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pigeonp0st · 4 years ago

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Natasha Romanoff x Reader

#7 Part 2

Words: 2,365

Click here for Part 1

Warnings: love, angst, trauma

Notes:

A part 2 was requested so a part 2 is here. Thank you for requesting, and sorry for spelling mistakes. I’m not sure if anyone notices but here, and in the first part, i’m really experimenting with my writing. If anyone reads these notes let me know if you like it...(also sorry for the sorta abrupt ending. The Word count was getting far too high.)

—————

Natasha looks at you and sometimes she wonders how exactly they had broken you. She wonders how they put out your flames.

Sometimes she thinks that maybe it was simple, like they poured water over you and watched as the flames died into embers.

Other times, more commonly, she thinks it was more difficult than that, she thinks that maybe putting them out—your flames— was challenging, and that people got burned in their efforts. She thinks that maybe it had taken an entire crew of people who specialize in putting out peoples flames. Firefighters.

Then, one day, watching you sleep with peace that you now only have when you’re unconscious; she thinks she knows.

They poured water over an oil fire—you’re oil fire—over and over again, and left it to burn, burn, burn, until everything around you was ash. Until you finally stopped and looked around at the nothingness and wondered what you were burning for in the first place.

The thought makes Natasha furious. She wants to wake you up just so she can tell you, so that she can shout that; your strength isn’t a distinguishable flame, and that you are not as small as a forest, that you are an ocean, and your strength is the waves, your strength is a whirlpool, your strength is a typhoon, and you are simply infinite.

To Natasha—to Natasha you are infinite.

She doesn’t tell you that though, she can’t while you’re still so reluctant to talk about what happened, she can’t when her love and her reassurances are like water to the oil fire you limit yourself to, and you’re still so scared of burning everything away.

——

You’re so scared of what it will mean to be strong again, but you want it so badly anyways.

You muse with no small amount of humor if that makes you brave, then you laugh because what a funny concept.

You were brave, you remember, when Hydra began their abuse and their nightmare pills and their cruelty. You were brave, and you were strong, and it was so much harder than just giving in but it didn’t make you hate yourself as much.

You were brave and strong, and Natasha loved you, and then you weren’t and she still loved you anyways.

——-

Natasha’s been tasked to call you downstairs for the weekly ‘Avenger family dinner’. She checks her room (you’re there more often than not again), and when she doesn’t find you there she checked yours.

You’re not there either, and she can’t hear the shower to your bathroom but she pushes it open anyways—just in case.

She’s gotten used to not knocking...she doesn’t even consider it anymore. She doesn’t even stop to realize that she hasn’t seen you without clothes since you were rescued, and that maybe there’s a reason for that, she just opens the bathroom door and stops so completely when she sees you her legs hurt from the abruptness.

You’re there staring so blankly in the mirror Natasha knows you’re not really looking at it—you’re looking through it at things she can’t ever see.

You don’t realize she’s there, but she’s there. She’s there, and you’re naked with scars she’s never seen before littered across your skin like shells on a beach.

Scattered and many. Too many to count. Too many.

Natasha stops, and the world stops, and infinity stops. Everything stops—at least to her it seems that way, because how can anything possibly exist outside this moment.

How can there be other lives and how can there be more pain in the world than this when this moment feels like it is already too much more than Natasha can handle—too much for the world to handle even.

Natasha has known logically that they had tortured you, you are the evidence—you obviously told her too—but none of your evidence is...touchable. Physically.

It’s been visual—yeah—but not like this.

This is...this is violence, and cruelty, when since you’ve been back you have only been the exact opposite. This is red lines and scars not quite healed yet forming constellations and shooting stars and hope.

Hope because you have survived so much violence, and yet here you are, still so good. Natasha wants to reach out and touch them—touch your scars and make wishes against them because she thinks that maybe your strength has the power to do anything.

Tears fill her eyes and fall over her cheeks and suddenly all she can think of is how you shouldn’t have to be that strong. No one should have to be.

She wanted to protect you. All she has ever wanted to do is protect you, and yet here you are.

Here you are, staring into a mirror unseeing and conscious but not there, with a look in your eyes Natasha has only seen in nightmares where she’s failed you—and you’re trying. You’re trying even now and Natasha wants to be there for you but this isn’t something she can hold your hand through.

This isn’t something she can kiss and make better. There’s nothing she can do. There’s nothing she can do and the simple fact rips away at her heart and leaves it bleeding out with it’s helplessness.

And then, and then you turn around.

The world starts moving again.

It starts moving and her heart stops bleeding—stiched up with her love for you—and you have never looked so sad but you have always looked so beautiful.

“I think,” Natasha whispers, voice throaty and full of shooting stars, “I think I love you more than I ever have. I think—” she pauses then, thinking of infinities, “I think my love for you is infinite.”

Your mouth parts open just slightly, and your eyes widen just that bit more. “Nat…” you stutter out wobbly, eyes filling with tears.

Natasha blinks, shocked and guilty for making you cry, but then you release a smile so bright and simply glowing Natasha can only think of stars again.

You’re laughing in the next instant, laughing and crossing your arms over your torso, digging your fingers into your arms, and then sobbing. Sobbing but somehow still laughing, and Natasha is crossing the bathroom and wrapping her arms around you like seaweed being pulled in by ocean waves.

“I think,” you gasp out between breaths, pulling away slightly to meet Natasha’s eyes, “I think that you’re going to beat me to it.”

“To what?”

“To putting my pieces back together,” you answer like it’s obvious. “You seem to do it so easily, yet when I try the pieces don’t quite fit right.”

Natasha cups your cheek and simply smiles. “Oh baby, look at how many pieces you’ve already put back.”

You don’t know what she’s talking about for a moment, Natasha can tell, but when it hits you it’s obvious. “I...I don’t flinch anymore.”

“Not around your friends. Not in the compound,” Natasha confirms, feeling a part of your joy when you screech like a child on Christmas and tightly wrap your arms around her neck.

Natasha thinks that maybe she—you—will get by just by just fine without a wish upon a star.

——-

There’s a silent argument going on, an argument that only shows itself on the floors of the training room and seeps out of the both of you like it was never there the moment you leave.

Natasha’s begun training with you again but she clearly doesn’t want to be there.

You don’t want to be there with her either if the whole time you’re training with her she’s going to be so...loud. Loud but silent. You can hear her shouting at you—accusations, pleads, and why’s. Why, why, why, you can hear Natasha ask.

Why are you doing this?

You don’t have the answers she’s seeking, not any that would appeal to her anyways, and it’s exhausting—exhausting because this is you trying to glue some pieces back where they belong and all Natasha see’s is you forcing them together when they don’t fit.

It’s infuriating, and heartwarming, and tiring, and when you’ve finally had enough of it you decide to try and train with someone else—Steve—but you’re trembling the whole fight and your insides don’t burn, they quake, and your nauseous; nauseous because he moves too quickly, because he’s reaching for you but it’s not him, it’s not him, and you’re dying, you’re dying, you can’t breathe— Natasha is there.

Natasha is there, arms wrapped around your torso and angry, but this time it’s not at you, it’s at Steve, and it’s Steve again, not some Hydra agent. It’s your friend.

Steve is looking guilty and sad, like a kicked puppy, and Natasha is yelling, and then Steve says something, something and suddenly she’s looking guilty too, guilty and sad.

Not like a kicked puppy though, like a betrayed one.

“Why are you doing this, Y/N?” Natasha asks quietly. Steve is gone. Where did he go? When did he leave? “Are you...are you there?”

Oh. Had Natasha said that out loud?

“Doing what?” You rasp, despising the way that you hate it when your jaw shakes. It’s okay, you remind yourself. It’s Natasha, it’s okay to be broken around her. Even when she’s angry.

Natasha has broken pieces, and she has missing pieces, and you do too, so it’s okay.

“Why are you training, why are you doing any of this when you aren’t,” Natasha searches your eyes, desperate, “you aren’t going out there on the field again.”

And now, now you are burning.

——

You croak out a raspy; “What?” That has Natasha wincing like she’s already been burned. “Natasha, I don’t know what you think is going to happen, but i’m- i’m going out there again.”

“You can’t even fight anyone that isn’t me,” Natasha says, freezing the moment the words are past her lips.

She tries to cup your cheek but your wincing and stepping away, away, away, too far for Natasha to reach and she hadn’t meant it like that, it wasn’t supposed to be an attack, she hadn’t—

“I’m trying now,” you say, and your voice is shaky but it’s there, and it’s strong, and you aren’t backing away any more you’re moving closer— like this time Natasha is the ocean and you’re being drawn in.

You’re wrapping your arms around Natasha and she’s confused but she’s relieved because you’re still there. You’re still with her.

“I’m trying and I know things have changed,” you whisper, “I know you’re scared, I am too, but we...were heroes because we keep trying, because even when missions go wrong and we don’t want to—we go out there and we fight so that other people don’t have to as hard.”

And Natasha knows this. She knows but…

“I know this has been hard for you,” you say, and you’re the ocean, you’re the fire, you’re all of the stupid metaphors the two of you have made up to signify strength. You’re strength, and you’re bravery because she knows how scared you are of being strong and for it to mean nothing in the end, and yet here you are.

“I know it’s been hard for you to see me like this, I know it’s been hard for you to deal with what’s happened to me,” you pull away to clamp a hand over Natasha’s mouth so she doesn’t dispute anything, and Natasha couldn’t if she wanted to because you’re crying, there are tears running down your cheeks, and she’s been speechless since the moment you hugged her.

“I know that you’ve been handing me the little pieces of yourself that you have left, and that you’ve been ignoring the pile at your own feet, and I could never thank you enough,” you smile at her then, brushing away tears that Natasha hadn’t even known she let fall “you wouldn’t want me to anyways, but now—right now I need you to let me be strong again. Even though it’s scary, because Natasha…”

You pause, closing your eyes and letting your hand fall from her mouth. “Hydra took me on a chance. It could have been you. It could have been any of the Avengers. That’s the position you put yourself in, that’s the position all of us put ourselves in, but we take that chance. I let you take that chance. Let me.”

And Natasha kisses you. She kisses you, and you gasp against her lips because you hadn’t expected it, but she keeps kissing you, and kissing you, because you're her shooting star and she wants to wish for infinity to slow down.

“I’m so scared,” Natasha says when she pulls away for air, and a sentence has never resonated with her so much, but you’re strong, you’re strong even though you’re scared, and Natasha won’t let it mean nothing, because it means everything that you’re being strong for her. “But okay. Okay.”

The breath of relief you release against Natasha’s neck, and the way you sag into her like your strength has been sapped out of you makes her tense and swallow down a sob. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

But you pull away from her grinning and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Does this mean you’ll stop going easy on me?”

Natasha gets whiplash.

“I uh...I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she denies, wiping away the wetness on your cheeks only to have you start wiping away at her own. Natasha laughs because what else is she supposed to do.

“Hypothetically though, if I were to have been going easy on you, I'll try to be more fair.”

Your smile widens just that bit more and Natasha is put at ease.

The two of you will be just fine, Natasha knows. No matter what the two of you face, what the two of you go through, you’ll be okay.

“I won’t go easy on you either then.”

“...What…?”

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shadeswift99 · 4 years ago

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For the 4 headcanons thing: All of team ZITS but particularly Zedaph?

Buckle up bucko we're going for a ride (this got long sorry)

Realistic:

(idrk what they meant by realistic so I'm just going to roll with whatever)

Zedaph is perfectly happy with being solitary, but the others think he could benefit from a little more social interaction. Their latest scheme involves getting Zed to meet new people via baked goods. Tango and Impulse bake up several batches of cookies or pie, and then go surprise random Hermits by shoving the stacks into their hands and telling them to bring them to Zedaph. The Hermit in question has no idea why Impulse and Tango can't just do it themselves, but they're too shocked and confused not to play along. They show up at Zedaph's door with the gifts and a bewildered look, and Zed gets to talk to someone he usually might not see.

Funny:

Zed's hair is by far the worst to deal with out of all of them. Impulse keeps his super short for practicality, Tango and Skizz like to keep theirs well maintained and nice-looking, but Zedaph's hair looks like he just rolled out of bed directly into a pot of glue and then a tornado. Even minutes after he brushes it. He refuses to cut it - he claims all his good ideas are stored in there, and if he cut it he'd become stupid. To which of course Tango responds by snickering that he doesn't need to do that to be stupid. To which Zed of course smacks him. Zed knows he's just jealous of his natural curls :)

Heart-crushing:

I think I've mentioned this one before, but prepare to sob.

Sometime in early season 6, Zedaph brought home a very cheesy friendship mug from an off-world vacation. It said #1 friend on it, and he probably got a lot of various favors and free items out of Impulse and Tango while they were competing to see who would recieve the prize. Eventually, they all settled on having the mug circulate between all of them, often sarcastically ("you broke my latest machine! Way to go buddy! Here's the #1 friend mug!")

This continued all through season 6, until... something happened. Zedaph doesn't like to think about it.

The mug had passed from him to Impulse, and Zedaph had gone on with his next few weeks, confident that it would come back to him soon enough. However, the next time he saw Impulse, he still had it. Impulse avoided his eyes when he asked about it and said that he "hadn't seen Tango in a while" and that "he probably wouldn't want it from me right now anyway". Pressing more prompted no explanation. Zedaph didn't figure it out until the official start of the war. Until he realized that Impulse and Tango stood on opposing sides.

The next time he saw the mug, he wished he hadn't. All week Impulse or Tango had been dropping by his base, ranting about strategies and betrayals or asking him his opinion about battle plans. They never asked to have their wounds patched up, but he did it anyway. He just wanted them to stop hurting. To stop hurting each other.

He only visited the battlefield because neither of them had come by in a couple days. He was terrified worried that they had forgotten him destroyed each other done something they would regret, and he needed to see them safe no matter how dangerous it was - ! He didn't find them, but he did find the mug. Shattered in the mud. Rain pooling in the few crevasses still capable of holding liquid.

It took him an hour to sort through the debris enough to gather every scrap. He glued them back together painstakingly and set the mug on a shelf, where it gathered dust long after the war was over. He was going to pass it on in season 7, going to let old things lie and start out fresh...but then the turf war happened, and again his friends chose opposite sides. The mug was never moved. It sits on a shelf of rock at the back of his cave. He is paralyzed by the fear that if it gives it up, the next time he sees it will be broken at his feet again.

Unrealistic:

Server whitelists don't exist because I will it -

Impulse regularly smuggles Skizz onto the server. He only stays for a day or two, and Impulse has to hide him from Xisuma, but he's glad to have another friend to ask for advice or talk through ideas with. Skizz treats hiding out like a game and enjoys it thoroughly. Impulse knows they'll get caught by Xisuma eventually, but he's happy with every time he can pull off this stunt, no matter how long it lasts.

The thing is, Xisuma knew from the very first time they tried this. (Which was, mind you, about 24 hours after Impulse first joined the server.) X didn't buy for a minute that "there's a funny glitch where shulker boxes move on their own sometimes" or that "that chest isn't giggling, it just has a weird creak" or that "that bush didn't cough, there must be a chicken with allergies around". Xisuma keeps a close eye on them from afar, but as long as Skizz doesn't cause any (too severe) harm, he's fine with letting them have their "secret".

#Team ZITS #zedaphplays #whew that was more writing than I thought it would be #shade rambles

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melo-efcarist · 3 years ago

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my thoughts on doomsday (part 1)

i’ve seen some people say that doomsday was just very unsatisfying for them. so i’m gonna make a post saying why i actually really really like doomsday. doomsday was very very poggers imo. This is an incredibly long post and it is only Part 1. // dsmp , rp , c!dream , c!techno , c!phil

The reason I like doomsday so much is all the tragedy of it while it being beneficial for most of the server? It pushed some characters forward into their development, and I find that really really well. Also, L’manburg’s gone and that has a few effects.

Part 1 - The Doomsday Trio

First of all, our main stars of the show: C!Techno, C!Dream, and C!Phil. They all had their own very valid reasons on why they wanted L’manburg gone.

C!Techno - “I tried that Tommy, and you know what they did? They hunted me down! They made it clear that them and I can’t coexist in this world.”

Doomsday was really satisfying for C!Techno. Because in his eyes, everyone saw him as a weapon, from the very beginning. Do not come at me saying that they didn’t. The characters definitely did not, but that is what C!Techno felt, and the pain C!Techno had was incredibly real. This is what we call a warped perception.

Anyway, C!Techno does not have a grudge to any of the members of L’manburg. He just hates the government as a whole. He’s been trying his best to heal and just let it be, but since the butcher army hunted him down despite him not doing anything and he just said empty threats on Nov 16, he’s pissed about it.

He would’ve let it slide if C!Tommy hadn’t betrayed him, that was his final limit. The butcher army pushed him to do it, and then C!Tommy, his ally, his friend, just betrayed him like that the moment he no longer needed him for the discs. He was so tired of just being treated as some- some tool, as some sort of weapon.

He is a person!! Discs aren’t people!!

They really wanted a weapon of destruction that bad? Fine, he’ll do it. He’ll liberate citizens along the way.

C!Techno’s story of Doomsday was filled with lots of emotions. He wanted to make peace and just let people be, despite the fact that there are victims of the government in there, but apparently that wasn’t enough. He was filled with rage, with sadness, with anger, with just overall pain. But now, with L’manburg gone, his work here is done, and he can move in to retirement.

C!Phil - “Since I was forced to kill my own son, YOU IDIOT!”

C!Phil is a victim of the government. He was put under ankle monitors for months and he couldn’t go anywhere. We all know this. He knows how bad the government is, and he’s sick and tired of it.

While that is one of the reasons, there are some other reasons to it. Let’s turn some of the pages back to November 16th.

He came in. He saw his son with a button. He figured out that it’ll blow up everything. His son’s L’manburg, his unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. The thing that his son built this nation for doesn’t exist anymore. It’s over. He looks at the crowd, Wilbur tells him that everybody wants his son dead. He does the deed, and watches every single tiny detail unfold.

This is a very traumatic experience for any father- well- for anyone, really. C!Phil is just more silent about it and represses it. His own son, blew up the country, his own nation, and he figures that it’ll never be a free country. It’s not a good place, not with all this war and chaos. He realizes that even before he gets chained to his house.

He realizes that the L’manburg isn’t a good place. He’s going to end it before anyone else gets hurt. Destroying what was always a hellscape to him, so that they will reach the greater good.

C!Phil’s doomsday is also filled with a lot of emotion, but not in the same way as C!Techno’s. C!Phil has had so many negative experiences with it, that he truly believes that this is the right thing to do. He was once a victim, and now no one else will be.

C!Dream - “Now, the server will be at peace.”

C!Dream was always against L’manburg, from the very beginning. He saw all this coming, all this division between Americans and Europeans. At first, he thought that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, maybe it’ll be okay. But after the elections, everything went downhill.

He was right, these nations would create oppositions in the server he cares about. All his friends that he invited here, are all fighting each other. This isn’t how the server was meant to be. It was supposed to be peaceful, with everyone messing around with each other. If there was conflict, it would be between two people and those two only. Not between two groups.

His plan to blow up Pogtopia and Manburg was a success, and he’ll do it again. His plans of exiling Tommy may not have gone that well, but he has a backup plan. Originally, it was going to be slow. He was supposed to take down L’manburg piece by piece. That’s why he removed Tommy, he was the glue holding them all together. You remove the glue, and everything falls apart. But one thing went wrong, Tommy escaped from exile.

Now that he’s escaped, he doesn’t know what’ll happen. He knows he’s with Techno, but one day he might escape and go back to L’manburg without him knowing. He was very paranoid during this time, thinking that Tommy might escape (which is why he made him throw all his armor in a pit). He needed to have power over Tommy so he could control him and make him stay away from L’manburg.

He hatched a brilliant plan. He would blow up his community house, pin it on Tommy, and get the disc so he could lure Tommy back to Logstedshire. It would mean destroying the creation he made with his friends a year ago, but it’s all for the greater good. He’s ruthless after all, not only to others, but also himself.

The time came, and once again, his plan didn’t go well because Tommy was there. He saw C!Techno hurt, and saw an opportunity. He asked him, if he still had TNT. He knew that his goals aligned with his, and now would be the perfect time to strike.

The day comes, and L’manburg is no more. It turns out that his plan didn’t go the way he wanted to, but his goal was reached. Now, there’s no more divisions, and the server will be at peace.

C!Dream’s story has been consistent from the start, he’s always been like this. Cold, calculating, strategic, ruthless, self-sacrificial. He’s had one of his goals done, and this is basically his entire life story, I don’t know what else to tell you.

I WILL POST PART 2 TOMORROW!! DON’T WORRY!! I JUST THINK THIS ONE IS ALREADY TOO LONG LMAO

Part 2 will be our set of “traitors,” C!Ranboo, C!Niki, and C!Fundy. Stay tuned. :)

#dsmp #rp #c!dream #c!techno #c!phil #c!dream strategist #dsmp doomsday #doomsday #dsmp festival #god this took so long for me to write out #but yeah this is what i think of them #doomsday was a very satisfying close to their arcs :D #dreblr

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cool-sword · 3 years ago

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Alright so, this is about to be a post about a d-list marvel villain and why I think he’s great and also very powerful. Wrote this up top so you could immediately know whether or not to scroll past this.

You guys know Peter Petruski, aka Paste-Pot Pete, aka the Trapster?

For those of you who don’t, quick summary. Dude was a silver age fantastic four villain who carried around a bucket of glue with a gun attached to it and shot the glue at people. This was in his Paste-Pot Pete days. His original look was something like this.

Obviously the fantastic four beat him, but as far as I can tell he wasn’t played for a joke too much. He apparently stole some military missiles and planned to sell them to your highest bidder. He was your standard campy silver age villain.

He first got the name Trapster a little later, but still in the Silver Age. It was when he was a member of the Frightful Four, a group of villains who all didn’t like the fantastic four. They were also played as a legitimate threat, although of course they still lost. His Trapster outfit, by the way.

