#oh and my wifi is taking a shit so it’s a good thing i ended early hcjdbdjfb | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

witchybiitchy · 1 year

Text

c’est ça l’amour | l.n

fic masterlist

chapter 6

Sydney was sitting on a plane, her frame positioned awkwardly in the first class seat. She never knew whether it was classier to act as if it was a completely normal place for her to be, or if she should soak up the luxury. In between Monaco and Baku she was being flown to London to do an interview and photoshoot for a French magazine. Looking over at Daisy, she felt a rush of gratitude for the woman, madly typing away at her laptop like she usually did. Sydney had on a pair of fleece shorts and couldn't stop herself from picking at the drawstring, hardly focusing on the movie playing in front of her. This would be the first photoshoot she'd ever done out of her racing overalls, and she was, quite frankly, shitting herself.

Despite what some people had told her over the years, those people including her mother, she'd never thought of herself as overly pretty. Sure, she could clean up nice, and she typically had much better things to worry about than insecurities over her looks, but at the end of the day she was an athlete, not a model, and she didn't really have one of those effortlessly nice-to-look-at faces that, being French, she'd always craved in the back of her mind. Daisy had assured her that it would be lowkey and casual, but it didn't stop her stomach from churning or her eyes from catching herself in every semi-reflective surface and twisting a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Wait, Syd.” Daisy had developed a bad habit of starting sentences with wait, hold on, or okay due to having to placate Sydney into doing whatever she said next. “Don’t look so worried, Jesus. I’m not about to sacrifice you.”

“Are you seriously sure about that? Because I am not.” Sydney said, half laughing.

“You just looked very picturesque, sitting there. See, how's this? I’m improving, right?” Daisy was never the best at taking photos, but she'd been getting better under the support of the AlphaTauri photographer. Sydney liked the photo Daisy had taken; she had one knee pulled up to her chest and one dangling off the seat. She wasn't looking out the window, rather her head was tilted back on the chair and her eyes were half closed. There was just something about it that she really liked, and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. That, and her legs looked really, really nice, which was always a good thing.

“I love it, you should post it.” Sydney said earnestly.

“Caption?” Daisy said, looking at her phone.

“Euh, I don't know, I am bad at these things. You could just do the little plane emoji.” Sydney said, resuming her earlier position. She felt her phone buzz and saw a message from Pierre, maybe she would ask him. Bless plane wifi.

“I like it, or, wait, no that's dumb, maybe, oh wait, cute, how's this instead?” Daisy turned the screen around to show her the photo, with the caption ‘busy 🐝’. She liked spending time with Daisy for this exact reason, she could be her abrupt, kind yet real self.

“What?” Daisy just laughed.

“Busy bee, you know cos you're on a plane and you look tired and it's cute.” Daisy continued, and Sydney saw her press the post button anyway.

“I have never, not in my whole life, heard someone use busy and bee together. Why are bees busy?” Sydney said, her confusion less out of genuine curiosity and more just something to fill the time.

“I don't know, they're buzzing around making honey, they're busy.”

“I think I am a bit busier than a bee, no?”

“Just a bit.” Daisy smiled. Sydney felt her phone buzz again and saw that she had another text from Pierre.

“Busy 🐝 huh”

“ what about it”

“nothing nothing”

“no tell me”

“just a bit corny”

“it's Cute pierre”

“not as cute as you 🥰😍😘”

“🤢🤮🤢”

“idk how daisy made u look that good when ur usually so ugly tho”

“😐”

“r u still nervous”

Her stomach twisted slightly at his reminder.

“a bit, i dont know how to model”

“u wont need to, they tell u what to do”

“oh from all ur modelling experience”

“stfu it's more than u”

“bet u looked gross tho so it doesnt count”

She watched the three dots appear, but received another buzz before Pierre could finish typing. It was Lando. Unlike Pierre's contact, which had a photo of him incredibly drunk holding a beer bottle, eyes wide and crazy with the name pepé le pierre 👃🥖🇫🇷, Lando's was just Lando. It wasn't like she needed a last name or any emojis to recognise him. Just that name alone stirred something within her. It was distinctly different from the current turbulence in her guts, and she wrote it off as the nerves of trying to maintain another friendship, if you could even call their two drunken encounters and a few glances across the paddock friendship.

“heard ur gonna be in london, wanna hang out or smth” She had her read receipts on, and was conscious of taking too long to reply, so she chose to ask Daisy her question instead of googling it.

“Daisy, what does ‘smth’ mean when you are texting someone?”

“It means something, why, who are you texting in English?” Daisy asked suspiciously yet with a knowing look.

“No one, hey!” Sydney squealed, grabbing her phone that she’d left open and face up, giving Daisy plenty of time to see who it was.

“That would've been so much less suspicious if you hadn't tried to hide it.” Daisy giggled.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Sydney said, trying to think of a reply.

“I mean that you’re literally texting one of your colleagues, but you're acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.” Sydney chose not to respond, and Daisy gasped excitedly. “You are a schoolgirl with a crush! I won’t tell anyone, don't worry. Does Pierre know?” Sydney was confused as to why she would be asking about Pierre, but she chose to focus on the bigger issue.

“No, because I do not have a crush on Lando.” Sydney still hadn't replied.

“It's perfectly fine, he’s cute. A bit young for me, but I can see why you’d like him.” Daisy giggled, yelling playfully when Sydney pinched her.

“I do not have a crush on him, we are friends only. Anyway, do I have any free time in London?” She said semi-sheepishly. Thankfully Daisy chose to drop the subject, although she kept a self-satisfied smile on her face as she opened her calendar app.

“Well, we get in at 11, your photoshoot’s at 12:30 and that will take a few hours, they’ve said ‘till 4 but it'll probably be more like 6, and then you're free for the whole night with the interview tomorrow at 10. Sooo-” She sung, but Sydney cut her off with a glare.

“I will tell him that we can hang out tonight then. And maybe he will bring Alex and George, and I will not care because I do not have a crush on him.” Sydney said defiantly, about to begin drafting her text.

“sure, i am free tonight from 6:30, we can have dinner?” She backspaced that. It sounded too intense.

“sure, r u free after 6:30?” Pierre was trying to help her with her English texting, but so far u and r was all that had stuck. She sent the message and hoped that she sounded chill yet enthusiastic yet cool enough. Almost straight away she saw the three dots, and then they disappeared again. Then the message:

“yep, it's random but u wanna go see a quiet place 2? we can get some food after too if u want”

The three bubbles appeared then disappeared again, Lando clearly not wanting to become a double texter this early on.

“i am excited, i am staying at the hilton so u can pick me up? 😄😄” She was trying to channel some of their more playful drunken banter, but immediately regretted it after pressing the little blue arrow, thinking that she was coming off as needy.

“ugh fine 😐 see u at 6:30 🤪” It's okay, it worked. She flicked over to the safari tab and typed in ‘a quiet place 2’. Horror/thriller. Those kind of movies didn't freak her out too much and plus, she would be with Lando, and she couldn't imagine him taking anything that seriously. Although, they hadn't really spent that much time together, so she didn't know why she was coming to these conclusions.

“Done organising your date?” Daisy asked, and it awoke Sydney out of her trance.

“Yes.” She said with faux annoyance, not bothering to correct her on ‘date’.

“Good, cos we've landed.” Sydney hadn't even registered the plane descending at all, let alone the bumps from landing nor the people now waiting to leave the plane. Daisy just chuckled and shook her head. Sydney thought she heard her mutter something about Charlotte, the name of Lando’s PR manager, but she was probably just hearing things now.

-----

The clock had just ticked over to 10:30pm, and instead of sitting in some overpriced Italian restaurant with Lando like she'd been daydreaming about for the past 2 hours, she was standing in the bathroom of the hotel room taking off her makeup with some wipes she stole from the set, her feet aching so much they felt as if they were sinking into the tiles. The whole day had been a colossal shitshow.

Her and Daisy had arrived a comfortable 10 minutes before 12:30, showered and fresh, ready to pose with her helmet and then maybe without it for a few hours. Instead, after ringing the buzzer to the studio and getting no response, they got a call from an assistant of an assistant and told to come to a different studio on the other side of London. So they hailed a taxi, stressed themselves silly until they got there, only to be told that the photographer was running late and wouldn't be able to begin shooting until 2. Sydney texted Pierre in a huff and was uncomforted by his reply that it happens all the time, and what was she expecting? At 2 she was heralded in to be prettied up, and even when the makeup artist admitted that they were 'unusually disorganised that day,’ Sydney just put on her well rehearsed smile, said it was fine and still didn't think to text Lando and cancel their plans. Something inside her wouldn't allow it. But, after several more outfit, lighting and backdrop changes, with the photographer seemingly having no plan and moving with the wind, she caved and let Daisy text Lando through her phone and say that she wouldn't be able to make it. He was kind and understanding, because of course he was, but Sydney still felt a sense of sad defeat where her nerves for the photoshoot once were. Finally, at 10:03pm the photographer had seemed satisfied and now here she was, disappointed and exhausted.

She had texted Lando as soon as they had finished, just to make sure he knew she hadn't forgotten about him, but he was yet to reply. She felt silly for thinking that he would keep his evening free after she cancelled, and yet she couldn't fight the small pang of something at the thought of being replaced so easily.

She was brushing out her hair, fluffy from just blow drying it so it wouldn't be wet while she was sleeping, when she heard her phone buzz. Thinking it was either Pierre or Daisy, she tapped the notification without looking, and didn't realise who it actually was until she picked up the phone to type her reply.

“still down if ur not too tired, in london anyway so can pick u up in 10”

Sydney felt her mouth go dry and her heart start beating loudly in her chest.

“sure, text me when u r here”

She stood still for a moment, just looking at herself in the mirror, before she realised that Lando would be there in 10 minutes and she was in her pyjamas, bra off and hair frizzy. She quickly tied her hair in two plaits, not the French braids she did for races, just relaxed ones, and shoveled clothes out of her suitcase to try and find something suitable. She figured it wasn't going to be overly intense given they were going to watch a movie at 10:30pm on a Friday night when most other people their age would be half blackout in a club by now. She pulled out a pair of wide leg jeans and a green turtleneck. It wasn't what she would usually wear, but then again this isn't what she would usually do. She hadn't been on a date since she'd tried out tinder once during her break between F3 and F2, and that had ended in her saying she had diarrhoea then calling her mum to pick her up.

‘ This isn't a date .’ She reminded herself, but she barely had time to unpack that thought before Lando had texted that he was there and she hadn't even put her shoes on.

“one sec” She replied. She grabbed her wallet and room key and sped walk down the hall, not before texting Daisy where she was going. She didn't need to, she was a grown woman after all, but it felt appropriate. Daisy responded “have fun 😉” and Sydney felt an unknown weight lift off her shoulders. She left out through the hotel's sliding doors and spotted Lando's outrageous car stopped right in front of her. She was trying not to walk towards it too fast, scared of looking too eager, and he got out of the driver’s side before she reached the car.

“That is a very nice car.” She said, half laughing as she looked at her situation objectively. Lando was standing in front of her, grinning sheepishly as he opened her door.

“What, AlphaTauri don't give you cars?” He asked.

“Comparing a Honda to a McLaren is like comparing me to Lewis Hamilton.” Sydney replied, trying not to look at Lando’s hands as he drove them out of the driveway. Something about how calm he looked, how at home he seemed in the car, it made her feel safe and warm in the unfamiliar vehicle.

“Yeah, one's much better looking than the other.” He said cheekily, pretending to look hurt when she flicked his shoulder.

“Is this movie we are seeing good?” She asked, and Lando laughed. “What?” She replied incredulously.

“Nothing, I don't know, it was just how you said it.” He said, smiling. “The first one was pretty good, so I’m sure this one will be good too.”

“Wow, so detailed, I cannot wait.” Sydney said sarcastically. “In a range of 1 to 10, how scary is it?”

“Maybe like a 4, it's mainly jumpscares. Don't worry, you can hold my hand.” He grinned.

“Oh wow, thank you so much. What exactly is a, euh,” She trailed off.

“Jumpscare?” Sydney nodded. “It's just like, AH!”

“Ah!” Sydney yelped, although considerably less loud than Lando. “What the fuck?” Lando just laughed.

“That's a jumpscare.”

