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or-something-better · 2 years ago

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November 3, 2022

(Training night to help practice more than 1 line replies)

1. Sam sits at the main table with the Team. Everyone has a drink, and Sam shares how Gabe sent him to the void. As he tells his story the team reacts to each part he shares.

Once he finishes his story, Charlie is in disbelief at first, but it turns to anger. Sam is frustrated that Gabe can’t see the bigger picture. Ruby agrees with him. Each team member lists a specific time Gabe let his power go to his head.

…………………………..

Alex

sit at table drinking coffee Starbucks

Sam

Things in the Bunker had finally begun to settle down again and I was ready for the rest from all the recent upheaval. Now seated at the map table, I look around at the eager faces before me and feel a little uneasy. I can still feel in my heart their love and happiness at having me back with them earlier and I hate to now have to remind them that everything, all of this horrible mess that happened, was really my fault. Taking a deep breath, I sit back in my chair and just decide I have to rip the bandage off. Because of what I did… Gabe tortured and killed me.

Ruby

I watch Sam, unsure of how he will be after...well, everything.

Charlie

choking on my bottled water he WHAT?? He said he was done….

Patience

sitting at the table with the team I'm the main room sipping my hot tea

Bela

sitting with a beer listening to Sam didn't you get enough punishment once already from him? Why again?

Alex

Oh my lord Gabe Cover my mouth

Crowley

Well clearly he's just as much of a hypocrite as 4th l all the people he condemns. I walk over to Sam and Conjure a glass, pouring some of my Craig into it

Alex

What the shit Gabe! Why did the hell Gabe do that

Meg

Listening to Sam, I'm not sure what I should feel

Bela

Can I get some of that? Holding out a glass I mean seriously Sam doesn't it seem like a bunch of overkill?

Meg

I hate him for doing what he did, but I also hate Gabe for doing what he did

Ellen

standing at a chair around the table listening to Sam, anticipation feels high in the room tonight. I almost choke on air at what he just said

Henry

sits there eating my snack not sure how to react.

Patience

listening to Sam concerned that Gabe might not be finished how are you feeling Sam since you've come back

Ruby

Watching everyone's reaction, I gauge what will come next

Sam

Not really sure, to tell you the truth Patience. I think it's just going to take me a little bit of time.

Patience

As you can tell we're all so happy you're back I sip my tea and set the cup back down

Meg

thinking about recent events, my blood starts to boil, and I make a beer appear and start drinking

Ruby

Don't rush it, Sam. It's going to take time for a lot of things to process.

Sam

Their anger and unease was just about what I expected, and even though I DID feel responsible at the core of everything, I also felt a little bit put out with it all too and had the small need to defend myself. I’m not saying what I did was right. I wish that it hadn’t had to happen. But at the time, I truly believed I was doing the right thing to keep everyone one safe… especially all of Gabe’s own family. Feeling the energy to get it all out rising, I sit up straighter and look at each of them directly. Look, Abel came to me with a no-win situation. He wanted power and was ready and can’t help but smile a little excuse the pun, he was ready and able to carry out his plan. Lucifer was the big player behind the scenes.

Charlie

Gabe of all people should know his own brother my mind starting to spin

Alex

Sam I am glad you are here

Bela

Keep everyone safe except a baby? I mean it is kinda beside the point because Charlie's right. Gabe being ALL KNOWING should have known what was going on to begin with right?

Meg

looking at Charlie that's a joke.

Crowley

I turn and pour some for you as well. Did he even listen to this? To your reason or did he just...... torture you for shits and giggles with his head up is own ass? I mean, he seems the type to only care about his own opinions. The exact thing he always judges demons for.

Ellen

But, we all know Gabe. looking at Sam why didn't you come to him and tell him about Abel?

Charlie

Of course not… but he’s smarter than that….

Bela

Why didn't GABE already know? He's quick to remind us of everything else he already knows without being told a thing

Patience

looking at Sam in shock of what he just told use I understand boy that Lucifer is one we could stand to be rid of eh

Alex

Look over Sam

Meg

looking away, trying to hide my own feelings when it comes to people you love sometimes you do stupid shit...

Henry

Luci is my friend. He took me out and he didn’t do anything bad it was fun. I don’t understand how he is bad trying to stay calm

Charlie

He’s supposed to love us too…

Ellen

Well he too was dealing with a lot. And think about it. Your wife is pregnant with more babies. He's been helping us left and right. When did he really have time to constantly keep lucifer in check? starring you in the eyes would you have known if you were Gabe?

Patience

worried that Henry will get mixed up in one of Lucifer's plans @Henry SPN you so very young though please be careful with him being sure wouldn't want anything to happen to you

Meg

Key words in there. Supposed to.....

Sam

Looking directly back at Ellen, I slap the table with both hands as I jump to my feet. But I thought… I thought that Gabe would at least listen to me about it all, ya know? I begin to pace as my agitation grows. I thought that we had such a long history between us that he’d at least give me that much respect. I mean, he’s made a few mistakes of his own in the past and has to know himself that sometimes the way you see things happening isn’t actually how they turn out to be. Taking that baby was horrible and hard and the right thing to do, it was never in harm’s way. Gabe should have believed that I wouldn’t intentionally hurt any of his family enough to listen to what I had to say. I suddenly stop moving. He didn’t…

Crowley

Pup. Just because people are nice to you, doesn't always mean they're good people. I struggle to figure out how to explain. people are capable of good and bad, and everything is based on choices. Bad people can still be nice to others.

Alex

Sam what you do in void? How you escape?

Charlie

It’s not the first time his temper has gotten in the way…

Ruby

And he tends to turn a blind eye to his brother

Charlie

He’s my best friend and even I’ve been at the receiving end of a wrathful god

Alex

Gasp jump he also kill all of us too

Patience

Yes he did a few times

Henry

decides to go back to my carrots. They were pretty good boiled. Thinking I’m turning into Sam I shrug and carry on eating

Alex

Oh yeah Nod it was painful

Bela

thinking about everything being said well I mean it's always been said God is a just God. I mean I get being judgmental but he's more kill now and ask questions even later instead of even trying to hear anyone out... I mean .. seems the only "family" he gives a damn about is his wife and children. The rest of us he don't care. He will kill without batting a bloody eye

Ellen

surprised at the outburst, but really I shouldn't be. I know Sam has never done anything that to put this family in danger. I take a moment to compile myself and really think about his words. Feeling the hurt he has about it inside my heart. I put my head down and look back at him your right Sam. We all have had a long history and love each other enough to give the respect of listening to each other.

Meg

Listening to everyone going on about Gabe, drinking my beer

Crowley

He's never truly trusted any of us. I shake my head just because he says we're his family, he'll ditch us as soon as it's convenient. I take a drink before laughing and shaking my head He's more like a demon than a just God. Maybe he really should rule Hell.

Sam

I have to admit that it feels just a little bit better hearing that some of them understand and have similar opinions.

Charlie

pacing the room, my mind racing trying to take in what Sam is telling me He’s my best friend, but Sam is like my brother… how do you even choose?!?!…the water isn’t cutting it…. heading to the kitchen I grab a beer, and down half of it then head back out to the table

Henry

Dad killed me with cookies. I get that I need to cut back but I wasn’t looking for that answer. Now I don’t like cookies. shoves a carrot in my mouth

Sam

Alex The V-void... I can’t even get the words out without tripping up. I don’t really think I can talk about it yet. Thinking to myself if ever. But I will say this… I’ve spent time in the true Hell. A lot of time. my mouth suddenly goes dry and I have to reach over and take a drink of my beer before I can speak. The Void was worse.

Charlie

I just can’t believe he would do that… we made up, he led me to believe you were safe!!! How am I supposed to put my trust in that?!?! …

Alex

Hold Sam hand it ok Sam if you don’t want talk about I really glad you are here safe

Bobby

We all are.

Sam

Gives Alex's hand a squeeze back

Charlie

kicking a chair I continue to rant It’s an abuse of power! And trust…. I’m hurt… and so angry that he treats us this way… all we’ve ever done is help him…. Even keeping Donna safe every damn time we’ve been attacked because of the babies being born… what a thank you!!!

Ruby

I quietly sit beside Sam, giving him moral support as well as standing ready should he need to leave.

Ellen

watching my family and hearing the opinions and trying to find my own feelings and thoughts I hate what he did to you, I hate the fact that you were even in that position to have to choose to steal ONE OF HIS KIDS!!! feeling my face get hot. Fighting tears back. I take a deep a breath and exhale

Patience

listening to everyone talk he's not going to change though so maybe we just have to me more on our toes and hopefully Sam will be back to his normal self again if that's even possible

Crowley

I pat Sam on the shoulder We've got your back. We all need to stick together. We can't rely on some God, we never could. We're just convenient playthings.

Alex

Right Nod drink

Bela

drink the drink Crowley poured me my mind wandering to the things over noticed just since I've been back with everyone I agree with you... Beginning to think he may be as bad if not worse than Chuck in a sense .. I mean chucks the one who created everything and Gabe's been about as bad as Lucifer about us "useless humans" and how we are needy and can't do anything even though we do work hard to make it and fight the things he could destroy with a snap of fingers but he's so quick to use his powers against us instead of seeing reason or being understanding of the situation.

Henry

Dad killed me with cookies. I get that I need to cut back but I wasn’t looking for that answer. Now I don’t like cookies. shoves a carrot in my mouth. Then goes to Crowley for cuddles

Sam

I reach over and give Ruby's arm a squeeze, supremely grateful for her support throughout all of this. Gabe isn’t the Big Picture kind of God he tries to portray, nope… it’s all about what the picture looks like for HIM. Knowing that… I shake my head and lean back in my chair with a sigh. Makes me view him and all his power in a whole new light.

Charlie

Right? How many times have we died for him? Literally??

Crowley

I crouch down and scoop up Henry. I couldn't protect you....

Ellen

perking my head up your right too... shaking my head

Patience

patting Alex on the shoulder yes he did sweetie but we're all ok now. I don't think it's going to be as easy for Sam though

Bela

Well I haven't been around long enough to but would have. And even with me.... That book written about what "God" is or who he is claims he's a forgiving God... But he seems awfully vengeful and full of hate towards anyone who doesn't have the type of powers on his level

Alex

And and Gabe use his power and make me shoot myself Took a deep breath I have that dream repeat again and again

Crowley

And if any of us complain about dying, about him killing us. He'll just remind us that "He knew we'd come back. It had to be brutal because 'I'm a trickster'.. I could only tell certain people" screw those he claims are his kids like Henry.

Alex

Nod yeah

Meg

thinking back to when he killed us all in the bunker, I whisper what he did to Cass, I don't think I could ever forgive him! a single tear rolling down my cheek, I finish my beer and make another appear

Charlie

He could rid the world of the evil we face, but instead keeps us fighting… we face danger constantly …. He uses our feelings against us but if his are hurt it’s the end of the world

Ellen

hearing Charlie's words resound in my head. Gabe and using our fears against us. I close my eyes and remember seeing my own gun in my face and remembering the sulfur smell

Patience

thinking back to chuck. Isn't that pretty much what chuck did

Bela

Smirks Like father like son! Chuck was the same. And Gabe claims his father was a downright git. That's calling the kettle black a bit isn't it?

Henry

Your still my bestie. starts crying realizing the truth. Starts rethinking why I’m calling god dad in the first place. At least I still have my family

Crowley

I hug Henry tight and take a deep breath. This is just proof that, As far as Gabe is concerned, family does end in blood.

Patience

looking at Sam as I get up to get more tea Sam can I get you a beer or does anyone else want anything

Bela

thinking about the murders in cold blood that he did.. we actually LISTENED and we're forgiving of him killing us when we were told that Death put him up to it because he was going to kill his family! But yet he killed us in violent ways even. Used everyone in my past to kill me even! He hasn't even given me a single chance since I came back!

Patience

as I'm walking towards the kitchen I hear what Bella just said not to mention the giant spiders we were gag

Alex

I can help you pat Stand up

Patience

Sure Alex come on we'll go grab some beers and whatever the rest of the team might want we start walking toward the kitchen

Ellen

Sam, I'm sorry you went through that. I'm sorry you were faced with what you had to choose. All I want is to protect yall. And yes Bela even you. If could protect you all from Gabe I would. If could protect Gabe from himself I would! I stroll to the bathroom to let my tears fall

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daidonzo · 2 years ago

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Chapter 11 - He says he's no good with words, but I'm worse [Chishiya x Reader]

When you woke up, Chishiya's side was empty.

Oh no. What had you done? Had you said something in your sleep? You used to be a night walker when you were a kid, but you had never been a sleep talker. Or at least no one had told you, if you were. Maybe nobody told you because they found it entertaining and now your whole situationship with Chishiya was over. You were spiraling when the door opened and he came in, in his white hoodie, holding a mug and something brown wrapped in a napkin.

"You are awake. I don't know what you usually have for breakfast."

You felt so relieved you wanted to jump, grab his face between your hands and kissed it entirely. But you remained composed, clearing your throat, using both your arms to change into a sitting position. You usually never had breakfast, not eating anything until noon. But you were not about to tell him that, because that was just. So. Endearing.

"Whatever is available."

You smiled, he smiled. He handed you the mug of steaming black coffee (definitely way too hot for you, you only drank coffee if it was an extremely expensive Starbucks drink with lots of ice, and lots of milk, so that the taste was masked as much as possible) and a bun. You took a sip, burnt your tongue as you knew you would (at least the coffee wouldn't taste so bitter then) and took a bite of the pastry, which was actually really nice.

"Did you want sugar?" He said, eyebrow raised after seeing the expression you made when drinking.

"No, no, it's perfect!" You exclaimed. But it was clear he had found out.

"Sorry. I am not good at this."

"Well, knowing how other people take their coffee is an art. You clearly are a master of deduction, but couldn't get in here." You pointed to your head, smiling. Last thing you wanted was for him to feel bad about not getting your coffee order right. "You are handsome, you are intelligent. If you also had got this right first try it would be too much for poor little me. The bun is really good, tho."

"You think I'm handsome?" He smirked, teasing you, taking a sit in the chair next to the bed.

"You know I do."

"You never told me."

