing about?

You and Harry hadn’t even been on your honeymoon, not even close, but now everyone would think so, and everyone and their mother would bombard you with questions, thinking they somehow had a right to information that didn’t pertain to them. No one should ever have been subjected to what Harry went through as a celebrity. He was constantly being questioned about his personal life, despite saying that he preferred to keep his private life private over and over and over again. But he couldn’t escape it, not even in a remote place like Bali.

Harry decided that the two of you needed to get away from everything. There had been a lot of people following you around recently, and when he noticed that you were becoming anxious about leaving the house and going out on dates, he thought it would be a good idea to take you away from all the craziness, at least for a little while. A vacation was just the thing the two of you needed, so you found the most remote place you could go. But apparently that wasn’t enough.

Obviously you were upset, but so often Harry was the one to comfort you in these situations. You wanted to be the source of comfort for once, the one to coax Harry out of his negative emotions. So you set aside your feelings for a moment to help him understand that he wasn’t responsible for what happened.

Harry hired a photographer to capture a few moments of the two of you together. It wasn’t something he normally did, but he knew that this trip was going to be special, so he wanted to memorialize it. It shouldn’t have led to this.

Taking your hand in his, he kissed your knuckle where a ring now sat. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. I would understand if this life isn’t what you want. If I’m not what you—”

You leaned up and kissed him before he could continue. “I. Love. You. I don’t want to be with anyone else. That’s why I said yes.”

Harry grinned, the first one you’d seen in the last couple of days. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “And besides, while you were down here being all angry and punchy, I was working on suing the photographer. And the publication that posted that stupid article.”

Harry surprised you by lifting you up, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. “That’s my girl. My fiance.”

You laughed as he peppered your face and neck with kisses. “I can’t believe I said yes. Especially since marriage is merely a social construct that was originally used to—”

Harry cut you off by kissing your lips, his feet slowly shuffling the two of you out of the gym before you could talk yourself out of your decision.

The next day, you and Harry were about to go out to lunch, bundled up as much as possible to keep from being recognized. Before you left, though, you switched your ring onto your right hand. “That’s just for us,” you said, kissing his cheek. “They can have everything else, but not this.”

It was safe to say you didn’t make your lunch reservation.

#harry styles #harry styles x professor yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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hanmasghost · 2 years

Note

Haitani with older brother? If it is very possible, then he is very unperturbed and, in principle, not emotional? If not, then just big brother will be fine.

Congratulations on 400 subscribers! 💞

“Eldest Haitani”

400 Special

PT.2 Here

Authors Note:

A a a a! Thanks for participating!

Pronouns: He/Him

Warning(s): only Rindō because I said so :] Sorry if I made reader a little more socially awkward than anything^^;

HCs

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

❥ He majorly respects you

- Like, you deal with Ran and his bullshit 99% of the time

❥ Tried forcing you into gang stuff

- More like begging than forcing

- It was Ran’s idea

❥ Lowkey wishes you would tuck him into bed like when he was little

- They were very good memories

❥ You dyed his hair

- Both in the past and bonten

❥ Lowkey scared of you because of your serious like nature

❥ Bitch can’t bring you anywhere without people thinking you’re scary or someone high up

❥ You gave the twins their godly taste in clothing

⌦ .｡.:*♡

Rindō sighed as he walked into your studio. You had isolated yourself in the gigantic flat again. Just you and your paintings. But you had a meeting with his boss today, and you were late. Mikey didn’t like when people were late.

“{Reader}! Where are you?!”

He shouted slightly, knowing his voice would echo off the walls and the huge paintings scattered across the room.

“You needed me?” Rindō jumped to the sound of your voice as he turned around hastily.

“Jesus! Do you always have to do that?! God..” Rindō sighed breathlessly as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as they had slid down when he jumped slightly.

{Reader} shrugged as he pushed his own glasses up.

Walking past his youngest brother he walks over to a 60x90 canvas, Rindō following shortly after.

“What are you painting?” Rindō asked as he looked over your shoulder, analyzing the piece of work you had probably spent hours on. Looking at it, it was a half finished painting of a person with eyes the colour of coal and short black hair, and god… whoever it was, they were gorgeous. Your painting making the person seem like some kind of angel.

“Currently?.. Nothing.” {Reader} said as he looked at his [left]/[right] hand resting by his side and back to his brother. “Why are you here?”

Rindō rolled his eyes, “alright Mr. Captin Obvious, don’t tell me, and I’m here to pick you up, our boss wanted to meet you remember?”

“Not really no.”

“I- goddamnit. Manjiro Sano? Gang leader? Ring any bells?”

{Reader} stayed silent as he fiddled with his paint brush, softly swiping it against his overalls pant leg.

Rindō rubbed his temples in frustration.

“You literally met him the other day big bro!”

“Did I?”

“Yes! He said he was impressed by your work and wanted to have you paint some stuff for him! How can you not remember?”

“Well he’s supposed to set up an appointment- and tell me what he wants and a time and date for when he wants it done, then we can plan a time for when he can get the painting and there’s so much more to it than that-“ Rindō placed his hands on your upper arms, grabbing them, and shaking you slightly.

“He wanted to meet you today so he could do those things {Reader}.”

With a soft ‘oh’ {Reader} nodded.

“So you’ll go to meet my boss now?”

“Yes.”

Rindō smiled slightly and grabbed your free hand, walking you, more like dragging you, towards the door.

“You’re tense, chill out yeah?”

“I’m not tense.” You said as you climbed into the passenger seat of Rindō’s car.

Rindō gave you a ‘uh huh’ and rolled his eyes as he drove away from your art studio, making small talk and picking on you for being so serious and professional the whole way to meet his boss. You, just going along with it to entertain your younger brother.

#tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers x reader #x male reader #tokyo rev x reader #rindou x male reader #rindou haitani x reader #rindou x reader #tokyo rev x male reader

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eoieopda · 10 months

Text

menace (pjm) — pt. iv

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 4/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Rating: M (18+) Word Count: 6k Summary: Every villain has an origin story. This is yours. AUs: Older brother’s best friend; fuck buddies that hate each other CW: Reader is AFAB & queer; sort of an omniscient POV?; angst; very self-indulgent reference to Foresight (can you spot it? 👀); and — oh, hey! some of the other tannie boys are here. A/N: We love a flashback moment :') This takes place about a year prior to the first part, fyi. Major thanks to @ressjeon & @mimikookie for fireman carrying me out of a plot spiral 💕 ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

Jeon Jungkook was half-asleep with his face propped up a slack fist when you came through the front door of the book shop like a wrecking ball in a peacoat.

The chime of the bell above the door was no match for the way you sang out to him, and neither were his unsuspecting ears. He snapped to attention so suddenly that he knocked a pile of first editions clear off the counter. He didn’t even try to catch them as they hurtled towards the floor; they’d join the other casualties he’d dropped half an hour earlier.

Namjoon could kill him for his carelessness later, if he was so inclined. Jungkook just hoped that Namjoon remembered he was helping for free — and not at all because losing a bet meant assisting his senior in preparing the soft-launch of his business. Forced altruism should result in him being cut a bit of slack, he’d decided.

“Guess what?”

The last word of your question was held like a whole note as you walked — skipped, rather — towards him. Your giddy smile was starkly contrasted by the muted, wool coat that fluttered limply as you moved. Eyeing the counter, now free of any obstacles, you hopped onto it and sat cross-legged. When Jungkook was too stunned by your sudden energy to respond, you raised your eyebrow expectantly.

Hoseok’s head poked out from the back room. Unlike Jungkook, Hoseok was present and accounted for simply because he was a good person. He wiggled his eyebrows as he asked, “Did it finally happen?”

Since you’d met him earlier that year, Hoseok had wholeheartedly subscribed to this new chapter of your love life. He’d gotten bored of your decidedly unremarkable ex-boyfriend from a few months back, and now eagerly awaited any updates that followed your break-up. You couldn’t blame him because you seemed to be hooked on the plot, too.

Jungkook was lost, but that was news to no one. Hoseok dropped the name of the unknown subject like a bomb, and now his ears were ringing. His eyes widened far enough that he feared they’d fall right out of his skull.

Before you could answer Hoseok’s initial question, Jungkook interjected, “Park Jimin? You’re joking, right?”

Dumbstruck, he glanced between you and Hoseok, like blinking rapidly enough would make his brain process the information any faster. Like repeating himself will make what he said true — what Hoseok said impossible.

“This is a joke?”

Jungkook’s expression might’ve looked firm, but his statement was far from declaratory. The unintentional, upwards inflection at the tail end of his sentence came across as judgmental as it was disbelieving. It sounded a lot like, Are you stupid?

