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magicalqueennightmare · 2 years ago

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Sins & Amends Chapter 56

Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)

This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond

This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions

This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me.

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Billy look towards the future

"I had a ring" Billy's voice was barely a whisper in the darkness of your room and at first you weren't sure he was even awake until you turned enough to face him. "What?" You asked tracing the scars on his left shoulder as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Before Rawlins threatened you, before I had to make a choice. I bought you a ring. I was planning to propose the day Frank got stateside from that last deployment" your heart dropped when you realized what he was saying "Oh" if he'd bought a ring back then he would've gotten Maria to go with him. No wonder she'd thought he was going to propose the night he broke up with you.

He blinked a few times then finally looked down into your eyes and confirmed what you were thinking "Maria helped me pick it out. I was so nervous but she said Billy she'd say yes to you with a ring from a gumball machine but I've known her since we were kids. This ring is absolutely perfect for her" you tried to keep your face neutral as memories flooded you both. "I'm sure it was Billy but she was right. I'd marry you without a ring"

He half smiled then leaned over to press a gentle kiss to your lips "I know but you deserve a ring sweetheart" you shook your head then laid over on his chest being mindful of the stitches in his stomach that still had a couple weeks until they'd come out "I love you Billy" he kissed the top of your head and said "I love you too. Get some sleep baby"

He laid in the dark as your breathing evened out and he knew you were back asleep. He was racking his mind trying to remember just what had happened to that ring. He knew you weren't a materialist person but after everything if he could give you that ring, that small piece of Maria it would mean something. Your hand flinched slightly and he laid his hand over it smiling when you calmed at his touch.

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There were still mornings he'd wake up and just for a second the dread would wash over him that maybe he was still in the hospital after his tbi and he was stuck inside his own head. After all he had the woman he loved in bed next to him and his daughter one room over. He never dreamed of having a family before he met you. You had always been the one he was meant to be with.

The dread would quickly fade when he was met with a kiss from you or the way Adi would call out for him, wanting daddy first thing upon waking. The two of you could pull him out from the worst of the memories. Hell the two of you were the reason he'd ever would've wanted to survive the fallout from Rawlins, you were the reason why he had a life worth living.

He finally fell back asleep holding your hand in place on his chest.

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When you woke up the next morning you were still laying halfway on his chest. You laid there for a few minutes letting your eyes skim across every scar on his face, resisting the urge to do so with your fingers.

You weren't sure where the late night confession about having bought a ring in the past had come from. Maybe the memory had just surfaced? You hoped he knew you meant it when you said you didn't need a ring. You loved him, the two of you shared a daughter. Him and Adi were all you needed.

You hadn't noticed he was waking up until he said "You know I love you but staring is a little creepy darling" you popped his chest playfully "I was not staring, I was gazing. That makes it romantic not creepy" he opened one eye and grinned "Tell yourself that baby" you mocked hurt and said "Well in that case I'll just sleep my creepy ass on the couch tonight" and acted like you were going to get up but he pulled you closer before you could've ever had the chance.

"Oh you're going to leave me when I'm injured? I haven't even got the stitches out and you're already bored of me" you sat there with your mouth gaped open at that because you honestly had no other response. He started laughing and pulled you in for a kiss "Come here baby. I know you're not bored of me" you allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the feeling of his lips on yours before pulling back long enough to say "Nu uh Mr Russo. You've hurt my feelings. A kiss isn't getting you out of it"

He flipped the two of you over so he was on top of you and smiled "What can I do to make it up to you?" You raised an eyebrow while trying and failing to not smile. "Well I'd prefer you not bust your stitches open! I've got plenty of time to let you make it up to me but blood isn't really a turn on" he pushed your shirt up just enough to let his hand slip under it "Well if you stay still I shouldn't hurt myself" his lips found your neck at the same time you felt his hand slide across your bare skin and without meaning to a light moan escaped your lips.

He chuckled against your neck but you felt the moment both of your moods shifted when his hand ghosted over the scarred tissue on your left side. His fingers were so light you almost missed the touch. "I love you Y/N" you reached up to let your fingers trace one of the scars on his cheek "I love you too Billy but you do know even if you'd been home, I was at work when it happened. You couldn't have protected me from it"

He half smiled then placed a quick kiss to your neck "I know baby but it doesn't help me to know you nearly died and if you would've Curt would've had to tell me on a visiting day" you moved your hand to make him look you in the face.