Was that true? You honestly couldn't recall. You knew you had thought about it, multiple times, but were unsure whether you had actually said it out loud or not. To Kuina? For sure. To him? Maybe not.

"Fishing for compliments?"

"Maybe."

"I already said you were intelligent, handsome and a master of deduction. You won't be getting any more so far, otherwise your ego will grow too big and we won't fit in this room. And I'll have to go find somewhere else to sleep."

"Kuina won't let you in."

"Maybe Arisu then." You said, deadpan look in your face. He bent forwards to take the coffee mug from your hand, drank from it and left it in the night stand. He took your free hand in his.

"No, you are staying with me." You smiled. Wasps in your belly and the tingling of a million ants where his skin met yours. "He got in trouble yesterday, Kuina told me."

"Who, Arisu? How?" He didn't seem like the kind of person who went looking for trouble.

"The militants. They took interest in Usagi, the girl he came with."

"Oh no." You meant it. You had been lucky enough that Niragi had sort of forgot about you, likely because now you were back in Chishiya's company and he was on top of him in the hierarchy of The Beach. But you were not stupid, and even if the blonde man hadn't told you, you could see. The tension grew bigger, and bigger, between the Executives and the militants.

"Arisu stood up, and defended her." Go, Arisu! "They were going to break his legs so that he would die in the next game when the Hatter appeared." You never thought you would be grateful for that man's input.

"He stopped it?"

"Yes. There was an executive meeting this morning, which is why I had to leave. Apparently the only card the Hatter is missing, is the ten of hearts. He wants us to keep an eye open for it. He also has to renew his visa soon."

You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking. Any time the Hatter left The Beach, you feared the militants would do something crazy. But, if he was to participate in a game, he would probably take Aguni with him and there was only so much that group could do without his big, scary boss.

"I plan on telling Arisu about the plan. You and Kuina should come, as well."

"Now?" You looked at your half-eaten bun, at his hand you didn't want to let go off just yet.

"Later on."

"Come sit with me then?" You asked, tugging gently at his arm so that he would sit by your side. He smiled and did so, putting his arm around you once more. You leaned on him, still eating from time to time, him drinking the coffee you obviously didn't want.

"For next time, very little coffee. Lots of milk. Enough sugar to get cavities."

"Note taken."

"Although, maybe not the sugar. Like, what if I actually had cavities and had to go to the dentist? Are there any dentists here? Would I just have to drink an entire bottle of rum while you or Kuina pulled my tooth out? Could I ever forgive you for that if it was one of my front teeth?"

"These insights into your mind are fascinating."

"I mean it."

"I know it."

He was laughing. And you were laughing as well, but also, it was a little bit serious.

"My mind's a constant monologue. Got worse since landing here."

"Does it ever stop?"

"Sometimes. Usually when you are around."

His eyes met yours. "Guess I can't go anywhere, then."

"Were you planning to?"

"No."

Your heart was racing. Your breath turned heavy. Your faces were so close, if you moved forward a little bit, your lips would meet his. In fact, was he already moving towards you?

"Chishiya…"

"Hm?"

"I haven't brushed my teeth."

You didn't want your first kiss to be ruined by horrible morning breath. He smiled, entertained.

"Did you think I was going to kiss you?"

Oh.

"You weren't!?"

"I guess we will never know." He did place a kiss on your cheek after saying that, merely a little peck, nothing more than a brush of his lips against your skin. The look on his face confirmed the answer to your question was a yes, but you wish to have gotten verbal confirmation as well.

"That's unfair!"

"Go brush your teeth."

"You're not my dentist."

"You have bestowed on me the responsibility of being the one to take your front tooth out when you, inevitably, develop cavities from the sugar intake. I am the closest thing to it."

You smiled, but were still red, and hot, and in a way that was not even cute. You most likely looked like you had just climbed Everest or run a marathon.

"And then you will kiss me?"

"We'll see."

#chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya x reader #chishiya fanfic #chishiya angst #chishiya #chishiya x you #aib chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #shuntaro chishiya #chishiya x y/n #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya fic #chishiya fluff #Spotify #as much as you want

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miekasa · 4 years ago

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okay but what about airport!levi? he gives quiet businessman vibes sitting in his slacks and turtleneck

IN HIS TURTLENECK 😭😭 He would also be quiet and to himself, but not in the emo way. You got me thinking about all of them now, so here are my other thoughts about the boys at the airport.

Levi

He thinks the idea of separating classes on an airplane is beyond stupid, but if the flight is particularly long, or particularly packed, he’s not above paying for business class for a little extra personal space for the two of you.

When he doesn’t do that, tho, he never picks your guys’ seats ahead of time, so sometimes you’ll be separated. Good thing he’s also not above lying at the check-in desk, “I’m in Zone 1, could my wife be seated next to me so that we can board together?”

They respond with an “of course,” and move your seats together, and Levi walks back with a content nod of appreciation. You are not married, and marriage sucks about as much as class separation on a 30 foot long plane, but it has its benefits.

Masks on, regardless. No debates. Pandemic or not, the mask stays on. Do not perceive him, keep the pressurized air sharing to a minimum.

Doesn’t wander much in the airport. There’s nothing in there that he hasn’t seen already, except for the marked up prices on touristy t-shirts.

And if you wander, he’ll usually just sit in the waiting area to watch your bags while you window shop and do your thing. If you’re gone for more than 30 mins, he might call, under the pretenses of, “Making sure you didn’t get lost. You know that Starbucks was near gate 41 to the left, not the right, right?” Like he’s a comedian or something 🙄

He does encourage you to get snacks before you board, tho. Airplane food is gross, and he would much rather pay for a $13 sandwich that you can snack on later, than for you to have to eat mush.

He’s got a little portable mug he takes with him for when he’s wants to buy a hot drink before getting on his flight. It’s cute.

Doesn’t fall asleep on the plane ever. No matter how long the flight is—at most, he’ll take a quick power nap somewhere in the middle if it’s over 9 hours, but other than that, he’s good to go.

Doesn’t mind if you fall asleep, and he always adjusts your neck pillow to make sure you don’t get cramps.

Jean

Travel champion. This man loves being in the airport even though he’s convinced it’s a time capsule, he fucking loves it.

King of “your airport fashion matters, babe.” Not necessarily wearing a whole three piece suit, but he does put in a little effort; it’s not just the first pair of sweats he has laying around.

Swears coffee tastes better in the airport. It does not. That does not stop him from buying it. He should learn to quit tho, especially for someone who hates airplane bathrooms as much as he does.

Charming with all the security personnel and desk assistants. You could be checking in for a flight at 4am, and Jean’s got people smiling and cheery for their shifts.

Bitches about the selection of movies on the flight, and learns to just download his own ahead of time. Gets really startled when he’s watching something and the flight attendants try to grab his attention for food or drinks—the very loud, classic, Jean Kirstein “HUH?”

On that note, he also gets startled by the loudspeaker announcements in the airport. He doesn’t know why he has to hear about American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun, when he is not on American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun.

Not opposed to paying extra for better airplane food or drinks on the plane if it’s the right time of day. He always finds something to toast to, plus he likes to treat you whenever and wherever he can.

Takes care of your overhead luggage and helps out the people around him if he sees they’re struggling. Gets shy when you call him a gentleman for it, and he rubs his neck, grumbling, “I was just helping the line move a little faster.”

Great timing, generous, will pick up your checked bags for you, and already rented a car a week in advance: 10/10 travel buddy.

Porco

He doesn’t like planes and there’s no solid reason why—nothing bad happened to him as a kid, and it’s not even that rare unfortunate incidents freak him out or anything—something flying just makes him a bit uneasy.

He won’t say it though, and he tries to keep it together when you’re checking in, but you can tell he’s anxious once you’re sitting and waiting for your flight to board.

He’ll ask to switch seats if you have the window seat, because somehow the feeling of being boxed in between the plane wall/window and another person makes it feel more like a car than a plane and he’s okay with that.

Going to the airport is one of the few times he hair won’t be styled, and falls in his face a bit. He usually throws on a beanie to cover it up, but you think he looks pretty cute either way.

Can’t usually fall asleep and he hates it because he just sits there thinking about the worst for the entire duration of the flight. But when you travel with him for the first time and coax him into taking a nap it’s so much better.

It’s about the only time he’ll let himself be publicly babied by you; but it makes everything so much easier that he doesn’t even mind.

So now, whenever you get on flights, he just puts his hood up, lays his head on your shoulder and waits for the magic to happen.

Bonus: you’re traveling with his friends, and Pieck and Marcel past to your seats, surprised to see Porco fast asleep on your shoulder. Pieck squeals, going on about how you must be a wizard to have gotten him to nap, to which Marcel just shakes his head, “Nah, he’s just really in love with her. Look at his face, that’s the calmest he’s been since he was five.”

Connie

Loves the airport. Not an ounce of organization in his soul though. By that I mean, yeah, he’s probably forgotten his passport at home, or forgotten that a full size bottle of body wash cannot go into his carry-on luggage.

Forgets to wear shoes that easy to take off and is fumbling over himself after the security check trying to lace them back up or put them back on.

Likes for you guys to have coordinating sweatsuits, and even though you don’t travel super often, Connie’s got at least 3 pairs of them lined up for you guys.

Sweet enough to drop plans or rearrange his schedule to travel with you if you were originally gonna be alone. He knows you can handle yourself, but he doesn’t want for you to travel alone if you don’t have to, especially if you’re going someplace far and/or for an extended period of time.

He always finds breakfast food to eat before he gets on his flight (if you two even have time to spare for food that is). It could be 9pm, but Connie’s asking for a breakfast wrap.

Hates waiting in the little pre-flight area. Claims it’s boring as hell and that’s why there’s no reason to get there 3 hours early 🙄🙄

He always spends at least 30 minutes browsing all the movie and TV show options available on-board, loudly exclaiming in excitement when they have something cool to watch—only to fucking fall asleep 10 minutes later. Right on top of you when he was oh-so-excited to watch Madagascar 2.

Always steals the aisle seat, even if it’s yours. It’s probably for the best though, because he has to get up to pee at least twice, no matter how short your flight is.

Makes some cheeky remark about you meeting him in the bathroom. He doesn’t mean it... unless he does. Unfortunately, you’ve never... successfully been able to do that out of fear of being caught by the flight attendants, but there have been a few quickies in the “family” (“It’s ethical, because technically we’re participating in the act of making a family, babe”) bathroom before you boarded. It’s his fault, not yours.

Armin

He really likes planes, and traveling in general. I think trains would be his favorite mode of transportation, but airplanes are good too.

I hate to say it but he claps when the plane lands. I will not elaborate or defend my stance on this.

Prefers the window seat because he likes to look out at the clouds as he’s in the sky.

He took his passport photo a little before he cut his hair, so the security personnel always hold it up and flicker between his ID photo and his current appearance a few times before stamping it. It makes him a little embarrassed because he can’t tell if they think he looks better or worse and sometimes he’s really fighting for his life convincing them that that’s him in the picture 😭

Listens to music rather than downloading a movie or watching a show, and always brings wire headphones to the airport so that it’s easier to share and listen with you.

If you fall asleep on him first, he’ll likely fall asleep on you shortly after. If he’s tired enough, he’ll fall asleep first, though he’s somewhat embarrassed and disappointed because he wanted to see the descent and skyline outside.

When he’s not asleep or window-watching, he’s somewhat fidgety out of excitement, rather than nervousness. He’s excited to be traveling and looks forward to wherever you’re going, even if it is just a weekend long work trip.

Hates traveling alone, though. It just feels particularly lonely to him to be going someplace foreign without company by his side. So, he’ll call you at every checkpoint and send you updates.

He only ever buys two things in duty free: shot glasses with the name of the city/country you’re traveling to, and whatever variety of button down short-sleeves are available to him.

Erwin

You knew this was coming, but this man is absolutely at the airport 18 hours before your flight takes off, and he’s driving like a manic getting there, like you don’t have all the time in the world.

Fascinated by anything and everything in duty free. Definitely spends more money than necessary on your return flight on the grounds that he was getting a good deal.

Exchanges money in the airport and keeps cash in his fanny pack. There’s no traveling without the fanny pack.

Plays crossword puzzles on his phone on the plane, and it’s just about one of the only games he has. That and Candy Crush—I get the feeling he’d be on level 500+ of that game and he always knocks out at least 10 levels on a flight.

Always a little surprised when he feels his your head on his shoulder, but he says nothing, and acts like he didn’t even notice, but there’s a telling little smile on his face.

Takes the most foul selfies of him and your sleeping self. In his defense, he had the best intentions; but that angle was flattering nobody. It’s too bad he’d already paid for the in-flight wifi and sent it to Hange because now you’ll never live them down.

You could probably get him to put on a (skincare) face mask during your flight. He forgets to take it off tho, and if you don’t tell him, he’d fully walk through customs with it on his face.

Accidentally gets drunk because he doesn’t understand that just because he can handle several glasses of whiskey in his favorite bar on a Friday night, does not mean it will translate on a plane.

#anonymous #yeah this is a roast of erwin a bit but im right i know i am #aot x reader #levi x reader #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #connie springer x reader #armin x reader #erwin x reader #porco x reader #aot headcanons

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wh6res · 4 years ago

Text

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic.

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane."

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears.

"bitch," you mutter under your breath.

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again.

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?"

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway.

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?"

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him.

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath.

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement.

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year.

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her.

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living.

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing."

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done.

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way.

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement.

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears.

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend.

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word.

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel.

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode.

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information.

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics.

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve.

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too.

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?"

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind.

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head.

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest.

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!"

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys.

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god �� until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history."

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said.

"do you really want to know why?"

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart.

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss.

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone.

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment.

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day.

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor.

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down.

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud.

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand.

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't…

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper.

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused.

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going.

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back.

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video.

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers.

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples.

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration.

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin.

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day.

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder.

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp.

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time.

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside.

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home.

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off.

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung.

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him.

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with.

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it... but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you.

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob.

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face.

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

#hmu if i missed a warning #yandere doyoung #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #tw swearing #tw manipulation #tw violence #tw knife

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robinrequiems · 3 years ago

Note

Quiet kid/nerd Damian and Queen B's friend/ sidekick(idk) Jon? or the opposite

High school clishe I guess :>

(ignore if you found this lame)

yuh.

