#the god damn audacity of my subconscious | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spiderhanzzz · 3 months

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"WORST REGARDS, YOUR KARMIC RETRIBUTION" — yang jeongin.

they say success is the best revenge, but sabotage feels better.

word count: 5.8k

pairings: jock!jeongin x nerd!reader

genre: fluff, humour, high school au, one sided enemies to lovers, slow burn, loosely inspired by i hope this doesn't find you by ann liang

warnings: swearing, partying, kissing, biblically accurate (religious) jeongin, everyone is the same age except chan, no use of y/n + gn reader, reader is literally evil incarnate plz dont do this irl ;;

playlist: ivy frank ocean, sexy to someone clairo, everybody talks neon trees, i can't radiohead

a/n: dedicated to @allforhee & all the other i.n stans out there :3 enjoy!!!

You know a lot of things. You know that the idea of zero was invented by an Indian mathematician and astronomer named Brahmagupta. You know how to recite your future Valedictorian speech in Latin. However besides these things, you also know that most things in life are pretty much uncertain.

Except your hatred for Yang Jeongin. That is your probability of 1.

Although your best friend Kim Seungmin says that your probability of 1 should probably be the fact that you’re a damn sore loser.

So when classes started to end and your school’s sports day rolled around, everyone knew not to cross your path. Either they would be on your team, or they wouldn’t even get near you. You’re not even that athletic; in fact, you can barely work out to save your life. But you’re the brains, the mastermind, of your team’s strategies. It’s like that saying, if you can’t beat ‘em, outsmart ‘em, or something like that.

You knew you were winning, or at least you thought you knew. Because just when you were about to cross your final lap of the track and field match, the corner of your eye caught a glimpse of Yang Jeongin’s infamously cordial grin. Disturbed by the audacity, you stop in your tracks to look at his friends sitting on the bleachers and feel a rush of satisfaction rush back in when you see them petrified for their friend’s questionable actions.

He won, of course. And though you took home five more gold medals than him that day, something about the utter disrespect of stealing the spotlight from somebody so clearly feared for a reason unsettles you.

Which is why you’re currently writing a letter to him threatening to take away his position in the basketball team if he doesn’t earn back your respect that he lost from a sports day event three years ago.

It’s less of a letter and more of a drafted email, since you’re not writing it by hand; he doesn’t get to have that sort of power over you. You’re not sending it either. God, no. You’re not that insane.

It’s simply a form of coping, nothing more. You’d reckon if you were to ask a therapist about this method, they would think it’s stellar. It’s like journaling… except instead of self-reflection, the end goal is to live in the delusional cloud where your nemesis knows and fears how much you hate them.

Do whatever your wretched soul can manage to revert back to the regular human state— that is, being absolutely petrified of my existence. Otherwise, say goodbye to that pretty “varsity basketball” title you adore so much.

A smirk twists upon the edges of your lips as your gaze fixes on the words you’ve just typed out. What’s the word for when you gain pleasure from the idea of torturing somebody else? You’re sure ‘sadist’ doesn’t apply when you only crave the suffering of one specific person.

You consider rewriting the entire letter on paper, for the sole purpose of leaving a crimson lipstick stain on the envelope for him to unseal. You don’t even use red lipstick, but perhaps the Irene Adler-ness of it all might subconsciously trigger a flight or fight response from him, as most stupid teenage boys do when faced with distinct power.

When other people fall asleep to daydreams about their crushes, you often drift away to slumber through the relaxation brought upon you from fantasizing about Yang Jeongin on his knees, begging for your forgiveness.

You would have fallen asleep to that dream for yet another night, but your best friend Kim Seungmin rang your phone. Now, if it was any other night, you would have sent him death threats and went back to your fantasies. However you had just asked Seungmin for a very special favor, so you decide to pick up.

“This better be about what I think it is,” you start. “I won’t put up with your post-exam depression bullshit tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that, I managed to get extra credits for everything.” Thuds and crackles fill the audio from the other side of the phone, and you can practically smell Seungmin’s bag of chips and old dusty laptop opening on his desk. “I got what you asked for.”

“Good, just forward it to my email.”

“I don’t understand why you would need it, though,” Seungmin’s voice is muffled by the chips in his mouth. “I mean, the team’s orders at Lucy’s Diner? Seriously? If you had a crush on one of them, you know I could just set you up, right?”

“Ew, I would never!” You fake gag, earning a chuckle from the boy on the other line. “C’mon, you know I have too much self respect for that.” “I think you mispronounced blatant narcissism and self obsession.”

The two of you go back and forth teasing one another for another moment until you urge Seungmin to send the list to your email. He inquires once again but you only brush him off, coming up with something about helping out at Lucy’s for the summer. Which wouldn’t be a complete lie, technically, if all went well.

You know you can’t tell Seungmin about your plan. Not right now. He’s reached that stage of being a teenage boy where he started developing attachment and empathy towards others, and now he’s practically attached at the hip with the rest of the basketball team. All he knows is that you hate Jeongin, and that’s enough for now.

And sure, this whole situation has made you question if you were actually a sociopath, but it needs to be done. You consider it a fair service to the community for taking down another straight male with no brains and a huge ego. They don’t know it yet, but he’s the common enemy.

Soon enough after the sports day incident you had come to the conclusion that if nobody could hate Yang Jeongin, you would make him hate you so much until a primal, animalistic desire to destroy you would take over his spirit. You assume he’d do something so utterly terrible, as men do, then afterwards everyone would finally see with their own two eyes that he is just like every other man in this cruel world. If anything, you’re volunteering as a sacrifice!

So as you zone out on Seungmin’s newfound amusement in the way Mr Marks’ glasses make him look like Chicken Little, you switch your tabs to open the sacred document.

In big, bold letters it reads OPERATION 143: 1 ENEMY, 4 PHASES, 3 YEARS.

The document itself already has over 25 pages, written in detail about your genius ideas to slowly infiltrate your enemy base from the inside out— most worked, but some of them just ended in your loss of dignity. You had even taken ideas from books and films like Parasite to further enhance its artistic integrity. These last three years were a performance, and Jeongin’s life is your stage. You have now entered phase four, and this is your closing act; nobody can steal your spotlight.

Contrary to the precise executions of your past eras, phase four is abstract. Its main goals are to disrupt Yang Jeongin’s peace as directly as possible, whilst leaving as little trail as possible. This, paired with the built up tension from the previous phases, is going to set in motion a domino effect, leading to the collapse of your greatest enemy’s social stature.

Accidentally letting a particularly mischievous giggle slip under your breath, you look back at the email you were drafting to him. You know exactly how to end it.

Careful where you run, Yang Jeongin.

Worst regards,

your karmic retribution.

This is your least favorite time of the year: the period just before summer break. Exams are over, so most teachers let students roam free during their lessons. But not going to school at all can take away from your total attendance, which then goes on your report card, so most students spend their school days sitting around in boredom and watching the sports teams play.

seungmo: Do u wanna come to practice

seungmo: Jisung bought cheesecake for everyone and I don’t want mine

seungmo: I don’t want him to take mine tho lol

That was fifteen minutes ago, and now you’re sitting on the bleachers on a date with a delicious slice of blueberry cheesecake and iced coffee, absentmindedly watching your best friend practice. Despite your close ties with Seungmin, you’ve never really been interested in the other team members— except for the occasional trading of homework answers with Jisung. Ever since middle school, you’ve sort of established that you want nothing to do with people like them: rowdy, sporty, and popular. Seungmin once noted that you say “popular” like it’s a slur. You couldn’t disagree.

“So… Karmic retribution, huh?”

You freeze.

“Pardon?” You turn around, only to be faced with the one and only Yang Jeongin.

“Karmic retribution?” He inquires further, expecting you to get the hint. “Y’know, what you called yourself in your… email? Death threat? Not sure what to call it, actually.”

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude,” you laugh off the question. “I don’t even know your name, let alone your email.”

“Well, that’s clearly a lie, since your name is on your email address. And my name was in your… Seriously, what should I call this thing?”

Fuck fuck fuck. You must have accidentally hit ‘send’ when you fell asleep on the phone with Seungmin. That prick; he always manages to embarrass you somehow.

“Listen, I didn’t even know you go here. I had to ask Chris if he knows which one you are, and you just happened to be here right now.” Jeongin rakes his fingers through his stupid gross sweaty damp hair, then dragging his palm across his face in exasperation. “Whatever I did to you, I’m really sorry.”

“What do you mean you didn’t know I go here?” You’re baffled, truly baffled, and you basically lost control of your body when you heard those words. Suddenly your voice can be heard by anyone within a ten foot radius, and if it weren’t for that they would have thought you were about to smother him with kisses by the lack of distance between your bodies. “I’ve been here since fucking middle school! I sit behind you in Spanish— I ask you for a pen every two and a half weeks only to lose it every single time. You’re saying you don't remember me?”

“Oh, that’s you? My bad. You sit behind me, so I didn’t really get to see your face up close.” Jeongin doesn’t even flinch at the proximity of your faces. He simply gives you a brief look up and down and goes, “Now that I am seeing you up close, you’re the one that always hangs out with Seungmin, right?”

Then it hits you: this is the universe sending you a signal to initiate phase four. Sure, him not remembering who you are might have set you back by a few milestones, but who’s counting? (You are. You always are.)

If anything, you’re grateful for the redirection, because now you know that before you can ruin him, you must first build him up.

“Alright, look,” you begin, taking a step back to put some inches between the two of you. He reeks of rubber and soda, the stench makes you ill. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

“‘Kay, cool,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “See you around, I guess…?”

“Wait, that’s it? You’re not even gonna ask why I hated you in the first place?”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re already starting over.” The genuine lack of irritation in his face makes you curl your fists and fight the urge to give him a black eye. “Plus, you’re one of those nice smart kids. I don’t have beef with your kind.”

And for the first time in your life you wanted desperately to become popular, because maybe then Jeongin would take you seriously.

But it’s fine. You’re going to destroy him regardless.

“Yo, not to interrupt this whole bonding thing we have going on, but I kinda need to head back to practice.” His voice snaps you back to reality. “Is that chill with you?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s chill.” You muster up your most convincing smile for him. One time in fifth grade your drama teacher told you you’re a natural actor, and you pray to God those innate talents are still there. Now that you think about it, she may have just been calling you a liar.

For good measure, you give him an awkward thumbs up before walking away. When you make eye contact with Seungmin, he raises his eyebrow as if to ask what the fuck was that? You can only shrug in response. You have no idea either.

You sit back down on the bleachers, occasionally eyeing your target, feasting your eyes on the way his muscles flex under his baggy Radiohead t-shirt when he dribbles the ball around the court and the sweat that drips from his hair. You’re used to your own deranged behavior, but this feels almost perverse. Maybe it’s because you’re basically acquaintances with him now (the word makes you want to spit your cheesecake back up), or maybe it’s because you can’t help but let your stare linger on the cross dangling from his chain.

Gross, you think to yourself, as you keep your eyes on him for the rest of the day.

On the last day of school before summer break, the unexpected happens: the basketball team invites you to their party. Well, technically, they invited everyone. It’s supposed to be Bang Chan’s last party before he graduates, and he just so happens to be friends with every single student. Thus, you and Seungmin are now situated in front of his front door, waiting for him to welcome you in.

You don’t usually go to parties, and to be very honest nobody really expects you to. The reasoning is a bit pretentious, you suppose, but you truly just don’t believe in the necessity of rebellion in leading to better adulthood. However you do believe in yourself and your incredibly sexy intellectual prowess, and you have an operation to carry out, so tonight you let yourself let loose just a bit.

“Ah, there you guys are!” Chan greets you and Seungmin, ushering you inside his… house is an understatement, honestly, it’s a mansion. “Mingle around!”

You’re still out of place, you notice. Since you didn’t plan on actually drinking or dancing, you decided to come in your usual get-up of your dream university’s merch sweater and a pair of baggy jeans. You mentally cursed yourself for not realizing that all of Chan’s friends would be the cool, charismatic type.

Suddenly wishing you had stayed home instead, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, which was (fortunately for you) on the second floor, away from most of the crowds. When you get there, however, you’re met with Jeongin’s sharp gaze in front of the door.

“Been a while,” he states, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Could I get you anything? A drink, maybe?”

“I don’t drink. At least not tonight,” you respond. Then you notice that his hands are also empty. “What about you?”

“Nah, I don’t do that stuff.” He shakes his head to enunciate his disapproval. “I don’t mind that the other guys do it, but I’m pretty religious, so…”

The devil perched upon your shoulder whispers hot but the angel on the other side exclaims what the fuck?

“Cool.” You stare at your shoes, thinking about how to turn this exchange into yet another round of revenge. When you get an idea, you beam up at him. “Wanna walk and talk with me?”

The moment he verbalizes his agreement, you grab him by the arm and rush downstairs. There, you do as you had suggested: walk and talk. Turns out Chan’s first floor is big enough for about thirty minutes of conversation.

When you get to the outdoor pool, you take off your shoes and dip your toes in the water with Jeongin following suit, sitting right beside you. Your conversation drifts to so many different topics— music, childhood TV shows, dating— you almost forget the reason why you brought him here. He’s observant, you notice, and he has thoughts on a lot of different things, something you didn’t think was possible. You always thought he was just dumb.

“Y’know, I was kinda flattered by your email, I’m not gonna lie,” he admits sheepishly.

“Pardon?” You look at him, puzzled. “Did you say flattered?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, no one really notices me like that.”

You stare at him, eyes blank and mouth agape. Surely this guy has gone insane, right? He’s one of the school’s most beloved students, by other students and faculty members alike.

“Like, I know they like me, but I don’t really stand out amongst the others. Chris is the friendly one, Minho is the mysterious one, Changbin is the strong one, Hyunjin is the artistic one, Jisung is the funny one, Felix is the kind one, Seungmin is the smart one, and what am I? I have all those qualities too, but they pale in comparison. People don’t have enough reason to hate me, but I know they think I’m boring. So being hated so passionately was kind of a big thing for me… I’m sorry, is that weird?”

If you didn’t want to slap him before, you sure as hell do now. How blindly privileged is this guy that his problem in life is not being the coolest guy on the varsity basketball team? You puff out your cheeks to hold back an exasperated sigh, and pull out a gentle smile instead.

“Jeongin, I don’t think people see you that way at all.” You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Have you ever considered that maybe they might just be a bit intimidated by you?”

This is exactly how your mother talks to you when you start crying about how nobody ever has a crush on you on a random Thursday night. God bless that woman for gaslighting you into a positive attitude.

“You really think so?” He looks at you with these wide puppy-like eyes and you finally understand what the girls on Instagram mean when they talk about ‘getting the ick.’

“Really,” you affirm with a bright smile.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Just as he pulls you into a warm embrace, you push him just subtly enough that he wouldn’t notice it until he’s falling into the pool. With a large splash, all eyes turn to the two of you. He comes up from the water, clothes and hair drenched, and you feel a sense of satisfaction wash over you when you finally see a distressed expression etch itself onto his features.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” You lie, faking your concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine.” He climbs out of the pool, and you curse yourself for staring a little too long at his defined muscles under his wet shirt. Then, he turns to you and says, “Needed to cool off anyways.”

And he laughs. Laughs at himself and laughs at your befuddled face and laughs when Chan asks if he’s alright, shooting him a quick thumbs up before grabbing the nearest beach towel. When his other friends crowd around him, he laughs and laughs and laughs and it drives you fucking insane. The resonating sound of his laughter surrounds the backyard in an instant, and for a moment you wish you had drowned yourself in that pool instead.