“Fuck, I think I need to sleep after that.” Sydney noticed that they’d pulled into a car park and assumed that they were at the cinema.

“By the way, it's ‘on a scale of 1 to 10,’ not ‘in a range.’” Lando said, and this time Sydney thought he might actually be blushing.

“Merci, Lando. On a scale of 1 to 10, how common is the expression, ‘busy bee’?” She didn't know why that was what she thought of, but he seemed to find it amusing.

“I don't know, maybe a 4?”

“I am beginning to think that 4 is your favourite number.” Sydney said, and poked the logo on the hoodie he was wearing, because of course it was his own merch. He smiled and said nothing, now focusing on getting them into the actual theatre. Something about his whole demeanor made her feel so protected, and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. He wasn't that much taller than her, only a few centimetres, and although he was broader it wasn't his physicalness that made her feel so safe in his presence. Maybe it was the way he drove, or how he led them around the cinema like he'd been there many times before, or how he found their seats and, without hesitating, put his arm around the back of her chair, but she felt more at ease than she had since the night after the Monaco grand prix, and she was beginning to think he might be some kind of lucky charm for her. Less lucky, though, and more just...right.

“If you get bored or tired we can leave, I know you've had a long day.” Lando whispered under the movie trailers. He didn't need to, they were the only ones there, but his hot breath on her ear made her wish he spoke like that all the time. She turned her face towards his so that she could whisper back, and brushed her nose along his cheek in the process.

“I won't get bored, don't worry. And if I start falling asleep you can do a jumpscare and I will wake up.” They both laughed softly, then turned their attention to the screen in front of them as the movie began. His arm was still around the back of her chair, and she was resisting the impulse to lift up the armrest separating them and lean into him. She didn't know why though. If it was Pierre, her only friend she really spent time with alone, she wouldn't’ve hesitated, mainly because he probably would've initiated whatever it was and she would just be reciprocating. Maybe that was why she had this pit in her stomach when it came to Lando. It wasn't a crush, she just didn't really know how to act around him yet. The thought eased her mind, she didn't need to stress over the nuisance of having feelings for another driver, despite how carefree Daisy seemed to think it was.

Realistically, even if she did have a crush on another driver, it would be the most nightmarish situation imaginable, whether it was Lando or not. There would be the conflict of wanting them to do well but wanting to do your best. Needing to focus on your race but constantly thinking of how they were going. Feeling like you were sharing them with millions of other people with only a tiny portion to call your own. The questions and the rumours. Never feeling good enough as a driver or a girlfriend. Oh, and not to mention the complete and all encompassing lack of privacy. She must have drifted off into this world of unreal scenarios when a loud noise from the movie startled her and she let out a squeal. In her defence, it was a very, very quiet movie. Lando laughed and shuffled in his seat, almost seeming to get closer to her but still not touching.

Now she was paying attention. And the more invested she became, the more stressed she was for these characters. Also, her weirdly intense focus meant that the next loud noise, which was just some birds flying out of a train car, had her squeezing the armrest out of anxiety for what would come next. She looked over at Lando to see if he was just as freaked out as she was, when she saw that he was already looking at her. Of course, he looked forward once they’d made eye contact, but she knew what she saw. Over the course of the movie, Sydney found herself making her body smaller and smaller until she was sitting with one knee up and one crossed under it, both feet off the ground, her arms wrapped around her raised knee and her head leaning on Lando’s shoulder. The armrest was now digging into her side though, and in a moment of calm she sat up slightly to lift it out of the way.

“Watcha doin’?” Lando asked quietly, above a whisper but not talking volume. She noticed that his fingertips had followed her left shoulder around and were just grazing her jumper as she adjusted the seat.

“This thing is becoming seriously annoying, and I need full focus for the end of this movie.” Lando laughed and seemed to welcome her back into his shoulder where she now settled, much more comfortable and much, much closer. She had a brief moment of wondering if she was being annoying, but she soothed herself by saying that he wouldn't be running his fingers up and down her upper arm if he was finding her annoying. Which, by the way, felt incredibly nice.

The climax was building and, despite telling herself it was just a movie, Sydney couldn't stop the stress that was pumping through her and, without an armrest to clutch, she reached over and grabbed Lando’s hand, wrapping both of hers around it and squeezing. Later, she would realise that this definitely wasn't how she'd behaved with Pierre after a week of friendship, and certainly not how she behaved with any of her other friends, but in that moment all she cared about was the little deaf girl escaping the weird skeleton spider maze-runner things and Lando's warm, callused yet soft hand was a lovely way to express that.

“ Shit, shit, shit, fuck off, run bitch run! Oh my fucking god, why would you do that?” Sydney started yelling quietly, not even realising that she had started speaking French. She briefly thought that she felt Lando squeeze one of her hands back, but she couldn't tell through how hard she was gripping his. After what seemed like the most tense minutes of her life, the credits began to roll and she felt like she could breathe again. She patted the back of Lando's hand before releasing it, and then she reached up her arms to stretch. Lando's hand fell to rest on her waist, now unobstructed by her arms, and his thumb smoothed over the green fabric of her jumper. She lent to rest her head on his shoulder once more, and they sat watching the credits, neither making a move to leave.

That was, until, Sydney’s stomach grumbled the loudest she'd ever heard and Lando let out a laugh. “We probably should’ve eaten before.” Sydney smiled and reluctantly stood up out of his embrace, wanting nothing more than to stay in the warm, low lit room. It was the calmest she'd felt all day.

“Mm, maybe. Where are we going to eat though? It is,” She unlocked her phone “20 past midnight.”

“We're in London, Syd. On a Friday night.”

“Well, lead the way.” She said, gesturing for him to walk past her in the aisle. He swung an arm back around her shoulders and they left the cinema, thanking the teenage cashier on the way out. Instead of getting the lift back down to the carpark, Lando steered her through the front doors, and they were met with London’s cold midnight air. Sydney pulled her sleeves over her hands and tilted her chin further down into her jumper, Lando's arm just the tiniest bit tighter around her shoulders.

“You wanna get a kebab?” Lando asked, and Sydney wondered why he sounded half joking.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. Why are you laughing?” She asked incredulously.

“I dunno, I never picked you as a kebab girl.” He said, coming to a halt in front of the brightly coloured menus and food encased behind glass. “I’ll have a chicken kebab thanks.” He asked the man behind the counter, who nodded but was still eyeing them with vague recognition.

“Uh, yes, me too.” Sydney smiled, and pinched Lando in the side when she heard him snicker. “What, it must be good if that's what you're getting.” Lando just smiled in response.

“You two’re in formula one, aren't you?” The man said, assembling their food on the bench.

“Yep.” Lando replied, the two of them not really knowing how to act now.

“Would you sign something for my daughter? She started watching ever since you started driving, won’t shut up about it now.” Sydney looked up and expected him to be speaking to Lando, but found him looking straight at her.

“Of course, euh,” She picked up a napkin and took a pen from the ‘customer feedback’ jar, signing her name. She waited until he was done with their food to give it to him, and he gave her a big toothy grin in return.

“Thanks, it means a lot.”

“You're welcome, oh and thank you as well.” Sydney replied, lifting her kebab in acknowledgment. He just nodded, still smiling, and they left the store. She noticed that Lando still hadn't said anything, so she looked up at him, only to see him stuffing his face full of kebab.

“Woh?” He said through chewed kebab, and she gently pushed his shoulder.

“Nothing, is it good?” She said, taking a bite out of the corner of hers after he nodded.

“Bhe besht.” He mumbled.

“That is disgusting.” Sydney laughed. They were very slowly walking back to the car, feet moving sluggishly on the pavement. “Why did you not pick me as a kebab girl? This is delicious.” Lando seemed bashful, which only made her want to know more.

“I dunno, I would've thought you were a bit more...upmarket than kebabs.”

“Why do you say that huh?” Sydney giggled, trying to look annoyed.

“I dunno, you just uh, seem like the, you know, type.” Lando said awkwardly.

“Lando, I am missing what you are trying to say here. I will not be offensive, if that is what you are scared of.” Sydney smiled.

“Offended, you won't be offended.” Lando chuckled.

“Stop avoiding the question.” Sydney prodded.

“I dunno, you're just, really quiet around the other drivers, and, I mean I don't think this, of course, but you kind of have a, uh, reputation, of being, you know?”

“A snob?” She asked, not smiling anymore. “People still think that? From one interview, are you fucking joking me?” She knew she'd said something weird because of the way it sounded, but she didn't really mind.

“Well, some people, but like George and Carlos and them don't think that. Daniel doesn’t.” Lando said. Sydney didn't feel too angry at him specifically, because how could she when he was standing there, hoodie bunched around his wrists, hair curly and soft, walking her back to his nice car to drive her back to her hotel after taking her to a movie.

“It just makes me fucking pissed off. I do one thing and instead of it becoming a little joke that gets brought up from time to time, I am now a snob. Fuck me.” They had reached the car park, but Sydney didn't want to go home yet.

“Maybe you’ll just have to keep spending time with me, and when your accent gets weaker you'll lose your French snob reputation and all will be well in the world.” Lando smiled, clearly trying to ease the tension.

“Mm, maybe I will.” Sydney said, letting out a yawn. They were both standing by the boot of Lando's car, neither one heading towards the doors.

“I should take you back.” Lando said, and she thought she heard a note of disappointment in his voice.

“Do you have to drive home tonight?” Sydney said, remembering that he didn't actually live in London.

“Ah, no. I’m staying at a friend's place.” He looked down at his shoes, scuffing one against the concrete.

“Ooh, a lady friend?” Sydney said, a joking tone in her voice, despite a small hole that seemed to open up in her stomach.

“Uh, no, not really.” Lando said, and by his tone of voice she couldn't tell what it was he was trying to hide, but before she could continue quizzing him she yawned once more and remembered that she had an interview the next day.

“Oh well, maybe I should be going home anyway, I have an interview tomorrow.” She said, scrunching up her nose.

“Busy bee.” Lando said, smiling as he got into the driver's seat.

“Shut up.” She laughed.

“I really like that photo of you, by the way.” Lando said, choosing to focus on the road to avoid eye contact.

“Really, why?” She didn't mean to be so frank, but her sleepiness was hitting her now and she was losing her filter.

“I dunno. You look very relaxed. You don't seem relaxed very often.” He said quietly.

“I’m always relaxed with you.” Sydney murmured without thinking, the hum of his car below her filling up the space after her words.

“Mm, me too.” Lando looked over at her and smiled softly. She felt that hole in her stomach fill up with something warm and gooey, and it made her feel a bit sick in a nice way. She definitely didn't feel this way around Pierre, or Charles, or Daisy, or her parents. She'd never felt this way in her whole life. Then again, she'd never had that many friends. Maybe this was just how people felt about their best, best friends.

#Formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris one shot #lando norris fic #lando norris x oc #lando norris x reader

41 notes · View notes

aquateenpatrolsomethingshowshow · 5 months

Text

ok so i dont feel like doing a full on review of the new episode so im just gonna make bullet points of the high lights and things that stuck out to me lmao

((contents spoilers below))

• still love that intro its so fucking awesome

• still loving the upgraded animation its so fluent and beautiful but still maintains that classic “aqua teen” look

• ok but shake is kinda hot in that outfit ngl

• shake looks like literally every millennial in my town and especially the ones that go to the coffee shops in my area lol

• MEATWAD IN THE FUCKING HIGH CHAIR IM CRYING

• “its spelled with a g cuz disney owns it” 💀💀

• “hoverboard” and its the fucking roomba 💀

• this is literally clone high istg with the self aware roombas istg /j

• all the robots had little hands that kinda looked like shakes thats so cute

• his whole rant about drinking the cream had me dead

• “its an easy fix tanner” BFNFCFNGFVX bro has beef with tanner lmao

• “master shaken not stirred” ok but that cream work was fucking bad ass

• bro literally had robots write his movie for him thats literally what it felt like when i would be paired with ppl for school projects and i had to do all the work for them but they still take credit for it 😭💀🙄

• DAMN BRO chill out with the coffee

• “script title” thats so shake

• bro literally just called his characters “boy 1” and “boy 2” 😭😭

• “i dont drink coffee its makes me uhh..” IT MAKES YOU WHAT FRYLOCK?!?! • oh hi theres more robots

• MEATWAD HANGING OUT WITH THE ROBOTS THATS SO CUTE TWO OF MY FAV THINGS TOGETHER AND THE SIPPING AND SWIRLING THE COFFEE AROUND MOTIONS WERE SO CUTE TF

• “a relationship of a gummy bear and candy cane” 🥺🥺🥺🥺

• THE MICHAEL CAINE ROBOT IS SO CUTE I LOVE HIM HIS LITTLE GLASSES AND ACCENT I CANT

• “the movie” at carls 🙄🙄🙄

• MEATWAD COVERING HIS EYES CUZ HES NOT ALLOWED TO SEE THAT STUFF 🥺🥺🥺 ARE THEY TRYING TO MAKE ME GET EMOTIONAL OVER HIM?!?! /nm ((love the nod/continuity of meatwad not being able to see that type of stuff tho))

• MOVIE TIME

• WHY DOES THE MOVIE LOOK LIKE THOSE OLD QUIZNOS COMMERCIALS HELP YALL KNOW WHICH ONES I MEAN 💀💀💀

• LOOK AT MEATWAD HES SHIELDING HIS EYES AGAIN HES SO PRECIOUS I CANT

• “easy with the hands love” 💀💀💀 I LOVE THAT HE CALLS EVERYONE LOVE CUZ HES BRI’ISH

• WHERE DID FRYLOCK GET THE MONEY TO GET A LITERAL IPHONE FUCKING 15?! DAMN BRO

• NO WAY YALL THEY GOT A ROBOT OF THE GUY FROM THE WEAPON OF CHOICE MUSIC VIDEO 😱😱😱 ((/t ik its christopher walken lol))

• HOLY SHIT IS THAT MR FUCKING BUTLERTRON I CANT BELIEVE THEY PUT MR B FROM THE HIT SERIES CLONE HIGH IN ATHF 😱😱😱 /j

• “and michael richards” THE MICHAEL RICHARDS??? COSMO KRAMER MICHAEL RICHARDS?!?!

• “now i can make toast in another city” said no one ever AND BOI WHERE YOU GOING ANYWAY YOURE POOR

• HOW DARE YOU DENY THE BABEY BOY TOAST

• bro literally just killed all the robots 0s and 1s are like robot poison lol

• classic athf to just blow up the house lmao

• DAMN THAT LEAF TRANSITION WAS SO GOOD AND PRETTY

• “sticks and hicks” lmao

• it looks so peaceful up there kinda reminds me of that one og emma chamberlain video where her and her dad go to her grandparents house in the literal woods lmao

• “read some books, play some board games, make some s’mores” that sounds so cozy and im just picturing them all doing that and its so cute

• “no wifi? im going back to the robots” thats an honest to god mood

• IS THIS THE FUCKING TRANSFORMERS?! /j

AND SCENE

ngl the most recent episode wasnt the best out of the 3 so far tbh but it wasnt horrible probably give it like a 6 or 7 out of 10 i also like how they do the credits over the episode it gives them more of the episode to do but also ends in a way thats still very “aqua teen” if that makes sense

also wish they did more with them out in the country and like maybe doing something at a regular cabin instead of the robot in disguise ((which ik was the joke/point of how it ended)) but still that wouldve been really wholesome

#athf #aqua teen #aqua teen hunger force #master shake #meatwad #frylock #carl brutananadilewski #athf spoilers #spoilers #season 12

5 notes · View notes

stonyponyofficial · 11 months

Note

solid snake voice really personal, huh? what, by your best estimate, were you doing five years ago to the day? how's about ten years ago?

okay this is a really good question. send moar

June 11 2018: i had just graduated high school like.. two weeks prior so i was on my summer vacation before i went to college :3 i didnt move out until the end of that summer so i was still at my parents. not as exciting as it definitely sounds i was probably just on.. actually lets take a look shall we!... it looks like i reblogged THIS dope tshirt and a few more posts that just arent very good. we reblog better posts now at least. i was probably just hulled in me room doing tumblr thingz. oh how the tables continue to table.

June 11 2013: now we dont have any tumblr evidence to go off so this is a bit harder to recall. still summer vacation but between grades.... im doing the math hold on. damn 7th going into 8th. actually wait i know exactly what i was probably doing, my family had just moved so that summer they had me help with a lot of things in the new house. we did a lot of yard work and remodeling stuff and it was so annoyyinnggg like this was all my summer was . and also having no wifi for like a month. i ended up watching through our dvd and vhs collections a few times by the summers end. i remember cutting my hand pretty bad on some carpet i was cutting up also. not the exacto knife i was cutting the carpet with, the carpet is what i was cut on. probably not on this exact day though i was just thinking about that again, god that sucked. was the summer i learned my love for arizona half and half also. im gonna say i was sitting outside sipping an ice cold can of arnold palmer watching the sunset after a long day of being on my property brothers shit. nothin like it 👍

#violet originals #this was a good one thanks u :3

5 notes · View notes

stormxpadme · 1 year

Note

AO3 has been kicking me out for around 10mins bcs of pages loading too slow on wifi and data both so it wont let me post a comment on ch 7 (i think) SO HERE IT IS i will not go to sleep till i send it to you PUBLICALLY ! (gonna also paste it into ao3 tmrw but i need to send it now and then pass out for at least 3 more hrs xD):

REMYYYYYY AAAA i literally firgot everything i was gonna say when i figured out its gambjt j'fucking adoreeeee 🥰🥰🥰

one bad mutant for eric one food mutant fir charles. theyre just playing chess at this point. assholes. also with the like killing and mystiques comment abt another talk between erik and charles i had a thiught there... hmmmm.... i wish i rmbrd what kt was. OH YEAH. it hink i said this a while ago somewhere that its like. Its a draw, and impasse, and until either one of them crossed any of the arbitrary lines they drew in the sand nothing will change

Also scott is a dumbass and katja is so extremely like. Idealistic. I love that for her bcs she still has enthusiasm amd has that righteous anger that comes off as either annoying or hopeful to someone whos been fighting a war for so long such as scott. And i love that part of the convo where scott is like we cant save the whole world. It made me think of schindlers list and that quite - the man who saves a life has saved a world entire. Which is ironic given that its eriks goons doing this, which AGAIN brings me to erkis hypocrisy this time and like. Him and charles are just two sides of a same coin arent they?

The encounter with that girl yesterday had left him more confused than he had experienced in years. - side eyeing you for this 👀🤨😤😹❤️

With this weapon, we can turn all of New York into mutants in a few days and all of humanity in six months - oh i rmbrd now! (I cooy some quites to clipboard not to forget to comment on them xd) - what i wanted to say here is that i have all the love and none of the respect for cartoonish villain plans ised to attract the attention of your ex boyfriend xD "imma turn the whole new york into SHARKS and i'll be the SHARK MASTER" like dude chill ffs just text him its okay its cool xD.

❤️

It sent, actually! But yeah, everything's lagging there right now including my answers to you and I'm getting unnerved bc AO3 GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. So I will answer here :D And then I will send you to bed BECAUSE REASONS.

And hey, there's a definite advantage to posting here: You can include visuals :D.

I needed my red eyed Cajun baby in there :D. I mean obviously, since the team is what it's like in the 90s cartoon plus one additional weather-witch, but also because Remy is too fucking cute (and Taylor Kitsch was too fucking hot playing him).

Yeep, exactly. Charles and Erik love each other far too much still for their own good. This whole thing would long have been over with everyone dead if they didn't hold their respective people back. With how it's going, there's just more and more collateral damage on the way, and those two still will just fuck it out and cry on each other's shoulder in the end, and they deserve all the shade thrown at them for it.

Uuugh now I get emotional about Schindler's list again, never managed to rewatch that, it broke me so much the first time already. I think it's really the hardest part about this job? Getting to terms that you can't be everywhere at once and that making as much of a difference as you can is what counts and not saving everyone because that simply won't work. And my girl is still at the beginning of learning that sigh. It's really chilling seeing Erik walk around killing off random people in this franchise just because they're normal people bc like. This is what happens when someone's been on the receiving end of this and then gets the power to turn the tables on the fascist assholes. The moral dilemma of the whole thing ugh.

Oh god, I'm so sorry for this storyline already LOL. Poor Ororo really needs better taste in men …

thanks, now I can never take that plan seriously again LOOOL. I mean, when Erik finally gets up to get this plan up and started, Charles will indeed be there in person, so I guess in the end the plan worked? :D

#sometimes stormy gets asked things #effervescentdragon #x men #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #x men original timeline movies #ao3 get your shit together #i'm sorry but that part just broke me #erik risking killing ten thousands of people and starting a war #just to get charles' attention #WHERE'S THE FUCKING LIE THO #writing #of course NOW ao3 is down

9 notes · View notes

captainnameless · 2 years

Note

Daniel is absorbed in gathering and packing his and Lando's things until he hears the clatter of the thrown phone and the sharp intake of breath before the sobbing begins. Desperately trying to gather the little, who just struggles against him, into his arms, convinced some jerk must have thrown a jump scare into whatever video Lando had been watching, until the little snaps with a fed up shout of "Why are people so mean!" And oh. That hurts Daniel's heart. (1) - 👻

Lando relaxes now that some of the frustration is gone, allowing Daniel to hold him, gently rock him back and forth. "Hey, little one. Thought we already talked about not caring what those meanies have to say." Lando nods dejectedly, but he still wants to talk - wants to be comforted and reassured. "Wasn't just me. Was being mean to you and Papa too." (2) "Hmm, is that so? Well, I think me and that other McLaren driver" - Daniel pauses, bopping Lando's nose to signal that he is talking about him, and is rewarded with a series of watery giggles - "did the best we could do. Both in the points? That's something to celebrate, bubs. And your papa … Carlos didn't do anything wrong, no? Did his best with the car he was given." Lando finally lifts his head from Dan's chest, tears mostly gone. "Proud of us. Proud of Papa too." (3) "Yeah? Why don't we see if your Papa wants to meet us before we all have to catch our flights, and you can tell him that yourself?" And well … cue Lando huddled between his two favorite people in the world, repeating all of the reassuring things Daniel had said, whispering just as many "so much talent, my Papa / my Danny," "so proud of you, my Papa / my Danny," "love you, my Papa / my Danny" as he gets in return. (4) end of ask

please my poor heart, it’s been a hell hole online and poor Lando getting upset especially cause it’s shit being talked about the people he cares about; right on the dot he’d throw a fit about it, and to be fair i’d want to too. Daniel (luckily) definitely has the thicker skin, can be their voice of reason and get them both out of that negative spiral of caring what online trolls have to say. people who wouldn’t last a day doing what they do. also him taking Lando to go see Carlos for that extra bit of reassurance is 👌🏻 Lando’ll be wrapped into a crushing hug and peppered with kisses in so much he’s batting at Carlos’ face and struggling in his hold calling out for Daniel to save him within a minute, tears long forgotten.

He spends the flight on the airplane wifi sending both Carlos and Daniel those cute insta inspirational post about how good they are and how much he loves them, spamming their DM’s so much Daniel who’s still grounded and in a meeting has to turn off his phone.

Also, the bit about the jump scare made me think of Charles or Max pranking Lando/Mick with that car driving in the woods jumpscare video (pls know what i mean im still scarred 18 years later), putting it on on their flat screen in the living room and scaring the everliving shit out of them, resulting in a scolding and a loss of TV privileges

#littlef1adventures #👻 anon

7 notes · View notes

theancientdarkbeauty · 6 months

Text

Update On This Bitch Ass MF

Alright, my brain is short circuiting, and I'm just screaming into the void rn so, update ahead, enter if you dare (update under cut cause it's a little liggity long)

So, you didn't know unless you were there during the "My computer didn't fucking work" era that started my big ol' hiatus, but I got a new computer (woo hoo! :D) and it was working perfectly. Emphasis on WAS. Turns out, living in the country, I'm too close to town to get to get rural wifi, which is fast as shit, and too far away to get town wifi, which is somehow even faster? Anyways, I knew of this problem when I moved into the house, but it's my family's homestead, I moved here when I was in highschool, yadiyadaya, no need for fast wifi just a couple years ago. HOWEVER! Now that I have a crazy good computer (I'm talking liquid cooled, built it myself, named it TheBeast) I need at least alright wifi, right? Well RECENTLY it's gotten WORSE! Somehow, it got worse than it already was! Which means, and keep in mind, I got petty enough to time it, but this delay in wifi has caused me to wait up to 14. WHOLE. MINUTES. Yes, you read that right: 1. 4. Obviously I'm not gonna just deal with that without, you know, being a little bitch. I have a new wifi provider that I'm going to be testing soon. Hopefully, cross your finger dear reader, I can stop waiting 14 minutes for my college work to load. Oh yeah, I got college stuff to do, specifically taking a creative class because I thought I was out of practice in writing. It's actually really helped! But, the topic, wifi, is that the new router should be here by Wednesday, and I should be able to test it out, maybe fix some errors and stuff that have been happening due to slow wifi.

