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ugh-yoongi · 2 years

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love.fm | knj

⟶ pairing: namjoon x f.reader

⟶ trope/au: estranged lovers | radio host

⟶ genre: angst, fluff, comedy

⟶ rating: mature

⟶ warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, lots of feelings about a previous breakup, jk is a shithead but we love him, ambiguous but hopeful ending. not much else, this is pretty tame aside from the swearing.

⟶ wordcount: 12.4k

⟶ summary: you know three things for certain: jeon jeongguk will do anything to inconvenience you, kim seokjin is an absolute bastard for putting you in charge of the station’s holiday show, and you’ve got a lot of regrets about the way your relationship ended. however, you also know spending the last two years on your own has done you some good. you’ve got a new haircut, an apartment with a bay window, and a rescue dog.

there’s also the stranger who keeps writing into the station about regrets of their own. the stranger whose prose feels so familiar. the stranger who leaves you wondering if things with your ex are quite as resolved as you think.

⟶ dialogue prompt: "i'm still there, in our house... it's lonely there without you. i never realized how lost i'd be with you gone, how empty our home could feel. i finally understand how you felt."

⟶ event: written for the resolution revolution collab, hosted by ash @jimilter and amelia @knjsnoona. thank you both for letting me participate! ❤

⟶ a/n: ahh, it’s finally here! i’ve been working on this on and off since the beginning of october. i guess i can’t seem to stay away from those exes to lovers fics, eh? this will require some suspension of disbelief but i hope you all will enjoy it anyway. please let me know what you think! feedback/reblogs/etc. are always appreciated and welcomed!

Ben Franklin once said there are only two certainties in life: death and taxes.

You’d like to add a third: that every year, without fail, on the day after Thanksgiving, you can always find Jeon Jeongguk hogging the staff microwave.

It’s the busiest day of the year for you, and every year, without fail, your half-hour break is always halved because Jeongguk is hogging the microwave. Most people would adapt, having sensed a theme, but not you. No, you’re stubborn, and instead of packing a lunch that doesn’t require reheating, you find a better use of your time to be lecturing a kid fresh out of college about proper office etiquette.

“Jeongguk,” you say, voice stern and exhausted, “honestly. This is absurd. There’s no way in hell you need to microwave whatever that is for ten minutes.”

“I do,” is all he says, not at all oblivious to your seething but choosing not to acknowledge it.

“You’re an asshole. Why do you do this every year? Why must you make me suffer?”

He turns to you, earrings twinkling under the fluorescent lighting of the staff kitchen, and smiles. It’s smug and taunting and far too pleased. It gives you heartburn. “Should’ve gotten here sooner. You know how much I love Thanksgiving leftovers.”

“Fuck off. You know I always take my break at this time. You saw me get up and ran in here so you could steal the microwave—”

Jeongguk squawks. “I did not!”

“You did so,” you insist, nose scrunched in indignation. “You saw me get up, ran into the hallway so you could cut in front of me, and then you shoulder-checked me into the wall like some kind of barbarian. There’s a dent! You posted it on TikTok!”

He snaps his mouth closed. “That doesn’t sound right. I’d never do something like that.”

With a scoff, you roll your eyes and pull out your phone to check the time. Seven minutes have ticked by. You pinch the bridge of your nose, try to steady your breathing. “I’m being serious. Nothing on earth needs to be microwaved for ten minutes.”

“Wow, what if I get worms and die because you made me eat raw turkey?”

“It’s not raw. It’s already been cooked.”

“To the appropriate internal temperature? You don’t know for a fact. I have to microwave it for ten minutes to kill off all potential bacteria.”

This is not a battle you’re going to win. Not against Jeongguk, anyway, because he takes great pride in being the world’s largest pain in the ass. Proctalgia, if you want to get technical about it, which you don’t, so you just huff and pay for a bottle of cold brew from the stocked refrigerators and grumble about why the station can afford weekly fresh food delivery but not a second microwave.

Truthfully, the microwave probably isn’t the issue. It’s just a scapegoat for the real problem: the holidays. Thanksgiving is stressful enough, because you’ve got to keep track of travel plans and takeoff and landing times and flight and gate numbers long before November even rolls around, not to mention all the extracurricular bullshit once you’re actually in the same city as your family. Then there’s keeping track of whose house to be at, when to be there, and what to have in hand once you are. Then, as if you haven’t suffered enough, you’ve got to deal with the mind-numbing conversations all your aunts and uncles and cousins rope you into, all while your brother gets to sit on the couch doing nothing as he nurses a beer.

Which is why you’d decided to pass on all of it this year.

Sure, spending the holiday alone was kind of a bummer, but traveling halfway across the country and taking a red eye back just for some turkey and mashed potatoes had stopped being worth it a long time ago.

(Two years ago, maybe.)

Because you’ve never been able to just enjoy it. Not ever, but especially not since you’d started working at the station, because they’d stuck you with the yearly holiday show once the old host retired. Santa-mental is the station’s pride and joy, raking in more advertising money than it sees the other ten months of the year combined, so there was no way they were going to let it die just because of a little retirement.

And it’s not like you hate it. True to its name, Santa-mental is just an excuse to expel all that pent-up festive energy and sentimentality. From Black Friday through the second of January, listeners call and write in to say what they’re thankful for, what their hopes are. Kids write letters to Santa and say what they hope to find under the tree on Christmas morning, and, thanks to all that advertising money, the station always mails back a neatly wrapped gift. On December 26th, the talk shifts to New Year’s resolutions, what changes people want to make in the upcoming year, what they hope will be different.

It’s exhausting, and it’s a lot of playing therapist, sometimes, because not everything is holiday cheer and light-up antler headbands and confetti from the ceiling when the clock strikes midnight, but you love it. Despite all the stress, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Which cannot be said for the motley crew you’re forced to work with.

In particular, one Kim Seokjin, who’s merely an older yet just as chaotic version of Jeongguk.

You’re barely back at your desk five minutes, half of your lunch still uneaten since someone decided to hog the microwave, when he corners you and Hoseok. “Ah, Hope and Joy, my favorite Santa-mental co-hosts!”

“We’re the only Santa-mental co-hosts,” Hoseok laughs, seemingly incapable of experiencing irritation. Hence why Seokjin had given him Hope as his on-air nickname without a modicum of irony. Yours, on the other hand…

You shove a forkful of stuffing into your mouth, trying not to cringe at how bland and rubbery it is. “What d’you want?”

“Impeccable manners as always,” Seokjin retorts. “I just came to check in since it’s the big day, see how everyone’s feeling. Are you sufficiently festive? Do I need to buy you two matching Christmas sweaters?”

You stare blankly back at him as you spear another piece of lukewarm stuffing. “You know what you can buy us? A second—”

“Wow, would you look at the time? You two are on in ten. Some of the sponsors for this year are new, so don’t forget to take a look at the final list. We’re already at 75% of our revenue goal and it’s not even December yet, so don’t fu—”

“Are any of those sponsors a microwave company?”

Seokjin just glares at you. “Don’t fuck it up,” he warns, “or else you’ll get coal in your stocking.”

Hoseok, the perpetual ray of resplendent sunshine that he is, smiles at you. “Wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

With another roll of your eyes, you mumble something under your breath that suspiciously sounds a lot like I’m going to write a letter to Santa and ask for a fucking microwave before Hoseok drops the sponsor list in front of you. Three minutes until showtime, so you gather your things and make yourself comfortable in the studio, mentally preparing yourself for five more grueling weeks.

Then there’s the countdown, the red ON AIR light flickers to life, and you hear Hoseok’s cheerful, familiar voice through your headphones.

“Ho, ho, ho! It’s finally that time of year again…”

December arrives before you can blink, and with it comes the snow.

It used to be a welcomed sight. Used to bring a smile to your face every time you stepped outside and the world smelled earthy and crisp. Waking up and seeing everything under a blanket of white—there was nothing like it. Those days you used to crawl back into bed, feet covered in thick socks, a warm body to fit yourself against.

Those days are long gone. Now there’s a pinched frown instead of a smile. Everything smells stale. The disgusting, brown-tinged slush is nothing but a hindrance. You wake up cold and alone in a bed that’s too large for just you.

December used to come not only with snow, but magic, too.

It doesn’t feel magical anymore.

And that’s—well, it’s not great. There used to be so much joy and infectious happiness. You used to look forward to digging the decorations out of storage, to knocking the days off the advent calendar. You used to bake cookies and ice silly reindeers and snowmen on top, laughing so hard you’d cry at how horrible they looked. You used to pour a glass of wine and put on Christmas music as you stuck ornaments on the tree.

You don’t do any of that anymore. Not alone. Not without Namjoon.

Now you wake up cold and alone and there’s a split second, right as you wake up and aren’t fully conscious, in which you forget. A split second where you feel tacky and warm, where there’s a phantom body heat on the side of the bed that used to be his. And after you come to, after that dream is ripped away from you, you drag yourself out of bed and paint on a smile.

You go to work and you listen and you read and there’s a split second there, too, when you think this is it, this is the year all those holiday blues finally disappear, this is the year I’ll be okay.

Another dream that’s ripped away.

“Hey. You okay?”

Hoseok’s next to your desk, looking just as sunny as he sounds in a light-up sweater. HAVE A KOALA-TY CHRISTMAS! it says, right above a cartoon koala wearing a Santa hat.

You clear your throat, trying to remember what you’d been doing before devolving into yet another existential crisis. Oh, right—you’d been going through the comments on the station’s Facebook post (“What’s your holiday wish for this week? Comment below and we might make it come true!”), looking for anything you might be able to use for the show.

You’ll be taking it to your grave that I wish I didn’t have to shovel my driveway anymore!! was the post responsible for this downward spiral.

“Ah, yeah, I’m okay.” You hope your smile is convincing. Not likely, considering you’re trying to convince a professional smiler. “Thanks, Hobi.”

Hoseok doesn’t push. Not right away, at least. He at least has the audacity to wait a whole fifteen seconds. “You sure? Did Jeongguk post something inappropriate on the Facebook page again?”

You snort. “Not yet. Although if he promises one more person a PS5 I’m gonna murder him.” You point at the screen and Hoseok leans in, his face so close he starts to go crosseyed. “Look. All this person said was ‘I hope my banana bread turns out good!’ and he offered to send them a fucking PlayStation.”

A trickle of laughter comes tumbling out of Hoseok’s mouth. He always tries not to, tries to heed all your warnings about not laughing at the shit Jeongguk does, but there’s only so much he can hold back. Today, the limit is apparently a banana bread PlayStation.

“I’ll take over the Facebook comments,” comes his solution. “Why don’t you check the emails?”

Hoseok’s gone as soon as you agree, just the remnants of his expensive cologne lingering in the air. Smells like one Namjoon used to wear, which is not a thought you should be thinking when you’re only seconds removed from a crisis. Some things can’t be helped, you reason, typing the station’s email address and password into the boxes.

[email protected]

dontgivethistojeongguk

Immediately, you sigh. Seventy-six emails, and that’s low for this time of year. Seventy-six is you getting off easy.

Most of them are some variations of the same: promotions, raises, holiday bonuses; a day off, a flight voucher, debt erased; spending time with family, seeing friends. Sometimes the contrasts make you dizzy. A college kid wishing to ace their finals at the same time a single parent wishes for enough money to buy their kid some toys. Sometimes it feels wrong, feels like Seokjin’s playing God, deciding who is and isn’t worthy. But you also know there’s worth here. You know what you do is silly but important. It helps people, even if it’s just Jeongguk blindly promising gaming consoles.

I wish organic chemistry didn’t exist, one says. You snort in agreement.

I wish I could afford a flight to visit my parents. You forward that one to Seokjin.

I wish Taco Bell was open 24/7.

On and on they go, sent at all hours of the night. Unsurprisingly, the one about Taco Bell came in just before three a.m., and you can only assume the sender hadn’t been entirely sober. Relatable. You’d spent many nights pining after unattainable fast food during your college career. Going one step further and writing into a radio station to pine further? Also relatable.

However, just below it, sent at two-sixteen a.m., is this:

[email protected] | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

It strikes you someplace deep—a place you’ve tried really hard not to acknowledge, because there isn’t much you wouldn’t give to hear those words from Namjoon. Which is silly. There’s two years’ worth of time and distance between you now, and no combination of words is going to erase it. Nothing’s going to undo what’s already happened.

Still.

You stare at those eight words for a long time. Long enough for them to blur around the edges. Long enough for the cursor to hover over the reply button. Long enough for the voice in your head—the one meant to tell you how bad of an idea this is—to go quiet.

In all the time you’ve done the show, you’ve never replied to an email. They either get forwarded to Seokjin or read on-air. Turning them into correspondences isn’t a thing, because god forbid Jeongguk ever got ahold of the password and turned hundreds of people into pen pals and formed weird parasocial relationships with them. And you’re not keen on doing that, either, but—

Why can’t you? you type. You need to know.

Before you can overthink it, you hit ‘send.’

After two years and one month, you’re still adjusting to living alone.

The silence had been almost overwhelming at first. Same with all the empty space. Drawers that might’ve been Namjoon’s in another life are empty and clinging to the smell of old wood, the scent of fresh linen not having permeated yet. Lights he might’ve flicked on stay dark, and that darkness is at its worst in the winter when it seems to last forever. Just a few hours of light and then this inevitable, lingering darkness.

Perhaps that’s how the entire breakup has been, if you had to describe it.

It’s why you’re staring at an empty corner of your living room, thinking it might be a nice spot for a Christmas tree if you bothered to put one up these days. You’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, your mother’s voice a dull buzz as she drones on and on about whatever comes to mind, because she knows how you get this time of year and wants to help but is a bit shit at being empathetic and comforting.

Which is why she says, “Did you hear your cousin’s getting married?” and doesn’t consider it a bad thing to say.

Because it shouldn’t be. Two years and one month. Most people are over it in two years and a month, you think, so it’s not really a bad thing to say. “Hm,” you grunt, “had no idea.”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, tongue clicking against her teeth. “That’s because you’re not on Facebook.”

You make a face she can’t see. “I use it enough for work. Trust me, there’s nothing on there I want to see.”

She must be going through the mail. Every now and then there’s the sound of a page turning—a magazine or a circular. Your mother always used to call her sister or her best friend as she clipped coupons. Now it’s you. “You know,” she starts, and you do, actually, know where this is going. “I’m still friends with Nam—”

“Don’t.” She sighs, moves to protest. “Mom, seriously, I don’t want to know.”

Because what you also know is Namjoon’s five-year plan. The house, the marriage, the garden. Could’ve written a ten-novel series on it, the way you’d memorized it back when it was relevant to your life.

(Back when you were a part of it; when it included you.)

Maybe it’s petty, maybe it’s self-preservation, but you don’t want to know how he’s doing. Can’t know, because whether he’s doing well or doing awful, both are equally miserable. The thought of him moving on and loving someone else, being happy without you, is enough to take your breath away, but you still love him enough to want only good things for him.

Two years and one month.

You spend another fifteen minutes talking to your mother before the call disconnects and that silence is back. It’s almost enough to have you dialing her number again and letting her talk about your ex. Instead, you stare at the empty corner of the living room and imagine the Christmas tree you’d put up. How large it’d be, what color lights; if you’d buy new ornaments or use the old ones you’d inherited from your grandmother. Then there’s a thought, so brief and jarring it nearly steals the air from your lungs—

Namjoon would’ve put a plant there.

Working under Kim Seokjin, there aren’t many rules.

Hoseok had described him once as two children in a trench coat (“His shoulders are two children wide!”), and you can’t find any fault in that description. That’s what he is: an overgrown child playing at adulthood—and, really, it’s not that you mind. You’ve had far worse bosses than Kim Seokjin. Squeaky, honking laugh and incessant need to be the center of attention at all office parties aside, he’s a good station manager. A bit neurotic, especially where Santa-mental is concerned, but his only rule is solid:

Work stays at work.

Compared to your last gig, you’ve got it good. Not easy, because you experience ten months’ worth of stress in the span of two, but you clock in and leave on time, Seokjin has only called you after-hours once (ate questionable ceviche at his partner’s holiday party and sent an SOS from the bathroom), and you’ve still got to deal with Jeongguk. Leave work at work? You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, yet here you are, face shrouded in blue light as you add the station’s email account to your phone.

Across town, Seokjin just got a phantom chest pain and doesn’t know why.

On this side of town, you try to swallow the feeling of being too big for your body—that jittery thing that accompanies anxiety. Because it doesn’t make sense, the way you’ve latched onto a single message. Two years and one month and you’ve never projected this hard, no matter how wistful and depressing the email. Holiday blues are nothing new, yet this time it’s enough to send you spiraling.

“Idiot,” you mumble to yourself, free hand stuck in a bag of potato chips. “They probably didn’t even answer.”

That’s the problem with these one-sided relationships. You’re halfway to desperate and they probably feel stupid for even sending in something so personal.

It takes a bit to scroll through all the new messages, mind blanking on what question Hoseok had posed today. Jeongguk’s Facebook privileges had been temporarily revoked after a small crowd had shown up to collect their PlayStations, so the responses are more level today than usual.

Then the username appears, and it halts all executive function, potato chip growing soggy on your tongue as you forget how to chew. There it is, a new message at the bottom of the old ones, your heart thumping wildly in your chest despite there being no reason for it:

[email protected] | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

[email protected] | Why can’t you?

[email protected] | I don’t think she’d want to hear it.

Introspection has never really been your thing—not like it was Namjoon’s, anyway—but the response gives you pause. In the place of this imaginary woman, would you want to hear it? If Namjoon called you right now, stitched his heart to his sleeve and let apologies spill out of his mouth, would you listen? Or would you hang up the phone, all of it too much to bear?

That’s the thing about time. Everyone says it heals all wounds, but maybe all it does is give you clarity. Buys you enough time to do all that introspection you weren’t good at before. And, sure, maybe that’s healing. Maybe all someone needs to do is look back on something with a fresh set of eyes, see all the parts that didn’t fit, all the parts that used to taste sweet but turned sour, and it’s enough to begin moving on.

Time. You’ve had two years and you’re still not sure if you’d pick up the phone. And, if you did, would it be in the name of closure? Morbid, genuine curiosity? Would you call it selfless, giving Namjoon the space to say what he feels needs to be said? Or would it be selfish? Because it’s a double-edged sword. Maybe you’d give anything to hear Namjoon’s voice again, hear that apology, but you know it’d destroy you.

So, yeah.

You can understand this person’s hesitation. It’s hard enough being on the receiving end in your imagination; you can’t imagine the turmoil of being the one who wants to apologize but not knowing if they should.