He smiled when you said "Billy you still have stitches from taking a bullet meant for me. The scars on your face are a direct result from protecting me. Hell I've shot you, twice! Once with a paintball gun then when I actually shot you. You've got to not beat yourself up over things"

He laughed then "Gotta admit our love story is unique" "That it is" you agreed with a laugh. Before either of you could move the monitor crackled to life and you heard Adi "Daddy" you glanced over at it then back up at him "You're being paged dear and I need to get a shower before work" he kissed you on the lips then climbed off of you and out the bed.

You watched him leave out the room then laid back with a laugh. God what was Adi gonna think when she got old enough to find out everything that had went down? Now wasn't the time to worry about that at least.

You climbed out of bed then headed to grab clothes for the day.

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Billy was sitting across from Adi at the table when you walked out the bedroom pulling your hair up in a bun. She'd wanted pancakes so he had delivered then cleaned up the mess.

He looked up when you walked out and smiled when you asked "Do you have to go in today?" He nodded "Yeah we got a few meetings I've got to go to. Dinah nor Sam is really budging on me helping with training until I'm completely cleared"

"Good. That means I don't have to threaten to shoot anyone in Homeland again" you muttered and he laughed. "Sarah picking up Adi or are you dropping her off?" You asked, starting the coffee maker.

He ran a hand over her head and she grinned up at him "I'm going to drop her off then I was thinking if the meetings ran short enough I might be able to talk her into visiting Simba and Nala?" Her eyes got big at the mention of the aquarium "Please daddy?" You looked over your shoulder at her "You gotta be good for aunt Sarah ok baby?" She nodded "I will"

You finished making your coffee in silence while Adi finished her pancakes then ran off to play for a few minutes. Billy stood up and slid his arms around your waist "I meant to tell you Curt reminded me that I still have some stuff in his storage unit. I have no idea what it is but do you want to go through it with me tomorrow?" You leaned nodded then looked up at him "Sure why not but I'm warning you right now better not be any souvenirs from anyone you took home while we weren't together"

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He knew you meant it as a joke but there was just enough hesitation in your eyes he felt the need to say "No one went home with me. My bed always belonged to you Y/N" you blinked a few times as his words sank in then the smile that slid onto your face was enough to make his heart skip a beat "Really?" You asked it in almost a whisper.

He let his lips brush against your neck "Really" You were quiet for a moment before saying "Matt never came here. Not like that anyways. It didn't feel right, not to mention I never really found it in me to take your photos down" he smiled against your skin "Nice to know"

About that time Adi came running back in "Daddy!" He turned to see that she had four different outfits in her hand. "Which?" He looked back at you so you shrugged. He looked between her choices and picked her red dress and black leggings. "These babygirl. Now do you need help?" She shook her head "I can do it"

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You watched her run off with a smile. "She's already getting independent Billy" he looked back at you with a grimace "I know. I hate it" you couldn't help but laugh at the little pout he had.

Your phone went off with a text so you grabbed it and saw it was Alice saying she was downstairs. "Shit. I gotta get my stuff together" you walked over to the closet to grab your bags then stepped into Adi's room.

She was dressed but was trying to get her leggings straight. "Baby do you need help?" You asked and she shook her head "I can do it" "Ok sweetheart well can mommy get some love aunt Alice is downstairs so I got to go" she stopped fighting with them to run into your arms "Love you mommy" you kissed her cheek and said "Love you too"

Billy glanced up when you walked back into the living room so you pointed back towards Adi's room. "She's gonna need some help but you gotta make her think it's her idea" he nodded "Yes ma'am" you shook your head then stepped over closer to pull him into a kiss "I love you Billy" he smiled and said "I love you too. Have a good shift and tell Alice I said hey" you gave him another quick kiss then headed for the door. If you weren't down soon Alice would start calling.

"So when are you going to propose to Y/N, Bill? I mean is she going to be a Russo before Adi turns three or four?" Frank asked with a smirk. "When I finally heal up for one and when I get a ring worthy of her" he replied but Frank shook his head "Ok first all we don't want to hear about your sex life and I know that's why you said once you're healed and also you know it's bullshit saying that you got to have a ring. She'd marry you today" Curtis cut in.