Now, Marvel Comics has never done a full-on continuity reboot. It’s done partial ones, like the 2015 Secret Wars, but never a full one like DC’s Crisis on Infinite Earths or Rebirth. Meaning all of this stayed and continues to stay canon to the modern version of the character.

So, I can’t quite tell when it first came up, but it’s canon in universe that he changed his name to Trapster because he thought it was cooler. Clearly the writers did back in the day, but I can’t tell when it was acknowledged in universe that Paste Pot Pete and his old outfit aren’t very cool.

Now, this dude doesn’t show up that often in comics. The Wikia only records him showing up 163 times since he first appeared. However, in the modern day, my boy Pete is fairly well known as a joke villain, both in universe and out. He’s even showed up in multiple animated shows, almost always to be beaten fairly easily and made fun of for having such a weird theme. His current 616 outfit is usually something like this.

There’s a pretty big problem with that though. Due to Marvel never having a full continuity reboot, the guy who gets beaten up by rookie heroes as an opener is the same guy who’s gone toe-to-toe with the Fantastic Four. The same Fantastic Four who regularly beat Dr Doom and Galactus. And I’m not trying to be clever saying “the same Fantastic Four”, I’m saying that it’s not an alternate continuity, it isn’t some wacky retcon, these are literally the same versions of the same characters.

And when you look into it, of course this dude can go up against some of the most powerful heroes around. Most marvel characters have power grids, where various skills they have are ranked on a scale of 1-7. One of these skills is intelligence. For reference, the only 7s are beings who are literally omniscient.

Pete rates a 4, on par with Stephen Strange, the Taskmaster, and Kang the Conquerer. He is canonically a genius chemist and engineer, which is how he built his paste gun. He also sticky boots and gloves that can basically replicate Spider-Man’s wall crawling, and he can retract his paste into the gun and mimic spideys swinging, too. He also has “memory wire” which is metal wire that can assume basically any pre-programmed shape, and little metal balls that will bounce around a room fast enough to kill someone. He also has a bunch of other gadgets throughout his appearances, but those are the big boys.

Still though, more often than not he’s seen as a joke both in and out of universe. He’s not complaining though (at least not always), as he figured out that if he goes with his old persona people will underestimate him so much he can basically do whatever. From the Unbelievable Gwenpool series:

Pete Petruski is an engineer and chemist with an intellect on par with the Sorcerer Supreme who’s acted as a legitimate threat to the actual Fantastic Four. He rules as a character and I love the way that he exists, but I just think it’d be so cool to see a comic where Pete is a legitimate threat. And this isn’t saying he shouldn’t be treated as a joke character, in fact that’s great and I love it.

But I’d also love to see this joke character become something real and legitimately dangerous in-universe, but also still witty and funny. Like a villainous version of the Unbeatable Squirrel Girl series.

Anyway, that’s my TED talk about the Trapster, the best villain in marvel comics.

#comics #marvel #marvel comics #paste pot pete #Trapster #fantastic four #Spider-Man #gwenpool #squirrel girl #this was mostly just for me because I was having thoughts about this character #and I wanted somewhere to write them down #long post #I mentioned them briefly in this post but go read unbeatable squirrel girl and unbelievable gwenpool if you haven’t #sorry for kinda doing the thing where you treat fictional characters power levels as objective measures rather than constantly shifting #I usually find that annoying and pointless because the answer to ‘who would win’ is always whoever the author wants #but I think it’s fun if you don’t treat it as seriously as some people tend to #Peter Petruski #my post

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glitterge1pen · 4 years ago

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Pink Ink

Keigo Takami x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 1,930

Hawks was walking with you to the store. He had the afternoon off and had asked to spend some time with you. At this point it had been years since you had taken an internship at his agency. You weren't a hero, you just ran errands and filed paperwork and you were only there for eight months as you tried to beef up your resume. Eventually you finally landed where you wanted, sure the work was difficult, it left you sleepless, it left you angry at the world, but still you liked being a teacher.

Hawks had kept in touch with you after you left though. You didn't think much of it at first. But he spent a lot of time with you, and you knew just how much time because you had worked with him before and knew what his schedule was like. Sometimes you wanted to ask what he thought of you, if he did. Doing so made you uneasy though, fearing that he might push you away.

These days those thoughts seemed to chase after you harder and faster. What was he thinking? How come he texted so late sometimes? Where was he? Was he hurt? What was he doing in my dream last night? Why did that song make me think of him? So today felt like a bit of a kick to the gut.

Upon entering the store Hawks grabbed the cart for you. He waited for you to guide him, meeting your eyes you turned from him trying to reign in your emotions.

“So, what we getting today?”

“Well, I need craft supplies. I want to make each student in my class a valentine card, and I was thinking of getting everyone some candy? The class is having a valentines party in the afternoon on Friday.”

“Can’t you just get one of those boxes of premade cards”

You gasp in fake hurt.

“As if I would succumb to that, hand made cards are the best, plus making them is kinda fun”

“I wouldn't know”

Your nervous feelings and hesitancy that you had started having around Hawks faded immediately when you heard this. You lunge at him, grabbing at his arm. He looks down at the contact but you are now on the mission and pay no mind to it.

“You haven't ever made valentines day cards?”

His voice is more feeble than usual as he replies,

“No”

You drag him to the craft section. You grab glitter, glitter glue, foam heart stickers, rhinestones, you even splurge on some of the lacy paper and felt heart pads. He watches as you move frantically through the shelves throwing things into the cart. A bemused smile on his face.

While you're at the self checkout he gets approached by a fan. You two are used to this and you don't mind. It's part of his life, besides he is admirable. He is done speaking just as you are finishing up packing the bag back into the cart.

Once outside again you start to push the cart to one of the corrals. But Hawks grabs you at the waist.

“What are you-”

You two take off across the parking lot. His hands on the cart as he pushes the two of you with the wind from his wings. You're moving so fast that your feet struggle to stay on the bar of the cart, but you're laughing so hard, and the air is so nice.

At the edge of the parking lot he stops abruptly. You are tossed forward a bit but he catches you. You stay there laughing in his arms. When you catch your breath and turn to face him you halt. You’re much closer than intended, you don't know where to look.

“We should hurry up before your next patrol starts”

You say moving to grab the bags from the cart. He nods, helping you carry things. The walk back to your place is more peaceful. The winter cold not as sharp, sun gold as its light rained down through the empty trees. He tells you about his day. Today it's mostly about Tokoyami, a work study student that he really seems to have taken a liking to.

“I want you to meet the kid I think you'd really like him”

“If he’s a absolutely amazing as you say I probably will”

Hawks smiles at that as he lets himself into your home. You clear off the kitchen island and start getting to work. You show Hawks the sheet with all your students' names. At first Hawks doesn't really help just observers and listens to you gush about your students.

“Come on, you have to at least make one”

You make an excited sound as an idea comes to mind.

“Tokoyami is your student right! Make one for him!”

“He’s in high school though, your kids are in elementary school”

“So? Look you need to make one, I promise it's not actually that scary”

Hawks huffs at this.

“I never said it was scary”

“Oh yeah? Then how come everytime I push the sticker towards you, you push them back?”

He says nothing more. Just grabs some supplies and starts working. He doesn't know how to open the glitter glue and he says nothing when he hands it to you. He puts the foam heart stickers on each of his fingers and then shoves his hand in your face. He lets you stamp hearts on his hand with pink ink. He holds down the string as you tie ribbons through the paper lace. You smear glitter glue on his arm. His feathers sort out the finished cards, moving them into an alphabetical pile.

“I think it’s nice that you're doing all this for your class, making them each something, letting them have their little party”

“Things have been tense in the world lately, they are old enough to know things are changing but not old enough to really understand why. I just want them to have a special day, something that eases them up a bit you know?”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It was tough keeping your class together through the morning lessons. They were rowdy. They were whispering, and were bad at whispering. Even after recess and lunch the excitement had not dwindled, their energy was still running high.

You instructed everyone to take out their “mailboxes”. You were explaining how this was going to work. That while the students were handing out their valentines you would set out the snacks. A knock at the door. Without missing a beat, still throwing out instructions you went to open the door.

You stare in shock, mouth open in surprise. You had been expecting one of the school secretaries but instead it was Hawks. The rustling of your students pulls you back to reality. You quiet your voice as you speak to him.

“What are you doing here? Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, I just, you had said that you wanted to make the valentines party really special, and I am the number two hero and kids love that kind of stuff-”

“Holy shit,how come I didnt think of that, wait right here”

A couple of the kids had been leaning over the desks trying to see who you were talking to. But as your attention turned back to them they all fell flat in their seats.

“I have a surprise”

The kids all start to clamour in excitement, trying to guess what it is. Most of the guesses are about getting extra candy or maybe extra time on the playground.

“No, it's better than any of that I promise! But…”

You trail off knowing it will silence the students as they try to uncover the mystery that is the surprise.

“We will do the valentine's day exchange first! Then we can have fun with our surprise guest”

The word guest gets them real worked up. They start throwing out names. One student says it's probably another class, so they can have a joint party. Another brings up that popular local lawyer and you stifle a laugh at that. You walk back to the door to let Hawks in.

His entrance isn't grand or exciting but once the kids see him you can longer control them. They are half out of their desks, disbelief, a few are laughing hysterically unable to believe that the number two hero is actually in their classroom.

It takes a while but eventually they settle down and get caught up in giving out their cards. Hawks is dragged desk to desk, answering questions, he is pulled this way and that. But once the kids start opening up their cards he is like a forgotten toy.

You have been at your own desk at the front of the classroom, watching the scene before you, a cheerful expression on your face. Hawks came to stand by you. Reaching into his jacket he pulled out his own card. He must have gone out and bought more supplies because it was completely different from the ones you had made with him.

You saw his handwriting on it, it said you two really needed to go on a date. You were about to agree, to tell him that you returned his feelings, that he should stay after class was over so you could talk, that you were so thankful for him coming here today. But you had not pulled the chance card from the monopoly deck.

“Oh my god! Hawks just gave a valentine to our teacher!”

One of your students shouted. It seemed that they considered this an accomplishment for themselves as well. Soon all the others were chiming in with questions. After getting them to settle down, Hawks started talking.

“I've know your teacher for a couple years now”

“Really?!”

This surprised the class as well.

“They used to work at my agency! Did they never tell you?”

You start calling kids up to your desk to grab snacks and give them the valentines you made them. Hawks starts telling stories about being a hero. The only sound is the crinkle of candy wrapped, your students obedient in their listening. They devour everything Hawks has to say.

“And you are all lucky to have a teacher like yours, who cares about you and works hard to make sure you are cared for and learning”

Your students then start to thank you for the afternoon. For letting them have the party, their valentines, for having Hawks there. Their happy chatter is cut off by the bell. You sneak a picture of the class bombarding Hawks in a goodbye hug.

They linger longer than usual. Asking about homework that doesn't exist, taking out markers for Hawks to sign backpack straps and scraps of paper. But they have to go, buses and parents calling them home.

When the classroom is finally empty Hawks is the one to break the silence.

“What do you think?”

You're confused.

“About what?”

“Didn't you read the card?”

You laugh. Realizing that he must have been suffering through his entire story time with the kids. To you the answer was so obvious though.

“Do you seriously not know that I feel the same?”

And it's like nothing's changed. He helps you pack up your things. As you walk together he starts asking how long you've had feelings for him, why you didn't tell him, if there was anyone you dated while you liked him. You answer patiently, honestly, with a smile, knowing that you wanted to ask the same.

��༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　

A/N: ehhhhhhhhhhhhh so tired. Writing so hard. Milkshakes so good. Me lactose intolerant. Throwing up another playlist because I can. Currently washing my face and brushing my teeth, sleep is near. Oh! I already started writing a valentines thing for Iwaizumi and any other valentines day esque requests would be <3

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KaPclbInJp3hQW8gcGM3O?si=3-9NGWdqRkCDpQxr9WqdPg

#hawks #hawks x reader #hawks fluff #bnha #keigo x reader #bnha x reader #keigo takami #gender neutral reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 4 years ago

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Let It In

Gif for the celebration, my thought process is maybe instead of Niklaus being in Elijah arms it’s the reader. Maybe she switched her humanity off so Lijahs forcing her to turn it back on. I hope that all makes sense

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: Mentions of character death.

Author’s Note: Here’s some angst for you. I’m still working on my 1500 gif drabbles. But even then it seems I can’t really keep anything under 1k XD This was submitted by the lovely @xxqueenofgamesxx

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

“Stop trying to save me!” You yelled out as you turned to face Elijah. “I’m not some broken toy you can just glue together with your words.”

For the last year, Elijah had been trying so desperately to get you to turn your humanity back on. Any time he’d come even a fraction close to getting you to flip the switch back, you’d take off not wanting to deal with it. A trail of bodies left in your wake as you left.

This time he had you cornered, no doubt with the help of his sister. The barrier spell surrounding both of you in this small space was one of her specialties. And at that moment, you hated Freya even more than you had since you flipped your switch.

“I have never thought of you as some toy, Y/N.” Elijah said keeping his voice calm as he took a step towards you. “You are my wife and I made a vow to not only love you but help you and keep you safe. That includes getting you your humanity back.”

A dark chuckle passed your lips as you shook your head. “I have been safe. No danger has come to me in years. If I remember correctly, I asked you to join me on this side of things, but you turned me down.”

You hadn’t missed the fact that he had been closing you in even more. You hated that he was and that you couldn’t get away from him. Elijah knew why you had asked him to switch off his humanity. He was the only one that could get you to flip it back. Especially since he was the only one who shared the pain you shut out.

“You had your reasons for shutting it off, Y/N.” He said shaking his head. “It was a hard time for both of us. But you were the one that was hurt by it the most and I didn’t do anything to help you or to stop you from making that decision and I regret it.”

You huffed. “I’d say since then, I’ve been doing just fine. Better even.” You said as a smirk pulled at your lips.

“We both know that isn’t true.” He said as he took one final step towards you, having you stuck in the corner of the room with the wall against your back. The space between you minimal as you looked up at him. “Once you let your humanity back in, Arick’s death would consume you-”

“Shut up, Elijah.” You said cutting him off as you narrowed your eyes at him. “Neither of us has spoken his name since that night and I’d prefer it that way. Might as well let that memory go with all the hurt, right?”

At your words, it was Elijah’s turn to narrow his eyes at you. “Arick was our son, Y/N. You cannot just erase him. Yes, his death was tragic and I have done everything in my power to ensure those that killed him were killed by my own hands. But you will not be the one to make it seem like he does not exist.”

Elijah had tried to keep his voice calm as he spoke to you. But he couldn’t stop the anger that came out of his words towards the end. You hadn’t missed it either. And that part of you that was hanging on to that off switch couldn’t help itself.

You kept yourself calm as you leaned up and brought your lips right next to his year. A devilish smirk pulled at your lips. “It’s your fault he’s dead in the first place. If only you cared less for your brother, our son would still be alive.”

The moment Elijah pushed you back, you couldn’t help but chuckle. You saw the hurt in his eyes and it didn’t bother you one bit. His eyes searched yours the moment the chuckle subsided. All he could see within them was emptiness. The flicker of hurt he saw moments before at the mention of your son was gone. But that didn’t stop him from trying again.

“What would he say if he saw you as you are now?” He asked.

Between the three of you, you always assured each other that facing the pain was a lot better than flipping the humanity switch. Especially for immortals such as yourselves. Unfortunately, Arick wasn’t an original vampire.

While born before both of you had transitioned, it wasn’t until Arick was older that you turned him. His first several years of life had been hard for both you and Elijah when it came to your bloodlust with turning. But you somehow managed to control yourselves a lot better than his siblings had.

Arick hoped that he nor his parents would become bloodthirsty as his aunts and uncles. It was a promise that the three of you had made after you turned him. And if Arick had seen you now, he’d be disappointed.

You rolled your eyes as you pushed him back, attempting to get some room between the two of you before walking around him. His arms came around you and his hold tightened as you tried to fight him off. The strength between the two of you making it difficult for either of you to win against the other.

“You loved him, Y/N.” Elijah said as you struggled against his hold trying to block out what he had been saying. “Yes, it was my fault you two were in that position in the first place. You shouldn’t have watched our son die.”

A memory that you had longed to forget had made its way into your mind. The way you had watched as your son struggled to get himself free from his captors. But the vervain that had been running through his system had made him weak, just as the very thing had done to you. But watching as the enemy had staked him right in front of you, had broken you in ways that you hadn’t believed you could ever be.

“Let go of me, Elijah.” You said through clenched teeth as you fought against him.

His hold had tightened, and part of him believed because it had been because you were breaking. “I will not let go.” He said as keeping his own emotions in check. Bringing up his son’s death wasn’t the easiest thing. And while he would be willing to express those feelings, this was all about you. “I will never let go.” He promised.

You shook your head trying to get the thoughts in your head out. But no matter how much you fought, Elijah’s hold on you tightened. And at some point, he moved his hand on top of your arm, just enough to allow a connection between minds.

Memories flood your mind. The memories of Elijah seeing you with their son. The way you cared for and protected him. Everything up until he turned he brought it to you. And the last thing he showed you was how broken you looked when he found you holding your son’s body. There was hurt and hatred in your eyes as you looked up at him. Through the memories, the pain being relived though it.

A cry of pain left your lips the moment Elijah stopped. You had stopped fighting against him and you slumped against him. He never once removed his arms from around you, wanting to comfort you as you let in every emotion that you refused to acknowledge.

“I’ve got you.” He promised as he held you, wanting you to know he wasn’t going to leave your side any time soon. This was the first step in getting you back and he was going to make sure that you wouldn’t find yourself wanting to go back to the numbness you had sought out.

Always & Forever Tag: @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @wayward-dan @neeadinghugs @fafulous @kenmen02 @elizamonet @dora-the-grownup @mschellehitt @xanderling @fandom-princess-forevermore @buckysarm4 @hi-my-name-is-riley @helenasingers @alka16555 @hellotvshowtrash

Stag Tag: @elejah-wonderland @xxsovereignsarayaxx @asiaaisa77 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @marvel-at-stucky

The Originals Tag: @zillahvathek @obsessedwithvampires @alien-sida @mikaelson-emma

#xxwritemeastoryxx's 1500 follower celebration #gif submission #Elijah Mikaelson #Elijah Mikaelson x reader #Reader insert #TVD #TO #The Originals #The Vampire Diaries #Elijah Mikaelson drabble #Elijah Mikaelson one shot #Elijah Mikaelson angst #Elijah Mikaelson imagines #Elijah Mikaelson fics #Elijah Mikaelson fanfics #Elijah Mikaelson gif #submission

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luvknow · 5 years ago

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parasitic | bang chan

genre: bang chan x fem!reader | college au ; roommates au ; enemies-to-lovers ; alcohol mention summary: your roommate is going abroad for the semester and now you’re forced to share your apartment with bang chan, who you basically lived with for the past semester except he didn’t pay rent, he ate all of your food, and crashed on your couch after a long night out. you were going to do everything in your power to avoid him until your roommate comes back. that doesn’t work out so well. wc: 11.8k a/n: omg a month late, but merry christmas to @channiechanchan!! did you know it was me?? LMAO I’M SO SORRY LKJDSLKFJ IT’S ALSO NOT EVEN XMAS RELATED BUT....... I HOPE IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT, ILY SLKJDSL

The sun rays peeked through the gaps of the curtains letting you know that a beautiful Sunday was upon you. You would spend the morning making breakfast for you and your roommate, clean your room of all the bad vibes, knock out some homework, and light an overpriced candle to conclude a stress-free day.

A long morning stretch in bed was the start to your day, and you had the widest smile on your lips upon exiting your room as if there was nothing that could ruin your energy. That dropped quickly once you were greeted with a loud, snoring, almost-naked man face down and passed out on your couch.

“Sorry about him,” roomie Yeri said out of habit while practically crawling out of her room. “Again.”

She looked like a hot mess, with her hair frazzled in all directions and last night’s make-up still smeared around her eyes. Her timing was impeccable - it was like she could sense your annoyance through her walls.

“Why?” you whined childishly. This had to be the tenth weekend by now!

“You know why! Lucas had his birthday party last night, remember? Which you were invited to but totally flaked last minute.”

“I have an exam this week.”

“We have an exam this week and it’s not until Thursday!”

“So? I like to be prepared!”

“Can you two shut up?” the bane of your existence interrupted. The newly brunette (who had dyed his hair in your living room, thanks to Yeri) ran a hand through his wild hair, hoping it’d alleviate some of the pain from his hangover. “I have a pounding headache.”

“And whose fault is that?” you scolded bitterly before yanking your blanket off of him. The poor man below you shriveled up and buried his musty legs under your beautiful couch pillows for some sense of warmth. “Not like you pay rent here for you to have the right to complain, or anything.”

“Lighten up, buttercup. You’re so uptight.”

“Gotta do my job around here and exterminate the parasites.”

“Suck my dick.”

“Too many STDs.”

Yeri chucked a pillow each at the both of you so you’d shut up and avoid waking up any grumpy neighbors. “Please, for the love of God, can you guys chill out for once so we can have a relaxing Sunday together?”

“Together?” you and Chan groaned simultaneously.

Yeri was not having it and shot a glare like an angry mother, to which you and Chan mumbled some sort of noise of confirmation and went about your separate ways. You inhabited the kitchen and Chan dragged himself to wash away the sticky shame and Hennessey in the shower. Yeri hopped over to help you make pancakes as if her two best friends weren’t just itching to pull each other’s hair out. She liked to think of herself as the glue of the group, like the quirky friend in the middle who was delusion to the tension in between. Neither of you had the heart to ruin her sitcom fantasy.

“Morning ~” she sang cutely.

“I hate him.”

“He’s not that bad!”

“You’ve been saying that the entire fall semester, but almost every weekend of mine has been ruined by his presence!”