• damian didn’t see the point in talking if he didn’t need to, so he didn’t. his teachers never called on him since they knew he paid attention ( or at least know the material )

• jon um. is a people pleaser. he needs friends. he wants people to like him. and if the queen of the school doesn’t like him, than everyone else won’t like him. that’s how he thinks

• but anyways, Damian was popular, but he was a loner type. he didn’t feel like talking to inferior people. he had two friends at this school, one still goes there, but she shared nothing w/ him and the other moved

• jon w/ very bad anxiety, he’s just. he worries too much, to add onto that, not only is he the queen bee’s bestie, he is also her boyfriend, the football playing boyfriend.

• hitting all the cliches. v here’s the thing tho: jons closeted, uh he said yes to her because he was scared that she would ruin him, he didn’t want to break her heart or make her mad. so he said yes.

• theres this boy who said next to him, maybe sorta the one who awakened his inner gay. jon is interested in girls- he remembered that one crush on this one girl from Hamilton

• jon honestly just likes who he wants. but he doesn’t like queen bee.( her name is bea )

• oh did I mention that the boys name is damian?

• yeah. and do you imagine how perfect it was to find out that they would be sitting next to each other in physics, the only class jon is so good in

• they were lab partners. he. and. Damian.

• he’s aware that he shouldn’t keep leading bea on. but he’s. he is sorta scared

• too bad for him because Damian immediately realized jon had it for him. had it real bad. he knew as soon as he just looked at him and jon went red, how jon stared at him when he thought damian wasn’t looking. how jon looked for Damian in the halls and tried to actively talk to him even if Damian never responded

• damian had a small little bitty crush on jon, so maybe when Jon started paying attention to him, & when he learned of jons crush, he started.. he started dressing up. he may have started putting on lip gloss ( to look kissable :) ) & mascara ( to show off his eyelashes even more ), jewelry on his ears and hands ( still loving Damian w/ ear cuffs and rings <3 ), & he started trying more with outfits, no more all black outfits

• but why, the blunt damian wayne, not tell Jon that he liked him? jons dating bea. he can’t. he can’t do anything. and jon doesn’t look like the type to confront his problems. he looks like the type to hide away. Damian can’t be with someone who hides themselves.

• so damian doesn’t say anything

• jon isn’t a bitch, he’s the sweetest boy ever. he’s the type to buy someone else lunch, he brings cookies for his team, he stays after practice to help clean up

• damian kept his silence, until bea insulted jon. all jon was trying to do was help her.

Damian: don’t be such a bitch.

Bea: .. excuse me?

Damian: all he’s trying to do is help your bratty ass. & here you are. being an asshole.

Bea: who do you think you are? just because you’re a wayne doesn’t mean shit. I’ll ruin you, and drag your family’s name down the dirt.

Damian: mm. go ahead and try.

• wow jon was so. so. wow. he was astounded. someone defended him. Damian defended him.

• jon couldn’t believe it. he started paying attention when bea dumped her stupid starbucks coffee on damian. that’s. when he got angry.

Jon: you can’t just treat people like that!

Bea: jonny, baby, cmon- who cares, it’s nkt like he can’t replace it. he’s rich

Jon: it doesn’t matter- I- god, I can’t do this.

Bea: what?

Jon: I’m tired of watching you be a.. a asshoke to people. I can’t be with someone like that. we’re done- i.. I can’t believe I just watched you bully people for 2 years w/o saying anything

Bea: you can’t be serious.

Jon: I am.

• jon ended up leading Damian to the bathroom, trying to clean off his shirt before damian got frustrated

Jon: wait. * taking off his zip up jacket and handing it over * use it, give it back tomorrow? or yeah.

Damian: I’ll give it back on our date.

Jon: da-te?

Damian: you like me, I like you. I would like to go on a date. Please.

Jon: yes!

• so they go on a date, they become boyfriends, & Jon gets over his anxiety a bit, he has friends. he has Damian. he doesn’t need everyone to love him. ( even tho people still do. bc it’s Jon )

• jons happy

#nerd and jock #damian wayne #Jon kent #damijon

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esmealux · 4 years ago

Photo

Ship: Sailing

Part: 1 / 1 (But you can read it as a sequel to this piece.)

Setting: After 5x06

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: T

Summary: Ella finds out her OTP is finally happening. Or, Lucifer bragging about finally having sex with Chloe, Ella fangirling over it, and Chloe being horny so done with them.

Author’s note: I wrote this before watching 5x07, i.e. before seeing Ella’s actual reaction, so consider this an alternative take on it.

‘Hey, Ella,’ Chloe greets her as she walks into the lab, coffee in hand. Ella greets her back before holding up a crucial piece of evidence. ‘Okay, so I wiped the keys you found for prints, and guess wha-’ As Ella lifts her head to see her co-worker’s reaction when she tells her they have a new lead, she realises she isn’t listening; her face is turned away, an anxious look on her face. Or is it excited? Following her line of sight to see what, or who, has Chloe’s attention, she spots a familiar three-piece suit through the cracks between the blinds. Ella smiles knowingly. ‘So, Chloe, did you and Lucifer finally-

‘Good morning, miss Lopez!’

‘Well, speak of the Devil, I guess,’ Ella quips when Lucifer enters the room… with an unprecedentedly cheerful look on his face. She waits for his reaction to her remark, a nod of approval for playing along with his whole ‘I’m the devil’-thing, but this co-worker doesn’t seem to listen either. His eyes are fixed on Chloe, an ear-to-ear grin on his face. She smiles right back at him, their bodies leaning towards each other, like two magnets. Two in looove magnets. Chloe takes a sip of her Starbucks order, her eyes lingering on Lucifer, who is staring hypnotised at her lips. Something definitely went down between them. But then why didn’t they get here together?

‘So… you two didn’t come together today?’ She asks, making it sound more like a question than a statement. Her lips curve slightly upwards against her will, and she fails to hide the excitement in her eyes.

Chloe almost chokes on her coffee. Meanwhile, a complacent smirk slowly spreads on Lucifer’s face. ‘Oh, we came together, Miss Lopez,’ he informs her, looking smugger and… happier than Ella’s ever seen him. ‘Quite a few times actually,’ he shamelessly adds under his breath as he directs his smirk at Chloe. She’s coughing, her hand clutched to her chest; with a ‘Dearie me’ Lucifer places his hand on her back and looks at her with genuine concern. ‘Are you okay, Detective? Do you need anything?’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Ella reassures him. She needs answers. ‘I just- Are you saying what I think you’re saying?!’ Her smile grows bigger with every word. ‘Did you two-’ She lets her eyes slide back and forth between her friends. Lucifer moves an inch closer to Chloe, his hand gliding down Chloe’s back, only to brush his fingers discretely, or so he thinks, against her butt as he lets out a deep, satisfied sigh. ‘Mm-hmm.’

Oh. Ehm. Gee. Her Deckerstar dreams are coming true. Ella needs more information.

‘Finally!’ She exclaims, earning a look of agreement from Lucifer. ‘I mean, that’s huge, you guys! So tell me…’ She says, pushing aside some evidence, carefully of course, as she places her arms on the table and leans forward. ‘How was it?’ She cocks her eye, focusing on Chloe. (Ella notices her friend’s make-up is a little smudged, but the ‘freshly boned’-glow really works for her). Chloe doesn’t answer her question. Instead, she looks up at Lucifer, who’s standing even closer to her now, and shakes her head, followed by a classic Chloe eye roll. Ella does notice just the hint of a smile, though.

‘Oh, spit it out, Decker!’ Ella demands, crossing her arms. Lucifer casts a glance at her before looking at Chloe again. ‘Yes, Detective. How was it?’

Chloe sighs and places her cup on the table. ‘Well, there’s nothing to tell. It was just sex,’ she tells them, now failing massively to hide her smile.

‘Just sex?’ Ella repeats sceptically, trying to give Chloe her best ‘I know you’re lying and that you’re the murderer’-face (it’s not as good as Chloe’s, though). Lucifer chuckles and scoffs. ‘“Just sex”. Preposterous. I believe the words “best I ever had” were used.’ He puffs out his chest and grins, proud.

‘Well, of course it was! You two are crazy about each other – and that makes it tha best kind of sex!’

Chloe opens her mouth only to close it again. She clears her throat. Then she opens her mouth again. ‘Well, no, I mean, yes, but-’ She’s interrupted by Ella’s squeal and a pleased ‘See?’ from Lucifer. Chloe closes her eyes for a second, sighing, before she continues. ‘But I believe Lucifer,’ she turns her head to face him as she enounces his name, “was the one to use the words “best I ever had”.’ He beams at her unapologetically and smoothly steps behind her, placing both hands on her hips as he leans down to whisper in her ear. ‘Well, you might not have used those exact words, Detective, but you did…’

Ella can’t hear the last bit, but whatever it is, it makes Chloe blush and mouth fall slightly open. They both chuckle quietly together, Lucifer nuzzling his nose against the side of Chloe’s face. When their eyes land on Ella, she sees a mixture of confusion and concern on their faces. Apparently, she was staring. She can’t help it; the OTP feels are hitting her, and they’re hitting her hard.

‘Miss Lopez, are you alright?’ Lucifer asks her, his hands still on Chloe’s hips. She notices how he’s snuck his fingers underneath Chloe’s – or his own, it seems – shirt and is lightly brushing her side with the tip of his fingers.

‘What? No, I’m totes okay, are you crazy? You guys are the cutest! I’m so happy for you,’ she tells them, propping her head on her now folded hands as she smiles at them.

‘Thanks, Ella.’ Chloe smiles back at her before turning her body just a tad so she can look up into Lucifer’s twinkling, brown eyes. Her hand slides up his forearm, slowly and lovingly. ‘I’m happy for us too,’ she admits quietly. Lucifer’s lips part and the softest smile forms on his face. He looks… emotional. Are his eyes a little damp? Adorbs.

‘Uhm,’ Chloe mutters, taking her eyes of Lucifer, who continues to look at her like she’s everything he never knew he wanted. Her hand slides back down his forearm and into his hand. Their fingers intertwine. Ella’s afraid her lips might be stuck in a stupid grin for the rest of the day. ‘Would you mind not telling anyone about this?’ Chloe asks, raising her and Lucifer’s hands a little between them. ‘Just for now?’

Ella nods, still entranced. She’ll gladly keep her mouth shut if it means the two lovebirds get a little more undisturbed time in their bubble. ‘Of course.’

‘Thanks,’ Chloe whispers, before letting her gaze glide back to her tall, dark and handsome boyfriend. They seriously can’t keep their eyes off each other. Nor their hands, it seems; Lucifer’s index finger is tracing patterns on Chloe’s thigh, their hands still locked. Meanwhile, Chloe’s free hand is on Lucifer’s lower back, clenching his suit jacket. Their eyes are sparkling with warmth and joy… and love? Suddenly Ella feels like she’s invading their privacy.

‘I’ll give you guys a minute.’

She starts walking towards the door, getting a double-shot of Lucifer’s signature scent as she passes her two friends. Neither of them seem to notice that she’s leaving. Just as she’s about to open the door and make her exit, she turns around towards them, clearing her throat. They stop whatever conversation they’re having with their eyes to look at her. ‘Just a tiny tip. If you don’t want people to know about you two, you know, shagging,’ Ella imitates Lucifer’s British accent, and the power couple share a glance and a chuckle, like there’s an inside joke. ‘Well, maybe think about, like, freshin’ up your make-up a little, Chloe. And you might also want to put on a shirt that doesn’t look like you picked it up from a certain Mr. Morningstar’s floor,’ Ella pauses to wink at Lucifer, who’s never looked more delighted. ‘Also, his cologne is aaaall over you. Oh, and,’ Ella begins to add as she notices something from this new angle. ‘That’s a really nice shade on you, Lucifer.’ She gestures to her own neck to show him what she means, but he doesn’t seem to listen to that bit.

‘She smells like me?’ Lucifer asks, clearly satisfied. As he breathes his partner in, she rolls her eyes and tries to cover up the dark lipstick marks visible above his collar. ‘Oh, buttoning up now, are we? Funny, ‘cause in the car you couldn’t rip it open fast enough.’ Lucifer chuckles. Chloe shakes her head and palms her face.

‘In the car?!’ Ella exclaims, maybe a little too loudly. ‘I get it, girlfriend. Once you get a piece of this,’ she gestures towards Lucifer and clicks her tongue, ‘how can you get enough?’

Lucifer grins at Ella. ‘I sure hope she can’t.’ Chloe tries feigning annoyance, but she can’t help but bite her lip and look at him hungrily. She’s totally already thinking about when she’ll be able to jump his bones again.

‘Anyway, just thought I’d remind you that pretty much everyone here are, like, literal pros at piecing two and two together, and you, my good friends, are screaming ‘guilty’ – guilty in having had mind-blowing sex all night.’ She watches their faces as Lucifer’s grin grows even wider with a delighted ‘Oh’ and Chloe’s cheeks turn slightly red. ‘I’m just gonna grab a hot chocolate. Please don’t have sex on the evidence while I’m gone. This case has enough butt prints already.’

Before the door closes shut behind her, Ella hears Chloe playfully scolding Lucifer. ‘What did I say about being smug?’

‘How could I not be?’ He defends himself, and there’s that soft lovey-dovey voice again. Ella has never heard Lucifer talk like that until today. Just before the door clicks, she hears the sound of a kiss.

Ship: Sailing.

Day: Made.