Billy groaned "That's my point! She would marry me today but I think you both agree after the hell she's been put through doesn't she deserve a ring, the dress she wants and the wedding she wants?" David raised his hand slightly "Hasn't she yelled at you and Frank both about saying what she does or doesn't deserve?" Billy shot him a glare so he added "And haven't you bought her a cabin already?"

Billy shook his head at the three of them "I swear the bunch of you gossip worse than any woman. I will propose when the time is right ok? I love her and want nothing more than to call her my wife" Dinah walked by about that time and added "If you keep dragging your feet I'm going to propose to her" causing all the guys to crack up laughing.

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It was a relief to get out of the office and head across town to pick Adi up. Leo answered the door and he had forgotten that school was out for spring break. "Hey Billy!" She greeted with a smile then hollered "Lil bit, your daddy's here!"

Adi came running around the corner with a smile and what looked like a cookie smeared across her face "Daddy!" Sarah was behind her with a wipe in hand "We made cookies. Adi was the official taste tester of course" he laughed and said "Of course"

Once she'd let Sarah clean her up Adi grinned "We're gonna go see sharks!" Sarah smiled "Really? I know you love the sharks" he watched her go around and hug Sarah then Leo and even Zach came down to tell Adi bye. "Be good little bit. I'll see you tomorrow" Sarah told her with a final hug. "Bye aunt Sarah"

Billy held her hand out to the car and when he went to pick her up she shook her head "I can do it" he held his hands behind her just in case she slipped climbing into the car but she managed to get into her seat without incident so he leaned over to strap her in then kissed her forehead. "My big girl. Ready to go?" She nodded "All ready"

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Adi made it through the sharks,penguins and seahorses before she was tugging on his sleeve "Can we go home?" He nodded and picked her up gently to not pull his stitches "Let's go babygirl"

Once he got her home she was asleep by the time he carried her inside and laid her on the couch. He watched her sleep for a moment thinking just how lucky he was but everyone was right he needed to make peace with not being able to give you the ring he wanted and find you a different one.

Frank and Karen were hosting the bi-weekly dinner this time so there was nothing that had to be done until you got home. He decided to grab his laptop and look through options on engagement rings.

@intothesoul

@weallhaveadestiny

#au billy russo #billy russo x y/n #billy russo au #billy russo x you #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader #sins and amends masterlist

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lookedlikethebins · 2 months ago

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written in a magazine

A music magazine had sent someone to write a profile about Matty now that they've gone on hiatus. Matty completely forgets about the article until he's getting warm and congratulatory texts from friends for being so open (and well-received).

He reads the article and starts to see himself, his life with George, through the understanding of the public for the first time. Yes, now he's home from tour, but why hasn't anyone understood that with George, he's never felt like he's actually left…

[read below or on AO3]

The low (and only sinking lower) afternoon sun gently coaxed Matty to fall asleep on their sofa. His back was against the armrest, his knees bent to prop up his book, and his head resting against the back cushion—and, the final push toward dozing off, the knitted throw blanket George had brought down from the studio draped over his legs. Nothing against Sartre, but as the warm glow of the sunset sank into the dim, cool shadows of dusk Matty couldn’t help but rest his eye—for just a moment…

The sofa shifted under Matty as George stood to turn on the two floor lamps across the room. With a muted and short gasp—sharp inhale—Matty hoped he appeared to be fully awake by the time the bulb’s warm lighting reached him. Although, it wasn’t like George would have told him off for potentially messing up his already disjointed sleep cycle: this wasn’t tour. There was no strict regime, routine, or schedule of shows that all hung on Matty’s ability to perform, to be rested enough to do so.

In fact, there was no tour. They were still within the first months of life—and of living it—without the promise of another year and a half of living on the road looming over them.

Since returning home, he and George had taken to falling asleep wherever they were, whenever they wanted; doing chores at whatever hour they felt motivated to approach them; cooking a hearty dinner when they first woke up and having simply toast before bed. They were home. No accidental walk-ins, no minding how long they’d been standing around the tap or how loud they were laughing. They didn’t have to share anything anymore. Not even each other.

The washing machine buzzed and stopped George before he could fully sit back down.

“Leave it, just leave it.” Matty said, shuffling his feet on the sofa where George had been sitting.

“We both know we’ll forget. Be right back—oh, it won’t be that long,” George laughed as Matty groaned in protest. He realized the blanket hadn’t been covering his feet but rather George. “Five minutes, yeah? Then I’m yours again.”

“Fine. But I’m counting.”