Yeri winced and took a step back as she watched you vigorously mix the pancake batter faster than an electronic stand mixer. Another step back was taken while you violently dumped in the blueberries. Cooking and baking was one of your favorite hobbies and she knew you could be quite passionate about it, but she never saw you angry-cook before. It was a scary site to see, as if you being angry wasn’t scary enough.

“He’s only the way he is because you never gave him a chance.”

“What does that even mean?”

“He’s the type of person who likes to be liked, you know?”

“So? Don’t we all?”

“Of course, but it’s different with people like him. When those types of people meet someone who doesn’t like them, they can get a little… How do I say this? Defense mechanism-y?”

“Wouldn’t you think that would motivate him to, I don’t know, be nice to me and not inhabit my space and eat my food every weekend? Perhaps he’d kiss my ass a little?”

“Like I said, defense mechanism-y…”

“More like melodramatic.”

No matter how Yeri tried to explain to you how Chan was ‘different’, you weren’t buying it nor did you care to argue any longer. Why should you have to like him just because he was your best friend’s other best friend? This wasn’t some algebra problem that could be easily solved by the transitive property - this was a matter of respecting each others’ personal spaces and each other in general, and Chan had been the one to cross both of those lines first, that dick. While Yeri lectured like your math professor, you mindlessly hummed here and there pretending to understand, just as you would in actual math class.

The bathroom door opening prompted you and Yeri to shut up immediately. Then, a moist Chan walked out of the steam with nothing but a familiar lavender towel wrapped around his disgustingly chiseled waist.

“Is that my towel!?” you shrieked in fear.

“Yeah. Hope that’s ok with you!” The fake honey sweetness in his tone made your skin crawl like there were bees under the dermis. “By the way, you’re out of shampoo. I love this scent! What is it, tea tree and mint?”

Yeri had to hold you back from hitting him with a hot spatula and Chan managed to escape back into the bathroom with a change of clothes that he kept here ‘for emergencies’, of course. They hung on the open clothes rack in the living room that was meant to show off yours and Yeri’s tasteful jackets, but the aesthetic was ruined early fall and even your jackets began to smell of Chan’s sophisticated cologne.

“I’m gonna kill him in his sleep,” you seethed.

Yeri patted your head like you were an angry kitten. “Killing the captain of the basketball team isn’t exactly kosher, love.”

“I’ll show you kosher.”

“Can’t keep on threatening me, babe,” Chan tisked while throwing on a t-shirt upon entering the A and B conversation.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m just trying to make our friendship better. You know, since we’ll be roommates soon.”

Excuse me, what? “What are you talking about…”

“Oh, you don’t know?” a sly Chan smirked.

When you turned to interrogate Yeri, she quickly stopped the sign language that clearly meant ‘shut your GODDAMN MOUTH, Christopher’ and gave you that sweet, innocent smile that let her get away with practically anything because who could say no to her rosy cheeks and rainbow-shaped eyes?

“Yeri, what is he talking about…?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, about that… I got accepted into the study abroad program!”

“That’s amazing and I am very proud of you and I love you, but what does this cockroach mean when he says we’ll be roommates soon!?”

“Hey!” he pouted.

“Oh, shut it!”

“Ah, well, I figured to lessen the burden of paying double the rent, I thought it’d, you know, take it upon myself to save you the stress of finding a subletter and Chan was the only one available…”

“Really? Of the entire cheerleading team, the pottery club, the damn pilates and cycling club, hell even the other players on the basketball team, Chan was the only one free to sublet? The only one?”

“Um... yes?”

“You know, I don’t really consent to this -”

“Please, _____, it will only be for the semester, I promise! I leave next week and I can’t take much with me, and Chan is the only person I trust to stay in my room and not ruin anything and steal my underwear!”

“How can you say that when he’s probably going to bring girls home and do them on your bed!?”

“I would never do that!” Chan interjected.

“Yeah, ok.”

“No, really! Why would I ruin her bed when I can just ruin yours while you’re gone?”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Christopher -!”

“See!” Yeri brought the two of you into a esophagus-crushing headlock so you two would shut up. “You two are already getting along so well!!”

Chan managed to slip away and steal you from Yeri, giving you a rough knuckle sandwich. “We’ll get along swimmingly, Yer-bear, I promise. Isn’t that right, _____?”

Yeri couldn’t help but look at you both with sparkly eyes, thinking that yes, maybe there’s a chance that a beautiful friendship could blossom from this! Jabbing an elbow to his ribs with a fake smile of your own, you wordless agree with a nod.

As long as Chan stayed in his room and you stayed in yours, maybe there wouldn’t be much to worry about, right?

The first week with Chan was exactly how you expected it - seeing his bare ass because he never closed the bathroom door, stealing your snacks, taking up the living room space, and blasting his loud soundcloud music that you could hear through your paper-thin walls. Still, even through all the frustration and the annoyance, you thought it would be best if you two just lived your lives separately and didn’t bother making nice with each other. Rather than fighting and yelling, ignoring each other for the sake of everyone’s sanity was for the best.

What pushed you to the edge was when he took the last pack of fruit snacks you were really looking forward to after a long week of classes.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned into the cupboard. “Chan!”

“Yes, darling?” he called from his - Yeri’s - bedroom, to which you stomped over to confront him. Seeing a grown man on Yeri’s white desk on a pink gaming chair playing some PC game was truly a sight to see.

“Did you eat the last of my fruit snacks!?”

The sly boy swiveled the desk chair to face you. “Ooh, was that the last one? I swear there was one left…”

“Come on, dude!”

“I’m sorry, ok, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal! That’s not cool!”

“No, what’s not cool is that you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

You were taken aback by his bold, although correct, assumption. You really didn’t expect him to call you out on this so early. “I… have not…!”

“You’re such a liar!” He pointed accusingly. Although you seemed heated in the argument, Chan was grinning because of course he was right, that dick.

“You don’t think I have anything better to do, like do my homework or-or hang out with friends outside of this apartment?”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean every time you come home and see me in the living room, you go straight to your room.”

“That’s normal!”

“Ah yes, but then you wait until I go into my room -”

“Yeri’s room.”

“- to cook dinner or grab a snack.”

“That’s just a coincidence -”

“How about the opposite, when I come home and you’re chilling in the living room and then you go to your room and shut the door? No ‘hi, how was your day’, or anything.”

“Well -”

“Or how about the mornings, when you’re sitting at the kitchen table relaxing and drinking something warm and sweet-smelling with a tired smile on your face because this is the only time in your day where you get to truly relax, but the second I leave my room to go to the bathroom or grab some water, you chug whatever’s barely boiling in your cup, dump it in the sink, and head out.”

“... I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Wow, look at that smug look on your face,” he pointed again. You didn’t even feel that proud smile on your lips. But Chan didn’t think it was amusing. His lips formed a frown, like he was insulted or even hurt at how cold you could be towards him. “What have I done to make you hate me this much?”

Your eyes bulged incredulously. “Let’s go down memory lane, shall we? Almost every weekend of the fall semester you; crashed on our couch, ate all of our ramen and eggs and sriraicha the morning after to recover from your massive hangover, used our laundry detergent, and used our bath products just to name a few! All without a simple thank you or even asking beforehand!”

Chan couldn’t deny that yes, maybe he’d been a little, um, unceremonious with his intrusion on your life, but come on, everyone deserves a second chance! The very prideful man in front of you rolled Yeri’s pink chair to the threshold only to clasp your hands together in his and now you were sweating.

“Ok, I’ll admit that I was a terrible guest this past semester.” Does an apology count if the guilty party rolls his eyes? “So, out of the goodness of my heart, I am very, very sorry.”

“My ass.”

“What!? Does this not look sincere to you?” he asked, pointing to his fake pouty face.

“Ok, I’m leaving.”

“No no no, c’mon!” Chan whined as he chased you into the living room. He grabbed your trailing hand to stop you. “Look, I’m truly sorry that I sometimes use your things -”

“Always use my things.”

“Most of the time use your things. I am sorry, really. Please believe me, ok? Aren’t you tired of avoiding me all the time?”

A tired sigh escaped you because you were absolutely exhausted from it. “I accept your semi-sincere apology. But why, for the love of God, why don’t you ever use Yeri’s things!? Why mine? She’s the one that’s your friend!”

“Honestly? I wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh, my God, what are you, five?”

“Hey, you’re the one who ignored me like a rude hostess from the get-go! You never gave me a chance!”

“My first impression of you was all I needed to not give you one.”

“I couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You puked in my backpack with some of my textbooks in it and poor Yeri had to clean up your mess!”

“Oh yeah, I remember that… That was on Sunwoo’s birthday.” You tried walking away again, but Chan’s grip was too strong. “Ok, fine, I’ll admit my first impression was horrendous, but you never let me redeem myself after that, so I kept annoying you so you’d confront me about it! That’s not fair that you judged me so quickly!”

“Yeah, and look how annoying me turned out! It went from my first impression to my thousandth impression.”

“I mean, it eventually worked, right?”

Another tired sigh. “Chan, is there a purpose to this?”

“Yes. I want to start over.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Start over? Like, erase all the shit that happened between us?”

“Exactly. A clean slate. Clean plates, I’ll even do your dishes tonight.”

You did hate doing the dishes… And you were so tired of stressing out over avoiding him, even if it had only been a week. After a long, painful pause, you held out your hand for him to shake. “Fine, a clean slate it is.”

A prideful and grinning roommate gladly shook your hand. “I pledge to not be an asshole anymore.”

“And I promise not to have a stick up my ass.”

“Wow, look how far we’ve come, huh? Cheers to a new friendship?”

“After you do my dishes.”

“... Fair enough.”

To commemorate this new and fresh friendship, you joined Chan in the kitchen. You didn’t do anything as he hand-washed your handmade dishes made in pottery class, but in return for eating your last fruit snack pack, he offered you some cookies he’d been hiding to which you gladly obliged. It was a peaceful silence in the kitchen other than the clinking of dishes and running water that offered some white noise while you read one of your books (after Chan called you a nerd). This had to be the most stress-free thirty minutes of your life.

“So,” your new ‘friend’, if you’d generously call him, began after finishing the dishes. He took a seat next to you and grabbed a cookie of his own. “Now that we’re cool and all, I would like to formally invite you to our basketball game tomorrow.”

"First of all, we're not totally cool just yet. Think of this as like a trial. Gotta pay your premium subscription fees before getting the premium benefits.”

“Yeah, yeah, so do you wanna go or not?"

"Hm, a basketball game? Like you're playing in it?"

"As the captain, I sure hope so."

You thought about it for a second - what terrible things could possibly come about if you went to one of Chan's basketball games? Well, it's set in a crowded and sweaty arena, whose crowd and players are also sweaty, it was loud, the food and drinks were expensive, and you literally could not care less about basketball. But, out of the goodness of your heart, which was now willing to give people a second chance for some reason, maybe you could tolerate sitting through a quarter or two.

"Sure, I'll go."

"Really? I wasn't expecting that."

"Then why'd you bother asking?"

"I'm tryna be homies, and that's what homies do! Invite homies to their basketball games."

"Please don't call me homie."

"Ok, home skillet."

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know anything about basketball."

"Like, at all?"

"I know the cool far shots are worth like three points, right?"

"Oh, darling, you have a lot to learn. Here, lemme do a spark notes run down."

Professor Chan, PhD in sports and partying, took however many hours to explain. You lost track after two. At the end of the night, all of the cookies and milk were gone and you both went to bed at two in the morning.

"You, at a basketball game!?" Yeri snorted from the other side of the world. "And you and Chan being civilized!? Lord, how long have I been gone?"

"I have many regrets…"

"Don't say that! I think it's cute that you guys are finally getting along. Who would've thought that locking you two in the same apartment for one week was all that it took?"

"It might have been sooner if he'd just apologized right away instead of stealing all of my stuff to get my attention."

"Yup, sounds like Christopher."

"So you're coming back soon, right…?"

"If soon means a couple of months, yes."

"Yeri ~!" you whined, hopelessly missing your Sunday night partner watching crime documentaries.

"Chill, you big baby, just hang out with Chan if you're so lonely."

"Ugh, gross." Ironically enough, you stepped on a freshly-spat wad of gum upon entering the half-filled gymnasium.

"But not too often cuz, you know, you might fall in love ~"

You hoped no one saw the way your face twisted in disgust. "Are you delusional!?"

"Or even worse, you two might get drunk and make out and then fu -"

"OH-KAY, bye, Yer-bear love you!" You hung up immediately, traumatized at the thought she planted in your head. You hated how your face heated up so brightly. Don’t sweat it, _____! There’s no way that something like that could blossom from something that was nothing!

"Hey, you actually made it -" Chan had burst into your bubble without a warning, causing you to jump and drop your phone. After wiping off another fresh glob of gum from your phone screen this time, you bucked up the courage to stand face-to-face with a confused Chan wearing his basketball uniform. "Jeez, you good? You're all blushy. Ah, you saw Jaehyun's nudes, didn't you?"

"No, idiot! You just startled me, although I should be used to you invading my space by now."

“Ha ha. Stop being weird and take a seat. We’re still warming up, but hopefully we’ll start soon.”

“Uh, is there like, designated seating, or?”

Chan’s dimply smile accompanied a rough hair ruffle. “How cute, you’ve never been to a game before, huh?”

“I would rather die than willingly pay to go here on my leisure.”

A strong, sweaty arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Sit right over there,” he said, pointing to a single spot in the middle of the one hundred level that allowed for the best view of the entire court. “You’ll see me in action the whole time.”

“Next to the dude eating a chili dog and the chick with a cut-out of Woojin’s face?”

“The superfan section truly is not of this world.”

“If I came all the way here just to watch you lose, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we never lose!”

The coach called Chan back to warm up some more which left you no choice but to enter the germ-infested purgatory and sit in between the superfans. Glancing at the other team, it was clear that they had the intimidation factor of being the taller and bigger players, so you weren’t sure how this was going to turn out. But your team, although smaller, had an enormous amount of unwavering energy. Perhaps it was because they were playing at home and had the entire half of this court filled to the brim cheering their names.

Chan was busy next to the couch, watching the form of his teammates as they were shooting three pointers. There was no doubt to anyone, even if no one had ever seen him before, that he was the captain. Who knew the barf-filled, void for a stomach, almost always naked asshole had the mindset of a lion? Every now and again, he’d pull one of his teammates to the side, probably a newbie to the varsity team, and help him with his form or give pointers or remind him of what play they were going to execute once the buzzer rang.

At some point, you realized you were watching him for far too long because he caught you right where he placed you. By the smirk on his lips, you’ll never hear the end of it if you see each other back at the apartment, and you would have looked away almost immediately if he hadn’t grabbed a ball not a second later. What was he doing?

Chan dribbled the ball to the free throw line (at least you think that’s what it’s called). He looked at you again, but this time he was pointing, like he was challenging you. Every pair of eyes in the gymnasium managed to pinpoint his target to you and if he thought you were blushy before, he should really see you up close now. After the very dramatic scene, Chan focused on dribbling the ball a few times which brought everyone’s attention back to him, thankfully. He dribbled a bit more, stopped to set up his shot, followed through and swoosh, there it went, right into the basket like a mathematician's perfect parabola.

“That was for you,” he mouthed silently with a sense of tease dripping from every word.

Normally, you might have flicked him off, but who were you to ruin the vibe just before the game started? Out of the goodness of your heart, you lightly clapped at his performance like this was the opera.

And so the game began! Mingyu, since he was the tallest member, did that thing where they toss the ball up in the air and they try to get it on their side, and since he was like 6’5”, it was easy for Chan’s team to start with the ball. There was a lot of back and forth head movements and eye scanning and you felt like your brain was being shaken up. To be honest, before you stepped into the stadium, you thought that none of this was going to excite you in the least. The idea of sweaty boys running around with a ball was completely barbaric, didn’t you think? But when someone, especially Chan, shot the ball or blocked it or did some weird dancey footwork, you gasped and cheered with the rest of the gym, the spirit of the game blooming in your soul much to your resistance.

The game ended almost too quickly and thankfully your team won. All of the superfans and the cheerleaders ran towards the team, congratulating them with cheers and hugs and mounting their beloved captain on their shoulders. Chan had his bright and dimply smile you’ve been seeing too often this week. You considered waiting until the crowd died down so you could congratulate him right then, but being the captain meant he was the center of everyone’s attention, not just yours. You shrugged off the impatience and headed for home. You could always congratulate him tomorrow, so long as he hasn’t puked anywhere.

Just before exiting the gym, you heard your name being called.

“_____, wait!” Chan yelled, sprinting to you as soon as his people made a walkway.

“I guess a congratulations is in order,” you said. “Congrats on winning. You looked super cool out there.”

“Hold on, can you say that one more time?” he teased, whipping out his phone to record you.

“Congrats, asshole!” you greeted the camera with double birdies.

“Thank you, m’lady. Where are you going now -”

“Channie!” a cute voice cried. Channie?

“Miyeonie!” he parroted back at the pretty cheerleader.

“Are you coming with us to Mingyu’s or what?”

You almost forgot it was the weekend already. It was time for drunk Chan shenanigans to ensue and that meant locking yourself up in your room and hiding the newly-bought fruit snacks.

“Oh, uh…”

Chan looked back at you like he was about to ditch his little sibling who had asked to play with him. Before any embarrassing pity invites were thrown out, you quickly bid your farewell.

“I’ll see you later, Channie ~” you waved off playfully.

“_____, hold on,” he said in urgency. Oh no, please don’t do what you think he’s doing… “Uh, I think I’m going to skip out on tonight, Miyeon.”

Both of you looked at him like he had three heads and two tails. Miyeon’s the only one brave enough to speak up on it. “Party Boy Channie is ditching us tonight? Why?”

“I’m super tired.” You’re full of shit, Chan! Why are you ruining my quiet night in!? “I’ll catch you guys next week, though.”

“Fine. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Ok ~” She then quickly kissed him on his lips and he welcomed it fully like they’ve been doing that for some time now. Could it be that Party Boy Channie has finally settled down, despite all of his sloppy stories he used to slur about every weekend? How was it that he, of all scumbags, was able to have a significant other and you couldn’t even get a tinder date! “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t get too wild tonight.”

“No promises!”

Chan sighed helplessly and turned to face a disgusted? Shocked? No, a very uncomfortable you who had watched a corny teen drama movie unfold right in your face.

“Sorry about that,” he said sincerely for once.

“Oh please, I absolutely love watching true love express itself right in front of me, Channie.”

He rolled his eyes. “First of all, it’s not love.”

“Really? You’re telling me kissing pretty cheerleaders isn’t your love language?”

“Not when they cling to me like mothballs.”

“You’re so cruel, Channie.”

“Stop calling me that,” he warned. “Secondly, what are we doing tonight?”

“We? I don’t know who this we is, but I’m going home.”

“Aw, c’mon, really? I just ditched a Kim Mingyu party and perhaps some ass for some quality roommate bonding time!”

“I did not ask you to do that.”

“Don’t you wanna go out to eat or something? I’ll even pay for you.”

“No, because there’s food at home.”

“There isn’t food at home, you liar!”

“Well ok, not yet, I still have to go to the market first and then I’ll cook.”

“Oh?” You can cook? He certainly didn’t know that. “You’re cooking us dinner?”

“I’m cooking me dinner.” Chan folded his hands and gave you a poor excuse for puppy eyes. But he did just win the game, and you bet doing all that sporty stuff made him starving. “But I guess I can make you a plate... I guess you and I can… eat together…”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“I’m clearly holding back my excitement.”

Usually in movies or tv, they have the head chefs of famous local restaurants come to the markets between four and five in the morning. The amateur chefs like yourself prefer to pick off what was left for much cheaper at night time. It’s not that the stuff left over was any bad, it was just the important people managed to pick out all the perfect prawns and symmetrical vegetables and what have you. It was much less stressful in the evenings anyways, when everyone was already home cooking and you were left to wander as you pleased before the vendors packed up for the day.

“Do you come here all the time to grocery shop?” a freshly-washed Chan asked beside you. When he went grocery shopping, as long as the produce didn’t have any bruises and the meat was red, that’s all he needed. He never inspected the peaches for its plumpness or asked what time the fish was caught today, unlike you, though now and again he’ll slap a watermelon to test its juiciness.

“Goodness, no, am I made of money?”

“How expensive can this place be, they’re not even in a store.”

“Oh, Chan the naivete. Think of the most expensive piece of produce you’ve ever bought. It’s probably organic, right? Free of pesticides and the like?”

“I think it was an avocado.”

“Right, completely ridiculous that you’re paying $2.50 per avocado. The avocadoes here? Double that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I really wish I was. Those are the morning price avocadoes though. Nighttime shoppers like us are lucky to snag them for $3.50.”

“Why bother paying so much when you can go to the local store across the street from your house?”

“Even though I can get much more for the price I’m paying here,” you paused and handed Chan the brightest and quite possibly the smallest strawberry he’d ever seen. “You can taste the difference.”

Snipping off the green stem and leaves, the clueless boy popped the berry in his mouth and you watch the flavor brighten his eyes.

“Quality over quantity,” you bragged.

The rest of your time there, you had to stop Chan from eating a single grape from every little basket at every single vendor.

“You are a child.”

“Baby me, baby.”

Coming back to the apartment with your’s and Chan’s arms full of groceries, anxiousness rushed in the second you stepped beyond the threshold. It occurred to you that you’ve never actually cooked for anyone before besides Yeri. This will be the second time you’ll see someone’s first reaction to your cooking, and it’ll be from your worst enemy.

“Need me to sous chef, head chef?” he asked while unpacking.

“Actually, that would help me a lot. Could you wash the vegetables?”

“Sure. While we’re at it, can I get your opinion on something?”

You raised your brow in confusion. “Do I have the knowledge for it?”

“You have ears, so yes.”

From that point moving forward, you decided not to question Chan because he was going to do whatever he wanted anyways. As you prepped the kitchen, you ignored the loud rustling in the living room with the occasional ‘ow, fuck’ following a stubbed toe. Out of curiosity and right before yelling at him to hurry up, Chan had finally pressed the play button and an unfamiliar song played through his massive speakers that he brought outside.