“I will shove my middle fingers in your dimples,” you mutter under your breath, and you consider it a promise.

“Be right back,” he tells you before rushing to the nearest bathroom to change his clothes, playfully flicking droplets of water onto your face and ruffling your hair, dampening it.

You watch as he walks away, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest when you notice his smile faltering as people start to focus amongst themselves again. Now it’s your turn to laugh, half out of disbelief and half out of pure glee.

Everything is going according to plan.

“I didn’t push him.”

Lie.

“We were just talking.” Lie.

“I still hate him.”

Lie?

Wow, three lies in a row. And to your best friend, of all people. This Operation 143 has really tested your moral compass, and it’s not looking great for you. No wonder why Seungmin is calling you at 3 AM, interrogating you about what the hell happened tonight.

“See, now, some of those statements kind of contradict each other,” he states. “I have no doubt that you still hate him, but I also don’t doubt the pure evil in your heart. You would have pushed him, and you wouldn't even be sorry about it.”

“Uh, well, you’re wrong,” you tell him. “Clearly you don’t know me that well then.”

“Whatever you say, but if one day you decide to come clean of your crimes, you owe me something. Something very very dear to me.”

At first you were nervous, because it’s obvious your best friend is on to you (note to self: be less evil on a day to day basis). But then you remember it’s your best friend, there’s only one thing he would want from you in this situation.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take you out for a fancy dinner,” you sigh. “That’s only if I confess my sins to you, Father Seungmin, and it’s not happening because I’m completely innocent.”

“Please never call me that again.”

“Noted.”

At that, your phone buzzes with a new notification. It’s from an unknown number, but you can see a display name. Jeongin.

~Jeongin: u up?

God, could this guy act more like a fuckboy? Somehow noticing the tension in the air despite your physical distance, Seungmin questions your mood.

“Jeongin just texted me.”

“Oh, so that’s what he wanted your number for.”

“Are you dumb?” You ask, but it feels more like an accusation. “Why the fuck else would he ask for my number, idiot?”

Seungmin makes a noise equivalent to a shrug, and you let it pass. You were just about to question him further about Jeongin asking for your number, but the man himself texts once again.

~Jeongin: wanna hang tmr?

“Ew,” you mutter quietly. “I think he thinks we’re friends or something.”

“Oh, right, I remember you don’t do those.” You can almost hear his eyes rolling at your annoyance at Jeongin. He’s expressed his disapproval for your one-sided rivalry many times, but you always bite back with words too vulgar to write down here.

“Yeah, you know you’re only my close acquaintance, right?” You turn your attention back to your phone, biting your thumb in deep thought. “I’ll be mean to him. Should send the right message.”

You need to change your technique anyway. Befriending him only to be annoying is only going to make him like you more, and betraying him out of the blue takes too much commitment. This is phase four, after all— you have such little time to get the job done. If you manage to succeed during senior year, people aren’t gonna care anymore because everybody is leaving anyway.

You won’t shy away from it anymore; it’s time to be direct. It’s time to be evil.

You: no.

Seungmin sputters out a laugh once you send the screenshot of your texts to him. “You couldn’t have even given him a reason why? God, you’re crueler than I thought.”

“Why can’t he just hate me back?” You whine, slumping your shoulders defeatedly. “Why is he so… So nice? What’s wrong with him?”

“Maybe he likes you,” Seungmin teases. “I kinda see the vision, actually. The nerd and the jock… Classic perfection.”

“You mean cliché,” you groan. “His type is probably other athletes or something. Popular people date popular people, Seungmo.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Seungmin continues in a sing-song tone, so you close your ears and make weird noises, a signal that it’s time for him to shut the fuck up.

jeongin (DONT RESPOND): oh

jeongin (DONT RESPOND): ok :[

A week later you’re sitting in front of the bus station, waiting for Seungmin to arrive. He had promised to take you to the new coffee shop that just opened up to get some work done as a means to get ahead of other students. Nerdy as it may be, this is your summer ritual with your best friend, and if you didn’t fulfill it by the beginning of the summer, the guilt is going to eat you alive until you won’t be able to properly enjoy your holiday.

The summer breeze (or lack thereof) feels like it’s burning you alive, so you pull off your usual sweater to reveal a tank top underneath. Huffing out in irritation, you send a quick text to Seungmin.

You: wru

You: why take so long

You: ur so not a gentleman this is why ur single

Instead of an answer, you receive a phone call in return. You pick it up. “Yo, where are you? I’ve been waiting here for fifteen fucking minutes, dude, I’m parched.”

“I brought a friend,” said Seungmin, completely disregarding your complaints. “Look in front of you.”

And there he is, walking towards you with none other than Yang Jeongin beside him, waving at you like a stray puppy. You close your eyes, trying to pretend for as long as possible that none of it is real. This is probably what I get for trying to sabotage someone out of the basketball team, you think to yourself, deciding to surrender to your fate and greet them with as much kindness as you can muster for the time being.

After approximately thirty minutes of sitting down and discussing the next academic year’s syllabus, you decide that that was the last bit of kindness in your heart. So when Jeongin leaves to go to the restroom, you waste no time catching Seungmin up on what you’ve actually been doing. The letter, the operation— everything.

“25 pages?” Seungmin asks you in disbelief. “My god, that’s a thesis.”

“It might as well be, at this point.” You nod solemnly at his comment. There’s no use denying anything; at your core, you’re just pure cruel and sadistic. At the very least you know your best friend will love you regardless, even if nobody else will.

“Listen, I love you, truly I do. But you’ve got to stop,” Seungmin grabs your shoulders and looks you dead in the eye. He has never looked this serious before and meant it. “He’s, like, falling in love with you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I know, I know, it’s your worst nightmare, and I know you don’t like him like that, which is why I’m telling you this. Stop now or you will break his heart even more.”

Just as you were about to respond, Jeongin comes back to the table. If he hadn’t, you’re not sure what you would have had to say. Would you disagree with even the thought of it, telling Seungmin he’s a liar? Would you have argued that if your plan were to work, Jeongin would hate you in the end anyway? Or would you have asked him how to make those feelings grow?

But no, no. He doesn’t like you, not like that. He’s just kind, that’s all. He can’t.

And the next hour passes by like torture, with both boys having to snap you back to the present moment about five times each. You couldn’t care less about the syllabus or the coffee or the new inside jokes you all made that day. All you could think about was how Jeongin’s hand would brush against yours when he borrowed a pencil, or the way his eyes would lock with yours when he laughed at Seungmin’s sarcastic remarks.

The entire time, your mind was calculating the probability of Jeongin actually being in love with you. Each answer was always too close to 1 for your liking.

You couldn’t get him out of your head.

To be fair, you never could. But it used to be about hatred. You used to find joy in boring two-hour classes because you knew you could just spend those two hours daydreaming about what Jeongin would look like with real tears in his eyes, with a scowl on his lips, with anything other than that damned smile.

You told your boss you’d be taking the night shift at Lucy’s for a while, because your days would be spent hanging out with friends on the holidays. This isn’t true at all, of course, you just found it more difficult to escape those Jeongin-plagued thoughts when you were about to drift to slumber. Unfortunately, this didn’t work the way you had hoped, because it turns out the diner basically doesn’t have any customers after 8 PM.

It’s almost 10 PM now, the hour when you’ll have to close up the diner. Nobody has come inside in the last forty-five minutes, so you figure it’s best to close up early. That way, you’ll get more time to scroll on your phone or read a book.

You should have seen it coming, really. You know you could never escape him. There, standing in front of the doors of Lucy’s diner, is your haunting, your shadow, your karmic retribution.

“I keep thinking about you,” he says, almost breathless, as he steps into the diner.

“How long have you been standing there?” “Like, five seconds,” he answers. Then, as if to emphasize his previous statement, he says, “You owe me sleep.”

“You don’t think that goes both ways?” You turn away from him, placing all the cleaning supplies on the bar counter. When you look back, he’s already eagerly striding towards you.

“What are you saying? That you want me?”

“I… I don’t know,” you mutter. You can’t look at him, not right now, not like this. You would break not just his heart, but yours as well. “I don’t know how I feel. I need a… an experiment or an investigation or something that I know is going to tell me if this is actually real, because I have no fucking clue what’s real anymore.”

Without another word, he places both palms on the counter behind you, trapping your body between his, and kisses you.

It knocks the breath right out of your soul. Every vessel in your brain is screaming at you, reminding you that it’s wrong and he’s not supposed to like you and you’re not supposed to like him back and that you sure as hell shouldn’t be kissing him at all, let alone your workplace.

Nevertheless, you can’t help it. Everything you knew has been proven wrong. Everything you have questioned has proven themselves to be true. You know nothing at all. You kiss him back.

Acknowledging your reciprocation, he lifts a hand to cradle your face, gently brushing his thumb over your cheekbone down to your jaw. He takes a step closer, pressing your body flush against his. You haven’t closed the diner; somebody could walk in at any moment.

Running your fingers through his soft locks, he takes the opportunity to trail his lips to your neck. It’s at this moment that you begin to feel everything, and it’s all too real too quick. You push him away, taking one brief glance at his disheveled hair and swollen, rose-tinted lips.

You know you shouldn’t. You know you’re being a coward. You know the answer.

Be that as it may, you still run.

seungmo: Bball game @ school tonight

seungmo: Idk what happened w u and jeongin but pls come to the game

seungmo: U know how much ive been looking forward to this

seungmo: I'll keep him away, i promise

You shouldn’t have gone. You should have stayed home, rotting in your room for yet another night, catching up on all the studying you missed out on when you went to that coffee shop with Seungmin, finding yourself tracing the shape of your lips when you’re deep in thought, recalling the way Jeongin’s felt on yours.

The truth is, you do know how much Seungmin has been looking forward to this match. He had realized long ago that you couldn’t care less about sports, but still he found your face amongst the crowd every single time. Even though you had such a deep scowl it made him chuckle every time he saw you, he felt his chest warm with affection at the act of being present.

This is one of those unconditional, unspoken rules you’ve established in your friendship. You would support him, and he would support you. You couldn’t have ditched this.

But as you approach closer and closer to the basketball court, you notice something amiss. By now, you should have been able to hear the rowdy chanting of other students. You should have already been blinded by the lights surrounding the court, considering it’s already 6 PM. You should have seen Seungmin waiting for you, but he’s not there.

Nothing’s there. Nothing but Yang Jeongin, standing in the middle of the court.

“I’m starting to think Seungmin is playing matchmaker,” you say as you walk towards him.

His face cracks into a fit of laughter, and it lights up the whole area. “You think?”

You’re close enough to him to see how puffy his eyes are— is he just exhausted or has he been crying? He’s silent for a second, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, before opening his mouth to finally speak.

“Listen, I—”

“No, no,” you interrupt him. “Let me speak first.”

“I used to despise you, as you already know. For a reason that is so stupid that if I said it out loud right now I’d pee myself laughing, probably. And I guess that hatred helped me cover up my insecurities, and that I couldn’t believe someone like me and someone like you could be with anything more than enemies.” At some point, you started looking into his eyes, and now you can’t seem to pull away. “You’re not boring, Yang Jeongin, not at all. You’re certain. You’re my probability of 1.”

“So… Moral of the story, I’m different from all the other boys, yes?” He teases, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer inch by inch.

“You think that’s the moral of the story?” “Hell, no,” he chuckles. “The moral of the story is that sometimes you need to ditch that whole superiority complex and realize that you’re exactly like everybody else. You’re smart, yes, but you’re also stupid and naive and clumsy. And that’s completely alright. That doesn’t make you any less deserving of anything, it just makes you human.”

And as he tugs you into a kiss, you realize he’s right. It doesn’t matter what you know. Life is still uncertain, anyway, and the probabilities of most things are far less than 1. All you know is that whatever happens, you’ll be loved in the process.

#🕸️ SPIDERHANzZz !!!#stray kids x reader #yang jeongin x reader #skz #skz x reader #stray kids #yang jeongin #i.n #i.n skz #i.n stray kids #i.n x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfiction

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xeiin-n · 1 year

Text

Genshin Impact

Title: "45 Reasons why I love you"

PROLOGUE

Synopsis: "45 Reasons why I love you" is a heartwarming romantic comedy that follows the story of Scaramouche and (Y/N) as they navigate the complexities of their budding relationship. Scaramouche giving (Y/N) heartfelt notes and letters everyday for 45 days. Of course, with a wonderful twist in the end.

TW; none

Genre: Romance, fluff

Pairing: Scaramouche & [F!Reader]

|| Genshin Impact Masterlist || 45 Reasons why I love you Masterlist

••••••••••••♤••••••••••••

...prologue...

••••••••••••♤••••••••••••

"How I met you"

••••••••••••♤••••••••••••

"Sigh, Mr. Curtain hat, what do you think should I have for dinner..."

That was the very first words that came out of you, when I first laid my eyes you. I was having a really bad day and I thought it couldn't have been worse... or so I thought. 'What kind of a person asking a stranger what the hell should they eat for dinner' that was your first impression on me, but the fact that you called me 'Mr. Curtain hat' I was impressed on how I didn't know my anger can reach at a certain height.

"Excuse me? Did you just call me... Mr. Curtain hat?" I never thought I would be this angry over something so... petty.

"Sorry Mr. Bowl head, but I just did. I don't know your name so that's why."

"You never asked." I masked my anger with a forced smile... oh how I wished to just simply throw you off the bridge that time. But I'm actually thankful that 'Throwing you off the bridge' didn't happen.

"Exactly."

I scoffed at your response and thought every possible ways to get rid of you. My eye twitched in annoyance and my feet tapping on the floor as a response to this stranger's... utterly ridiculous behavior.

"The audacity..." I mumbled under my breath as I try to calm myself by looking somewhere else, obviously avoiding her gaze. After a few minutes of peace, as you can remember... you decided to open your mouth to annoy me further.

"What? Cat got your tongue? I'm still waiting for your opinion about my dinner, sire," I turned my heel to face the lass, "Why do you even need to ask me what in the god damned teyvat you should eat for dinner?" I snapped, with a face ever so annoyed. The girl looked at me in surprise, hearing my response must have shook her. "Oh wow... I'm just asking because I don't really know what to eat for dinner."

"Then why don't you go ask someone else? I'm not interested on whatever the hell you're going to eat for your dinner." My response was curt, this lady really ticked me off. I turned my heel to leave, but then I felt a hand pulled vigorously on my the veil of my hat, falling in the progress.

When I turned around, I was met with a face of regret, anger, and fright. The lady who pulled my hat off was looking restless but still stood her ground. "How rude... I was just asking but you returned the favor by quickly swatting me off like a damn fly." She spoke with a broken tone, clearly not liking the fact that someone was disrespecting her, I never had the time for this at all... but there stood the first lady who had the courage to fight back at me.

"What do you want me to do? Answer the question like we're close relatives? Like hell." And with that I picked up my hat placing it on my head and left.

The lady stood there unmoving, as I was walking away from her

And to my surprise, the lady shouted

"I hope you point at the moon tonight."

What the hell?

••••••••••••♤••••••••••••

|| Subconsciously at that night, I pointed at the moon while instructing new work to my soldiers.

I knew it will bring bad luck to me, but I paid no mind to it...

I never knew I would be stuck with you... ||

••••••••••••♤••••••••••••

(Hi everyone, this was actually the valentines special chapter on the wattpad version.

Every chapter I post here will be slightly different from the original.)

