ivy; walker scobell imagines

fight and make (break) up

a/n: i've seen several authors do this before and this is just my take on it!! credit to those authors i can't remember who

requested by: me

triggers: um idk actually? it's angst sooo.... oh actually on second thought teeny mention of self harm sorry guys it isnt like y/n is repetitively self harming ok he just has a really tight grip

summary: fight yay is there a happy ending? idk guess you'll have to read to find out

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y/n's pov:

"walker, can you please come over here?" you say, trying not to sound whiny.

"give me like five minutes, baby," he says, mindlessly.

he's been gaming for the past five hours with no avail and you're trying your best not to launch his spanish textbook at his head. you've been asking repeatedly if he'll come and cuddle with you, but this fucker will not leave his chair. he's locked into his game with brady, who has also been telling him to "get the fuck off of fortnite and go touch grass," aka hang out with you.

an angry tear slides down your cheek. he invited you over, practically begged you to hang out with him, and now he isn't even giving you the time of day. you know your worth and this is not that.

"walker, i'm only going to ask one more time, please get off your game?" you say, trying not to cry anymore than you already are.

"gods, y/n, not right now! what don't you get, i'm busy," he snaps.

oh.

you don't respond. anger simmers beneath your skin, blistering your arms in red boiling welts of pent up frustration. what an ugly feeling. tears freely flow down your cheeks as you stand up and leave. he doesn't even notice. somehow, that makes you even angrier. you storm out of his house and down the street to yours. 

your parents aren't home as you hoped. you don't want anyone to ask you questions. when you get up to your room, you shatter. you grab the vase of flowers walker had given you a couple days ago and throw it at the wall. you immediately regret it and go to clean it up, but as you grab on of the glass shards, a wave of anger washes over you. you squeeze the sharp edges in your hand, letting them cut into your palm. the pain is fresh relieve from your stupid boyfriend and a sob bubbles out of your lips as blood trickles down your hand. you let go of the piece and flop onto your bed. you scream into your pillows until your vocal chords strain and your eyes grow tired. then you promptly pass out.

you wake up several hours later to the buzz of your phone in your back pocket. dried blood cracks across your palm as you pull it out only to see that walker is calling you. you decline it. nineteen missed calls and forty missed text messages. he's getting desperate. victory sparks across your chest. you look around to see the disaster your room has become. blood spatters on the bed, staining your pillows. wet carpet and glass embedded in the walls. what a mess you've become. theres a knock on your window. you turn, already knowing who it is.

walker.

you don't make a move towards him, just stare at him through the dirty glass. he mouths "open it please." you ignore him. it's unlocked. he reaches down and tugs on the window, only for it to pop open. he almost falls off and you let out a giggle. tears spill down your cheeks again.

"y/n, i'm so sorry. i'm so fucking stupid i never should have ignored you you deserve so much better than me," he rushes out.

"yeah, i do," you say softly.

you look down at the cut across your palm. the scab has broken and it's starting to bleed again.

"oh lord, you're bleeding, let me help you," he says, stepping towards you.

you take a step back.

"i don't want your help, walker. in fact, i don't want to see you again. get out of my house," you sneer.

"no."

"get out."

"no."

he steps towards you again and you make a move to step back, but he grabs you by the wrist and tugs you into his arms. holding you tight. you try to squirm out, but he's stronger than you. you're ashamed to say that you feel safe in his arms.

"listen to me, y/n," he says, letting you out of his arms so he can tilt your chin up.

"look at me."

you look at him, reluctantly. your hand throbs.

" i am so sorry. i know my apology is falling short and i know that no matter how many times i say it, that won't make up for my behavior. frankly, i don't deserve you. i should've payed attention to you, i invited you over. i'm sorry for snapping at you, i was having a rough day, but that's an excuse y/n and we both know it. i swear on our relationship that i will never, ever treat you like that ever again. i love you too much to lose you, ok?"

you let out a sad laugh, "pinky promise?"

you hold out your pinky like a peace offering. or a white handkerchief, waving in the wind. war is over. he hooks his pinky through yours.

"pinky promise."

you pull him towards you and wrap him in your arms.

"let me help you with your hand, m'kay?" he asks.

you nod and he leads you into the bathroom, lifting you up onto the counter. he grabs the gauze and some neosporin. he stands between your legs as he rinses the cut and wraps it snug. you slip your arms around his neck when he's done and then log your legs around his waist. he picks you up and carries you towards the bed before seeing the blood.

"hold on, let me clean up in here," he says, setting you down on your desk chair. you sit and watch him while he removes your sheets and takes them to the washing machine. you hear him rinsing the blood out with cold water and soap. he comes back in with new sheets and makes your bed for you. then he picks up the flowers and sets them on your desk next to you. he cleans up the glass, making sure to get all the pieces so you won't step on them later. he leaves to throw them out and comes back with a new vase. he takes the flowers from off your desk and sets them in it, organizing them back into a bouquet. then, finally, he sweeps you up princess style and drops you on your bed. you giggle as you hit the mattress. he slides up next to you and pulls you into his arms and you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. he tucks you both in and then kisses your forehead.

"i love you so, so much, my sweet gorgeous boy," he whispers.

"i love you more," you counter.

"not possible."

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-1.2k words