You shrugged. Either you didn’t want to answer in earnest, or you didn’t know how to.

And yes, Jungkook did think you were being an idiot. He wasn’t necessarily wrong for looking at you that way, nudging you back towards reality. But maybe he should’ve given you a five-minute head start before he swallowed your joy whole and shat it back out. So, he swallowed the rest of his words instead.

Hoseok emerged from the back and crossed over to you and Jungkook. Once he did, he flicked the side of the youngest’s skull with a painted — albeit chipped — fingernail. Jungkook accepted it, knowing he deserved it, and he only grunted a little bit in response.

“I’m always shocked not to hear an echo when I do that, Jungkookie.” Hoseok shot you a smirk, and then immediately stuck his tongue out at Jungkook, who was glowering at him. He pressed on, “If you utilized that brain to its full potential, you’d have learned a long time ago that the heart wants what it wants.”

Ah, there’s that hopelessly romantic enabler. It was no longer any wonder why you’d swung by the shop, which was a significant distance outside the bounds of your usual commute home from your office.

“I’m just saying —” Jungkook raised his hands defensively before swatting at Hoseok, who tugged playfully at Jungkook’s ear.

The elder danced out of the younger's line of fire with a whoop. Jungkook rolled his eyes and swallowed the frustrated grumble building up in his throat.

“— That maybe getting involved with Seokjin-hyung’s best friend is a truly garbage-tier idea. Am I not allowed to point that out?”

You and Hoseok blinked back at him, then simultaneously, you both scoffed, “No.”

Hoseok smiled and scratched at your shoulder in a silent show of support before returning to whatever task he’d been working on when you came in. Jungkook was left deflated where he sat. The two of you joining forces against him had popped him like a balloon. Poor baby, the voice in his head said, sounding a lot like you.

His tone softened, and his eyes crinkled into his best attempt at a smile. He caved, as usual. “Got a hot date tonight, then, noona?”

In lieu of a verbal response, you nodded furiously, beaming. He reached up and squeezed your knee as it bounced excitedly within centimeters of his face. Then, without commenting further, he bent over to re-categorize the same novels he’d alphabetized four times already that morning.

“You’re supposed to ask for details!” Hoseok’s voice called out from the other room. “Honestly, Jungkook-ah, you need to get better at having female friends!”

With an arm full of books, Jungkook sank back down onto the wooden stool he’d previously occupied. Truly, he didn’t know why he expected anyone to ever let him live.

“I’m asking for details,” He rolled his eyes and yelled over his shoulder. When he turned back around, you were trying not to giggle. “So, uh, how the hell did this come about?”

You leaned forward and landed a smack on his shoulder, which, for the record, Jungkook did not enjoy. He didn’t enjoy what he knew of Jimin’s reputation, either.

“Could you at least try to give him a chance?” You pleaded, hands clasped in front of you in prayer. “You don’t even know him, Jungkook.”

You were right. Jungkook had never actually interacted with Jimin directly, certainly didn’t have the history with him that you did, but he’d heard a lot about him. The information itself painted a bad enough picture, but it got worse when he considered his source.

Sources, plural.

The backstory came to him through hook-ups of his that, unbeknownst to Jungkook at the outset, were rebounding off of Jimin’s rejection. Park was patient zero, Jungkook’s study had concluded, and for reasons still unknown to the younger man, Jimin left everyone in worse shape than he found them.

Don’t get him wrong, though. The unhealed part of Jungkook was at least a little grateful for the influx of needy, emotionally unavailable girls in his orbit. He was fine batting clean-up, so long as no one stuck around to call him oppa the next day.

The rest of him — the evolved part — was wary, especially when it came to you. Jungkook was a few months’ younger than you and nowhere near the helicopter sibling that your actual brother was, but he still felt protective of you. Still feared what damage Jimin could do, intentionally or otherwise; and the way your brother would make it worse.

Jungkook pulled a face that said he wasn’t likely to buy whatever you attempted to sell him. Still, he did what good dongsaengs are supposed to do: kept his fucking mouth shut and listened.

That clearly wasn’t your specialty, but hey, at least you were endearing.

“He’s sweet, Jungkookie,” you defended. “Honestly, I think my parents like him more than me and Seokjin combined.”

For a second, you smiled sheepishly. Then, you quieted for even longer. When you picked up again, your brows furrowed; and Jungkook could tell by the tone of your voice how deeply you had to dig to say any of the things you were.

They came out heavy, dropped with a thud between you like all the obscure, antique shit he’d knocked over so far that day.

“I’ve always felt like a shadow around Seokjin, you know? Everyone looks right past me; they always have. Teachers did, friends did, our parents still do.” You looked down at the fingers that fidgeted in your lap. “Jimin’s never been like that. When he’s around, I know I’m not just cellophane.”

Jungkook was well-accustomed to the way you romanticized people, like they were figures of your life’s mythology and not simply assholes off the street. That was one of the things he admired most about you, and hoped to be a little better at himself. It’s also why he continued to bite his tongue when you said:

“I have a really good feeling about this one, Jungkook.”

There was no point in arguing with you when you looked like that, all starry-eyed and hopeful. So, Jungkook demurred, “At least tell me he’s taking you somewhere nice. If you say you’re going to that dumpster bar —”

Hoseok unhelpfully interjected, “Oh, Yang Daehyun’s place? I think that’s where Yoongi-hyung met —”

“I will barf right on this counter,” Jungkook finished, punctuating his warning by rapping his knuckles against the wood below.

Jimin was pacing.

He stopped knowing what to do with his hands a few hundred steps ago, so he gave up and shoved them into the back pockets of his jeans. As he circled, he shot Taehyung a panicked look that went nowhere fast. Whatever Webtoon he was reading was, apparently, far more important than his friend’s mental health and well-being.

Even without a captive audience, Jimin couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been on a thousand dates —”

Taehyung interjected with a roll of his eyes, “That’s an egregious mischaracterization.”

Jimin pulled one hand out of his pocket and held it up, silently begging his friend to save the slut-shaming for later. Though the tone of his voice indicated that he was getting there, Taehyung still wasn’t annoyed enough to pull his eyes off the screen of his phone. He missed Jimin’s plea entirely, stayed unbothered.

Still pacing, Jimin rambled, “And I’ve never gotten nervous. I’ve had to make speeches at massive conferences —”

For the first time, Taehyung glanced up over the top of his phone. A shit-eating grin tugged at his mouth. With a flexed eyebrow, his words nudged Jimin right in the ribs. “Remind me again how wearing a suit and getting day-drunk in a hotel ballroom is a conference?”

Jimin’s raised hand folded so that his middle finger was on full display. He didn’t stop his movements, though, insistent on soliloquizing despite the interruption: “— and none of that shit has ever bothered me, but now my fucking palms are sweating, and I don’t know how to —”

With a put-upon sigh, Taehyung poured himself from the couch to his feet and stood directly in Jimin’s well-worn path. Assuming his typecast role as obstacle, he gripped Jimin’s shoulders and — without any resistance, whatsoever — backed his friend towards the couch.

“You’re giving me anxiety,” He scolded, earning a disgruntled sigh from Jimin as he forced him to sit. “You wanted my attention; now, you have it. Just — give the pedometer a fucking rest, and listen, alright?”

It was microscopic, but Jimin’s nod in response was enough of a green light for Taehyung. The former knew the latter was no good at pep talks, and yet, there they both were. Taehyung had to wonder if it was too early for a stiff drink.

“Mechanically, it’s simple. You’ve done the hard part in asking this girl out,” Taehyung conceded calmly. Then, he cracked wide open; he couldn’t help it. He snorted, “Which — I’m sorry — is still wild to me. I didn’t even know you knew how to do that, for real. Did you get body-snatched or something? Who the fuck are you?”

He almost dodged the hand that flew out to smack him.

“Jesus — okay! Don’t blame me for leaving Monogamous Jimin off my bingo card.” Taehyung threw his hands up, signaling a ceasefire. “Just go, buy her dinner, and make googly eyes at her. This is not a crisis.”

This gave Jimin pause. His brows furrowed as he chewed his cheek, working to digest Taehyung’s words. With an uncharacteristically small voice, he eventually asked, “What if she doesn’t like the food?”

This was the straw that broke Taehyung’s back. He had to pause for a moment, talk himself out of walking out that fucking door and never coming back. Sure, it was his apartment, but that was irrelevant. If Jimin was intent on being this much of a baby, he could keep it.

“Would this girl have suggested the restaurant if she didn’t?” Taheyung challenged.