If they can.

It’s unfair to latch onto this the way you are. You know that, but it’s easier to justify when you think it might be mutually beneficial. Maybe this stranger’s apology for someone else can soothe some of your scars, and maybe you can be a listening ear for someone who clearly needs to be heard. So you suck in a breath, swallow your nerves, and type:

[email protected] | What would you say, if you could?

Then you do two things: you press send, and you change the password.

“Seokjin,” you say the next morning, meeting him at the coffee machine in the staff kitchen. “The station email started getting some weird spam messages,” you lie, “so I went ahead and changed the password.”

All you get in reply is a grunt. “Okay,” he says, pressing the espresso button on the machine.

He doesn’t ask for the new one. Doesn’t tell you to share it with Hoseok or Jeongguk. Doesn’t do anything except lean against the wall with his eyes closed, stress and exhaustion oozing from his pores.

You know exactly why you’re relieved, but you pretend you don’t.

Jeongguk’s punishment—for lack of a better term, because Seokjin would let him get away with murder if he could—for the PlayStation debacle is, much to your delight, Santa Duty.

Usually, it’s Hoseok that has to suffer. Has to stay a few hours late and deepen his voice and take call after call from kids who are very excited and very vehement to tell Santa what they want for Christmas. Hoseok’s lovely, human sunshine and all that, so he never complains, but the stress of playing Santa on top of the rest of his duties is a lot.

Hence Jeongguk.

“Are you serious?” he whines, seconds away from pouting and stomping his feet. You’ve seen this song and dance before. Any second now he’ll deploy the twinkly doe eyes and Seokjin will fold like a cheap metal chair. “You’re really gonna make me be Santa?”

Seokjin’s fighting the urge to let him off the hook, you can tell. His face is all scrunched up as if he’s physically pained by making Jeongguk do something he doesn’t want to do, and his clenched fists twitch at his sides. A pathetic display. He would truly let Jeongguk get away with murder, and it’s you who has to suffer for it. “Yes,” he says eventually. “Hoseok had to take over the Facebook page since… the incident, so he’s too busy.”

Jeongguk is a brat, but not enough of one to argue. Pretending to be Santa on the radio is a much more palatable punishment than permanently losing social media access. “Fine,” he grumbles, though the undertone says it’s a bad idea. He knows it, you know it, and Seokjin probably knows it, too, but he’s not willing to take on the task, so Jeongguk it is.

Which turns out to be a horrible decision, of course.

Kids one and two are simple enough: one wants a Barbie Dreamhouse and the other one wants a new bike. Jeongguk hems and haws through both calls, saying just enough to keep them hopeful but careful not to over-promise now that he’s on probation. Seokjin’s watching him like a hawk, all five-feet-ten-inches of him managing to take up the doorway to the studio, arms crossed over his chest like a bouncer.

He’s gonna fuck it up, his eyes say.

I know, yours respond.

It isn’t until the third kid calls in that things start to go downhill. Jeongguk never wanted to play Santa in the first place so he’s bored, doling out half-assed responses. Sometimes he forgets to use the Santa voice and it’s just Jeongguk talking to kids, witch cackle and all. It’s… a stark contrast to Hoseok’s Santa, that’s for sure, and Seokjin looks incensed, steam practically pouring out of his ears. You’d spare him some sympathy if he ever bothered to buy a second microwave, but he still hasn’t, so he deserves whatever consequences come from this.

Turns out the sponsors aren’t, like, overly thrilled that Santa Jeongguk promises child number six a PlayStation even though he asks for a limited-edition Iron Man figurine, so Seokjin dumps even more work on you and Hoseok: Santa duties for him, regardless of whatever else he’s tasked with, and all social media accounts for you. Makes you feel like you’re drowning.

Somehow, thanks only to divine intervention, you make it to the weekend. You collapse face-first onto the couch and shut off your brain. No thoughts about what to have for dinner, about your car payment you haven’t had time to pay that’s now three days overdue, all the dog hair you have to vacuum—no, all that exists are the fuzzy blanket you’ve draped over yourself and the cringey Hallmark movie you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from.

And it’s… nice, you suppose, but it’s just a temporary distraction. Can’t be a stopper for all that stress and loneliness. Doesn’t do much to change the fact that the first thing you take off after a long day at work is your obligated smile. Doesn’t do much to ease the chill in your bones. Doesn’t do much to stop the reminder that, years ago, this is the type of day that’d have Namjoon pulling you into his arms, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck, thumbs working at all the knots in your shoulders.

Lingering on the past is dumb—you know this—but it just feels a little cruel that a D-list celebrity couple on a questionable television network can laugh and smile coyly and flirt their way through a Christmas tree farm and you’re sad on your couch.

Just three more weeks of this, you tell yourself. Three weeks until January 2nd. Three weeks until you can shrug off your fake holiday cheer and try to go back to normal.

You should call your mother.

Which is another dumb thought, because it’s not like she’ll understand. She’ll listen and coddle you a little, but she won’t get it. All she’s ever known is your father. She can’t relate. Never had that breakup. Never lost who she thought was her person. And it’s not like you’re about to confide in your coworkers, even though you’d begrudgingly consider them actual friends. Seokjin’s too stressed to take on your problems; Hoseok’s too cheerful, despite being the one who’d probably understand the most, so you’re not about to drag him down with you. Jeongguk was never an option.

Still, your eyes drift to your phone. There’s someone in it that’d understand. Seems to be going through the same thing. Someone you’ve been too overwhelmed to reply to, so now that guilt settles over you, too.

There’s comfort in familiarity. That’s how you excuse the calm that washes over you when you see the unread message waiting for you, a real water-in-the-desert situation. The proverbial light at the end of this week’s shitty, taxing tunnel.

Briefly, you read over the old ones—

[email protected] | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

[email protected] | Why can’t you?

[email protected] | I don’t think she’d want to hear it.

[email protected] | What would you say, if you could?

—and then your breath hitches as your eyes gloss over the new one.

[email protected] | I don’t know. That’s silly, isn’t it? I’ve had so long to think about it and I still don’t know. Or… maybe I know and I’m just scared. Is that worse?

I know I’d want to say I’m sorry. Even if it doesn’t mean anything, if it’s too late, I’d want her to know that. I’d want to say I miss her, that I hope she’s doing well and is happy. I’d want to ask if she misses me, but I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to actually do it.

I keep having this recurring dream about running into her by accident. Serendipity, I guess. Like, I bump into her at the grocery store or at a coffee shop. And, each time, I say the same thing to her: "I'm still there, in our house... it's lonely there without you. I never realized how lost I'd be with you gone, how empty our home could feel. I finally understand how you felt." And, each time, it’s somehow too much and not enough.

So, I guess I’d want to say that, too, just so I can stop dreaming about it.

My friends keep saying I’ll be okay soon, to give it more time. I guess that’s what you do with breakups: you just… wait, and one day it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. No one really tells you what to do until then, what to do with all the empty space. They don’t tell you what to do with the guilt and the hope, either, and that’s the worst part.

I’m sorry. I sort of just dumped all of this on you, but it feels nice to get it out. Even if I’ll never be able to say it to her, at least I’ve said it to someone. Thank you for reading it.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the screen, obscuring the letters, making them illegible.

I think she’d really like to hear that, is all you manage to type.

“God,” Hoseok groans, looping his headphones around his neck, “today is brutal.”

Across from him, you nod, lips wrapped around the straw to your extra-large cold brew Seokjin had bought you as a peace offering. “Mm.”

“It never stops,” he continues. Face-plants onto the table in front of him, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” no doubt making his suffering worse. “Look at it,” he whines, pointing at the screen. “There are sixty-seven people on hold. Sixty-seven!” A pained sigh. “You think those reindeer will run me over, too?”

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.” You lean back in your chair. “Jeongguk! Can you come in here and run into Hoseok at full force?”

Hoseok chokes while Jeongguk tosses back a huh? why? that has you snorting. “Ah, cheer up, Hobi. You know this day’s always the worst.”

“Okay, but why?” he continues to gripe. “Don’t,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need you to mansplain Christmas blues to me. I know why this time of year is hard for people, but it’s usually, like, because of money or people having shitty families, right? But this year it’s all bullshit. Just stupid stuff that absolutely doesn’t matter.”

“That seems a little harsh.”

“Is it?” he retorts. “If I have to listen to one more person complain about the price of wrapping paper, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

“There’s a paper shortage, Hoseok.”

He pulls a face. “And that’s my problem? Stop cutting down the fucking trees, then! Did they ever think of that? Did they ever think that if they cut down an entire fucking forest, maybe suburban white women who put oatmeal recipes on Pinterest wouldn’t be able to wrap Christmas presents anymore? God, how selfish! Think of the children—”

Seokjin materializes out of nowhere, a bag of takeout in hand—the sort of boss who’s kind of a shithead but always seems to know what people need. “Eat up, bud, I got your favorite,” he says to Hoseok, busying himself with setting out the food. True to his word, he presents your co-host with a spread of all his go-tos and you watch, bemused, as Hoseok whimpers. Seokjin shoves a fork in his hand and pats the top of Hoseok’s head. “Okay?” When he nods, Seokjin tacks on, “Okay. Everything’s going to be fine. Just stay off the internet. This is your third rant this week about the environment and consumerism.”

“Okay,” Hoseok replies, cheeks bulging around a lot of orange chicken.

It takes a while for the color to return to Hoseok’s face, make him look alive again. You take the next few calls on your own, fielding rants about the state of Christmas in between rants about corporate conglomerates and the general demise of small businesses. Someone calls in to complain about the people complaining. Another person calls in to complain about this year’s mall Santa and how every single child that’s met him has cried. There must be a reason for that, the person drawls. Don’t you think it’s worth looking into?

Jeongguk cackles from outside the studio. Makes a show of grabbing his coat and keys and says he’s going to the mall to investigate. Seokjin catches him by his scarf when he’s halfway out of the building and shoves him back to his desk. Hoseok’s still shoveling broccoli beef into his mouth.

You’re starting to sound soulless when you take another call. “Hi,” you chirp, voice dripping with fake sugar. “Thanks for calling Santa-mental. What’s got you down this year?”

It’s another stupid tradition in a long line of stupid traditions. December 23rd is always set aside for those long-suffering Christmas blues, the day where callers can air their grievances and get them out of their systems at the last minute. Before they have to go to Christmas Eve parties and pretend; before they have to exchange gifts with people that have been wearing on their last nerve for weeks.

So maybe you’re starting to sound worn down, shouldering all this negativity temporarily, but you’re used to it.

“Yeah, hi,” a gravelly voice responds. “I’m calling to bitch about my best friend.”

Hoseok chokes on a forkful of rice. Begins to whisper, “Tell him he can’t—”

“That’s not a very festive word,” you snort, light enough that this caller knows it’s a gentle correction but stern enough for him to not use the word bitch on air again.

The man clears his throat, undeterred. “Right. Anyway, I’m calling to complain about him.”

“Why? Is he being a Grinch?”

“No,” the caller says, “he’s just lovesick. Had a bad breakup and can’t seem to get over it.”

“Oh. Well, breakups are hard, y’know.”

“Sure. And he’s not, like, unbearable. He still showers and goes to work, and he even has a therapist so he’s being functional and working on himself or whatever other bullsh—stuff. Stuff his therapist helps him with.”

You roll your lips, try to contain your laugh. Seokjin’s probably red-faced and white-knuckled in his office. “That sounds good,” you counter. “Productive. What’s there to complain about?”

The caller is quiet for a few seconds before he tentatively admits, “I miss him.”

“Oh—”

“He’s my best friend and he’s been so hard on himself. Blames himself for the breakup. Which, like, sure, maybe that’s true, but… I don’t know. It’s hard to see him like this, I guess.”

“How long has it been?” you ask, even though you’re long past the point in the conversation where you’d wish them well and play some tone-deaf Christmas jingle.

The caller hums. “Almost two years, I think.”

Play the song about the Christmas shoes, Hoseok mouths to you. Always says that about the really sad calls. Says it one-ups their sadness, and Hoseok’s not as much of a bastard as Seokjin and Jeongguk are, but he has that streak sometimes.

Fuck off, you mouth back.

“I had a tough breakup of my own not too long ago, so I understand your friend’s struggle. I’m gonna play something for the two of you. Happy holidays.”

Maybe you play it for them, but you play it for you, too: “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” probably a too on the nose choice, but it helps distract you long enough that you miss the questioning stare Hoseok sends you before he stares past you and catches Jeongguk’s eye and sends him the same look.

You also miss the voice in your head that says you know that voice, the one on the line. It’s a little rougher than the last time you’d heard it, two years and one month ago, but you know it.

For now, you let Darlene Love croon away. Hoseok wordlessly hands over his egg roll.

They’re his favorite.

Christmas is quiet.

At six, you blink your eyes open and check the weather. Bundle up and put those little boots on your dog’s paws. They put too many chemicals in the de-icer these days, your mom had said. I can’t believe you moved to a place that snows so much.

(You can’t either, sometimes, but you would’ve gone a lot farther for your relationship. For Namjoon, specifically, because you’d dated a few people in the first year or two of college you couldn’t imagine moving down the street for, let alone to some pin-prick town on the opposite side of the country.)

By seven-thirty, you’re eating a breakfast you’ve managed to scrape together with the last of your groceries. Eggs, a slice of toast, some cut-up fruit. Not bad, considering all you’d managed to choke down last year had been half a Nature Valley bar that you’d cried over after it covered your bed in crumbs you didn’t have the energy to clean up.

Your mother FaceTimes you at ten-thirty, just like she’d promised. She scolds you first, chastising you for the millionth time about not coming home this year for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but lays off once your dad redirects her. She flips the camera to your brother and his wife at the breakfast bar. You suspect she’s pregnant but that they’re waiting to drop the news and suddenly you’re thankful you’re not there.

You like your sister-in-law; really, you do, but you don’t think you have the energy for something so big and important.

By noon you’re back in bed, your dog curled up by your feet and A Christmas Story playing nonstop on TV. You contemplate making a drink but decide against it. Somehow it feels like progress to be sad sober.

That plan goes out the window by three. It’s snowing again and the snow always makes you think of Namjoon, of all those nights in college where he’d drag you out of your shitty student apartment with your awful roommate to pelt you with snowballs and kiss the warmth back into your cheeks. Makes you think of graduation and heat-slicked skin and Namjoon next to you on the couch, limbs rigid with anxiety as he asked where do we go from here? even though he meant do you still want me now that this part of our lives is over?

And you had just smiled and said I can’t imagine living somewhere without snow now even though you meant of course I do, sometimes I’m scared that I want you forever.

So, the snow makes you think of Namjoon and you miss Namjoon something terrible so, yeah, you’re drinking by three.

An email comes through at 3:48. A digital gift card from your brother, because that’s when he realizes he’s forgotten to get you a gift. You send him a quick thanks but leave off the asshole. You wonder if things between the two of you had always been this strained or if they’d gotten worse after your split from Namjoon. They were fast friends, closer in five minutes than the twenty-something years you’d had with him. You wonder if they still talk; if your brother blames you.

Doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. Not all siblings have to be close.

But now you’re thumbing through the rest of your emails. Personal combined with work in one singular inbox, so there’s a 10% off coupon for the pizzeria by the station sitting on top of a response from the stranger you’ve been corresponding with.

[email protected] | I think she’d really like to hear that.

[email protected] | Hm, I’m not so sure, but I’ll take it into consideration. The New Year is coming up. Maybe my resolution will be to say all these things I’m too scared to.

You snort derisively. Yeah, you know a thing or two about fear, know a thing or two about all the times you've picked up your phone, intent on reaching out—not just to Namjoon, but to anyone—only to lose all your resolve. And where has that gotten you? Now you’re stuck with all these feelings and no one to talk about them with. Alone in a room full of friends. That’s no way to live, you can hear Namjoon say. The king of emotional intelligence except when it mattered most.

Being vulnerable is hard; perhaps the hardest thing there is, if your stunning lack of enthusiasm towards it is anything to go by. And it’s not like you’re opposed. Until things fell apart, your and Namjoon’s relationship was a masterclass in effective communication, and that doesn’t happen if both parties aren’t willing to be vulnerable. It’s just… hard—hard to pick yourself up and get back on that particular horse when everything in you is screaming to stay off.

But there’s an opportunity here. If this stranger can pluck up the bravery to do—and be—better, maybe you can, too.

[email protected] | That sounds like a really nice resolution. Maybe I’ll do the same.

[email protected] | Have some things you can’t bring yourself to say, too?

[email protected] | A lot of what you said really resonated with me. I had a rough breakup of my own a while ago. A lot was left unsaid. I’ve spent a lot of time convincing myself it isn’t worth reaching out as opposed to thinking about what I’d say if I did.

[email protected] | And? What would you say, if you could?

[email protected] | I guess… I guess I’d ask if it was worth it. Not in a snarky way, just genuinely curious. Because there were problems, of course—it isn’t like the relationship ended for no reason. But it feels worse now, alone, than it ever felt together.

I’d say that I’m sorry. I’d say I wish I would’ve tried harder. I’d say there’s an empty spot in my apartment that would be perfect for a plant, but that I haven’t put one there because I’m scared I won’t be able to take care of it. That maybe that’s some kind of metaphor for our relationship—or me. I’m scared of ruining all these things I grow to love, and I don’t know how to let go of that fear. I don’t know how to accept that sometimes things end, and maybe it’s no one’s fault, even when it still feels impossible to breathe sometimes.

Sometimes I wonder if I should be over it by now, so the thought of asking that terrifies me. What if I’m the only one not over it? What if I’m hanging on to something that’s long dead?

[email protected] | I don’t know anything about your relationship, but if it’s anything like mine was… love like that, it doesn’t just go away. It’s too big, too important. Just because there’s time and space between the two of you, it doesn’t erase the love that was once there.

Or maybe I’m just projecting?

[email protected] | If you’re projecting, then so am I.

Although… if your resolution is to be brave, maybe I can be brave, too.

[email protected] | Hm, like a pact? I think that would be nice, actually. I think I’ve felt complacent for far too long; content to leave things as they are instead of saying what I want to say. Maybe it’s selfish to reach out after so long, but I’ve still held on to this small thread of hope that if I do… maybe I won’t get rejected. Maybe there are some things she’s left unsaid as well.

[email protected] | You’ll never know if you don’t try, right?

[email protected] | Right. If nothing else, there’s worth in being brave and no longer having to live with the uncertainty and what-ifs.

[email protected] | Let’s do it, then.

[email protected] | Let’s do it.

After your first day back to work, post-holiday, Seokjin takes you out to dinner.