So, wifi segment over. If you read this far, thanks. I really only made this because I'm frustrated af rn, so reading me type out my rage is something you didn't need to do, so thanks. BUT WAIT! THERE'S FUCKING MORE! (At least in the bad new segment, good news is at the very end, sorry!)

PAYDAY. 3. Hot topic right now, right? Well I had been tying to sign in for A FULL WEEK! SEVEN FUCKING DAYS! I did everything, like, legitimately everything, but caved at 4 days, and contacted the Nebula help line thing. Everyone was very nice, the costumer service was great, a tiny bit slow towards the end, but they had a good reason. I told them what was going on, they were very nice, accidently gave them the wrong Nebula Starbreeze account at first because I'm dyslexic as fuck, still very nice, much better than my conversation with like, the EA or Epic helplines (very long story), and eventually they got to the root of the problem. My problem was that it kept giving me a Nebula Data Configuration Error, every time I booted up the game. Tried everything, like I said earlier. They get to me 3 days after I told them all my special information and all the steps I took to try and troubleshoot on my own. You wanna know what they told me? Of course you do you've read this far. Let me preface this with the fact that I am just mad, and they were very polite about this, and the team is doing the best I can I'm absolutely sure, BUT THEY TOLD ME IT WAS SUCH A SPECIALIZED ERROR THEY NEEDED TO PATCH IT IN THE NEXT UPDATE! Now, I don't know if this was intentional, but they gave me the rough date for the update, but I don't know if it's the real big one everyone's waiting for, so I'm not going to tell you guys because I value their mysteriousness and don't want leak something that starbreeze was only telling me to let me know when to try and play the game again so that I can contact them if it didn't work. I don't know, it'd probably be super cool to be known as the user who knew when the update would come out, but it feels wrong to leak something like that if it is the correct date for the big update and stuff. So now I'm stuck, just listening to Gustavo Coutinho's fucking banner music for Payday 3 from youtube and not being able to watch the gameplay and stuff. And I heard there were cutscenes? CUTSCENES?! I am so excited to see those. WHEN I CAN PLAY THE GAME. (I feel like that one Fair Odd Parents meme omg)

Final update: Fun stuff!

Working on redesigning EVERY. SINGLE. CHARACTER. That has ever left the recesses of my mind for an upcoming comic I'm gonna try and make, once the whole wifi situation is fixed. Working on the new chapter of The Golden Tempest (I almost posted this with it's "inside name" hehe, too bad you'll never know what the files are called), and working on From the Eyes of the Payday Gang, or at least trying to. I'm thinking of doing a grocery store worker at the grocery store the Payday gang all has to take turns going to the store but whole store knows that they're all like a family or some shit because they are all idiots and all use the same car because it's not in the fucking budget to get another car, so they have the escape van and the "family car" and that's it. Holy shit that was a weird lore tangent, but anyways, comic maybe coming, Payday related content definitely coming, some more surprises and goodies in the works, so expect this account to be much more active. Today is the first day off I've in I don't know how long, but a long time, and so just expect some text stuff from me, since my computer can't apparently handle doing anything on CSP because of the wifi situation. Sorry for the long post, have a wonderful day!

Real quick: SHOUT OUT TO THE MUTUAL DECPACEETOES! I DO NOT THINK I SPELLED THAT RIGHT! ALWAYS GOT MY BACK MAN!

(Bonus, if I do anything that involves my person life, I'll add the tag "You're creature speakith", so if you wanna see more of this in the future, follow the tag. Don't like it, never want to see it again, block that shit, I totally understand either way. All my funny or creative prompts will have my signature turtle smile on them. You know, this guy: :} Which is perhaps an homage to the TMNT fandom, or perhaps my herpetology nerd shining through, you will never know, will you?)

#You're creature speakith

1 note · View note

sadlysoulx · 3 years

Text

Haikyuu characters thinking you want to break up with them

part 1 (Atsumu& Sakusa)

Heyyyoo~ I'm sorry I haven't post in a while school's bad and it managed to get into my nerves without me going to the place itself plus i have now wifi so I have to connect to my dad's data☹️ Thanks for 33 followers😭💖!! Especially to my friend Mocha berry who supported me :)

Would be doing Tsukishima and Ushijima in part 2 ;)

⚠️Warning⚠️: swearing, not proofread

ATSUMU

"I really have enough!" Atsumu banged his fist down the table, making you flinch and take a step backwards.

"You are so fucking dramatic," he pointed at your shivering figure.

"I'm dramatic?" You asked hysterically. "I'm the ones who's dramatic?" You asked again, glaring back at Atsumu. "Open your eyes, 'tsumu! You're the one who made this into a bigger issue!"

"Me?!" Atsumu screamed back, finally making your tears fall down. "Y/N! If you weren't do clingy, this wouldn't happen!"

"Its not my fault that my boyfriend doesn't have time for me!" You fisted your hands.

"And this is fucking why I regretted to ask you to be my s/o!"

You stopped. Brain stopped functioning as you slowly let his words sink in, and to your despair, he didnt stop there.

"If you weren't my s/o, I would have a free life without you whining around like a kid," Atsumu was still shaking from anger.

"I would have the best life without you," he muttered.

More tears flowed down on your face.

"Fine!" You walked out the kitchen and into your shared bedroom, making sure you bang the door open.

You grabbed your bag and began stuffing down your clothes.

You heard loud and fast footsteps and in the corner of your eye, you saw Atsumu standing and peeking in the door, regret filled his eyes.

"Y/N—"

"If your not contented with me," you began as you take another bag and filled it with toiletries. "Then find another s/o, I wouldn't mind,"

You swung your bag over your shoulder and quickly breezed past him out the door.

"Y-Y/N!"

Tears prick your eye since again as you quickly fumbled with your house keys and shakily tried to shove the the keys into the keyhole.

Atsumu grabbed your arm, trying to pull you to his chest.

"Y/N! Babe—"

"Don't fucking call me Babe!" You turned to him, new fresh batch of angry tears flowing down your cheeks. "Save that for your new s/o!"

You could see Atsumu's eyes turn glassy, his bottom lip trembling.

You successfully unlock the main door and you walked out of your apartment, striding down the hallway and waiting for the elevator.

Atsumu quickly followed you to turn annoyance, sniffles escaping his trembling lips constantly.

You hated seeing him hurt, especially if your the one who cause it. Imagining him with another person left a sour taste in your mouth.

But now that Atsumu said that he wished he wasn't your s/o, you knew that it wouldn't be long for him to find a new someone— if ever the both of you really make things over.

You distracted yourself by looking up the escalating red digital numbers that was labeled up the elevator doors.

In the corner of your eye, you see Atsumu opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to say something but he couldn't. His hands hesitantly trying to reach out for you, his head hung low, tears dripping out of his red eyes pitifully.

The elevator doors finally opened and that's when Atsumu find his courage to talk to you.

"Y-you're really gonna leave me, aren't you?" He whispered softly, only loud enough for you to hear.

You stopped your attempt to walk in the elevator and stare aimlessly somewhere.

His sniffles and hiccups were getting worst. He was obviously trying to stop himself for crying.

You watch as the elevator doors close infront of you.

Turning to him, you saw his huge mascular figure shaking violently and his head still hung low.

"You are, aren't you?" He asked shakily again.

You dropped your bags and threw yourself to him, hugging him tightly.

He finally broke down, loud sobs echoing the empty hallway and hugging you back tightly.

"I'm never gonna leave you, 'Tsumu," You sobbed into his chest. "Never. . . I can't do that, I love you so much,"

"I'm so sorry, baby. . ." Atsumu sobbed into your hair. "Shit. . . I'm so sorry. . . I- I didn't mean what I said, I would never replace you– Fuck! Please forgive me baby. . ."

You let out a watery sob.

"H-hey, it's fine 'Tsumu." You looked up at his slightly swollen and wet but dreamy eyes. "I'm sorry for being dramatic," you giggled slightly.

He wiped your tears.

"It's fine baby," He smiled at you through his teary eyes, pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead. "I love you. . ."

"I love you more,"

He smiled, his eyes suddenly lighten up more.

"Hey, I found a really good movie in Netflix! It's a horror movie, let's watch it together!" He smiled down at you, gripping your hands.

"Okay! Let's watch it tonight!" you smiled up at him.

He smiled wider and cupped your cheeks, leaning down to kiss you.

Sakusa

Sakusa groaned. He stood up straight and made the mop lean towards the wall.

He scanned the living room all sparkling clean. Walking towards the couch, he plopped himself down, sighing in relief.

Sakusa having a bad day is an understatement.

The weather is bad, rainy and muddy outside, making their volleyball practice get cancelled for their own safety. Just today, when he woke up, he found that you weren't around. Sakusa had no idea where you went and it angers him that you didn't let him know. He waited for you and he spent his time cleaning the house and yet it has been an hour since you left.

And he hadn't have his breakfast and it made him more grumpier and more icy than ever.

Sakusa stood up and was about to go to the kitchen to eat on his own when the door opened, revealing you in muddy clothes.

"Hi babe!" You softly chuckled before breaking out in to a harsh and loud cough.

Sakusa flinched at that.

He observed you as you drop the plastic bags filled with what he assumed groceries.

He watched as you slowly walk into the living room, leaving a disgusting trail of wet puddles and mud.

Sakusa clicked his tounge.

"Y/N!" He frowned as you stopped in the middle of the living room, looking up at him. "I just mopped up the floor!"

"Oh, I'm sorry—"

"Save it Y/N. . ." He clicked his tongue in annoyance once more, picking up the mop again. You knew he was mad, and you tried not to worsen the mood more. "Look what you did!"

"Babe. . . I'm really—"

"I said save it!" He raised his voice higher making you shut up. "Where are you from?"

"I went to the grocery—"

"We still had a lot of food!" Sakusa pointed the way to the kitchen, eyebrows deeply furrowed.

"No, there isn't—"

"Shut up okay?!" Sakusa banged the mop on the floor harshly, you flinched. Tears threatened you.

He wasn't always like this and if he ever is, it wouldn't be a pleasant sight.

Sakusa run his hands through hair, tugging it stressfully.

"Go to the bathroom and clean yourself!"

You slowly slumped across the living room in the way to the bath.

"If you want to be part of this household, then make yourself useful. . ."

You turned around just as he finished whispering those words.

"What?"

Sakusa turned to you.

"I said 'If you—'"

You laughed, humorlessly.

"So you're saying I'm not useful?" You voice cracked with sadness.

Sakusa only stared at you with his stoic expression.

"That I'm worthless?" You pointed to yourself.

Sakusa frowned. "I didn't say that—"

"But you're making it sound like that!" You raised your voice, running your hands through your damp hair angrily and in stress.

"You're the one who's making it mean like that!" Sakusa exclaimed, slightly shaking from anger.

"I am your fucking s/o! And you have the audacity to insult me!"

Both of you argued on and on, the clock ticking away, voices getting louder than the last. You don't know when would this end and how.

Both of you were stubborn, both doesn't want to lose from the other.

Until, Sakusa had enough. He swiped the things away from the coffee table, making the fragile things on it shatter loudly, triggering the tears that sat on the edge of your eyes and fall down your cheeks.

"Would you shut it?!" Sakusa's cheeks glowed red.

"You're not telling me what to do!" You shouted back.

"You are so fucking stubborn!" His voice trembled. "You know what? I regretted to be with you!" He screamed shakily, pointing at your smaller figure.

Tears flowed down your cheeks more. You stepped up to him, you didn't care if you're still damp with rain.

"And you know what? I did too," you spat the words with venom and you saw Sakusa softened, guilt immediately swan in his eyes.

You immediately walked to the main door and Sakusa immediately followed, trying to string his sentence but it all ended up with a stutter mess.