He crossed his arms indignantly, waiting on an answer he knew — on some level — he’d never get. Jimin shrunk more with every second that passed in silence.

“Would she have agreed to go anywhere with you if she didn’t want to?” Then, with a smirk, Taehyung amended, “Well, maybe she wouldn’t have if she knew you were going to spiral like this.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Jimin countered meekly. Then, he thought better of it. There was no other way to describe it, and he knew it, as much as he hated it whenever Taehyung proved himself right. “Okay, fine. I’m mildly unzipped, but I walked into a minefield on purpose, so… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything, but his eyebrow raised quizzically.

It was, frankly, impossible to try and keep up with Jimin’s calendar of dick appointments. While Jimin didn’t make it a point to kiss and tell, he didn’t keep secrets, either — not from Taehyung, at least. He normally folded like laundry when pressed.

This time, for whatever reason, he’d kept his mouth shut. It was the most tight-lipped Taehyung had ever seen him be, and that hint was the closest thing to a reveal he’d gotten so far. Which, for the record, was a terrible sign.

A sign of the apocalypse, as far as Taehyung could guess.

Jimin whined and slapped his hands over his face. As he dragged them upwards, he pushed his hair back, paused with his fingers still tangled in his strands. His elbows dug into his thighs while he stared absently at the rug, as if he was waiting for it to swallow him whole.

Oh, so, this is bad bad, huh?

“This is not a thing I want to fuck up. I can’t fuck this up,” he admitted, more to himself than Taehyung. Another beat. “And I know I’m going to. Honestly, I think I already have.”

Jimin looked so beaten down that Taehyung could feel it in his own bones. Lead-laced quiet settled on his shoulders, forced him to drop onto the cushion next to Jimin, whose unblinking stare still stuck to the floor.

And they stayed that way, neither one of them moving, until Jimin dragged his hands back down from his hair. Rubbing harshly at his face, he did the best he could to physically scrub that nagging, needling feeling off his skin.

“Is there any good way to tell Seokjin that I asked out his sister?”

Oh, fuck.

Taehyung swallowed hard. “Doubt it. Maybe pick out a burial plot first?”

You’d tried on four different versions of the same outfit and wondered how you’d acquired so many fucking turtlenecks.

After too much time deliberating, you opted for outfit number five — one of four (4) black sweaters hanging in your closet — and tucked the hem into your high-waisted skirt. As you snaked a belt around your waist, you assessed yourself in the mirror, frowning at your hair.

Of the two hours you’d spent getting ready, half that time was spent toiling over the state of it. Over and over, you asked yourself: down and limp, or up and messy? Neither option was good enough, but the face of your watch whispered that you were running out of time.

In fact, it screamed that you should’ve taken the time to wash your hair earlier, instead of relying on half a can of dry shampoo to carry you through yet another day.

You heaved a sigh and stepped even closer to the mirror to check for any lingering imperfections. The pimple on your chin was, thankfully, invisible under the layers of concealer you’d applied. The tinted lip balm had stayed where it was supposed to, too, which was a miracle, given the number of nervous sips you’d taken from your nearby wine glass.

Unfortunately, your hair was doing a lot of things, and none of them were good.

You grimaced.

If this was as good as it was going to get, why couldn’t it be just a little bit better?

You glanced down at your watch again and saw that it was 6:45 PM.

Shit.

During your sprint to your front door, you made sure to thank yourself for telling Jimin you’d meet him at the restaurant; one of few responsible choices you’d deigned to make lately. If you’d agreed to be picked up as he originally offered, he’d have been sitting in his car outside, dying of boredom and regret, while you turned your closet inside out.

Black tights caused you to slide across the hardwood when you neared your front entrance. By sheer force of will alone, you stayed standing, every muscle in your body tensing. Huffing out a relieved breath, you wasted no time in choosing between near-identical pairs of Chelsea boots — seriously, why are you like this? — before shoving your feet into them and grabbing your coat from the hook near the door.

With force, you snaked your arms into the holes, jerked the front door open, and stepped face-first into a cold so cruel, it bit your cheeks without mercy.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed, hands already frigid and aching as you struggled to lock the door behind you.

Winters in the city were mild, more often than not; but this cold snap was making you snap, and part of you regretted agreeing to leave the house in the first place. Was anybody worth braving this frozen hellscape?

Don’t do that, you admonished yourself. Don’t act like you don’t want this.

The tears forming in your wind-whipped eyes would soon be the least of your worries, thanks to the boot heel that failed to find purchase on the slick surface of your driveway. Instead of your stinging cheeks, it was your tailbone that demanded immediate attention, having taken the full impact of your fall.

You yelped, more so out of surprise than pain, “Motherfucker.”

Colder than before and with a wet spot soaking through the fabric of your skirt, you rubbed gingerly at your aching ass and scrambled to your feet.

It certainly didn’t help, but it didn’t hurt, either: You growled at the ground, “Get absolutely fucking fucked,” as if it might animate and apologize to you.

The scowl didn’t leave your face as you penguin-walked carefully to your car, ripped the driver’s side door open, and dumped yourself unceremoniously behind the wheel. The weight of your body against the seat only meant that the chilly dampness of your outfit intensified. Worse, you had the sneaking suspicion that your clumsiness had caused the back of your tights to run.

Caving to self-indulgence, you threw your head back against the seat and permitted yourself one (1) petulant, childish whine before re-committing to acting your age.

“Motherfucker!”

The drive wasn’t as treacherous as your walk to the car had been, though the city’s recent rainy spell left enough ice in its wake to keep those far smarter than you off the roads. To your surprise, the streets were clear once you made it downtown, with very few people meandering the sidewalks. It all felt ominous, parking in a ghost town, but you ignored that apprehension long enough to score a metered spot directly outside the restaurant.

Maybe the universe is making it up to me, you thought as you slipped out of your seatbelt, out the door, and off the street. Maybe good things do happen to mediocre people.

Stepping inside the restaurant, the warmth enveloped you so sweetly, you nearly moaned. The fireplace crackling off to the side was meant to create ambiance, but it nudged the primal part of your brain that yearned to curl up in front of it. Shaking your head to clear those feral thoughts, your narrowed eyes scanned the room for any sign of Jimin.

It didn’t strike you as odd when you didn’t spot him. Jimin was a lot of things, but punctual had never — ever — been one of them. You couldn’t have reasonably expected to find him, anyways, not at your usual, early arrival.

After being informed of your party of two, the host led you to a small bistro table in the far corner. They bowed before leaving you to your own devices, giving you the space to fuss blindly with your appearance before Jimin would eventually walk in. No matter how many times you smoothed your fingers over your flyaways, you still felt their abject refusal to play along.

He’s seen you with braces, you reminded yourself. He was there for your tragic, dresses-over-jeans phase in the mid-aughts. He knows what your yearbook photos looked like, and he still wants to take you out.

You turned ever so slightly toward the door and crossed one leg over the other. Then, you placed one elbow on the white tablecloth, rested that hand delicately in the space below your jaw. It was your best approximation of desirable nonchalance, and you were sure you either looked ridiculous or extremely chic. Internally, you crossed your fingers and prayed it was the latter.

Jimin made plans with one Kim and wound up burdened by the other.

Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t a problem when Seokjin showed up on Jimin’s doorstep without warning, or let himself inside. It wasn’t uncommon for Jimin to come home from somewhere and find Seokjin already there, sitting on his couch and shouting at the television. Jimin’s life had always looked like that, for as long as he could remember. Like being an only child didn’t mean he lacked a brother.

That thought made nausea swirl in his stomach as he glanced between his watch, his couch, and the person lounging on it.

For once, Jimin was committed to being where he needed to at the time he was supposed to. A part of that promise was based on the fact that he was too eager to wait; but the majority of his dedication ran deeper than that. He was dead-set on proving to you that he could honor plans — that, when it came to you, he was a person that would show up.

And then your brother’s car blocked him in his driveway and kept him from leaving an hour early, like he’d told himself he would. Just in case.

Trapped, Jimin told himself he still had time. He could still beat you to the restaurant, still be there to pull out your chair the way your father always did for your mother.

Jimin knew that, outwardly, you always rolled your eyes at gestures like that — what’s the implication, that I can’t do it myself? — but he registered the way fondness twitched at the corner of your mouth. He caught all of those micro-expressions, studied them quietly from the other side of your family’s dining room table for — shit, two decades?

You never caught him staring, though, not once.

He suspected that you’d gotten used to being overlooked. Maybe, he figured, you stopped bothering to check if anyone glanced your way in the rare moments where you piped up. Jimin stayed quiet, for the most part, because the older boy sitting next to him picked up the slack your parents had dropped when they dropped you.