Hoseok and Jeongguk are invited, too, but both decline. Hoseok’s eager to head home and loaf in front of the 85-inch, ultra high-res television he splurged on with his Christmas money, and Jeongguk’s off to the mall to, in his words, “finally investigate that sus mall Santa.”

So here you are, sat across from your boss in a tiny Italian restaurant. A candle flickers between the two of you, flames dancing wildly every time Seokjin sticks his hand in the bread basket. He’s suspiciously quiet, and it’s not just because he’s in an enclosed space. Much like every other restaurant in this podunk town, Seokjin knows the owner, so he’s not concerned about his volume or the speed with which he puts away five buttered dinner rolls. No—this is beyond. This is genuine concern he’s looking at you with.

“Can you just spit it out already?” you prompt, anxiety needling along your skin. Would he really bring you to an Italian restaurant to fire you? You’ve been having doubts about playing the Christmas shoes song, but you hadn’t thought it was this bad.

Seokjin’s hand pauses centimeters from his mouth. “The bread?” he asks, words muffled around a mouthful of soggy roll. He swallows hesitantly. “Is there something wrong with it? Where would I even—”

You gag. “Ew! You’re sick. Why would I be talking about the roll?”

“Because I had a mouth full of roll! What else would you be telling me to spit out?”

“Whatever it is you’re clearly trying to figure out how to say! You’ve been looking at me weird since we sat down!”

Seokjin adjusts his posture, spine ramrod straight against the uncomfortable wooden back of the chair. “Oh,” he says, tone caught out. “We’re just concerned about you.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Concerned about what?”

“Nothing serious,” he replies. He toys with the stem of his wine glass. “Hobi and Jeongguk were a little concerned to hear about your breakup. None of us had any idea.”

“Ah, well, you forgot to ask about it during my job interview.”

Seokjin levels you with a pointed stare. “You didn’t really have a job interview.”

“And whose fault is that?”

The waiter appears, dropping off a plate of fried calamari that Seokjin immediately has his hands on. Oblivious to the look on your face, he retorts, “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Are you? That’s a bit of a loaded question. After two years, you’re well past the worst of it, so you’re not exactly lying when you answer (“I am. It wasn’t recent.”) but it almost feels like you are. Because you are okay, but you still have bad days. Not the kind of days where you break down crying and feel like you can’t get out of bed, but days where you feel worn down. Days where all your limbs feel heavy with what-ifs and a little bit of guilt.

“Okay,” Seokjin relents. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrug. “If you want to talk about it.”

He laughs. “It’s not an interrogation. Really—I’m just making sure you’re okay. You don’t talk much about personal stuff. Not like Hoseok does, anyway.”

You scoff. “Hobi would give someone his social security number if he liked them enough.” Seokjin doesn’t react. In fact, he’s quiet for a long time—long enough for the silence to be replaced by the clanking of dishware, of the chefs barking out orders in the kitchen. “Tell me he didn’t.”

“He… might’ve done that, yeah.” Awkwardly dabbing his napkin at his face, he quickly adds, “But Jimin was able to get it sorted! Everything’s fine!”

“If you say so.”

Over two massive dishes of pasta, and perhaps slightly fueled by the carafe of wine that never seems to go empty, you wind up telling Seokjin about your relationship. How you’d met Namjoon during the spring semester of your sophomore year in a shared chemistry lab—you, a bright-eyed and probably naive nursing student; Namjoon pre-med and too smart for his own good. You tell him how you’d only taken organic chemistry at the recommendation of your advisor and how it didn’t make a lick of sense to you; how Namjoon had offered to tutor you, which was standard at first, but found the two of you going on coffee dates by Valentine’s Day and official by Easter break.

You tell him how happy the two of you had been. All the conversations you’d had about what would happen after graduation. How you promised Namjoon you’d go wherever he went. You could get licensed anywhere, so as long as the two of you were together, you’d be happy. So that’s what you did: followed him to another big city, passed your boards and got licensed, found a cozy apartment not far from the hospital and campus. Two years of that before you outgrew it. Found a small house to rent in the suburbs. Namjoon used to wake up early to catch the train and text you pictures of the sunrise.

Life was good. The two of you were twenty-five and exhausted but so, so horribly in love that nothing else mattered.

And then, like most good things inevitably do, things fell apart.

It was gradual. Blink and you’ll miss it. The opposing shifts, the burnout, the days off spent catching up on sleep rather than each other. The meals eaten alone, the gray mornings that found you waking up to an empty bed. The first morning Namjoon had taken the train and didn’t send you a picture. The evenings spent in silence in front of the television. No conversations, no touching, just existing alongside one another like the ghosts of a love gone stale.

You’d smiled in Namjoon’s graduation pictures. Kissed him on the cheek and showered him in endless praise about how proud of him you were, not a lie to be found, drunk on the hope that maybe things would be better now that another chapter was behind you.

Then he dropped the bomb. His residency was on the opposite side of the country. He’d matched into his top choice, the best one in the country for his specialty, and he wanted you to go with him. I know that’s selfish, he’d said, and you couldn’t figure out why he’d say that, why it’d be selfish for you to go. You’d asked him why he’d waited so long to tell you, and the air was knocked from your lungs when the answer was that he knew you’d say no.

You tell Seokjin that Namjoon had been right. A string of tearful conversations, the mutual decision to call it quits, put an end to the proverbial suffering and let go of a dying thing. I guess that just happens sometimes, you tell him. Life gets in the way.

You tell Seokjin how you couldn’t bear to stay in that house in the suburbs anymore. How you quit your job and moved to this tiny town, adopted a dog, applied for any job that was hiring. How you’d never worked in a radio station before, but you’d liked Seokjin the moment you met him. He’d said you had a voice for radio and they had an opening that needed to be filled immediately, so when could you start? You don’t make anywhere near as much money as you used to, but you have time to breathe. The stress, the exhaustion and the burnout, are gone. You have enough.

Now here you are, two years later.

So, sure, you’re okay in the sense that there’s scar tissue where the worst of it once was, but you’re not sure how to shake the knowledge that Namjoon was your person. You’re not sure how to reconcile that, of all the decisions the two of you had made together, you’d chose wrong on the most important one.

[email protected] | I finally talked to someone about it today. My relationship.

[email protected] | How did it go?

[email protected] | Probably would’ve gone better if it’d been a therapist instead of my boss, but… it was nice. Talking about it means it was real, you know?

[email protected] | Yeah, I feel like that, too. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten what her voice sounds like, how she laughed. I’m scared I’ll forget more and then it’ll be gone completely. God, that sounds pathetic, huh? It’s not like she died. But you cling to those sorts of things when memories are all you’ve got left.

[email protected] | No, it’s not pathetic. It’s hard to feel like the person you spent so much time with is just a stranger now. Like, what are you supposed to do with all the space they used to occupy? I had all this love for this person, and now I can’t remember what their laugh sounded like.

[email protected] | Can I ask… if you’re still planning on reaching out, what are you hoping for? I’m trying to temper my expectations (preparing for a rejection and/or to be ignored) and I just have no idea what to expect.

[email protected] | Honestly? I’m not sure. I’m not expecting anything, especially not any sort of relationship. I’d say the most I could hope for would be a cup of coffee, but I don’t even know where he’s living these days. Or if his number is the same. I could reach out and get told I have the wrong number and to fuck off.

[email protected] | Wow, coffee. That sounds really nice. I’m really hoping for that for you.

[email protected] | Thank you. I hope you find what you’re looking for, too.

[email protected] | I guess we’ll see, huh?

You decide you’re going to text Namjoon on New Year’s Eve.

It’s fitting, you figure. Symbolic. You can casually text him at 11:59pm and have an answer. If he tells you to fuck off, you’ll have a clean slate for the new year. You haven’t really thought about what’ll happen if he doesn’t. Getting your hopes up is dangerous, and you have enough self-control not to let yourself go down that road.

But the wait is almost torturous.

Four days. That’s all the time you have to both muster up the courage and figure out what to say. Whatever you’ll wind up saying, you’ve decided you’re going to keep it simple. It’ll be far less embarrassing to have your ‘Hi, Joon’ go ignored than some over-the-top paragraph. You might be doing something scary and brave—or extremely idiotic, depending on who you ask—but you still care about your pride, at least a little bit.

The station’s email slows down considerably. Nothing new from your penpal, either. You figure they’re gearing up for the same thing. You hadn’t specified when you were going to reach out, but you both seem to have come to the same natural conclusion. There’s just something inspiring about New Year’s Eve.

However, what you’ve lost in written, electronic communication, you make up for in Hoseok and Jeongguk.

“You’re really gonna text your ex?” Jeongguk asks, his ass perched on the corner of your desk as he litters it with cracker crumbs. You sweep them into your hand and dump them on his jeans.

As he squawks indignantly, Hoseok tacks on, “Damn, do you think I should text my ex, too?”

“No,” you and Jeongguk say in unison.

“Wow. Why do you get to text your ex and I don’t?”

Jeongguk throws a grape at him. It pegs him in the forehead and falls pitifully to the floor. “Because your ex stole your dog, dude.”

“And your identity,” you add.

Jeongguk nods. “And, like, half the shit in your kitchen. You got your stove stolen, bro. Who the fuck steals a stove?”

“Hobi’s ex, apparently.”

He chuckles awkwardly, voice high and strained. “Hey, come on now, I’m feeling a little targeted here.”

“Her ex,” Jeongguk begins, pointing at you, “is, like, a whole ass doctor. Your ex is a thief. A good one, I’ll admit, because how the fuck do you even get the stove out of a third-floor apartment, but a thief nonetheless. Incomparable.”

That’s how it goes for four days.

And you want to be upset about it, the prodding and unsolicited advice (“Just send him nudes,” Jeongguk suggests at least six times a day) but it helps to settle your nerves. They settle even more when Jeongguk gives up on your ex and focuses all of his attention on Hoseok’s, if your work chat is any indication of his current hyperfixations.

Jeon Jeongguk > did u know hobi’s ex also stole all the tubing for his washer and dryer lmao

Jeon Jeongguk > he had to use the laundromat for 2 months

Jeon Jeongguk > jimin just told me hobi’s ex also stole an entire window

Jeon Jeongguk > who tf did this guy date

You > why is jimin telling you this stuff? doesn’t hr have some patient-doctor confidentiality or whatever

Jeon Jeongguk > ??? jimin loves me, he’d never keep secrets from me

You > pretty sure that’s not how that works

You > …find out more about that window though. the curiosity is gonna kill me.

Jeon Jeongguk > k

Jeon Jeongguk > according to jimin

Jeon Jeongguk > it was his bedroom window

Jeon Jeongguk > landlord was pissed lmao

Park Jimin > You better not speak a word of this to anyone

You > i’m not scared of you jimin

Park Jimin > What

Park Jimin > Why not :(

You > ???

By the 29th, you’re ready to come out of your skin. The anxiety alone has you in such a chokehold that you’re sure any moment your heart is going to beat right out of your chest, that you’ll get fabric burns on your palms with how often you have to wipe them on your thighs, that Hoseok will pop his head over your cubicle divider and find you face-down on your keyboard, dead.

(Jeongguk promises he’ll take care of your dog if this happens, and just the thought of your pure, innocent baby being tainted by his influence has you surviving on pure spite alone.)

On the 30th, you spend your lunch break in your car. Seat reclined, radio off, staring up at the cloudless sky through your sunroof. You should not be this anxious, you tell yourself. It’s just a text message. The worst that can happen is, quite literally, nothing—and at least that’ll give you an answer. Namjoon doesn’t owe you anything, especially not after two years of silence, so the anxiety makes sense. No matter how you spin it, it’s a pretty selfish thing you’re gonna do. It’s not Namjoon’s problem that you have some regrets, some lingering guilt. For all you know, he’s spent the last two years getting his shit together and moving on, and who are you to interrupt that?

You nearly call your mother for all that Facebook intel she’d been so eager to tell you before.

This is a bad idea, you tell yourself over and over. He doesn’t want to hear from you. Right? If he’d wanted any kind of contact, he’s had two years to reach out. A non-answer is still an answer. Silence, sometimes, is loud and clear.

When you return to your desk, there’s a massive box sitting atop it, wrapped in ridiculous paper with a bow. Seokjin stands to the side with a smug look on his face that only twists your stomach more.

“I got you a gift,” he says, gesturing at the box.

You blink owlishly. “Yeah, I-I can see that.”

“Are you gonna open it?”

“Be pretty rude not to,” you answer, fingers popping a seam along the top. “You wrapped this? It looks way too neat to be your work.”

Seokjin scoffs but his ears turn red nonetheless. “Wow, that’s a really fucked up thing to say someone who just gave you a gift.” You just stare. “Anyway.” He coughs. “Hoseok wrapped it.”

It’s a microwave.

Seokjin gives you a fucking microwave.

“Are you serious.”

“Figured it was about time I got you that second microwave,” he replies easily. Shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocks back on his heels. “It’s voice-activated. Very fancy.” At your hesitant look, Seokjin tacks on, “And Jeongguk is not allowed to use it.”

You open your mouth to say something—a thank you, a why did you give me a microwave five days after Christmas, anything—but nothing comes out. You’d just been on the verge of a mental break, so it’s all a bit overwhelming. Feels like too much, even though you’ve been harassing the poor man for a second microwave for eons.

But Seokjin sees the open-shut-open-shut of your jaw and knows. Says, “Speaking of Jeongguk, he’s going to fill in for you tomorrow. Take the day off.”

“What?” you manage to choke out. “No, Seokjin, don’t be ridiculous, I can—”

He holds his hand up, silencing you. “Not up for debate,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You should’ve gone to work.

You need the distraction. You need something to think about that’s not Namjoon. You’ve already deep-cleaned your apartment and sorted through your closet. Made DONATE and TRASH piles. You give the dog a bath even though he’s not dirty, but he always fights you on the nail trim so it eats up an entire hour of your afternoon. You call your brother and finally ask if you’re going to be an aunt because you can’t stop wondering.

(You are. You cry a little. So does your brother.)

When two-o’clock rolls around, you tune into the station on your phone and listen to Hoseok and Jeongguk. They’re an absolute trainwreck together, absolutely no finesse or chemistry, and you laugh so hard you cry. Seokjin texts you at 2:03 and asks what he’s done, if it’s too late for you to come in. You thank him for the day off and laugh some more.

You eat a late lunch; something light, because even if you’re less anxious than before, you’re still not confident your stomach can handle anything heavier. You watch a few episodes of trashy daytime TV. Take a nap on the couch, the dog curled up at your feet, and hope you’ll wake up just before midnight.

Nine is close enough. You walk the dog before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe you can’t scrub away the doubt trickling in, but you can exfoliate the hell out of your skin. You can use your overpriced deep conditioner on your hair and shave your legs and use the fancy lotion you’d stolen from your mother the last time you visited. You can put on fuzzy socks and make yourself feel good like this, on the outside, even when you don’t feel nearly as good inside.

Candle lit, you crawl into bed and try to read a book. Some self-help bullshit your father had sent you passive-aggressively, because it’s been two years and he still thinks you’re an idiot for leaving your cushy hospital job to work at a radio station. Because of a breakup? he’d asked incredulously, because he didn’t understand. All he’s ever known is your mother, so now he sends books instead of patronizing you out loud. Your mom had given him hell the last time he’d done it, and maybe he doesn’t mind pissing you off, hurting your feelings, but your mother’s exempt.

You stare at the cover. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, it reads. If that’s not a dig, you’re not sure what is. You wonder what your dad would think about mono-dot-persona at Gmail dot com. Then you wonder why you even give a shit what your father thinks about anything.

Eleven-thirty rolls around before you’re ready. Quarter to midnight comes even quicker. You unlock your phone and create a blank text message. Start typing Nam— because you’d deleted all his texts after the breakup. God, you hadn’t even taken that stupid crab emoji out of his contact name, so there it sits, just Namjoonie with a little crab that makes your chest hurt.

Maybe you are an idiot; maybe your father’s right.

Then you just stare, thumbs hovering. There’s a lot you want to say and even less you think you’ll be able to. Twenty years wouldn’t be enough time to talk yourself up for this. You can’t get the image of Namjoon out of your head, sitting on his couch, arm thrown around someone else. Smiling into their neck, their hair, as they count down the seconds until midnight and share a kiss. He won’t even hear his phone vibrate. Won’t see your text until much later when his brows knit together, confused, and he shakes his head as he deletes it.

A shaky exhale. You back out of your texts and thumb to your email.

Maybe I can be brave, too.

I’ve still held on to this small thread of hope.

There’s worth in being brave and no longer having to live with the uncertainty and what-ifs.

I hope you find what you’re looking for, too.

Your phone vibrates in your hand.

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: good luck broski

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: just remember if it goes bad it’s never too late to send nudes

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: hobi is already wasted but he says good luck too

Jeongguk [11:57pm]: i had to hang out with him tonight to make sure he doesnt drunk text his ex. low key hoping he does so i can put it on tiktok

Jeongguk [11:57pm]: ill let u know what happens

Yeah, you’re going to be fine.

Hi, Joon, you type. Delete immediately because it sounds too familiar. Are you still allowed to call him Joon? Hi, Namjoon, you write instead. Blank on what comes next, those two words seemingly taking all your brainpower. Maybe they’ll be enough. Reaching out is the hardest part, right? It’s probably better to keep it simple, anyway; gives you less space to say something incriminating and stupid you can’t take back.

At the last second, you start to tack on an apology. Sorry for texting out of the blue, you want to say. But you’re halfway through when your phone vibrates in your hand again, startling you, so what you wind up sending is—

You [11:59pm]: Hi, Namjoon. Sorry for tecgt

—and you kind of wanna die a little. A lot.

You’re going to murder Jeongguk for two reasons: one, you assume the text is from him, updating you on the developing situation with Hoseok’s ex; and two, Jeongguk is usually to blame for anything that goes amiss in your life these days. But when you thumb backwards, there’s nothing new from him.

There is, however, a little blue dot next to Namjoon’s name, the hint of a response. And then several more.

Namjoon [11:59pm]: I’m so sorry for reaching out like this. Please tell me to fuck off if you want, I just… if you’re open to it, I really like to talk to you? God, that sounds so lame. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking lately and holy shit did you also just text me

Namjoon [11:59pm]: Oh my god you did

Namjoon [11:59pm]: At the same?? Time??

Namjoon [11:59pm]: Sorry for the triple text, this is just doing my head in right now

Namjoon [11:59pm]: I’ve been trying to talk myself into doing this for months now and you just… texted me at the exact same time?

Namjoon [12:00am]: Happy New Year (sent with fireworks)

Namjoon [12:00am]: Can I call you? Is that weird?