#deckerstar fanfiction #fluff #deckerstar fluff #lucifer x chloe #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #ella lopez #established #lucifer fanfictio #ella and her otp #5a #writing

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bnhaficsforthesoul · 4 years ago

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BNHA College AU - Monoma

Major: Psychology

Minor: French

Sports: Soccer

Clubs: Debate

Neito feels the need to prove himself to everyone - he wants everyone to look at him and recognize how successful he is, mainly due to a childhood of everyone around him having very low expectations for him, so he wants to prove them wrong

Because of that, he’s forced himself into doing as much as possible - he studies in all his free time so that he can go into class and act like it’s easy and stay at the top of the class, he volunteers on some weekends at a local hospital, he’s on the soccer team and so he spends a lot of time at practices or games, and he joined the debate team to top it off

So basically, he has a full time schedule, and he is very tired. Not that he would ever admit it, he hides behind concoctions of coffee and energy drinks to make it appear like he’s fine

Even though most people tend to avoid him because of his “I’m so much better than all of you” attitude, no one can deny he isn’t amazing for pulling off everything he is. So far he hasn’t broke, so despite how tired he is, it seems to be working for him

The only people who really try and help him calm down are his roommate, Shinsou, and a friend from high school, Kendo - who are both very concerned about Neito, but he brushes them off saying that he’s fine

You’d think as a psych major he’d be able to understand that he needs to chill, but nope - his ego won’t let him

Now, you meet Neito in your Abnormal Psych class, when at the beginning of the semester your professor said that your only grade for the class is a project that you’ll be paired up for - and you ended up with Neito

At first you thought you were lucky, getting paired with the smart kid, but as soon as you two sat down together to talk about the project you quickly decided you weren’t so lucky

“Let’s just get this over with, I’ll do all the work, okay? I don’t want to fail because of you.”

Even though having him, who you already admitted was smart, do all the work sounded like a nice way to pass the class without doing any work, you weren’t gonna let him bad mouth you like that. He had no right to immediately decide that you were too dumb to even help out

“Well I don’t want to fail because of you, so I’ll take my half of the work, and you’ll take yours. I’m not putting my grade completely in your hands either.”

After a few seconds of glaring at each other, he dramatically rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine, whatever, I’m picking what parts I want to do though.”

Truthfully he was happy you said that because he does not want to do a whole project by himself nor does he have the time to do so, but he doesn’t want to fail. So he’s just gonna hope that you’re smart

Throughout most of the project, you two just did your own work by yourselves - neither of you had any interest in working with the other

So other than the few times where he made sure to check in and go “are you actually working on the project?” you didn’t talk to him again until the day before the project was due when you met up in the library

You both needed to make sure the other actually did their part and that your work would actually work fine together, and you weren’t surprised when Neito’s parts ended up being amazing work that would for sure get a high score. He was also very happy when he saw that your work was also amazing, he had worried a bit that he would have to redo a bunch of your stuff so he was glad he wouldn’t

But poor boy was exhausted, with everything that he has to do day by day on top of a huge project that he totally didn’t end up doing most of in the past week (the hypocrite) – and you could tell. Despite not knowing him well, you knew that Monoma tended to take a lot of pride in his appearance, so seeing him show up with dark circles under his eyes and messy hair was surprising

Even though he had been kinda rude to you before, you felt lowkey bad. He had obviously worked very hard on the project, and your grade depended on that. His did too of course, but still. So, you invited him out for coffee

“Seriously?”

You thought he was gonna make fun of you for asking, almost making you say nevermind, but the look on his face showed shock rather than humor, so you nodded your head, “yeah, you look tired. I’ll buy it, don’t worry. Just to celebrate us finishing this stupid project.”

He agreed, although he still looked kinda shocked, but maybe it was just because he was tired

So, you brought him to the nearest starbucks on campus, and you ordered your drinks – he got some fancy one with a lot of instructions, and once you got them you went back to the library cause there were a lot of people in the starbucks - it is a college campus afterall

At first you both kinda just drank your coffee and went back to going over your project since you would have to present it tomorrow, but as the caffeine started kicking in Monoma started talking more and more about other things

Like he mentioned that he has to leave in about an hour cause he has soccer practice and so you were like oh youre on the soccer team?? How cool – and ofc, he’s not gonna miss a chance to brag about himself. So yes, he did talk about all of the cool things he does around campus, and despite how easily it could come off as annoying, he seemed like he was actually happy to be talking about it

However, you had to flaunt yourself too – so whenever you could you’d interject with a hard class you took or some volunteering or internship you’d done or your job, anything to show that you’re a hard worker too

And Neito liked that – you were fun. You were letting him talk about himself without getting annoyed, you were smart, you were nice, and you also were really hardworking

He totally didn’t go back to his dorm after practice and ramble to Shinsou about how awesome his project partner is

The next day, of course the presentation went great, no matter how you are at presenting Monoma is great at it and your actual project was really good so everything went perfect

You had pretty much that’d be it of you and Monoma, but at the end of class he came up to you with a proud grin on his face and asked if you wanted to come to his game this weekend

You weren’t busy or anything so you agreed, and lowkey you thought it be fun to see him playing. Even before you met him you knew this boy was pretty, and thinking about him running around playing made you a bit more flustered than you’d like to admit

So you went, and you followed Monoma’s instructions of where to go and all that, and soon the game started.

And your brain was right – he did look extra pretty like this. You couldn’t help but cheer for him as he scored goals, making him flash you a smile every time. Part of you wondered why you were doing this, you had only really known him for a few days altogether, and you disliked him for most of that, but you couldn’t deny you were having fun

Ofc, his team won, and you cheered like crazy. He came up to you after the game, ready to brag about how good he did, but you beat him to it, “You did so good Monoma!”

“I know, I know, thank you~”

Even though you should probably be the one treating him for winning, he said that he had to pay you back for the coffee the other day, and you went to get some fast food

Not healthy, but it’s a celebration, he’ll let himself eat badly sometimes

After that, you found yourself hanging out with him a lot more often, either studying or going to his games or whatever – you even ended up together in another psych class the next semester

Basically, you two had become best friends, and that was fine for a while, despite you thinking he was very pretty and had a gorgeous voice and you had started to respect him a lot

Well, it was fine for you – Neito had found himself falling deeper a lot sooner than you did. People generally don’t show him the time of day that you have, and he knows he wasn’t exactly the nicest to you when you first met but even so you not only defended yourself but were nice anyways

So yeah, long story short he loves you, he practically worships the ground you walk on tbh but he won’t ever admit that (at least not for a while)

It takes a lot of convincing from Shinsou and Kendo to even try asking you out, them saying “they’ve stuck around for this long, there’s a good chance they might like you too. Or at least I doubt they’d think it’s weird, if they can put up with you normally I’m sure they can handle this.”

So eventually, he did. Awkwardly knocking on your dorm room door one night dressed nicely, making you feel kinda weird when you answered in your pajamas, but he asked “y/n, would you like to go out with me tonight? As a date?”

Poor boy was trying so hard to sound confident but he wasn’t doing all that well, his voice coming out kinda wobbly. You were lowkey shocked when he said it but it was a pleasant surprise, no you had never really thought about dating monoma, but you were sure as hell willing to give it a try

So you said yes, asking him to give you a minute so that you could get equally as dressed up while your roommate helped you out, and soon you were on your way to wherever he was taking you

Of course it was a very fancy date, Monoma wanted to go all out for you, so it was a kind of overwhelming first date but you found yourself enjoying it greatly. He may have tried being all romantic and flirty, but there was still the goofy Monoma that you were used to under there

By the end of the date, there was no doubt about it, you liked him, so there were no objections when he asked if he could kiss you after walking you back to your dorm.

Once again, Monoma coming back to his dorm and rambling to Shinsou about how well the date went and how he even got a kiss! But Shinsou was happy for him

The next day he texted you to come meet him at the library where he officially asked you to date him, he wanted to do it there because that’s where you first became friends – how cute

Now Neito has another person constantly telling him to calm down, you support him in everything he does of course but when he’s tired you will make him stop studying so that he can nap with you

When he has matches you get to do that cheesy thing when after he wins he can run up to you and kiss you – its amazing, his teammates think it’s gross, but who cares

And you go to his debate competitions if youre allowed to, and hoo boy can he debate he always has the best arguments and everything you’re so proud like hell yeah that’s your annoying ass man

Neito is a French minor, and of course he’s gonna use that on you. He’s very good at French, like he picked it up quickly and he’s just got it down completely, so ofc he’s using that to flirt with you

But if you know French and use it back at him he will get very flustered (if you don’t know it maybe you should learn some just for this)

You guys go on so many fancy dates, not always expensive fancy dates, but things like you show up at a park and he set up a bunch of fairy lights and brought champagne or something

If you ever hang out at his dorm, which might be fairly often cause of how much he studies and all that, Shinsou will get annoyed by you two being cute

But he’ll also tell you a bunch of embarrassing stories about Neito so you love talking to him, Neito does not like it so much for that exact reason

he’s generally not big on pda but sometimes he’ll feel the need to make some big declaration of his love while you’re in public and you’re just like neito plz shut up - he’s romantic he cant help it

okay but you two have totally faked a proposal multiple times at a fancy restaurant or gone to bakeries saying you were engaged just so that you could get free food - but he makes the fake proposals so realistic that they lowkey make you tear up... imagine what he’ll be like when he does it for real

#in this household we love and support monoma neito #monoma headcanons #monoma #monoma neito #monoma x reader #monoma imagine #monoma college au #bnha #mha #bnha college au

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fairyoftbz · 4 years ago

Text

[13:27]

🎄Day 1 of the Christmas project🎄

Last day of November. It felt like the entire world was hit by a tidal wave of cold, freezing everyone on its way. Wrapped in your coat, you were taking hurried baby steps on the slippery pavement, the only thing that you wanted was to go home and stay under a hot shower for the following hour. You were legitimately freezing, fingers almost going numb despite your thick gloves. It felt like the low temperature got more and more aggressive throughout the past years, despite your choice of warm clothes.

But, as you paced down towards the exit of the university perimeter to go to the nearest Starbucks to buy a coffee, you felt something hit you on the shoulder. It was swift, round, and cold.

A snowball, the puffiness of your winter jacket fortunately toning the impact down, because it landed on your shoulder with quite some strength.

Turning around, you see a bunch of students fooling around in the snow, two of them staring at you from afar. You relaxed a bit when you noticed their childish behaviour, shrugging it off as you continued on your way, knowing that it wasn't probably aimed at you. One was trying to hide behind his friend, probably the culprit. Thinking that he wasn't going to say anything, you just kept on walking, ready to accomplish your mission of getting a warm beverage before going home. However, the student took the responsibility upon himself and jogged towards you, a hand gently landing on your upper arm to stop you from walking away.

"Hey, um, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to aim at you. Did I hurt you?" You looked up and noticed a good-looking man in front of you, somewhat out of breath, the tip of his nose bright red because of the cold. "It's fine, don't worry about it," you shrugged it off with a smile as the man in front of you worryingly looked at you because, well, he had some strength and threw a snowball at full speed directly towards you.

It was meant for his friend - Sunwoo - but the latter managed to dodge at last minute, avoiding the projectile which hit you. You were sure that you would have a small bruise from the shock tomorrow morning, but it didn't matter, it wasn't like you were clutching your shoulder, gasping for air.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?" he asked again as he gently wiped the remaining snow off your coat, a smile appearing on his face when he looked at you. His gesture felt comforting and reassuring. He was kind of cute, you weren't going to lie. He was pleasant to look at. "I'm just glad I had my coat on," you giggled at your words but immediately stopped as you saw that he was still being serious, "no but don't worry, I'm just more startled than hurt, you don't have to worry too much about it," you reassured him with a smile. "Jae! Stop flirting and come back, we're leaving!" you heard a male voice coming from behind, followed by a few snickers from his other friends. "I guess your friends are calling you," you vaguely gestured towards the other young men behind him. You were about to bid farewell to him when he gently grabbed your forearm, again.

"They can wait. I don't mean to come off as a creep but... Do you think... I could get your number? I wanna apologise by offering you a cup of coffee some time." Now, his nose wasn't the only red thing, his cheeks were practically glowing like a red light. You were surprised that a man ever approached you like this, it was the first time, and you didn't know what to say or do. "O-Only if you want it, of course," He immediately added as he took your silence for a form of doubt and you blinked a few times as you tried to think of a negative point about giving him your number. What could go wrong? "No, no, it's f-fine," you were stumbling on your words, something that Hyunjae found quite endearing, as well as your reddening cheeks.

He took his phone out of his coat pocket and handed it for you to enter your number. You took the device with shaky hands, not sure if it was due to the cold or the man in front of you. Maybe both.

Probably both.

As you handed him his phone back, your fingers accidentally brushed, sending electricity down your spine. This situation seemed so unreal, so scripted that you started to think that you were the main character in a cliché Christmas movie. The young, handsome man randomly meeting you, the tender looks, the flirting. Oh god, stop Y/N, you're starting to blush!

"Thanks... Y/N," he said as he read what you've just entered on his phone, your name rolled off his tongue very naturally. "I guess I'll see you around. And again, I'm very sorry for hurting you," you gave him a soft smile as you reassured him one last time before parting ways, your mind still clouded that a gorgeous person like him just bluntly asked for your number and flirted with you.

The following day after the incident, you found the time to have lunch together as a first date, to which you were quite nervous, and a bit taken off guard. Hyunjae seemed genuinely a sweet man when you texted him, his words considerate and attentive, making you laugh and blush at the same time. This motherfucker was good at flirting, damn.

You arrived at the coffee shop you had both agreed on going a few minutes before the hour given, and Hyunjae was already there. Hiding for a few seconds near the entrance, you made sure that your hair and your makeup still looked good as when you had gotten ready in the morning. Greeting the barista with a smile, you immediately paced to Hyunjae's table, where he was waiting for you while checking his phone.

"Hi!" you sweetly said, and he looked up, his face lighting up when your eyes met. He looked like a model with his black turtleneck and navy-blue darted trousers, you were relieved to see that you had both made an effort to dress appropriately for your first-time meeting. "Hi, Y/N," he stood up and gave you a light hug before drawing out the chair for you. Your cheeks immediately went up in flames, not anticipating this act of chivalry from him. "Thank you," you said as you comfortably sat in the chair, the waiter coming to take your order. "I'll have the English brunch with a cappuccino please," you said, and Hyunjae placed his order as well.

The date went well, you couldn't be happier. He was the same as in his messages, sweet, gentle, and caring, that's all you needed to feel comfortable with a man. While you were waiting for your food, he had his arms crossed on the table, and his upper body slightly shifted forward, you knew that his attention was on you and only you.

"I-I think your phone is buzzing," you said as you stopped explaining something to him, your forefinger pointing at the vibrating device next to him. "Doesn't matter, it can wait," he stated as he lowered the button of the side of the phone, making it immediately go silent.