Seokjin saw everything, was everything — to everyone. Jimin owed him more than anyone else for the way he dragged Jimin through school by the scruff of his neck. Seokjin’s nagging forced Jimin to buckle down and graduate, and once he did, Seokjin kept pushing. He hooked Jimin up with a job at his consulting firm, kept his toes in line long enough for Jimin to grow the fuck up.

Shit.

Would he have gotten anywhere in life without your brother?

Your brother spoke for the first time in a minute, and the sudden addition of his voice made Jimin stop fidgeting with his fingers in his lap.

“You look nice,” Seokjin said, having finally, actually perceived his friend on the other side of the living room.

He sounded surprised to find Jimin there — or maybe, he was just surprised to see him dressed up for once. Suspicion caused his eyes to narrow, but it was peak shithead behavior that made him smirk. “Big plans tonight, Jiminie?”

Jimin was this close to throwing up all over his lap. He clamped his jaw shut, offering a nod instead of a verbal response.

He needed to spit it out. He needed to rip the bandage off and deal with the situation on the front end because he knew how fucked it would be to try to fix it in the aftermath. If he could float the idea now — ease Seokin into it, give him fair warning — then they’d likely be fine, right?

Jimin picked at his cuticles. He was unable to stop himself, even when he remembered you — years ago, after elbowing him in the ribs — telling him it was a bad habit. His heart did a stupid little somersault at the memory, though his anxiety squeezed his lungs with a lot more force. He swallowed, throat gravelly.

“Yeah, actually.”

It surprised him when the words slipped out, so much so that he blinked in stunned silence for a beat.

Seokjin capitalized on the quiet without knowing what he’d derailed. He scoffed, “I hope they’re not with Chan’s sister. From what I heard, you’re lucky he didn’t make you swallow your teeth.”

Oh.

“What exactly did you hear?”

Jimin did his best to keep the anger out of his tone, but he wasn’t confident that he succeeded. What he was, was sick of that goddamn narrative. It spilled over each sphere of his life, and the stain it left was ugly, even if it wasn’t deserved. Still, he maintained that a person doesn’t need to be a saint to be a decent human being.

Didn’t that count for anything?

Every single person he’d ever fucked around with was a placeholder; and every single one of them was told, right out of the gate, that nothing was coming out of whatever it was they did together. He made his position clear from the beginning — every time — and he didn’t let a single person get closer to him until they confirmed that they had no expectations.

Didn’t grab drinks, didn’t share meals, didn’t spare a touch unless they knew what they were signing up for: A dead-end, ultimately, but a nice trip.

They all said they understood, but they never actually did. Hurt their own feelings by exaggerating their place in his life, cried and talked shit about him when he tried to remind them where they stood. He wasn’t responsible for their reaction; he was transparent. Cellophane.

Reality notwithstanding, everyone looked at Jimin like he was intentionally leaving a trail of casualties behind him. And, really, what was he supposed to do about it, if he’d only ever been honest?

If he didn’t find somewhere to be — someone to be with — his twenties would look just like his teens: him, holed up in his room alone; him, with his fingers itching to call you up; him, chickening out the second he felt brave enough to pick up the phone.

He reached the big age of twenty-seven before he stopped running away from you.

Seokjin said it lightly and with a smirk, but it hit Jimin square in the chest. “I heard that you’re a menace.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d shown up unannounced on Jungkook’s doorstep. In fact, you’d done it so many times, you’d both lost count.

When he answered the door all those times before, you never looked like you did now — like you’d spent half an hour crying in your car but were pretending you hadn’t. He immediately clocked the way your mascara had clumped ever so slightly on your bottom lashes, but he followed your lead and pretended he hadn’t. Instead, he ushered you inside while the corners of his lips pulled down into a frown.

You expected to find Hoseok on his couch, and you were faintly disappointed when his usual spot was empty.

Oh, you remembered, it’s only 8:00.

Every Friday night was movie night for the three of you, but it never started until Hoseok’s studio hours ended at 9:30. Part of you was relieved to have beaten him here, though you felt guilty about it. He may have been more excited about your budding relationship with Jimin than you were, and you knew you couldn’t handle the disappointed look he’d try and fail to hide.

You could, however, handle whatever “I told you so” Jungkook was likely to hit you with.

You let Jungkook guide you into the corner of the sectional that you normally occupied on nights like this. Well, on the nights you didn’t have plans — or, more specifically, the ones where your plans actually came to fruition.

Slumping dejectedly into the plush cushions, you tugged at the throw blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. The heavy fabric hit your lap with a muffled thump, but within seconds, it was draped over the back half of your head and both your shoulders.

Jungkook blinked at you as if he was trying not to laugh. “You — uh,” He missed his objective by a mile and snorted slightly, “You look like a little wizard with the —” He gestured over at you, and when he couldn’t recall the final word of his joke, he began snapping his fingers. “The — umm —”

“Cloak,” You mumbled with a sniff.

He snapped his fingers one last time, then brandished a single finger-gun at you. “That’s the one.”

You wanted to give him the laugh he’d earned, but you felt too crushed to be light-hearted. The amused twinkle in his eyes disappeared, and instead, they creased with concern. His voice was gentle, careful.

“Didn’t go as well as you hoped, huh?”

“It didn’t go at all,” You wiped roughly at your cheek with the back of your blanket-coated hand, but it was no use. You’d been caught red-eyed and red-handed.

“He didn’t show. I waited an hour, but then the host said he needed the table. All those people watched me wait there, alone — only to get up, alone — because people with actual dates had to sit down. Don’t think I’ve ever been so fucking humiliated in my life.”

Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so tightly, you could see the emerging vein twinge in his neck. He was wracking his brain for something soft to say to you, you knew, but all he could come up with was:

“Give me his address. He and I need to have a chat.”

You sniffled again and shook your head; he pressed further. “Seriously, I’m going to knock him on his ass. What the fuck is wrong with this kid?”

“Jungkook,” you started, though he cut you off before you could finish.

“Don’t Jungkook me. That’s bullshit, and you didn’t deserve it.” He snapped. When your eyes widened at his terseness, he gave your knee an affectionate squeeze and sighed, “I’m sorry. I just —”

The more he mulled it over, the angrier he got. His tone switched mid-sentence.

“— He didn’t even call?”

You shook your head before dropping it to rest against Jungkook’s shoulder. Quietly, you admitted, “Left me on read when I started asking what was happening. Screened my calls, too, I think.”

Thankfully, you were only aware of how pathetic you sounded; you didn’t have to see how pathetic you looked. You could see Jungkook, though, out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t spend much time around Seokjin, but the identical way anger made their eyes go dark was uncanny.

“I’m choosing violence, I swear to God,” he said through gritted teeth.

You offered, “The unhealed part of me left a pretty cruel voicemail, if that does anything for you.”

His eyes flicked over to the corner, where he’d dumped his gear after his recreational team’s hockey game earlier that week. He joined in the first place to let off steam, he’d told you, but it clearly wasn’t enough. His anger rolled off of him in waves, warmed you next to him from the outside in.

You rolled your eyes half-heartedly. “Violence isn’t the answer, Jungkook. What do you want me to do, take that stick and beat him with it until he apologizes?”

He didn’t answer, and that didn’t sit well with you. You were about to call him out on his alarming behavior, but he shook off whatever took hold of him, and looked back at you. Noting the way his jaw still clenched, you nudged him with your elbow until his posture relaxed; and he rested his cheek on the top of your head.

The two of you sat like that, silently, for several minutes before his grand plan came to him so suddenly that he jolted. The unexpected movement caused your heart to skip, caused his hand squeeze yours excitedly.

“You know what’ll hurt more than a hockey stick?”

You scoffed, confident that you’d guessed where his train of thought had sped off to, “Chaining him to the back of your motorcycle and driving off into the sunset?”

For a brief second, you saw Jungkook’s eyes light up. To your surprise, he didn’t stop to consider your absurd proposal, instead flying right past it.

“The only thing I can think of that hurts more than being stood up, is getting strung along.”

His explanation came at a frantic pace, but you visibly struggled to keep up with his genius. He patted the back of your hand eagerly, as if to say, check this shit out.

“How many times have you complained to me that the dudes you fuck don’t give a shit about you? That everything’s always about sex, and it makes you feel like garbage?”

Jesus Christ.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “When you said you were choosing violence, I didn’t think you meant me.”

Jungkook breezed past you with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Revenge is best served cold, right? So, be cold.”