“Is this your new song?” you asked.

He did the ‘hand-sexily-but-also-shyly-running-through-my-hair’ thing before answering. “Yeah, and I’m not sure if I like it that much. The guys say it sounds good, but they’re my homies so they have to say that, y’know?”

“At least you know I won’t bullshit you.”

“Be gentle at least, please.”

“I will once you help me with dinner finally.”

“Right, right.”

Of course one song didn’t cover the entirety of the dinner preparation. After the one, which you honest to God liked a lot (“Stop lying.” “I’m not! You asked me to be honest, dick!”), Chan shyly but happily showed you more of his work. Some of it was already posted to his Soundcloud and some weren’t uploaded because he either hated them or he was stuck and left unfinished.

“Like, how is it possible that I can’t finish a project whose finished product is less than three minutes long!?” By now, Chan gave up trying to help after he cut his finger several times and sat at the table munching on his expensive basket of berries as he explained his creative block to you as if you were his therapist. “It makes me seem lazy, doesn’t it?”

“People hit creative walls all the time,” you reassured. “Don’t get yourself down about it.”

“Have you ever even hit a wall before?” he challenged.

“I do in the kitchen all the time, you ass.”

“How is that even possible? What walls can you even hit in the kitchen?”

“The difference between baking and cooking is that baking has less room for error, but tons of room for visual creativity, which is why I think baking is much harder. Cooking measurements for a meal, on the other hand, are meant to be adjusted with freedom which is nice, but how many times can someone change the presentation of a bowl of rice, meat, and vegetables?”

A bowl of said food was placed in front of a drooling Chan who had to sit through the tortuous cooking process smelling the aromatics and satiate his rumbling tummy with sour fruit. He hadn’t even taken a bite yet and his eyes were already sparkling with anticipation. It was reactions like his that made you the most embarrassed because what if he tasted it and hated it!?

“Whoa, this looks delicious!” he beamed.

“You didn’t think I could cook, did you.”

“No, I thought you were joking and when you weren’t I was like, ‘I HAVE to taste her cooking’. I'm a little disappointed that it doesn’t look inedible.”

“Ha ha, just eat your food, parasite.”

With anticipation, you watched Chan take a huge bite with all the fixins on the spoon. You could sense the awkwardness when he turned away.

“Stop staring at me,” he mumbled with cheeks full of rice.

“Not until you tell me what you think.”

“Well, of course it tastes good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now stop looking at me, I’m not your zoo animal.”

A huge sigh of relief escaped you and a heavy weight off your chest was relieved. Something about cooking for new people always made you want to pass out, but if both your best friend and your best enemy admit to how good it is, maybe you’ll become more open to the idea of cooking for others more often. You DID like that huge sense of pride that rushed in.

Chan finished the bowl in two minutes. He held it up for you to take. “More, please.”

“Wow, ok.”

You were lucky enough to get a bowl yourself with Chan practically inhaling everything, and even then he still had room for dessert. It was atrocious how much a college man could eat.

“They say someone’s cooking says a lot about them,” Chan proposed while washing down his food with soda.

“They who?”

“I don’t know, the internet?” he shrugged.

“Oh, yeah? What does the internet say about a bowl of rice for dinner?”

“That you’re uptight and don’t like to have fun.”

“Hey!”

“And probably a virgin.”

Your cheeks burned an embarrassingly bright red at the proclamation. “Wh-What makes you say that!?”

“It’s a safe meal to make. You know, hard to mess up and a little simple so it’ll always taste good?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Where’s the excitement, _____? The improvisation!?”

“There’s not much room to improv in cooking, Christopher.”

“Don’t you want to live a little? Have some spontaneity?”

“Are we still talking about my cooking or…?”

“No, dumbass, I mean your life, too!” Chan hopped up from his chair and took your hand to twirl you around the kitchen like the scene in Beauty and the Beast. Oh God, you hoped you didn’t accidentally poison him or that he was having a weird allergic reaction to sesame, or something. “Have some fun for once!”

You somehow broke away from the hypnotic dance and stood as far away from that crazy man as possible. “Don’t act like you know me all of a sudden because you read some corny Buzzfeed article about a fucking bowl of rice and meat, Bang Chan!”

“What do you mean, I’ve come to know you for a whole semester.”

“A whole semester of being blacked out.”

“Hey, that means nothing!”

“Ok. Tell me one thing you know about me from a whole semester of being unconscious on my couch.”

“You have an in-depth skin care routine.”

“Anyone can guess that.”

“From the books you have lying around and a few paintings on the wall, you dabble in that horoscope bull shit.”

“So do a lot of girls, next.”

“You like heart and star-shaped marshmallows in your hot cocoa.”

You’ll admit that one had you silent for a moment. Only Yeri knew about that, but that was because those were the only marshmallows you bought specifically for hot cocoa. They add a little pizazz to your drink, especially with the edible glitter. “That doesn’t count, there’s no other marshmallow in the apartment.”

“True,” he began, pointing an accusing finger at you. “But you like a whole handful of marshmallows in your mug.”

“... S-So -”

“Ah ha, got one!”

“So what, a ton of people like marshmallows!”

“Yeah, but not pink hearts and purple stars ones!”

“How do you even know that?”

“Hm. I think it was the night of Hongjoong’s birthday. Yeah, I passed out, woke up, whined to Yeri, and she made me hot cocoa and said, ‘Do you care if the marshmallows are shaped like hearts and stars?’ And I said, ‘I ONLY want hearts and stars’.”

A shy smile spread across your lips. It’s moments like these when you weren’t chewing his ear off that he finds you a little cute. Just a little.

“Is there a reason for those specific marshmallows?” he asked.

“They’re cute,” you pouted.

“Well, do I get a prize for knowing one thing about you?”

“Yeah, doing the dishes.”

“What!?”

“I cooked now you clean!” you said before running off to your room.

A tired, but willing Chan dragged his feet to the sink. He could just throw all of the dishes in the dishwasher, but somehow hand-washing while reminiscing about all the Fridays he’s crashed here with you barking like a chihuahua the next morning was much more fun.

His cheeks hurt from smiling too much by the end of that night.

A virgin… How the hell does cooking a bowl of rice for your roommate somehow make you a virgin!?

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the most outstanding meal you’ve ever made or could have cooked for him, but that ungrateful man who couldn’t even fry an egg shouldn’t be so picky!

But why, of all the insults and swears he’s ever thrown at you, was virgin the one that hit you the most?

Who cares if you were or weren’t one! What difference did that make you as a person, right!? At first glance, of course no one would be able to tell whether you were or weren’t one, but what did that say about people who did know you, like Chan and Yeri? Was that the kind of vibe you gave off? Were you too goody-goody, too play-by-the-rules? Was Chan right when he said your life lacked that spark, that spontaneity he seemed to so-crave?

Now that you thought about it, you haven’t gone out on a date or even found someone remotely interesting in a very long time… Since your first year of college at the very least.

Maybe you should show him how spontaneous you could get.

“That’s another thing I noticed last semester,” Chan’s charming accent shook you from your thoughts. You looked to the boy intruding in your room who leaned against the door frame, once again in only his pajama pants and a wet towel slung over his neck to barely cover his torso. He was built like he was carved from the finest slab of marble - how was his skin so white and smooth? “You tend to space out a lot, especially when you’re working on something.”

“How can you tell?”

“You get that dumb look on your face.”

“You mean the same one you have on all the time?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Thank you. What are you getting all dressed up for on a Tuesday night?”

“Miyeon said she was coming over like, ten minutes ago and I felt musty, so here I am, half naked in front of your door like this is the greatest dream you’ve ever had.”

“Is that the cheerleader from your game last weekend?” Chan hummed as a response, drying his hair with the towel around his neck and a toothbrush in his mouth. “Is she your girlfriend?”

You heard him choke on the toothpaste. “God, no, why do you think that?”

“I mean she kissed you… ?”

“Eh, it’s kind of an on-again-off-again thing, but nothing was ever official between us.” A sudden realization hit Chan and then that sly smirk that loved to tease you came back to haunt you. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“Jealous of some cheerleader who’s clearly in love with a man who has no interest in her while he lives with another woman?” you scoffed. “Green with envy.”

“At least I have someone in my life!” he called from the bathroom.

That, too, hit a little too close to your heart. He was right - at least he had someone who kept him company, who adored him, who he could go out on dates with… And what did you have? A lousy roommate who uses your body wash.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked after coming back fully clothed. Your bed was much softer than Yeri’s, who had a rock hard firm mattress. Perhaps Chan should take his naps here instead.

“Nothing. What is there to do on a Tuesday night?”

“Lots of things! It’s Taco Tuesday at that food truck on campus, it’s Tteokbokki Tuesday at that Auntie’s restaurant by the bookstore, ooh and the record store down the street gives out free seltzer water for the hipsters.”

“Is that what you and Miyeon are doing tonight?”

“No, she just wanted to make-out I think.”

“How romantic…”

Chan laid on your bed and kept his thoughts to himself for a while. Somehow after only a few weeks of living together did you tolerate his presence enough to not nag him to get out of your room, let alone off your bed. While you studied the infinite pages of words in your textbook, Chan was able to steal a few glances. The way your brows furrowed in frustration, the messiness of your hair, the slight pout in your lips, it was all quite cute for someone as grouchy as yourself. Although he supposed he’d be an asshole, too, if he was studying seven days a week. You must be tired and frustrated.

Without you paying attention, he whipped out his phone and texted his date.

“Darn,” he sighed convincingly. “Miyeon just cancelled on me.”

“Good for her.”

“Well, now that I’m free, it looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”

“Sike, I have some homework to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chan hopped off the bed and peaked over your shoulder at your homework. He was so close that you could smell his woodsy cologne. You kind of liked it. Kind of. “Homework that’s due on Friday? God, _____, at least try to be cool, you nerd.”

“Hey!”

“Get dressed, those tacos and tteokbokki won’t be piping hot forever ~”

“I’m not going!” you tried to argue, but that annoying boy was already out of your room and putting his shoes on. Evil chuckling could be heard from the living room - what a weirdo. As your stomach violently growled, it was really hard to resist such a tempting offer of food, even if it meant going with Chan.

An impatient roommate danced his way to exit. “I’m walking out the door ~”

“Chill, will you?” you mumbled while throwing on your coat. “How are you going to invite me and then abandon me?”

“Then move faster.”

“You move faster…”

“Ah ~” Chan pinched your cheek lightly. “You’re kinda cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

“You know, with trying to kick up the spontaneity in your life and what-not.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a cold Tuesday night and you almost heavily regret wanting to be spontaneous and cute and uncaring, all because a soundcloud rapper called you a virgin. But the thought of a hot cup of spicy rice cakes was enough for you to travel through the polar vortex. It helped that you weren’t the only one suffering.

“All those nights I crashed on your couch, I’d always buy a cup of this gold before heading over,” Chan admitted. “It was a shame for the days I threw it up.”

“Ah, no wonder your puke is red! I thought you were always almost dying.”

“Sometimes I wished I was.”

Of course the auntie knew Chan by the amount of times he’s stumbled upon the place drunk off his ass (“Wow, you’re walking straight and talking in sentences today!” “Ha ha, auntie…”). The fiery cup of rice cake was the perfect hand-warmer.

“Do I not give off the virgin vibe yet?” you half-joked.

A charming burst of laughter came from your annoying roommate. How could he forget that he called you that! “You’re not hung up on that, are you?”

“I just… I mean, do you think that’s the reason why…” you struggled to speak your insecurities into existence because once you did, that meant they were real and totally holding you back.

“Why what?”

“Tell me something - am I really that uptight? Does it make me seem… I don’t know, unapproachable? Unlikable, even?”

“Please, you are totally uptight.” A loud, unladylike groan echoed throughout the crowded streets of campus. “Unapproachable, yes. Unlikable? I mean, not necessarily? Some guys think that’s hot.”

“So what you’re saying is I’ll be single forever or marry some pushover.”

“Hey, don’t put words into my mouth! Look, if you really want to change how your aura appears to people, you already have! You’re out on a Tuesday night eating rice cakes with the sexiest guy you know. That’s progress in my book, all thanks to me.”

“Somehow you’ve turned my insecurities into praising yourself.” It was impressive, honestly. “You’re something else, Christopher.”

“Thank you!”

“What’s next on our impromptu tour of the town?”

“Ya like vinyl?”

“Huh?”

Chan said nothing else as he cut you off and walked right into the record shop and low and behold, potential buyers were holding skinny cans of flavored seltzer.

“C’mon, princess, there’s not enough seltzer for everyone!” Chan urged.

The vastness and number of collections of the record shop rivaled the local book shop down the street. Although much noisier and haphazard, the concept was still the same and the neon signs and signed posters gave the shop quite the personality. Actually, it was almost as if it was Chan personified.

In front of you was a basketball-loving ear-pierced punk-ass roommate who wore leather jackets in sub-freezing temperatures and didn’t know how to fold his laundry flipping through the Wu-Tang Clan basket. And there was you, the personified small local bookstore, watching him longingly and wishing you could be like him, who was cool enough to attract other cool people and be someone so approachable and likable. He was the complete opposite of you, and yet somehow you’re both here together, acting like you never had to kick his ass for using your toothbrush four too many times.

How was it possible to think that one day, someone could be in love with a plain and boring bookstore like yourself? Could someone like Chan love someone like you one day?

You hoped so.

Chan wondered where you were and found you looking at him with tired eyes. Of all the things to look at, you somehow could only look at him. With his dimply smile, he said, “Falling in love with me?”

Something made you want to say yes. “Did you find something you like?”

He silently gestured to you to come over with a lazy hand. As expected, he pulled out one of the Wu-Tang Clan records and played it on one of the modern record players that had one set of headphones at the station.

“Here, put these on,” he instructed while putting the over-ear headphones on. A smooth and unique rap style voiced over the equally-smooth instrumentals. It was unlike anything you’ve heard before. Perhaps Chan’s intellectual layers lied within his knowledge in music.

A slight pressure pressed against your right ear. You couldn’t see from your peripherals, but you could smell Chan’s rustic cologne again, and that itself already made you blush deeper shades of red than you could ever imagine. Since there was only one set of headphones, Chan obviously had no other choice but to listen to this track with you like this - invading your space bubble and making you weak in the knees.

“Do you like it?” you could barely hear.

“I do,” you replied. The song wouldn’t be over for another two minutes and Chan refused to move. “Is this what you like?”

“It’s inspirational to me.” The vibrations of his voice almost sent you into shock because wow, was he close to you or what.

He knew you were nervous. He could tell simply by how your shoulders squared the moment his ear pressed on the outside of the headphones. That’s yet another detail he’s come to notice while crashing on your couch and living with you. Whether you were nervous because he was shirtless after coming out of the shower or you were annoyed because he’d eaten all of the ice cream you were saving in the back corner of the freezer, you always straightened your posture upon seeing him because God forgive you ever show any emotion. Why were you like those stuck-up librarians at the hipster bookstores down the street who turned a blind eye to anyone who didn’t look like they read books?

Or maybe, just maybe, you were liking this. You liked being in close proximity to the sexiest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. You liked the almost-but-not-really skinship you almost-but-not-really shared. You were nervous, not annoyed, weren’t you? Or were you annoyed that you’re nervous around your most hated enemy?

Either way, Chan wins, and that’s all that mattered to him.

You spent most of the spontaneous night in the record store listening to soul, trot, pop punk, underground hip-hop, and everything in between. Quite literally in-between, as Chan would not stop pressing his face to yours because he refused to find a second pair of headphones for him to borrow.

“Stop doing that!” you whined for the fifth time.

“I wanna listen, too ~”

“Then go steal another set of headphones!”

“But I like this. It’s way more fun. And your cheeks are so hot that the radiated heat is warming my face up.”

You’re silent at that point forward because your cheeks thought their purpose in life was to burn as hot as the sun and serve as a radiator to intrusive boys who wanted nothing more than to listen to good music with you.

Honestly, what’s there to complain about?

The record store didn’t close until midnight and you practically stayed until then. At that point, Chan with his black hole for a stomach was hungry again and led you to the taco truck he talked about earlier.

“Is it Taco Tuesday still if it’s past midnight?” you wondered.

“It’s still Tuesday until the sun comes up in my books.”

Tacos weren’t exactly an easy-to-eat street food, so you used the tin foiled rolls as hand warmers until you were back in the comfort of your kitchen where you could happily eat greasy tacos with your sworn enemy.

“What do midnight tacos say about me now?” you questioned the food and vibe expert across the table.

“They say you like cliches and you care a little too much about what people think of you.”

“How the hell did you come up with that?”

“Please, Taco Tuesday is so cliche! And you conformed to it because you want to seem more playful and less of a stick-up-your-ass, am I right?”

The pout on your lips was enough of an answer. “Now I feel like a virgin in sheep’s clothing.”

“Hey, we all have to start somewhere.”

“Do you think I’m more likable this way?”

Perhaps Chan was a little harsh with his words the one night you cooked for him. He thought he would be able to know you front and back after nearly a month of living together, but it seemed that he was farther away from that than he thought. After all this time, he thought you didn’t care one bit about how people perceived your feisty self. Maybe instead you cared too much and you had built a wall to prevent others like Chan from knowing.

“You were always likable,” he admitted honestly.

“Please stop lying,” you groaned.

“I mean it! Even when you were yelling at me or trying to kick me off the couch or stealing back the food I was trying to eat, I never hated you. It was so much fun messing with you because you were not afraid to cuss me out.”

“And that makes me likable how?”

Chan shrugged. “I have fun when I’m around you. Do you think I would have kept coming back to crash here if I hated you?”

“Yeah, to torture me.”

“Well, to clear things up, I don’t hate you. And I bet my bottom dollar that you don’t hate me, either.”

“Sike.”

“You’re telling me you still hate me after the fun we had tonight? Or the night you watched me play and cooked for me? Or even the one night after Lucas’s Halloween party when I passed out here even though your heater was broken and you wrapped me up in your fuzzy blanket?”

Another blush spread across your cheeks. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget the first night you showed me any compassion?”

“Fine, you’re right, I don’t hate you… You’re, in fact, quite tolerable.”

Who knew Chan’s eyes could light up so brightly at such a mediocre compliment, if you’d even call it one. “You like me ~”

“Stop.”

“You’re gonna fall in love with me ~”

“Chan -”

“I bet you already have ~”

“Ok, I’m going to bed.”

“No, you aren’t!”

You tried to run out of the kitchen and into your room to lock the door, but Chan got to you just as you reached the living room. He entrapped you with his big, strong arms and held you in a suffocating hug, drowning out his giggles with your screaming. Your resistance was strong, but you were smiling brighter than he’d ever seen before. Today was a long day for both of you and the moment Chan rested his chin on your shoulder was when you stopped struggling to break free. His tufts of chestnut hair and slow breathing tickled your cheeks.

“Oi, wake up,” you demanded, hitting his forearms.

That only made him hold you tighter. “No.”

You stopped fighting him and let the poor boy rest on your shoulder. “You don’t think this is weird?”

“No. We’re just two roommates fighting, right?” he teased, shaking you in his arms.

“Yeah, fighting.”

“Do you think it’s weird?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Please.”

His giggle rang in your ear and made goosebumps travel throughout your skin. Then Chan did what spontaneous Chan does and surprised you by kissing your cheek with a loud, moist, audible smooch.

“A-Ah, Chan!!” you gasped.

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

Before you could scold him further, he had already let go and went to his room. How long was he holding you? Because now you’re left stunned in the living room feeling the cold from the draft of your windows. Your cheek felt like it had been branded by his soft rose petal lips. It burned so much that you ended your night lying in bed staring at the ceiling cupping the tainted cheek.

“I hate him,” you mumbled to no one. Your words hold zero weight the moment you screamed into your pillow.

The first couple of days after the incident were a little weird, to put it simply. You circled back to your old habits of avoiding him and keeping conversations short and that didn’t slip past Chan for even a couple of hours. At first, he thought he might have ruined whatever weird friendship you had together, but the way you avoided him was not how it used to be.

You were embarrassed - dare he say even shy. Your avoidance held no malice and didn’t feel icy as it did last semester. Rather, you fled because you felt vulnerable. Your words were no longer full of insults, but instead were soft and sprinkled with stutters. It was like a scene from a drama set in high school where the cute shy nerd has a massive crush on the super sexy jock and won’t admit her feelings because she doesn’t think she has a chance. And knowing you, you would never admit to having feelings, so how was Chan supposed to get a confession out of you?

Cornering you was the only option he thought could work, but sadly that didn’t.

“Chan, c’mon, I have to use the bathroom,” you whined on the other side of the door.

He didn’t say a word when the door opened and steam spilled out into the halls. Yet again was he dressed only in his pajama bottoms and a towel around his neck, hair still damp and hanging loosely over his eyes. He took a step forward and you’re given no choice but to back up.

“What are you -”

You cut yourself off when your back hit the wall and Chan had you in the palm of his hands. Proximity was close to nothing as your toes touched and you could smell your body wash from his freshly-washed chest. Seriously, he still used your body wash!?

“C-Can I use the bathroom or what…” you stuttered.

He stared right in your eyes, then admired your cute nose, and finally down to your lips. He was teasing you! Like, actually teasing! He’s making you think that he wanted to kiss you! All of the possibilities of him making a move on you were just as equal as him not going through with it and your mind was racing like crazy and it was really starting to stress you out! Why, why was it stressing you out!?

Then he took a huge step back to let you through.

“All yours,” he whispered.

Well, that sort of worked… You didn’t say a verbal confession, but your face sure showed it. But no, that wasn’t enough. He needed to hear you say it. He had to do more, and he knew exactly what to do to push your limits.