Much to your relief, he wasn't the type that only talked about himself, he was also very attentive and didn't hesitate to ask about your centres of interests or the subjects of your major. He was a marketing student, and you were studying political sciences, so you still had some things to talk about even if it wasn't related to you or your private life. When you were both done eating, you had tried to pay the bill, but he just wouldn't let you. And since you didn't want to throw a tantrum in the middle of the coffee shop, you politely thanked him.

"You'll pay next time," he replied, shooting you a wink with a smile as he handed the waiter his credit card. "N-next time ?!" your reaction wasn't long in coming, making your date chuckle as he got his card back, as well as a receipt. "All right, let's go," he said, ignoring your widened eyes while you absentmindedly put on your coat, still dazed by the words that came out of his mouth a few seconds ago.

When you got out of the building, the cold was there to attack again, biting at any showing skin unprotected by an item of clothing. As you nested your nose in the side of your coat, you couldn't help but let your mind wander as you imagined how it would feel to be in his arms right now. Not knowing how or why he looked hella comfortable and warm to you. Your brain couldn't look at him without saying: a source of warmth. Must hug. Maybe it was his big, puffed coat and woollen scarf, you didn't know, but your body was ready to throw itself into his arms at any point. However, you had another idea, cuddling has to wait a bit.

What about payback? Mh?

You seized the opportunity that Hyunjae was distracted looking at the buildings around you to gather some snow in your bare hands, the contact of your skin with the white powder sending chills up your arms. Shaping the snow with your hands, you quickly managed to create a snowball, slightly hiding it as Hyunjae was sometimes looking at you with a smile. When he made the mistake to have his back turned to you while looking at the front of a shop, you aimed and threw the snowball at him.

The projectile surprised him as it landed in the middle of his back, making him turn around. His face showed nothing but surprise before turning into mischief as he glanced at you with a smirk.

"You think you can get away with this, uh?" he mumbled, loudly enough for you to hear as you started trotting away while giggling, gathering some snow on the way to make another ball, ready to defend yourself. "Come back here, little madam," your laughter increased in embarrassment at the pet name, feeling your cheeks lightly blush as you didn't think he'd ever say something like that.

You started having a snowball fight in the middle of the park, some adults looking at you either adoringly or weirdly, but you both didn't care. You were in your game, your bubble. For once, you couldn't care less about what the other people around you thought of you. Currently, having fun with your date was more important to you than anything else.

A few minutes later you stopped a bit out of breath, shivering as you chased each other for a while.

"Come on," he said while extending his hand towards you, "you look cold, let's get going."

He was right, your hands were turning red and numb since you didn't have any gloves on. You grabbed his hand, and he plunged them in his coat pocket, keeping you close to him. While you rode the bus on the way to your apartment, you sat next to each other and carried on with speaking, as if you were still on your date at the café. You were hopeful that Hyunjae was feeling the same as you did, and the light he had in his eyes as he looked at you, as well as his actions completely erased your doubts. Your hands were trapped between his two gloved ones, sometimes blowing hot air on them, or vigorously rubbing them together to create some warmth. This kind of gesture had your heart racing, scared that he would hear it from your proximity.

When you both stepped out of the elevator to arrive at your door, you fumbled with your keys with your frozen fingers and unlocked your front door, not knowing how to part ways.

"D-do... you want a cup of coffee or s-something else?" you offered, but he shook his head with a smile. "It's very sweet from you Y/N, but I have to attend a lecture in a few minutes," he said as he got closer to you, his warm hands cupping your cold face. "Good luck, and thank you for this date," you hesitantly mumbled, and he smiled, kissing your forehead before taking a step back.

You almost collapsed at the display of affection and smiled as he walked back to the elevators, shooting you a wink before pressing the button to call it.

"I'll give you a call when I get back to my apartment," he said, and you nodded, waving at him as he stepped into the machine, "oh, and make sure to warm up your hands by drinking tea, it's important to keep yourself warm!" "I will. See you soon!" you said before locking your door, heart filled with feelings for the charming uni student that threw a snowball at you a few days ago.

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antoine-roquentin · 4 years ago

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The popular conception of chivalry, as a moral code guiding the behavior of honorable knights, is flat-out, laughably wrong. That’s a creation of 19th-century authors like Walter Scott, and the popular fantasy authors (basically up until George R.R. Martin) who built on their worldview in the 20th.

In reality, chivalry was all about one particular version of Guys Being Dudes. Chivalry could refer to a few different things, but the most common meaning was simply battlefield deeds, executed with some style. This, what knights referred to as “prowess,” was at the core of the broader ideology of chivalry: raw, bloody, physical performance, violence done effectively and to an agreed-upon aesthetic standard. The second major concern of chivalry, honor, grew directly out of the first. Honor wasn’t an abstract concept to medieval knights; it was a possession, a recognition of their particular status and place in the social hierarchy, which they were well within their rights to violently defend and assert through their prowess. Piety was the icing on the cake, but no knight really doubted that God approved of their actions.

An oral culture, passed around during training sessions and drinking bouts and feasts and military campaigns, produced this culture and inculcated new knights into it. A whole universe of texts, the kinds of things knights read or had read to them, sent the same message, like this 12th-century poem called Girart de Vienne:

When I see the whinnying war-steeds plunge

With worthy knights into a battle’s crush,

And see their spears and cutting blades well struck,

There is nothing on earth I love so much!

These were dudes who loved getting after it, and for them, getting after it meant blood-soaked deeds on the battlefield. It’s not that there was nothing more to it - sure, there were some bits about romance and ladies, debates about religiosity and moral actions, exhortations to do better - but the core was always physical, male violence. And it obviously wasn’t for everyone: Knights were members of a hereditary military aristocracy, and their possession of chivalry was what set them apart from dirty peasants.

Two aspects neatly parallel modern Bro Culture: first, the emphasis on physicality and the body, and how that provided both a sense of the self and secured social status; and second, the restricted, bubble-like world that produced and emphasized it, with its fictional and real heroes, its stories about great deeds, its values, and its models to be emulated. Your average knight would absolutely identify with and appreciate this impossibly toxic meathead sentiment:

Obviously, there are pieces that don’t neatly parallel, the biggest ones being the hereditary and explicitly military nature of chivalry. You don’t have to be a soldier to be a Bro, though it doesn’t hurt. And - much more important - you aren’t born into being a Bro; you become one, by doing worthy deeds of prowess.

That’s a quintessentially American value: the idea that anybody can make something of themselves if they work hard enough, move enough weight, run fast enough, practice enough to shoot a tight grouping, make the right sacrifices. The physical meritocracy (and its potential rewards of fame and fortune) is open to anyone willing to do whatever it takes to climb the ladder. Even the least intellectually gifted meathead can make something of himself if he does the workouts, takes the right gear, and builds his audience on YouTube and Instagram. Don’t forget to like and subscribe, and smash that follow button.

In a moment of stagnant social mobility, rising inequality, and incredible uncertainty around the future, this strongly visual message of self-betterment and improving one’s socioeconomic status through literal sweat can resonate deeply. It’s all within the individual’s control, if they simply work enough - an antidote to all that uncertainty, everything that’s so obviously beyond an individual’s control and reckoning, no matter how misleading and incomplete the formula actually is.

That’s especially appealing to the many millions of American men who don’t have college degrees (many more of them than women, given the gendered trends in undergraduate enrollment) who are effectively locked out of professional-managerial culture and its straightforward path into the comfortable upper-middle class. Accomplishment through physical prowess is thus a means of building both a sense of self and community.

The connections to this particular moment in American culture and history go much deeper than that, though. This whole edifice of Bro Culture grows out of the broader rise of influencers, performative self-branding through social media, and the construction of identity through consumption.

With the right protein powder, shilled by your favorite strongman, you too can deadlift 800 pounds, or at least tell yourself you’ll get there someday. With the right brand of CBD tincture, which sponsors your favorite Crossfit athlete, you won’t feel that burning pain in your rotator cuff after you clean and jerk too much weight with suboptimal technique. By religiously listening to the right Bro-approved entrepreneurship podcast, hosted by some guy who happened to get booked on the Joe Rogan Experience during a slow week, you too can buy a McMansion in an affordable suburb.

Much of what happens in Bro Culture is driven by lifestyle consumption: ads for sunglasses on Barstool Sports’ Pardon My Take podcast, brand partnerships between supplement companies and YouTube stars, tactical holsters for concealed-carry that an ex-Marine with a million Instagram followers wants you to buy. It’s self-actualization through sponsor codes.

The tactical lifestyle craze, a natural outgrowth of this particular slice of Bro Culture, is the logical endpoint of all this. It’s where entrepreneurial late capitalism and influencer trends meet imperial wars, the militarization of the police, and the emergence of Gun Guys as a default protected class within American society. You’re not a Crossfitter anymore; you’re a “tactical athlete,” doing varied types of interval, cardio, and strength training so you can be a more effective soldier or cop or firefighter or whatever, or you just want to feel like you could be one. The physical training is only part of this, since you can prominently declare your tactical affiliations with a variety of lifestyle products, ranging from coffee mugs to American flag stickers for your car to, naturally, firearms....

Just as much as its coffee, whose quality I can’t speak to, Black Rifle Coffee Company is selling the tactical lifestyle. They offer a staggering variety of T-shirts, hoodies, hats, mugs, thermoses, and stickers, many of them prominently branded with the eponymous “black rifle” of the brand. There are a lot of American flags and pieces of law-enforcement and military iconography, signifiers of the in-groups to whom the consumers of BRCC’s products belong, want to belong, or for whom they want to signal their support. BRCC has explicitly labeled itself as a coffee company for conservatives, an active participant in the culture wars. If you don’t like Starbucks and its effete, refugee-supporting, liberal tendencies, buy some Black Rifle product instead. If you like Trump, you’ll be at home with BRCC. Don Jr. endorsed them.

After the picture of Rittenhouse in the Black Rifle Coffee Company shirt appeared, its founder Evan Hafer quickly disavowed the youthful shooter. Even for an explicitly MAGA coffee company, supporting a teenaged AR enthusiast with blood on his hands was a bridge too far. But Rittenhouse had already been shaped by the world BRCC and its fellow-travelers have made. He got the message, loud and clear: You too can become a hero, or at least dress and drink coffee like one, by purchasing the right products, watching the right videos, and following the same Extended Bro Culture influencers. Don’t forget to like and subscribe.

The Veteran-owned piece of BRCC’s appeal isn’t a coincidence. They’re selling a position in the culture wars, a sense of belonging, but also a particular vision of what it means to be American, a man, and an American man. A staggering number of this part of Bro Culture’s key figures are veterans. Jocko Willink, perhaps the best known (and least openly political) of the bunch, was a Navy SEAL officer; he was actually the commanding officer of the famous sniper Chris Kyle during the Battle of Ramadi in 2006.

After retiring, Willink turned his SEAL experience into a career as a leadership consultant, motivational speaker, media personality, and energy drink salesman. His intensity, built on his military service, is legendary: His exhortations to do hard things regularly, to live by a code, and take responsibility for oneself, resonate with millions of people. And Willink is far from the only one to do so, turning overseas service in imperial wars, especially as a special forces operator, into a key component of his entrepreneurial appeal. This isn’t a judgement on his military service; it’s a statement of fact. Being an undeniable badass is a the core part of why Jocko Willink is a quintessential Bro Hero.

Imperial wars overseas always come home eventually, and they do so in complex ways. The fact that millions of people listen to Jocko Willink, buy Black Rifle Coffee Company merchandise, and dabble in more extreme fringes is a product of decades spent elevating not just military service writ large but violent combat overseas against ill-defined Others. For every Jocko Willink, there’s an Eddie Gallagher, the SEAL who was convicted of and then recently pardoned for war crimes after becoming a cause célèbre for large swathes of the online right.

If these are the heroes Bro Culture puts forth - special operators accustomed to high-intensity, high-volume fighting overseas, who then develop enormous media platforms - it’s obvious what message Kyle Rittenhouse and the innumerable police officers, tactical fitness enthusiasts, and more run-of-the-mill viewers and listeners will take. Millions of people listen to Joe Rogan when he talks to Jocko Willink, Tim Kennedy (the Green Beret and MMA fighter and increasingly open right-wing figure), or Cameron Hanes (who advocated for Eddie Gallagher’s release). They’re warriors. Joe Rogan isn’t a soldier, but he’s a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, a former competitive kickboxer, a bowhunter, and a firearms enthusiast. If these are the people at the core of Bro Culture, a culture that directly touches tens of millions of American men, then there are bound to be knock-on effects. If they’re constantly telling their listeners to be ready, to be tactical, to be prepared to fight and to be good at it, that means something.

This is why I think Bro Culture, or at least its extended reaches, deserve more scrutiny and attention. The code of American manhood that’s developing out of this social-media melting pot has some aspects that bear watching: A love of firearms centered on tactical usefulness (for use in what context, exactly?), a vision of muscular physicality, self-defense as a personal obligation, an unquestioning hero-worship of military culture, and far too often, a deep suspicion of people who don’t subscribe to this precise view of being a guy. Support the Troops, and if you don’t, you’re not really a man at all. If cops - quintessential subjects of Bro Culture - are told that they need to be bigger and stronger and quicker on the draw, that they’re basically Troops, and that the targets of violence deserve what they get, what’s the likely outcome of tense interactions between police and the people they’re supposed to serve?

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diyunho · 4 years ago

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The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 5

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

4 Months Pregnant

“I need customized stickers that say Baby On Board for my purple Lamborghini and the other cars I drive,” The Joker growls at his own idea whilst sharing it with the person fulfilling his wacko trades: Franco Rossi, the leader of best underground supply chain in Gotham.

“When would you like them ready Mister J? After Y/N gives birth?”

“Nope! Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?...” Franco hesitantly inquiries about the sudden emergency since he can’t understand why The King of Gotham demands them so fast.

The Joker hates explaining yet certain people are obtuse thus they necessitate enlightenment.

“Y/N’s pregnant: when she gets in a car, the baby is also. Baby on board! Hello??” the father-to-be loses his temper.

Who can argue with The Joker’s logic? Nobody. It sort of makes sense anyway.

“Of course, Mister J. I’ll have them ready. If you drop by after 6pm, I’ll have your guns ready too.”