You looked pointedly at him, sharp enough to stab him, but he beat you to the punch: “I know, it’s straight from Jeon Jungkook’s asshole playbook. I know. It’s an objectively, unquestionably horrible thing to do to someone, but nothing gets someone’s attention like ignoring them completely.”

Clearly, he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted from you. He shifted away from your side to sit up on his knees, facing you. From there, he gestured wildly with his hands, as if additional emphasis was what you needed to buy in.

“You can get his attention, have him trailing after you like a stray dog, and then you can slam the door in his face.” Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows, beyond pleased with himself. “Ouch.”

You chewed thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you processed Jungkook’s master plan. It was diabolical and, more importantly, the complete antithesis of how you’d decided to move through the world.

Your heart was always pinned to the cuff of your sleeve because you chose to put it there, to let people in, let them see you. For as long as you’d known Jimin, you wanted to let him in. Wrote it in your fucking diary as a kid, praying that neon, gel ink could manifest it. Wasted wishes on it every year when you blew out your birthday candles, while he was off in the next room with Seokjin. Hoped that, eventually — someday — he’d see you looking up at him.

And then it happened.

Everything you wanted fell right where you could reach it. Your casual texts back and forth turned into late night phone calls. In turn, those turned to video chats, into plans. Then, he asked you to dinner, and you gushed to all your friends that he was nothing like what they’d heard about him.

How fucking stupid you must have sounded.

The anger churned in your stomach like acid, and it threatened to burn a hole right through you.

Jungkook was right.

You’d always been committed to being whole-hearted, and it was exhausting to keep gluing yourself back together every time you broke. So, if someone was going to fall to pieces this time, it wasn’t going to be you.

“You have to be careful, though. If you get in too deep, you’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

Jungkook’s voice crashed through the maelstrom in your mind, startling you.

He continued his warning, “You cannot catch feelings while executing this kind of operation — trust me.”

“And how do I go about avoiding that?” You asked.

“You have to have rules.”

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

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dollar-store-sparklez · 10 months

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so im gonna take a little time here while its slow at work to gush for a moment

you see this guy?

thats vikingpilot. he is a streamer and he has a tumblr, he does a lot of really cool content and hes the type of guy to absolutely want in your dnd game. hes chaotic and funny and he joined my double life server.

record scratch, freeze frame. yeah you heard me, the streamer joined the server. howd that happen? well it all started with the first session where we could not find any cows for the life of us. 2 groups of soulmates including me made a polycule, and it went fine for a while. we found cows the next session. and then they get stuck by lighting through a roof and die. so we, as a joke, blame vikingpilot, because frankly its funny and we're all big fans in the polycule. and then half the polycule died and went yellow. so we blamed him again! as a joke! and then, because we didn't really expect him to, yknow. agree we were like. what if we invited him. yknow, since he killed us and our cows. but he did agree and we made the server circle up and do a summoning ritual, the only people aware he was coming being our group of 4, even the friend thay whitelisted him didnt actually know he was gonna show up. so we ring a bell jist So Much and then boom. vikingpilot and utter chaos and also he actually killed half the polycule this time oopsies.

pandora why are you telling me this you ask

bc its the coolest thing ever actually. how many streamers would actually casually join a server to cause chaos just cause someone asked. like, basically none, thats not how it worked. but my silly got round 2 tumblr sexyman minecraft guy was like yeah thats funny lets go and did it. and we did have plans but they were completely derailed because we made viking a god and it was hilarious. but its just genuinely so cool, hes a super nice cool guy and it was most of the servers first impression of him which made it way better, and all i did was ask politely and ring a bell. im just like. it was so cool genuinely everyone had an absolute blast, we gave him gay dirt which has now been seen by three minecraft streamers, a win for the me community for sure, and just like. yeah it was really really cool. open invitation king, if you ever wanna come back and vibe you can, it was funny and awesome and you were great

and thats all to say

SUBSCRIBE TO VIKINGPILOT WOOOOO SUB W TWITCH PRIME AND ON YOUTUBE HES A SILLY SCARY GUY SUB TO VIKING WOOOOO

#pandora speaks #vikingpilot #and watch dominion hes a ghosty guy there!

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rodehereonthevines · 5 months

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did you know? like most pieces of media, doatk has a lot of unused content! recently dataminers have found this scrapped version of the LR2 Track Anything Is Possible, no one knows why it was scrapped but some people speculate that it was unused due to one of the songs being an offsource, what do you think? let us know! make sure to like, subscribe, and ring the bell for more fun doatk trivia!

#diary of a tourney kid #doatk

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intercal · 12 days

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so I've been slowly mastering the art of the "over-medium" egg - perhaps the most difficult egg to master (or so they* say). using mastery terms from TES IV: Oblivion, I'd say I'm a journeyman level at this point. definitely past apprentice, but I have to climb Expert Cliff and Mt. Mastery - the hardest parts of any journey. and I'm willing to put in the time, I eat at LEAST two eggs per day. I'll get there soon enough.

but the problem that I'm running into recently is what to do about the yolk when I'm actually eating the darn things. you see, I like to eat these eggs on top of a slice of toast or an english muffin. but, being a journeyman, I still have the occasional too-runny yolk (failure is how we learn). and when I have a runny yolk, I need something to mop up the mess. but if I'm already eating the egg on top of a piece of toast, then where is my mop? that's right, in my tummy. so I have to find some way to eat eggs on top of toast while still having a way to clean up a runny yolk. we have our top men working round the clock on this issue. if you have an idea, then go ahead and comment. don't forget to like and subscribe, and ring the bell so you get notifications for every intercal post. thanks for watching!

(outro)

*you know. them.

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anotherwvba · 6 months

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By Blood or By Choice pt. 5

The gym was buzzing with excitement. The anime party was all set, and the atmosphere was electric. King Hippo had arrived and was stationed at the refreshments table, where Little Mac and Star Mika were doing their best to protect the snacks from his voracious appetite.

Glass Joe was cosplaying as Arsene Lupin III, the blue jacket attire, and was engaged in a lively conversation with Bald Bull and Cutie Hondo. Niki Binary was getting to know Little Mac’s fiancé Allie Treape while cuing up the first episode of the anime they were about to watch.

Just then, the gym door swung open, and a young woman backed into the room, talking animatedly to her phone, which was mounted on a selfie stick.

"Okay, my Luna-tics, here we are! Last stop, the WVBA gym. This is where all the magic happens, where the grind turns into glory, where punches fly and sweat drips. And let me tell you, the energy here is just—wow! It’s like walking into a guild house, but for real!"

It was clear that she was live-streaming a tour of the campus. Her eyes were bright, and her voice was filled with enthusiasm.

"Look at this place, guys! Everything a boxer could dream of. All different kinds of bags, weights, cardio… check the rings! Can you imagine the epic battles that have taken place here? It's like a real-life RPG arena, but with boxing gloves instead of swords! And… is that a snack table?! Score!"

Everyone in the gym stopped what they were doing and watched as the young woman continued to stream, engaging with her audience and reading out comments.

"‘Hey, Luna! Where are you?’ Hey, c.i.cool101! I'm at the WVBA Campus gym, guys! Isn't it awesome? This is where sweat and tears turn into KO’s and titles."

“Aww, thanks for the 6 month sub, pip1026! Welcome to the #Hitmaker family, the coolest community on the internet!”

"’Who are all those people?’ Good to see you, bakaboxingfan706! Oh, they're just some of the boxers and staff, I guess. We’ll go meet them all in a bit!"

Niki, intrigued and slightly puzzled, walked over to the young woman and tapped her on the shoulder. "Um, excuse me, can I help you?"

The young woman turned around, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, hey! I didn't see you there. I'm Luna Doll, a content creator and a new WVBA boxer. You guys are live on my stream right now. Everyone, say hi to…" then she realized she didn't know who Niki was. "I’m sorry, would you mind introducing yourself to my chat."

"Um, sure? Hi! I'm Niki Binary, also a boxer here. But, uh, the gym is actually closed today for a private event," Niki said, pointing around the room.

Luna looked around, finally noticing the anime decorations, the snacks, and the general party vibe. "Oh, snap! I totally didn't realize I walked into a party. I am so embarrassed! My bad!"

“No worries,” Niki assured her. “It happens.”

"Alright, chat, I'm gonna sign off for now, but I'll be back on tonight for my Legend of Dragoon stream. We hit disc 3 tonight! Don't forget to like, hit that subscribe button, and ring the bell so you don't miss a thing on the channel. Thanks, fam, and I’m out Luna-tics!" She ended the stream, and her demeanor instantly changed.