"Y/N!" He called as you banged the main door close, you walked out the glass doors and you were immediately met with heavy rain pouring down your back harshly.

You didn't know where to go and you panicked when you hear Sakusa running to you from behind.

"Y/N!"

You tried to run away but he gripped your wrist, making you turn to him.

"Y/N. . . Please. . . please. . ." He grabbed your hands and clasped his huge hands around yours, looking at you with pleading eyes. "I didn't mean—"

You sobbed.

"Maybe it's better if you find someone new. . ." You tried to pry your hands away from his, in which you successfully did due to him staring at you in shock.

"What? No! I won't replace you!" He shook his head, making his now curly hair sway along with him.

He paused, guilt swimming at the pit of his stomach and his lungs, making it hard to think and breath.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

You looked up at him and you immediately spoke.

"I—"

"No,no,no,no," he chanted, tears swelling his own eyes. He held your hand as he let out a sob that he tried to keep in.

He knelt down still clasping your hands, looking up at you. Sakusa broke down, sniffles, hiccups and sobs escaping his trembling lips.

"No,no,no, please don't break up with me," he cried.

You cried with him as you knelt down beside your lovely boyfriend.

"Please don't, Y/N. . . I- I can do anything! Just forgive and stay with me—"

You peck his lips, making him shut up.

"I won't break up with you, silly boy," you went to his chest as he hugged you right, both of you crying hard and not really caring of you're out in the rain.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed.

"I'm sorry too," he sobbed back.

You pulled back and wiped his tears, and he did the same, which was useless since the rain was still drenching you both.

"Let's dance in the rain?" you wiggled your eyebrows at him as you let out a distorted laugh since your throat is still sore.

"That only happened in cringy romantic movies," he let out a watery laugh of his own.

Nevertheless, you both stood back on your feet and danced in the rain.

Whew! That was a trip, my finger really said ✨No✨ when I wanted to make another angst for an another character.

Thanks for reading this blog and likes and reblogs are appreciated ;)

I hope my likes won't go down for not posting in a while :(

FOLLOW FOR MORE

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Follow @xmochaberryx too😊

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x self insert #anime #fanfic #atsumu x you #atsumu x reader #atsumu hcs #atsumu imagines #atsumu drabble #sakusa x you #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa angst #atsumu angst #hq angst #haikyuu angst #angst

1K notes · View notes

flushed-for-the-trolls · 3 years

Text

Why I dislike Marinette

It may shock anyone reading this, especially knowing why people usually dislike Marinette, but my reasons actually aren’t for her actions in canon. Well, of course I take issue with what Marinette does. My issues are more with the creators of the show and her more toxic stans. The issue I have with Marinette is the fact that her actions are usually framed as just, or okay when they should be called out to teach a lesson to people watching. We can argue about favourites, but when Lila lies and she’s punished by LB, and when Marinette lies or does even worse things, it’s clear there’s a bias in favor of Marinette. Marinette has flaws... But the show rarely calls them out as flaws. LB is bossy and CN is just a sidekick? Well the show compliments that by making her a GUARDIAN, able to dispense Miraculouses at will, and CN is having less of a spotlight. Is Marinette an uninteresting character? Spruce her up by making all of Adrien’s drama about HER instead! LB needs to look dependable and smart? In AntiBug, even though Chat is in the top of his class of Fencers, being taught by the best Fencer in all of Paris, he gets bested by Chloe. CHLOE, you know, the girl that’s so clumsy she incapacitated herself in Lady Wifi when she got tangled up in her own Yoyo? Yep, Chat’s such a doof that he’s useless without LB at his side to steer him like a guard dog.

I hear people say that the creators hate Marinette, or love Adrien when that’s just straight up false, Adrien goes through retcons and character assassinations. Hell, the whole Lukanette side romance started out because Gabriel Agreste, Adriens ABUSIVE father prevented him from going, and what does Marinette do? Oh, that’s right, she makes it about HER, what’s her reward for valiantly surviving the next 5 minutes moaning about how “‘tis not to be after all!”? She gets Luka, she gets another option immediately. None of this is considered a flaw of hers, her selfishness rarely gets called out as such and when it does, it’s even rarer that the lesson ACTUALLY sticks with Marinette. She’s uninteresting, does bad things and she’s the main character, not Adrien, a deep complex character that could go through a whole bunch of character arcs and personal growth, the kid that’s the SON of the main villain, as if that’s not bad enough, his “destined” soulmate is Marinette, a selfish girl that sabotages her love rivals chances, absolutely atomizes his personal boundaries like it’s going out of style, and as LB, keeps him in the dark, inadvertently hurting him, in spite of all of this, he must end up with her, hell, Chat Blanc features that Retcon I mentioned earlier, where Adrien, despite knowing LB committed an actual criminal offense still loves her, and dates Marinette, a girl he’s never ONCE considered dating before because the show writers clearly are obsessed with the ship, and favor LB/Marinette.

I think with all these examples, it’s clear the show favors Marinette to an absurd degree, and will happily sacrifice Adrien so he can be a good little doggie.

Now onto the fandom and how it holds Marinette on a pedestal. Marinette’s actions are often excused “She’s a teen,” “she’s under a lot of stress,” “I used to do that too!” (That one is very concerning when it comes to the stalking tbh). They’ve got so many excuses for the things she does. Rarely can this part of the fandom admit that the girl they like the most has flaws she needs to work on. What happens when they see Chat flirting with LB or he destroys an inanimate object in a fit of rage at being sidelined repeatedly? “What an incel neck-beard nice guy!” “He should get his Miraculous taken away” “He clearly doesn’t care about Paris!” “#Marinette Deserves Better”

Can you blame us when we’re jaded on criticism directed at Adrien? Most of the time it’s worded like we’re all sexist pigs and Adrien is the worst character in the show, why would ANYONE want to listen to what some of you have to say?! Even if it’s valid at it’s core, the dress-up of the message makes it hazardous to deal with and it only makes people hate the message because some of y’all can’t act like respectable people when you deliver it!

Adrien is treated like shit by both the show creators and the fans. What’s the point in swiming in the Adrien hate? Lord knows ya’ll can pump out enough to last until the heat death of the universe so it’s not like you need us to contribute.

So yeah, that’s why I hate Marinette, the show makes her insufferable and only a small subset of fans will actually acknowledge how terrible she is, the rest will ignore it or turn it into a sexism issue where it doesn’t even exist, and it makes Marinette more terrible by proxy.

#ML fandom #ml fandom salt #ml fandom critical #marinette salt #Venting #vent post #leave adrien alone challenge #adrien deserves better #Adrien Sugar #ladybug salt #Miraculous Ladybug salt

408 notes · View notes

phantom-of-the-keurig · 3 years

Text

Since y’all children don’t know how to fucking behave I guess I’m getting involved now 💀

This list thing is ridiculous. Whoever made it (and whoever helped) has wayyyyy too much fucking time on their hands and I honest to god hope you find a hobby, job, or relationship- just something productive to occupy your time because this isn’t something people who are healthy do. I am begging you to take a step back from tumblr because I truly think it would do you some good.

I get it, you don’t like certain ships. Me either, trust me! I see Obikin or QuiObi and I literally experience a full body cringe. Maulsoka? Gross! Clonecest? Weird, uncomfortable! But I either ignore it, or I block and move on. I have been on the internet for a long, long time and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s you will never be able to stop people from getting off to weird shit. There are neckbeards jerking off to my little pony right now as we speak, and guess what? Ain’t nothing you or I do ever gonna stop them. It’s not healthy to hyper focus on these people who ship things, because believe me they do not give a single fuck and are going to continue getting off to it 💀 stop masquerading as the Catholic Church and move on. Learn to block, be an adult and use your brain cells. But I have a feeling most of you are either children or extremely sheltered adults who have yet to experience anything outside of your home. Yikes, so sad 😞 get some bills to pay and responsibilities to handle besties then see if someone shipping some weird shit is still really the end of the world. Spoil alert, it’s not.

If there is something truly illegal happening, like at the level the FBI needs to be informed of the content being produced then of course report that shit, but believe me the fucking FBI doesn’t give a fuck someone wants to see Waxer and Boil touch butts. Like I promise they don’t. Grow the fuck up, the internet is full of gross weird shit.

This list also includes people who have been deemed racist. A very, very serious accusation. I’m mixed and my first name is very very very clearly not white. In fact it’s a whole ass Spanish word. I’ve dealt with some awful fucking racism before my dudes. In fact, there was a god damn Nazi rally the next town over. When I was 18 I literally couldn’t get a job because my name weirded white people out so much so I had to go by my middle name, and once I did I was able to get a job.

What I’m saying is, I understand how serious, real, and hurtful racism is. But I’ve also seen y’alls criteria for racism and it’s a fucking joke. Stop taking an issue that is serious and has real life consequences and applying it to literally everyone you dislike. When you deem everyone or everything racist, you’re taking away how serious it is and therefore trivializing real, serious issues. Not to pull a boomer moment here but y’all know the story of the boy who cried wolf right? That’s y’all. You’re the boy and it’s so embarrassing yikes 😭

I have some very close friends that have made that god forsaken list and I can assure you, they are far from racist. Or ableist. Or transphobic. Like people made that list for defending Ao3, that’s what shows me y’alls bar was set so fucking low an infant could waddle over it and be deemed problematic.

Let me give you an example, a friend who shall not be named to protect their privacy has dealt with real life PTSD and has actual experience in the military. They also work with disabled vets in real life. This reflects in their writing, and it’s some of the most well done and realistic stuff I’ve ever read around here. They were deemed ableist. And racist. Make it make sense. They took something they have actual experience in (serving in the military, the trauma that comes with it, trying to find ones footing after serving) and y’all children who don’t know anything outside your front door deemed them ableist and racist. Oh, bonus points, this person is also mixed!! So like?? 😩 y’all I can’t even the lack of brain cells it takes to do this is just astounding I’m convinced y’all are huffing spray paint.

As with any fandom, there are always going to be members who are actually dangerous, who spread legit hurtful or problematic content. Those people should be called out and avoided. But sis when your list has over a hundred people 😳 and there are people on there for the most trivial of shit how is anyone supposed to take that seriously??

Anyway, long story short y’all are so embarrassing and I hope you find something to occupy your time or your parents shut off the WiFi because it would do you some good. Learn to ignore things, or block. Report things that are actually legit illegal or serious. Go drink some water. And maybe take a nap.

#y’all I can’t #so embarrassing yikes!#this whole thing is one big fat Yikes #sw salt #oh the dreaded list #I’m sad I didn’t make the list 😞#clone wars #the bad batch #list gate 2021

804 notes · View notes

nihatzuwu · 2 years

Note

Demon bros' reactions to MC getting a shirt for Diavolo that says, "BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN"

[i love this.]

Lucifer

disappointed. genuinely disappointed.

scolded MC for buying Lord Diavolo the shirt, but did you give a shit? Haha no.

facepalms whenever Lord Diavolo would attempt to wear the shirt outside the castle.

"YOU CANNOT GO OUT THERE WEARING THAT. CHANGE YOUR SHIRT." "Why not!? It was a gift from my beloved!"

he wants to hang you from the ceiling but he's sure Diavolo would be furious so he holds back.

embarrassed when Diavolo does wear the shirt outside.

stays 2 meters away from Diavolo when he does wear the shirt outside the castle.

dang, social distancing lucifer

Mammon

stares at the shirt and looks back up at Diavolo.

leans over to MC and whispers; "does he actually have a big dick?"

Lucifer heard it though so he ended up getting smacked on the head. Poor boi was just curious Lucifer....

After considering it, he actually wants to get one for his self

he can't though, he's broke and if he sold another thing in the HOL again his goldie would be cut in half <//3

still curious if Diavolo actually has a big dick.

wHAAAAATTTTT??? we never know! what if the shirt is lying and he actually has a small one!

just sayin'! :PP

Leviathan

embarrassed for Diavolo even though he wasn't the one who got the shirt.

also wondering where the hell you even got the shirt. Like seriously, did you make it or buy it????

so confused on what made you buy that in the first place

what's more is that you bought it. FOR THE DEMON PRINCE.

"i wish i had MC's confidence..."

wishes he had MC's confidence to just give people gifts even though the gifts might be embarrassing.

avoids eye contact with Diavolo if he wears the shirt.