“Perfect!” the Joker hangs up among the ruckus coming from the office near the kitchen: sounds of shattered objects and yelling alert Richard aka Panda you’re at it again. He nonchalantly passes by in order to deliver the items to The Clown.

“Your drinks Mister J,” he gives one cup with Starbucks caramel latte to his boss and the other is placed on the table. Why does your boyfriend require 2 identical containers? It won’t take long to solve the mystery.

“Are the lids glued?”

Strange question but there’s a purpose in it.

“Yes sir. How is she doing?”

“She’s hormonal: breaking things makes her feel better which reminds me we have to hoard porcelain objects for her to wreck. NO glass!”

“Sure, I’ll tell the crew,” Richard leaves the kitchen while texting Frost. “Hulk needs more to smash,” he types the code name they gave you in the last weeks although The King knows about it: J’s the one that came up with it.

“Hey Pumpkin,” you are greeted as soon as you pop up from the office. “How’d it go?” he scrolls down on his phone and takes a sip of hot liquid.

“Ugghh!” a frustrated Y/N swings the yellow teddy bear The Joker stole for her on their first date, hitting his hand in the process. The drink flies near the fridge and splatters on the floor with minimal damage: only a tiny puddle instead of a disaster, that’s why the lids are glued.

Safety measure for The Queen’s unpredictability.

J grabs his reserve cup of coffee, paying attention now hence he dodges your renewed attack and keeps his coffee intact.

That’s why his drinks have the lids glued, in case you catch him off guard the second time it will result in negligible destruction.

It happened before.

“I don’t think so Princess,” The Joker strong grip on the container calms you a bit because you won’t be able to win this round. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you pout and sit in his lap.

“I bet the baby is,” the secret weapon is unleashed: J discovered such a gem by accident and it works like a charm. How can Y/N say “no” if the baby is involved? She can’t.

A plate filled with a bunch of your favorite breakfast food is placed in front of you and strangely enough you’re instantly hungry.

“Extra bacon,” he purrs. “Plus chocolate dip and honey mustard for your pickled cherries. I added peanut butter olives as a bonus.”

In your defense, you’ve been having weird cravings lately.

You place the toy on the chair nearby and start eating, ogling a Joker texting back and forth with his business partners. He chews the morsel you just offered and shivers: waffle dipped in clam juice is disgusting. Maybe he should look at the food you shove in his mouth.

“Gross,” J washes the terrible taste with coffee and gets a kiss for encouragement, yet he’s aware of the connotations. Another kiss confirms it.

Let’s put it this way: besides the hormonal episodes and food demands, The Queen has had a fresh type of craving recently - The Joker kind.

More than usually.

That’s why he has to clear it up.

“I’m flattered for being the center of attention; we gotta keep in mind that contrary to the popular belief, I don’t have unlimited stamina, Pumpkin.”

You nod in agreement and unbutton his pants, then unzip them also.

“Y/N, pay attention!” J insists since you don’t give a damn about his woes. “Think about it as a two way street: The Joker Street and I Want To Break Things Street. Are you with me so far?” he double checks.

Why is he yapping so much??! I guess you should make an effort to comprehend: he’s even doodling patterns on his phone to emphasize the speech.

“When you get hormonal, Princess, let’s try and walk on the I Want To Break Things Street instead of The Joker Street, hm? The Joker Street is sometimes closed for repairs until further announcement.”

OK, OK, this is a lecture. Something about a Joker Street, he seems upset he doesn’t have one…?... Right?...

If you were him, you would be pissed Gotham didn’t name a street in your honor when you’re so important for the town.

Another peck on his neck, then your lips go down his collar bone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” J mutters when it’s clear his shirt won’t remain on his body for too long.

“I am,” you defend yourself.

“Oh yeah? What did I say then?”

“Ummm…” you try to piece together words among estrogen taking over. “No Joker Street?...”

“Bingo, that’s it Princess! No Joker Street, correct! Choose the other street, yes?”

This time he kisses you, excited his idea was well received when in fact, both parties are referring to unrelated concepts.

“Wait,” J dodges your touch, “Richard is calling.”

Because he’s on the phone ignoring Y/N, she is ensuring a nice surprise for later; concentrating to the maximum to avoid misspelling, the following message is sent to Franco Rossi from her cell:

“Make a landmark sign that says Joker Street.”

The King’s conversation is prolonged more than anticipated until he discerns you’re not wiggling: you feel asleep, softly snoring on his shoulder and he definitely can’t afford to wake you up.

The doctors said your body is trying to cope with the pregnancy the best way it can: if you doze off at random hours it means you ran out of fuel and you should rest. After cheating death and surviving the accident, the future mother is at high risk of serious complications which is why each day could lead to unforeseen problems.

The Joker rises from the chair holding you in his arms and after a few steps he realizes it’s difficult to walk: thanks to his unbuttoned and unzipped pants, they keep sliding lower and lower. There’s no way he will make it upstairs so maybe the sofa in the living room is the best option. He almost trips thus he begins to drag his feet on the carpet, the pants at knee level now.

“I’m reduced to a piece of meat,” J grumbles, finally making it to the couch and placing Y/N on it so she can have her power nap.

*************

6:02pm

You accompanied The King to a meeting with Seraphim, the best hacker/strategist J uses: they’ve been plotting for a while concerning D.A. Kevin Winchester. The politician is becoming a huge pain in the butt for Gotham’s underworld and something must be done; either annihilation or blackmail, it truly doesn’t matter since he’s bad for business. Due to a total lack of interest in the subject, you are exploring the surroundings quite angry The Joker dragged you here.

Luckily there’s stuff to do.

Bam! you punch the fragile glass sculpture and it splinters into a million pieces on the lavish marble floor.

Seraphim jumps at the noise, immediately recognizing his beloved possession:

“That’s…,” he gulps, appalled. “That’s a Vitriol!”

Yup, the one and only Degas Vitriol, the latest sensation taking the art universe by storm.

“She’s hormonal,” J sneers. “She breaks shit!”

“That’s valued at 150,000 dollars!” the hacker breaths in much needed oxygen regarding the atrocity unfolding at his hideout.

“So??!!” your boyfriend sucks on his teeth, irritated. “Serves you right for buying that asshole’s artsy fartsy crap!”

The Joker actually has 4 Vitriol masterpieces at the mansion yet you were strictly forbidden to destroy them, alas he gave you the office for your rampages.

You continue your exploration as they talk about God knows what until you perceive an alarming detail: Seraphim is literally screaming having a gun pointed at J.

You sneak behind him then in a split second you strike the pistol out of his hand and your fist lands on his temple with such brutality it knocks him out unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N???” The Clown hisses at your erratic behavior.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing??!!!” he repeats, annoyed.

“S-saving you…,” you stutter, confused on why J is mad. “He was yelling and…mmm, had a gun,” you wince in pain because your knuckles hurt from the impact.

“The guy’s half deaf and sometimes he raises his voice without noticing, or did you forget??!! Now I have to wait until he comes to his senses and that’s a waste of my time, Y/N!!! Seraphim wasn’t threatening me, he was showing me his newest collectible!!! I suppose someone with half a brain can’t acknowledge the mess they’ve created!!!”

A lot of accusations thrown your way still… the last sentence brings tears in your eyes.

“I…” you bite your lower lip. “…I don’t have half of brain…”

“Wanna bet??” The Joker bites more instead of leveling with your logic: you though he was in danger and took action. If it was a real emergency, yes, you would have been the hero; it’s not and apparently he can’t appreciate your fast intervention in these circumstances.

“Y-you’re stupid…” you whisper, frustrated. “You don’t understand anything…”

Here it is -- the cataclysmic event of the century: someone called The Joker stupid. He’s beyond outraged with nothing better to utter besides a very childish:

“You’re stupid!”

Y/N turns around and stomps out of the house leaving a trail of destruction outside: she slaps the bottled water out of The Shark’s hand, kicks Panda’s shin and snatches Frost’s donut basically inhaling the sweet treat.

“I want to go h-home!!” you shout and enter the first vehicle you see, slamming the door so hard the window on the passenger side cracks.

“Jesus…” Jonny mumbles and being the sensible man that he is you are offered the whole box of pastries he purchased for his family. He can acquire more, but there’s no way in hell he wants to endure Y/N in the state she’s in.

Gotta keep Hulk calm somehow…

**************

3 Hours Afterwards

You sulk when The Joker strolls in the master bathroom frantically searching the cabinets.

“Did you see my shaver?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you see my shaver?”

“I…I wouldn’t know. I only have half a brain,” the surprisingly eloquent phrase queues J his woman is holding a grudge for his earlier statement. Why wouldn’t she? He was a complete jerk.

At least you didn’t catch on to the obvious: The King of Gotham doesn’t own a shaver; hair just grows on his head.

He glimpses at Y/N soaking in the bathtub with a kid’s book in her left hand and the right hand fingers sunk into a bowl filled with ice placed at the edge of the Jacuzzi. The Joker leans over and switches your book since it’s upside down.

You huff at the unwanted help and stare at the pictures expecting he’ll look for his shaver and disappear.

You’re not that fortunate today.

“Imagine my surprise when I drove the main alley and detected a sign that says The Joker Street,” he brings up the topic.

Franco Rossi was super-efficient …sadly you ordered the item before J ran his mouth at the hacker’s place, otherwise you wouldn’t care he wants a street with his name.

“You said no… no Joker Street,” you stammer. “Now you have one,” the bitter tone makes him roll his eyes: Y/N’s brain got what it could from his monologue, he should have known better than to make it complicated.

“Excellent…” The King starts rubbing your tummy, “… precisely what I was aiming for. I’m washing the baby, not you!” he underlines when you move farther from him.

You scrunch your face displeased but let him do it because it’s for the baby.

“I know what you’re doing,” Y/N gives him a cold gaze. “U-using the baby… I’m not stupid!”

Busted, The Joker thinks. The schemer in him won’t accept defeat though.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did!”

“You said it first!!!” he reckons, antagonized. “Therefore two stupid people put together gotta make up for a smart one!!’

“I… I don’t wanna make out…” you frown at his suggestion.

The Joker sighs, deciding not to correct the trajectory of your judgement; it sure sounds like an opportunity.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired and…and I h-hate you,” your heavy eyelids close.

“Both viable reasons, even if I have to admit you striking Seraphim like that got me quite worked up. He’s no small fry! I had to wait for one hour for him to recover; you got a mean punch, woman! The more I reflect on it, the hornier I get. Which reminds me, Pumpkin: guess what?... … … I’m hormonal too.”

No answer, Pumpkin’s out.

“Of course nobody gives a damn if I’m hormonal!” he complaints while grabbing you from the bathtub. You cling to him for a few moments prior to drifting back into your dreams.

“Thanks for getting me all wet,” J snarls at the cruel reality of having his favorite Prada suit ruined.

“You…you’re welcome…” his Queen replies in her sleep, somehow her mind clutching to reality amidst pure relaxation.

This is what two hormonal individuals are reduced to: one’s dozing off, the other is suffering in silence, although being the proud owner of the tiniest road in Gotham compensates for the mishap.

It’s a two way street.

Also read: Masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker x reader #joker leto #joker imagine #joker suicide squad #joker jared leto #mister j #mr. j #dc #dcu

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hasegawasosise · 5 years ago

Text

In Numbers We Trust

Summary:

Prompt master: @outoftheframework

I like the concept of each of the kids having a number or having a thing where they count off. Not in a demeaning or dehumanizing way at all, just more so to use in dangerous situations. For example, a bomb goes off on patrol, and to quickly see if everyone is okay, the kids (including Steph and Babs) automatically start counting one at a time. Bruce can breathe again once the count reaches eight. This tradition begins to carry over to civilian life when the kids yell numbers across a crowded gala after the power goes out.

Beta Agenthandler

Bruce never planned on starting a family. He made a vow to live for justice. He would be the force Gotham needed. He would be the forever bachelor. Justice was his Lady Love.

But 90% of life’s plan was just that—a plan. Bruce would never have guessed he'd end up taking in a boy who called himself Dick Grayson. Technically his ward, but Bruce suffered a mid-life crisis every day from thereon, wondering whether it was the right choice for him to adopt a kid—or why anyone sane would let Bruce Wayne adopt any kid in the first place. It was a testament to Dick’s own awesomeness that he grew up to be a mostly functional adult—Bruce definitely wasn’t.

After Dick, he recruited an amazing girl named Barbara Gordon as another sidekick. She was not officially his adopted daughter, but by day two of working together Bruce registered her in his little hind brain as “my kid.”

Then another. Jason Todd not only stole the Batmobile’s tires but also Batman’s heart. The little boy taught Bruce more about street-smarts and how to be a better person right until his death. His realized depth of parental love made him wonder why he ever adopted anyone in the first place—and ended up losing them that way.

After what he thought was the last, another one came into his life without invitation. Timothy Drake was a genius detective. Out of his first four—yes, Bruce could still count—Tim was the most similar to Bruce. They had the same kind of upbringing amidst the Gotham Elite, they were both highly focused and detail oriented individuals. Tim was even smarter than Bruce, and he was the sole reason Bruce could continue functioning after Jason’s death. Tim was also the only one to believe he was still alive and brought Bruce back from when he was lost in time.

After Time was Stephanie Brown. A cheerful ray of sunshine that had her own worries, but could function the best out of all his children. She had the kind of light sarcastic humor to brighten up Bruce’s darker days. He gained a third daughter, Cassandra Cain, the most accomplished amongst his children in terms of stealth and combat, also his one darling princess.

Then Bruce was introduced to his—one and only—blood son, a little baby assassin who had the unfortunate tendency to stab first ask later. By this time, Bruce had a better handle on raising children highly susceptible to raising hell and violence (read: still an incompetent parent, but he knew how to tune out their nagging) and had no choice but to assign Dick with Damian’s education on humanities and socialization.

He also had Helena, Terry, Matt, Duke, and Harper.

Bruce lost count.

It was the ultimate testament to Bruce’s parenting skill. He sometimes couldn’t remember how many kids he had. He could lose them in a Walmart and forget he was missing one. But thankfully, he had a secret weapon.

Since Jason, he assigned them all numbers. Dick was one, Barbara was two, Jason three, Timothy four, Stephanie five, Cass six, Damian seven—although he always said he was the first—Duke was eight, Harper nine, Terry ten, Matt eleven, and little Helena was twelve.