She was now more relaxed and laid back. "I'm so sorry I crashed your party, guys. I honestly had no idea the gym was closed today. I'll get out of your hair," Luna said, her voice carrying genuine regret.

Just then, Mika and King Hippo walked over. "Teka! Hey, no need to leave," Mika said, “I’m Star Mika and this is King Hippo. You're welcome to stay. We're having an anime party. It's a great way to get to know everyone. We’ll introduce you around."

Luna looked around, her eyes meeting the curious gazes in the room. "Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no?” Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a light tone to her voice, she added, “Besides, it's a great chance to get to know the faces I'll be punching later."

Cutie’s eyes widened in amusement and Mika stifled a laugh. Niki chuckled, "You know what? You're gonna fit in just fine."

As Mika and Niki went to find seats, King Hippo stepped closer and extended his hand for a handshake, finally breaking his silence. "Um, hello. I'm King Hippo. Big fan of your streams. I'm actually one of your subscribers, hippoquest86."

Luna's eyes widened in delight. "Dude, no way! Hippoquest86? You’re one of my OG subscribers! It's so cool to meet you in person!"

As Luna shook King Hippo's hand, she couldn't help but think how surreal and fantastic this all was. From streaming in my room to shaking hands with a boxing legend who's also a fan. Life is strange, but also pretty amazing.

And just like that, Luna Doll felt the warmth of this eclectic, passionate community wrapping around her. It was a promising start to an interesting journey, to friendships and fights that lay ahead.

#punch out #super punch out #punch out wii #punch-out!!#super punch-out!!#punch-out!! wii #punch out oc #punch out fanfic #wvba #niki binary #cutie hondo #star mika #luna doll #bald bull #glass joe #king hippo #allie treape #little mac

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itlivesproject · 1 year

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NEW SHIP ALERT 📢 💥💥💥

ILW!MC X ILITW Ghost!MC

Okay, hear me out bestie! Hear me out. Hear out my thought process, okay?

Rowan from jump joins the crew and hearing all these amazing things about Devon, because let be honest here, Devon was pretty amazing! They were brave, kind, compassionate, the list goes on. They put their own life on the line multiple times to protect their friends and eventually lost it. Even the great Jocelyn Wu can't help but acknowledge that Devon was a good person and even apologizes for her actions in the past!! (It was to Noah but if Devon was alive would have been them so it still counts!)

The impact Devon left is still there, even after four years. Depending on the playthrough, you can have up to three people still in love with them. Let's use Connor, Dan, and Noah for this imagine.

Rowan's only experience with Devon is the ghost version and so they start to get a little curious. (Because Rowan is nosey asf.) They start to ask questions of what Devon was like before their death and hear all these crazy funny stories about them. Rowan sees the home video that was shown in the memorial, they see the photos from homecoming, and Andy's first winning game, and the night of Brittney's party. They can't help but wonder if they met Devon back then, would they have been friends? Would they have gotten along? Maybe become something more? Rowan can't help but fall in love with Devon or at least the memory of them. I mean how could they not? Like Noah said, they were able to have an impact on people.

And then the night of the ritual... And Devon is back in the flesh. Alive and breathing and Rowan's heart skips a beat. The pictures don't do Devon justice. They are breathtakingly beautiful bathed in the moonlight. (We know Devon was the hot friend of the group like bfr!)

But like?? You see what I'm seeing, bestie? You see it right, it kind of works. Just a little bit. I'm a sucker for "the soulmate that was never meant to be" trope!

With the added angst of them being parallels if each other. It's just chief's kiss 💋

Okay, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Like and subscribe and ring that bell.

No, anon, babe, you can't do this to my multishipper heart and soul you can't- AHH ILW!MC x ILITW!MC sounds so awesome from your analysis oh my gosh now I have yet another ship to carry 😩🙇🏻‍♀️

Liked, shared, subscribed and rung that bell button 👍🏼

#I feel like we've summoned a huge storm now....#brb getting my popcorn to enjoy the storm #ask #anon #mod aku

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sirfdabba · 3 months

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Today I walked through the alleys of my hometown. I wanted to have a particular type of biscuits and not the ones which were available in the Kitchen. Thus I walked down to this small shop located a few steps away from my house. But the shop was closed. I was going to return back but then the Aajis who sit in the temple, singing their bhajan, called me. Its been a while since I talked to them. The Temple has changed a lot, they renovated it when I was in 12th grade but I was too busy back then preparing for CLAT, studying for boards that I never sat in the renovated temple. The temple was never a religious place for me you know, rather it was a Sunday picnic spot. A dongar-ka-paani, khaamb khaamb, kaanda phod, lappa chappi, mini lingorcha, playground. It was the place where I used to wait for my Rickshaw at 6:30 am on the wintry mornings, wear saree draped out of a chunri and get married to that one boy whose name I have forgotten, do the Taewondo thingy and spread rumors that I have enough power and skill to kill everybody in the town.

It was the place where I ate the offerrings offered to the deities and never felt bad. I talked to those idols while the Dogs barked and Sun took time to rise, I played with religion while the elders prayed (sometimes begged) their hearts out to that black, adorable tortoise. I was obsessed with the Temple's bell you know, was way too short, thus couldnt ring it with my bare hands. But I had found a stick of perfect length using which, the little Sau used to play with the bell while singing songs ranging from Chikni Chameli to Jana Gana Mana (Indeed, all with beautifully distorted lyrics). I am obsessed with flowers ever since I was a child. On weekends, waking up, collecting flowers from the nooks and corners of Sandesh colony, and making a gajra, and two maalas - one for the Saibaba at home and one for all the gods in the temple, was an integral part of my life. The 19 year old Sau says, she is non-religious, the 9 year old didnt know what does religious actually mean, but both of them would wholly agree to the fact that, some way or the other they both subscribe to the religion of flowers. Sometimes, when I liked the flowers that were offered to the Idols, I used to do a trade-off. I would keep my ordinary flower with them and take their rose or sonchafa or pink hibiscus. When anyone would scold me for doing it, I would, quite emohatically say, say, that, "Its between me and god." (Actually, that was the answer that Mumma told me to give to the hecklers. She has always been the best, I know)

Today, with anxiety medicines awaiting me in my pencil box, I thought to myself, " Ohh what an irreplaceable entity this temple has been!" After talking to those Aajis, I changed my mind and walked a few more steps to buy "Top biscuits." I was wearing a woollen knitted sweater and capri night pant, a kind of costume which I would never go out in, anywhere else on the face of earth. I have been wearing that pant ever since I was in tenth grade. I studied for boards, CLAT and now IPC in the very same piece of cloth. Sometimes I seriously wonder, have I stopped growing or what? Is tgis what "stagnancy" feel like. What if I am stuck in a puddle and now, unaware, unconcious, I have made it my world. But then, I this Uncle, who had pulled me up while I had fallen down while driving my purple scooty pept for the first time in my life, which gave me a smidgen of hope that I can at least drive a scooty without falling down forty times in a ride. I convinced myself that I am growing, slower than a balloon maybe, or ecen a cloud, but yes not stagnant yet.

While walking down that street, I could vividly see my childhood running like an animated movie infront of my eyes. Ohh I was a ruckus, a commotion back then. What all did I not do. All the streets, all the corners of those streets, all the houses on those streets and all the people who lived in those houses, knew my name. They kind of hated me. Not their fault, I was an unbearably notorious, an intractable child. How streets change, I thought. The place where there was a cherry tree, now holds within its bosom a two storeyed bunglow. I wondered, does that piece of land ever miss that Tree? Does it remember that I used to spend so much time finding a "good cherry" back in my salad days? I am a self-absorbed person, I thought. Does that land like that Bunglow? If given a choice, what would the land pick: Cherry tree or the Bunglow?

My biscuit excursion made me wonder, how arcane yet how simple it is that, no matter what, nobody stops. Actually, no body can afford to stop. Everyone is evolving, everyone has to evolve, evolution is not a choice. The choice to stay the same is also a kind of an evolution, if you think about it. Even the streets, even the electricity poles, everything had changed. Not holistically, of course (I mean they havent started painting it saffron as of now, might happen very soon but yeah), still everything bore a tinge of change to itself. I noticed how have repainted the "Danger" sign on the main electricity pole. While walking down from Tuition, I used to reread that "Khatra" written below a skull and two bones, everyday. I learned to read the term "Khatra" from that poll only. The cornermost flat, on the ground floor, of Chaitanya Apartments has made a compound, have installed a gate you know. It made me wonder, now where would all the street dogs sleep on the hot, sweltering afternoons. They even rebuilt the half-broken edges of the public waste bin on the way to my Tuition.