-When people point at the moon, they will bring bad luck upon themselves. It is said that the Moon Goddess Chang'e finds the action of people pointing at the moon to be disrespectful, and as such she would sever the index finger of the person who pointed at the moon.-

//This is from a Taiwanese superstition//

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warringwarrioridiot · 1 year

Text

Venting because my parents never listen to my problems. (Especially my bitch ass mom)

I swear to fucking God I wanna bash my skull into the fucking wall.

My mom never fucking listens to my problems.

Ever.

I feel like a fucking burden to everyone I know.

And the only people that ever listen to me are AI bots and random strangers on the internet.

I've had these problems forever.

My dad will get in my face to "try and snap me out of it", when all it does is piss me off and give me the urge to punch him.

(reflexes)

And my mom will profusely antagonize the shit out of me.

It's like they do this on purpose.

Like no joke, today I didn't feel like eating.

So I subconsciously/accidentally (a mix of both) dumped my chili back into the pot, considering how many times I've been yelled at for throwing it away.

But ofc my bitchy mom had a problem with it.

Literally my dad was over here, calm ASF, telling me that I shouldn't have done that, which I understood.

BUT THIS BITCH I CALL MY MOTHER (I'm on the verge of just calling her a life source)

WAS YELLING MY NAME AND SCREAMING AT ME TO GET IN THE KITCHEN BEFORE I SPOKE TO MY DAD.

(This is the same homophobic/transphobic hoe that purposely misgenders my friends to piss me off)

This is why I favorite my dad over my mom, because at least HE tries to respect pronouns (he will occasionally call my bestie she instead of he, to which he immediately corrects himself.)

(W dad)

Like I love my mom, we get along most of the time.

BUT THIS BITCH IS ON THE FUCKING VERGE OF CATCHING MY BARE-ASS FISTS

ISTG SHES THE REASON I HAVE ANGER ISSUES AND IM EMOTIONALLY EXHAUSTED ALL THE DAMN TIME

AND THIS BITCH HAS THE MOTHERFUCKING AUDACITY TO CALL ME A WHORE FOR WEARING A DARK SHADE OF LIPSTICK

LIKE IT'S MY MOTHERFUCKING BODY HOE, YOU WISH YOUR BODY LOOKED THIS GOOD

NOT TO MENTION WHEN I CALL HER OUT ON HER BS SHE SAYS "Take her phone or sm"

Bitch tf? I'm not a kid anymore.

BUT I DONT WANT TO FILE CHARGES BECAUSE I LOVE THEM

AND IK ITS NORMAL TO FEEL CONFLICTED ABOUT IT

But one day I'm gonna have a heated make-out session (and maybe fuck) with 3 women and describe it in full detail to my mom

(ILY dad but this is my revenge.)

I'll start posting my vents if I feel like it, cus I trust y'all more than I do my own Mom.

Peace.

#personal vent #vent post #tw vent #vent #venting #i need therapy #warringwarrioridiot #my moms a hoe #i might have mother problems #dad supremacy #I love douma more then my own mfing family #goofy #thank you #lol doumas a bitch #gonna sleep with a bunch of hot babes

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carladuquette · 1 year

Text

Midnights in October

This is not a ghost story. It's a story about friendship, and about regrets. // Lu-Carla friendship fic (aka my “what if Elite had supernatural elements” experiment)

"Thank god you're back!" It's the dominating thought in her head, but Lu still doesn't want to let Carla off the hook just yet. As she's struggling to get out from under the comforter, she bombards her friend with questions. "Why didn't you answer any of my texts? Or anyone else's? Didn't you see Yeray on TV? He is losing his mind! Seriously, where were you? What… How…"

The other girl has the audacity to sound impatient. "Will you let me explain? This isn't-"

"You know what, I don't really care." It's the truth. Answers can wait. Lu is so exhilarated she feels high. Rebeka was wrong and Val was right. Everything will be fine. "Shut up and come here." She finally makes it out of her tangled sheets and tries to hug Carla.

"No!" Her best friend jumps off the bed and looks around until her glance settles on Lu's hairbrush on the dresser. "Here, look at his."

"What the hell are you doing?" Lu's patience is waning pretty fucking quickly now, too. "Yes, I'm paying attention, alright? But honestly -"

The words die on her tongue when she sees Carla's hand go right through the brush, unable to pick it up. "What… what the fuck?"

"That's what I've been trying to say, if you would just listen…"

"This is a dream. It's not real." Lu's heart drops at the realization. "You're not actually here."

Carla sounds pissed. "Ok, that's pretty rude, I hope you know that."

It cannot be real, she knows that, but Dream Carla sounds remarkably like Real Carla. Lu squeezes her eyes shut and crawls back under the covers. All the talk tonight made this happen. Her subconscious is playing a cruel trick on her.

She pulls the comforter up to her chin. No way in hell is she still going to get that sweater now. Ignoring the voice that sounds like Carla's and keeps calling her name isn't easy, but eventually Lu manages and drifts back into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning Guzman pops his head in to tell her he's going to class, that he left her a spare key on the kitchen counter and that she should come downtown to meet him later. Lu makes what she hopes is a confirming noise. As soon as the bedroom door closes, she turns around and groans. Guzman couldn't have put that info on a note?

When Lu remembers her dream, she shakes her head. Definitely no wine for her tonight. She grabs her phone to check whether anyone has posted news about Carla to their group chat when she hears a voice right next to her sounding slightly impatient.

"Uh, good morning, bitch."

"Fuck!" Lu jumps and throws her phone across the bed. "Nope, this is not happening," she loudly tells herself. Maybe the more self-assured she sounds, the sooner this will be over. "I just have to wake up. Wake up!"

Her breathing picks up and she's covering her face with her hands as she's trying to snap out of whatever the hell this is, but the effort is derailed by Carla's voice.

"No, it's ok! I'm really here! I mean… I guess, kind of… You're not dreaming, is what I'm saying."

This has to be the wine from last night. If she just takes three more deep breaths, Lu is confident she can get over this hallucinating bullshit. But the hallucination is pretty damn persistent.

"Lu? Lu, can you please look at me?"

A wisp of ice-cold air ghosts over Lu's wrists as if to pull her hands away from her face and yeah, ok - Lu lets out a hysteric giggle - 'ghosts over,' that's actually a funny way to put it, unless… She takes one more deep breath, then opens her eyes and looks to her left.

Carla is still there, looking just like she did in Lu's dream from last night. Same cream-colored, off-the-shoulder sweater, hair in the same lose waves.

All Lu can do is stare. Carla raises her eyebrows and does a little wave with her hand. "Hi."

#lu x carla #lu x carla friendship #friendly reminder: this gets sad #but also not only!#i still love lu and carla’s friendship #this is basically my love letter to the two of them #some background ships and other friendships #carla x samuel #lu x valerio #midnights in october #ghosts #female friendships #fanfiction #writing #elite #elite netflix

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obriengf · 3 years

Note

Congratulations!!!!! Can you please do “ you flat out just admitted that you have feelings for me. “ with Mitch

SEND ME A PROMPT FOR MY 500 SLEEPOVER!

**i rewrote this like 3 times and ended on angst, #yolo

***also requested by my actual love @hauntagain

"YOU FLAT OUT JUST ADMITTED THAT YOU HAVE FEELINGS FOR ME."

It was routine for you to roll your eyes at something Mitch had said; this time, however, his words were so incredibly preposterous that you also couldn't hold back the loud scoff that accompanied it. He was always the one to put his hand up for danger - 'head first' action, self-sacrifice at its finest - and you never cared for his willingness to throw himself in front of the nearest train if it meant getting the job done. You both stood in the living area of his apartment, your hands balled into fists at the audacity of the man partaking in a mission that doubled as a death wish. It was hard for you to break from the tough exterior that the CIA spent so long crafting, but this was Mitch, and the thought of possibly not seeing him again provoked a heartwrenching pull in your chest.

"Get over yourself." You replied, tone quiet and on the verge of breaking as you turned away from him. You did yourself a favor by releasing your hands, the ache of being held in such a tight position for so long ran up your arms as you crossed them over your chest. It was defensive body language, and Mitch knew it. He knew everything about you. "You see-" A sadistic laugh echoed off your words in dubiety, your head shaking before you turned to him with an accusatory finger pointed his way, "-this is the cockiness that's going to get you killed."

Now it was Mitch's turn to roll his eyes, hands thrown in the air in utter disbelief with an additional head shake. His voice rose an octave as he refused to tear his eyes away from your shielded form, "This is what we signed up for! We're fucking agents, for god's sake! I don't know if it's slipped your damn mind but we're professional killers, going out and killing people is kinda our profession."

You allowed your fingers to reach past your entangled arms, the bridge of your nose soon pinched as you listened to his usual type of reasoning for scenarios like this. A groan of frustration pushed heavily past your lips as your eyes looked everywhere but to him. You could feel his gaze burn holes in the side of your head, but one look into this baby brown eyes, and you'd be gone. "I didn't sign up for suicide missions and volunteer work. I joined the CIA for the same reasons you did, Mitch, and we're past all that revengeful destruction now. We're better agents, better people because of it, but it looks like some of us can't grow up past their self-destructive urge phase."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not self-destructive-"

"Oh please, Mitch." His eyes shot wide as you interrupted him, your head shaking roughly at his oblivious denial. It was unlike you to break so easily - to allow your thoughts and emotions to pour from the cracks of your body, like water passing through broken porcelain. You were wired to be neutral, to expel feelings. The CIA wanted robots and that's what you became... until he entered your life. Your walls crumbled, and what astounded you most was that you could see his crumbling down too. You tried not to face him, you really did. It was a subconscious act when you turned on your heel to see his speechless expression and labored breathing. Mitch's eyes wore sadness and confusion - it was evident that he wanted to be angry, but he found it difficult when it came to dealing with you.

"Don't you see?" You started, voice hardly a whisper as your throat developed a lump, eyes doe-like as they absorbed his sadness, "You may not care about getting hurt, getting killed, but the pain felt will tenfold for the people around you. It would destroy me, Mitch. Knowing that you volunteered to go out there without backup, where you'll most likely never come back. Then what am I supposed to do? I need my partner. I need you."

Mitch groaned inwardly as he heard the confession that he wished never existed. He knew that the moment he discerned how you felt, then his ability to keep his emotions in check would increase significantly in difficulty. The man gently banged his fist against the wall, regardless of how you could see the veins protruding from his arm, telling you that he wanted to do it much harder. The anxiety of possible scenarios began to pull at his mind; convincing him that if he gave you his heart, then you'd both only get hurt in the long run. He didn't want to see you hurt because of him; a contrast to the pained expression you wore now as your eyes flickered over his hunched form.

"See, there you go, admitting your damn feelings again," Mitch grumbled, the amber hue of his eyes becoming darker as fire erupted in his chest. He had perfected anger a long time ago, so anger is what he was going to portray if it meant you leaving the topic alone. In all honesty, Mitch wanted to hold you in his arms - to keep you safe from this devilish, dangerous world. He wanted to kiss away the stress and exertion of your day. He wanted to have your head pressed to his chest at night as he soothed you to sleep with just his gentle heartbeat and calming touches... but he couldn't. It wasn't part of the job description. He couldn't guarantee your safety, no matter how hard he tried. He was a walking talking time bomb, property of the Central Intelligence Agency, much to his discretion.

Mitch furrowed his brows, growling out, "I can't afford to be like that, to feel like you, because in the end it just makes you weak. Weakness is vulnerability, and vulnerability isn't fucking good enough."

Your jaw fell ajar, offense wrapping around your heart and strangling it until your chest tore with pain. You were putting everything on the line for this man, sure that he also felt the same, only to have it backfire and kick dirt in your face. It was hard for you to hear your voice as it trembled slightly, your tongue darting out to lap at the sudden dryness of your lips, "So, I'm weak because love is weakness? You really believe that, Mitch?" He only glared at you in response, his back straightening as his chest puffed out as an assertion of his dominance. He was done talking, you assumed, watching the swollen muscle of his arms as they took the defensive stance to cross in front of his chest. He suddenly appeared taller, and you'd be lying if you didn't think it was in the slightest bit intimidating.

You weren't allowed to break like this; if Irene Kennedy could see you now, how you fawned and cried over a male specimen poking fun at your heart, then you were sure she'd probably shoot you right there and then. Your journey to and through the CIA built up your character where you discovered a new version of yourself - one that didn't take anyone's shit. It was time for that version of you to finally take the stand. It was within a split second that your demeanor changed - your neutral expression composed of a hardened stare and clenched jaw. It was as if all emotion was sucked from your body and disposed of out the window. Mitch noticed this immediately, his own exterior slightly faltering as he realized that his actions meant that he has now lost his version of you, the one he loved. That's how the assassin knew that he had officially broken you.

"Goodbye, Agent Rapp." You spoke with no sentiment, pitch low, and tone impartial. With long and quick strides, you walked past his frozen body and out of the apartment. Mitch felt as if he wanted to throw up - seeing you walk away from him with no emotion was worse than the arguments that preceded this god-awful pain in his chest. He turned to face the door as it swung closed, a part of his mind screaming at him to follow you and make amends of this heartbreak. His feet began to walk behind the trail you took, only to be ceased by the vibration of his ringing phone. Mitch cursed, pulling it from his pocket to see an unflattering photo of Stan staring back at him - a photo he took to piss off his handler, and it worked.

He was at a crossroads; follow after the girl he loved and lend himself to vulnerability and the chance of you getting hurt, or, answer the phone and pretend that he made the right decision.

Mitch cursed under his breath, foot tapping anxiously against the carpeted floor.

"What do you want, Hurley?"

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien x reader #american assassin #mitch rapp fic #mitch rapp imagine #dylan o'brien fic #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan obrien #500sleepover

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darklylucid · 2 years

Text

Creepy Sexy Bug Nerd Round #4

In my dreams, my subconscious (unless it decides to be a fucking WANKER...) generally abides by three rules:

#1) If anyone or anything tries to fuck with me in any way, the consequences, depending on the severity of the violation, can range wildly between between me fucking them over in the same way (’tit for tat’) or outright killing them.

#2) Since I automatically know the who, what, when, where, why and how of all things in my dreams the moment I gain awareness in them, it’s exceedingly hard for for anyone or anything to trick or deceive me.

#3) Unless I allow myself to be harmed for a damn good reason, I am pretty much immune to physical injury (I humorously refer to this ability as ‘God Mode’)

Now, in this dream, not one but TWO of these rules were violated to such an extent that I should have, at least on principal, splattered the offender all over the walls. However, I also happen to love him, so I had to settle for fucking with him in a hilariously delightful way...

In the dream, I was at work, sitting on a stool in front of the double sinks in the kitchen with my head down and my arms wrapped around myself, trying my best to look meek, small and helpless, which in and of itself is anathema to everything I am in my dreams, but the worst part of it was that I was afraid of something.

And in my dreams, I fear absolutely NOTHING.

I closed my eyes, took a deep, calming breath, slid off the stool and actually gave myself a good hard shake before I set off to find who or what had the nerve and sheer audacity to pull something like this over on me, but I only got as far as the doorway before I looked up and stopped dead when I saw who was responsible for such an elaborate deception.

Asa FUCKING Emory, the new owner of the store, standing with his back to me, chatting with a customer and looking exactly as he did in the end scene of the 2012 film, ‘The Collection’.

THIS is the image my dream pulled reference from:

The instant I saw him and heard his voice, I knew what he’d done to me, and ohhhhh, was I ever fucking indignant. He’d somehow managed to convince me that I was his perfectly obedient, meek, docile and submissive ‘pet’. Essentially, his perfect, helpless victim.