Satan

he scoffed at the shirt, annoyed by it. Oh wait, it pisses off Lucifer too? Okay then, love the shirt Lord Diavolo, wear it more!

thinks that you have gone crazy to buy the demon prince a shirt like that.

Also embarrassed for Diavolo when he wears it in public.

"eugh... did he really have to wear that outside..." *facepalms*

he actually finds the shirt funny though, he can't help but laugh to his self when he see's Diavolo wear it.

Plus points since it pisses of Lucifer.

ah MC you wonderful human being, you bring so much chaos here in Devildom and he's living for it.

Asmodeus

takes pictures of Diavolo wearing the shirt and teaches him how to flaunt it to everybody else.

encourages Diavolo to wear it more in public (Lucifer doesn't appreciate it.)

"Oh Lord Diavolo! You should wear the shirt MC gave you more often! it looks good on you!" "But Lucifer said that I shouldn't though..." "Non sense! Ignore my big brother! Let the whole Devildom know that you've got a big dick!"

got punished by Lucifer by taking away his connection to the wifi.

so incredibly upset at Lucifer for being such a killjoy, hmph!

Beelzebub

eyes wide, mouth agape.

almost choked on his food when he wore the shirt.

he can't believe he actually wore it.

gets flustered everytime he reads what's on the shirt.

surely he didn't have to know that right...?

"is it actually big...?"

what? he's just curious!

tries to distract his self from the shirt by eating lots of food.

and when i meant lots of food i meant the whole fridge.

Belphie

chuckles at your little antics, but he didn't actually think you'd be crazy enough to give it to the demon prince.

breaks into a fit of laughter when Diavolo ACTUALLY wore it.

definitely takes a picture to send it to Lucifer just to piss him off.

he gives you a "Thank You" but you weren't quite sure why.

now has something that'll shut up Lucifer if he speaks too much.

If it still works that is.

"I wonder what made MC buy the shirt though."

shrugs and just goes back to sleep.

#obey me brothers #obey me fandom #obey me swd #omswd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me mc #gn!mc #obey me shall we date #obey me

115 notes · View notes

ptergwen · 3 years

Note

Hi val! Got a request, it's okay if you don't wanna write it, but can you write about peter telling the reader he's going on a huge mission and he's excited about it but the reader is so worried they end up arguing? But when peter gets back from mission all bruised, the reader is still upset but dresses his wound anyway and it ends up with fluff??

abort mission

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, and angst

a/n: woah woah woah i ended up writing way more than i expected but i loved this request so much :,) i hope you do too

“we’re staying in this, like, super fancy castle while we’re there. it’s gonna be awesome,” peter rambles to you. he takes all the clean shirts in his drawer and throws them into a suitcase.

he’s packing for a mission in europe with the avengers, and you’re here to say goodbye. you’ve been pretty quiet while peter gives you as many details as he’s allowed to. it’s always an honor when the team invites him on. he gets so stoked about it. you’re happy he’s happy and gets to pursue his passion, but you’ve noticed a pattern.

every time peter leaves the country with earth’s mightiest heroes, he comes back in worse condition than the last. it seems like they protect everyone except peter. he’s oblivious to the fact that the end result is always his suffering. he’s just glad to be there. really, he gets nothing in return except scars that never heal, not even a permanent spot on the team.

so, you’re not thrilled he agreed to go.

“plus, i get to miss two weeks of school.” peter beams, getting onto his knees to zip the suitcase. “feels like a vacation almost.” “you like school, though,” you remind him. you’re sat at the edge of his bed while you watch, rather than help. he hops up again with a shrug. “i like vacations more.” “it’s not a vacation,” you mutter to yourself, then speak up.

“how are you gonna catch up? that’s a lot of missing assignments.” with that same innocent smile, peter walks over to you. he grabs both your hands and laces your fingers together. “i’m a fast learner. besides, ned said he’d help me.” you sigh, looking down at the floor so you don’t have to look at peter. “or, you could. make it into a little study date when i get back,” he suggests while playing with your fingers.

“i don’t even want you to go,” you finally admit and meet his sparkling eyes. nothing could ever dull them. “why not? you’re gonna miss me?” peter teases, pressing a couple of kisses to your palm. “you don’t have to. i’m pretty sure france has wifi.” he wiggles his eyebrows. “oui oui, mademoiselle, eh?” despite yourself, you giggle at his french accent and tug on his hands. he sits down next to you with a chuckle.

“nat has been giving me lessons,” peter explains, you quirking an eyebrow. “she speaks french?” “she speaks a lot of languages, actually. she’s so cool.” peter scoots closer to you and sets his hands on your waist, his voice dropping. “you’d love her.” your face twists up in confusion at the idea.

you don’t have anything against the avengers, obviously. they’re good people. you’re just not the biggest fan of them at the moment, considering the circumstances they’ve put peter under.

“peter, i don’t want you to go,” you repeat more seriously than before. your teeth sink into your lower lip. “and, it’s not because i’ll miss you.” “none taken,” peter jokes, implying there should’ve been a no offense. he then realizes how distressed you look, so he cuts it out. “sorry, sorry. i’m done now. how come?”

you take his hand again and hold it tight. “what if you get hurt?” you ask in the nicest way possible, out of care. “i don’t wanna see you hurting, pete. this mission sounds really... dangerous.” he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, his grin faltering a bit. “it is, but i’m ready for it. i’ll be fine.”

you’re not convinced yet. that line he likes to overuse isn’t enough to do the trick.

his eyes searching for yours, peter brushes a piece of your hair back. “have a little faith in me, babe.” “no, i... i do. i have the most faith in you, peter.” you find yourself frowning as he twirls your locks around his finger. “that’s not the problem.” peter’s voice becomes a whisper. “what is it, then? talk to me.”

you do the opposite because you’re afraid you’ll upset him further, which is the last thing he needs right now. your silence prompts peter to fill it. “would it make you feel better if i say mr. stark is keeping an eye on me?” he’s smiling sheepishly, you scoffing. “oh, like he kept an eye on you in amsterdam?”

the only eye related activity that happened there was peter almost losing one of his. he’d come back with an eyepatch and couldn’t see out of it for over a month. to this day, there’s still a bit of blood in it when you look close enough.

“i already told you, that was my fault,” peter grumbles, turning so he faces forward. “i didn’t listen to him-“ “who gives a shit? he’s the one who put you in that situation!” you blurt out. you’ve been way too patient this whole time, and now you’re reaching your breaking point. “you say that like i didn’t wanna be there.” peter clenches his jaw, still mostly calm.

“either way, mr. stark,” you mock what peter always calls him, “was supposed to keep you safe, and he didn’t. i’m scared it’s gonna happen again.” letting out a noise close to a growl, peter stands up from the bed. “you’re not listening to me, y/n. everything was fine. i just-“ you’re not in the mood to hear him make excuses, so you interrupt.

“do you know any other sixteen year olds who fight literal terrorists on their free time?” you rhetorically ask and get to your own feet. peter tries to walk away from you, only you follow him. “you’re a kid, peter, in case you forgot.” he spins around to give you a nasty look. “do you know any other sixteen year olds who stick to fucking walls?”

your heart starts to race from his sudden outburst. he’s scary when he’s mad, and he almost never gets mad at you. all you can do is blink dumbly. “didn’t think so,” peter spits. “this is what i’m supposed to do, help people. is that so wrong?” his breathing becomes ragged as his anger grows.

“what about you? are you helping yourself?” you speak softly, expecting an answer this time. “you’re not my fucking therapist, y/n,” he deflects the question. “i am your girlfriend, though. i care about you so much, you know that.” eyebrows furrowed in concern, you reach out for peter. he takes a step back. it doesn’t take long for tears to cloud your vision.

“i was excited to share this with you, and i thought you’d be happy for me.” peter balls his hands into fists at his sides. his voice stays low. “instead, you made it all about yourself. you can never let me enjoy team stuff.” you’re speechless, peter nodding as he lets his words sit. “thanks for the support.”

“you’re an asshole,” you laugh out bitterly and wipe under your eyes.

he didn’t mean to make you cry. he was so caught up in himself, he didn’t realize you were.

peter’s whole demeanor changes. “y/n, baby...” he attempts to put a hand on your cheek, but you hit it away. “get off of me. what did i just say?” you sniffle, your tone harsh in contrast. “you’re an asshole, peter.” he changes his mind about feeling bad. you’ve berated him way more than he did you, anyway.

“you should go. i have to be up early,” peter decides, even though he’d said you could stay the night. whatever, you don’t want to anymore. “fine,” you agree shortly. “i’m leaving.” he stands there while you collect your things, shoving them into your bag. you’re going slow enough so he has a chance to stop you. he doesn’t.

you pass by him on your way to his door, sucking in a breath. here’s your official goodbye. “see you later, peter. don’t die.” “mhm, i won’t,” he replies, his tongue poking at his cheek. with one more shared look between you two, you make your grand exit, no doubt informing may of her nephew’s behavior before you’re gone.

peter immediately regrets the way he talked to you, and that you’re leaving things like this. you were only trying to protect him. you’ll never be able to save the city like he does, so this is how you do it. he truly is an asshole for not seeing that.

frustration consuming him, peter kicks over his fully stuffed suitcase, its contents spilling out. he grits his teeth.

“fan-fucking-tastic.”

you don’t talk to peter the whole two weeks he’s gone except for some are you alive and yes texts. he’d called you quite a few times, and was sent to voicemail for all of them. he gave you the benefit of the doubt because of timezones.

it was actually because you declined, which peter knew deep down was the real reason.

he’s coming home from his mission today. you’re not sure when or if he plans on dropping by. you’re not sure you’d like him to, either. you don’t really get a choice in the end.

there’s a series of knocks at your window, at some ungodly time in the night. you’re all too familiar with this routine. it’s peter.

you slip out from under your covers, a scowl already painting your face as you go to the window. surely enough, peter is perched in front of it, clad in red and black. the suit must be new because you’ve never seen it. you push up the window and step aside so he can get through.

“thanks,” peter mumbles, climbing into your room less gracefully than usual. he’s sort of wobbly when he lands. “yeah,” you dully acknowledge. “how was france?” “uh, good. you know, lots of cheese and all that.” his voice is muffled from his mask, since he hasn’t taken it off yet. that’s odd. “i was talking about the mission, but cool,” you almost laugh back.

“the mission was... fine,” peter clarifies and scratches the back of his neck. he never describes something as simply being ‘fine.’ when the boy talks, he lectures. you’re starting to get worried. “that’s good. at least you didn’t die, right?” you say to lighten the mood. peter awkwardly chuckles. “haha, yeah. thank god for that.”

you hum and walk over to sit on your bed, peter staying where he is. “what time did you get back?” you wonder, a completely harmless question. “um, this morning,” he says in response, raising your suspicions. “why’re you still in the suit, then?” you squint at him. “i like it, by the way.” “thanks, y/n/n. i, uh,” peter trails off, no good explanations coming to mind.

you’re quickly developing a hunch for what what down. you wordlessly get up again, meeting peter by your window. he’s nervous to see what happens next. peter’s shoulders slump when your fingers land on his mask. you carefully lift it, revealing his face to you. his banged up, bloody face.

“surprise.” peter musters up a grin, you tossing the mask at his chest. you’re beyond angry now. it’s not at him, athough it is at his injuries. “please don’t be mad,” he nearly begs, you shaking your head. you go to leave your room for some space. peter’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. “i should’ve listened to you, okay? i’m sorry,” he genuinely apologizes.

you still don’t say anything while you look over his beaten body. there’s a gash with stitches in it on his chin, a deep slice across the bridge of his nose, cuts littering his cheeks. he’s even got a busted lip for good measure. this might be the worst condition he’s let you see him in.

“you were right, y/n. i think... i think i’m gonna sit the next one out. it’s too much for me, clearly,” peter continues, fingers sliding down to lock with yours. “you should say you told me so.” “how... how did this happen?” you manage to get out instead. “the bad guy fought me,” he says with the hint of a smirk. “i won, though.”

it’s a relief that he’s handling this so well, even earning a laugh from you. that puts you more at ease.

“this is probably a dumb question, but are you okay?” you brush your thumb over peter’s cheekbone gently, avoiding his scratches. “not really. my face hurts a lot, and flash is gonna tease the hell out of me on monday.” his lips form a line, arms looping around your waist. it’s very much welcomed by you.