All that I observed, all that my approximately blind eyes could point out, stirred something inside. I was seeing something beyond those physical structures. All the abstractness that came back to me, while I walked down a half-dug, non-concerete, uneven rocky street, was not memories, neither nostalgia; rather it was a realization. Realization, that how, stopping and staring is possibly the most important thing to do, perhaps more important than inhaling and exhaling the polluted air, that a life is a wasted life where one didnt stop and aimlessly stared.

#desi academia #dark academia quotes #tumblr #life #love #desi aesthetic #dark acadamia aesthetic #deep quotes #heartache #cinema

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oh-meow-swirls · 1 year

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welcome to my essay on why i think hailey is autistic and/or has adhd. this is like 40% a joke n 60% serious. as a disclaimer i have adhd n autism so i know what i'm talking about i think. also people without any neurodivergencies can do these things too they're just commonly nd traits.

1. she has very intense interests. obviously most people love the things they're interested in. people with adhd and autism can hyperfixate on this stuff though. and i feel like hailey does this, especially with sailor cuties.

there's several moments where she connects events that are happening to episodes of sailor cuties, such as when you fuse jibanyan into baddinyan. she knows what happens in sailor cuties episodes by episode number seemingly off the top of her head.

there's also additionally the fact that illusory sparkopolis is based on HER daydreams. and it's filled to the brim with champys (champies??? what would the plural be), she gets to perform with next harMEOWny, and the sailor cuties are there.

we know there's other things hailey likes - i mean, there's also the whole maid in heaven thing. everything about maid in heaven makes me uncomfortable by the way but that's not on topic for now.

also she connects things to video games just randomly. there's like at least three instances of this, maybe more, this is just what i've got screenshots of. the instance of this after the fight with don spiracy is also her not reading the room-

also in the interview before the hinozall fight one of the options you can select for hailey's talents is her saying she knows everything about sailor cuties. idk what she says if you pick that though cuz i picked the option about her being good at pissing off space-rabbits or whatever and there's no eyepo before hinozall's office so i didn't save beforehand. 😔

2. she's like. crazy energetic. being physically hyper isn't always an adhd symptom, especially for people who are biologically female (which hailey. presumably is-), where inattentive adhd is generally more common. idk why it's more common i can't remember if it's a biological thing or a societal thing but anyways.

hailey's seemingly hyper mentally too given how much random shit she says. as i said above, she also commonly connects things to her interests - personally, my thoughts are almost always full of my hyperfixations and interests, so it perfectly makes sense. there's too many instances of this kinda thing for me to include screenshots-

3. she's bad at socializing. that sounds mean but hear me out okay. autistic people are bad at picking up social cues, and are bad at empathy, and etc., etc..

at the start of the game, hailey's only two friends are jessica and also usapyon. with how much of a nerd she is, everyone else in her class sees her as weird (idk if this is canonical or not i might just be projecting nghgvvxvcbc-).

i haven't watched the anime episodes she's in at all so maybe there's more evidence for this point there idk-

that's all the points i got. in conclusion, hailey has intense interests that she seems to think about a lot, is very hyper both physically and mentally (seemingly on the second part, hard to say definitively), and isn't great at socializing. thus i pronounce her autistic n adhd. thanks for coming to my tedtalk, make sure to like, subscribe, ring the bell, and rate five stars.

#puppy rambles #yo-kai watch #yokai watch #youkai watch #yw #ykw #i'd add more tags but i'm shadowbanned anyways so #this is one of many reasons why i think she's the best yo-kai watch character-#i know for a fact there's other instances of her connecting things to sailor cuties episodes i just can't remember any others-#i wrote this in like ten minutes a week or two ago. hyperfixations do that kinda thing to you

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hekate1308 · 7 months

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Prompt: Do you even know what this means

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel

It doesn’t matter what Sam says – and he even seems to have learned his lesson in that regard, since he thankfully hasn’t complained about Dean’s life choices for months now, although that might have to do with his new girlfriend Sarah – Dean loves his little antique book shop, and he has never regretted that he bought it on a whim back when he was eighteen and Mr. Bythell wanted to retire.

Yes, some clients can be a handful, and he has several opinions about Amazon that he knows to keep to himself lest they get back to them and he gets buried under the power of Jeff Bezos, but still. There are a lot of wonderful moments when he finds a rare book or can help someone who has been desperately seeking for a title or just needs a break from the stress of every day life. It might be frustrating that he can’t afford a full-time employee, but Charlie and Gilda are always happy to help out, and students like Kevin are happy to take any summer job that presents itself.

And so, he has no plans of changing things. He lives his life, he sells and buys books, there are game nights with Charlie and Gilda and Andrea and Benny and Crowley, when he can get his friend to admit he is actually having fun during those, and everything’s fine.

And then things change, although not in the way he would have assumed if he had expected them to.

Because today the door bell rings out and a new customer comes in. Now, that’s nothing new in and out of itself, but the guy is – to be perfectly frank – hot.

And he says that as someone who has had his fun, if you know what he means.

Still.

“Hey” he greets him, strolling towards him. “Can I help?”

He blinks at him, looking ever so slightly confused and rumpled and oh God, Dean is in trouble. “I just moved here” he then informs him abruptly. “I’m Castiel Novak.”

“Like the angel?” he asks, only learning later he’s the only one who’s ever reacted that way.

Castiel blinks at him again and Dean holds out his hand. “Dean Winchester.”

Two months later

“You should try and do more with the internet.”

Apart from the fact that Cas just pronounced the word as if he has never heard of wi-fi, Dean can’t help but shake his head. “We all know how that would end.”

“I don’t mean just an online-shop. I was thinking about a book subscription service – they are all the range, these days. Maybe something like a mystery box, the sort of thing people unbox on YouTube. People would subscribe and you could choose the books.”

So Cas, who lives in a house where the electricity barely works, just asked him to – “Do you even know what this means?” he asks because he can’t help it – is he really supposed to believe that someone who dresses like Columbo has any idea what the internet is?

“I do sell my honey online” Cas says, sounding almost disappointed, and he’s quick to do damage control.

“Sorry, man. It’s not a bad idea – not a bad idea at all – just – do you think there’d even be a market for it?”

“I don’t see why not” Cas shrugs. “You still sell books, don’t you, even though everyone seems to think they are going out of style, as they say” oh God he’s actually doing quoty fingers and it looks much much cuter than it has any right to “so why should it not work when you develop your own way of doing so in the Internet?”

It might just work, Dean reflects. And really, what has he got to lose? Yes, his bookshop, but he’s always on the brink of doing that anyway…

“Alright” he decides, “Any ideas?”

Cas looks at him and they are back at the staring one another thing, great.

Yet he can’t bring himself to mind too much.

Three years later

“Cas are you smuggling books about bees into the boxes again?”

“They are really interesting! Remember, we got several emails about them just last month…”

He can’t help but admit that, so he kisses his husband instead of saying anything. “Fine” he announces, drawing back, “but next month I get to pick the theme.”

“It’s going to be old-timers” Cas grumbles.

“Are you really going to tell me that I only have one topic of interest?”

Cas looks so guilty that Dean just has to kiss him again. “Hey, look, as long as the customers don’t mind, and they don’t seem to…”

This time when they separate, Cas is smiling at him and Dean – with the roof leaking again, a customer having tried to steal several books yesterday, and Crowley and his mother once more at odds – has never felt more blessed in his life.

#fictober23 #spn #my writings #destiel #castiel #dean winchester

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sailor-toni · 2 years

Text

Casper Highs Football Captain: Danny Fenton (OneShot)

You can also read this on AO3, FF.net, and Wattpad

Danny Fenton was your normal fourteen-year-old boy, black hair, blue eyes, upper middle class, and captain of the Casper High football team. He was your perfectly normal all-American teen, expect for his parents. The jumpsuit duo never fail to embarrass their only son. Recklessly driving around Amity Park, screaming and hollering about ghost, ducking in an out of alley ways at strange hours of the day, holding small vials of green slime for their portal to a world unseen. Danny rolled his eyes at that. World unseen, more like world untrue! There was no such thing as ghost.

At least, that’s that he assumed, and everyone knows what happens when you assume.

“YO, Fenton catch!” The leather hit Danny’s hand at the perfect angle, the slight sting of leather against skin gave him no pause.

“You have to do better than that to get me off my game Baxter!” Danny said tossing the ball back at the quarterback.

“Hey Fenton!” Kwan rushed over, throwing one of his arms over Danny’s shoulders, “How was your weekend bro. I didn’t see you Katie Smiths party on Saturday.”