Imagine that. Bruce had twelve kids. What was his vow again? Lady Love Justice? Don’t know her.

It became sort of a tradition. When the kids entered the Wayne manor, each of them wrote their number on the info board down in the changing room. They were also listed on a desktop note of the BatComputer. It became a ritual in which the last child would add their newest sibling into the list, so they knew who the next number was supposed to be, and that next child would be who they were responsible for. Well, except Dick who accepted all of them as his baby chicks. The number also became a little part of their identity—each of them would put their numbers on everything they owned from their doors to their batarangs to the containers in the fridge.

Bruce, most importantly, used the numbering system to check in on them. It started when Penguin detonated a bank and his robins were scattered fighting all the hundred thugs Penguin hired to keep Batman busy. The blast stopped the fight and Bruce’s heart dropped when he realized his coms were damaged and he immediately couldn’t keep sight of them. He immediately tried to think what he could do, and when he did, he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“KID COUNT!”

“One!” Nightwing shouted from the top of the next building. Apparently he flew off the bank’s roof when he realised it was going to burst.

Oracle was two but he knew she was safe in the clock tower.

“Three,” Red Hood drawled. Bruce wondered why he joined in, but was thankful nonetheless.

“Four,” Red Robin shouted from the opposite direction, because he was the sensible one who directed the civilians and police to safety.

“Five!” Spoiler laughed and flew to his side. “That was a doozy!”

“Six,” Black Bat said as she appeared beside Spoiler where they shared a hi-five.

“Seven,” Robin pulled out his swords from a thug’s leg. “Father, I need to clean my sword immediately.”

“No stabbing, please.” “Too late.” Bruce groaned.

“...Eight?” Signal. He was still new to the numbering system.

Batman let go a deep relieved sigh.

The police and civilians who were fortunate to witness the scene, collectively said ‘Oh’. It became a trending twitter before Tim deleted the topic as much as he could.

********

The counting continued though. Citizens who have lots of children (such as parents, teachers, sometimes even the Police teams), realised it was a quick method to ensure update of their progeny/students/teams condition. So they The counting became sort of a Gotham Trend and eventually enlisted into Gotham’s Emergency SOP. Imagine that, having too many kids to count gave birth to a crucial disaster first-aid first responder procedure.

In all actually, maybe that was one of the top major contributions Batman has given to his city.

********

The kids themselves slowly embraced the importance and fun of the numbers. It created a sort of camaraderie-- even when the numbers didn’t correlate with their height. It used to be a nice isoquant curve when they stood side by side. But after Jason’s growth spurt and Tim naught growth spurt, Steph finding high heels and Cass love for Anti-flood Boots, the nice isoquant curve just became a jagged line not unlike a heartbeat rate.

That aside, the numbering also slowly bled into their civilian lives:

All of them counted before they entered the GothMart -- Alfred was there too, and suddenly Bruce became number 0. He was there to help Alfred because herding the kids was a massive job.

Dick was back for the weekend to spend time with his “babies” and refused to stay at home, because he wanted to sneak in his grocery list (gummy bears and cereals) into Bruce’s list so he could bring it back to Bludhaven and not spend a dime on it.

Jason was there because Alfred asked him for help--he was the only one out of the brood with cooking talent and generally all responsible in the kitchen, i.e. Alfred could trust Jason to use his kitchen without blowing it up (shoutout to Tim and Duke who blew the kitchen for the fifth time this year).

Barbara stayed at home, watching over their base, but she was ready with her surveillance just in case they lost one of the broods.

Tim was half dragged, because he had spent the last 30 hours awake doing Bruce-knew-what, and only agreed to be dragged with the promise of sweet, abominable GothMart coffee with pink glitter (a cheap imitation of Starbucks, really) because Tim was fabulous especially after thirty hours of no sleep. And the surprisingly awesome coffee was a dollar--what kind of frugal millionaire didn’t appreciate a dollar of drinkable coffee?

Steph was the one who dragged Tim, with the help of Cass who just returned from Hong Kong for the weekend. Steph wanted to buy some new bras for Cass, something cool and sexy she could enjoy immensely. Bruce was not privy in this knowledge.

Damian was there to ensure his embarrassment of siblings didn’t kill themselves or humiliate the family. Wayne was his legacy afterall, and all of them reflected on his legacy, whether he liked it or not. Duke, the only one whom he could tolerate outside Cassandra (Grayson was mother) just poked his cheek and grinned. Duke might be tolerable, but it didn’t mean Damian didn’t want to stab him sometimes (Drake, on the other hand, looked like a nice pincushion to stab his sword into).

They counted 0 to 8 before they entered, orchestrated by Alfred.

When they were ready for the checkout, 4, 5, and 6 were missing. Bruce finally found them at the children section, where Tim was busy defending his virginity from a Superboy Plushie, while Steph convulsed with laughter on the floor and Cass video-ed the entire thing.

Bruce refused to buy the cereals (Dick) / sexy lingerie (nope, nope, nope) / kitchen knife collection in black (Damian, as they didn’t need another stabby collection). But Bruce ended up buying the superboy plushie because it had been tainted (the store manager glared at him the whole check out time). At least Tim looked ashamed enough when he was handed the superboy plushie.

The gala was in full swing, full of important people and not-so important moochies. Bruce was entertaining a group of usual donors (important and fun people!) while he saw Tim seriously discussing the stock exchange trends with several old, serious men. Dick was charming the usual group of ladies and young men, while Cass seemed to be hiding behind the potted plan.

Then, just like usual in Gotham, the lights went off. The room suddenly became dark and people started to scream.

“KID COUNT!” Bruce shouted. “Zero,” he added because of habit.

“One!” “Three!” “Four!” “Five and Six!” “Seven.” “Eight” “Nine.”

Wait, did he bring Harper with him? Harper was allergic to this kind of gala--and that was why he never fully adopted her into his Wayne name.

Oh well. The more number he got, the better.

Justice Lady love who?

#bat family #batman #bruce being a good dad #bruce is a bad dad #bruce is a bat dad #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #timothy drake #damian wayne #cass Wayne #harper #barbara gordon #prompt by @outoftheframework #prompt fill #numbering system #Alfred is the leader #bruce is one of the kids too

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a-singleboat · 5 years ago

Text

Just for Laughs

Word Count: 2.7k

Request: Could you do a Noah fanfic with either the sixth or eighth prompt on Fake Family!? :) - anon

There were three things you knew about living in Los Angeles. The first was to never walk anywhere alone at night. Between the constant tourists and the fact that you were vertically challenged, it was easy for you to get lost in the crowd. The second was to never forget to bring your pepper spray with you--which you had. It was an honest mistake. In between rushing out of the house that morning and spilling lukewarm coffee on yourself, you figured you could allow that one slip up.

The third thing you knew about living in Los Angeles, however, was that you could always call on your best friend to get you out of a sticky situation if you ever needed.

So now, at two in the morning, you called him up and explained your situation. After wrapping up the closing shift at the bar, you realized that you had let the time slip away from you yet again. The trains stopped their service at one am, you knew that, but the tourists in the area didn’t.

“Again,” you said, drawing your black cardigan closer to your body. “I’m really sorry about this, Noah. There were some late customers and Phil had already left for the night so I didn’t really know what to do and by the time I actually managed to kick them out, it was two.”

“It’s fine, Y/n,” he assured you over the phone. You heard the jangling of keys on the other side as a door closed, his car starting up not even a second later. “But you have to make this up to me.”

You shivered slightly in the November chill. While the weather during the day wasn’t terribly cold, the nights could prove hypothermic.

“Fine,” you said, rubbing your arms to generate what little heat you could. “I’ll do whatever, thank you.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” he promised before hanging up. You slipped your phone back into the small bag you carried and drew your keys. If you didn’t have your pepper spray, you’d at least be able to defend yourself with the semi-sharp pieces of metal.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to stab anyone that night. True to his word, Noah arrived ten minutes later, honking his horn twice.

You clambered into his car, apologizing and thanking him profusely yet again. He waved you off, signaling to pull away from the curb.

“It’s really okay, Y/n,” he said, setting off toward your apartment. “Besides, mom would kill me if I just left you to fend for yourself.”

You giggled. Mom. He was of course, referring to his own mother. After yours had died when you were very little, you had bonded with the strange boy that brought you flowers the day after the funeral. And while Denise couldn’t truly replace your own mother, she acted enough like her to gain the title.

“So you know how I said you’d owe me?” Noah asked, finally pulling into his assigned parking space.

You nodded.

“Well…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re doing recording for a Smosh Pit video next week and Courtney’s bringing her sister and I was thinking…”

“You want me to be your sister for the video as well,” you guessed, getting out of the car. He killed the engine and got out as well, locking the doors before the two of you headed toward the building.

It was lucky that the two of you had managed to find a place with two vacancies. You were separated only by an older woman named Barbara and her three cats, which neither of you minded considering you were both avid cat people.

The two of you walked up to your floor, the elevator being out of service for the time being. He told you a little more about the premise of the video, in which you and Courtney’s sister would essentially be going through embarrassing moments and videos of the two from their childhood.

“So basically I get to make fun of you to your fans while they all think that I’m your biological sister?” you asked, key already in the door. You already knew you were going to say yes, after all, you owed him. You twisted the handle and removed the key, opening the door. “Am I getting paid?”

“Uh, yes,” Noah said. “If you agree to it, Ian, my boss, will send all the information to you and the paperwork and stuff as well.”

You propped the door open with one foot, reaching in slightly to hang your keys on the hook just inside your door. You held your hand out to the man, who gladly shook it.

“I’ll be there,” you promised, inching into your apartment. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I wish to no longer reek of alcohol.”

Noah laughed. “Yeah, and other things.”

You hit him with your bag, not hard enough to hurt, and laughed as well.

“Goodnight, Noah,” you said, waving to him.

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

A week later and you were really feeling the nerves. You’d gone to the address that Noah had sent you and after a brief reunion with Keith, you were buzzed in and brought up to the studios. There, you said hello to a few people you remembered from an event Noah had hosted in his apartment before being directed to where Noah’s desk sat.

It wasn’t long before your best friend came and gathered you, wrapping you in his arms and messing with your hair. You swatted at him, telling him to back off before using your phone’s camera to fix the rat’s nest that he had created atop your head. You were’;t really annoyed, having spent no time doing your hair. The most you’d done that day was put a bit of product in to contain the frizz.

Humidity really was not your friend.

“You ready to go?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “They’re pretty much ready for us.”

You stood up from his seat, grabbing your phone but leaving your bag. “You never told me exactly what you guys were filming today, Noah. Like, you said it was a Smosh Pit video but didn’t really explain what it was.”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, there was a reason why I told you to bring an extra set of clothes.”

Right. Last minute that morning, Noah had texted for you to bring an extra set of clothes. Just in case, he had stressed.

“Basically, it’s like newlyweds but with sisters,” he explained, weaving through various equipment pieces and clothing racks. You’d worked in entertainment before, you know how chaotic behind the scenes could get. This was clean for a production day. “Sarah, one of our producers will ask us questions that we’ll try and answer. If we answer the same, we get a point. If we don’t, we don’t get a point.”

You tried to think back to who Sarah was. You knew Keith and Courtney, two of Noah’s work friends, but knew none of the rest of them. Sarah… She must have been the bubbly half American, half-Korean producer and Social Media manager that appeared in videos from time to time.

“Seems simple enough,” you replied, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you waited next to him. You had stopped outside of the studio doors to wait for Courtney and her sister, Kari. Between the two of you, Kari had more Smosh appearances under her belt than you did--not that you had any to begin with.

It didn’t take long for the sisters to arrive, Courtney greeting you with a massive hug while you and Kari settled for the, “hey, we just met but this is polite,” hug.

“You never really explained why I needed to bring an extra set of clothes,” you said, poking Noah in the side. They had allowed you into the studio at that point.

“The losing team gets pied,” Courtney supplied, looking at Noah. “Why didn’t you tell your sister that you were getting pied?”

You looked over at Noah with an incredulous look. “Noah! I think that would have been important to know.”

“It just slipped my mind!” he defended himself, laughing as you swatted at him. Neither of you bothered to correct Courtney’s claim that you were siblings. You figured she knew and just referred to what everyone else called you.

You chatted a bit longer, just getting to know each other and get more comfortable with each other when someone came over to attach microphones to your person. You let them do their job, thanking them when they backed away.

Another woman came over, this time dressed a little more like a show hostess.

“I’m Sarah,” she introduced herself, holding out a hand for you to shake. You gave her your name, laughing at the comment she made about how you and Noah had different last names.

“It happens sometimes,” you joked, shrugging your shoulders. You figured that at this point, if they didn’t know you weren’t actually related, you wouldn’t try to correct them.

Soon enough, filming started and you were handed a whiteboard and a marker, an eraser sitting on the table between you and Noah. You listened as Sarah explained the rules of the game. In order to gain a point, the answers had to be correct, or had to be similar or even the same. If you don’t answer it right, you didn’t get the point. At the end of the game of three rounds, the losing team would be getting pied.

“First question is for the Grossmans!” Sarah announced, turning slightly so she was facing you and Noah. “What is their star sign?”

You scribbled ‘Aquarius,’ knowing it right off the top of your head. You kept your eyes on your own board, only looking up at Sarah when you were finished. She called time and you both revealed your answers.

“Aquarius,” Sarah read, looking at your board before moving to Noah’s. She read out your star sign, which you confirmed was correct, gaining the two of your a point. You gave Noah a high five as you went to erase your board.

The game continued on, you getting almost every question right while Courtney and Kari practically tied you at every question.

“Okay!” Sarah said, setting her cards down. “Here’s a tie breaker for the two teams. Whoever wins this will not be getting pied and, in fact, will be receiving this ten-dollar gift card to Starbucks that I stole from Matt Raub’s wallet earlier today.”

You laughed at the joke, laughing even harder when Matt Raub himself yelled, “Hey!” and then, “Not sponsored!” from off-stage.

“Our last question is…” Sarah opened the glued-together piece of paper, reading the question before saying, “What’s a secret that only the two of you know?”