For the whole week, whenever you did something for him whether it was answering a simple question or giving him a plate of whatever you cooked for dinner, Chan would kiss your cheek. That’s right, those soft rose petal lips would every-so slightly graze your cheeks almost everyday and even when you tried to scold him or fight back, you didn’t, as if you were stunned frozen every single time. This of course scared Chan - no emotion meant uncertainty on his end. Well, did you like it, or not!?

At some point, after a whole week of cheek kisses, you kind of… got used to it. Got used to the damn kisses, his flirtatious winks, the invasion of your space bubble, eating all of your food, using all of your bath products, taking unsolicited naps on your bed while you studied, all of it! You’ve gotten used to being around the man that is Bang Chan and you would almost admit that you liked being around him… almost.

And neither of you spoke up about it.

So… what were you two…? That’s right, you’re asking yourself the infamous ‘so what are we’ question - it’s really reached that point. No longer were you enemies or just plain roommates living separate lives, and of course you two weren’t dating, either. So did you consider him a friend? Sure, I mean you wouldn’t cook dinner for just anyone, right? But everything Chan did was not what normal friends do. At least in your experience - who knows if he’s doing this type of stuff to his other ‘friends’, like Miyeon.

Speaking of which, you hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you were almost convinced whatever relationship they had was over when she called off their date that one Tuesday - until Friday night.

The night was still young when you arrived home to your roommate mixing and playing with some beats over those impossibly loud speakers. It’s been a long week dealing with school work on top of figuring out your conflicting feelings of the boy in the next room and a quiet night without any games from Chan would be ideal, but life never worked out for you in that way, did it?

“Welcome home, darling ~!” he greeted playfully over the blasting bass before turning it down. “Cookin’ anything for dinner?”

The tiredness in your sigh didn’t go unnoticed. “Nah, I don’t feel like cooking tonight. I might do delivery if you’re up for that?”

The charming man came out of the room all dressed up like he was planning on going out and not coming back for the night. “That’s ok, I actually have plans tonight.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Miyeon’s taking me out to one of her friend’s birthday bash, or whatever rich girls like to do, before we all go out tonight.”

Miyeon, the gorgeous cheerleader. Somehow, you’ve completely forgotten her existence. Of course they were still talking, idiot! How could you even think that you could compete with someone like her?

“Are you her date?” you asked hesitantly, not wanting to know the answer.

“If that’s what she’s callin’ it, I guess so.” Chan adjusted his shirt collar and unbuttoned the top. “Do I look good?”

“Do you not consider her your date?”

“Not really. All I have to do is sit and look pretty.”

“You don’t think she’s asking you because she likes you?”

“Please, she probably only asked me because Mingyu said no.”

“Chan, you don’t know that for sure.”

You began to feel his frustration when he threw his hands in the air in disbelief. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? “Why are you so hung up about this? Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t!” you said a little too defensively. “I just don’t think you’re being fair.”

“How?”

“What if she really likes you? What if she’s asking you out to this thing because she wants you to know that? If she does like you, can you even say that you like her back?”

“Tch, no.”

“Then why even bother going and leading her on!?”

“Who said I’m leading her on? I’m just keeping her company!”

“What, so you’re going to have your arm around her waist, look into each others’ eyes and kiss and it’s going to mean nothing!?” At this point, you were screaming before you knew it. “Because that’s what you two normally do, right? Kiss each other like it means nothing?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means, nothing! I -” Chan sighed heavily. “Ok, it does sound a little ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I promise it doesn’t mean anything! Wait a minute, why am I even explaining myself to you? Are you jealous, or something?”

No, you’re not jealous. You’re angry that Chan was that kind of guy who played with women like they were toys or little pawns on a cheap chess set. You’re angry that you were one of them.

“Have fun tonight,” you said flatly, retrieving to your room.

“_____, wait.” You didn’t wait and instead locked your bedroom door. “Fuck.”

Well, Chan’s End Game plan to get you to confess out of jealousy backfired badly. The party wasn’t even real! Dammit, now where was he supposed to go looking like this!?

A small lightbulb went off in his head. Off to the grocery store!

Maybe going to your room was a terrible idea because now you were left to reflect on how you poorly reacted. You had your strong points about how Chan didn’t know how Miyeon truly felt about him, but the flipside was that she could have felt the same - that she was just using Chan as some accessory and he was totally ok with that. Who were you to judge the weird mutualistic relationship that they had as head cheerleader and captain of the basketball team? The concept seemed corny and straight out of a teen movie, but perhaps those movies weren’t too far off base as you thought.

You’re also left to reflect on what he said before you stormed off into your room - were you jealous? At first, your anger could easily be mistaken for jealousy, but what was the truth? Of course you’re furious that Chan played these stupid fucking games with you! But you’d be less mad if you were the only one he cared to fool around with.

You finally left the room around an hour after your sulking to bump into Chan’s rock-hard chest.

“Jesus Christ!” you screamed. “Chan, what the hell!”

“Sorry, I was about to knock!”

“What are you doing right in front of my room, you werido!?”

The cheeky, dimply boy held up a paper bag. “Buzzfeed said people who like desserts are emotionally-driven and a little cold-hearted, but sweet as sugar once they get their fix.”

“Buzzfeed said that or YOU said that?”

“Both.”

You shook your head tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I lied. I don’t have some extravagant party to go to tonight. I haven’t texted Miyeon in weeks.”

“What? Then why did you…?”

“I had this dumb idea that you would confess your undying love for me if I somehow made you jealous. Clearly that didn’t work.”

“You’re right, you’re dumb ideas never work.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that! Fine, let me try Plan B. Let me know it it’s also dumb.”

“Gladly.”

“_____, I like you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Y-You what?”

“I like you. A lot. Since you threw that blanket over me that one night last semester and I knew you didn’t truly hate my guts after all. And then I got to live with you - to witness your multi-faceted personality, to talk with you, and to get you to laugh at my dumb jokes and cheek kisses. Tell me, _____, am I dumb for falling for you like this?”

“Well… I’d say yes, but that would admit I’m stupid, too.”

“Oh?” He smirked playfully, taking a step forward. “And that’s because…?”

You mumbled something incoherent. Then, Chan dropped the bag of desserts and scooped you in his arms again, nuzzling his nose in all the ticklish places on your neck.

“Chan, stop!” you giggled.

“Hm? What was that?” he asked. “I can’t hear you ~”

“I like you!”

Finally, he stopped, lifting his head to look at you but keeping you safe in his arms. “Do you? I mean, really, do you?”

“I like you. Surprisingly a lot. And I hate it.”

“Music to my ears, baby,” he grinned. He buried his face once more to flower you with cheek kisses. “Say it again.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Please ~” his kisses trickled down to your neck.

“It tickles!” you giggled some more. “If I say it, you gotta stop.”

“As much as that burdens me, fine.”

“I like you, Bang Chan.”

“See? Doesn’t that confession feel great? Like a huge weight lifted off your chest?” He pulled you in closer, to which you oblige and it only made his ego bigger and his heart beat faster. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” you sighed dreamily.

“Would you like dessert to commemorate this beautiful union, my love?”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Will you kiss me first?”

You pulled on his shirt collar to bring him down for a long, deep kiss that Chan thought he could only ever dream about. It left him dizzy and a little light headed and the way you break the kiss to let your sweet lips linger so closely was torturous and almost had him begging for more. Almost. Bang Chan did not beg.

“Whoa,” he sighed breathily.

“That’s what you get for the past couple of weeks.”

“Ah yeah, I suppose I deserve that…”

You left the stunned Chan to go ahead into the kitchen. “Let’s go, lover boy. I want some ice cream, please.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

EPILOGUE

“You two are what!?”

You and Chan looked at each other with fear written on both of your faces. Yeri was on the other end on speakerphone screaming curse words and ‘are you kidding me’s and ‘I fucking knew this would happen’s.

“Yeah, we’re uh, kind of dating now,” Chan repeated bravly.

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing! This is disgusting!! _____, what do you have to say for yourself, you hypocritical piece of poo!”

“I have nothing to say, I am just as ashamed as you are.”

Chan nudged you playfully. “Hey, we’re in this together, you know!”

“Ugh, I hate how I have to support this!” Yeri whined and cried and sobbed. “Just… Just don’t do it on my bed!”

“Don’t worry, apparently to Chan I’m a huge virgin because I know how to cook.”

“I was kidding!! And that’s gonna change now that I’m here -”

“Oh, gross! Stop! Please stop!” Yeri groaned. “I hate you both, I’m gonna kick your asses when I come back!”

“Love you too, Yer-bear,” you and Chan said in unison.

#bang chan #chan #skz #stray kids #skz chan #stray kids chan #college au #roommates au #chan scenarios #bang chan scenarios #chan imagines #bang chan imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #omg no more chan for a very long time im tired of him LOL

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kenmasgameboy · 4 years ago

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【ｓｙｎｏｐｓｉｓ】

oikawa toru has so many girls falling at his feet, but it wasn’t always like this. when y/n met him there was no one yet to inflate his ego, when he was pure to himself, the person he is when it isn’t performative. she fell in love. after forcing a rejection from him, where he says he never saw her as a girl, she’s determined to become the absolute perfect girl for every one except him.

profiles: [ student council ] [ on the block ]

masterlist

listen to the mixtape while you read

↬ entry #1: age 6 ➺ chapter 1 ➺

𝕚. caught one.

"Play outside!" You had heard this demand a million times growing up from your sweet grandparents. Your mother's parents did what they could to provide as normal a childhood as possible for you despite having a hole in your life that rested in not having your societally normal guardians. But thanks to them, it never really felt like that hole bothered you growing up. You still didn’t understand fully what had happened yet, the bliss of being so young. As doting as they tried, midway through the day, the clock would strike the time when their joints would remind them they could not continue playing with their rambunctious grandchild any longer that day.

So opening the door would be an exciting change of pace. You would go outside by yourself playing on your front porch with the new toys you had. But nobody to play with. Always going outside after the other neighborhood kids had already gone inside for dinner that day. The quiet of the neighborhood would overwhelm the excited girl. You had far too much energy to play in silence.

Singing while you played, dancing with your favorite stuffed animal until you were too exhausted to stand. You would become tired only when the orange and peach lights would tint the sky in a flattering manner. You'd lay down in the tall grass, breathing in the fresh air and singing the rest of your favorite song to yourself, squeezing your stuffed bunny to your chest.

Suddenly a net comes down on top of your bunny, which was resting peacefully in your arms.

"Iwa-chan! Look! I caught a gnarly one!" You opened your eyes in a panic to see a young boy with soft brown curly hair. His brown eyes sparkling as he stared down at you. You weren't used to playing with other kids, especially not ones that made your cheeks rosy just by looking at him.

Looking back on it now, the feeling of your blood pumping in your veins and electric shock of looking into his eyes for the first time may never be a feeling you feel again.

"You just caught a girl, Toru! That's gross she could have cooties!" Another boy approached, he had dark spiked hair and a large bandage on his cheekbone. Both boys were considerably dirty from bug hunting.

Toru screamed upon the mention of cooties. He took his net back, "No! That can't be true! My little sister doesn't have cooties!"

"It is true! Makki said even little sisters have them! That means nae-chan too!" Iwa told him, Toru screamed again.

"Hey! Do you have cooties?" Toru asked you, you sat up, "And you better be honest! I can always tell when someone is lying!"

"Cooties? No! Of course I don't!" You said, straightening out your shirt. Toru got close to your face, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he studied it. You didn't lean back, even though your face was scared of his judgmental eyes. You were strong enough to take it.

"I believe you." Toru smiled, backing up and crossing his arms, "She's clear, I know it."

"Are you sure?" Iwa asked, approaching slowly.

"Of course, look—" Toru grabbed one of your hands off your stuffed bunny and held it in his own. "No cooties here."

Even though his hands were dirty, and one of his fingers had an alien band aid on it, it lit up a part of yourself you had no idea existed. This lonely part of your heart you didn't know yearned for peers. For friends. For someone as sweet as him to show you a shred of kindness. You couldn’t help but feel your stomach twist into a knot in the bottom of your gut.

"Whatever. Don't touch me with that hand, though! I'm not taking stupid risks like you do!" Iwa barked back, turning around and walking toward an ant hill.

"Are you alone?" Toru questioned, your sorrowful glaze that went over your eyes as you tighten your grip on your bunny was enough for him.

"Say, what's your name?" Toru brought your attention back to his lively smile. You couldn’t help your sudden nerves that overtook your throat. You were not that shy of a child, pretty average to say the least, but with his attention making you feel so special you wanted to shrivel away into nothing on the floor.

“Sorry for Iwa-chan, he can be a little aggressive..” Toru shrugged, searching through his pockets for something. He pulled out an oreo packet half eaten but offered it to you. “Do you want these?”

You could only gasp and grab at them, but he pulled them out of your grasp before you could grab them.

“I’ll trade you these for your name.” The boy smirked with his height advantage over you, though not by much he still was able to hold the oreos out of your reach and laughed at your struggle. Your grandmother never let you eat such sugary treats, even told the teachers at school you weren’t allowed to partake in the same desserts as the other kids. There was nothing you could do but comply with this person's request. He giggled at your sad attempts, “Shorty!”

"L/N Y/N. At your service." You said confidently, putting your hand up to your forehead in a salute, "Oh and this is Bun-Bun. Is that enough?"

"I'm Oikawa Toru,” He smiled and brought his hand down to give you the treats you desired, “and that's Iwaizumi Hajime. But you can call him Iwa-chan."

"Don't call me that!"

"He likes it, don't worry about that." Toru cupped his mouth with one hand to tell you that at full volume and waved off Iwaizumi with the other hand, “You’re new to the neighborhood, right? I’ve seen you before from my window, I live right there.”

You nodded between shoving oreos into your mouth.

“Why do you only come out when all of us are done playing? We’d love to have another friend playing tag!” Toru said his best attempt to try and get you to join their group when something clicked in his head.

“Iwa-chan, what if y/n is the evening bug we’re supposed to find?!” Toru exclaimed.

“Don’t be stupid, girls aren’t bugs.” Iwa said, his eyes searching the ground and combing through the long grass that hadn’t been cut in a long time.

"Evening bugs?"

"Bugs that are only around in the evening! And I thought that since I only see you out– uh, nevermind." Toru explained, your eyes were wide and burned his face, “Iwa-chan’s big brother said there should be tons over here.”

"That's so cool! What can I do to help?" Your large eyes stared into Toru's heart, ready to do whatever he needed. He felt his face get all hot and his throat get itchy. You were one of the first girls that weren’t one of his sisters to get this close to him.

“N-nothing, why would you want to do that? Aren’t girls scared of bugs?” Toru waved you off.

“No way! If I kill a bug in my house my grandma will give me a dollar, so I’m always picking up bugs.” You said so proudly, pointing at your chest. Even though you looked as dainty as any other girl your age your voice was louder than expected and your words had no restrictions.

“You really are weird, huh?” Toru picked on you, your face fell at the comment. And he panicked, “I didn’t mean that in a mean way! I’m sorry. I– sorry I’m not great around cute girls. I mean! Nevermind.”

“You’re the weird one, saying embarrassing stuff like that.” You said, hugging your bunny closer to your chest in a frustrated manner. That comment was so embarrassing your body felt like it would explode.

“You should meet my little sister, Nae-chan, she’s kinda weird like you are.” Toru meant it as a challenge, but you didn’t take the bait. You didn’t know his sister anyways or how weird she might be.

“Does she like oreos too?” You asked, squinting your eyes in seriousness.

“Duh!” he responds quickly, and he whispered loudly: “Who do you think I stole those from?”

“Dumbass! You need to apologize to her for stealing!” Hajime threw his shoe at Toru, causing him to comically fall to the ground. “She’s probably going to cry and I hate it when she does that.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll do it after we go home.” Toru insisted, then reached up to grab your arm and pull himself up. But all it did was cause you to fall over next to him. The thin grass tickling your neck and elbow landing directly above Toru’s shoulder forcing you to land on your side. Your face being insanely close to the boys. You watched his face light up and it turned to the side.

Nose to nose. Tips of noses just barely touching each other.

Too close. You were scared, but you couldn’t move.

His brown eyes looking directly at you. They paralyzed you in place.The world felt silent just for a second. Maybe you just hit your head on something or maybe…

“No, loserkawa do it now! She doesn’t deserve that.” Iwa yelled and both you and Toru looked like you were snapped back to reality. Toru was the first to look away only to stick his tongue out childishly at his best friend.

No, don’t leave!

“Fine! But I’m taking Y/N-chan, so have fun being alone!” Toru replied. Before you could say anything, he grabbed your hand to pull you onto your feet and started running. The image of the back of Toru’s head, running toward the sunset.

The way the orange glow of the sun made his brown curly hair look almost red, the way it bounced. The way his face turned around and laughed at your shocked expression. His hand felt so warm in yours, it sent shock waves up into your chest to force your heart into doing its first flip of your life. Your nose felt red hot at the lingering tingling Toru’s nose left. You wiped at it with your hand that you held Bun-Bun in but you couldn’t get it off. Your hand was so sweaty from his touches, you thought it might slip out of his grasp but he hung on regardless. He was stuck to you like glue. You didn't know it yet, but you weren't going to be lonely anymore from that day on.

ba-dump... ba-dump... ba-dump... ba-dump.....

***

【ｆｕｎ　ｆａｃｔｓ】

➺ although she isn’t a bug, y/n was exactly who Iwaizumi’s older brother wanted them to find. he just simply put it in terms for those boys to understand, he knew they’d never resist finding a rare bug for their collection. he just thought she looked like she could use some friends her own age.

➺ after y/n heard this she thought she had a crush on Iwaizumi’s brother (who was 5 years older than them) for like 3 years. or at least that’s what she told people

➺ y/n only comes out at night because her grandparents are trying to protect her from her biological father who has been trying to win her back in a court case. her father is doomed to lose, but still has tried to come by the house to take her with him. In order to prevent this, her grandparents have been keeping her inside during the day, then at about 4pm they know dad should be going to his night shift and feel easier about letting her play outside.

➺ y/n was completely oblivious to this being the reason her grandparents were cooping her up most days until she was about 11. she felt awful about the amount of tantrums she threw and how many times she tried to sneak out.

➺ Toru was there for her during all of this, he would come by the house every day. Some days it was just him, some days he was dragging his friends there with him, always ringing the doorbell for her to come play volleyball since with y/n they had almost a full enough team for 3 on 3. Or 2 on 2′s with two people being “coaches.”

➺ That became one of the kids only activities, because it was one that y/n’s grandfather could come supervise since he had played himself.

➺ y/n wanted to become a libero just like him.

➺ other days, Toru would just beg for y/n to come over and play ping pong, sing karaoke, paint, ride scooters or bikes, anything he could think of that would convince her grandma to let her come hang out with him. Her grandma caught on, and would just watch them in the street between their houses as they played many things.

➺ because of Toru, y/n slowly stopped hanging out with only Bun-Bun.

taglist: @chibishae34 @bby-bokuto @shittykawaa @1-800-schmacked @artsamber @berriesii @bbyazu @roseestuosity @gaytoasterstrudels @mirdy47707 @trippy-kitty @iwanttogotopluto @hvneymun @a-listaire @princessmidas @glyxiebear @akaashiwife @anejuuuuoy @kiyoojima @deimmortales99 @unstableye @sugawarabby @haikyuufairy @ashaite @bettys-other-shoe @defchamseoul @honeymoneyy @animatedrapture

reply with a comment or send an ask to be aded to the taglist!! if your name is crossed off it’s because i couldn’t tag you, let me know if you’ve changed your username!

a/n: also i hope you guys don’t mind the first fluffy prologue to this story, these memories will be littered through the story. so we start off with age 6, then we’ll read about current day at 18, then flutter back between memories from middle school. the smau stuff will be for when reader is 18! i swear the angst will come! this probs the only fluffy chapter ya’ll will be getting LMAO. so let me know if you guys liked it bc i’m scARED.

also bun-bun was the name of my stuffed bunny i used to take everywhere for everyone who cares hehe

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yandearest · 5 years ago

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May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 3: The Assessment

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 7K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Throughout the course of your life you had found that the more you dreaded something, the faster it arrived. As you sat in the waiting room, waiting for the call to go into the training center alone for your final assessment, you couldn’t help but think of just how fast the training process had gone by, and that in less than twenty-four hours you would be inside the dreaded arena.

During your knot tying session after your incident the on the first day, you had formed a slight friendship with Krystal, who had asked if everything was okay. You had lied, saying you were fine, too afraid of telling her the truth after Namjoon had just blown up on you, and she simply had nodded in acceptance. But you could tell she didn’t buy that answer from the way she seemed to treat you with a little extra kindness. You stuck to her like glue for the rest of the training period, refusing to separate within the career pack without Krystal by your side. It was an odd dependency given she was the smallest of the lot of you, but she had taken to it rather well. She never asked you about it, but immediately went along, making sure you were always by her side during any activity. You could tell Hoseok was furious – constantly shooting glares in Krystal’s direction – but there was nothing he could do without disrupting the whole alliance, and proving that he was indeed the psychopath he had revealed only to you in private.

You had spoken briefly to Finnick about things the night after the incident with Hoseok. As a mentor he wasn’t happy, but his hands were also tied as there was nothing he could do to interfere with another district. He had suggested he could speak to District 2’s mentor to try and get more information on Hoseok’s background but you had immediately shut that down, terrified that it would somehow get back to Hoseok and he would think you were reciprocating his own interest. The idea was also dangerous because it would expose just how threatened you were to their mentor, who could easily use that to their advantage when coming up with game tactics. Finnick had reluctantly agreed not to do anything, but turned the topic of conversation onto your remaining training time. He had suggested a focus on weapons, particularly knives given you already had some experience with them.

“Focus on what you already know,” he had said “Don’t waste time trying to learn new things that others are already experts with. You cannot hope to beat a master with only a few days of training. Hone the skills you already have.”