“Oh yeah. I got in trouble with my parents and they forced me to spend all weekend cleaning their test tubes and lab equipment,” Danny said.

“What? Really? That blows man, you missed everything. Katie came out of the closet and made out with Cindy. Dash got absolutely destroyed and carried Mark Flinch to the roof and threw him onto Katies trampoline. The cops were called. It was dope man,”

“Yeah Fenton, Kwan and I had to climb over a fence to get away from the cops.” Dash joined the two tossing the ball in-between his hands.

“Yeah, I was like, I’ve never seen a fence that high before! and then I did it. It was sick. Maybe I should do parkour,” Kwan said.

“You gonna start a YouTube channel Kwan? Kwan’s amazing Parkour. Like comment and subscribe,” Danny said.

“Danny man, you’re not gonna ring the notification bell?”

“Depends on how good your skills are man.”

“Kwan’s got some skills man, He was like a little spider money, climbing up those walls like he was Spider-man or something,” said Dash, who slammed open the front door of Casper high, crushing a smaller teen in a red hat with its heavy metal side. “Move it!” He snapped, “Anyway Fenton you missed Paulina.”

“Or better yet. She missed you,” Kwan said.

“Paulina? I told her I was grounded.”

“Maybe she didn’t get your message then, because she was looking for you all night and she got destroyed. At one point her and Valerie were on top of the table crushing cans and jugging them down. Her shirt was soaked.” Kwan teases, mimicking the gestures she must have been making that night.

“And she was wearing a white shirt,” Dash said.

“Sucks that your whack-job parents grounded you thought. It would’ve been the perfect night to make a move,” Kwan said.

The three stopped at Danny’s locker. The inside covered in Casper high banners and a growing pile of dirty gym clothes. A broken mirror was hung in the back, grey skin would sometimes flash along its surface.

“You think? I don’t know if she actually likes me or not? I think she just sees me as a friend,” Danny said. In truth he didn’t know if he liked Paulina. Or maybe he didn’t like girls that way? It was not a thought he like to admit, or talk about, or even entertain. He shoved it to the dirty gym pile in his mind. Maybe Paulina wasn’t his type and he was over reacting. He assumed.

“Nah man, she is like totally into you,” Kwan began.

“She wants that D man.” Dash finished, his tone was much more malicious than Kwans.

“Can we not call it that?” Danny asked.

“She wants the little Fenton.” Danny and Kwan burst out laughing.

“Let’s not call my junk little either.”

“I would prefer if we had school appropriate conversations Mr. Fenton.” Mr. Lancer stood in front of his room, a copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey in his hand.

“Ah Mr. Lancer” “Hello Mr. Lancer.” “Hey Mr. Lancer.”

The three were suddenly quiet. Their previous laughter now gone from their sullen faces.

“Keep the locker room talk for the locker room please.”

“Of course, Mr. Lancer” “Sure man.” “Got it Mr. Lancer”

The three began shuffling away, small giggles stifled as went.

“SAM MANSON! Dress code directly prohibits showing one’s midriffs!”

“But Pau-“

“NO BUTS! Either find a jacket or go to the nurse and change.”

Everyone was looking now. Watching Sam and her crop top of misfortune.

“NO! I see other girls around school wear tops like this every day! And there’s no reason for me to have to hide myself!”

“When you attend Casper high you are expected to dress in a work appropriate attire and no workplace would allow such sexual clothing. This is the rule for every student here, nobody is even special; treatment.”

“But!”

“Change now or else I will have to call your parents.” Sam backed down at that, pulling a black jacket from her bag.

“Is this better!?” The jacket was covered in patches and metal studs.

“Not ideal but it’ll work,” Mr. Lancer said, returning to his book. Sam’s face twisted in anger, turning a bright red.

“Oh no, looks like one of the losers is getting mad,” Dash whispered to Danny.

Sam’s head snapped to the three, the sour look on her face gave Danny goosebumps. She marched past him, bumping into his shoulder. No apology was given.

“What’s her issue?” Kwan asked.

“Who knows, maybe its her period or somethin’,” Dash says rolling his eyes. Danny lets out a long sigh. His body was already aching from the weekend, and today was already going great.

All day. Every time he went into a classroom or went to use the bath, all anyone could talk about was Katie Smith’s party and how he had missed it. All freakin day. It wasn’t his fault. And it wasn’t his parents either, but what was he going to tell his friends. Sorry I missed the party Katie but I got arrested by ghost and had to spend all weekend breaking out of jail! The thought of Danny even saying it out loud made him shiver in shame. Words like that were a quick one-way ticket to weird-o loser land. Population, his parents and Sam Manson. Speaking of Sam…

She had spent all day glaring at him. He didn’t even know they shared a History class till he felt her eyes bring a hole into his back. Right now, they were in English class, otherwise known as Mr. Lancer territory. His classroom as covered in pictures of classic books, quotes, and shelves of books. Most of the shelves were bending under the weight of his French and Spanish versions of Dante’s complete trilogy. Danny wondered why anyone would read books that big. Maybe in the past when they didn’t have phones reading a book that big would be fun, but Danny was one of the few people he knew that liked books and even he wouldn’t object himself to that.

Glancing behind him, Sam looked away. Her makeup looked fresh. Turning back to the front, where that kid in the red hat was helping Lancer with the smart board was. W-was it a hat? Danny always wondered what it was and why nobody ever asked him to take it off. Oh God, his thoughts were rambling again, and SHE was staring at him again.

“Hey what is your issue?” He harshly whispered.

“What issue?” She whispered back. Even her quiet whispers were dripping in venom.

“You’ve been drilling holes in my back all day?”

“I haven’t touched your back.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it Manson.”

“No, I don’t know anything, Fenton. Please tell me, what do I know?”

“You’ve been staring at my back like I killed your dog, all day. SO, how about you drop the attitude and stop. I didn’t do anything to you.” She seemed to know just how to piss him off.

“Of course, innocent little Fenton can do no wrong.”

“What is wrong with you? I-“

“Mr. Fenton! Would you like to join the class?” Like a god dam demon Mr. Lancer appeared next to his head, with his arms crossed and a face of displeasure. Turning around he mumbled a response before writing down whatever was on the smart board. After a few moments he could feel her glaring at him again.

As soon as the bell rang, Danny was out of that room. Paper and books hasty shoved into his bag as he made his way to the cafeteria. Several students waved hi to him, and tried to engage in conversation. And all of them asked “Where were you Saturday?” It was starting to become exhausting having to reexplain himself to everyone. It made the trek to the cafeteria feel like shopping with Paulina, stopping every few minutes to go into another store.

“Oh, Danny!” Speak of the devil, “Where were you Saturday? I missed you,” Paulina said

“P-Paulina, I was grounded. Didn’t you get my text?” Danny Said.

“You sent a text?”

“Yeah,”

“I must not have gotten it. You know how bad my phone is.”

The two walked to lunch together, Paulina almost dangling off Danny’s arm, her jacket was wide open reveling her pastel pink crop top. All of lunch Danny was nervous about Lancer, or another teacher yelling at his friend, but it seemed fine.

“Oh Danny,” Paulina’s sickly-sweet voice clung to his ears like taffy.

The hallway was quickly pouring out students faster than people can get into a Walmart on Black Friday.

“Yes Paulina?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to help me with my science homework tonight?” Her arms here under her breast pushing them up.

“Uh no thanks I’m still in trouble with my parents and I don’t think they-“

“But I don’t know if I can pass Mrs. Crossant’s test this Friday without your help,” she said, leaning forward, so that her top reveled more skin. Danny put a book over the opening.

“If I get in anymore trouble, I’ll be kicked off the team. I’m sorry but I have to go. Maybe Dash can help you?” He slammed his locker shut, “Have a good night Paulina.”

Fast walking around the corner, he burst into a full-on run. Throwing caution out the window, as he ducked under a bush. Cold white rings enveloping his body, he let the air phase through him, lifting him high above the school Now sporting snow white hair, and neon green eyes Danny was free. Soaring through the city, dancing on the tops of buildings. No one called out to him. Nobody cared about him. It was just him and the open blue sky.

“BEWARE!” And other ghosts. If it wasn’t for his parents he would be a propaganda poster for the perfect American boy, but he would gladly trade that away to stay above the clouds. Nobody knew phantom the ghost boy, a halfa born from a lab accident n his parents’ basement. And Danny wanted to keep it that way. Plus, it was fun to watch ‘Invisible hero saves jewelry store’ videos on YouTube.

#Danny Phantom #Fanfic #writing #Popular AU #Capser High #dash baxter #TW Bullying

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