Namjoon [12:00am]: Of course that’s weird, you haven’t even replied

Namjoon [12:00am]: Oh my god I am so sorry

You [12:07am]: You can call me

Your hands are shaking so bad you can barely swipe across the screen to answer the call. Two years. You haven’t spoken to Namjoon in two years, haven’t heard his voice. Will he sound familiar to you, or will he sound like a stranger? Will his voice sound like returning home after a long time away, or will it settle in your gut like deja vu—something you can place if you think hard enough, but ultimately slips through your fingers like sand?

“He-hello?”

A sharp intake greets you. “Hi. Wow. Shit, hi—”

“Namjoon.”

Both of you are stunned into silence. His voice soothes over you like a balm; you’ll never be able to forget the sound of it. You’re a fool to think you could. The same voice that made you hushed promises, detailed how loved you were; the same voice that cracked when everything fell apart, that spoke apologies around lips wet with tears.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” he says. “I—Happy New Year? God, this is so crazy.”

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat. “You’re telling me,” you say, voice thick. “How are—how have you been? Are you—you said you’ve wanted to for… months?”

“Yeah. This is gonna sound stupid, probably, but I… I wrote into this radio show? I don’t even know what it’s about, Yoongi listens to it around the holidays sometimes, and I wasn’t expecting a reply. But someone answered, and—I don’t know, I just… spilled my heart out. Whoever answered was basically going through the same thing—”

You can’t breathe. “Namjoon.”

“—and we made this, like… pact? That sounds dumb. But I guess we both had a lot of things we left unsaid—”

“Namjoon.”

He pauses. “Yeah?”

“Namjoon,” you say again, vision blurred from the tears stuck to your lash line. “Namjoon, that was me. Fuck. What the fuck? Fuck—holy shit, Namjoon, you were talking to me.”

A long silence stretches between you. “What.”

“That was me.”

“Yeah, I heard you, I just… what? Why are you answering emails for some radio station?”

“I work there. After the—after we broke up, I quit my job. I was so stressed and burnt out and I just couldn’t do it anymore. You know some crazy-high percentage of nurses quit within the first five years? I just… quit. Moved even farther away from the city to some even smaller town and applied for whatever jobs were open and adopted a dog—”

“You got a dog?”

You laugh. “Yeah. He’s an American Eskimo. His name is Doug.”

“Doug? What kind of name is Doug?”

“The shelter gave it to him. It kind of suits him. He acts like a Doug sometimes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Wait—how did you even—you heard the show? I thought you moved for your residency?”

Namjoon clears his throat. “Yeah, I was going to, but I stayed here. Did one a little closer. Leaving didn’t feel right, you know? Like, the thought of losing you and leaving the house… I couldn’t do it.”

Your stomach knots and roils. “You’ve been here the whole time?” you whisper.

“Yeah, I have. That was really you, though? On the email?” You hum. “What the fuck. This is really nuts.”

“Are you upset?”

“No,” Namjoon insists, “not at all. Baby, no, I’m not upset. Everything I said was true, so it saves me so much talking. Which—thank god, honestly, because I feel like I’m gonna throw up. I was just so scared, you know? Of so many things. Mostly I was terrified for you to actually know how much I still miss you. Is that wrong? Am I being selfish? Overstepping?”

All those tears spill over, unbidden. “No, Joon. I—me too. I miss you, too. So much.”

You can hear Namjoon’s smile when he exhales, breathy and soft. Unburdened. An entire universe stretches out before the two of you and you have your pick of what comes next. Words are just words—you’re not naive enough to think this solves anything, that there aren’t countless conversations you and Namjoon have to have. But, for right now, this is enough. It’s security, and that’s all you can really ask for.

The knowledge that, a long time ago, you’d given your heart to someone that’s still keeping it safe.

Of all the decisions you’ve made, that’s the one you’d gotten right. And it’s one you’d make a million more times and never choose differently.

“Hey,” Namjoon says after a while, “how about that coffee?”

Thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

#btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #kpopsociety #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon fanfic #bts imagines

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raggaraddy · 3 years

Text

Mouthy

Prompt: You say to Yandere BTS "Oh my god! Just shut up!"

A/N: Couldn't sleep, so I wrote this laying in bed. I hope it's not some sleep-deprived nonsense ^-^

Trigger warning: Yandere themes, violence, emotional manipulation, choking, non-con, D/s themes, examples of a bad D/s dynamic.

Alpha! Namjoon

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You scream it through your bedroom doorway. Storming to the railing of the stairs, you lean over and scream again. "Shut up!"

The sea of people on the ground floor go quiet. Only the music dares to keep making a sound in the background. You skulk back to your room, slamming the door loudly behind you. You had had a long, disappointing day. You were tired and grumpy, and moody and sad. But the dozens of uninvited pack members couldn't care less as their party raged on into the night.

Not allowing you enough time to even climb back into bed, Namjoon storms after you to address your outburst.

"Y/n, go downstairs right now and apologize." He orders.

"No." you mope. Feeling it's a wildly unfair request. All these people are in your house making so much noise when you're trying to sleep. How is it you that's in the wrong?

"Do you think I am asking you? I'm telling you. Get downstairs now." He says sternly. His strict tone making you even more emotional. You just wanted him to be on your side for this.

"But- But I," you sniffle, with tears in your eyes.

"No," Namjoon cuts you off. "I've asked you all afternoon what's wrong. And you wouldn't tell me. So right at this moment, I don't want to hear it. You have been disrespectful to me and my people. So you are going to put some more clothes on and cover-up, and you will go out there and apologize to every single person." He growls, leaving no room to argue. "And you will do it sincerely, or I will give you something to cry about."

King! Seokjin

You didn't say it to his face. You would never be that stupid. But still, you clearly weren't smart enough. While gossiping to a friend, someone you thought was a confidant, you're complaining about a seemingly endless, boring meeting you had to serve today.

"And I just wanted to tell all of them; Oh my god! Just shut up!" You laugh.

But hours later it's no longer a laughing matter.

"How did you enjoy serving me today, Princess?" Jin asks his tone giving nothing away of what he already knows.

"I enjoyed it. Thank you, your Majesty" You politely smile, thinking his question to be a kindness.

"I often find these meetings so dull. Many of the Lords do like to ramble on. Sometimes I would enjoy telling all of them to just shut up." He speaks the words so purposefully that you know at once you've been exposed.

"My Lord, I-"

"If you are smart you will not say another word." He speaks softly, with a grin on his face. "I want to thank you, Y/n. I have an endless supply of other people I can hurt. Each one of them is freely at my disposal, but you are my favourite toy." He fills the space in front of you. "However, I am a man of my word. I swore to you that you will be unharmed if you are obedient, and I would not dare to break this vow. Of course, I have sorely missed playing with my beloved little dol, though."

Towering over you he sets off your instinct to get to your knees and grovel, begging his forgiveness for your carelessness. But that would only be a wasted effort.

"So thank you, Princess, for giving me the possibility to hear your pretty cries of pain again. I will make sure to use this opportunity to its fullest."

Assassin! Yoongi

He had been in a hyper mood for 2 days straight. His energy and enthusiastic interaction was something you always craved, but you had never dealt with it this long before and you were losing your sanity and your composure.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You shout at him as your last nerve snaps.

"Okay, Y/n." He gives little to no reaction. "Remember you said this in a month from now when you're begging me to speak to you."

But it didn't take a month. In two weeks you were in tears apologizing. He left you free to roam the house, but he revoked all communication from you. The only times he gave you any attention, was when he forcibly made you stop doing something he didn't like. Or when he wanted you for sex. But still, he wouldn't utter a single word, only bending you over to take what he wanted.

After 5 weeks, just as you thought you'd never hear his voice again, he finally broke his silence. Only to break your heart.

"Listening to you these past few weeks, I realise how much you talk. It's time you take your own advice and shut up. Y/n, I don't want to hear a sound out of you until I say. 5 weeks was easy enough for me. So let's start with that, and then I'll see if I want to hear from you yet."

Vampire! Hoseok

Hoseok was always so animated. Normally it didn't bother you, but he was talking and reacting through yet another movie and you were sick of it. It might have been because you were PMSing or maybe because Hoseok had forgotten to feed you all day, but when he yelled at the TV, you yelled at him.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" And right away you were teeming with regret.

"I'm sorry baby. Am I being too loud?" He laughs with an unexpectedly harmless reply. Playfully but roughly slapping his hand on your thigh. "I'll keep it down."

You're not dumb enough to think that your eruption would go unanswered. So you sit tensely, anxiously waiting to see how he will repay you.

"Baby," he whispers in your ear, after sitting in silence for 20 minutes. "You know I have very strong hearing right?" You nod nervously. Chewing your lip. "Well, your breathing is too loud and very distracting. I can hardly hear the movie. Can you please fix that?"

You know this is going to lead to something horrible, but you have no choice but to do as he says. For the next 10 minutes, you're completely distracted trying to inhale and exhale as softly and shallowly as possible.

"Hmm baby, it's really too much. I can't concentrate on the film." He stands, pulling his belt off. "Here let me help you."

He wraps his belt around your neck, pulling and setting it so tight that it's biting into your skin. Your throat constricting, barely letting you breathe.

As you wheeze and splutter and cough, he holds the end like a leash. Sitting back on the couch, he turns his focus back to the movie without letting you loosen the strap or get away. Your whole body is shaking, your eyes starting to roll back as you struggle to inhale. The belt is cruelly not tight enough to have you pass out though. Only allowing you to sit in your suffering. The sound of your gasping filling the room.

"Ahh, there you go baby. That's much better. Don't worry, it's just while we're watching movies. And there's only two more left in the trilogy."

Playboy! Jimin

He was telling you over and over how sorry he was. How he didn't mean to kiss that girl. That he was drinking. And that she kissed him. It was every excuse and lie he had spouted 100 times before.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You yelled at him. And for a moment it worked. He sat in stunned silence. But as you got off the bed to leave, taking your car keys with you, he chased after you.

"Where are you going?"

"Out Jimin. I need some time alone to think." You scowl.

But he refuses, blocking the door. Holding his arms to either side to barricade you in.

"No, you can't leave! I said I'm sorry."

"Fuck off Jimin, your apologies mean nothing." You say shoving him.

He doesn't accept that. With a roar, he grabs your shoulders throwing you down onto the bed. Quickly straddling you, using far too much force to keep you pinned beneath him. Tearing off the pillowcases, he makes some shoddy but effective restraints. Tying you to the bars on the headboard.

Ignoring your screams and how you struggle he starts to kiss down your neck, pulling at your clothes, rubbing his hands down your body.

"I'm gonna make you feel good Y/n. I'll show you that I only want you, then you'll have to forgive me." He says sounding desperate and unhinged.

You cry and yell for him to stop, trying to buck him off you, but his hand covers your mouth, his other successfully tearing down your panties from under your dress.

"Don't fight me, Angel. Just let me in. And I'll prove I love you the most."

Dom! Taehyung

Finally, Taehyung had agreed to spend some time with you in a social environment. He and you went out to a movie and dinner with some of your friends. They were vanilla friends though, so as an exception, for the day he loosened a lot of the restrictions and formalities you normally had in place.

You, however, you were getting a little too relaxed. While you joked with you're friends, you started to speak to him the same manner. As you and he were playfully arguing about trivia facts you realized you were losing the debate.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You joke. But in the company of your friends or not, Taehyung was not about to let you disrespect him. Even in jest.

"Is that how you should talk to me girl?" He asks loudly and in front of everyone, bringing the group conversation to a grinding halt.

His change in tone and his use of the possessive pet name, right away have you back in your place.

"No," you whisper. The sting of embarrassment hot upon your cheeks.

"No, what?" He pushes it.

You can't stand to look up. All of the attention is on the two of you. And even in your peripheral, you can see your friends looking at you judgementally, wide-eyed and in shock.

And he was making it worse by having you use his title around them.

"No, Sir." you surrender, your head hung low.

"Shouldn't you also apologise to the other people at the table? For interrupting our night with your rudeness." He keeps piling on one shame after the other. Stretching out the ordeal.

"No, it's fine." One of your friends tries to laugh off the awkwardness and speed the discussion away from this point. "She doesn't have to."

"Y/n," He prompts you, disregarding what your friend had said.

Thoroughly humiliated, you can't imagine how you are going to repair these relationships or explain this treatment away.

"I'm sorry for interrupting the night with my rudeness." you swallow heavily, hands shaking.

"Good girl. Now mind your mouth. Before you make me embarrass you further."

Mafia! Jungkook

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" you say in a hushed voice. More of a prayer said to yourself than an actual demand you expected Jungkook to hear.

"What did you just say to me?" he lowers the phone, gawking at you.

You really didn't mean to, it just slipped out. He was talking on the phone, going into too graphic detail about how he and his men dealt with a threat recently. You couldn't handle the gruesome details he was recanting anymore and the words just fell out.

"What did you just say? Did you just tell me to shut up?" He repeats again through your nonreply. His tongue running through the inside of his cheek, his jaw and muscles tensing. His voice jumping rapidly from stunned to aggressive.

You're at home alone with him, so you weren't paying much mind to what you were saying. But this afternoon he's been dealing with work. And right now he isn't Kookie, no the person in front of you is Jeon Jungkook. The temperamental Mafia head, who would as likely hit you as he would speak to you.

"I'm sorry," you squeak.

"You're sorry?" He scoffs, slamming the phone down. "If you had said it and meant it, that would be one thing. I could respect that. But you really just can't control your stupid little mouth can you."

"I-" you start a defence, or more a plea for mercy.

"Shut the fuck up!" He growls leaning forward in his seat making you flinch back. Darting his hand out he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back to where you were. "Don't flinch. I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna help you." He smiles.

You wriggle in his clutches, mewling the same trifle apologies under your breath.

"Shhh, my brainless little Kitten. I'm gonna give you a gift." He smirks. "For your own safety, you don't need to talk for the rest of the day. I just need you to come when I call. Sit on my lap when I tell you. And purr for me like a good little pussy." Grabbing your arm harshly, he yanks you off your chair and onto the ground. "There you go, where you belong." He laughs. "You think you can remember to do all that? I know you can. Otherwise, I'll buy you a kat collar to remind you how my Kitten should behave."

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clusterbuck · 3 years

Note

Hi! Absolutely love your writing and cannot get over any of your “things you said” prompt fills (but especially the car wash one!) <3 I am here to request 5) things you didn’t say at all

ahh thank you!!

the beam comes out of nowhere, although the house is so full of smoke it's not like there's any other option. either something is right in your face or it comes out of nowhere.

but it comes out of nowhere and it clips eddie in his side, and it's pure dumb luck that the momentum throws him into the wall instead of pinning him under the beam.

his helmet cracks against the wall, loud and violent in the empty hallway, and for a moment he is dazed and numb and unable to move. faintly, he thinks the sound should echo, but he can't hear it over the ringing in his ears and the roaring of flames that are licking closer and closer between every frantic beat of his heart.

for a moment he is dazed and numb and unable to move, and he thinks about how stupid it is that this is how he dies. he's been buried alive, been shot at home and overseas, and now he's going to die just doing his job at an utterly unremarkable apartment fire because he hit his head so hard his stupid legs decided to stop working?

it's outrageous, is what it is. it's the universe laughing at him. is it payback for not listening to what the universe has been screaming at him? it just doesn't seem like a proportionate response.

eddie's still seething at the universe's misplaced sense of retribution when feeling floods back into him, like unclamping a vessel and watching all the blood rush back. and with the return of his limbs comes pain, blooming from the spot the beam hit and radiating across his ribs, his back, his abdomen.

he grits his teeth and pulls himself to his feet, slowly, using the very beam that attacked him as leverage. once he's mostly upright and mostly supporting his own weight—he's only leaning against the wall as a precaution, thank you very much—eddie brings up a hand to probe at his ribs, and hisses as soon as he makes contact.

cracked, then, at the very least. which means he needs to get it checked out. which means telling the team, which means that look they get. the one that looks like they want to wrap him in cotton wool and tuck him away somewhere. the one that makes him feel fragile. breakable. like a liability.

it's barely been two months since he came back from getting shot. he can't take people looking at him like that again.

he's not fool enough to just take his possibly broken rib home and attempt to sleep it off, but—they'd barely had an hour left on their shift when they'd been called out. if he can just make it back to the station, he can drive himself to the emergency room and no one will have to know. not until he calls out of work tomorrow, anyway, and at that point he won't have to see anyone's face.

it's not a perfect plan, but it's what he's got. so he takes a deep breath—or tries to, at least, but he must have inhaled more smoke than he'd thought because it's like his lungs don't want to fully expand—braces his arm around his injured ribs, and starts making his slow way down the hall.

the fire, at least, seems to be mostly under control by now. there's another station on scene—eddie doesn't catch the number, but he walks past a couple of unfamiliar guys with a hose on his way outside. he offers to stay and lend a hand, but one of them catches the way his hand is curled around his side and waves him off.

his breathing is ragged by the time he makes it out of the building, heaving and unsteady and far too shallow. over by the 118's ambulance, buck looks up the second he steps foot out the door, like he has some kind of radar attuned to eddie's every movement.

buck starts heading towards him, concern etched clear on his face. he's yelling eddie's name as soon as he's in earshot, and eddie picks buck's voice out of the chaos without even needing to listen for it.

"'m fine," he mumbles, and it turns into a coughing fit mid-sentence when he runs out of oxygen. each cough sends spikes of pain through his ribs, and he throws out the hand that isn't cradling his ribs, blindly searching for something to hold onto so he doesn't fall to his knees.

he doesn't know if he could get up again.

then someone grabs his arm and holds him steady.

"eddie." it's buck. of course it is. sometimes eddie feels like buck is the only thing holding him together. of course buck is here, now, holding him up.

"i'm fine," eddie says, with more conviction this time.

it would probably be more convincing, he thinks, if not for the fact that his knees are buckling and his vision is going dark.

eddie wakes up in the hospital again. his ribs ache, but not as much as the feeling of failure does. of weakness, of being a burden on everyone he loves. because broken ribs are fairly easy to heal, but there's a tube coming out of his chest and when he shifts a little he feels his skin tugging in the way surgical incisions do.

god, what does it say about him that he can identify it from feeling alone?

but surgery means recovery, and recovery means someone taking care of him. again. means someone taking time out of their busy lives just to attend to him, just to do things he should be perfectly capable of doing.

it's going to be buck, probably, no matter how much eddie will try to argue that he'll be fine on his own. it's just the way buck is. he'll come in and take over everything, and it'll be just like it was in the summer after eddie got shot. only this time instead of guiltily reminding himself that he has a girlfriend and he should probably call her one of these days, his only defence mechanism will be the pitiful shreds of his self-control.

buck chooses that moment to burst through the door, as though thinking of him is enough to summon him. his gaze meets eddie's and for a second he looks relieved, elated and hopeful, and then his features drop into an impassive mask.