So that’s largely what you had spent the rest of your training time doing. By her own admission Krystal’s report card had suggested training with a weapon that could compliment her own agility, which worked out well with knives too, so you spent a lot of your time training together. You found out that despite being a District 1 tribute, she was also reaped, and not a volunteer, like yourself. But unlike you she had been trained at an academy, which was standard practice in 1. A far more interesting detail you had learned was she was Yoongi’s younger sister, and he had volunteered after her reaping. You filed that detail away in the back of your mind for future reference, grateful that some sort of partnership already existing in the alliance could potentially lessen the target on yourself later when it came to splitting.

You played off each other, regarding your knowledge of knives. Krystal was far more skilled in close range combat, and she gave you pointers when you trained in sparring using a prop version (made from a material of the same weight, which still caused some bruises, but wouldn’t actually cause stab wounds). She also helped you improve your skills in countering attacks and using a larger opponents’ body weight against them. Looking at Hoseok and Namjoon respectively you were terrified to know her lesson would very much be a life or death skill you needed to learn. In return you talked to her about your experiences with spear fishing and occasionally using a knife instead in shallow waters, passing on what you could about how to throw a knife. It was a skill you had picked up when you much younger, after being taught by your father when you were seven. Your mother had been furious when she found out and immediately banned you from knives until you were old enough to be working on the boat, but your father had still snuck in training sessions whenever the two of you were alone. It was never something you thought you would be using to potentially kill a human, rather than a salmon or tuna. You hadn’t even thought of it then, but it was likely his way of trying to prepare you for if your name was ever drawn from the reaping. Even though it was essentially impossible, a part of you desperately hoped you would survive in order to be able to thank your father in person.

You and Krystal worked well together, you had a natural chemistry, and both of you didn’t feel a need for wasting oxygen with meaningless small talk or chit chat. Your skills both complimented one another and you found yourself learning a lot. It wasn’t much of a bond from merely a couple of days, but you hoped whatever you had worked to build would translate into some sort of partnership in the arena.

The remaining of your training had passed as well as you could have hoped for right up until the final moments of the last day. You and Krystal had taken a bathroom break. Afterwards, when you were about to walk out of the washroom and back into the hallway outside, you could hear familiar voices beyond the door. Frowning, you opened the door just a crack to hear Namjoon talking to Yoongi, Hoseok and Athena.

“Seriously, she thinks you’re in love with her,” Namjoon laughed, clasping his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. You felt the blood immediately drain from your face and a stone cold chill run throughout your body. You had seen Namjoon and Hoseok getting on better within the last day, but you weren’t expecting Namjoon to be at a level of already throwing you under the bus.

“Really? When did she say that?” you could hear Hoseok ask, although you couldn’t see him from the crack in the doorway.

“First day, back when she was in tears over that pathetic report,” Namjoon replied with a scoff. “Asked her what happened and she went on some crazed rant that you were going to save her. Honestly lost her mind on day one, why the hell we’re supposed to drag her around the arena is beyond me.”

“She’s not that bad, have you seen her throwing the knives with Krystal? Could be useful,” the only female voice had to have been Athena, and you made a mental note to thank her later.

“Please, she’s a baby. Wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly,” Namjoon scoffed. You wanted to storm out and show him how willing you would be to hurt him, but remembering a warning from Finnick held you back, ‘play along and act dumb so they think you trust them and are too stupid to make plans for yourself'. You couldn’t wait for the chance to stab Namjoon in the back at this rate.

“So why are we keeping her around then?” A bored voice you had rarely heard asked. That had to have been Yoongi.

“Her brains may be non-existent, but the empty head that carries her around isn’t too bad to look at. I say we keep her for the sponsors, get us some supplies from her capital fans. Maybe if we can get her to flash those perfect tits she’s covering up we can get extra out of them. Plus, if the arena gets cold I’m sure she can also make herself useful as a bed warmer too.” Your jaw dropped open at the vulgar way your supposed teammate was talking about you. You hadn’t even spoken to Namjoon since the incident on the first day, ignoring him whenever you were in the same living quarters and spending your training time with Krystal. Like hell you would be going anywhere near his ‘bed’ in the arena. Krystal looked equally as disgusted.

“Gross,” Athena deadpanned.

“What? It’s not like what I’m saying isn’t true, and it’s better her than you, right? Beautiful face, hot body, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Throwing knives from a distance isn’t much of a threat in close combat so we can easily take her out at the end. Hey, Hoseok seeing she acts like you’re going to be her precious Romeo you can be the one to take care of our dear Juliet when the time co-” before you could snap and storm out to attack Namjoon yourself, Hoseok beat you to it. Like a viper, his hand shot out in lightning speed to grasp Namjoon by the throat and slam him into the nearest wall.

“Or how about I take care of you?” he practically purred, springing a jackknife he had somehow slipped into his clothing out and holding it against Namjoon’s throat, until you heard a scuffle of someone trying to pull him off. Yanking the bathroom door open you rushed out into the hallway, Krystal following quickly behind, to see Namjoon leaning against the wall rubbing his throat, as Athena and Yoongi restrained a livid Hoseok.

“What the hell is going on?” Krystal asked, looking between everyone. Even if you had overheard everything, you just stood there next to her, wanting to play up the ignorance they dismissed you as having.

Nobody answered, looking between each other as if waiting for them to be the first to talk. Of all people, it was surprisingly Yoongi to be the one to break the silence.

“Put that thing away,” Yoongi snapped, nodding at Hoseok’s flat knife. “Do you want us to all get beaten to a pulp by the guards before we even get to the arena?” Hoseok complied without any words, smoothly placing the knife back into a hidden pocket in the front of his pants.

“What the hell do we do now?” you asked, staring at the others. “A day before the games and a fight breaks out? How are we meant to work together in there?”

“Nothing changes,” Hoseok spoke. You frowned back, like hell nothing had changed.

“You just pulled a knife on my district partner,” you replied. You weren’t complaining but he didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing changes,” Namjoon repeated to your surprise.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. We’re men. Men fight. Shit happens but we get it out of our system. Logically we’re still each others best bet in the arena.” Namjoon continued. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling his eyes at the ‘men’ declaration.

“He’s right,” Hoseok agreed and all you could do was stare dumbly, wondering how the hell the two of them had gone from pulling a knife a second ago, to now suddenly agreeing.

“Like hell I’m leaving you, Athena isn’t leaving me, your district mate isn’t interested in leaving you either, and I assume Krystal has interests in working with you from all that training you’ve done together. Yoongi’s not going to leave his sister, so we’re all stuck together.”

“What if I don’t want to work with any of you?” you challenged.

Namjoon scoffed.

“If you really had the balls to walk away, you would’ve done it on day one. Especially given how I treated you when you were telling the truth.” You glared back at him for blatantly exposing you.

“If you split, you’re the easiest target for all the other tributes.” Hoseok stepped away from Yoongi and Athena to walk towards you. “That’s 18 other people trying to kill you, so you know I’m not going to let that happen. As I just told you, I’m not leaving you.”

You hadn’t heard much from Hoseok since that moment in the hallway on day one. A part of you had managed to convince yourself it was all a stunt, just like Namjoon had said, to psych you out and cause division in your alliance. Hearing him bluntly announce his intentions to the whole alliance, as he came to stand directly before you, caused the delusion to shatter.

“Leave her alone.” You were becoming so entranced by Hoseok’s presence that it took you a moment to process Krystal’s voice as she moved herself closer to you, standing so her shoulder was slightly in front of yours. Your heart momentarily warmed at the gesture before it was doused in the cold ice of your conscious as you remembered his sickening threats from the last time you and Hoseok were alone ‘I don’t care about the others… I’ll slaughter every one of them in cold blood… I’m going to kill them all for you baby and I’ll make you watch so you can see just how far I’ll go for you’

“No Krystal, don’t!” you cried in a panic as you reached out for Krystal and pulled her into a protective hug, putting your body in front of hers before Hoseok. “You don’t understand,” you whispered in a rush to try and explain. “He’s crazy, he said he was going to kill all of you. I tried to tell Namjoon and he didn’t believe me so I was too scared to tell anyone else, because I was scared you’d think I was crazy.”

You were trying not to cry, you couldn’t panic, you couldn’t be weak again like the state they had found you in last time, but it was so fucking hard. Why did you have to be reaped? Why did one of the tributes have to form an obsession with you? Why was your own district mate an asshole who had invalidated you when trying to protect the alliance? All you had wanted was to not be alone in the arena, and now you had a hope of someone you could trust and she was in danger because of you.

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” Krystal whispered back, patting your lower back reassuringly. But a sudden grasp on your waist from behind pulled you away, causing you to lose your hold on Krystal as you slammed backwards into a hard chest with a cry.

“Yoongi take care of your sister unless you want me taking care of her in the arena,” Hoseok’s voice hissed from behind your ears, making your blood run cold.

“No, don’t hurt her, please, please don’t hurt her,” you begged, twisting in Hoseok’s hold but his arms were locked around you tightly. Yoongi didn’t say a word, walking over to Krystal and putting his hand on her shoulder to lead her away. She initially moved to shake him off but you vigorously shook your head and mouthed ‘go’ to get her to leave.

“We’ll see you at the cornucopia tomorrow,” Yoongi turned back to say, before you exhaled in temporary relief as Krystal reluctantly left with her brother.

“Whatever you do with her, I don’t want any part of it. We’re aligned until six and then that’s it,” Athena sneered, drawing your attention over to her as she glared between Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Fine with me,” Hoseok shrugged. Namjoon who was now leaning casually against the wall merely nodded. You could swear you saw a torn look of sympathy from Athena in your direction, but it was gone in a second as she shook her head in disgust and walked off to re-join Krystal and Yoongi.

With Athena gone the tension that hung in the air was so thick it was suffocating. Namjoon continued to rest against the wall, his arms crossed over his wide chest watching as Hoseok still held you by the waist. With Krystal now safe with her brother away from him you realized there was no longer a need to stay compliant in his grip.

“Namjoon, help,” you hissed, trying to move your arms to shove Hoseok off but they were both pinned to your sides by his hold. Hoseok merely chuckled, instead flexing his muscles and causing his grip to tighten.

“No can do little dove,” Namjoon mocked with a pout, moving off from the wall to stand to his full height. “Your boyfriend here’s the one with the knife in his pocket, and I’m unarmed.”

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, his long legs taking lazy steps to walk around the two of you. Hoseok turned, forcing you to turn with him, to avoid his back being left open. Namjoon ignored him, keeping his eyes on you.

“But don’t worry, because in that arena I’ll be armed, and I’ll take really good care of you then.”

“Like hell,” Hoseok scoffed causing Namjoon to laugh.

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Namjoon was now further down the corridor that separated the bathrooms from the training center, where he could see the large clock on the wall.

“Only five minutes left until end of training before they start preparing for our grading. I’ll leave you two alone for now, but don’t expect this generosity again from me in the arena, 2. I trust you won’t harm our little dove until then…”

And with that lingering comment, Namjoon was gone, abandoning you when you needed him.

You felt Hoseok’s arms beginning to loosen, briefly you thought he was going to release you. But instead you found yourself being turned around to face him and backed against the wall. Any thoughts of pushing him off vanished upon feeling the hard metal of the folded pocket knife pushing against your hip as he caged you in.

“What are you doi-” your question was cut off by Hoseok raising his hand to the side of your face and pushing his thumb over your mouth in warning.

For a moment Hoseok was still. He relished the feeling of your plump lips falling silent beneath his thumb, so pliant, like a kiss against his finger. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing, inhaling deep breaths in through your nose causing your lungs to expand and your full breasts to push against his chest. Every little detail about you was so soft, so warm and inviting, like you had been designed purely for him. He was absolutely enamored by you and could spend the rest of his life in this exact moment, feeling you against him, but time was not on his side.

“Look at how they all just left you,” he maliciously purred, his eyes narrowing into a focused glare, “you know they’re going to do the same thing in the arena, darling.”

“That’s not true,” you hissed back, “Krystal tried to stay.”

“And yet all it took for her to leave was a simple pocket knife and her brother. And really, when it comes down to it, who do you think she will choose, Her brother or you?”

You tried to swallow the growing lump in your throat and stayed quiet… he’s just trying to psych you out.

“Meet us in the cornucopia tomorrow, you’ll be much safer with us six than left to fend off eighteen others on your own. You’re smart, you have to know they will chase down any career left alone.”

You frowned but nodded, you had already agreed on this, so you didn’t know why he was bringing it up again.

“Good girl, then you know you have to stay with me once we’re all together. Yoongi sees you as a threat to his sister. Your friendship makes her judgment weak so he will take you out if you’re alone with him. And like I just said, do you really want to side with Krystal when she would choose her brother over you at the end anyway? Athena is threatened by you; thinks you’re distracting me from protecting her in the game as part of our district alliance. I don’t blame her for that though, she is right. I would choose you over her. You know I’d choose you over any of them. And then of course there’s your own district partner, who I’m sure you just heard before… would you trust a man who wants to use your body to sell you to fans from the capital for supplies? The one who didn’t believe you when you tried to warn him about me? The one who just walked away and left you to me now?”

An aching wave of hopelessness washed over your body as you slumped back against the wall. If it wasn’t for Hoseok’s arm holding you upright, you would have just let yourself fall to the ground.

“Please stop,” you whispered, the lump in your throat felt like a golf ball choking you inside.

“I can’t, darling,” Hoseok murmured, his fingers over your lips moving to smooth the faint hairs that had come loose from training back behind your ear.

“Not until you understand that you need me in that arena.” His hand came to rest on the side of your cheek, cradling your face in his palm.

“I’ve trained for this my whole life, I’m the only one you can trust to protect you.”

“But how can I trust you? Like you just said you spent your whole life training for these games, training to kill people like me. It’s all hopeless, no matter who I choose.”

“Don’t say that,” He scolded, shaking you by the hold on your waist.

“You saw me pull that knife on Namjoon before, and I didn’t even know you were there. It’s exactly like I told you on the first day of training, I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you. No one in that arena matters to me, only you. You’re mine.”

“How can you keep saying that!? We don’t even know each other. I don’t understand how you could possibly feel this way about me. It all just sounds like a cruel way for you to take me to the e-”

Hoseok’s mouth silenced your protests, his lips pushing against yours and hands holding you in place. His kiss was searing and dominant, offering no chance for refusal, though as you felt the shivers running down your spine, you didn’t know if you would have been capable if a chance were provided. You had found him physically attractive the moment you had met, and somehow it was like the passion you had seen in his eyes was magnified a hundredfold through his kiss. He was strong and powerful, yet simultaneously gentle. His arm supporting your waist held your body impossibly close to his, whilst the fingertips from his hand on your face were tenderly stroking the skin on your cheek.

Your eyes had unconsciously closed when his face had moved in to meet yours, which only seemed to heighten your other senses. The places where his body made contact with yours were tingling as if flames from a nearby fire were licking against your skin. Everything about Jung Hoseok was warm; his sun kissed skin, copper hair and the heat radiating from his body into yours. You were stunned, and in your frozen state Hoseok moved his lips against your pliant ones to deepen the kiss, the tip of his tongue dancing along the line of your mouth before sliding inside to meet your own tongue and try to coax it to return with his.

What somehow felt like an eternity was in reality a mere few seconds before an announcement echoed through speakers throughout the training center, instructing tributes to cease everything and make your way to a designated area for the mandatory final assessments to shortly begin. Hoseok broke the kiss, leaving you breathless as he whispered upon your lips,

“If you can’t believe my words, then believe that.”

Pressing his lips back to yours quickly once more, he finally pulled back.

“Come on, we have to go.”

You mutely allowed Hoseok to lead you out of the corridor and back into the training center where a Capitol representative with a clipboard was lining everyone up to be taken to the waiting area. There was no talking from anyone as you were all put into your lines and made to follow the representative into a smaller room, whilst the training center was to be rearranged. The waiting room was small and cold with metallic coloring. Black chairs were organized by districts and you were told that one by one you would be brought before the judges to present your chosen skill, where you would then be graded on a score out of twelve. The scores would be announced later in the afternoon, before your final interviews with Caesar Flickerman in the evening.

You wordlessly sat beside Namjoon, not even looking in his direction even though you could occasionally feel him trying to catch your eye. No doubt he would want to dissect your conversation with Hoseok but you had no interest in telling him about anything that had happened. Especially not after how he had treated you the last time you had tried to warn him. Instead you kept your eyes solely on the ground, nervously bouncing your leg as you worried about your upcoming grading.

Everything was happening so fast. It felt like only moments ago when your name had been reaped, since then you had already travelled by train, appeared in the parade and completed your three days of training. You felt sick in your stomach at the thought that the short time that had passed between your reaping and this very moment could possibly be longer than the time you had between now and when you would meet your end in the arena. You immediately tried to stamp that thought out, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of grief threatening to crash over you. You couldn’t let yourself go down without a fight and giving in to the misery would only reduce you to a walking corpse.

“District 1, female.”

The man with the clipboard had returned to the room to officially begin the assessments. You noted how he didn’t even call for Krystal by her name, just a district number and her assigned gender. How cold and clinical, much like the room they were keeping you in. You wondered if reducing tributes to numbers without names made it possible for the man to sleep at night, knowing he was part of a system that sent innocent children to the slaughter every year.

“District 1, male.”

As Yoongi left with the clipboard man you couldn’t help but notice Krystal didn’t come back into the room with him. So you would be allowed to return to the dorm and prepare for the interviews as soon as you were done. You were grateful this would at least mean a few hours’ break from Hoseok, you would just have to lock yourself in your room quickly before Namjoon would finish after you, and try to interrogate you in your living quarters.

“District 2, female.”

No one had spoken since the line up. All too focused on mentally preparing for the assessment. You felt for the younger tributes who had never picked up a weapon before a week ago, now having to present themselves as fighters before a panel with only 3 days of training. Once again you were grateful for your father for his insistence on training you with a knife, which at least gave you somewhat of a starting point to work with.

“District 2, male.”

You kept your head down and eyes on the floor, watching as two pairs of shoes walked directly past you on their way out of the room.

“No kiss good luck?” Namjoon snickered next to you, deliberately keeping his voice quiet enough that only you could hear him.

You ignored him.

“What’s the matter, trouble in paradise?” he mocked again.

You continued to ignore him, making sure your eyes were pointed on the exact same spot you had been staring at on the ground since you had sat down. Your knee continued to bounce at the exact same pace. You didn’t want to give him a single flinch, not even a minute sign of a reaction, given that was exactly what he was trying to get. You wondered what he was trying to achieve by riling you up. Did he want you to snap back at him and get in trouble? There had been no specific instruction not to talk, the weight of the occasion had instead resulted in the silence, so you doubted it. Most probably, he wanted to get in your head and psych you out before your assessment, likely trying to lower your score. Internally you scoffed, it’s not like you were a major threat to him anyway. You both knew you weren’t a trained career like he was. He was already going to outscore you anyway.

“District 3, female.”

Namjoon had gone from dictating your alliance, to spitting in the face of your concerns, to now mocking you. You wondered if he would’ve treated an actual trained career better if someone had volunteered for the females of 4. Perhaps it was to do with his ego that Hoseok had singled you out and wanted to work with you, even though he was clearly the more powerful tribute between you. He had taken it as a threat. A threat to his chances if you did side with Hoseok given Hoseok and Namjoon were on near equal footing, and the thought you had chosen Hoseok could have been seen as some act of betrayal. Never mind the fact you had done everything you could to try and avoid Hoseok, including telling Namjoon himself and asking for his help. Was he really that stupid enough to be mad you didn’t continue to beg him after his rejection?

“District 3, male.”

You supposed if he hypothetically succeeded and did psych you out into getting a terrible score it would be his own way of re-establishing himself as the desired tribute from 4. A reminder over your head that you weren’t a real career, and being brought into their alliance was an act of charity. A mercy killing to grace you with their presence before taking you out later in the game as an easy option. You longed to prove him wrong. Not just him but Hoseok also, the both of them for thinking you were pathetic and in need of their protection. His mockery and attempted sabotage was only acting as fuel to your fire.

“District 4, female.”

Your head snapped up to see the clipboard man standing in front of you. Wordlessly you nodded and got to your feet. You ignored the feeling of the eyes from the other tributes in the room staring at you as you had to walk past them to the exit. You were lead back down the same pathway you had taken from the training complex to the waiting room, only this time when you re-entered the training center you were the only person inside. Clipboard man hung back in the corridor and the only other people you could see were the game makers through the window in their viewing room. The center layout had been rearranged, with dummies and targets placed in optimum viewing range from the game makers’ vantage point.

“L/N, F/N, District 4, Female, 18 years of age” a voice crackled through the speakers overhead by means of introduction, as you walked over to the marked spot on the floor you had been instructed to stand.

It was a strange feeling looking up at the pompous judges dressed in their flamboyant outfits with pretentiously fluorescent dyed hair and beards. It was as if they were dressed up for an expensive night on the town and you, and the other twenty-three, were their performers for the evening. It was weirdly easy to put the judges in the back of your mind, despite being able to clearly see the room of around twenty people intently staring at you with interest. The all looked so fictional and outlandish that it was easy to dismiss them as some sort of strange figment of your imagination. They didn’t look like real people, which somehow made it possible for you compartmentalize them as imaginary, and instead focus on the task at hand.

Looking at the assortment of weapons on display, you mostly ignored the large range on offer and went straight for the knives. Running your fingertips along the handles you picked out a hunting knife with a blade that would have been around 8 inches long. There were smaller, thinner, knives specifically made for throwing on offer, however the ones you had practiced with back at home were the larger kind on your boat. Gingerly you bounced the handle in your palm, trying to get a quick feel for the weight. Looking up you examined the range of targets that were on display – some quite close and others much further.

You went for the closest target, that was five meters away, as a warm up.

Thwack

The blade sailed easily through the air landing in the yellow zone, on the first circle outside of the bulls-eye. You shrugged your shoulders and rolled your neck with an exhale, not a bad start and a good way to get the nerves under control.

You retrieved a second knife from weapons trolley and took your aim for the next target that was ten meters away.