“you just spent two weeks trying not to die, and you’re worried about flash?” you snicker and draw a heart on his skin. peter shrugs a shoulder. “he’s so mean to me.” he brings you in closer to him. “besides, this is the normal kid stuff i should be focusing on.” you’re glad he finally came to terms with that. you’ve been saying it for the longest time.

you smile wickedly at him. “exactly. so is all that homework you have to make up.” peter lets out a breathy laugh, you laying your head on his chest. “i missed you,” he tells you quietly. “really wish i could kiss you right now.” “i missed you too, pete. so much,” you murmur into him. your hands settle on his biceps. “and, i forgive you.” “thanks, baby,” peter exhales.

“of course. once your lips are healed,” you pull back from his chest, making a kissing noise. “pucker up, lover- oh my god.” you’re looking up at him with wild eyes. peter gets reasonably startled from it. “what? what’s wrong?” “you... you’re bleeding!” you point at his stitches. he winces, touching the spot. there’s blood, alright.

“crap. do you have a bandaid or something?” peter gives you an apologetic smile. “mr. stark said i should cover them when this happens.” maybe, tony isn’t so bad after all. you nod and take him by his hand. “yeah, in the bathroom. come with me.”

peter sits on the edge of your bathtub while you patch up his chin. he tells you more about the fun parts of his mission, you placing the cinderella bandaid over his gash. you have those from a while ago and also regular ones. however, he preferred the princess design.

“you saw the real mona lisa? like, in person? that’s insane.” you grin, smoothing down peter’s bandaid one last time. “yeah, she’s even prettier up close.” peter returns the smile. “thanks for taking care of me, y/n. i swear i don’t deserve you sometimes.” now pouting at him, you crouch down so you’re at his level. “it’s the other way around, peter.”

“let’s just agree to disagree,” he concludes and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “i love you, okay?” “i love you, too.” you press a light kiss to his bandaid, getting a giggle from peter.

yeah, it’s going to be hell finding replacements for his lips.

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut

859 notes · View notes

after-witch · 3 years

Text

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit.

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend?

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave. You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off.

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right?

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful. He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

540 notes · View notes

nerdy-simp-7120 · 3 years

Note

hi! if you're comfortable writing this, could i ask for a scenario? this has been in the back of my head for a while.

what would be the reaction of the brothers + dateables of watching mc play resident evil in the dimitrescu castle? who would be down bad the most

thank you! feel free to ignore this if you don't want to write this ofc

I love this ask (stan tall vampire lady). The only thing is that I accidentally turned it into a “how they feel about the game.” I managed to add in some parts with MC playing as well to make up for it

Update: I literally finished the request yesterday but my wifi went down and I lost everything 😩 😩

I also wrote this in the middle of the night so sorry if there are any errors! Enjoy!

Warnings: cursing.

How the OM! characters would react to you playing Resident Evil (Dimitrescu Castle edition)

Lucifer

Will not care at first

"I hold no interest in such trivial simulations."

His weakness? Being a simp for you.

He decides to look into the game a bit more in private later on.

Will lowkey practice the game

If you ever catch him playing it, do not say anything because he will stop immediately, deny everything, and might not ever do it again

With time, however, Lucifer will come to master the game.

Here comes the showing off.

When you're rambling about the game with Levi, Lucifer will join the conversation and you two will be like "wow, boomer knows something for once--"

Or when you're struggling on a part of the game he will be like, "hand it over"

Before expertly getting through that part.

Can defeat Lady Dimitrescu if you ask him to but be careful cause he might make you beg

sadistic bastard

or you can be a badass and show him your skills

Will be a tad shocked at how easily you handled it but won't let it show (okay Elsa)

Also proud though

Lucifer's internal monologue: “That’s right- show them how it’s done, Y/n.”

Mammon

Scared.

Will watch you play and cover his eyes during every battle

"wHAT IS THAT?!" at everything you come across

I hope you're good at playing one-handed because you'll have to use the other hand to hold his throughout the entire thing

Admires you're bravery but would never admit it

"You were horrible! ...N-nice job beating the game, not that I c-care or anything. You sucked anyways!"

Not even 10 seconds later...

"Can I watch you play again?"

Comes to find that the faces you make are adorable: when you're concentrating on a battle, when you win, find a valuable item, etc

He loves being able to see how you're feeling up close.

If you catch him staring when you take a break or something he'll blush and either ask you if you have a staring problem or that you have something on your face

He may or may not buy cheap merch (a tiny key chain of Lady Dimitrescu or your favorite character) for you, all the while spewing lame excuses

Please bear with him- he's trying.

Leviathan

"YOU ALSO LIKE RESIDENT DEVIL?!?? Ah! I-I mean..."

Congrats, you just found yourself someone to discuss the game with

Is open to cosplay the characters with you

You two will have competitions to see who can beat the game faster.

You both also share theories with each other all the time

Or simply discuss the characters together

He purposefully stays quiet to hear you ramble on and on- dude finds it adorable

You two also sometimes argue debate over a character name or event in the game

Because while you have Resident Evil

He only knows Resident Devil

This is the equivalent of Devilgram and Instagram

I mean

They’re the same,

But a couple things were altered, y’know, to prevent copyright

So yes, there are definitely a few quarrels here and there

But all in all, it’s a fun gamer bud experience

Don’t tell him I told you but he thinks it’s hot when you show off your badass skills in a boss fight

Satan

He plays it on the lowkey.

Not because he’s embarrassed

But because he partially takes his anger out on the characters

During gory scenes, he imagines it’s him torturing Lucifer, fueling his determination to win

A calculated person, Satan is a smart player

But there are times when he’s particularly angry and he becomes a reckless one, jumping into fights impetuously

This is where you come in and beat the enemy for him

He may get angrier, thinking you are underestimating him

But, for the sake of the person he loves, he calms down knowing you didn’t mean to offend him

A small part in the back of his head also admires you for being able to handle the fight a ton better than he did

Congratulations, you just earned yourself the great Satan’s respect (resident evil-wise).

Asmodeus

“Oh my, I never knew you were into such gory games! Does this mean you’re into blood play, because I know many things about--”

He may look carefree on the outside

But on the inside?

Let’s take a look, shall we?

Holy shit

What the fu--

Jesus christ, can you pull a move like that in real life?

He needs to be careful to not piss you off.

If you can handle this, who knows what you could be capable of?

Hold on.

Wait, you look so concentrated

Eeep! How cute!

Anyways, it ends with him snapping a bunch of pictures

Keeps them for himself and may brag to his brothers about how he got some “special” shots of you

Obviously never elaborates on what the special part means to keep his dear siblings on edge because, what the hell, they want to know what these special shots are

Would not play the game because there’s “tOo MuCh BlOoDsHeD”

We all know he’s most likely seen his fair share of bloodshed

“What if the adrenaline gives me acne?”

He’s probably just bad at the game--

Verdict: Asmo is a simp and not afraid to flaunt it.

Beel

...Are you okay?

Do you think about homicide--?

Oh, that lady looks nice.

Huh, she’s 9′6″??

What’s her name? Lady Dimitrescu?

Okay-- WAIT WHY IS SHE TURNING INTO THAT??

Not scared, just a tad bit concerned

Poor Beel, concerned for Lady D :’)

Also, seeing the death’s of Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra hit different

Because he know what it’s like to lose a sibling.

Safe to say he understands Alcina’s pain when she raged about her children being dead.

Also concerned about how the gore could affect you

Because isn’t stuff like this supposed to traumatize humans?

Would support you regardless though

And thinks that you’re really brave for playing the game and still being able to stand strong

On another note, Beel decided to make small flower graves for the three sisters and Alcina because he’s adorable and kind like that

Belphegor

Likes the game but is too lazy to play himself

Regularly watches Satan play (or at least as much as he can before deciding it’s nap time)

I hope you enjoy Belphie using you as a body pillow and watching you play from now on

Makes small comments here and there to help you out

“To your left... Oh, and open the window- yeah, that one.”

Will smirk, impressed, when you deal with the fights and win yourself without his comments.

“That’s my Y/n”

(Sorry I don’t know what else to put for him :’))

Diavolo

“Is this a human trend?” meme

Will watch excitedly and “oooo” whenever you do something cool

Be careful though, because the questions will not stop as you play

“What’s that? I see. What’s it for? How do you win the game? Who’s that character? Why can’t you do this? What about--?”

Diavolo, you’re awesome and all, but please

shush

On the inside, is also one that might be a tad concerned about your mental health because doesn’t that gore traumatize humans?

Wait, you do this for entertainment?

...

Another warning: he will shower you in merchandise from the game

I am not above the fact that this man has a game room

And he will try to master the game

Casually pushes all his paperwork over to Lucifer so he can play Resident Evil

RIP Luci

Unfortunately, Diavolo will have trouble grasping the game and how it works

You will have to explain many things to him

Good luck- he’s a bit of a boomer (but willing to learn) and may or may not get distracted staring at you

But anyways, he enjoys engaging in the competitions you and Levi have

Whether it be playing as well or simply watching

He just loves to see you happy

Barbatos

Oh my, what’s this?

Will watch you play

and constantly criticize how filthy the Dimitrescu castle is

“Do they have any idea how many rats this can attract?”

Barbatos, your weakness is showing.

Seeing you so happy while playing the game helps him relax from his daily troubles tasks

He rewards you with a pat on the head any time you beat a foe

When Diavolo goes over to the HoL or when you come over to play in he silently cheers you on in the background.

Solomon

Yuh

Is educated on the game and knows his shit as the only other human

Maybe knows a bit too much of the game

You will later come to find out that, somewhere in his mass tangle of shady connections, he knows a developer

Might give you tips and tricks to get on higher levels

But never, and I mean never, challenge him like you would with Levi to see who can beat the game faster

Because he will beat you by a seconds on purpose, just to piss you of

all the while doing that dark, shady chuckle

Asshole

But anyways, if you manage to finesse and beat him, he will be

So confused

“I thought I did it all right, what went wrong...?” he thinks to himself.

On the outside, however, he’s smiling

Will hand over some praise to his little apprentice, but if you look carefully you will see a spark of annoyance

We get it Solomon, you’re a sore loser.

In the end, he will still leave somewhat impressed at your skillz

Simeon

w h a t

Is a little scared

“Is this one of them video games you kids play nowadays...? Just kidding. What are you playing-- oh my”

Might try to figure out how to play

But alas,

Simeon is yet another boomer

So he will have quite some trouble even figuring out how to move

And why does he hold the controller like that what

If you’ve seen that one picture of him holding his phone sideways you know what I mean

On another note, if you look through his poem book, then you may or may not find a few poems describing how amazing and badass you looked hustling the entire game

Luke

about to bomb this master hill

No literally is considering bombing the computer or whatever you’re playing on because wHAT IS THAT

He is just

Scared

This will give him nightmares for weeks

Apparently Alcina reminds him of Lucifer so he kinda

Hates her

Says he will protect you

--as he runs out of the room in fear

Irrelevant but the one he hates the most is fetus baby

Michael have mercy on this poor boy--

369 notes · View notes

marktuansvevo · 3 years

Text

got7 reacts to something theyve never experienced before in a relationship

warning(s); slight cursing, sexual content in bam’s part

mark; being jealous

mark understood why his past partners could be jealous of him in his line of work. as long as it didn’t get out of hand, he thought it was cute. he was never the jealous one in the relationship. he didn’t even know what jealousy felt like....

....until tonight.

you were mark’s entire world. you excited him, you built him up like no other. never before could he see himself spending his life with someone before you came along. you made the world brighter to him.

but now he was only seeing red.

you had been a trainee and never debuted, which you weren’t too upset about, you had a boyfriend you loved and a career with less physical and time demands than being in the entertainment industry. this meant that you knew a lot of other bands, stray kids being one of them. chan was, quite frankly, your best friend during your trainee days, so when you saw him at this afterparty you were attending with mark, you threw yourself into his arms.

mark just watched you from afar.

and his blood boiled.

chan spun you around in his arms, the biggest smile on his stupid, handsome face. “yah!! y/n! mark didn’t say you’d be here.”

you giggled, trying to keep your tears at bay. you put your hands on his face, poking his dimples. mark scoffed at the blush that was forming on his friend’s face. “god, chan i missed you so much.”