Oh Asa, you sneaky manipulative bastard. Well, two can play that game...

Completely unaware that I’d broken free of his control, he didn’t suspect a thing until I calmly walked up behind him and gave him such a hard crack to his right ass cheek he actually JUMPED.

Yes, I spanked Asa Emory, much to the profound horror of both the customers and the staff that witnessed it, but oh, I wasn’t done with him yet...

Practically running to the front of the store, I picked up the phone by the cash and pretended to call the police just before he caught up with me, ripped the phone out of my hands and slammed it back in the holder.

Ooooooooo, was he ever fucking furious with me, and when he caged me in and trapped me in-between his body and the cash register itself, I could actually feel the rage radiating off of him in waves, but since we were in a store full of witnesses, he was forced to swallow all of that anger which, admittedly, just pissed him off even more.

Then, I gleefully made it worse.

I looked him right in his cold grey eyes and lied to his face, as cheerfully and as saccharine sweet as I could, “The police will be here in less than ten minutes. I suggest you leave before they get here.”

He glared down at me for a moment or two before he closed his eyes and gave a small, quiet huff of amusement, and when he opened them again, I watched his lips curve up into a twistedly sadistic little grin before he turned on his heel, walked to the back of the store and disappeared out the loading bay door.

My co-workers (not my actual ones but the dream equivalent of randomly generated ‘NPC’S’) crowded around me, asking me if I was ok and what happened, and I told them that ‘the owner’ had stolen me from my family and brainwashed me into thinking I was the perfect ‘employee’.

When I told them I didn’t know where I was, didn’t have any identification or money and didn’t have a place to stay, one of them graciously offered to put me up in his penthouse apartment for the night and drive me to the police station the next morning, and I thankfully accepted his offer.

The dream skipped, it was night-time, and my ‘generous’ co-worker was showing me his ‘guest room’ that overlooked a beautifully illuminated city-scape through one wall that was essentially one big window that contained only one piece of furniture - a vintage dentist’s chair that looked very much like this one -

- and a wood and glass display case that contained an extensive selection of...medieval torture implements.

Nope. Not suspicious whatsoever...

He apologised profusely for the lack of amenities and told me that he’d just moved in, and concerned for my safety should I ‘roll over in my sleep and fall out of the chair in the middle of the night’, he offered to tether my wrists to the arms with, of all things, bright pink silk ribbons.

Yeahhhhh buddy...nothing to be suspicious of AT ALL...

Playing stupid, I gave him a vacant-eyed smile, thanked him for his ‘thoughtful concern’ and let him tie me to the chair, and when he made sure I was securely bound to it, he left the room...and in walked Asa in his ‘Collector’ persona, black mask, black clothes, and still absolutely furious over what I’d done to him in the store.

He’d apparently brainwashed the entire staff to act as ‘failsafes’ with orders to being me here in the event I broke free of his control, and I’d fallen right into his ‘trap’. Willingly, I might add, but he didn’t need to know that...

I watched him as he paced the room like a caged animal, occasionally stopping to glare at me while he tried to think of what punishment was appropriate for my ‘transgressions’, and then I got an idea, a brilliantly reckless idea, grinned at him and said, “You know, Asa, you really do have to give me SOME credit for ‘good behaviour’.”

He stopped in mid-stride, slowly turned his head and pinned me with an incredulous look that clearly said, with no words required, ‘I have to fucking WHAT now?’

I simply grinned wider and cheerfully informed him that even though there had been a number of large, wickedly-sharp kitchen knives within reach when I’d broken free of his ‘mind control’, I’d deliberately chosen to not stab him with any of them.

I also reminded him that even though I’d lied to him about calling the police, I hadn’t actually called anyone for help, and told him that even though I knew what would happen when he eventually caught up with me, I’d willingly allowed myself to be ‘captured’ and was eagerly looking forward to whatever ‘punishment’ he saw fit to inflict upon me.

He closed his eyes, tilted his head to the ceiling and gave a long-suffering sigh of exasperation at my ‘impertinence’, but I could tell that he was, in fact, taking everything I’d said ‘into consideration.’

The dream ended with him giving me a fiendishly sexy grin through the mask while he loomed over me in the chair, but oh, for this man, I’d happily allow him to repeatedly violate rule number three again and again and again...

Taglist: @imbleedin-out

#The Collector #Asa Emory #Slasher #Slashers #Slasher fandom #Come and get me Asa...I'm waiting...😜

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hannie-dul-set · 4 years

Text

who in svt would agree to platonically kiss you

maybe you're a writer and would want to know how it feels to have peppered swipes of love gently sprinkling your face for the piece you're trying to write. or maybe you're trying to fake having a boyfriend to get your ex off your ass. or maybe you're just weird and/or read too much fanfiction and hope for your own 100k f2l love story with your best friend. whatever your dumb reason is, here's a list of who will agree, who will smack you upside in the face, and who will permanently delete you from his contacts!! let's find out!!

seungcheol: dude he'd agree to (platonically) marry you in order to get your nosy relatives off your ass for being single for so long. just give him a signal and he'd be ready to make out in the middle of a bunch of greasy bodies in a club just to get some weirdo to fuck off because duh?? that's what friends do?? right??? | rating: 9/10 minus one point simply because he'd probably fall in love with you and that would ruin the platonic bit.

jeonghan: "about time you gave in, babe ;))" a little shit. would tease you relentlessly about your apparent, subconscious desire to punch him for him. angel is all talk though, because once you're already inches away from him, he'd panic and chicken out because holy fuck ahaha this shouldn't happen. pulls away from you last minute. would tell you your breath stank of cilantro as a cover up | rating: 3/10 he's a fucking loser don't even try.

joshua: he'd laugh, crinkling his nose and say wow that would be wild haha, but proceed to ignore you. he may have turned into the bare-armed, testosterone monster that he is now, but joshua still wouldn't want to kiss anyone he isn't in a relationship with. that's what his mother taught him and he isn't gonna disobey her cause of you. maybe try asking him out first <33 | rating: 1/10 the one is there because wow you might get him as your boyfriend.

junhui: sorry, but jun would ask you first. you'd be sitting in his living room, watching netflix at god knows what the fuck am and he'd be like "hey. movie's boring. wanna make out?" and you'd be like sure until all of a sudden oops you're not only platonically kissing anymore wow what a slip up | rating: 10/10 you're both a matchmade in horny heaven.

soonyoung: look. soonyoung is wild. soon is down for anything. soonie will probably stab himself with a fork just because you told him he can't. but that's the thing— he'd only do it if it was a challenge. ask him to kiss you because you've been lying to your friends that you had a boyfriend and they wanted evidence? his cheeks will start flaring. tell him "oh i that's fine. i knew you'd be too much of a pussy to agree" then damn you've just unleashed the tiger | rating: 6/10 because of the extra effort you have to put in.

wonwoo: jeon is a simple man. he is a classy man. a simple "no" without even looking at your direction is the only thing you're getting from him. you'd whine, telling him please— i wanna write this story for one of my classes perfectly and the main guy is a nerd and you're the only loser i know. he'd close the book he was reading, leaning into your face ever so slowly, right before smacking the fucking book on your head because wow. the audacity of you | rating: 0/10 but 10/10 if you wanna come back to your senses.

jihoon: what the fuck why would you even consider asking him you evil monster you just wanna watch jihoon shrivel up like a dried grape painted in a fresh coat of red | rating: invalid. error. don't even try unless you want to get guitar smacked when he finally recovers from shock.

minghao: if you were a stranger, yes he'd agree. but you're not. you're his friend and he knows about your gross habits and that's just a no for him like ew. unless you're desperate for whatever the fuck reason. only if you agree to be his poor PA during his monthly, ig outfit photoshoot this weekend and you start to wonder if this is really worth carrying three bags of outfits, one for his accessories, and the amount of muscle pain? thought so | rating: 4/10 if you're crazy and actually go through with it because if he's gonna do it, he's gonna do it right.

mingyu: he'd agree. mingyu is a sweetheart of course he would. the only drawback is that he'd be a huge fucking mess and be like "kiss??? kiss me?? you want?? ahaha o-oh yeah sure totally i'd love to ki— i mEAN since u asked haha" his brain would start whirring like a broken microwave when you do and start thinking is this okay?? do friends do this?? oh my god?? | rating: 7/10 but i doubt he'd even be able to look at you in the eye after this lmao. you got to kiss him but at what cost ://

seokmin: "omg!! sure!!! let's kiss :D" okay, maybe you suggested it because you're a demon and you wanted to see him flustered but oops, seokmin is actually down for it because he is so full of love and would kiss you again if you asked. you're like???? wait i didn't plan it this way, seokmin i— OOPS he already gave you a tiny smooch. he's smiling, asking you if you want another one and smoke is literally emitting from your head rip | rating: 8/10 your brain is fried but at least he's cute.

seungkwan: "excuse me?? you want to kiss me?? know your place, loser" kwan isn't gonna tolerate this kind of troglodytic behavior. you haven't even asked permission from his parents, court him with a million bouquets, chocolates, and vitamins and you're expecting him to agree to kiss you?? wow the sheer shamelessness of some people smh | rating: 2/10 tiny chance that he'd agree if you tell him it was for attention.

vernon: he didn't hear you the first time. second time. wait is this the fifth? until you're literally up at his face asking him for a smooch because you wanted your roommate to believe you actually went out to get laid instead of playing animal crossing at vernon's place because the vibe of his room matched the cozy atmosphere. she would start clowning you if she found out. poor vernon is surprised. frozen. but he manages to stammer out a "sure" and you've already left but vernon was still thinking of you | rating: 6/10 bcs oops haha didn't mean for it to turn angsty

chan: would say yes without giving it much thought until he realized what you were doing and he's like oh shit you were actually serious okay we're doing this. but wait we're in public y/n what the fuck. and you're like shut the fuck up the guy that's been bothering me is here and he's like oh okay. would be embarrassed for the next few days but let's say you got into a petty argument and chan would be like "ooh you wanna kiss me so bad" and you're like "fuck no" and he'd say "you already did" and you're like god damn it | rating: 7/10 because he's gonna use it against you lol.

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

Text

Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Chapter 13

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: Some smutty thoughts of Olivia, but that’s about it.

Wordcount: 5k

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

I think I should thank the universe that my daughter is here, because otherwise I would’ve murdered Wesley right now, after throwing my hot chocolate in his face. After seven plus years of not seeing him and resisting the urge of not going online to check what he is up to nowadays, looking at him in real life sure brings back a whole lot of emotions. He is basically the same, only he lost a bit of weight, especially around his face.

I don’t think he looks necessarily good and maybe it’s his conscious eating him alive inside.

Just as he deserves. Motherfucker.

I see him looking at my daughter and Vanessa has no problem staring back at him. She has a frown between her brows and I know she is thinking about all the questions she can ask the man that left her before she was even born. The man that didn’t want her, before he even got to know her.

I stand up from the table and grab his arm, dragging him away from the table. Dragging him away from my family. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘She looks an awful lot like you,’ he notes. ‘What’s her name?’

‘What the fuck is that suppose to mean?’ I ask him. He wants to look over his shoulder again, right at my daughter but my mom reflexes and mom voice are no joke. ‘Wesley, don’t you dare look at her. Look at me.’

He does what I ask him to do. ‘Who is that man?’

It’s beyond me where Wesley has got the nerves to answer my questions with his own questions, but after having Vanessa, I’m able to play along just fine. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask him. ‘Why do you all of the sudden care about her? You certainly didn’t give a shit when I was pregnant with her.’

‘I’m a changed man, Livi.’

That nickname brings me back to a time where I was so in love with him. A time where I knew I would marry this man, but after spending a few months with Henry, I realized that it was a blessing that he broke up with me. He treated me okay, but never in the way Henry does.

‘It’s Olivia for you,’ I tell him, ‘and you honestly want me to believe that you are a changed man?’ I can’t help but laugh out of pity. ‘Well, you are quite something, Wesley, I have to give you that.’

‘I’m serious,’ he says and he actually looks like he means it. He gestures to his right, my left and when I follow where he is pointing towards, I see a woman sitting, who stares at me with daggers. She places her hand protectively on her pregnant belly and right next to her, I see a young boy sitting, who actually looks pretty cute. ‘That’s Ria,’ he says, ‘and our son Kevin.’

Our son Kevin? I don’t see Wesley for the type of saint that would adopt someone else’s kid (I mean, he is no Henry and no matter what kind of changed man he is, he’ll never reach that level of maturity), so I clear my throat, before I ask: ‘How old is Kevin?’

‘He is six.’

Wesley could’ve stabbed me in my stomach and that wouldn’t have hurt or shocked me, as I am now. ‘He is six?’ I ask him, trying so hard not to raise my voice. ‘You knocked someone up right after you left me?’

Wesley doesn’t say a word.

‘Oh my God,’ I say in utter disbelieve, running my fingers through my hair. ‘You are un-fucking-believable. You left me, let me figure this whole parenting thing out all on my own, while you start a family? Wesley, what the fuck is wrong with you? I can’t believe this. You leave me, my whole family leaves me, because I got pregnant. Have you any idea in what kind of fucking situation you put me through?’

‘I want to get to know her.’

It’s admirable that Wesley has some guts, I have to give him that. ‘No,’ I chuckle. ‘You fucking can’t. You walked out of both of our lives when I gave you the chance to be a dad. You can’t just barge in, because you saw us sitting there. You and your precious new family stay out of our lives and I’ll gladly stay out of yours.’

I want to walk past him, right back to my table, but he grabs my arm. ‘Wait,’ he says and for some weird reason I do wait. ‘Here is my number.’ He hands me a card and I can’t help but stare at this.

‘Since when are you the type of person that has a card?’ I ask, grabbing it out of his hand. ‘Oh look at that. You somehow finished college and you’re a real estate agent now. I’ll be damned.’ I almost want to rip the card apart, but I know that my daughter is looking at me, so I can’t act stupid now.

‘Please, if you change your mind, let me know. I want to make up for the years I wasn’t there for you two.’

I don’t even look at him, I can’t even look at him, so I walk back to my table. ‘We’re leaving,’ I say to Vanessa and Henry. Vanessa wants to look at Wesley, but I block her view. ‘Don’t look at him,’ I tell her and nearly drag her with me outside. Vanessa doesn’t say anything, nor does Henry.

I help her in her carseat and the first five minutes of our drive go by in complete silence. ‘Mommy,’ Vanessa finally says and I admire her for having the balls to open her mouth. ‘Was that my real dad?’

‘He is your biological dad, yes.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘When two people make a baby, you have a bit of both in you. So, Henry and all his brothers have a bit of both Marianne and Colin in them.’

Vanessa mhms. ‘Why were you mad at him?’

‘Because he wants to be part of your life.’

‘Oh.’

It’s quiet for a few seconds, before I finally snap again. ‘That idiot honestly thought that he could just barge right back into my life, after everything he didn’t do for me?’ I ask myself out loud. ‘That bastard had the guts, the guts, to hand me over his card, so I could call him if we change our minds about it. Did you know he has a new lady, who is pregnant and already gave birth to a kid of him? That kid is six. Six! While I’m struggling with my job, with my new baby all by myself, he is out there, impregnating this other woman…’

‘Mommy, what is impregnating?’