Thwack

Another yellow circle, except this time your knife landed in the second circle outside from the bulls-eye. Your pursed your lips with a shake of your head. It was still in a decent range but you were hoping to improve on your last throw rather than getting further from the bulls-eye.

You went back for another knife, choosing another one like the last two you had thrown, and lined up for the fifteen-meter target.

Thwack

Red zone, just outside the yellow. If you were aiming at a person, rather than a circle, that would have been lucky to connect. You let out a sharp exhale with a sigh, you weren’t doing bad – you’d made contact with all three targets so far – but you weren’t establishing yourself as a threat either. Not on the level that you knew the other careers were going to be scoring.

Returning to the weapons rack you found there to be one knife left that was in the same size range as the others you had used so far. You turned the knife over in your hand weighing up your final options. There was a final target twenty meters away, but with the rate you were throwing, you’d highly likely just continue to move further away from the bulls-eye. You could always try to throw on one of the other targets again and work to improve your existing result, but it would be difficult to improve much on the first impression of being ‘good, but not great’. Your last option would be the dummies. The dummies were situated on the opposite side of the targets and provided a more human edge to demonstrations. You had elected to use targets in the hope of showcasing solid aim through a bulls-eye, but that hadn’t exactly worked out. With one knife left you decided to try and showcase something a little more realistic.

The dummies were grey and faceless, just human shapes of rubber, which was a lot different from what you would be facing in real life within the arena. If you couldn’t land a shot on a stationary figure you were practically as good as dead. Not only did you need to prove a score to the judges, but you wanted this for your own confidence. With a frown, you turned and launched your blade ten meters across the room into the head of a dummy with a satisfying Thwack.

You didn’t bother to look up to the balcony and see their whispers and nods of approval, instead walking straight over to the dummy and pulling the knife out from the rubber. You weren’t finished yet; you were going to show them what a fishing district knew how to do best…

Grasping the handle, you plunged the blade into the sternum, deep enough to reach what would be the back bone of a human, and dragged the blade down to the pelvis. Pulling the knife out you made horizontal slashes along the chest and the hip where your line down the body had began and ended. Tossing the knife aside, you reached your hands inside of the dummy, pulling it open.

Granted the physical anatomies between a fish and a human were quite different, but the concept of gutting was quite easy to get across.

Once the assessment was over you were lead back to your living quarters. With the pressure subsiding and adrenaline wearing off, you found your hands beginning to tremble. You were thankful to have your water bottle as some sort of distraction, shakily taking sips to try and calm yourself down. By the time you finally arrived back to the dorm you were only able to answer Finnick’s “How did you go?” with a quick “fine” as you hurriedly rushed to your bedroom, not wanting to stick around and see Namjoon again until you absolutely had to.

The assessments were scheduled to run until 4:00pm, with the results being broadcast at 4:30pm, before tributes were due to report at the auditorium at 5:00pm to begin preparing for interviews. You were grateful to be from one of the earlier districts, which left you with more free time between the conclusion of your assessment and your next schedule. Your bedroom contained its own en suite bathroom so the first thing you did upon entering was strip off your clothes and head for the shower.

You spent a long time under the hot running water, sitting on the tiles and letting the shower cover up the sound of your crying. It had become somewhat of a routine for you to return from training and cry under the safety of your showerhead where no one else could see or judge you for it. The emotional toll it took to bury your feelings and avoid crying in the training center, in front of the career pack, in front of the judges, or out of fear every waking moment of your life now was strenuous. The shower was your haven, a place where you could wash away the sweat and grime from your day, and allow some form of pent up release. Today’s shower would be the longest one you had taken since entering the capital.

A knock and Finnicks’ muffled voice through the door told you it was after 4:00pm and the results would be broadcast soon, so you reluctantly turned off the taps and began to dry off. You were told that hair, make up and styling would take place in the auditorium later, so you dressed in the most comfortable clothing that you had been provided with; a cashmere sweater and matching sweatpants. You waited in your room as long as possible, before putting on a pair of slippers and walking out to the lounge room at 4:30pm.

Finnick, Periwinkle and Namjoon were all seated on the sofa facing the giant television, which was currently displaying Caesar Flickerman and a co-host you didn’t recognize behind a desk. Wordlessly you joined them, choosing a spot next to Periwinkle on the lounge, the opposite side of where Namjoon was sitting.

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the scores!”

You frowned at how enthusiastic Caesar seemed to be over his job. His mouth was spread into a wide grin, showing off his artificially white teeth, and his emerald green eyes (that had to be contact lenses) were practically glowing with excitement. You all sat in dead silence, if it weren’t for Caesar’s voice reading out District 1 you would have been able to hear a pin drop. The results weren’t surprising to you in the least. Krystal and Yoongi both scored 9s, Athena a 9 too and Hoseok 11. The girl from District 3 who had fallen in front of you on the monkey bars only managed a dismal score, the same as her district number. Her male partner only fared slightly better with a 5.

“District 4, F/N, L/N! Oh, she certainly captured many people’s attention at the parade, but is she as deadly as she is beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff.

“You better not do that when he talks to you on stage,” Finnick warned.

You sarcastically put on an overly fake smile and fluttered your eye lashes back at him, until your expression was wiped blank by Caesar’s next words.

“Miss L/N, 10.”

Your jaw dropped as Periwinkle burst into enthusiastic applause, Finnick cocked an eyebrow with an impressed nod and Namjoon let out a low whistle.

“Someone’s been hiding something~,” Namjoon sing-songed as you closed your open mouth and took in a deep breath. You shook your head.

“Just the same knife throwing I’ve been practicing,” you replied.

Technically that was not a lie, just an omission of the gutting part. You wondered what it was about your little stunt that had pleased the judges so much. You were hoping to bump yourself to an 8 or 9 to at least try and blend in with the careers, instead you had somehow managed to establish yourself as a threat amongst them. With how much you had been pushed around so far you were glad to at least have one moment of impact. But now you had to be worried about the extra target being a threat could potentially put on your back.

Namjoon didn’t reply further as Caesar read his name and announced his score of 9.

You blanched. There was no way in hell you were more skilled than Namjoon was with a weapon. You looked over, expecting him to be furious, but he merely sat there with a content expression on his face nodding at the TV.

“Someone’s been hiding something,” you repeated Namjoon’s words back to him.

Namjoon’s only response was a smirk.

You didn’t like the way he looked like he knew far more than what he was sharing.

I'm a bit annoyed because I planned to combine the final training day and interviews into one chapter. But I found it was starting to get too long, as this part was already hitting 7000 words.

Next chapter will be the interviews and fallout from certain things the characters say in them

Chapter after will FINALLY be what everyone here wants (especially me) - the actual Hunger Games in the arena

Sorry to keep dragging it out, my brain hates me.

#yandere hoseok #yandere bts #yandere #yandere bts fic #yandere jung hoseok #bts x reader #dark bts #dark bts au #y!hoseok #hoseok fic #hoseok x reader #hoseok au #dark jhope #HUNGER GAMES AU

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

Text

Shadows and Pills - 2

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it.

A massive thank you to all my friends for support, especially to @glassjacket and @thoughtslikeaminefield . I say it a lot, but you need to know I love you.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: Part 1 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

Morning Routine: Already woken up. Shut off alarm with a shriek of terror by heaving it across the room with enough force that it shatters against the wall. Breathing exercises for thirty minutes to lower accelerated heart rate. Shower until the hot water is long gone and hypothermia is close to setting in, but she still can’t get clean. The thick, mucus-like sensation won’t leave her skin, glue and ashes spread thick over her flesh in a foul assault to her tactile senses that leaves her dizzy and faint if she considers it for too long. Throw out every scrap of food in the apartment; just the sight of it makes her gag and retch. Choke down the meds (the only thing she can stomach, at this point). Throw on clothes she’s mostly sure are on the correct end of her body. Grab her keys, and…

Where…

She always puts her keys in the same spot. Dish on the tiny table by the door. That’s her key dish. She knows she put them there. They are always there. She can remember putting them there; it’s one of the precious few things she knows she can do right these days.

So…

Why aren’t they there?

Thirty minutes turning the entire apartment upside down looking for the keys, ignoring the shadow that follows her from room to room, skittering to a far wall whenever the shadow runs too near, pretending that she is still alone, searching, searching, where the hell are they, I always put them in the dish, I know I dropped them in there, I can hear the clink from when I put them away yesterday where could they possibly have got to it’s not like THEY’D WANDER OFF BY THEMSELVES WHERE ARE MY GODDAMNED KEYS-

A searing, ripping pain tears her from her spiraling thoughts and back to the present where her hands are clenched in her hair, her nails dug into her scalp, and something slick and hot slides between her fingers. She releases her clenched fists, but her fingers come away smeared with blood and clumps of hair, and her shoulders begin to tremble, her mouth quivering and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“I just...need my keys. I need to breathe. I need my keys. I need-”

<clink>

Her head whips toward the sound, and there they are. In their dish. In the same dish she knows she left them in last night. Where they absolutely were not sitting seconds ago.

“But. I didn’t. They-“

No.

She snatches her keys and flees, followed closely by her personal nightmare.

...

The silence stretches out longer than even Alexa is comfortable with. The constant scratching of the doctor’s pen has quieted, and still Alexa sits, unnerved but unwilling to speak without direction. Answering questions is fine, but if she speaks on her own, she’ll start babbling. And there are a few things she needs to not say.

Like how she’s averaging about an hour of sleep a night, according to her clock. The nightmares start every time she falls asleep. She remembers less and less about any of them, to the point where the only way she knows she was even asleep is the inevitable rip back to consciousness.

And she’s not just missing parts of her dreams. Her days are beginning to blur, individual moments bleeding into others until she’s lost whole chunks of time, hours that are a smear in her memory with no real details. The loss, both of her days and nights, shakes her more than the lack of sleep. What else is she losing, along with her memory?

She can’t tell him why she’s wearing a hat or how she has to set reminders on her phone to stop tearing at her hair, how she has to clean her scalp and hold pressure at least once a day to stop the bleeding and try to repair the damage done by digging nails and ripped follicles.

She can’t tell him about how she can’t look in mirrors anymore. Two days ago, she was brushing her hair out into a ponytail with the intention of wrapping it into a skull-aching bun that might help hold everything inside her head and maybe possibly help her keep her fingers out of her hair, and then suddenly the eyes looking back out at her weren’t her own. Brown bled into ice blue then green in a flash; a wicked, cruel smile curved her lips, and she could feel herself smile, but she wasn’t smiling, and-

So, no, she shouldn’t lead the conversation today. Today Alexa needs a little guidance.

She feels the doctor’s gaze, but there’s less scrutiny than usual. His eyes feel a little more sympathetic than she’s used to, but she still won’t look up. He’s good at getting her to talk, and she needs every ounce of self-control just to keep herself held together and not exploding across his polished, pristine desk.

“Alexa, you don’t look like you’re...How have y-”

She must look pretty wretched if even the doctor is at a loss for words. She wouldn’t know. She has actively avoided all reflective surfaces for two days and has no idea of the state of her appearance. She can’ remember the last time she ate. What’s left of her hair is tucked under a knit cap; she’s cold all the time now, anyway, so the cap is a constant accessory. And it helps keep her hands out of her hair. If her looks are anything as bad as the state of her thoughts-

“I’m sorry it’s so bad for you right now.”

The statement is quiet, sincere, and wholly unexpected. Alexa almost drops her guards, almost meets his eyes. Her hands quake with the effort of maintaining her silence, clutching the edges of her chair with aching, creaking fingers. Her control is as brittle as her nerves; she wants to share, wants to not be alone with the shadow that’s her only company these days, but if the doctor knew…

“Are you sleeping anymore at all?”

She nods once, a sharp, staccato gesture that leaves out more than it says. It’s not a lie. One hour, however broken up in however many fragments, is still one hour, and sleep is still sleep.

“Are you following your medication schedule?”

Another single dip of her chin. She gives herself a little credit for not leaving anything out of this answer. She’s even remembering to follow the dosage increases. Maybe even a couple of increases of her own. Anything to numb, to shut out, to keep...it...away.

“Alexa, are you still with me?”

God, she wishes...everything feels muffled and thick, like her existence is coated in petroleum jelly. She's just so tired, and everything is so heavy and...and difficult…

“I can’t help you if you won’t communicate with me. Help me help you. Anything. Just the basic facts.”

Where to even start? Maybe getting locked up would be worth it if he really can help, can really make this...stop…

“I can ease your pain and get you on your feet again.”

She’s pretty sure nothing can help at this point, so really there’s no need to keep anything back. Being hospitalized can’t be any worse than living like this…

“Relax. Can you show Me where it hurts?”

No.

...no...not here, not…

“Your lips are moving, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Is there something you wish to confess? The good doctor can’t reach you now, but I am ready to receive your prayers. Speak, Alexa. Tell Me everything.”

Get out, get OUT, I have to go, I can’t, you can’t this isn’t - GET OUT!

“ALEXA! Wake up! You’re safe! Come back!”

Fingers, firm in their grip, but warm and clean and so very present, clench around her hand, pulling her out of her mind and back to the office. The rushing noise in her ears fades until she realizes it is the heaving of her own panicked breaths. She clenches her fingers, catching the doctor’s hand before he can pull away.

She hasn’t touched another person since she left the hospital.

“Please...I just need...a minute.”

He sits in the chair closest to her, holding her hand resolutely, despite any personal protocols to the contrary that he has demonstrated in previous sessions.

“As long as you need.” There is no eagerness, no exasperation, only concern and calm, and it soothes her raw nerves in a way nothing else has. She focuses on the warmth, the sheer thereness of his grip, and breathes, squinting her eyes against the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds.

Too bright, too warm, too…

The fingers in her palm chill suddenly, their embrace tightening painfully. Her hand feels slick, not with sweat, and her teeth begin to chatter. Her eyes squeeze shut as her stomach shatters, and a pitiful mewling escapes her lungs.

“Take all the time you need. I possess the patience of millenia.”

Breathe. Breathe slowly, you’re asleep. You’re exhausted, you just fell asleep. Wake yourself up. You can do this. Just...just breathe and wake up.

And then her hand is free of all contact, and the air in her lungs comes easily. The warmth of the filtered sun returns to her frozen limbs, not overly bright in the least.

“I think our session was particularly productive today.”

The therapist's voice comes from farther away, and she opens her eyes to find him back at his desk, pen in hand, legal pad full of fresh notes. She blinks, swallows, and sits up a little straighter.

“You seem to be making excellent progress with your strategies. Go ahead and up your dosage to the next step. Remember, I’ll be out of town on Thursday and Monday, so I’ll see you again in ten days. You have the emergency number if anything goes wrong?”

She nods numbly, unable to process anything beyond the basic requirements of behavior needed at the moment. He eyes her, his forehead wrinkling in sudden concern.

“Don’t hesitate to call that number at any hour,” he finally says, his fingers steepled to show just how serious, how sincere, he is. “Anything at all, whatever you need to talk about, call that number. The nurse will transfer you immediately if it’s an emergency. Will you call if you need to?”

She nods, a little more vaguely than she intends but her throat is paralyzed, her tongue nerveless and useless. He accepts the gesture at face value, though, and dismisses her with wishes for “continued progress and a good weekend.”

…

Afternoon routine: Stay out as late as possible, put off the inevitable. Stay out all goddamned night if she has to. There’s no point in voluntarily returning home; she knows this with a sense of dread as acute and sharp as the pain in her scalp. So she shuffles on, unseeing and unseen in the city that never sleeps, one of a numberless mass who denies reality for the sanity that fantasy provides, pretending that she isn’t being stalked, that she isn’t haunted by a continuous loop of ghosts and flashbacks of the dead from that day reminding her over and over that she survived while they didn’t, that she must remember them, that she isn't losing her mind, that the shadow isn’t constantly whispering to her, commanding her over and over and over to simply let go.

She pretends that she isn’t blacking out and waking to find herself in bed, night after night, in the midst of torment and debasement that her ragged mind can neither handle nor shut out. The shadow rips at her in a thousand ways, and she feels all of them, every shred of her consciousness pulled apart and examined and manipulated until she can’t remember who she was before this fundamental desecration.

Release yourself. I can break you completely, help you forget the pain and the misery. Let Me shatter you, remake you in My Glory. Only then can you truly be free from pain.

She fights. It’s all she has left, this battle of wills, and she clings to the tattered bits of her remaining self with a tenacity that impresses even the shadow.

How you shine, even in My darkness. Let me turn your burn to an icy one, let Me freeze your pain, let go and drift in My adoration. I shall raise you up; only grant Me entrance, give Me leave, and I will bless you, bring meaning and solace to your piteous existence.

God help her, she’s starting to slip. She just wants everything to end. No one will miss her, no one is depending on her. The only noise her phone has made in weeks are the reminders that she has set. She hasn’t sent in an assignment for nearly a month, and no one has so much as emailed. What is she holding on for, anyway?

You have fought so long and so hard. I can reward your valor, provide you a balm for your suffering. I will keep you safe from pain, from truth, from choice, from other poison devils. I can take the very memories from you, just as I did before, save you from yourself.

What?

And then her mind is flooded with a scene, a memory of the attack, but she sees it from outside herself, as if watching a film with herself as protagonist. She flees as debris falls all around, narrowly missing pipes, concrete, and office furniture as it rains down mindlessly, destroying life after life. By the time she reaches the ground floor of the stairwell, everyone is packed tight and covered with blood, dust, unspeakable filth, and the wretched crowd bursts into the lobby in a blind panic. They reach the street in the same state and turn as one to flee in the direction of least resistance.

Alone in the crowd, Alexa is jerked to a halt, nearly losing her feet as bodies plow around and nearly through her, but she is frozen as if glued to the pavement. There is no safety anywhere. A battle rages around them, monsters everywhere, incomprehensible and terrible, and then the glass lobby doors behind them explode, and Alexa knows the brief but exhilarating sensation of flight.

And then she crashes, and she knows the timeless and terrible sensation of fire. And pain. And crushing weight.

Watching the scene passively, she remembers everything, she feels everything even as her other self does, but now she is also an outside witness to the anguish. She knows the lines of suffering etched on her face and knows that she wears them even now. She feels the words echoing through her mind from that day, a thought, a plea, a silent prayer to someone, anyone who can help, can end her suffering.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just help, please…please, I don't care how anymore, just...end it.

And then a figure drops from the heavens, it seems, falling from one of the monsters’ flying vehicles, and it crosses the street and sidewalk as if drawn straight to her by the waning strength of her silent screams.

An impossibly cold hand grasps hers, pulling her up from the rubble, sliding her from underneath the bits of building as if they aren't present and pressing the life from her, bringing her face to face with darkness. The sun dissolves, shadows descend, and she decides that, as deaths go, hers could be worse.

She is lifted as if she weighs nothing, the fingers pressing into her face. A bitter, gelid frost flows through her veins, and the pain is mercifully dulled, lessened to a mere phantom, and then the god (for surely her savior can be no less to have such power at hand) pulls her into an icy, terrible embrace.

I find Myself in need of a conduit. Grant Me some small space of sanctuary, and in return I shall heal your broken body. Allow Me entrance, now, woman, before you depart this plane entirely. I am your God, your only chance of salvation. Do you accept Me?

His voice is black velvet, midnight shadows slipping across the moon, and she can’t find the will to say no. Giving in is so much easier, hurts so much less, and she feels as if she’s been hurting forever, spent her whole life being crushed to death.

“Yes.”

His lips press to her, but there is nothing tender in the kiss. Ice, death, absence rushes into her, infecting a small fraction of every cell, sinking deep into her psyche before erasing all remembrance of its presence.

Alexa thrashes under the weight of the memories, the weight of the phantom debris crushing her down, only to find the man, the god himself lies atop her, pinning her emaciated form to her ruined sheets. His pale skin glows in the night, his ebony hair falling around their faces in an blasphemous mimicry of a halo. His painful beauty rips one last thing loose within her, and she remembers.

I would that you should allow Me leave to heal you once more, to form you into a proper vessel. I shall alleviate your anguish, and you may sink into My worship with euphoric, blissful abandon.

She is tempted, more so than any other time in her existence. She thought her imprisonment under the shattered building was horrible, but now she knows true torment. And yet, she resists.

Why do you continue to battle? You cannot prevail, and submission will bring you such pleasure as you have never known. Am I not your own personal God to worship? Do you not wish to drown in My blessing, to submerge yourself in My oblivion?

But he is the author of her suffering, as well, this would-be god who attacked her city, killed thousands of people for his ambitions and family squabbles. Who is she to tarnish the world’s grief for her own personal relief?

But he knows what is in her heart and her thoughts; it was there he planted the seed that has grown to strangle her sanity and reality, and he sends pressure through the roots of this vine to dig into her very soul. She shivers beneath him with wordless agony.

His face presses against hers, tongue snaking out to trace a tear track up her cheek, back to its source. Frozen lips ghost over her clenched eyelids, and she swallows the miserable moan that rolls up from her stomach.

I saved you once when I could so easily have allowed you to continue your half-life under the rubble until your flame sputtered and died, as it was meant to. And I shall show Myself once more a merciful, benevolent God. For you, My pet, a gift.

And suddenly there is a space in Alexa’s mind, a blank where something, someone, important once lived, someone vital stripped away. She gets a last glimpse of a smiling woman, proudly showing off a photo of a swaddled infant, of a filing cabinet collapsing, of a curling hand, before Brenda is ripped from her mind like so many strands of hair from her scalp. The pain of Brenda’s death, the horror of her last moments, yes, but also every bit of the love between them.

And then the name is gone, too.

Have I pleased you? Do you see now what relief can be had with submission?

“That...wasn’t...she wasn't yours to take-” But even the memory of the violation is fading, leaving only breathless, panicked horror and dull, aching want in its wake.

The shadowed god frowns, displeasure pressed into every line of his face, and his fingers tighten until the bones in Alexa’s wrists shriek in protest.