You looked over at Noah, silently asking how that was a question valid to the newlywed game. He just shrugged and picked up his marker, writing down his answer. You picked up your own marker and jotted something down as well.

A few moments later, Sarah called time and you recapped your marker, setting it down on the table.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Since we started with Noah and Y/n last time, we’ll let Courtney and Kari go first this time.”

You watched as Kari turned her board around first, her secret scrawled on the whiteboard.

“Um,” she said looking down at her answer. “I said a secret that the two of us shared was a time when we were exploring one day and Courtney had dropped her phone over the cliff. We told our dad that she’d actually just dropped it while walking and didn’t tell them about how we scaled the cliff to get it back.”

“No!” Courtney cried, flipping her board. “I said the time when I drove into the fence and you lied and took the blame for it because I didn’t have my license yet!”

All five of you laughed as Courtney told the story, playing up the humor for the cameras.

“Well, Courtney and Kari,” Sarah said, frowning, “sadly you did not answer this correctly so we’re going to go to Noah and Y/n.” She turned to face the two of you. “Noah, Y/n. If you get this right, you will be crowned the winners. Are you ready?”

You nodded nervously, picking at the corner of the whiteboard.

“I’m ready,” you affirmed, looking at Noah who replied the same.

“Okay,” Sarah said, holding a hand out to you. “Y/n, please reveal your answer.”

You flipped the board, letting the cameras and the room read the words written there.

“What?” Sarah asked in disbelief, reading the board. “Is this real?”

You laughed. “Yes, this is real. Noah and I aren’t actually siblings.”

Noah turned his board around too, revealing that he had written the same thing. He laughed as Sarah fanned herself, playing up her disbelief for the camera.

“We always joke we’re siblings, but someone didn’t realize we were joking,” you explained, laughing. You set the whiteboard down on the table. “So we were seeing how far we can carry this out and apparently twenty years is the answer.”

“We would’ve kept it going but we thought you guys had already caught on,” Noah said. “Sarah even made the last name comment earlier.”

“I was joking!” Sarah said, laughing. “I thought Y/n was married or something, I don’t know!”

You shook your head. “Marriage will not be anytime soon, but I appreciate you taking it with stride, Sarah.”

Everyone laughed, Courtney and Noah doing part of the video’s outro before the video cut out so they could rearrange the room so they could pie Courtney and Kari.

“Wait,” Sarah and Courtney stopped you from moving too far away from them. “So Noah and you aren’t really related?”

You laughed. “No, but his mom is basically my mom. We grew up next door to each other and instead of falling madly in love I got a really cool older brother that brings me to his job and gets me into videos.”

They called for Courtney and Kari to stand on the tarp in the middle of the room, setting up the pies on the table in front of them. You met back with Noah, who had disappeared to use the bathroom, and linked arms with him, standing to the side.

“Can I just say, I am so glad we’re not the ones getting pied today,” you joked, watching as Courtney and Kari were given ponchos that would try to save their outfits.

“Same here,” Noah said, grinning as Courtney looked upset as she slipped the plastic poncho over her head.

When they were finally set, Sarah waved Noah and you back onto the set. She handed each of you a pie, positioning you both in front of the sisters.

You were paired with Courtney while Noah was put in front of Kari, pies at the ready. You listened as they did a mass countdown, squeaking out an, “I’m so sorry,” before pushing the pie into Courtney’s face. You held it there for a moment, moving it back and forth before letting it fall off her face.

It splattered onto the floor, getting a bit on your shoes. You kicked the pie away from yourself, laughing as Courtney tasted a bit of the whipped cream.

“This is really good,” she joked, scraping a bit off her cheek and sucking her finger into her mouth.

You helped her clean the pie off her shoulders while Noah pied Kari, both of you laughing when the entirety of the pie somehow fell out of the platter and over Kari’s shoulders.

“Thank you for watching!” Noah said, still laughing as he tried to clean some of the pie off Kari’s shoulders. “You can find Kari on Instagram at Karimiller and you can find Y/n at [instagram handle]!”

“Thank you guys for coming and hanging out with us!” Courtney said, reaching over to hug her sister. Noah grabbed you in for a hug as well, waving at the camera as Matt Raub yelled, “cut!”

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Sixty Three

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 17th, 2000

Remy shook his head as he trudged around campus. He hated this. He hated this whole thing. The only thing that made college bearable was the idea that he might get a paying job from it, but he didn’t even have that job security for certain, so really, why was he here?

A familiar voice called his name from across the quad and Remy turned, rolling his eyes as Emile ran up to him excitedly. Yeah, college was annoying, and Emile could be a bit of a nuisance, but he was at least a familiar nuisance. And if Emile wanted to hang out with Remy, well, Remy wasn’t going to stop him, even if he didn’t see what Emile saw in him.

May 20th, 2002

Remy kept the frustrated tears at bay for as long as it took for him to clock out at Starbucks and walk down the side, to the back parking lot. Once there, he punched the dumpster that was backed up against the building and a few tears slipped out from pain and from anger. He was beyond pissed, and he didn’t know why. He had seen this coming. He knew they weren’t going to pick him to become the new manager. And yet, when he heard the news, it still felt like his hopes shattered into a million pieces.

“It went that badly, huh?” Emile asked from behind him.

Remy turned swiping at the tears on his cheeks to find Emile standing there, hands in his pockets. “Yeah,” he settled on saying.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Emile said, closing the distance between them and hugging Remy close. “You don’t deserve to be overlooked just because you don’t want a degree.”

“They didn’t even pick from the store,” Remy said. “They brought in someone else who doesn’t know the system, just because they have that stupid Bachelor’s.”

Emile winced and Remy sighed. “I mean, I saw it coming that I wouldn’t get the job, but seriously? Outside? Not even from another store, just someone who’s never worked there before. We’re gonna have to teach him everything in the span of maybe two weeks!” He shook his head. “Emile, I’m really sick of this.”

“I know you are,” Emile said.

“One day, I can quit this crappy job and be my own person,” Remy said. “One day.”

Emile nodded as he lead Remy to the car. “And that day will be amazing,” Emile agreed. “Until then, we should probably ice your hand and make sure nothing’s broken.”

Remy sighed. Punching the dumpster was a dumb move, but at the very least, it beat punching brick wall. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

Emile drove them home and Remy leaned back into the chair, trying to stop crying. All he was getting for his troubles was a headache and more tears. “My head hurts,” Remy griped.

“Not surprised,” Emile said. “Do you need to take some ibuprofen when we get back?”

“I don’t think so,” Remy said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just need to get over myself.”

“Hey, hey,” Emile said, pulling into the parking lot. “You have every right to be upset, Rem, that’s an upsetting thing. You don’t have to ‘get over yourself.’”

Remy grumbled, “Then why am I getting so worked up over something I knew would happen?”

Emile shrugged. “I’m not inside your head, Rem, I can’t speak for you. If I had to hazard a guess, it’s because hiring someone from outside the company just adds insult to injury.”

Remy laughed hollowly. “Understatement,” he groused, getting out of the car and inspecting his hand. It was swelling a little, but didn’t immediately come across as “broken,” which was a promising sign. “You ever break a bone, Emile?” he asked.

“Uh...not that I remember. There were a couple close calls, but nothing ever broke. I did once dislocate my knee,” Emile said.

Remy winced. “Ouch. How?”

“One of my friends took martial arts classes, and taught me and some of our friends some of the moves, but we didn’t do much stretching before we tried it...and I wound up with a lot of pain the next day in gym class, to where I could barely walk.”

“Ooh!” Remy exclaimed, hissing. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Yep, six weeks of physical therapy, a knee brace, the whole deal,” Emile said. “You break a bone?”

“I fractured my wrist at like...age six.” Remy laughed. “I was running down the sidewalk, and I assume I tripped, because the next thing I know, my wrist feels like it’s on fire and I’m sprawled on the ground. Went to school the next day, couldn’t use scissors without pain, went to the nurse, and she pretty much knew it was broken within five minutes of seeing it. Called my mom, they took me to the doctor’s, got X-rays, and I got a sick-looking cast.”

“Your mom sent you to school with a broken wrist?” Emile asked incredulously.

Remy shrugged. “She didn’t know how to identify a broken bone, she just assumed I cried for half an hour because, y’know, I’ve always been a crybaby. You got sent to school with a dislocated knee!”

“Because it didn’t really start hurting until gym class,” Emile said. “If a six year old cries for half an hour over tripping on a sidewalk, something’s up.”

Remy waved off Emile’s concern. “Eh, she apologized about it later. It wasn’t the end of the world, and because it happened during the school year, I still had two months where I could swim in the pool after the cast came off.”

Emile squinted at Remy and Remy rolled his eyes. “What?”

“You’re excusing your mother’s actions again.”

“She didn’t know, Emile,” Remy said. As they got inside the apartment and Emile gave Remy an ice pack, Remy continued, “You don’t have to know everything about injuries to become a parent.”

“No, but I still think crying for half an hour over a trip should be investigated. And if a school nurse can identify the injury that quickly, shouldn’t the parent be a tad bit suspicious before the kid leaves for school? Because obviously there would be swelling.”

Remy shrugged. “Listen, this wasn’t too bad. She was just forgetful in this case,” he defended. “She’s done worse, you’ve seen her do worse.”

Emile pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did she dismiss other health concerns?”

“I didn’t tell her about other health concerns, like in high school when everyone was turning against me except Toby. She couldn’t dismiss what she wasn’t told about.”

“But you didn’t tell her because she would dismiss it?” Emile questioned. “That seems to be what you’re implying.”

“Okay, she brushed off some things in middle school, things that I don’t even remember because I blocked them out. They couldn’t be too severe if I’m still standing here, though,” Remy brushed off.

Emile sighed and Remy inwardly grimaced. He knew that sigh. It was the sigh Emile got whenever he thought Remy was dismissing key parts of his mental health. “Remy...”

“Can we just agree to drop this subject and let me return to bitching about not getting the manager position?” Remy requested. “I know my mom wasn’t on top of it. I know she was bad. And we just disagree about how severe this infraction was. I agree that she should have done something, at least asked me why I was crying so much, but she didn’t. It’s over. Done with. Has been for years. I just want to gripe.”

Emile sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s just talk about what’s going on in the here and now.”

Remy nodded his thanks. “I don’t think my hand is broken,” he said idly. “It would be swelling more if that was the case. Even with ice, it would look different.”

“Agreed,” Emile said. “You still shouldn’t have punched the dumpster.”

“It was that or the brick wall,” Remy said drily.

Emile shook his head. “Rem, you worry me, to this day.”

“Yeah, well. I’m getting better at controlling my anger, it just...needs an outlet, and I couldn’t hold it back further without risking lashing out, so I took it out on the closest inanimate object to me,” Remy said.

Emile rolled his eyes and took the ice pack off Remy’s hand to kiss the knuckles. “You may be an impulsive man, but you’re my impulsive man. And I’m proud that you’re working to control the more angry impulses.”

Remy offered Emile a smirk. “I thought you liked it when things got heated.”

“Not in this context,” Emile laughed.

Remy grinned, before looking at his hand and sighing. “Man, I wish I could be running my own shop right about now.”

“Hey, one day,” Emile said, squeezing Remy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but that’s going to take so long,” Remy sighed. “Too long. I’ll still have to deal with this new manager, and what happens if I can’t hide my resentment well enough?”

“Remy, I know this probably doesn’t help, but I’m fairly sure you can hide your disdain behind your customer service smile. You’re consistently way better at that than I am. He might know it’s fake, he might not. Regardless, he can’t hold you accountable so long as you don’t say how you really feel about him and you keep smiling.”

“I don’t want to keep smiling,” Remy sighed. “I want to be able to be mad, and to cry, and I want people to know that I’m human.”

“Unfortunately, the downside of working in food service or retail hell is that a lot of people won’t see you as human,” Emile said knowingly. “But you’re always free to be human around me, and our friends, and anyone else we run into when you’re not working.”

“I know,” Remy grumbled. Didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to put up with this.

“Rem, time will pass without you realizing it, and one day, you’re going to wake up, and realize you have the money and power to start your own coffee shop, and you’re going to absolutely crush it,” Emile said with conviction. “Trust me. It might be hard to see right now, but you’re destined for greatness.”

That, at least, got Remy to laugh. He both loved and hated when Emile got all storybook cliché on him. “I would disagree about the destiny thing,” Remy said. “I carve my own destiny.”

“Exactly why it’s true,” Emile replied smoothly. “You don’t wait around looking for your purpose, you go out and make a purpose that fits you.”

“I would argue that I wouldn’t make the purpose. Plenty of people have dropped out of college before. Many people have become entrepreneurs. It’s not exactly a unique path,” Remy brushed off.

“Yeah, but it still goes against the norms of what people expect of you. Instead of just going with the flow, you’re standing tall. And nothing can push you around if you don’t let it. Honestly it’s...pretty inspiring,” Emile said.

Remy laughed. “Please, Emile. I don’t have this heart-stopping origin story that you’re making this out to be.”

“I don’t know,” Emile said with a shrug. “I just think that you’re pretty impressive. If I were in your position, I wouldn’t have ever gotten this far.”

“I mean, I think you could have gotten out of my family situation before I ever did, and made a name for yourself however you wanted,” Remy said with a shrug in return.

Emile offered a slightly bitter smile, which surprised Remy. “Rem, believe me when I say that the only reason you believe that is because my parents taught me how to stand up for myself. You learned how to stand up on your own. No one taught you. If I had been in your position, I probably wouldn’t have lasted through high school. You’re impossibly strong.”

Remy shrugged. “I mean, I guess I’m strong. I’m taking you at your word on that, but I didn’t learn how to stand up on my own. You’re the one who taught me that.”

Emile shook his head. “No, Rem, I may have shown you where to stand tall and demand respect, but even before I met you, you were trying to make your own way in the world. Studying business over accounting, remember? That was all you. You’ve got what it takes to make your own place in the world. And if I were a betting man, I’d put all my money on you.”

Remy stood there, shocked into silence for a good minute. He didn’t know what Emile saw in him to cause that sort of conviction, but he knew that Emile was serious in this. And he wasn’t about to disappoint Emile. He smiled. He would get through this. He’d get through it and go his own way, sooner or later. “I love you too, Emile.”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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