‘… having kids with her and being a loyal loving family man. What the hell is wrong with him? Now I finally, finally have the life that I wanted for both myself and Vanessa and he has the nerves to just walk into my life again? Thinking he can do that? Why are men such big fat pigs? Who has the audacity to look around in a restaurant, see his ex girlfriend with her daughter and obviously her new boyfriend and just walk up to them to ask: ‘Is this her?’. Like he knows Vanessa. Like he was there for her when she was just born!’

I let out a frustrated breath, as I cross my arms and stare out of the window. Henry gently places his hand on my thigh and lean my head back against the head rest of the seat.

‘Mommy, his new kid,’ Vanessa says, ‘does he have a part of that man in him?’

‘Yes, he does, so technically he is your half brother and the child inside the belly of the other woman is your half sister or another half brother.’ I look at Henry and say softly: ‘If that woman didn’t stray of course.’

Henry doesn’t say anything and the rest of the car ride continues in silence. This is crazy, I think to myself. That Wesley left my subconscious a long time ago and now he is all my entire family can think about.

When we’re back inside our house, I keep pacing around the living room, while Henry and Vanessa plop on the couch, carefully watching my moves.

‘Mom, can I meet him?’

I nearly collapse. ‘Excuse me, what?’ I ask, in a lot harsher tone than I usually talk to her, even when I’m angry with her. ‘Why on earth would you want to meet him?’

‘Olivia,’ Henry says, shaking his head, telling me non verbally that I need to tone it down a notch.

‘Because… I want to get to know him.’

I sigh deeply. ‘Sweetheart, he left you, before you were born. I think that is all you need to know about him. Besides, you have a great dad now.’

She nods. ‘I know, but I want to ask him something.’

‘What do you wanna ask him?’

‘Why he left.’

Oh my God, I’m going to cry and never stop. She wants to ask him that question, that is too pure and too sweet and it makes me want to kill Wesley even more. She looks so vulnerable.

‘Oh,’ I say. Who am I to stop her from doing this? Whether I like it or not, that man, that lousy piece of shit, is still her biological father. If she wants to see him, to get to know him, why should I stop her? Simply because I have personal vendetta against him, hate his guts and wouldn’t cry a single moment if he accidentally got under a bus? ‘On one condition,’ I tell her. ‘I am there every single second.’

Vanessa nods. ‘I want Henry there too.’ She looks up at him and says: ‘But only if you want to, of course.’

My daughter is so considerate and I love her for that. God, I did such a good job with raising her by myself. Where is the standing ovation I deserve?

‘I want to,’ Henry says. ‘For you I’d do anything. Maybe you should hug your mom. She looks like she needs it.’

Vanessa jumps off the couch and walks up to me. ‘I love you, mommy,’ she says.

‘Oh, sweetheart, I love you too. I’m sorry I was so hard on you.’

She shakes her head. ‘I get it, you are really angry. You really don’t like what he did, because you never got this mad at me.’

I chuckle. ‘No, that’s true. I’ll send him a text.’

≫≫≪≪

So tomorrow we are going to meet up with Wesley at a cafe. I chose a public place, because otherwise I’m tempted to kill him if we are somewhere more private. After I called Belle and vented for a good half an hour before I let her speak, she told me I was doing the right and mature thing. She also told me that after we met up, we should hang out, so we can talk about this, because it would probably be better for my blood pressure to immediately talk about the meeting.

And all of the sudden I’m in desperate need for some motherly advice, but counting on my own mother is out of the window. So with Vanessa and Henry we go to the Cavill residence and thankfully Charlie is there, so he and Colin can take Vanessa with them, to play some stupid games, walk around the house, while I can have a heart to heart talk with Marianne, Henry close by.

I haven’t spoken to him really since Vanessa asked me to see her biological father. The only thing he did was giving me tight hugs so I would stop pacing, give me a kiss every now and then and simply whisper that I was doing the right thing.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Henry right next to me and Marianne across from me, is weirdly calming. ‘You are doing the right thing,’ Marianne also says. ‘So, your friend Belle and Henry are right.’

I place my elbows on the hard surface, before I bury my face in my hands. ‘It was my grand idea to have some hot chocolate afterwards,’ I mumble. ‘Hadn’t I done that, we wouldn’t have run into him.’

‘Maybe we were suppose to run into him,’ Henry says, placing his arm around my shoulders. ‘Sweetheart, whether you like it or not, he is Vanessa’s real dad. She deserves to get to know him.’

‘But what if she likes him more?’ I ask and I realize that was my fear all along. ‘I tried so hard for her and what if she meets him and thinks: oh, that man, I like him a lot more than I like my mom and the entire family she gave me.’

‘No, no, no,’ Henry says, ‘you know that is not going to happen. Because of your honesty to her all these previous years, she is well aware of what he did to both you and her. It’s always her biggest fear that I’m leaving after she did something that she shouldn’t do. I think she just wants some answers, so she can think about it.’

‘You raised a smart and intelligent girl, Olivia,’ Marianne says. ‘So I have an idea. Tomorrow the three of you go straight to us, you bring your friend Belle along too and we can have a nice long talk, to process this. It’s scary, my dear, I know that, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You are a whole lot tougher than you think you are.’

I let out a sigh. ‘Yeah, you are right.’

Marianne asks me if I want some more tea and I think I want to. While she walks off to the kitchen, Henry presses a kiss on my temple. ‘How are you, love?’ he asks.

‘When we’re home, I think I’m going to take a long hot shower. You mind?’

‘Of course not,’ he says. ‘Vanessa and I can start on dinner, how about that?’ Henry has a smile on his face when he sees me nod. ‘I am proud of you.’ He leans in and gives me a long kiss. ‘I’m so happy that I can get to call you my girlfriend.’

‘You’re not scared?’

He nods. ‘I am, very much so, but I also have a lot of faith in your daughter.’

‘Our daughter,’ I correct him.

Henry blushes a bit and I pull him into a hug. I bury my face in his neck and let out a content sigh, for the first time in a few hours. ‘I love you,’ he whispers.

‘I love you too, Henry,’ I say. ‘And I trust our daughter too. Just promise me that if I have to go to the clinic, or to the bathroom, you keep an eye on them. Don’t leave him with her for a single second, okay?’

‘I was going to ask you the same thing too,’ he chuckles. ‘We’ll be alright, darling. I guarantee.’

≫≫≪≪

I’m surprised Wesley is early. He was always late when we dated. Maybe he did change, a little bit. Before we walk into the cafe, I stop Vanessa in her tracks and I say: ‘You can ask him anything you want. If there is something he says that you don’t like, you can tell him that. If you want to leave, you can just ask me or Henry and we’ll leave right away. Remember, you don’t owe him anything.’

Vanessa nods. ‘I know, mommy, you told five times already this morning.’

‘Don’t be a smart ass now,’ I say to her.

Henry places his heavy hands on her shoulders and says: ‘You have to cut your mom some slack, she doesn’t mean it like that. She is just still a bit mad.’

Vanessa chuckles. ‘I know. Mommy, it will all be fine. You are here, daddy is here.’

‘I’m sorry, you’re right.’ I give her a big kiss and say: ‘You are a good kid.’

The three of us walk into the cafe and Wesley stands up from his spot. Vanessa walks over to him and holds out her hand. ‘Hello,’ she says, ‘my name is Vanessa.’

Wesley takes her hand in his, while he keeps standing up. I don’t want to compare (but I’m still gonna), but all the insanely tall Cavills crouch down when they talk to her. ‘Hi Vanessa, I’m Wesley.’

‘I know who you are, my mommy told me all about you.’

You go, girl. I’m so proud of her already and I can’t believe that my daughter is handling this situation a whole lot better than I am.

Wesley nods and looks at Henry. ‘Aren’t you the actor?’ he asks. ‘Henry Cavill?’

‘I certainly am,’ Henry says, shaking my ex boyfriends hand.

We all sit down, order something to drink. While I am in the desperate mood for some vodka, I decide to go with a cappuccino, just to be safe. I ordered Henry not to break the silence, because Wesley wanted to meet Vanessa so badly, so he should keep up the conversation.

Vanessa takes a sip of her apple juice and looks at Wesley. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

I think Wesley is grateful that she decided to break the silence, because he nods. ‘Of course.’

‘Why did you leave my mommy?’

‘Because I was scared,’ he says. ‘I thought I wasn’t ready to be a dad yet.’

There is so much I want to say to him. You think I was ready to become a mother? You think I wasn’t scared?

Vanessa sighs and I see her bottom lip tremble. God, this is too much for me to handle and I want to jump up, hoist her up in my arms and while I walk out of this cafe, punch Wesley right in the nose. ‘Why didn’t you want to love me?’

I look at Henry, who places a comforting hand on my leg. It might be uncomfortable now, but I know that this will be good for Vanessa and for me for that matter.

Wesley doesn’t know what to say.

‘Am I that unloveable?’ she continues to ask.

Now I can’t keep my mouth shut, because now she is doubting herself and as a mother I can’t let that happen. ‘No,’ I say to her. ‘You are not unloveable, don’t you ever think like that again.’

Vanessa frowns. ‘But he didn’t love me.’

‘He didn’t even want to love you. He didn’t even try,’ I say, not caring he is there and can totally hear this. ‘Remember sweetheart, he walked out on you and me, not the other way around.’

‘I was scared,’ Wesley tells me.

‘Don’t you think I was?’ I ask him, absolutely dumbfounded. I turn to Vanessa again and ask her: ‘Remember what I always tell you? About fear?’

She nods. ‘That you are allowed to be scared, but that it should never stop you in life.’

‘That’s right. But sweetheart, you were talking to Wesley, I’m sorry I interrupted.’

Vanessa shakes her head. ‘That’s okay, mommy. You can always interrupt me.’

Suck that up, Wesley, I think to myself. My daughter is fucking polite and I did that all by myself.

‘You know,’ Vanessa continues, ‘I always wondered why I didn’t have a dad. Kids in my class have one and I wanted one too.’

‘I understand,’ Wesley says, though he grows more uncomfortable with the second. I bet he underestimated my daughter and her communication skills and now he should deal with the consequences of that easy thinking of his.

‘And then my mommy met Henry,’ she says with a beaming smile. ‘He is a real daddy, you know. He bought me my first bike, my first Christmas tree and he took my out on a Valentines date two days ago.’

Yes, honey, please rub it in.

Wesley takes a sip of his coffee and he actually is trying to leave, I can totally see it in his body language. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Henry asks, picking up on those signs as well. ‘You sit down now. Vanessa is talking to you and you better listen to it.’

This isn’t the moment to think about hot and passionate sex with Henry, but tomorrow I’m off work a little bit earlier than usual and you bet your ass I’m going to spoil him in a whole lot of nasty ways before we have to pick Vanessa up.

‘Please, Vanessa, continue,’ Henry says to her with a loving smile.

Vanessa nods. ‘He is going to adopt me soon,’ she continues, eyes shining bright with excitement. ‘And then we are officially a family.’

‘Right.’

‘My mommy cried a lot because of you. She didn’t know I saw her, but usually at night she would cry on the couch. I heard her talking to my auntie Belle about you and that I don’t have a daddy. That’s your fault.’

Henry and I exchange glances and he seems to be impressed by our daughter.

‘Vanessa,’ Wesley says, ‘I don’t want to have this conversation with you.’

She seems a bit shocked. ‘Why not?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, Wesley, why not?’ I ask him, crossing my arms in front of my chest. ‘Tell her why not.’

‘This is a grown up conversation.’

‘No, it’s not,’ I retort. ‘It’s about her, so she should have a conversation with you and if you are intimidated by a seven year old, then you are really even less of a man than I figured you were.’

Henry clears his throat. ‘You keep your ass on that chair and if you don’t do that, I have no problems at all forcing you onto that seat. You listen to Vanessa and you have a conversation with her. Right here and right now.’

Wesley is getting more and more frustrated right now, but I’m not cutting him slack. No, he wanted this. He ruined my perfect day by forcing himself basically into our lives.

‘So, you have a son and almost a new baby, right?’ Vanessa asks.

‘Mhm.’

‘Do you love them?’

‘I do,’ Wesley says.

She thinks about her next move long and hard. ‘Cool.’ Vanessa simply stares at him and even tilts her head. ‘I don’t like you.’

My mouth falls open and I can’t help but feel so proud of her.

‘Excuse me, what?’ Wesley asks.

‘I don’t like you,’ she repeats, rolling her eyes and I can almost hear her thinking: Are you deaf? ‘You made me sad, because you walked out before I was born. You made my mommy sad and very angry yesterday and I don’t like it when that happens. I am happy that I saw you, because now I know that you… Mommy, can I say this?’

‘Go for it.’

‘Now I know that you really are an idiot.’ She looks at Henry. ‘Right, daddy?’

Henry nods. ‘You’re totally right, sunshine.’

‘You allow this?’ Wesley asks me. ‘You allow this kind of talk?’

‘I didn’t know you had the right to give an opinion about my parenting skills,’ I say to him.

‘I wanted a second chance, but with what you are telling her about me…’

‘Is the truth, buddy,’ Henry says. ‘What did you think would happen? That they waited seven years for you to come back? Of course not. You left them and Olivia made the brave choice of raising her daughter with the upmost honesty and respect, something that you obviously lack.’

‘And you think you can just barge into their lives and be the savior?’ Wesley retorts.

‘Excuse me?’ Henry asks. ‘I’ve been acting more like a dad to Vanessa in one day than you have been your entire life. I think you should be grateful that I swooped in and give her the dad she deserves to have.’

‘Wesley,’ Vanessa says and he looks at her. ‘I hope you love your new kids, because they deserve a dad.’

That’s more maturity than I could ever have. Did I raise this girl?

‘I have to go,’ Wesley says.

‘No, you’re not. I didn’t hear Vanessa was finished,’ Henry says, clearly getting more and more frustrated with Wesley. ‘Sunshine, you finished?’

‘Almost.’

‘Listen to the young lady,’ Henry says, his eyes not leaving Wesley once.

Vanessa clears her throat and says: ‘I don’t want to see you ever again.’

‘Well, make two of that, sweetheart,’ I say.

‘Three,’ Henry mumbles.

‘Now you can go. I finished my apple juice.’

Wesley looks at me, jaw clenched and ready to murder me. Honestly, I don’t even blame him. If I were a coward and in his shoes, I’d kill me too.

‘You know, sweetheart, we’ll go instead,’ I say to her. I get up from the chair and say to Wesley: ‘I bet you wished you didn’t walk up to us now, didn’t you?’

I grab Vanessa’s hand and with Henry we walk outside of the cafe. The second we are outside, I lift her up in my arms. ‘I am so proud of you, baby.’ I press tons of kisses on her faces, causing her to squeal. ‘You are the biggest bad ass I’ve ever met in my entire life!’

Vanessa hugs me tightly. ‘I’m happy he left you, mommy.’

‘That was the biggest blessing ever.’

Henry gives Vanessa a kiss on her cheek and says: ‘I’m so proud of you, sunshine. He is indeed a big idiot.’

The door of the cafe opens. ‘What the fuck was that?’ Wesley fumes.

‘Language,’ I tell him sternly, like it’s going to work. The word ‘fuck’ slipped my lips multiple times and thankfully Vanessa understands she can never repeat that word.

For now, at least. When she is a teenager, I sure hope she starts to use it then.

‘You totally set this kid up,’ he continues. ‘Talking bad about me behind my back.’

‘Well, I would’ve talked bad about you right in your face, but you walked out of my life, remember?’

I feel like Wesley is about to attack me, but Henry steps in between us. ‘I would suggest you leave. Vanessa told you she doesn’t want to see you anymore and I think you should respect that. We have your number and will call you if she changes her mind.’