Must I nail Myself to a cross or rip out My eye to be worthy of your reverence? I grant you one more gift, then, of choice. One day to consider. Embrace My oblivion freely, willingly, joyously, as you know you should, and feel My pleasure. Or suffer in your belief that this pale, pointless realm offers you anything like what I can give. This shall be My last offering. Submission is sweetest when freely given, but so, too, can I revel in seizing what you so stubbornly withhold.

His lips seal over hers, stealing air and screams alike, and she feels him everywhere at once, emphasizing his threat, his promise. Her traitorous flesh, craving any tourniquet to stem the endless flow of pain, cleaves to his frozen form, curving against his body in a mockery of love making that leaves her stomach heaving.

And then he is gone. His presence, his pressure, his shadow, even his laugh lingers, but his form vanishes with her next thought. She falls from the bed, a perspiring, retching, wailing mess. There is nothing left within her to eject, but her digestive tract makes a resounding effort.

It’s hours until the sun comes up, and she counts every second from where she shivers, wedged tight between the bed and the nightstand. ...

3 (end)

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jeagerism · 4 years ago

Text

i think im lost again

+ word count : honestly idek, ill take a guess at maybe nearly 700-800?

+ characters : levi ackerman, armin arlert, mentions of eruri and eremin (armin and levi r not shipped fuck out of here)

+ warnings : season 3 attack on titan spoilers, mentions of death, modern!au, levi is basically a dad without being a dad (does that make him a dilf??), angst i suppose

+ summary : erwin was always good at this, levi thinks. people stuck to him like glue.

+ author's note : this is just a personal modern!au headcanon that i ranted to a friend abt and decided to make it full out

in modern aus i see eren as looking up to levi, bc he ooks up to him in the manga in some ways, levi cares abt his wellbeing n shit

well armin, since he was chosen to live over erwin, he'd look up to erwin in a modern au

and when erwin dies in that au bc ofc he has to die, armin is still a teenager.

i like to think that they all lived in the same town as kids, and erwin always looked out for armin since he had no one else other than his friends.

he basically lets armin live with him when he's not with eren, who also has no family and sort of couch surfs between jean and sasha - sasha's dad loves eren for whatever reason so he stays there a lot, and welcomes armin and mikasa with him - and so erwin and armin r close

and levi is always around, so he sees armin a lot, even if he takes care of eren more - he lets eren stay at is house on nights when he feels like hes overstayed his welcome at sasha’s.

but levi still cares abt armin bc he sees how erwin cares abt armin and levi is in love with the blond facebook dad

but erwin died when armin is like 15, so he still needs someone to look out for him

and erwin asks levi to do that, bc he trusts him and knows levi would take care of him just like he had

anyways, he asks levi to take care of him and levi does

but armin is a 15 yr old who just lost yet another person who cares abt him

and even tho hes grateful that levi cares for him, he misses erwin so much.

he acts out bc of it bc hes a kid going through trauma and its what kids do. he starts acting even worse than eren and eren is a fucking demon spawn

armin and eren share a room, even tho levi had two empty rooms so they could have their own, and eren has stuff in the other room but armin doesn’t like the dark so eren stays there with him.

and levi isn’t really good at taking care of kids in the traditional way.

he wakes them up every weekday for school by telling them he'll kick their ass if he has to take them himself - but he'll still drive them when it rains or its cold

he doesnt really know how to cook bc erwin always did that, but his notes app is full of recipes erwin always recommended that were easy to follow bc he was always worried that levi always ate too much cold leftovers from days before and noodles

armin knows hot to cook pretty well bc erwin taught him but he enjoys laughing at levi failing at cooking simple shit - he burned water somehow

but levi still tries so its fine

he tries letting armin know hes welcome, and that he can ask for whatever he needs

he'll leave him lunch money on the counter

and when he notices armins jackets getting a little too short around the wrist he drops a new one by his lap when he sits on the couch

he pulls the blanket all the way to his chin if he falls asleep on the couch.

he'll mention he's going to get a haircut when he notices armin's hair getting longer, and says he can go with him if he wants

but armin still acts so off.

before erwin was gone, armin always acted happy, even though he never had much, and levi feels guilty knowing he cant do what erwin did for him, but he's doing this for erwin, and knows erwin wouldnt have put armin in his care in the first place if he didn’t trust him

i see taking care of armin as the task that keeps levi going, just like how killing zeke is what keeps him alive in the anime.

both promises he makes to erwin and wont give up on until he’s fulfilled it

but one day armin just disappears. he doesnt come back after school with eren like usual. so he and levi try calling him and get nothing. eren offers to go look for him and levi tells him to stay safe n waits back home to see if armin will show up there

and he does like 5 mins after eren leaves.

and levi feels his chest just deflate with relief. it was cold outside, and armin was out there alone.

his cheeks and nose r red from being outside for so long

when levi asks where he's been, it comes out harsher than he meant, but its just bc he was worried, and armin rolls his eyes and asks why it matters

levi tells him its bc he's a kid and doesnt get to just disappear without a trace whenever he wants. levi never minded armin doing whatever he wanted - within regulation - but most times he knew eren was with him, or mikasa, someone who would call him if something happened

and armin says “you're not my father.” and starts taking off his jacket and stuff

“yeah, but i am the person who's taking care of your ass.”

and that seems to make armin a little more ticked off than he already was, bc he turns to levi and says, “well i never asked you to do that.”

to which levi replies without thinking, “no but erwin did”

levi and armin never talk abt erwin, ever.

its like an unspoken rule between them. its not that they arent as comfortable with each other - they arent anyways but - they just dont do that, talk abt how they feel abt erwin, and him being gone

armin looks like hes gonna cry before he just says “well i wish it was erwin that was still here instead of you”

ALMOST AS IF HES SAYING HE WISHED IT WAS LEVI THAT DIED INSTEADDD

and levi is suprised that armin would ever, it hurts a little, and he just nods in agreement and says “me too.”

armin doesnt say anything back to it, he just turns and makes his way to his room, slamming the door behind him

and levi is exhausted. in his head he wonders how erwin had done it - balanced college and a job and a fucking teenager

but then he remembers that erwin was erwin, and hed always been good at that type of thing

people stuck to him like glue

thats the first night he lets himself admit that he misses him

he feels like he’s failing at the one thing erwin asked of him

when eren shows back up, levi apologizes for not letting him know that armin had came back

but eren just tells him that armin had texted him when he’d arrived - i have a hc that eren and armin were each others first crushes but uhebdbsi

he tells levi that armin had said hed went to the beach

erwin used to take armin to the beach all the time before he died

he’d collect shells with him, and the ones that armin really liked, he’d give them names

he still has one called smith from the last time erwin had taken him to see the ocean

a few weeks go by after that

they never really talked before, but now it seems almost even worse

the silence that they normally exist in feels empty

but everything felt empty without erwin

eren lets levi know where theyre going to be whenever theyre not home, when theyll be home, etc

levi never asked for him to do that, but he does it anyways

levi’s thankful for the near suicidal maniac at that point

even though he always was

he saw a lot of himself in eren, and he sees a lot of himself in armin too

levi and armin never really apologize to each other, but one night when levi’s attempting to cook, armin walks in the kitchen and watches him place things on a pan

“you’re putting them too close together.”

armin steps beside him and tilts his head to the side, as if hes gesturing for levi to move

and he does, letting the younger and taller boy move the prerolled croissants further away from each other on the baking tray

“they never wouldve cooked all the way through like that,” armin tells him

with a scoff, levi mumbles that he sounds like erwin

armin pauses for a second, before sliding the pan in the oven. levi tells him how long the packaging said they went on so that he can set the oven timer

armin sets it for two minutes longer, and levi’s heart aches

erwin did that, too

“i miss him”

it slips out without him meaning for it to

and he thinks he’s ruined armin’s head again, when he’s supposed to be someone this kid can look up to

but he doesnt leave

armin just leans against the oven and nods “me, too”

after that, things arent bad anymore

sure, it takes awhile for them to completely warm up to each other, but they manage

enough that armin sits in on levi’s cooking sessions just to point out what hes doing wrong - something that helps, bc pretty soon levi is learning

he cooks him, armin, and eren an entire meal without burning anything

eren laughs when armin tells him that the man had forgotten to grab an oven mit and had stuck his entire hand in the oven to grab a pan

levi raises his eyebrow when he notices the way armin blushes at eren’s laugh, of all things

and they talk abt erwin more

they have more to say about him that eren, and its just something the two of them share, so they tend to save it for little moments, tiny snippets of things that remind them of the blond

after about a year, things are good

armin asks to have his 17th birthday at the beach, and who would levi be to say no

levi doesnt particularly like the beach, he detests sand, but its for armin, so he’ll do it

its for his kid

him and erwins kid

at the party, he finds a smile coming to his face when he sees armin actually laughing and having fun

kid had been through too much hell at 17, so he deserved to be happy, even if it was only for a few moments

on their way home that evening, eren and armin passed out from a day of swimming and running on the beach - levi made the both of them bring extra towels to save his car seats from salt water and sand

eren’s head is on armin’s shoulder, and the blond’s is resting atop eren’s head

when they get home, the two of them trudge towards their room, but armin turns and holds his closed fist out to levi

with a raised eyebrow, levi holds his hand out and lets armin drop something into his hand, before the boy pivots and continues his shuffle to his and eren’s shared room

levi glances down at the object in his hand

its a shell

armin names it erwin

#attack on titan imagine #attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #erwin smith #levi ackerman #armin arlert #eren yeager #snk imagine #aot imagine #shingeki no kyojin imagine #eruri #eremin #aot headcanon #snk headcanon #hc

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

Note

hi i have some continued thoughts about the gif set i made earlier but i’m just thinking about like baby boys writing nothing personal and jack just like feeling really down on himself one day bc he doesn’t know what he’s contributing and alex tells him he named this song for him bc he is so important i don’t know there are so many THOUGHTS TO BE HAD why are they like this

hi paige i don’t know if this was supposed to be a prompt but i took it as one because i’m me hope that’s okay <3 (also here is the gifset in question, warning for max damage)

read it here on ao3

“Hey, where’d Jack go?”

Flyzik looks up from his laptop and glances around the control room. “I dunno,” he says. “I thought he was here.”

“I leave for two minutes,” Alex says, sighing exasperatedly. “We need to put a bell on that kid.”

“Believe me, if I could, I would,” says Flyzik, returning to the all-important task of probably talking shit on Twitter or whatever he does when he’s taking up studio space.

Squire, whose playing had been arrested upon Alex’s re-entry, starts the guitar line from the top. The unfinished track fills the small room. Alex considers handcuffing him just so he’ll stop playing that one fucking guitar part.

At this rate, he’ll be sick of the song before it’s even released.

“I’m going to find Jack,” he announces, not that anyone cares. In a halfway attempt at defiance, or being annoying, or whatever, he snatches Flyzik’s coffee mug off the table.

“Hey,” Flyzik says half-heartedly without looking up. “Give that back.”

“You’re fired,” Alex informs him.

“Joke’s on you, I quit this morning,” says Flyzik.

Alex rolls his eyes and leaves the control room.

There’s really only one place Jack is likely to be (okay, two places, but Alex has just come from the bathroom and he’d been the only one in there). Alex heads for the lounge. The TV is on, playing a commercial for mattresses. Occupying the entire length of the couch:

“Jack,” Alex says. “Where’d you go, man, I thought we were working on the song.”

Jack makes no indication that he's heard Alex at all.

“Dude,” Alex says, coming into the room and facing Jack. The way Jack is slumped into the cushions, it looks like he’s been lying here all day, not for two minutes. “Were you just waiting for me to go to the bathroom so you could bail?”

Jack shoots him a glare, but again says nothing. Alex frowns.

“Are you good?” he asks, sinking to the floor with his legs crossed. He sets Flyzik’s coffee on the table at his side. “Is something wrong?”

Jack groans. “Can you leave me alone?”

“Hey,” Alex says, hurt. “What —” He breaks off. Obviously Jack doesn’t want company — or at least not Alex’s company, which stings — and if Alex doesn’t want to be a dick, he should leave.

Except Jack is already kind of being a dick. So.

“Dude,” Alex says again. Jack keeps his eyes on the TV over Alex’s head. “Can you at least look at me?”

“I’m just taking a break, what’s the big deal?” Jack mutters.

“The big deal is you were fine five minutes ago when we were tracking the guitar,” Alex says irritably. “I leave for two seconds and when I come back you’re gone? ‘Taking a break’?”

“Yes, Alex, I came to jerk off in peace,” Jack snaps. “So can you piss off?”

Alex huffs. “Stop being an asshole when I’m just trying to understand what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong, dude!” Jack finally looks at him, though it’s clear he would rather not be. “You don’t need me to finish the song, okay? You have Squire to do the guitar, and if he can’t do it then you will, so I’m just gonna sit this one out, alright?”

Alex stares at him. “The fuck do you mean, we don’t need you to finish the song? You need to learn it. And Squire’s just doing the demo track anyway. Meaning technically he doesn’t need me for it, either.”

“Alex, you wrote the fucking song.” Jack crosses his arms. “It wouldn’t exist without you. Unlike me.”

“You…would exist without me?”

Jack glares at him, again. “No, the song would still exist without me. And it would have a guitar part, without me. I know my role in the band, Alex, I’m not getting any ideas, okay? I’m the one who makes inappropriate jokes on Twitter and collects bras during shows. I don’t contribute in the studio.”

The gears in Alex’s brain grind loudly to a halt. “You don’t — what? What?”

Jack draws his knees up to his chest and looks back up at the TV. “Am I wrong?”

“Uh, yes?!” Alex says emphatically. “Extremely wrong, what the fuck? Since when is this a thing? You really feel this way?”

“Oh my God, it’s not a big deal,” Jack grumbles.

“It’s a big deal to me,” Alex retorts. “You think you don’t contribute when we’re in the studio? You’re, like, the reason most of these songs get made. If you weren’t here we’d still be on our first record.”

“You don’t need to therapy me,” Jack says dully. “I’m fine with it.”

Which is obviously not true. Jack’s shuttered expression and bitchy attitude don’t exactly communicate ‘fine.’

“I’m not trying to ‘therapy’ you,” Alex says, making air quotes. “Whatever the fuck that means. I’m trying to tell you something you should already know.”

Jack sighs wearily. Somehow he seems to sink deeper into the couch, like whatever’s weighing him down is only getting heavier. “Alex, it’s fine.”

“Stop saying it’s fine,” Alex says sharply. “It’s not fine. Did someone say something when I left? Is that why the mood whiplash?” There’s no way. Squire would never, and Flyzik hadn’t even been on the same planet. Not that Flyzik ever would, either, but then again, they make a lot of fucking jokes around here. Sometimes the kind of joke that hits a little too close to home. Call it an occupational hazard of living and working with a bunch of guys in their early twenties; none of them really know when to stop.

It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

Jack’s gaze flits between Alex and the TV, which has really been playing commercials for far too long. He seems to realize he’s not going to escape this conversation, and with an almighty sigh grabs the remote and hits mute.

“No one said anything, okay?” There’s a pause. Alex waits patiently while Jack gathers his thoughts. “It was just that, like, you were there, and we were joking around, and then you left, and like…Squire kept playing the part, Flyzik was still on fucking MySpace or whatever, and, like, I don’t know. It just felt like if I left it wouldn’t matter, so I did.” He barks a humorless laugh. “And I was right. It didn’t matter.”

“It mattered to me,” Alex says. “I came back and you had abandoned me with Squire and Flyzik. You think I want to be stuck with them?”

One corner of Jack’s mouth pulls up, barely, then drops down again. “I’m fine,” he says a third time. “You can go back and finish tracking the lead. Just call me when you need me for something.”

Alex considers this. “You know, I could use a break, while I’m here.” He takes a sip of Flyzik’s coffee, which is absolutely disgusting and also room temperature at this point. Jack frowns at him.

“You’re in the middle of demo-ing a song,” he says flatly. “‘Best Friend Knows,’ right?”

“Well, as you so eloquently pointed out, Squire can track the guitar,” Alex says. “And in fact is tracking the guitar. And has been for half an hour. He doesn’t need me for it, either.”

“But that’s not the fucking same and you know it. You wrote the song.”

“Yeah, so what? It’s not that great of a song. Anyone could have written it. I bet Andrew has fifty better songs in his back pocket.”

“But Andrew isn’t in the band,” Jack says. “The whole point is they’re your lyrics that you write for your band.”

“And you play the guitar,” Alex counters, raising his eyebrows at Jack. “Yeah, there are a billion songwriters and guitarists in the world. Anyone can play guitar, but there’s only one All Time Low guitarist, and it’s you. You’re our guy, Jack. You brought the band together, you keep it together, and you keep us moving forward. So what if you’re not writing lyrics? There’s way more to being in a band than writing the fucking lyrics. I promise you, man, without you we’d still be playing the fucking Dulaney Talent Show. We’d be fucking nowhere. We definitely wouldn’t be in L.A. recording our second full-length studio album.”

Silence falls as Alex’s words hang in the air. They’re both quiet for a moment. The Red Bull fridge buzzes in the background, and even more faintly comes the sound of Squire relentlessly playing the same lead part for what has to be the millionth time.

“If you say so,” Jack finally says, although he doesn’t really seem to believe it.

“I do,” Alex says firmly. Jack is the heart of the band more than anyone else, the beating pulse that keeps them alive no matter what shit gets thrown their way. When they were traveling from venue to venue in a shitty van, Jack was the one who kept spirits high. In their earliest days, Jack had held them together like glue, as if he could tell that something really special would happen as long as he didn’t let them go.

And he’d been right. There’s no All Time Low without Jack. That’s always been obvious to Alex.

“I think it’s an awesome song,” Jack quietly adds, as an afterthought. “No one else could’ve written it, so take that shit back.”

“Mediocre at best,” Alex says. “But there’s still time to make it better.”

“I like it,” Jack insists. “It’s cool. You’re a good songwriter.”

Alex waves a hand. “All the good lines are from Squire.”

“Well, I don’t know any of the words,” Jack says, a hint of his usual dry humor making a comeback. “But I bet that’s not true. All the best lines always come from you.”

“They’re meh. There’s not even a good line for a title. ‘What Your Best Friend Knows’ is just the most repeated line, but like, I don’t know. It’s boring.”

“So just call it something else,” Jack says. “The title doesn’t have to come from the song. You might have heard of a little album called From Under The Cork Tree? It’s by this super underground band, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of them.”

Alex laughs a little. “Yeah, okay. I guess.”

Another pause fills the room. Finally Jack says, “If you want to hang out, you can, but stop trying to therapy me.”

“I’m not trying to therapy you! It’s called being your friend, you dumbass.”

“Well, cut it out,” Jack deadpans. There’s the Jack Alex knows.

Alex smiles at him, even though he knows it makes him look very sincere, more sincere than Jack probably wants from him. “You made your band bed,” he says. “Now you have to lie in it.” He half-stands and clambers onto the couch, and Jack stretches his legs over Alex’s lap. “What are we watching?”

“I don’t know,” Jack says, reaching for the remote. “It’s been commercials since I got here.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t these people have anything better to do than advertise all day every day?” Jack unmutes the TV. An episode of a show neither of them know is playing. Alex rolls his eyes. “Which channel is playing Lost reruns, do you think?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jack says, raising the remote like a wand. “Hope you brought a board ‘cause it’s time for some channel surfing.”

“Oh my God, you’re so lame.”

Jack snickers. “Maybe there’ll be a line you can use for the song title. Like a ‘Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner’-type thing.”

“In Lost?” Alex says skeptically.

“Maybe, you don’t know.”

Alex highly doubts Lost will have any cool one-liners that could double as song titles, but it’s not a bad idea, pulling an iconic movie quote the way Fall Out Boy did on Cork Tree. The gimmick isn’t really the All Time Low style, but there’s a first time for everything.

Besides, Alex thinks, glancing over at Jack, whose attention is trained on the TV, I think I know the perfect movie.

—

“What?”

They’re back in the studio the following day. After yesterday’s minor emotional hurdle, Jack seems to be doing much better. Right now his eyes are wide in surprise as he stares at Alex.

“‘Keep The Change’ —”

“I know the quote,” Jack interrupts, a smile stretching over his face. “That’s the name? Of the song?”

Alex grins. “Has a cool ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is the best day of my life,” Jack enthuses, beaming.

Alex shrugs. “Well, someone gave me the great idea to use a movie quote for a title. This felt fair.”

“Alex, I literally love you so much, you don’t even know,” Jack says. “Just for this, I’m giving you my firstborn.”

“If you ever have children, God save us all,” Flyzik says dryly from the far side of the room. He’s not wrong, but Jack doesn’t even act offended, still caught up in the excitement of the song title.

“Hey,” Alex says in a low voice, kicking lightly at Jack’s leg. “For the record, I’d never in a million years have thought to use a movie quote title.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Jack says.

Alex gives him a meaningful look. “That’s my point, man. Next time you think you’re not contributing, just remember this, alright?”

The shadow of realization passes over Jack’s face, and he shakes his head incredulously. “You are such a piece of shit,” he says, although he doesn’t seem upset. “This was just to make a point?”

“I didn’t do it to make a point,” Alex says. “I did it because it was a good idea. But it does make a point, because you thought you weren’t contributing in the studio, and this is proof that you are.”

Jack sighs. “Point taken.” A little bit of humility colors his expression. “Thanks.”

Alex gives him a cheeky smile. “You are welcome,” he says airily, and throws an arm over Jack’s shoulders. “And now I think we both have some guitar parts to learn, am I right?”

“Yup,” says Squire, as if he’d just been waiting for his cue. “Jack, you wanna track this?”

Jack glances over at Alex, who grins. “Yeah,” he says, stepping forward and taking the guitar out of Squire’s hands. “I’d love to.”

#jack barakat #alex gaskarth #jalex #jalex fic #all time low #atl fic #fic #my fic #yeah this is a little emo and? what about it?#i feel like this is pretty conceptually emo there wasn't much i could do #mukeaf #ask #answered #sam said post this one so i'm posting this one

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