“bro, you look constipated,” bam snuck up behind him. “dude, your face is so red right now.”

mark rolled his eyes. “these parties are so annoying.” he didn’t take his eyes off of you as you caught up with chan, who still had his hand around your waist.

bam followed his line of vision. “shit, you’re not constipated, you’re jealous. yugyeom, come look at him!”

mark walked away from his intoxicated friends and up to you. you smiled at him before returning to your conversation with chan.

“y/n, we have to go,” mark said lowly, smiling a sickly fake smile at chan, who immediately dropped his hand from your waist.

“why, baby, we just got here? are you not feeling good?” you asked. he wanted to feel bad, your voice was laced with concern.

“something like that. see you, chan.”

as you got in the car, you smiled at him, poking his cheek. “somebody’s jealous, huh?”

“huh? of chan? i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he clenched his jaw, not making eye contact with you as he steered his car out of the parking lot. you were giggling now.

“you’re cute when you’re jealous. maybe i should make more time for chan.”

“y/n!!!”

jaebeom; wearing disguises in public

jaebeom never thought he would have to dress up in a disguise to go out in public. and jae would never want to put you in such a position. it was draining, and you, as his girlfriend knew that he despised it.

but you wanted to go to a concert with him.

and you wanted to stand in the pit with him and be part of it. don’t get you wrong, you loved when he bought you suite seats or could watch his shows from backstage, but you wanted to sway to ariana grande in th pit with your boyfriend.

“cmon, jae, i think everyone is going to be paying attention to ari. we can skip the opening act?” you suggested.

“y/n, i don’t want to take a chance...im sorry,” he pouted at you. you sighed, trying to figure out what to do.

“what about disguises?” he said. “like, we could wear our halloween costumes?” you were giggling to yourself, but your boyfriend seemed like the idea.

“i could wear my jesus wig and you could paint a beard on me?” he said with serious eyes.

“jae, you hate going out in disguises.”

“true...but, babe, this will be fun. you could wear your sailor mars wig, it’d be cute,”

okay, this was a really cute idea and you were warming up to it...if it made your boyfriend more comfortable to be out in a crowd of so many people, you were down to try it out.

“this really feels like halloween in july,” you giggled as you used mascara to draw a beard on his chin.

“do I look like jesus??” he asked childishly.

“well, you don’t look like im jaebeom of got7, that’s for sure,”

“you look like an egirl,” he laughed at himself. “don’t hate, you know you love it,” you said. “we look so cute, let’s take a mirror selfie and post in later,”

“no, then people will be on to us,” your boyfriend sent a pout in your direction as he looked at his makeshift beard in the mirror. “I look sexy as fuck in a beard,”

“super sexy aegyo please?”

the two of you arrived at the arena, not be noticed by anyone, but jae was still on edge, so you held his hand tight as you made your way into the pit.

“im so excited!!” you shouted over the noise. he shook his head before leaning in to kiss you. the two of you danced the whole night away to arianas crooning, his arms around you as you swayed to her pretty, soothing voice. the two of you let the world fade away while ariana sang honeymoon ave in the background.

jackson; his significant other saying ily first.

it was no secret that jackson was stock full of love and kindness. he had had other partners before you, all with him ending up getting too attached, or scaring them away when he said “I love you” too early.

he did not want to scare you away, and honestly, he had known he loved you two months into dating, but he didn’t want to scare you away, so he never outwardly said those three little words to you.

he wasn’t expecting you to say it, first though.

you had invited him over for dinner and a movie, just wanting a chill night in with your boyfriend. he brought the wine and promised to give you a back massage, so really, what more could you want on this chilly thursday night?

“what’s been going on, honey? you know you can tell me anything,” jackson whispered into your ear as he helped you out of your clothes.

“I feel like I deserve to oversee my department at work. i have the most education of all of them, more experience than them, and generally, I am more optimistic than my superiors….,” you sighed, letting him rub just under your shoulder blades, which had been itching all week.

“mmm?”

“i think they might be scared of powerful women who like to wear hot pink fendi suits to work,” you smiled, knowing he would be offended at your joke. you could almost feel him pouting.

“so the reason you can’t get the job is because your superiors don’t like the suits your boyfriend buys you? wow, what a way to hurt a guy’s pride…,” he followed your lead on the joke, trying to make you laugh because he knew this was really getting to you. “baby, I think you should go to their boss and see if you can get a promotion…tell them everything you told me, okay? i know you’re not only the best woman for the job, but the best person for the job…period,” he said, making you feel so overwhelmed with emotion. none of your previous partners had ever revered you the way jackson had. you felt so incredibly blessed and in love, you couldn’t help yourself.

“god, jackson, I love you so much,” you whispered.

the movement of his soft hands on your back stopped abruptly at your words. ‘oh god, was it too early to say that?’

“j-jackson…im sorry-“

“ive been waiting to say that to you,” he breathed against your lips, closing the distance that was between them.

“jackson wang….you love me?” you could feel the tears building. the man of your dreams was in love with you, too.

“i love you,” he whispered reverently.

“say it again,” you begged. he said it like a mantra.

“i love you, i love you….i love you..”

jinyoung; moving in together

jinyoung thought you were so cute. you were ecstatic to move with jinyoung. you had been living in your shared apartment with your mom your whole life and we’re excited to start a new chapter of your life. jinyoung didn’t think you were taking in the fact that moving is one of the most stressful things a person can go through.

he didn’t want to rain on your parade, though.

the two of you got settled into your new apartment after a long day of unpacking. jinyoung kissed you as you laid onto your new king sized bed. “im gonna grab takeout, you want your usual?” he asked sweetly, squeezing your hand. you just nodded, squeezing his hand back.

you watched as jinyoung walked out of your shared bedroom. that’s when the dam broke. you were so overwhelmed. you didn’t know how to make warm water happen in your shower, you didn’t have your wifi set up, and you forgot your favorite teddy bear at your moms. you missed teddy and your wifi and your mom.

“hey, i ordered you two egg rolls and they gave us three - hey, baby, are you crying?”

“no,” you replied lamely. “I miss teddy,” you wailed miserably.

“teddy...the...stuffed bear?” he asked.

“i slept with him every night for the past 20 something years.”

“baby...we can get your bear in the morning...,”

“we don’t have netflix set up so how am i supposed to sleep tonight?”

“y/n...,” he chuckled. you frowned harder now that he was laughing at you. “moving isn’t as exciting as it looks. tomorrow, we will fix the wifi, okay? and we can visit your mom and rescue teddy.”

“okay...okay. im sorry, im just a bit overwhelmed,” you confessed.

“its gonna be okay, honey. it’s a lot to take in, i know. but you can hold me instead of teddy, and ill sing you to sleep,” he whispered, the takeout now long forgotten. before you could fall asleep, he pulled his iphone out of his back pocket and pulled you into his chest to take a selfie. “there. now we have a picture of us in our bed for the first time.”

“i love you, you sap.”

even though you called him the sap, the next day you went to the pharmacy to get the photo printed and frame it. when jinyoung came home from the market that day, he eyed the frame on your bed stand, smirking at you.

“oh, so im the sap, hmm?”

youngjae; picking up the tab

it was the first date the two of you had been on since youngjae had been on tour. he told you to get dressed up and that the two of you would go out for a fancy dinner and catch up on everything. this is why you loved him, because while you wanted to hear all about his stories of life and tour abroad, he always wanted to hear about everything that was going at home, to see if you were alright.

youngjae looked dazzling in a black checked suit, while you matched him with a little black dress that made him groan when you stepped out of the bathroom. “can we skip dinner?” he’d ask cheekily. you rolled your eyes at him before kissing him on the cheek. “we aren’t skipping dinner, and we definitely won’t be skipping dessert,” you winked before leading him to the car.

the two of you ate dinner together, him holding your hand and looking at you with stars in his eyes as you told him stories that had happened while he was away. you ordered appetizers, drinks, shared an entrée, and youngjae even ordered you a slice of apple pie for the two of you to share.

“baby, I’m going to go use the restroom,” youngjae said before kissing your hand. “’kay, don’t get mugged, please,” you teased him. he shook his head at your playfulness. you watched as he left before frantically waving your arms at your waitress. she ran over to you, checking if you were alright.

“I just wanted to wonder if I can pick up the cheque really quick? I wanted to pick it up for my boyfriend as a surprise,” you spoke in a hushed tone, making the waitress giggle. she nodded her head before handing it to her. you handed her your credit card, thanking her before your boyfriend had any suspicions of what you were up to.

youngjae came out of the bathroom as soon as the waitress set the cheque down. you were applying your lipstick so you couldn’t snatch it in time. you watched as his pretty brown eyes scanned the receipt, looking confused as ever. “is this a joke? what kind of waitress lets the girlfriend pay?”

“jae,” you giggled. “you don’t always have to pay for dinner. I wanted to treat you…I missed you so much,” you confided, watching his expression from anger into warmth.

“oh, thank you honey, you are so sweet and thoughtful, I love you so much,” you let him wrap his suit jacket around your arms before planting a kiss to your forehead. “but that will be the last time you ever do that.”

“shut up, i like doing nice things for you,” you pouted.

“since you paid for dinner tonight, i have to put out, right?”

he ran to the car before you could slap him in the chest.

bam; his s/o borrowing his clothes

remember how joey never shared his food? well that’s how bam was with his wardrobe. he was very particular about his clothing, not letting people borrow them at all. yugyeom used to steal his clothes just to be petty and piss his best friend off. he had never let past partners borrow his clothes, and nothing was going to change, it wasn’t his fault, it was an obsession. if you were sure of one thing, it was to not steal your boyfriends clothes.

but one day, while he was gone from work, you thought you would take pictures of yourself in only one of his blazers to tease him.

you weren’t expecting him to walk through the door while you were trying to take self timer pictures of yourself.

“baby? what are you doing?” bam asked, laughing as you let out a squeal of surprise.

“i..i wanted to surprise you...,” he tsked, pulling away to look at his blazer. “i know you don’t like me wearing your things..,” you stammered as he circled you.

“you have such pretty things, though, bam,”

“you look so sexy in this,” he purred. “you were trying to get me worked up while im trying to work?”

“u...uhhh,” you couldn’t think coherently with you boyfriend acting so domineering. you gasped as he slid his hand up to your cunt, rubbing your clit in little circles. “bam...please...,” you groaned.

“keep the blazer on,” he said as you writhed in his grip.

“its gonna get all sweaty though and then you’ll yell at me,” you teased him as you followed him to the bed.

bam just groaned. “baby, im sorry I haven’t let you borrow my clothes before but you look better in them than me. now, let me fuck you and i promise you can have anything you want in that closet.”

he knew exactly how to shut you up.

yugyeom; his s/o buying him flowers

yugyeom was always so stressed during comeback season. you always scolded him when he forgot to eat, or wasn’t staying hydrated enough, but you were so proud of him. seeing the smile on his face and the way he walked a little taller was so worth it.

he was still busy during comeback season, coming home late after all the videos he had to shoot for publicity.

one night, yugyeom had gotten home around midnight to a bouquet of pink roses and a handwritten note from you. it read; “I am so proud of you, my love. congrats on breath… I can always feel your love,” he blushed and giggled to himself, thinking, “isn’t the guy supposed to buy the girlfriend the flowers?” he wandered into your shared bedroom to see you sprawled into his side, with your book in your hands, a soft snore leaving your lips. he nudged you, not intending to wake you up, he could thank you in the morning. but he did accidentally. “yeom?” you whispered.

“shh, baby go back to sleep,” he shushed, changing into his pjs.

“did you like the flowers?” you asked, suddenly awake now.

“theyre really pretty, baby, but aren’t I supposed to buy you the flowers?”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “not my boyfriend being a sexist,”

“yah! y/n stop it, I didn’t mean it that way!! I love them, you remembered I said I love roses,” he was pouting now, pulling you into his chest to spoon you. his voice got quieter now. “no one’s ever remembered my favorite flowers…much less bought them for me,” he paused, kissing the back of your neck before closing his eyes and falling fast asleep.

he was whipped.

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 reactions #got7 preferences #got7 writing #got7 imagines #park jinyoung #mark tuan #choi youngjae #kim yugyeom #bambam #jackson wang #im jaebeom #got7 writings

377 notes · View notes