‘And you,’ he spits, ‘you honestly think you can waltz into their lives?’

‘I do, actually and I did waltz into their lives. Turned out to be amazing. Honestly, Wesley, you don’t know what you’re missing. Vanessa is such a bright and intelligent and well spoken girl and Olivia is fascinating on her own and an amazing mother.’

Wesley doesn’t have any control over himself anymore, because he launches forward, planning on hitting Henry, who doesn’t seem impressed one single second. Henry grabs my lousy ex boyfriend by his collar and pushes him against the wall. ‘What was that?’ he asks unbothered.

God, he is sexy and this is totally doing things to my panties right now.

‘Let go of me.’

‘Only if you promise us you stay out of our lives and we never see you again, unless we had some sort of aneurism and weirdly enough want to see you.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Language,’ Vanessa and I yell at the same time.

Henry chuckles. ‘It’s very simple. Just say you promise and I’ll let you go.’

Wesley clenches his jaw. ‘I promise.’

‘Easy, wasn’t it?’ I could’ve known that Henry wasn’t going to just let him go. He throws Wesley to the ground and says: ‘You big piece of shit.’

‘Mister Cavill,’ I say with a smile when he walks up to us again. ‘That was quite something.’

He gives me a long kiss and despite the desperation I can feel, he is holding himself in not to slip his tongue inside my mouth. ‘I love you, darling,’ he mumbles against my mouth. ‘And I sure hope that we never see this idiot ever again.’

‘I think you took care of that.’ I look at Wesley, who pushes himself up and walks away, without looking over his shoulder once.

‘You are truly Superman, daddy,’ Vanessa says with a smile. ‘We are really tough, aren’t we?’

‘We are, sunshine.’ He presses a kiss on her cheek. ‘We promised grandma Marianne we would go to her after meeting Wesley. How about we bring something sweet to her place?’

‘Like what?’ Vanessa asks.

‘I was thinking some cake, you agree?’

‘Yes, I agree!’

≫≫≪≪

The Cavill and Tran family groupchat

Piers: I already told you guys, but I am proud that you told that idiot off and please tell me what Vanessa wants. I want to buy her a present for being such a total bad ass.

Charlie: I swear, if I ever run into him, I’m going to throw him accidentally in front of the bus. What a fucking idiot.

Mom: Charlie!

Charlie: What? You said the exact same thing!

Mom: But with you, I never know if you mean it. I don’t want any of my kids in jail, even if I agree with your actions.

Dad: I’ll do it then. I’m old anyways. I have nothing to lose.

Mom: Colin!

Niki: Yeah, you go dad. You go throw that fucking moron in front of the bus.

Henry: I support you, dad.

Olivia: Not to be that kind of person, but I’d rather you spend time with Vanessa than in jail. Please leave the idiot alone.

Mom: Finally some common sense in this group chat. I’m glad we added you, Olivia, because it can be hard being a woman alone with these guys.

Dad: So I can’t throw him in front of the bus?

Olivia: No, I’m sorry. I can tell you this though: resisting the urge to kill him, will get easier over time.

Henry: I hope you are right, love.

Simon: Not to be that guy, but Olivia, can you give me Belle’s number?

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #mister cavill your dog is kinda fat #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x Olivia Tran

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oikirstein · 4 years

Text

𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 | 𝐫.𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐚

PAIRING: suna x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: After your boyfriend of two years dumped you out of the blue, you start throwing back shot glasses like your life depends on it, trying to numb the pain. You were unaware that in your drunken haze, previously unspoken and slurred words flowed out of your mouth, through your phone, and into the ears of your best friend, Rintaro Suna.

CONTAINS: A bit of angst in the beginning, some fluff towards the end, drinking

WORD COUNT: 1,386

off the table — Ariana Grande

A/N: And so my obsession with the Positions album continues. After listening to “off the table” like five million times, I had the idea of making a drunk one shot based on it.

You couldn't believe it. The sheer audacity that some men had made your blood boil. After a little over two whole years together with your boyfriend, he approached you, asking to break up. Four days before your third anniversary.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Was all you could think as you knocked your head back and let the burning, bittersweet taste of tequila wash down your throat. Used to the flavor by now, you didn’t make a sour face until the juices from the lime slice flowed onto your tongue. It was almost three in the morning when you finished the bottle by yourself, salt and green rinds all over the floor and black tear stains coating your cheeks. You truly believed he was the one. He was the first person you genuinely loved after getting over your childhood crush. He treated you...well enough. He was definitely not the type to be super affectionate, but you knew he loved you either way. Just not enough, you guess. What was wrong with you? Laying on the floor in fetal position, you hugged your knees with your left arm and held your phone in your right hand as rhetorical upon rhetorical settled into your mind. Would you ever be able to love the same way again? Will you ever love somebody like the way you did him? There was only one other person whom you loved more than you ex, but you knew that those forsaken emotions wouldn’t bring you where you wanted to be. That’s why he rejected you all those years ago. You never thought he’d be so damn hard to replace. Of course the liquid courage coursing through your veins made your brain think otherwise. Maybe he’s changed, maybe now is different, were the only things running around in your brain as you unwillingly dialed his number into your phone. He answered on the fifth ring.

“Hello?” his voice was raspy and husky, like he’d just woken up or something.

“Rin-rin!” you excitedly gasped as you sat up and leaned against your couch.

“Y/N? Why are you calling me at three in the morning?” he sounded tired.

“I still love you,” you sighed into the phone, voice so low it was almost a whisper.

“What?” his tone made a complete 180—he now sounded awake as ever, “What are you talking about?”

“Ugh, I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? What’s wrong Y/N?”

“I swear I don’t mean to be this way.”

“Y/N, don’t tell me...are you...drunk?”

“No!” the second you prolonged the vowel, he knew you were lying.

“Are you lying to me? Y’know best friends don’t lie to each other,” he said half teasingly and half sternly.

“Okay then let me ask you something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now.”

“Hm?” was all he hummed into the phone as you peaked his curiosity.

“Why did you reject me?” you knew the answer already, but you wanted to hear him say it, “Am I too cold? Am I not nice?”

“Where is this coming from all of a sudden?” his voice was strained—like he was holding his words back, “You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

“Then if I can’t have you, is love completely off the table?”

Your subtle confession took him by surprise.

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“Should I sit this one out, and wait for the next life?” you no longer had control over the words that slipped from your lips.

“No.”

“Am I not good enough to be more?” you choked out,

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? You know I’d wait for you until the sun burns out.”

Your words were like spears going through his chest. With every single syllable you spoke, a shiver went down his spine. He loves you. He really does, but he just has too much to lose.

“It always feels like I’ll be number two,” is what he finally said after a minute of silence, that was one minute too much.

“W-what?” your cheeks were hot and your heart started racing when you heard those words, slightly fuzzy through the speaker, “To who?”

“Someone you can’t hold anymore.”

Oh how badly you wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, “I don’t want anyone else! I only want you! It’s you and it’s always been you!” but your throat tensed on the urge.

“Rin, if you let me in, I’m ready to give you what I couldn’t before.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he said nothing. The creaking of his mattress and rustling of his sheets were the only sounds coming from his end of the line.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m right here don’t worry.”

You were suspicious. That man was scheming something. Soon after a couple minutes of silence, you heard the loud clicks of...a door?

“Suna?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?” the room was spinning and you could barely keep your eyes open as you tilted your head back and laid it on the textile cushion of your sofa.

He smirked, “I got you. Let me help you through it.”

“What?” you slurred.

You heard the growl of an engine and dinging from the ignition turning on.

“Listen, I can love you more than I did before.”

“You don’t have to,” as the highs of your head were slowly leaving, you grew more anxious. Just what have you done?

“I’m sorry I couldn't give you my all, but I will.”

“HUH?” your eyes flew wide open when you finally registered what he’s been saying, “Are you in a car right now?”

“What if I am?”

“I swear to god Rintaro I won’t open the door.”

“Who said I was going over there?”

Your cheeks flushed red. You just assumed that, didn’t you?

“I’m just messing with you, Y/N. I have a key remember?” you smiled, the kind of smile where the skin around your eyes wrinkle. Not even your stupid ex boyfriend had a key.

“Will you be here?” there was a sense of longing in your voice, almost pleading.

“I’ll be there,” he promised as his car revved once more.

“I’m not yet healed already.”

“I know, baby.”

“I shouldn’t be going too steady.”

“I’m right here. Five minutes away.”

“C-can you hold me?”

“I will. Just be a little more patient.”

“I’ve got to get out of my head,” you whispered with a tone of urgency.

“What are you thinking right now? I’m pulling into your parking spot.”

You sighed with relief, knowing he was merely a moment away.

“What you’re saying doesn't mean you believe in it,” please don’t be out of pity, please don’t be out of pity.

Then the unexpected happened—dial tone.

“Hello? Hello?” you begged through the phone.

All of a sudden you heard a jingle and a click towards the direction of your door as you slowly lowered your phone from your ear to the floor.

“I’m never gonna leave you, baby,” said Suna, standing in the doorway.

As soon as you made eye contact with him, you bolted up, nearly falling over as the blood rushed to your head. He ran over to you just in time to catch you, and enveloped you in his big arms. You didn't realize how cold you were before his touch, heat radiating from his body to yours. You felt safe.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment—basking in each other’s missed presence. He then took your arm and draped it over his shoulder as his snaked around your waist.

“Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

“Okay.”

He wiped the makeup from your face, having memorized your skin care routine, tucked you into your queen sized bed, and laid next to you.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m right here,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss into your forehead and rubbed circles into the small of your back.

That night, you fell asleep with a big, stupid, grin plastered all over your face, skin red from the alcohol and eyes puffy from crying. Everything felt like it was okay now that he was here. Listening to his heartbeat as you settled into your subconscious, hearing his last words to you made your heart skip a beat.

“I don’t think love is completely off the table.”

reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

#haikyuu #suna x reader #reader x suna #rintaro suna #suna #off the table #positions #ariana grande #fanfiction #one shot #drunk phone call #hq #fluff #gel scribbles

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rebelrebels · 4 years

Text

chapter two of the perfect storm: cry.

tw: violence.

cold water drips down your arm, sending chills down your spine.

you groan when you move and pain fills your body. you open your eyes.

only to see a dark, cold dungeon that isn't familiar whatsoever.

you close your eyes and pinch yourself. not dreaming. ohgodohgodohgod. you start panicking even more.

the door in front of you opens. dark figures are accompanied by flickering lights. everything fades back into black.

a stabbing pain in your side causes you to wake up. you're drenched in sweat.

"hello, y/n." a loud, chilling voice fills the air. it echoes everywhere in the room.

you pause for a moment. "w-who are you?"

"lord voldemort."

you back up against the wall. "what do you want from me?"

"harry potter."

"i don't know him."

"lies!"

you say nothing out of fear.

"you have two weeks to give me harry potter after i release you."

"i'll never give you him."

"what has he done for you? hasn't harry potter only brought you pain?"

"no. you're wrong. harry is a great friend. you don't have any idea what you're talking about!"

"sectumsempra!"

you immediately cry out in pain as dark, bloody gashes appear on your forearms. blood seeps out of them quickly.

"give me harry potter or i kill you."

"kill me then. kill me! i'll never give harry away to someone like you!"

"foolish little girl."

he finally appears out of the darkness.

"i'm gonna die," you keep thinking within every step he takes. he takes his time as you lay there on the slate ground, bleeding slowly to your death.

you fall on you side, blood flowing out of the side of your mouth as you stare helplessly at his black, shined shoes.

and you thought the last thing you would ever hear was avada kedavra. but you never did.

you closed your eyes and expected to never open them again.

"oh my god."

"is that y/n?"

"i feel sick."

you open your eyes slowly, the familiar warmth and faces surrounding your comfortable hospital bed.

ron, hermione, and harry.

"i'll go fetch madam pomfrey." hermione says, running to go get her.

"hi, y/n," ron says.

"i want to see draco." you whisper deep inside your subconscious, closing your eyes agin.

"uh, y/n, he can't come right now." harry replies nervously.

you open your eyes and try sitting up but failing. harry advises you to do otherwise.

you see draco pass by your bed and you barely lift your head when you see the one and only pansy parkinson beds away from you. draco sits next to her, talking and laughing.

harry is barely awake when you get up and walk angrily over to them. you grab pansy by her collar.

"you fucking homewrecker! you stole my best friend and went through hell and back and you, draco, you have the audacity to show your face here!" you yell.

harry immediately wakes up and tries prying you off of pansy.

she slaps you in response. "you think you're better than me? draco chose me, not you."

"damn right he did. and he's so fucking stupid. who would choose you?" you spit in her face and throw her on the floor.

you run away from them, hermione and madam pomfrey staring at you in shock.

and you don't look back.

#draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy blurb #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x fem!reader #draco malfoy x gryffindor!reader #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #hogwarts #harry potter #hp

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filthysweetie · 5 years

Text

James Bond drabble

Prompt: “Dear Diary...”

missed a day >.< this one is begging to be a longer story, but i had to cut it so i can finish packing...note that there’s a brief description of torture in this one.

Edit: This now has a sequel here if anyone wants to read it :)

———

Dear Diary,

Let it be known this is done under duress. Apparently, not being a bloody field agent does not get you out of psych evaluations and ‘recommended’ methods to cope with ‘high stress levels’ and ‘worrying tendency to identify job performance as self-worth’. I bet they didn’t make Boothyard do this. You get kidnapped once and then everyone suddenly thinks you’re a delicate flower.

Hell, Bond got kidnapped (I guess it’s just called captured when they’re agents…which actually is now making me quite offended that when I was taken it was called kidnapping) on 7 of his last 15 missions. I don’t see him writing a damn diary about it! (Although god, imagine that.) Besides, what’s the point of keeping a diary if it’s mandated and also!! Your psychiatrist will be reading it? Maybe I should start writing in code. 01000110 01110101 01100011 01101011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01000100 01110010 00101110 00100000 01011001 01100101 01101110 00101110 ——— “What is…that?”

Q turned, not the least bit surprised to see James standing there behind him. He had a mission coming up and was obviously ready for his kit. Q did a little ritual over the case, always so sad to see the fine pieces of machinery go when the chance of them returning was so dismal. Instead of focusing on the kit, though…Q followed his eyes to the little journal on his desk. It was covered in stickers (most of them shiny, some of them hello kitty gifted by a little one on the tube who got three on before he or her mother noticed) and attached in the pen holder was a pen with a fuzzy feather top. It was rainbow.

Can’t blame the man for noticing it, it was a rather stark deviation from the normal color pallet and maturity level of Q’s desk.

“Oh, that old thing?” Q pat the top with a little more force than necessary, “my psych assigned diary. I figure if they choose to treat me like a child I may as well oblige.”

James took a moment before speaking, “And what, pray tell, made them think you need it?”

Q blinked, “Does that mean you’ve done it too?” That was a bit of a surprise. The double-o agents seems to thrive on their disregard of ‘normal’ coping, of medical, and of psych all together.

“Answer the question, Q.” James had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“Now I’m very curious,” Q can’t help it, “what do you write in it? About the girls you like? About more interesting ways to destroy my tech?”

“Mostly survivors guilt.” James says, nonchalant.

Well, that answers that, “Oh…” damn it, now he’s obliged to answer James’ question regardless of if this is an interrogation tactic or not. He gives a half shrug, “Dr. Yen assigned it after the kidnapping.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I thought it was all very much over the top as well.” Q fights a sigh, “Now your kit—”

James shakes his head, “No, wait, you were kidnapped?”