"were you going to tell me?" he asks, and eddie looks at his lap, inspects the iv in his hand, looks anywhere except at buck.

"eddie," buck continues. "if you hadn't literally passed out in my arms, were you even going to tell me you'd gotten hurt?"

"eventually," eddie mutters. "just—i was going to take care of it."

"take—take care of it?" buck repeats, incredulous. "eddie, your broken rib punctured your lung. it collapsed. what were you planning to do, drive yourself to the emergency room with a shard of bone digging into your vital organs?"

"well... yeah," eddie says, because that had pretty much been his entire plan. not that he'd known about the part where something was digging into a vital organ, but buck doesn't seem like he'd appreciate that distinction right now.

"jesus, eddie," buck says. "why didn't you just say something? why didn't you radio for help?"

"because i was fine," eddie says, with a stubborn set to his jaw that he knows he's passed directly to christopher.

"you're a medic. i don't for a second believe you thought you were fine."

"i just—" eddie starts, and cuts himself off. he sighs. "i'm just—so tired of needing people to take care of me. so i was just going to take care of it myself."

"but you didn't! eddie, you didn't take care of yourself. you collapsed right in front of me. again."

and it's only then that eddie understands that the anger and frustration in buck's tone is just worry, stacked three deep in a trenchcoat trying to pass itself off as sharper, more aggressive emotions. he should have put it together sooner, but maybe he's still a little fuzzy from the meds they have him on.

"buck," he says, soft, all belligerence leaking out of him. "i'm sorry. i should have—i know what it's like to watch that. i get it."

"you don't, though," buck says. "it's not—you can't get it, not until you've had to wash my blood off your face."

my blood, buck says. like these are equivalent scenarios, his blood on buck's face and buck's blood on his. like the impact is the same.

like the feelings are the same, his for buck and buck's for him.

eddie doesn't say any of that. "you did practically vomit blood on my shoes that one time," he says instead.

buck gives a hollow little laugh. "yeah, but that was—before," he says. he doesn't specify before what, but eddie thinks he knows.

because he was worried, sure, that one time at bobby and athena's when buck had appeared suddenly determined to expel as much of his blood volume as he possibly could, but he knows deep in his bones that it was nothing compared to how he would feel if the same thing happened now.

out of his mind, probably. inconsolable. frantic. willing to move heaven and earth and bargain with whatever deity would have him just to make sure buck came out of it alive.

"yeah, okay," he says. "maybe i don't get it. i'm still sorry, though."

"just don't do it again, okay?" buck says, a smile slipping through the cracks in his worried facade.

"i can't promise never to get hit by debris on the job again," eddie says, and it makes buck laugh, like he'd known it would.

"just tell me next time," buck says.

"i can do that."

"okay," buck says, but he still looks a little shaken, unsettled in his skin, and eddie knows the feeling of being so full of nervous energy you can't sit still. knows the feeling of sitting by a bedside and just waiting, unable to do anything for so long that when the person in the bed eventually does wake up it still doesn't feel real.

so he doesn't think, just says "come here."

buck looks up, frowning like he didn't hear correctly.

"come on."

buck approaches the bed warily, and eddie stops him before he gets too close. "wait, buck, other side. this is my broken side."

"right, okay," buck says, and crosses to the other side of the bed. he stands there for a moment, confused, until eddie grabs his forearm and tugs him closer.

"just get on the bed, will you?"

buck is careful as he climbs onto the hospital bed, navigating his way through the wires and tubes coming out of eddie. eventually, though, he gets himself positioned, and tentatively puts an arm around eddie. eddie doesn't protest, and slowly, inch by inch, they curl closer into each other.

there's still so much eddie needs to say. they're still avoiding more things than they're actually talking about, still skirting around topics that demand more attention with each passing day. there's things they need to talk about, things to confess and things to work through. things upon things upon things, piled higher than the ladder truck and twice as precarious.

but for the first time in a while now, eddie's pretty sure they're going to get to them. all in good time.

send me a 'things you said' prompt!

#i don't know what this is but it sure is something!!#911fic #buddie #ask emma #emma writes #burn-thatbridge

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random-imaginess · 3 years

Note

Ahh I can’t believe I found someone who writes for Eli Goldsworthy!! I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing prompt 48 for him?

I LOVE Eli! I'm always disappointed that there aren't more writers who write for him, so I'll do it! ^_^ Thank you for sending in a request! I also have plenty of other requests for him, so keep an eye out! :D

You kicked yourself as you watched Eli across the courtyard. He was too invested in the the script he was writing to notice anyone else around him, but you've always secretly loved watching him when he was in his element. It was things like this that made you regret your attitude. You had been so distant lately and you didn't know how to deal with anything. You and Eli had been dating for about six months, which was a record for you. And everything was perfect. He was the greatest, most kind and understanding boyfriend you had ever been with. Definitely a change from type of guys you normally attracted. So it had you thinking constantly about how you weren't used to having someone be kind. You weren't used to having someone treat you the way you deserved to be treated, and that terrified you. You were in defense mode, self-sabotaging yourself and pulling away from the greatest thing you had ever experienced. He noticed, too. It didn't take a genius to know that something was up with you. But Eli being Eli, he gave you your space. Despite all of the petty arguments you always started, the bad attitudes, the cold behavior that he didn't deserve in the slightest, he was still there. At a distance, but he'd be right there the second you were comfortable enough to open up and talk to him. And you knew you could talk to him. You knew he would be open to listening to anything you had to say, more than willing to work on whatever needed to be worked on. He was far from perfect, but he was also the closest thing to it. You convinced yourself that you didn't deserve him. That you had way too much shit you had to work on before you could fully commit to a serious relationship, which was the direction you two were going. You could easily picture yourself being with him for a really long time, but something in you prevented you from getting anywhere. When the bell rang, you grabbed your things and headed for your last class of the day. If you could just get through another 30 minutes and make it out of the school without him seeing you, maybe you could go one more day without facing your issues. It would have needed to be enough time to figure out what the hell you were going to do. But when the final bell rang, you were stopped in the parking lot before you could reach your car. Hearing Eli call after you, you stopped in your tracks and let out a sigh. There was no way to avoid him now without blatantly ignoring him and leaving him standing there more confused than he already was. He called your name again and you finally turned to face him, giving him a light smile as he stopped in front of you. "Hey," you spoke first. The first time in what felt like weeks. "Yeah, hey.." He was confused as to how you could act like nothing had been happening. You were acting so strange and barely acknowledged it. "Is everything OK?" He got straight to the point. "Everything is fine, why?" "I don't know, maybe because you've been acting really strange lately? I don't know if I did something wrong to make you upset, but I think you've been avoiding me and I'd like to know why." You could always appreciate his bluntness, except maybe in this instance. You couldn't stand confrontation, and part of you wished you could just freeze him out and disappear. But that wasn't the mature way of dealing with this, and you knew he deserved better than that. You just didn't know how to start talking about it. Shifting in your spot, you looked around briefly at the other students heading towards their own cars and laughing with their friends. "I haven't been avoiding you, Eli, I've just been really busy. There's a lot going on right now, that's it." You looked at him and could see that he didn't believe you. "Why haven't you told me about anything? You know I would have helped you with anything you needed." "I didn't tell you because I don't have to." That came out more snippy than you intended. And the hurt expression on his face just made you feel worse. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just don't

want to have this conversation here, so can we at least go somewhere more private or something?" "Yeah, of course. We'll go to our spot." You nod and follow his lead as you make your way to set of benches just off campus. When you sit down, you're both quiet for a few minutes, knowing Eli was waiting for you to make the first move and explain why you had been acting weird. You had thought about how you were going to start so many times that it was all meshing together and nothing made sense. He was about to say something when you opened your mouth to speak. "Maybe it's time we break up." You blurted out. It wasn't what you wanted, but it was the easiest thing you knew how to do, and you were panicking. "Wait, what?" Eli was even more confused. "Just like that, you want to break up? No explanation for your behavior these past few weeks? No warning, that's it?" "It's not what I want, but I don't know what else to say! Yes, I've been acting weird and avoiding you, because I've been trying to figure out how to approach all this. I've had only a few relationships before you, ones that only lasted a couple months because they were assholes, and then you came along. I consider this relationship the first real one I've ever had. Six months is a long time, I think we're heading into more serious territory and I don't know how to cope with that."

At this point you didn't care if you made sense. You blurted out everything you needed to say and you would just go from there. "I don't want to ruin us. You're the first guy who's ever shown me real kindness and I don't want to mess that up." Your eyes started to burn as you felt tears well up. Eli scooted closer to you and grabbed your hands in an attempt to comfort you. It was all starting to make sense. "You're not going to ruin us. I won't let you ruin us. You're scared of this, but you don't have to be." His green eyes pleaded with you and you looked away, not being able to bare looking at them. You were terrified, but the last thing you wanted to do was throw everything away because of it. "Listen, these past six months have been incredible, and I'm the farthest from perfect when it comes to relationships. I don't know what I'm doing half the time, but I think the trick is just taking it one day at a time." He swiped away at the tear that escaped down your cheek and leveled his gaze with yours so you'd look at him. "We're gonna be fine." He smiled reassuringly. You nodded and wiped your face, letting your head rest on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry for being crazy. I know I should have come to you and talked about it, but.. I just-" "It's ok, really. You don't have to explain yourself, I get it. Stepping into unknown territory is a scary thing, but we got this." You looked up and smiled at him. "You really are wonderful, you know that? How did I get so lucky." "I think we both got lucky." You smiled and leaned into his chest, both of you sitting there for a few seconds before he nudged your arm. "Come on, I think The Dot has two chocolate milkshakes with our name on it."

#eli goldsworthy imagines #eli goldsworthy x reader #degrassi imagines

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once-upon-an-imagine · 3 years

Text

Smile (Chapter One) - Theodore Nott

A/N: ahh xD this is my first Theodore Nott imagine so I hope you all liked it! I originally got this request as a prompt but I loved the idea too much and thought about making it a series (not too long, but we’ll see) so I hope you like it!

Request - Anonymous asked: I love your work so much!! 🥺 Could you write something with the prompt B is sunshine, rainbows and kindness. A is night, rain-clouds and anger. But when A meets B, they bask in the sunshine and never want to leave? B would be reader, as for A, I was thinking Theodore Nott. And if you’re unfamiliar with writing this character and prefer someone else, maybe Regulus Black? Thanks, love! ❤️

Prompt List

Warnings: Theo smoking but nothing else :)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter :D gif isn’t mine :)

Your name: submit What is this?

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Smile

Smile though your heart is aching Smile even though it's breaking

Theodore Nott was enjoying his afternoon walk through the Forbidden Forest while he smoked a cigarette. He enjoyed his time alone. Sometimes, being under the pressure of his friends and housemates and his family, he just preferred it this way. By himself, in complete silence. Or at least, he thought he was by himself when he heard something not so far from him. He walked over to the sound and saw them. The Thestrals. How he hated those creatures. But then, he saw something else, or well, someone else. He saw a girl, he was sure was in his grade, sitting not far from them.

"Stay still, love" he heard you giggle while petting the closest one to you. "I'm almost done" you said, patting its head.

He recognized your voice. You were in some of his classes. You were with him in Potions, Herbology, and Transfiguration. Probably more, but he wasn't sure. However, he couldn't take his eyes off you. He saw you trying to get one of the Thestrals to stay still. You had a sketchbook on your knees and art supplies surrounding you. Your face and hands were covered in different colors and it looked like you were absolutely oblivious to it.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Theo said, running towards you and trying to push the Thestrals away. "Go away!"

"Stop, you'll scare them" you said, recognizing Theodore Nott and you tried to pull him towards you and away from the Thestrals.

"Me? Scare them away? They're hideous beasts!" he complained.

"No, they're not" you smiled softly. "They are very clever and quite noble creatures" you said, patting the head of the one nearest to you.

"Are you mad?" Theodore snapped.

"Look" you said, standing up, next to him. You walked closer to one of the Thestrals and slowly reached your hand out to it. The creature stepped closer to you, leaning into her touch. "See?"

"They're still hideous" Theo muttered, as he took another drag of his cigarette.

"You shouldn't be smoking" you said, looking back at him and realizing he was for the first time. "It's really bad for you" you said with a nervous smile.

"Is it now?" he said, taking one last drag, before putting the cigarette out on the ground. "Sorry, doll. My bad" he smirked.

"Don't call me doll" you said, grabbing your sketchbook again and sitting at your spot. "My name is (Y/N)-"

"I know who you are, love" he said.

"Well, Theodore, since you know my name, you could very much use it" you smiled but erased his smirk at the same time.

"Don't call me Theodore" he snapped. "You can call me Theo or Nott" he instructed. "But not Theodore" he said, taking the seat next to you.

You let out a small smile but composed yourself as best as you could while you silently nodded. You couldn't deny that Theodore Nott was a very handsome guy. You had always known that. But there was something quite mysterious about him as well. He wasn't as outspoken as the rest of the Slytherins in your year and he had never been particularly mean or rude towards you or your friends, but he still had quite a reputation. You knew the kind of friends he had and you had always opted to stay out of his way, until now. This was probably the longest conversation you'd ever had with him.

"I'm sorry" you said, nervously. "Um, Theo" you corrected yourself and he smirked back at you. "What are you doing here? If I may ask?"

"Just out for a walk" he shrugged. "You?"

"Well, I've been trying to sketch them for a while now" you said, showing him your sketchbook.

"Why would you want to sketch such hideous creatures?" he asked, taking the sketchbook in his hand. Although he had to admit, the drawing was rather beautiful.

"They are not hideous creatures" you insisted, taking your sketchbook back. "People only say that because they remind them of a bad time" you muttered. Theo wanted to ask you why you could see them, but then he knew you would ask him and he didn't want to have that conversation. "I believe there's beauty in every different creature here" you smiled.

"If you say so" he said, lighting another cigarette. "Do you... always come to the Forbidden Forest to... draw?" he asked, not really knowing why he was having this conversation with you. Maybe he was more bored than he thought.

"Sometimes" you explained. "Although I'm not so good at sketching creatures" you said, shyly. "I have more experience in plants, see?" you said taking out another sketchbook and showing him your sketches of different plants. It was something you always did to calm your nerves. And for some reason, Theodore Nott made you nervous. "These are some of my favorites" you smiled at him.

"I see" he said as if it was nothing, and returning to his cigarette. "Not bad, sweetheart" he admitted.

"Don't call me sweetheart" you glared at him. "And please, stop smoking" you said, trying to grab the cigarette from his mouth but he grabbed your hand, not forcefully, but intensely enough to stop you, looking into your eyes.

"Careful, love" he smirked. "That's a good way to lose a hand" he winked at you and you removed your wrist from his grip.

"Don't call me love" you said, trying your best to not let your voice tremble. "I gave you the courtesy of calling you Theo as you requested. I have a name. And the decent thing is that you do the same for me" you said, making him let out a chuckle as he let the smoke out of his mouth.

"Fine" he gave in. "(Y/N)" he said in a mocking tone.

The two of you sat there in complete comfortable silence. Neither of you wanted to question why you felt such calmness around the other. Theo watched as you started sketching the plants around you since he had scared most of the Thestrals away. You were so immersed in your colors and your plants, you didn't realize you were humming. Theodore saw that you were sketching the plant in front of the two of you and it was honestly remarkable. He then saw you grab your wand, oblivious to his stare at you, and pointed it to your parchment, making the flower on it change colors and move as some of the petals flew away. It was something so stunning, yet so simple at the same time. And then, he saw it. Your smile. Your smile was something indescribable as you continued sketching. It was definitely one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen.

"How did you do that?" he asked, still enchanted by your sketch and snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Oh, this?" you asked, feeling your cheeks burning a little. "Um, I've always liked drawing and coloring and painting" you said, with a smile on your face again. "One of the first charms I learned as a kid was to make my drawings move" you told him. "I also loved changing the colors of the flowers" you told him.

"Brilliant" he muttered. "Why don't you draw this one-" he said about to grab a plant not so far from him but you quickly stopped him.

"Don't touch that!" you said, throwing yourself on him and grabbing his hand before he could reach it. The two of you looked at each other, not daring to move when you realized how close you were. You had never seen Theo this close. He was extremely handsome. His deep, beautiful green eyes, his messy brown hair, his scattered freckles. And you could only imagine how beautiful his smile must be. Come to think of it, you had never seen him smile. The closest thing would be a cocky smirk. "Um-" you said, realizing neither of you had moved. "The foliage and berries of these plants are highly poisonous!" you said, pulling away.

"Really?" he asked, trying to ignore the feeling in his stomach when you pulled away.

"Yes" you insisted. "We studied them last year in Herbology. Didn't you pass your O.W.L.s?"

"Barely" he chuckled. "Are you good at Herbology?" he asked all of the sudden.

"Well... I wouldn't say I'm good-" you said, modestly.

"What was your O.W.L. score?"

"Um... an 'O'" you muttered, looking away.

"Excuse me?" he chuckled. "You got an 'O' and you wouldn't say you're good? I believe only you, Longbottom, and probably Granger got an 'O''"

"Well... what did you get?"

"An 'A'" he admitted. "Do you..." he continued after a moment of silence. "Do you reckon you could... maybe help me with Herbology?"

You were a bit taken aback by his request and turned to look at him to see any traces of mockery but he seemed to be sincere.

"M-me?"

"Better you than Longbottom I guess" he muttered.

"Actually, Neville happens to be quite brilliant when it comes to Herbology" you defended your friend.

"Perhaps but I'd much rather look at you than him" he winked at you and you looked away, trying your best to hide your burning cheeks.

"Um, sure, I'd be happy to help you" you said, now surprising him.

"Really?" he asked and you nodded.

"Of course" you smiled, placing your hand on his arm.

"Why thank you, darling" he said but saw you glare at him a little. "(Y/N)" he corrected, raising his hands in surrender. "You know I should probably head back" he said, standing up. He wasn't sure why but he was about to ask you to walk back with him, but you beat him to it.

"Um... would you mind if I walk back with you?" you asked shyly. "Only until we are out of the forest" you assured him. "It's just... it's getting late and I wouldn't like to go back by myself. But I promise you won't enter the Great Hall with a Hufflepuff" you assured him with a small giggle but Theo didn't laugh.

Theo came from one of the most respected pure-blood families in the Wizarding World. However, he never really understood the fuss about blood status and the rivalry between houses. His friends would probably stop talking to him and he knew his father would disown him if he even knew what was going through his mind. He was one of the most well-known death eaters and he expected him to be the same, same as his brothers.

"Sure. Whatever" he said as if it was no big deal. But deep down, he was glad you would walk with him. "So... shall we start tomorrow?" you looked back at him confused. "Herbology?"

"Oh! Right. Yeah, that works for me" you told him. "I believe we have Potions together and then we have a free period" you said.

"Lovely" he smirked.

"Why?" you asked all of the sudden and Theo looked at you confused.

"Excuse me?"

"I was... just wondering... why you asked for my help?"

"Do you... not want to help me?" he asked a bit hurt.

"No" you quickly said. "N-no, of course, I do, I just... you could ask someone in Slytherin" you muttered, looking away.

"If I wanted to ask someone from Slytherin I would have, don't you think?" he smirked.

"I guess you're right" you said, shyly.

"Then, I'll see you tomorrow, gorgeous" he winked at you. "It's a date?" he smirked. "Sorry, my bad... (Y/N)" he corrected himself.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Theo" you nodded, smiling as you both reached the entrance of the Forbidden Forest and you spotted Theo's friends not so far from you. "I'll go this way" you said quietly.

"Until tomorrow, sunshine" he said and you looked back at him, rolling your eyes but with a smile on your face.

Theo stood there for a moment and watched you leave and join your friends. He saw your smile getting brighter when you reached them and you all headed back to the castle. He didn't know how he had never noticed you before. You were so different from everything he was accustomed to which was probably why he felt the corners of his lips lifting just slightly. He was then, rudely snapped out of his thoughts when he felt someone punch his arm.

"Theo! Are you listening to me?" he heard Pansy snapping her fingers in front of him. "What are you even looking at?" she said, looking back in his direction. "Why are you staring at that mudblood?" she said, rolling her eyes and making him clench his fist involuntarily.

"Bugger off! I wasn't staring!" he complained. Contrary to popular belief, he hated that word.

"You were" Blaise muttered, on his other side as Pansy returned to her talk with Daphne, Greg, Vincent, and Draco.

"Shut up, Zabini" he complained and Blaise turned to look at him.

"I saw you coming out with her from the Forbidden Forest" he said, knowing only he could hear him.

"So? I bumped into her there" he shrugged it off.

"Did you now?" Blaise arched his eyebrow at him.

"Is there anything you're trying to tell me, Zabini?"

"Yes" he said, turning back to their group of friends and back at him. "Stay away from her" he whispered. "She's not like us" he said, but not like the rest of them said it. Theo knew his tone was different. "Look at her" he said. "Don't bring her into this darkness, Theo" he advised. "It's not worth it" he said. "Just be careful" he said before he went back to the group.

Theo sighed, knowing he was most likely right but there was something about you that made him feel drawn to you.

"Did I see you coming out of the Forbidden Forest with Theodore Nott?" Neville asked, pulling you back a little further from your group. The two of you became really good friends over your love of Herbology and he was like a brother to you. You were even helping him with his crush on Luna and you trusted him with your life basically.

"No" you said, a bit too quickly.

"(Y/N)" he arched his eyebrow at you.

"I just... bumped into him. He was taking a walk and I was sketching some Thestrals" you assured him. "Nothing more, Nev" you chuckled.

"You know I trust you, (Y/N). But... I wouldn't trust him" he advised. "I know he's never personally done anything mean towards us like his friends have but still. There's something... I don't know... dark about him" he insisted. "Just... be careful, okay?"

"Of course, Nev" you smiled as he moved along, catching with the rest of the group and leaving you behind.

You turned to look back at where Theo was walking with his friends, surprised when you found him looking straight at you and you smiled softly at him. He simply winked at you before he threw away his cigarette and resumed his walk.

What am I getting myself into?

To Be Continued

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[Ch.2]

A/N: I feel like this chapter was sort of... meh but it was only the prologue and I hope you liked it and I promise I have more ideas for the following ones xD so... let me know what you think! :D

#smile #harry potter #harry potter imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott series

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thenightshift-if · 2 years

Text

Dev log | week 14

Today it’s just me with my sunglasses and my laptop, chilling on the balcony, sipping on a cold energy drink to give me the strength to figure out what the hell I’m doing with the prologue. But hey, it’s warm enough to spend time on the balcony which is a huge boost to my motivation because that means summer’s not that far away!

Sorry I’m posting this late: I was so busy last week that there wasn’t much to report anyway, as I had to prioritize other responsibilities. Really the only TNS related thing I did was write a lot of prompts, which did help with my minor writer’s block so there’s that. I wrote about 4k words just for those last weekend. Actually more because I didn’t count all the scenes I wrote that I decided to save for later! Again, thank you so much for sending in those prompts, there are still many that I haven’t got the chance to write yet but I’m working on them!

As for the game itself, I’m thinking of including a thorough character creator in the beginning of the game instead of sprinkling all the customization choices throughout the story. This is hugely inspired by Albie from @zorlok-if, whose preview for their game Zorlok is incredible, and traditional RPG video games which usually have the character creator right at the start of the game. (But please don’t take this as meaning that I’m going for the level of detail Albie has because I don’t think I could pull it off, they have my respect for that haha!)

My reasoning is that a separate character creator would free me from the constraints of having to come up with situations / scenes that would allow the player to choose their MC’s appearance in a natural, immersive way. This would also mean that I could include flavour text for the MC’s appearance and other physical characteristics from the very start, and it would be easier for me to keep track of what information I know about the MC in each scene.

I do think there are some physical characteristics that could still be determined while playing without breaking immersion, like your MC’s height which is easy enough to include within a choice. But features like freckles, tattoos, scars, body hair, etc. are pretty difficult to bring up in a way that doesn’t feel jarring, at least from my point of view as the writer haha.

Let me know what you think, and also what kind of customization options you’d like if you feel like it! 😊

Oh, and I worked on one of the romanceable supporting characters. Kinda spoiler-y thoughts about them under the cut! (The spoilers are extremely vague.)

I’m debating whether I should consider them a main romance option or not! They weren’t supposed to have such a big role, but the story demanded it. It’s difficult to decide because they kind of fall short of the main cast - they don’t appear as often, at least in the current plot outline, but considering the role they play I can’t really see them only as a no-strings-attached fling (but that could still be an option with them if that’s what the MC is looking for).

One option is that I would go back after the game’s finished and add their route. Which would mean that they wouldn’t be a main romance in the “base game”, but might be available in that upgrade, kind of like a DLC. (Doesn’t mean it’d cost money necessarily.) Would that be weird? Do I have the self-restraint to stop myself from writing their romance scenes while working on the base game? Lmao.

Ahh, so many difficult decisions to make! Writing is suffering, truly.

#dev log

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faggyangel · 3 years

Note

Heyy I don't know if you take prompts still but could you write something about Mickey loving on Ian a whole bunch <3 Thanks

This wasn’t the plan. Not in the slightest.

When Tami asked Mickey to go out and get drinks with her, he wasn’t expecting to get this shit-faced.

Nevertheless, here he is, swaying back and forth in a bar he doesn’t recognize, knocking back beer after beer, only thinking about one particular red-head.

“Mickey!” Tami shouted over the loud music, drunk herself, “Mickey! I hav’ta go to the bathroom, ‘k? Watch my shit,” she stumbles away to the bathroom in her three inch heels while Mickey watches her carefully, making sure no men are creeping on her.

Then he notices a guy staring at him. His immediate inebriated reaction is to sneer, assuming the man wants to fight. Then that little Ian that lives on his shoulder tells him to turn away. And he’s about to do so when he sees a glint in the man’s eyes.

The man walks over to him, sliding into the seat beside him. Mickey slaps his palm over Tami’s drink and pulls it towards him.

“Hey, I’m Michael,” the man juts out a hand.

Mickey eyes him but eventually takes it, “Mickey!” He shouts though he realizes that the music got significantly quieter when the man winces.

“That short for something?” Michael leans onto the table.

“Uh-huh,” Mickey doesn’t elaborate, he just sips his beer while keeping his palm over Tami's cup.

“So, what brings you here?”

Mickey isn’t sure how to answer that, “Well, my friend had a baby, and her boyfriend-partner? They call themselves partners. Anyway, her baby daddy doesn’t drink but Tami-my friend's name is Tami, she’s gorgeous, you probably saw her. She’s super tall but she’s wearing heels so it makes her even taller, it’s insane. She went to the bathroom so I’m watching her stuff so no one like you,” Mickey points his finger at him, almost touching his nose, “does anything creepy.”

Michael stares, “Right, so you’re out with friends-”

“How’d you know that?” Mickey tilts his head, it feels heavy.

“Doesn’t matter. Your friend isn’t my type-”

“No way!”

“You on the other hand, check all my boxes,”

Mickey gasps, he’s not sure what he means but something far away tells him to say, “I’m gay, too!” He laughs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

“Really?” Michael says like he’s discovered something new.

“Ian told me I’d meet other gay guys here. He’s been here before!” He vaguely remembers Ian telling him about it. He told them both to be safe, pecking Mickey on the cheek and taking Freddie from Tami’s arms to babysit him for the night. He also remembers thinking about how cute Ian looked holding little baby Freddie close to his chest like he was the most precious thing in the world-

“Is Ian your friend as well?” Mickey’s not very happy that his thoughts were interrupted but he giggles.

“My very, very best friend. Even better than Tami but shh, don’t tell her that,” he puts his finger to his lips and looks around for Tami again, “Or Ian for that matter. Issa secret.”

Michael chuckles, “My lips are sealed. Have you come here before?”

Mickey shook his head vigorously, “Ian has though, he’s been to a lot of places but that makes him sad so he doesn’t like to talk about it. I don’t like it when he’s sad,” Mickey suddenly feels very sullen, his lips pouting, “I hope he’s not sad right now.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. What about you? Are you having fun?”

Mickey nodded but started to pull out his phone, “I should check in with Ian. He told me to check in with him when we got here. How long have we been here?” He asks Michael, who shrugs.

“You’re not very useful,” Mickey bites his lip and sends a quick text to Ian.

“I can be,” Michael slides closer to him, Mickey thinks his breath stinks. He also thinks back to Ian, cooking dinner right before Tami picked him up. He’s so good at cooking, he’s been getting better at it ever since he started his own garden. He’s good at that too. He’s good at a lot of things.

“Ian’s great at cooking!” He shouts again, Michael’s face scrunches up. Mickey takes it to mean he doesn’t believe him, “It’s true! You should fucking taste his cooking, he’s amazing at it. He grows tomatoes and basil and shit in our garden. He has the greenest thumb on the South-err, shit, Westside. He can cook anything, I mean it!” Mickey nods, sure of himself.

“That’s nice. Uh, so-”

“He’s so good at so many things! He used to be an EMT, did you know that?”

Michael shakes his head, “I did not,” his face falls, like he’s disappointed. It reminds Mickey of something else.

“He’s good at making people smile, too. Not just laugh, like a real smile. It’s like-like,” he burps, “A gift. He’s like sunshine! Or a puppy, or cake. Oh! He used to be an EMT, real official and shit, he used to save people! I didn’t get to see it, but when he talks about it, his face lights up and gets so happy, you know?”

Michael nods, “So what do you do for work?”

Mickey shakes his head, “He’s trying to get his job back. I mean, he doesn’t want to tell me that, but I know, you know? I’ve known the fucker for eleven years, of course I know when he’s sad. I don’t like it when he’s sad.”

“So, you’ve said.”

“And-and I want him to get the job back but-we work together, by the way-I don’t wanna stop working with him. But you should see him-he’s so happy. Do you wanna see my favorite picture of him?”

Before Michael can decline, Mickey’s pulling up a picture on his phone. It depicts Ian, topless, laying out by the pool underneath the sun. He’s scrunching his nose up and peering at the camera, smiling,“I love this one. Oh, I have other good ones, too, but those are just for me.”

Michael nods, “That’s great-”

“Hey!” A loud, familiar voice rings through the air. Mickey turns to see Tami, throwing an arm over Mickey’s shoulder, “Are you ready? I’m ready,” Tami pulls on her coat.

Michael shrugs his shoulders and perks up, “Hey, do you think I could get your number?” Maybe we could hook up sometime?”

“Gross!” Mickey screams, looking around to Tami, who snickers.

“Sorry,” she says, also obnoxiously loud, “This one’ssss taken.”

“Uh huh, by my stupid redhead,” Mickey closes his eyes and leans on Tami for support, “He’s so stupid, and petty,” he giggles again, “And smart and charming. And strong, did you know he can fucking pick me up?” Tami shakes her head in disgust, “Ahh, he can and it’s so hot. Bet Lip couldn’t do that.”

“Call Ian to pick us up, I don’t think I can walk,” Tami pulls back and tugs Mickey with him.

“Bye,” Mickey waves back at Michael who sits slumped over and frowning.

Mickey dials Ian, who picks up immediately, “You picked up!” Mickey says fondly into the phone.

“Course I did, you sound drunk, are you okay?” Ian’s voice, while hushed, raises slightly, “I’m at Lip’s right now, dropping off Freddie. Do you need me to pick you up?”

Mickey nods and when Ian doesn’t answer, Tami says, “You need to speak into the phone, idiot. He can’t hear you nodding.”

“Fuck off, asshole. He can, like, read my mind, can’t you, Ian? Cause you’re better than Tami’s stupid life partner or whatever the fuck.”

Tami punches his shoulder and he punches right back. They continue play-fighting until Ian speaks again, “Stay where you are. I’ll come pick you guys up, alright?”

Mickey nods again and Tami rolls her eyes.

They wait almost ten minutes until Ian drives up to the side of the street, “Need a lift?” Ian walks over and helps them both in the car. Mickey gushes over how sweet Ian is for picking them up while Tami asks about Freddie.

“You’re so pretty, did you know that?” Mickey asks, tracing Ian’s jawline as they drop Tami off.

“Gross,” Tami says as she gets out of the car.

“You’re just jealous cause your boyfriend looks like a frog,” Mickey says, a bit rudely even in his own opinion.

“God, you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Ian sighs.

“Am not!” Mickey crosses his arms, “Fine, whatever, you’re ugly, too,” they wait a few beats in silence, “No, wait, I’m sorry, don’t be mad.”

“‘M not mad, baby,” Ian says gently.

“Mhm, love that about you,” Mickey closes his eyes and reaches over clumsily, grabbing at Ian’s hand and playing with his fingertips, “You’re so sweet, too sweet sometimes but that’s okay. I like it, it suits you, like you were made to be nice and shit,” he’s not sure what he’s talking about but he doesn’t want to stop, “You were made to be an paramedic or whatever the fuck. You were made to help people, and be kind to them, and be happy ‘cause, like, you make me happy, you know that?” Mickey looks up to Ian, he’s tearful and biting the inside of his cheek.

“Why are you crying?” Mickey hugs Ian’s hand to his chest, “I don’t like it when you’re sad, please don’t be sad.”

Ian laughs breathlessly, “I’m not sad, honey, I just- I love you, Mickey.”

Mickey smiles, squeezing Ian’s arms tighter, “‘Love you, too, Gallagher. Love everything about you.”

#i would like the record to show i do not think lip looks like a frog #well kinda but in a hot way #summary: mickey gets a little drunk and a little sappy #dont think this is what you meant but this is what my brain came up with </÷#also of course i take prompts whenever you like it just might be a minute till i get to it #shameless #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #tami tamietti #gallavich drabbles #margo writes #does this count as drabble its 1500 words??? is it too long to be considered drabble at that point???#anways night night

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harryhandstan · 3 years

Text

prompt: harry wakes up early on starbucks cup release days and surprises you by buying all the ones he thinks you’ll like. he’s usually able to escape the paps but this time they catch him and he ends up having to explain it in his next interview and gets all shy and can’t stop blushing.

a/n: hello all!! first I want to apologize for my 4 month long writing absence. life just has not been kind to me lately and unfortunately zapped a lot of my creativity energy, but I’m happy to have something done now! hopefully I can continue and keep a more consistent schedule for the remainder of this year!

immense thank you’s are owed to my kind friends @tobesolonely and @meetmymouth for the encouragement to find my creative spark for writing again and for being amazing betas! and to @taintedwonder for the lovely idea! @theharriediaries was so sweet to beta for me as well!!

word count: 2.1k

writing tag | masterlist | tiktok inspo

Harry was usually smarter than this. He had a schedule, a plan, a way to get in and out pretty quickly without being seen.

But today, he’d lingered too long at the mugs, curious if you’d want one of those as well. Your go-to was iced coffee, even year round in the winter you would prefer something cold over anything warm. He was thinking though, of the nights you were stressed and wanted a cup of soothing tea before bed, or those slower mornings where you don’t have to rush and a mug of coffee fits nicely in your hand while he admires you from across the kitchen table.

By the time he’s decided that yes, you do need this mug with the pastel rainbow print to add to your collection, along with a few of the other cups he thinks you’ll adore and a fresh bag of your favorite flavor of coffee, there’s already a small crowd of people forming in the lobby of the coffee shop and he hopes that he can get through them without being recognized as usual; prays that it’s only the regulars filing in for an early morning fix of caffeine before they rush off to start their day.

The barista thankfully is quick, skillfully giving him his total before rushing off to make the drinks he ordered for the two of you as well. He sees the way her eyes keep darting to him though, knows after years of experience that she knows who he is and is trying to work up the courage to say something to him or ask for a photo. He almost considers offering, she’s been so nice not to draw any attention to him, maybe something discreet could be pulled off.

In the end he chooses not to, not wanting to assume that’s why she keeps looking over at him. It could be that he still has the hood of his sweatshirt tucked over his beanie or the fact that he’s now walking out of the shop with a small handful of the brown shopping bags with the familiar green logo imprinted on the front.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he makes it back to his car without anyone stopping him. He’s so distracted by securing the bags in the backseat he fails to hear the small clicks of the camera not too far away.

There’s a small comfort in the quietness of your shared apartment when he returns. While he loves coming home to the sound of you dancing around the kitchen making breakfast, his favorite is getting to wake you up himself. There’s a sweet softness in the way the side of your face rests against your pillow, mouth parted slightly and a gentle snore vibrating through your chest. It never fails to make him smile. He cherished the way you inhale faintly, stretching your limbs before blinking a few times, adjusting to the new day you’re waking up to. If he was there, already awake, your eyes always found him before anything else.

This morning is no different, except for the confusion on your face when you find him sitting on the edge of the bed instead of snuggled next to you.