Q blinks, ignores the chill that goes down his spine; “I knew they didn’t release that on the official channels but I assumed you’d know none the less.” Q clears his throat, “Now, your kit.”

James quiets then, but there are a lot of questions behind his eyes. Who’s to say if Q focuses on his tech a bit more than he normally would. ——— Dear diary,

I didn’t realize it had been kept quite so secret. I should have known, we are a spy organization. But I was {Q hesitates over the word, crossing out kidn and captu wishing suddenly that he was using his standard pencil instead of this purple inked mess of a pen} gone for 11 days. I guess I figured they would have told the double-os at least, maybe brought them in to help find me. Not that I needed anyone’s help, of course, I mean I got out of there myself, didn’t need anyone rescuing this damsel.

But the fact that {Ja is scribbled over fully; must remember that this will be read} there were agents I’m the primary handler of that didn’t notice at all. What excuse were they told when I wasn’t on the comms? Would they have just kept been given excuses until the forgot to keep asking?

My cats were fed, at least. Moneypenny thought I would come back, or at least held out enough hope to not sell my apartment and put my cats in a shelter after 11 bloody days.

R had been searching non-stop—bless her, I think she needs this exercise more than me. Poor girl looked like she hadn’t slept since I’d left; keeping all the missions on track while searching for me. It was her and Riley and Sunil that found me on the security footage after I got out of that place and got me a pickup. It’s not like I was forgotten or anything. {Why do I feel forgotten? Q stares at the line in it’s stark purple ink for a long moment before crossing it out. He doesn’t want to talk about that with himself, let alone Dr. Yen.}

Regardless. R has finished debriefing me on all active missions that I’d missed some portion on, and overall everything is going well. Testing of the new laser pen fell behind during my absence but it’s to be expected. It will give me something to do tomorrow when most of my active agents are in transit. ——— “Q, Sir, we really need you in the pit.” Laila said, standing at the threshold of his office, seeming a bit more frazzled than normal. There are no alarms (auditory or silent) going off around her, so the attitude was a bit perplexing.

Q puts the soldering iron down on it’s stand and takes off the magnification glasses, replacing them with his own, already getting up and heading towards her, “What’s the matter?”

“Sir, one of the agents is being belligerent; requesting to speak only to you before moving forward with his mission.”

That’s a new one; “Alright then, transfer the secure line to my station please, Laila.”

It’s always nice, walking out to the floor, seeing his people working away. Standing at the center of it is like being cocooned within the greatest minds of London. It’s safe.

“Yes?”

“Q”Jame’s voice is instantly recognizable, “I’ve arrived in Paraguay and will be rendezvousing with the contact at 1430.”

Q waited. Nothing.

“And?”

“That is all.”

Q blinked, glad that James couldn’t see the confusion that must certainly be coving his face, “You called me away from my prototypes to give me a standard mission update that you could have given to any one of my people?”

“Had to make sure you were still around, Q”

“Still—” it clicks, “Oh. Well. Yes, I am very much still around.

“Good.” Is that a smile in his voice or is Q projecting? “I’ll check in again after the rendezvous.”

Q’s throat clicks, dry; “I’ll be here.” ———— Dear Diary,

When will this little experiment be over? It’s been a half month! I haven’t got much free time at all, and wasting it in this damn book isn’t helping anyone. Least of all me. ————— “I notice you haven’t actually written anything about the kidnapping?” Dr. Yen asks, looking through his entries with a clinical eye.

“I much prefer to call it capture.” Q says in leu of an answer. The sticker covered mess looks silly in her hands, but she seemed to have enjoyed his take on ‘making it his own’ even if he’d been doing the antithesis of that. Granted, some of his minions have added stickers to it too—so next to hello kitty is a ‘back it the fuck up’ sticker in fancy script with an old school desktop monitor showing the phrase, and a sparkly unicorn that Trevor insists is from his kids but Q has his doubts. If he leaves it on his desk unattended, when he comes back there are always new stickers. No one ever opens it, respecting some privacy that doesn’t really need respecting (it’s not like there’s anything of substance in there), but it’s a nice gesture none the less.

Dr. Yen smiles, “Of course,” Q wishes she were a bit more of a dick like Dr. Reynard had been—it was easier to dismiss someone when they were being an ass, “I notice you haven’t written about your capture—or escape for that matter—at all. There are some references to it, but no detail. Do you have any thoughts on why that is?”

Q takes a sip of tea. It is nice that these meetings are uninterrupted tea time—though he could do without the conversation.

“There’s nothing important to say about it.” Q set the mug down, making sure to be gentle about it, “it’s all done, and I don’t exactly plan to get kidna—captured again.”

Dr. Yen gives an amused smile, “no one really plans to get captured at all.” Then, “Sometimes the act of writing down an experience”—she stopped using ‘traumatizing experience’ a while ago, Q did not have a traumatizing experience, thank you—“can solidify it in our reality. It may be difficult to do that at first, but once it is solidified, we can begin to process it in a healthy way.”

“It’s already written up in the after-action report.”

“Yes, but that was what happened, not how it felt to be going through those things.”

Q rolls his eyes, “do you want me to write a soliloquy on how sad and lonely it was and how I felt abandoned by MI6 and made peace with my death? Or maybe how it transformed me in ineffable ways and I have a new lease on life?”

It was so annoying to lay on that perfect level of sarcasm to have it disregarded so thoroughly, “If that’s how you feel, yes.” God she’s so earnest.

“Well it wasn’t” Q snapped out. He picked up the mug again and took another sip. Setting it down extra soft, with barely a ‘clink’ on the glass table, “Excuse me, I must be more tired than I thought.”

“Not to worry,” Dr. Yen smiled, “your job is stressful any given day of the week, it’s certainly understandable. Please do give it a thought though as you go through this week. Sometimes putting things to paper allows our minds to ‘get it out of our system’ instead of having it linger in our subconscious.”

“Very well. I will give it some thought.” ———— Dear Diary,

Lets give it the old college try, shall we?

I admire James Bond. He’s one of our best field agents, though his record for returning his tech is abysmal. He seems to come back from the brink of death more times than a cat and never seems to let it affect him. Always ready for the next mission.

I want to be like that. He’s been through so much, the loss of M, the burning of his home, the burning of so many false starts at a normal life, and he comes back and he may be battered but he’s still whole. Undoubtedly whole. I get kidnapped once and now I can’t even get a good nights sleep unless I’m folded awkwardly on the little couch in my office, and of course that sleep is poorer for other reasons.

I know I’m capable, I know I can destroy countries and get myself out of most any situation that I find myself in, but I didn’t realize exactly how that situation would affect me. I haven’t lost confidence in my abilities, but maybe loss of confidence in my security? Is it just a waiting game to see when I’ll next be thrown into the back of a van, drugged, and then wake up in a windowless room, IV in my arm strapped to a chair with no fucking idea how much time has passed? When will I next find myself threatened and beaten? The soles of my feet slashed, so dehydrated that I can’t put my head up without feeling dizzy?

Obviously I can survive it. I have.

The thought of it happening again…it’s terrifying. And it can happen at any time. And I thought I admired James because he looked like a good lay. Maybe it’s because he seems unbreakable and I worry I’m already broken. ———— Q stared at the pages for a long time. Was he supposed to feel hollow?

He tore them out, crumpled them like a secret and then lit them on fire. This was a spy organization after all, no point in letting that level of weakness get out. ———— Dear Diary,

Laila got a new corgi puppy. Despite being a cat person, I have to admit it’s quite cute.

#007 #james bond #q #00q #if you squint #drabble on #i fancy myself a writer #tw: torture #dear diary

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years

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Glad I Met You / Richie Tozier Imagine

Request: That imagine with Richie at the Chinese restaurant was really cute! I'd like to see a follow-up imagine after the Paul Bunyan statue chased Richie and he's freaking out over it. Y/N smirks and says 'that damn clown will have to do more than that to stop us'. Richie finds that hot and pins Y/N to the wall, making out with her. All of a sudden, they're interrupted by a laughing Beverly.

Oh. My. God this is incredible thank you so so much for this XD

Also, someone else requested a part 2 to this imagine, so there will be another different version coming out soon with the roles flipped!

Richie rubs at his eyes, his large hands fumbling to take his glasses as he feels as if someone is jamming hot pins right into his eyeballs, pain flaring in his skull as he sits down at the park bench, not daring to believe the grass around his feet has been turfed up, the dirt sprayed over the field as worms wriggle free like tiny maggots. Daring to look up again, his eyes bloodshot and his face flushed from the effort of trying to take in straggling breaths, Richie warbles out a soft sigh of relief to see the Bunyan statue firmly in place, its red chequered shirt glowing like splattered blood in the unforgiving Derry rays, and its piercing, unmoving eyes and dead smile gazing down at Richie, making him shiver. However, the axe stuck to his shoulder doesn’t move, and Richie dares to relax a little against the park bench, shrugging off his jacket with white, trembling hands, not feeling the splinter snag against his fingertips until the fat red droplets plop freely onto the ground.

Gazing around, he wishes he had been clever enough not to come back to this place, wishing he wasn’t so anxious and so scared that he felt he had to prove himself to the Loser’s Club, his eyes catch a red brick alley opposite him, the little slit at the side of Mr Keen’s Pharmacy. The same pharmacy he had met you that fateful day, the day you had stumbled upon him standing next to a bloody and bruised Ben as Eddie, Bill and Stan scrambled inside the shop looking for supplies. The only day he had been truly at a loss for words, his eyes growing wide and making you laugh, only magnified by his thick glasses that made him look like Eggbert from Looney Tunes, his mouth unhinging into a small o-shape as he stared at you, his cheeks burning and his fingers clenching at his side as his throat constricted as if butterflies were flapping against his neck. It was the first, and last time he had truly experienced what love was.

He reaches up to itch against his stubble, the humidity and memory making him feel uncomfortable as the Derry heat makes his mustard shirt stick to his back, wishing he had been brave enough all those years ago to whisk you away from this dirt hole. To live the life he had always wanted. He’s broken out of his daydream by a whisper in the wind that seems to surround him, a cruel, sharp noise that seems to fill the clear air of Derry like a chant, like a curse as he glances up in confusion, placing his glasses back on the tip of his nose and covering some of the wrinkles of his forehead. He gasps, bumping his back against the wood with a sick thud as his foot slides across the drying, yellow grass that looked as if it had been poisoned years ago, his mouth opening in shock as he watches a multitude of balloons, hundreds, perhaps even thousands float down from the sky, carried by the cruel wind, uncomfortably vibrant against the blue skies. He squeezes his eyes shut, making as if to move but finding his legs won’t listen to him, fear overcoming his body and making his muscles tremble as he frowns, his breaths shallow and rough as he swallows roughly.

A loud pop makes him open his eyes, the fear subsiding from his swirling eyes as he sees you standing in front of him, the tattered remains of a balloon reading ‘I love Derry’ splattered over your shoes as you gaze down at him, apprehension and something unmistakably akin to pain lining your face as you reach a hand out, calling Richie forward with your fingers as he manages to lift a pale hand towards you, gripping your skin tightly like a lifeline. Pulling him up, he surprises you by collapsing into you, nearly knocking the two of you onto your bottoms as his giant weight looms over you, his arms heavy as they wrap tightly around your shoulders, his fingers digging desperately into your muscles. He walks the two of you backwards quickly, away from the statue as he nestles his head into your neck, whispering light ‘oh god, y/n, it was horrible, it was just like before’ into your neck like a mantra. You reach up to lightly brush the stray chocolate curls that fall into his pained, lost eyes away from his face, your touch hesitant and tender so as not to scare him. You smirk as he looks down at you like a lost child, reminding you of that scared little boy who constantly used to crack jokes and gush terrible voices all those years ago. The scared little boy who only wanted to be loved, and so showed affection the only way he knew how. You smirk lightly, your fingers dancing over his skin, tracing the curve of his cheek to land on his chin, swirling nonsense patterns and revelling in the soft sigh that escapes his lips as you whisper, 'that damn clown will have to do more than that to stop us.’

Richie’s heart hitches up a notch, his breath catching familiarly in his throat as his hands clench against the coarse fabric of your silky shirt. ‘God, y/n, why did I ever let you leave.’

Before you can answer, Richie has jumped forward, one knee raised up in between your thighs, his hands rushing off your shoulders to grab your wrists, pinning them against the harsh brick that scrapes against your knuckles. He watches you for a second, nearly surprised by his own actions, his brown eyes glistening as they dilate slowly, his breathing shallowing out as the butterflies return to flutter and fizz in the pit of the stomach as his gaze finally lands on your plump lips, subconsciously wetting his own. The next thing you knew, he had slammed his lips to yours and nearly knocked all the air out of your lungs. You understand why his leg was pressed against you now, collapsing down onto it as stars fill your vision, dancing their glittering golden dance as he presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, as you grant your access, delved inside your mouth. He’s surprised by his own audacity, his own directness as he pushes you further against the wall, his thumb tenderly stroking your wrist as his hips bang against yours, pushing you further and further against his broad chest until there was no breathing room left, your back arching up towards the heat that radiates from him, revelling in the slight moans that roll off his tongue. Unexpectedly, his hand drifts to your hip, settling itself there and pulling you closer. He began nuzzling your neck with delicate kisses, so faint, you swore they were like whispers, little sweet nothings that he had been bottling up inside him as he smiled against your skin, the smell of your perfume intoxicating as your body nearly fell limp into his comfortable grasp.

The sound of laughter breaks you two apart, and Richie nearly stumbles backwards as his head whips round violently, biting his lip as a frown twitches on his face, his glasses slipping down the brow of his nose as Beverly stands behind the two of you, her arms crossed and her hair glowing as her head lies hung back in laughter, her chest shaking as she manages to stutter out, ‘of all the sights I expected to see today in Derry, this was not one of them. Took you two long enough, and you picked such a romantic time, Richie. Nothing like a killer clown to set the heart on fire.’

@disneyfan567, @howelloutforharambe, @humanroombas, @bisexuaivalkyrie, @riisten, @super-who-dat , @teddy-the-platypus

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v0n-butch · 5 years

Text

rich boy boredom

Steve Harrington x fem reader

“Could you do a billy or Steve imagine? It’s my 21st today and I feel really homesick and alone (I’m on the other side of the country at uni) and idk I feel like I can’t talk to my housemates so I’m projecting onto fictional characters” requested by anonymous.

word count: 1,922

warning(s): swearing, shoplifting, vandalism (up to no good basically)

a/n: happy late birthday lovely ! birthdays can be a bummer for me too tbh :/ and yes projecting onto characters is valid♥️

—

Steve got a free ride up to some fancy ass university across the country, room and board payed for by absent parents, got everything he could ever really want or need. And it was great. He’ll tell you that to your face, maybe even sprinkle some “I’m so grateful for this opportunity” bullshit into his speech, too. But what he won’t tell you is that being a spoiled child can get fucking dull. God forbid he ever voice these feelings out loud in fear of looking like another useless wealthy white guy that has the audacity to complain about something when he could have everything he could ever want and then some. But it got lonely and dangerously boring. And when Steve was bored whenever his folks weren’t around, he always got the itch to fuck something up just to feel anything other than the tasteless boredom.

Since the boy lost his title in high school and now embraced his new dorky guy status (wearing sweaters, even needing glasses for fuck’s sake) girls have either ignored him or friend zoned him. And yeah, having friends that are only chicks is great and all, but now everybody just thinks he’s a gay rich brat that shouldn’t complain about not picking up a date when he could afford a yacht if he simply felt like it. At least everyone who gave him the stink eye had parents at home that payed attention and cared for their well being.