“You’re up to something, I can tell.” You’re propped up enough now to accept the coffee he’s holding out for you. You take a few small sips, sighing and letting your head fall back against the headboard as you savor the taste.

“M’that easy to read, huh?” He chuckles, his hand on your thigh now, warming your skin even through the blanket, “Well..would you like your surprise here or will you be joining me in the kitchen while I make you breakfast?”

“Oh I get a surprise and breakfast today? What’s the occasion? Little early for my birthday, H.”

“Don’t need an occasion to spoil my girl, do I?”

“I guess not.”

You shrug, trying not to let the guilt bubble up enough to where it flashes across your face. One of his loudest love languages had always been gift giving, a quality about him you thought was wonderful, but still had a hard time accepting. You had to be careful about mentioning things you may want around Harry, he would use any excuse to treat you.

He’s rambling off his reasoning already as he leads you into the kitchen and settles you in one of the tall chairs next to the counter. He always ends his explanation with “I know you told me not to, but…” followed up by what you’re sure to him sounds like a very logical justification for why you need/deserve whatever he was gifting you. There’s nothing out of the ordinary of your regular kitchen set up this morning though, so you do what you normally do when he announces a surprise for you; let him take the lead, not wanting to take away from his excitement.

“So..surprise or breakfast first?” He stands on the other side of the counter now, his hoodie and beanie discarded, wearing a t-shirt you were sure you bought for yourself but he seems to have laid claim to.

“Breakfast, please. If you don’t mind.”

“‘Course not. Any requests, baby?”

Your heart flutters for a moment, just as it does each time he uses that particular term of affection for you. He’s already opened the refrigerator, scanning over options for what he could make for the two of you. You recover long enough to tell him no, that whatever he wants to make would be fine, sitting back and enjoying the view as he cracks a few eggs into a bowl.

You don’t even notice that you’re staring until he turns and catches your eye, “What? Did I get a shell in the eggs or something?”

You giggle as he even picks up the clear bowl of eggs that he’s already scrambled and seasoned, even going so far as to swirl his finger through the liquid to double check before you can stop him.

“No, it’s just..I can’t get over the fact that you’re making breakfast for me while wearing my t-shirt.”

“S’it yours?” He glances down at it, “Thought it was mine, sorry..”

There’s a smirk on his face as he turns back to the stove, and you know just by seeing that he knows you don’t mind; you love seeing him in your clothes as much as he adores seeing you in his.

It’s not long before he’s presenting you with a plate, sitting next to you with his own plate in front of him. When you don’t immediately dig in, he leans over to inspect the food, worried that maybe he’d overdone the eggs or your toast was slightly more brown than you liked.

So when you say, “You’ve forgotten something very important, haven’t you?” he panics, thinking maybe he should’ve taken the time to include fruit to balance the meal. You take pity on him, not making him wait too long before you lean in and he instantly softens, realizing what you’re asking for.

He meets you the rest of the way, lips soft against yours, the taste of the coffee you’ve both had lingering for a moment before he pulls away, “Very important. How could I ever have forgotten?”

When you’ve both finished eating, he downs the last of his coffee and stacks your now empty plates to take to the sink, pecking your forehead with another quick kiss, “Alright, close your eyes. Count to 20.”

You begin to count off in your head, and you hear his voice, a bit further away, “Out loud, angel.”

There’s a rustling of bags getting closer as you count, and you can even hear a few clinks as they come closer. You can feel him moving around you, positioning things perfectly for when you open your eyes.

He’s still behind you when you finish counting, hands squeezing your shoulders to urge you to open your eyes. When you do, you immediately recognize the bags and know exactly what he’s done.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. This is too much, Harry. I let you spoil me with little things here and there, but I cannot accept this.”

Sitting in front of you are..you stop to count them now; 1, 2, 3, 4..6 bags from Starbucks. You know from experience that each one of them contains 2 cups or mugs. You’re sure at least one of them also includes your favorite roast of coffee. He had done this before around Christmas time, when you’d mentioned how adorable a few of the ones from the holiday collection had been, not thinking that he would go back later without you and buy all the ones you’d touched or admired.

He ignores your refusal, “You can take back any you don’t like. Go on,” He peeks inside one of the bags closest to him and then pushes it closer to you, “Start with this one.”

“Harry, really..”

“Don’t think, just open. If you really won’t accept any of them then I’ll take ‘em back and buy you something from somewhere else.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You try your best to look serious, but you can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face, “Thank you, H.”

You finally go through most of the bags, offering oohs and ahhs and even a few squeals of joy at certain ones.

“I think I got all the ones you’d pick for yourself. Saw you eyeing one or two the other day and the others I just guessed.”

He had done very well in choosing for you, even going so far as to get the two of you a matching pair of the kind that changed colors with the temperature.

“For our smoothies.” He explains when you give him a particularly soft look at the idea of matching with him.

“Also got us a matching set of these,” He skips to the last bag, too eager to wait for you to open it yourself, revealing the mug he’d taken the extra time to select, “For our Sunday morning tea. Or if you change your mind and ever want a hot coffee.”

All you can do is repeat the same expression of gratitude as before you had opened them, “Thank you again, H. I love them all, really. No more though, alright? We’re running out of cabinet space. Did you go to our regular spot or a different one so you wouldn’t be recognized?”

“Different one. Can’t believe I wasn’t spotted though. Must’ve been too early for the paps to be out and about.”

“Or maybe you aren’t as interesting as you think you are, babe. Harry Styles coming out of a Starbucks is old news now.”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, “Oh is it now?”

“Mhmm. You’re just plain boring now, H.” You shrug, peeling at the price tag on the bottom of one of the cups, avoiding his gaze; knowing if you look at him you’ll break into a fit of laughter.

He’s impossibly calm, just like he is before any interview he does.

You sit across the room from where he’s currently getting his hair done. The stylist was nervous, understandably so, her hands unsure at first. It only takes a few moments of being near Harry; working his quiet, delicate magic of putting anyone he’s near at ease. By the time his hair is finished he’s pulled a few laughs from her and she leaves the room with a big beaming smile and a wave to the both of you.

Now that you’re alone again, he beckons you closer and tugs you down to sit in his lap, despite your protests of the possibility of wrinkling his incredibly expensive suit.

“Don’t care,” He leans up to press a kiss to your neck, keeping his face tucked there in your warmth, “Just want you close for a moment.”

Normally you would run your fingers through his hair, but you don’t dare do that now, hand drifting to the side of his face instead, “Not nervous are you, H?”

He lets you gently push him back enough to see his face again, “Never. Just happy to have you here with me, that’s all.”

It’s not until he’s in front of the audience, presented with the evidence of just a few days before, displayed on a screen for all to see. He had been caught, despite his confidence of getting away. He falters for only a beat, head down in hopes to hide the blush spreading high along his cheeks. He finds you in the crowd, sending a bright smile your way before he shrugs, turning his attention back to the host.

“What can I say? My sunshine likes her coffee.”

tag list: @harrysblackcoat, @summertime-pills

thank you for reading!! as always likes, rbs, and feedback is welcome and appreciated!!

#harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #my writing

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sfb123 · 3 years

Note

I just read your drunk Liam fic and I just HAD to send you some prompts!!! From the prompt list you hyperlinked 9, 16, and 17 maybe? (Preferably liamxriley) pretty plz?* insert puppy dog eyes🥺*

Well… since you inserted puppy dog eyes…

I wanted to try to incorporate all three of these into one story, which actually worked out really well. Then, the issue came of how to make that apply to Liam and Riley. Luckily, my current binge obsession is the 90′s sitcom Mad About You, and there was an episode the other night that set a lightbulb off in my head, so this fic is loosely based on that episode.

Prompts:

“We should grab coffee together sometime.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

“You need a lift?”

(Prompt pulled from this list. Feel free to send me more!)

Word Count: 1,431

Warnings: Adult language, mild innuendo

A/N: Thank you @phoenixrising308 for pre-reading. Your kindness and support are unparalleled, and I love you dearly.

Also a thank you to @txemrn for dealing with my unnecessary back and forth about this moodboard. I ended up going with it, even though we were both so wishy washy about it.

A/N 2: This is my third prompt story this week, I’m going to take a break and quietly write by myself for a while. I’ll continue to work on the asks I have received, and please please feel free to send more. I’m having so much fun! I just don’t want to bombard you all, so I’m going to start pacing my posting. When I finish a piece, I just get so excited when I finish something that I want to show you all so badly!

***

Liam and Riley sat across from each other at the table, sharing the piece of cake that sat between them. They were in New York visiting Riley’s family for a few days, and her mother had insisted that Eleanor spend the night, so the royal couple was taking full advantage of their child-free night, wrapping up the evening with dinner at one of Riley’s favorite restaurants.

“Hey, check that out.” Riley tipped her head toward the bar, where a man was approaching a woman who was sitting alone at the bar. “He’s going to shoot his shot and try to pick her up.”

“How do you know?” Liam asked, watching as the woman nodded, the man immediately sitting down beside her.

“I worked in a bar long enough, I can read the body language and tell you exactly what’s going to happen.”

He turned to his wife, a skeptical expression on his face. “Prove it.”

“Wow, you don’t even believe your own wife. I’m wounded.” She placed her hand over her heart in mock devastation. “Fine, I hope you saved room after that cake, because you’re about to eat your words.”

Riley went on to explain what each was saying to the other, and accurately predicted each move that was made. Liam was so impressed that part of him felt like she may have hired these people specifically to act out this scene.

“Now watch, he’s going to pull out his phone and try to get her to put her number in.” She said, as the man reached into his back pocket.

“Is he going to get it?” Liam couldn’t help but be invested in the story that his wife was narrating for him.

“She’s going to give him a number, but see how she’s already almost standing up?” Liam nodded, waiting with baited breath for her to continue, “She’s going to give him a fake number, and then leave immediately. She doesn’t want to reject him to his face.”

“That’s cold.”

“It’s life, we’ve all done it.” Riley replied nonchalantly.

Liam’s gaze snapped to face her. “You’ve given men fake numbers before?”

She nodded and shrugged. “Lucky for you. You never know, I could have ended up suckered into marrying one of those creeps. Or like locked in their basement or something.”

He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I consider myself very lucky for that.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

“Oh oh, here we go, look!” Riley brought his attention back to the bar where the woman was shaking the man’s hand. “Ooooh, not even a courtesy hug. Game over, dude.” They watched the woman exit the restaurant, as the man started typing on his phone. “He’s sending a text to the number she gave. It either won’t be delivered, or he’ll get a reply from someone who is most definitely not that woman.”

“That poor man. He just wanted to find love.”

Riley sighed, shaking her head. “Ahh my sweet, romantic king, your naiveté is so heartwarming. That man is just looking to get laid.” She laughed, “For all the normal experiences you missed out on, aren’t you glad that you never had to pick up women at bars?” She paused for a second. “Present company excluded, of course.”

Liam laughed, his expression quickly turning serious. “Actually, I kind of wish I could have had the opportunity. I think I would have been good at it.” Riley arched a brow at him. “I mean it, I got you to quit your life and fly all the way to Europe because of one night, didn’t I?”

“Touché.” She drummed her fingers against the table in a brief moment of thought, “But can lightning strike twice?”

“What do you mean?”

“Pick me up. I’ll go sit at the bar, you come over and shoot your shot. No social season, no friends, no boxy work uniform. Just a regular guy picking up a regular girl.”

Liam smirked at the proposition. “You’re on.”

Riley left the table and took a seat at the far end of the bar. Once she was seated he put down some money to cover their dinner, and made his way to the bar. “Excuse me miss, is this seat taken?”

She looked up, smiling politely and shaking her head, motioning with her hand for him to have a seat.

“I’m Liam.” He extended his hand.

“Riley. Nice to meet you Liam.” She placed her hand in his, and he brought it to his lips. “A hand kiss instead of a shake, bold move. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I actually just moved to the states from Europe.”

The bartender approached and took their orders. Liam instructed him to open a tab to cover himself and Riley. He took Liam’s card and stepped away to make their drinks.

“So, why is a beautiful woman like yourself sitting here all alone?” He asked once they were alone again.

Riley tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked down at the bar, playing up her role. “You’re sweet. I uh… I was supposed to be meeting someone, but I think they stood me up.”

“Well, their loss is my gain.” As the bartender set down their drinks, Liam lifted his glass in Riley’s direction. “A toast,” He waited for Riley to raise her glass before he continued, “To the missteps of old friends, which allow the opportunity to make new ones.”

“So we’re friends now?” Riley asked as she tapped her glass against Liam’s. “That’s awfully presumptuous.”

“Well, we’ve only just met. I’m hoping that perhaps we could get to know each other and see where the evening takes us.”

Riley agreed, and they began with some small talk. Riley stuck to her pre-Cordonia life, while Liam had done a pretty good job of coming up with a non-Royal backstory. They sat there talking, and drinking and ‘getting to know’ each other. Riley was impressed with Liam’s subtle flirting skills and decided that he was right, he would have been pretty good at this had he been given the chance.

The lights came up, and Liam’s bill was dropped on the bar in front of him. “It looks like they’re closing up.” He said as he reviewed the receipt, signing his name at the bottom. “This was a lot of fun Riley, I would like to see you again. We should grab coffee together sometime.”

“I actually don’t drink coffee, I think it’s gross.”

“Oh.” Riley smiled to herself at the disappointment in his voice.

“I would like to see you again, though.” She reassured him.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Could I take you to dinner, maybe?”

“Dinner would be nice.”

“Great!” He noticed the annoyed expression on the bartender's face, they were officially the last customers in the bar. “We should probably go. I’ll walk you home.”

“I actually have a car waiting for me outside.” He dropped his head, again disappointed by the rejection. “You need a lift?”

He smiled widely, standing from his seat. “I’d like nothing more.”

He offered his arm, she slid off the stool and linked hers through his. They exited the restaurant, and were greeted by Bastien, standing in front of their SUV. Before the guard could reach the door handle, Liam released Riley’s arm and jogged ahead, opening Riley’s door for her.

“Such a gentleman.” She smiled coyly as she slid into the backseat. He smiled and got in after her.

“Back to the hotel, your majesties?” Bastien asked as he entered the driver’s side.

“Yes please.” Riley answered.

Liam looked at her curiously. “Assuming I’m going to come home with you, bold move.”

She laughed. “You don’t have to come, but I promise you’ll have fun if you do.” Riley said in a sultry tone, closing the distance between the two of them.

“Riley…” Liam’s voice was just above a whisper as she leaned in, finally pressing her lips to his. They pulled back breathless from their kiss, their eyes remained closed as they rested their foreheads together. “I guess lighting can strike twice.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is the second time I picked you up in a bar, and the second time you kissed me first.” He grinned triumphantly.

Riley leaned back, laughing as her eyes met Liam’s. “I guess that means you win?”

“Great, let’s go back to the hotel so I can collect my prize.” He brought his hand to her cheek and pulled her in, kissing her again.

Permatag:

@anjanettexcordonia @athena-penrose @bbrandy2002 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordoniaqueensworld @emersynwrites @emkay512 @gabesmommie1130 @gkittylove99 @hopelessromanticmonie @iaminlovewithtrr @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @kingliam2019 @lucy-268 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @mile9213 @mom2000aggie @nestledonthaveone @phoenixrising308 @pixie88 @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @queenrileyrose @secretaryunpaid @shewillreadyou @sincerelyella @sweatyrysconnoisseur @tessa-liam @theroyalheirshadowhunter @twinkleallnight @txemrn

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612 @neotericthemis

Liam:

@amandablink @ao719 @yourmajesty09

One Shots:

@bebepac @darley1101

#choices the royal romance #choices the royal heir #choices the royal finale #the royal romance #the royal heir #the royal finale #trr #trh #trf #play choices #choices stories you play #liam x mc #liam x riley #trr fanfic #trr fandom #trh fanfic #trh fandom

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whatisthiswritingthing · 3 years

Text

Jealous - Tierna Davidson X Reader

Prompt: Hi! I really love your writing so much. I was wondering if maybe you could write a fic where the reader and Tierna are best friends and R visits T while she’s with the national team. Maybe T gets jealous when the rest of the team or another player gives R attention?

Tierna aggressively slammed her cleats back into her bag, determinedly not looking to the other side of the field where Y/N was talking to some of the staff.

“You alright T?” Alyssa asked the defender, watching her throw her balled up socks into her bag too.

“Peachy,” she grumbled, slamming her bag down and zipping it up.

Tierna took a glance towards her best friend, watching as she made the staff all laugh at something she said, one of the trainers squeezing Y/N’s bicep. The defender rolled her eyes, standing and storming towards the group, trying to release her anger and force a smile on her face.

“Hey Tier,” Y/N shifted her whole attention to Tierna when she approached, bringing a genuine smile to the defender’s face.

“Hey Y/N, ready for lunch?”

“You bet!” Y/N smiled, turning to the group of staff, “great meeting you guys, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tierna gave her a strange look as they began to walk to Y/N’s car. Tierna had introduced Y/N to the team the night before, inviting her to supper, with her charismatic personality she hit it off with everyone. Players and staff stealing majority of Y/N’s attention the rest of the night, inviting her to watch the practice the next day.

“So, where we going for lunch?” Rose pushed between the two of them as they walked through the parking lot, she gripped Y/N’s hand, dramatically swinging their arms, Y/N chuckled at the midfielder.

“What do you feel like Tier?” Y/N looked over to her friend.

“Anything you want Y/N,” Tierna pulled away from Rose slightly.

“I could go for some Chipotle,” Sonnett jogged up, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulder.

“Uhh sure,” Y/N creased her eyebrows, “Tierna had suggested some local place, but Chipotle works too. I didn’t realize you were coming with us.”

“Of course we are,” Lindsey pushed Sonnett out of the way, causing her to begin to walk backwards, both blondes smiling.

“Shot gun!” Rose let go of Y/N’s hand, pushing Sonnett out of the way and running towards the cars.

“You don’t even know what car is hers,” Tierna mumbled, Y/N smiling, watching the rest of the soccer players gently shove each other in attempt to figure out what car is Y/N’s.

“We’ll keep it a secret and you can have shotgun,” Y/N grinned, nudging her shoulder against her friend. Both laughing as the three pointed to different vehicles, looking back hoping for confirmation, running to different ones when there was no reaction.

The friends managed to get to the car before the trio did, Tierna slipping into the passenger seat.

“I called shotgun!” Rose pouted as she was pushed into the middle, sandwiched in by Horan and Sonnett, each smiling proudly.

As much as Tierna wanted to be alone with her friend, she couldn’t argue that being with Y/N was infectious and didn’t blame a single person for wanting to spend as much time with the woman as they could.