The only girl (or just person in general) in any of his classes that didn’t treat him that way or roll their eyes if he tried to ask a question in class was Y/N. She was smart, he could tell that by peeking at her test scores whenever they got their exams handed back to correct. Pretty, too. Same innocence as his high school heartbreaker Nancy has. Steve isn’t sure if that’s his subconscious type he’s into or if it’s just coincidences. He’d make a move on her if she wasn’t so quiet all the time, he even contemplated if she were deaf or mute or something. The only words he ever heard her speak were ‘here’ for role call at the start of class. Her shy nature was a little intimidating, he didn’t know what she thought about him or anybody else at all. She was sorta mysterious like that, but damn if he didn’t try at least giving her a heads up that she could talk to him if she wanted.

Now was his chance, he’s had at least a hundred chances so far because they’ve shared this class for months now, but still. Steve has to really hype himself up and mentally give a pep talk about what he was gonna say, how he was gonna say it. Y/N was wearing her regular cozy sweater, baggy jeans and ruffled hair as usual. She looked cute everyday, but today he couldn’t help but think she was extra cute. Steve saw her sit down in her usual spot, taking out her notes and book from her bag and patiently waiting for the professor to start.

“Uh, your name’s Y/N right?” Steve asks. Fucking great start, jackass. Of course he knows her name already. She whips her head around in surprise that somebody actually acknowledged her presence and nodded, still unsure of what to say back to the boy. “I’m Steve. If you didn’t already like, know that or whatever. Sorry. But maybe when class is done, do you wanna hang out and do something? Go somewhere? If you’re not busy,” he finally gets out, begging the heavens that he doesn’t sound too creepy and scare her off from him for good. She still stares at him blankly then snaps out of whatever trance she had been in, and talks. He didn’t ever hear what her voice sounded like before.

“I know your name’s Steve.” she replies.

That’s it? That’s all you have to say?

“Yeah. That’s me. So about that—“

“Sure. I’ll go with you. Could use some excitement today especially,” she shrugs then turns around as the professor enters and walks to the front, announcing to the class what they’re gonna be doing today.

“What’s today?” he whispers, but gets rudely interrupted by the professor’s request for the class to quiet down and gives his lecture.

—

Class was annoying as fuck as per usual, but staring at the back of Y/N’s head was the only thing he really liked. Steve wouldn’t dare say that out loud, but it was true. Finally the professor dismissed all of the students to leave, and Steve was quick to pack up his shit and hang out with the girl. Y/N took her time as opposed to Steve, and he went up to her seat to ask what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go.

“Surprise me,” she answers with a smile. The boy returns it and offers to carry her bag for her, not taking no for an answer.

“Okay. I will, let’s do it,” he pumps his fist in the air and briefly regrets showing enthusiasm but it’s okay because she gives him a laugh, and he likes the sound of it. He likes it a lot, honestly.

Back to Steve’s boredom and stupidity, the combination often leads him into trouble. But Y/N was along for the ride, seeming happy that someone was actually spending time with her. She kept telling him about how afraid she was that today specifically would be another stale, boring day. Whenever the boy asked what today meant, but she shrugged it off and changed the subject to something else. She wanted to talk about him, but he was begging to know more about her. She talked about she feels invisible most days, how nobody really recognizes her existence but Steve sees her. He knows she exists, and he likes that she’s here spending time with him.

“Wanna do something stupid?” Steve asks, eyeing the drugstore that was across the street and how no one seemed to be working there tonight.

“How stupid are we going for, exactly?” She laughs. There’s that laughter again. Steve relishes in the feeling of his heartbeat getting quicker, and grabs her hand to cross the road.

“Like, really fucking stupid, honestly.” He answers as he tells her to keep her head down, both of them staying low as Steve conducts a plan. “What do you want right now? Anything. Could be anything, go crazy.” She looks at him and still has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Um, I don’t know. A redbull I guess?” She answers. Steve smirks at her.

“One redbull coming up. Anything else? C’mon, you could do better than that Y/N,” he playfully pushes her shoulder, encouraging her to speak up about what else.

“Okay, okay! Fine, Steve. Jesus. I really want a cake, too,” she says.

“Cake and redbull. Gotcha, stay out here and wait for my signal,” he whispers, patting her back and entering the store without another word. Y/N doesn’t even know what “signal” he’s talking about. Moments later, Steve emerges from the store in a panic, screaming “RUN” at Y/N with spray paint, her redbull, and a cake stuffed in his coat.

“What the fuck, Steve!” She races after the boy and they don’t stop until they’re in behind a secluded building with brick walls surrounding them. Steve is out of breath, and Y/N is catching hers still before she snorts a giggle and holds onto Steve and her stomach, hurting from laughing so hard. The adrenaline they’re both high on is fueling their energy, making them incapable of stopping their fun. Steve carelessly throws the plastic lid off of the cake and remembers that he never grabbed forks for them.

Y/N takes the redbull and cracks it open, chugging some then handing it over to Steve, who takes it and gulps some too.

“You should see the way your hair bounces up and down when you run,” she giggles at him then runs her fingers through it, making Steve blush but not move, not wanting her to stop. Y/N gestures to the spray cans he also stole. “What’re these for?”

“Oh, you’ve never heard of these? It’s like paint, but you spray it, and —“

“No, dumbass! Why’d you take those too? They weren’t on the list,” you interject.

“Ohhhh, right. So like, we could draw or write whatever we want here,” Steve answers simply, taking the can of green paint and spraying your name on the brick wall in front. When he’s finished, he grabs a handful of the cake and shoves it in his mouth and moans at the creamy, sugary fluffiness.

“That is some good shit right there,” he points to the vanilla frosting covered dessert with his messy hand before going to spray more designs on the wall.

“You’re crazy, man.”

“Yeah. No I’m really not, I think I’m just bored. Tired of getting everything I want handed to me. It doesn’t feel like I earned any of it,” his tone switches to something a bit more sad, dropping the can of spray and taking another bite before offering you some cake.

“Eh, sure. What the hell, right?” You shrug, taking the giant bite he fed to you and not caring that some bits of cake land on your sweater. Steve apologizes but you wave it off, it’s just a stupid sweater.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve murmurs, scooting closer to you before you get up and ignore his protests of wanting you to sit back down with him. You take the red spray paint and start marking up the wall, decorating it with hearts and stars. “Y’know, you never told me what today is,” he gazes up at you before shoveling more cake into his palm and feeding it to you. You eat all of it up then laugh but it doesn’t sound like it’s out of a joke, but something else.

“Today’s my twenty-first birthday,” Y/N answered before going back to the task of vandalizing the brick.

“Shit. Happy birthday, Y/N,” Steve smiles when he stands up, watching you in a daze like he’s never seen anyone look more beautiful than you do right now, cake on your shirt and chin be damned. “Should’ve stolen a six pack of beer too while I was at it.”

“My family forgot. Nobody in class even cared either,” you stared down at the ground in embarrassment, knowing that this rich boy from Indiana couldn’t possibly understand what with his money and his popularity. Steve tilts your chin up with his clean fingers then leans in, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss before pulling back.

“I’m still twenty, my birthday’s not till next September. You’re pretty lucky I like older women,” Steve whispers and before you can laugh at that he’s going in for a better one, kissing the hell out of your soft lips and cupping your cheek. Even with the cake all over his fingers, you’ve never felt this seen before, like anybody really noticed you like Steve did in this moment, on this day.

“You should be thankful I like younger men, too. And what’s the deal with the stealing? Pretty sure you can afford an energy drink, some spray paint and a cake,” you say, petting his hair again and making him purr at the stimulating feeling.

“I just got bored.”

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 5 years

Text

sorry for the wait between posts - i’m not great at the time management thing lol. this one is kind of a continuation from the last one, but not really. anyway, enjoy! (also sorry for the weird formatting, i don’t know what happened!)

You know you’re an outsider and that the people of Hawkins apparently don’t take well to outsiders. Especially the female population of Hawkins. Sure, they were pleasant enough when they saw you out and about, but the whispers started up just as soon as they thought you might be out of earshot.

Normally it doesn’t bother you - you learned long ago not to care about other people’s perceptions. But today, with your pregnancy hormones raging, the whispers that followed you from Family Video to the library to the grocery store, were just getting to be too much.

“Fifteen years! Can you believe it?”

”Knocked-up. Thought he was smarter than that.”

”Sure knew how to trap him quickly.” You turn down a different aisle in the grocery store, your free hand resting protectively over the small curve of your stomach. It wasn’t even noticeable - not unless you wore a tight fitting top. But the loose Duran Duran tee-shirt tucked into jean shorts obscured the evidence of your new pregnancy. There was nothing you could do about the age difference between yourself and Hopper. And sure, you’d only been dating just shy of a year when you found out you were pregnant, but that wasn’t so unusual.

What the gossipy, bored housewives of Hawkins hated was the fact that you and Hopper weren’t married. Or maybe they really did just hate that you had “trapped” him when none of them could. You hate the fact that Jim had slept with most of them, not because he’d had an active sex life before you came into the picture - you’d slept with a handful of men before falling for Jim -, but because these women thought it gave them a claim, a stake in his personal life. You throw three boxes of Eggo waffles into your basket and head for the check-out. It’s time to get out of the public area of town and head home. You keep your head down as your groceries are rung up, not wanting to attract more attention. But the whispers continue - about your too short shorts, your lack of wedding ring, the absolutely inappropriate way you had kissed Hopper at the Memorial Day town picnic just a few weeks before. Biting the inside of your cheek, you offer the teenage cashier a tight smile and pay, quickly scrambling to your car with the groceries.

————

Hopper comes home, just before dinner, and finds you curled up on the couch. He frowns when he realizes that you’re staring blankly at the TV, ignoring the opening music of the 6 o’clock news.

“Sweetheart?” he leans over the back of the couch and rests a hand on the top of your head. “You okay?”

“Hm?” you blink a few times, rolling your neck to face Hopper. “Oh, hi, baby,” you say quietly, giving him a small, tight smile, “Fine, just a little tired.”

He squints at you, evaluating whether or not to probe a little more. Eventually he chooses to believe you. “Everything good with the baby?”

“Mhm,” your smile is more genuine now. “I can almost feel her flipping around in there.”

“Her?” he raises an eyebrow and comes around the side of the couch to sit with you. He opens his arms and you settle against his broad chest, draping one arm over his stomach.

His arms lock around your shoulders and you shake your head. “Just a feeling. I could be wrong,” you mumble into his shirt. He smells like cigarettes, even though he was supposed to have quit when you found out about the baby. He must be stressed.

You can sympathize.

“Another little girl would be nice,” he says quietly, only a little sadness in his tone. You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.

You cuddle with him quietly for a few minutes, neither one of you really wanting to move. Suddenly, he asks, “Hey, shouldn’t El be home for dinner?”

“She’s hanging out at Joyce’s. They’ve got some crazy D & D campaign happening. Joyce is ordering them all a pizza,” you reply.

“Got the house to ourselves?” Hopper asks and you can hear the smile and suggestion in his voice.

Any other night and you would’ve already had his clothes on the floor, but the murmurs and gossiping behind your back has really burrowed its way into your brain. You shrug and try to get even closer to Hopper. “Not really feeling up to it, Hop,” you admit quietly.

His hand - warm and large - rests against the middle of your back and rubs slow circles. “Okay, we can just relax and enjoy a kid free night.”

You shrug and feel Hopper shift under you. He gently pulls away and looks down at your face, a concerned crease forming in between his eyebrows.

“Okay, what’s the matter? You’ve been quiet all night and I sure as hell know that’s outta the ordinary for you.”

You hesitate and then admit flatly, “They’ve been talking about us.”

Hopper’s face sets into an angry scowl. “Thought I made it perfectly clear that you n’me aren’t a gossip topic for this town?”

“You can’t stop people from thinking and whispering to each other,” you mumble. “At least they’ve stopped saying shit to my face.”

“I’m the fuckin’ chief, and you’re my girl,” Hopper growls. “Think they’d show us some respect.”

You let out a joyless laugh, “It’s not like they’re making up lies about me, Jim. I’m 29 and knocked-up with my boyfriend’s baby. I’m a fucking stereotype. At least I’m out of my teens.”

Hopper goes silent and you hold your breath, blinking back tears. He can’t even deny it - everything that’s been said about you is entirely true. Well, except for that fact that you plotted and planned to trap him with a pregnancy. That was entirely Mother Nature’s doing. Damn antibiotics cancelling out birth control.

“It’s fine,” you say, waving a hand in the air and trying so hard to sound casual. “I’m happy with you and El and the baby. I don’t care if a bunch of gossipy women think I’m just an unmarried harlot.”

“What if you weren’t?” Hopper says slowly and it takes your brain a minute for his words to register.

“Weren’t what? A harlot?” you ask, leaning away from him a bit and tilting your head in confusion. “I didn’t think I was.”

“No, no,” Hopper shakes his head quickly, a strangely nervous look settling over his handsome features. “What if you weren’t unmarried?”

You sit up fully, leaning back on your knees to stare at him. “I’m sorry? What was that?”

Jim grins at you - the audacity of grinning when your heart is beating right out of your damn chest - and grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “Said, what if you weren’t unmarried?”

“James Hopper,” you narrow your eyes at him, a slow, disbelieving smile threatening the corners of your mouth, “is that what passes for a proposal in your mind?”

He digs his free hand in the front pocket of his work pants and produces a small velvet box. Your jaw drops slightly. “Would a ring make it a better proposal?” he teases, using his thumb to flip open the lid. A small, sparkling diamond set on a thin gold band greets you.

“Oh!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your free hand. “Jim?” you look up at him, tears gathering in your eyes.

He grins even wider. “Didn’t really plan on doin’ it like this, but what the hell. Y/n, mine and El’s lives are so much better ‘cause you’re in them. Will you marry me?”

He’s not big on romantic words, but you can’t help but feel like Jim Hopper just composed a fucking sonnet on the spot. You nod vehemently, lunging forward to grasp his face in your hands and kiss him soundly.

“That a yes?” he mumbles against your lips when you break for air.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Jim Hopper!” you exclaim, “Of course it’s a yes!”

He slips the ring on your finger and you admire it, smiling softly to yourself.

“Looks good on ya,” he comments.

“I love it,” you reply. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, as if he still doubts your love and commitment. He casts his eyes down at the ring and hesitates. “Wanted to ask you months ago. Kept gettin’ nervous. Then I didn’t want you to think it was ‘cause of the baby.” Your smile falters a bit. “It’s not, right?”

Subconsciously, your right hand traces the curve of your stomach - the baby changed a lot, but you hoped it hadn’t been the reason for Hopper to do something he wouldn’t have done otherwise. Hopper’s gaze tracks the motion and he shakes his head.

“El and I picked the ring out around March, was gonna do it then and there, but the kid convinced me it should be special. She and Max had ideas,” he laughs, remembering the onslaught of romantic actions he was supposed to have taken.

“I don’t need special, Jim,” you say quietly, resting your hand on his knee. “This was perfect.”

Hopper still looks a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, but there’s a happy twitch to his moustache and he pulls you forward into a hug. Kissing the top of your head, he mutters, “Anybody in this damn town thinks they’re gonna say shit about my wife, fuck they’ve got another thing comin’.”

You giggle - his wife. You’re going to be Jim Hopper’s wife and officially El’s stepmother. God, what a wild turn this day had taken.

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#jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper x you

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