Tierna rolled her eyes, jaw clenching when Sonnett slid into the chair Y/N tried to pull out for her. Y/N giggled and slid into the chair next to her, tugging Tierna’s sleeve forcing her to sit next to her before anyone else could. The defender groaned when the restaurant door opened, and more player filed into the room.

For the entire meal, the players all monopolizing Y/N’s attention. Tierna became more irritated as the meal went on, her time was limited with her best friend, but since she had been introduced to the team, she hadn’t gotten any time with her friend. She had only introduced Y/N so she could have more time with her while still in camp.

Players all asked Y/N questions, drawing her into conversation, Y/N smoothly entertaining everyone, asking equal questions in return, giving them the chance to talk about themselves too.

Y/N tried to talk to Tierna in between conversations with players, sensing her growing irritation, stretching her arm out to rest on the back of the defenders chair, squeezing her shoulder.

“So, Y/L/N, how does the boyfriend feel about you hanging out with this motley crew for a few days?” Pinoe asked from the far end of the table.

“Ahh no boyfriend, so probably good?” Y/N chuckled.

“Alright, how does the girlfriend feel about it?” Ashlyn asked from next to her.

“Nope, no girlfriend either,” she shrugged, casting a shy glance to the defender next to her, none of the players noticing, all focused on the new information.

“You’re single?” Kelley clarified with a smirk, nudging a few of the younger players around her.

“As pringle,” Y/N grinned, laughing at her own joke, “single as a pringle, get it? It rhymes,” she clarified when she saw all the confused faces, awkwardly giggling to herself. Her smile grew when she finally heard Tierna let out a genuine laugh all meal.

“They’re trying to figure out if you’re gay and worth hitting on,” Tierna leaned over and whispered into Y/N’s ear, her smile dropping slightly.

“Oh,” Y/N blushed, biting her lip she fidgeted with her fingers.

“So whatcha say? Worth hitting on?” Kristie smirked from across the table, Sonnett leaning forward with her. Pinoe and Ashlyn watching intently from the end, everyone else listening for the answer.

“Oh, uhh, I guess?” Y/N looked shyly around the table, “I don’t really know?” she looked briefly to Tierna again, blush deepening.

“How do you not know?” Kristie leaned froward, waggling her eyebrows

“I just, uhh, do? People don’t really hit on me,” she shrugged again, hoping the conversation would be over soon.

“Alright guys, I think that’s enough, she’s not going to come back if you keep this up,” Christen stepped in, seeing how uncomfortable Y/N and Tierna were.

Tierna mouthed thank-you to the midfielder, Y/N smiling gratefully with a nod.

“T is oblivious that Y/N is single because she’s in love with her,” Tobin leaned over to Christen, whispering in her ear.

“Nope!” Ali giggled from the other side of Christen.

“And Y/N doesn’t see that Tierna is jealous of everyone giving her attention?” Ashlyn added from the across the table.

“Nope,” Pinoe said loudly, gaining the attention of the team, she just smiled and wiggled her fingers in a wave.

Conversation gradually resumed, several of the players trying to encourage flirty banter with Y/N now. Y/N oblivious to the flirting, continued to talk with everyone at the table.

Lunch came to a close, the veterans ushering the players out, reminding them of practice that afternoon practice in a couple hours.

Tierna was quiet the ride back to the hotel, staring blankly out the window in the back seat, Sonnett having won the race for shotgun on the way out.

Y/N glanced in the rear-view mirror while she drove, hoping to figure out what was wrong with her best friend. She bit her lip when Tierna let out a sigh, she didn’t have any idea why she was so upset; Tierna had been so excited to invite Y/N to camp when it was in her city.

“Are you coming to practice later?” Rose asked from the middle seat as they pulled into the hotel, the other two blondes waiting hopefully for the response.

“Oh uhh, not sure,” Y/N turned fully in her set once she parked, watching Tierna for some kind of reaction, “I don’t think so,” she followed up with the defender didn’t react.

Tierna looked quickly to Y/N, her eyes sad while they stared at each other.

“Ahh come on!” Lindsey shook Y/N shoulders over the driver seat.

“I really don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Y/N broke the staring contest, tapping her fingers ion the steering wheel.

Tierna didn’t know what else to say, but quietly got out of the back seat. The other soccer players following behind.

“Y/N is awesome T! Why haven’t you brought her around more?” Sonnett squeezed Tierna’s bicep as they walked through the hotel lobby, “any chance you could I could get her number? Or do you think she would take mine?” the blonde seemed a little nervous.

“Uhh I don’t know Son, maybe, I’ll talk to her,” she shrugged noncommittally.

“You rock T!” the blonde defender skipped ahead, giving a small fist pump.

“Tierna!”

Tierna turned quickly to the hotel entrance, Y/N walking towards her. She tilted her head to the side, confused, “Y/N?”

“Is everything alright Tier? Are you okay?” Y/N reached out, gripping Tierna’s hand, running her thumb along the knuckles. Eyes soft while she watched her best friend.

“Yea, of course,” Tierna squeezed her hand back, trying to give her a reassuring smile.

“You were so quiet at lunch. Do you want me to leave? Did I overstep with the team? Or you?” Y/N looked so worried.

“No, definitely not,” she shook her head, “Sonnett even just asked me for your number,” she motioned vaguely behind her to where the blonde had walked, “so yea, theres that, yours if you want it.”

“Oh uh, I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you,” Y/N squeezed her hand again, trying to make eye contact with Tierna.

“I’m fine, really,” Tierna tried to reassure, pulling out her phone.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, eyebrows creasing at the sudden change.

“Getting you Sonnetts number,” she wouldn’t look up, focused on her phone.

“Damit Tierna, I don’t want anyones number, I want you!” Y/N pulled the phone from Tierna’s hand.

Tierna brought her eyes up to watch Y/N, waiting to see what else she would.

“I don’t care if the whole team asks me out, I just want to be with you. I didn’t plan to spend the week with your team, I planned to spend it with you,” Y/N tapped a finger to the center of Tierna’s chest.

“What?”

“She likes you,” Ali smiled as she walked past.

Tierna looked between the defender and her friend, Y/N nodding along, smiling.

“Tierna was pouting because she was jealous,” Christen added as she walked in behind as well.

“I wasn’t pouting,” Tierna stuttered out, blushing.

“But you were jealous?” Y/N asked hopefully.

Terna bit her lip and nodded along.

“I like you Tier, I have for a while, I was just too much of a wuss to ask you out,” Y/N blushed, looking away.

Y/N began to pull her hand away when Tierna started laughing at her. Tierna tightened her grip, stopping the movement, “me too Y/N. It killed me watching everyone fawn over you the last two day.”

Tierna let out a relieved sigh when Y/N stopped pulling away, both instead starting pull each other into a hug.

“What do we do now?” Tierna hesitated to ask as they pulled away.

“I don’t know, I think we start by not talking about it in the middle of hotel lobby,” Y/N giggled, both of them looking around to see most of the team watching, “but uhh, after that, I don’t know. I think we go on a date? Not much really has to change I don’t think.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tierna agreed, nodding along, “how about dinner on my day off in a couple days? You can still hang around with the team if you want, but I want to be able to do this right,” her confidence growing the more she spoke.

“I want to do it right too,” Y/N smiled back, “now go break the news to Sonnett. I’ll see you later.”

The pair hugged one last time, both smiling wife before pulling away, Y/N leaving the hotel.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagines #uswnt imagine #tierna davidson imagines #tierna davidson x reader #tierna davidson imagine

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

Text

Crimson (Dhampir! Don Giorno x Wife! Reader)

Those of you who have been here for a while would have suffered through my intermittent constant ramblings about scenarios in which Giorno's vampiric tendencies start to awaken. To the nonnies who requested this, here you go my loves.

TW: Blood mentions

Word Count: 2.4k

The sunshine felt glorious on your skin as you lounged next to the pool while Giorno completed a few more laps in the water before he was set to join you. Something felt amiss as you watched him aggressively swim in the huge body of water like a caged shark, but you attributed it to him needing to work off some of the stress of leading Passione. Finally satisfied with his efforts, he emerged from the pool, water clinging to his body and dripping from his hair, he would have looked like Neptune incarnate if it wasn’t for the angry red sunburn marring his otherwise flawless form.

“Gio, your skin looks so inflamed, let me help you,” he walked right past you, prompting you to follow him into the house. “My love, are you alright? Let me at least put something on you to…”

“Stop faffing, I’ll be fine, I think I just need some rest, you can go back to what you were doing,” snapped Giorno, in a harsher tone than he intended, in fact, he didn’t mean to be as short with you at all, and grimaced at his words, but he needed to get away from there as soon as he possibly could to not alarm you as this isn’t the first time he has experienced this, although, it is the first time it has happened in front of you.

You tried to hide your dejection at his behavior, you pulled on an oversized shirt, went inside and decided to work on some of your reports in the sunroom instead. Upstairs, in the bathroom of the master bedroom, stood Giorno in front of the golden-framed mirror. Before his ruby-tainted eyes, his burns had healed without him consciously summoning his stand… was it done subconsciously? His question remained unanswered, looking himself in the eyes, he realized that they still bore a crimson tinge to them. Dismissing it to simple chemical irritation, he took a cool shower and mulled over his exchange with you, growing ever more remorseful of how he dismissed your concern. Getting rid of the last bit remnants of water from his hair, he set out to find you to and apologize for his behavior.

Finding you bundled in the corner of the sunroom, musing over a few documents, Giorno just stood at the entrance admiring your beauty. You looked so cute wearing his shirt, the concentration furrowing your delicate brows and placing a pout on your lips.

“Tesoro? May I speak to you?” his voice was gentle, a far cry from the way he sounded before. You looked up from the documents you were working on and offered him a strained smile.

“Gio, I thought you wanted to rest for a bit…”

“I did bella, but that’s not important right now… I’m sorry… for the way I acted before, you were just showing your concern and I behaved like an idiot. Please forgive me…” walking towards you, he seated himself next to you.

“Well, you were very mean to me, but I’ll forgive you just this once… only because you asked so nicely, next time it won’t be so easy for you Don Giovanna,” you said with a smirk, breaking into a small giggle when he grimaced at the epithet.

“Come here bella- nice shirt by the way, it looks very familiar…”

“Oh, it’s just something I found lying around… you know what they say, finders’ keepers,” with a gentle smile at your remark, he peppered your face with soft kisses and made sure you got comfortable on his lap, so he could hold you while you worked, his mind though, was preoccupied with the events that occurred of late.

In the next few days both you and Giorno were busy with your respective tasks, and as much as you wanted to dismiss his distant demeanor on how busy you both were, you knew that he was uncharacteristically withdrawn from you. Giving him the space he needed, you met his aloofness with your usual calm kindness. Needing to discuss a few work-related issues with Giorno, you decided to go see him rather than wait for him to come home.

“(y/n)- bella, this is a nice surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?” he still had that charming velvety quality to his voice that made you feel, for a split second, like things were back to normal, but the strained way in which he kissed your cheek told you otherwise. He considered you for a moment, staring at you with his slightly reddened eyes.

“Are you wearing a new perfume?” inhaling the air around you sharply, he posed his question to you.

“No my love, it’s the same scent you like, the one I wear most often”

“Oh? You just smell so sweet, it’s wonderful,” Giorno’s words are muffled as he buries his nose into your neck and places a small kiss there, rigidly pulling away almost instantly, the red sheen becoming more pronounced in his eyes. Guarded, he stepped away from you and with a tense smile he completed what you needed from him.

“I’ll see you at home then,”

“Of course tesoro…” distracted, Giorno kissed your forehead and you left, determined to get to the bottom of what was plaguing him. You knew that his origins were obscure. He didn’t have much of a relationship with his mother and you both learned the truth about his father after meeting with Dr. Kujo to resolve a few matters which required Giorno’s assistance. Recalling the conversation, you remembered the sordid business with Dio and the stone mask. Your blood ran cold when you considered the idea that Giorno could be going through a transition of sorts… it wasn’t a pleasant thought to entertain, however, you couldn’t think of another reason for his odd behavior and changes in his features.

You knew it was a risky idea… you knew that if he overheard your conversations he’d be furious… but you had to seek help from the one man who had encountered the type of being that Giorno shared his DNA with. Hating having to hide this from the man you had previously shared every mundane detail of your day with, you pressed on, and within the week that had passed you had learned all there was to know about his condition without actually having an expert examine him. You had unfortunately hit a wall, all the while, despite your best efforts, the rift between you and Giorno had continued to widen.

You sat up in bed engaging in a long distance call with a tired-sounding Jotaro, at that ungodly hour-alone- confident that you would be falling asleep beside a cold pillow, just as you had for the past 3 nights. “Is there anything that can be done from where I am? Dr. Kujo, please… I know you may be apprehensive given the history, I can assure you that, if by some stroke of misfortune, anything were to go awry I have enough faith in my abilities to contain him, I…”

“It’s not that, I trust that he isn’t a threat, despite what he’s experiencing. The thing is, we have already shared every bit of information we have in our possession with you. Anything else will require you to come here, the foundation has experts and the technology available to at least assess Giorno to determine a way forward from there,”

“I’ll try to get…”

“Who are you talking to?” the temperature in the room suddenly dropped when you heard the cold manner in which your husband addressed you.

“Oh! Giorno… I can explain… Dr. Kujo, please forgive my rudeness, but may we continue this later, at a suitable time for you?”

“Of course,”

“Thank you, I’ll be in touch…” moving from one impossibly difficult conversation to another, you turned your attention to Giorno who was seething at the doorway across from you.

“Care to explain?” the expression on your husband’s face was so cold it forced you to silently avert your gaze to gather your composure.

“(y/n), I’m waiting…” his footsteps resounded with a sharp clatter as he walked into the room.

“Gio… I’m worried about you. You think I haven’t noticed but I can see that you’ve changed. I see you agonizing over this… transition… you’re going through. Please don’t shut me out,” weeks of unexpressed feelings pooled in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill out.

“(y/n) … this is something I have to do on my own, I… I don’t want to hurt you,” it was clear that Giorno did not want to have this conversation with you from his shaky disposition and the manner in which he spoke.

“What you’re doing right now is more hurtful than anything else! Watching you struggle like this, being so close to you, yet so far removed from each other,” emotions swirling uncontrolled, you choked out the words despite wanting to protect Giorno’s feelings.

“You don’t understand cara”

“Then make me understand, damn it Giorno!”

“Ahh! you think I don’t know what’s happening to me? I’ve been doing my own research as well. I know what my father was… I knowwhat I’m turning into! We both know… and you… the scent of you drives me insane. Rather than hurting you, I chose to stay away from you!” For a moment after his outburst, all you heard was silence save for the sound of Giorno’s breathing and your own heart pounding in your ears.

“You’re not him Gio, you never will be like him. and if your bloodlust is doing this to you, then please just let me help you… I’m your wife, if I can’t do this for you, who will?!”

“No! I won’t allow it. Will I even be human if I did? No… I can’t, and if I hurt you I’ll never forgive myself,”

“Gio, caro, I trust you entirely, I know you wouldn’t go too far, and if by some stroke of bad luck, you do, you can always use your stand ability to replace what was lost. I can’t stand seeing you like this… I love you so much… so please, if you need to… then do it, I’ll be okay,”

You saw the doubt flicker in his glossy eyes as he considered your argument. Inching closer towards him, you extend your hand to cup his cheek, cherishing the feeling of his faintly stubbled skin against your soft hand. He puts his hand over yours, leaning into your touch, he places a soft kiss into your palm. After craving your touch for so long, this felt heavenly to him, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to let you go again after this. You picked up on his yearning, as it matched your own, and gently coaxed his face towards yours, kissing him gently at first, and then surrendering to your urges as Giorno hungrily deepened the kiss, burying his fingers into your hair. When he broke away, his gaze was intense, but marred by doubt. He flicked your hair over your shoulder and gingerly traced the vein on your neck, his thumb gently caressing your silken skin.

Sensing his trepidation, you try to allay his fears, “It’s alright my love, I’m ready… I’ll be okay.” Your hands wrap around his back while his lips find your neck, small kisses were placed in the prime spot, turning into little licks and laps, until finally you felt the sharp sting of Giorno’s teeth sinking into the supple flesh with a low hum from him. After the initial pain, the sensation was unlike anything you have ever experienced before, a newfound intimacy that came from knowing you were helping him through something so intense.

After a few moments, his hunger was satiated- at last, the feral intensity disappearing from his eyes, his teeth retracting to the same level as the others, Giorno cradled you in his arms.

“Tesoro, are you alright?” his voice was tender, and it seemed that he had finally returned to his old self.

“I’m alright my love,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Giorno was overcome by a new wave of affection for you, watching you carefully, he lifted you up, despite your protests and carried you to bed.

“This will only hurt for second amore, but you will feel much better afterwards,” he explained as a familiar golden glow enveloped both you and him, slightly smarting the area that it healed until all evidence of the encounter had vanished. Clear eyes peered curiously into your own and were met with a relieved gaze- finally the crimson haze had cleared.

“How are you feeling my love? You look… different… calmer?” pushing yourself up on one arm, you sat up to face Giorno.

“I do feel calm, I feel like a spell has been lifted and I’m finally myself again…” anguish contorted the young don’s features as he thought back on the events that built up to that moment. “I’m so sorry, tesoro… I’ve treated you horribly over the past few weeks, there are no excuses, regardless of what was happening, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you… please forgive me,” unable to hold your gaze he just looked away dejectedly.

“Giorno… look at me…” you extended your arms towards him, gripping the sides of his face, gently turning him towards you. “We’re a team, we’ve fought against unimaginable things together, built an entire empire together, even changed the course of fate together… my point is that regardless of what you’re going through, it will never best us if handle it together,” offering you a tired smile, he grasped your hands in his and kissed them gently.

“You always know what to say… You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

“Well, of course I’m amazing! Doesn’t hurt to hear it every once in a while though…” your laughter lightened the mood and tugged at the corners of Giorno’s full lips. Wordlessly, he climbed onto his side of the bed and motioned for you to take your place in his arms. It was the embrace that you both craved after the painful period of time you were estranged from each other. Hair still adorned with his triad of curls and still in his suit, Giorno fell asleep almost instantly after wrapping his arms around you and tucking your head under his chin.

Feeling as safe as you did, your exhaustion also weighed down your eyelids. You knew that the road would be a long one, but for now, the only thing that mattered was the fact that he was safe and happy, and you were in his embrace where you belonged. Relishing the warmth he radiated, you allowed yourself to drift into a peaceful slumber.

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