George moved Matty’s blanket to cover his feet before following the secondary alert of the washer. Matty was sure George didn’t think he could hear his quiet retort that he was on his way, relax.

The rhythm of being home always soothed George. And evidently part of that rhythm was the constant shaking and rattling of their washing machine. Their first full day home—as if he’d been eagerly waiting—George washed every bit of clothing they’d brought on tour: all their sheets (including the ones in the drawers, still clean but stale from extended unuse); every blanket and pillowcase; each rug or floor mat, including those in their cars; and any seat cover he could unzip and remove. Every room smelled of the same lavender detergent and unidentifiable yet bright-smelling dryer sheets.

With the improved lighting, Matty tried to find his place in his book again but after a persistent string of text chimes and vibrations, it was evident his focus was gone. He closed his book and fished his phone out from the space between two cushions.

Above the notifications, the current time was the most stand-out information. Matty didn’t know it was already past seven o’clock. Better yet, he’d forgotten it was Thursday; Matty thought the profile was coming out the following day… And had spent his entire day with the unease of getting prepared to be properly anxious the following day.

But with one tap to his screen and an unintentionally distracting afternoon, Matty’s anxiety dissolved into a heavy, almost grounding, wave of both surprise and relief. A long exhale that, had George not been two rooms away with the raucous dryer, would have caused him to poke his head in with a quiet look of concern.

The official email of the article was third in the stacked notification list. The two above were texts containing the same link with cut off complimentary words or celebratory emojis. Matty took that as a presumably good sign for the state of his reputation.

As Matty opened the email, another text came in from Adam—nicely done mate x—which was probably the most reassuring. Adam would’ve been direct if he thought he came off perhaps not exactly as he’d hoped—for better or for worse.

The article’s title had changed since the in-progress preview Matty had seen a few days prior. The writer had said it was the working draft, but Matty hadn’t considered any other reality besides Healy_Profile_Home_170424:

HOMESICKNESS, The Plague of the Pop Scene: The 1975 frontman, Matty Healy, finally woke up at home—and never wants to leave

Matty quickly skimmed through the article, reminding himself of just what he’d said only a few days prior. The interview had lasted almost three hours, and he assumed most things they talked about weren’t worth mentioning. He was well aware he sometimes spoke in stretches of well-intended filler: very important and interesting to him, but not exactly the point of a musician profile within a well-regarded publication. No one cared he’d reorganized his bookshelves, finally, and stopped stacking his books on the ground.

Well, no one except George, who insisted tripping over Nietzsche was not an occupational hazard he ever remembered agreeing to when they started living together.

Matty opened the article just as he heard the familiar click of their electric kettle’s switch followed by the opening of cabinets in the kitchen:

The 1975 had finished their last show before their “indefinite hiatus of shows” just three weeks prior to our interview.

The show’s crowd, me included, had been ferocious to get their eyes, hands, and phone cameras on the last bits of the band before they went back to their homes, their families, and their own personal lives (if we can really believe they still have those) for a well-deserved “very firm, full stop.” For a band of over twenty years, this is still somehow a first for them.

The next time I see band frontman Matty Healy, standing in the doorway of his London home in the mid-April morning sun, there’s only the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves, wet from the spring downpour just beginning to lighten up. There’s not a scream, a shout, a cry—not even a hello, actually. Matty is still chewing a piece of toast when he answers the door, the remainder of it held in the same hand he uses to motion me inside.

Despite being in his own home, he’s dressed in something like business casual: creased black trousers and a muddy-maroon cowl neck sweater. But if you’ve seen any The 1975 show in the last few months you’d know he’s simply in his own homely uniform. He’s graying—more silver curls than brunet—and wearing glasses, smudged and evidently commonplace on his face by then (despite previous corrective surgery, as I’d learn) but he looks healthy and is shockingly upbeat.

He’s an artist at home, and perhaps at ease. He’s able to speak at a regular, comfortable volume (no microphone required) as we leave the foyer, but he is not muted or dulled by any means.

I’ve come prepared for an interview with the very down-to-earth but often out-in-space singer-songwriter/producer/all around artistic autodidactic, Matty Healy, lead singer and overall (some would say political) figurehead of the ever-evolving (and still somehow ever-pulling-it-off) band, The 1975. Matty has the reputation for being personable and easy to talk to despite freely going in and out of subjects others can often only hope to keep up with.

Although, my perception of “unmatched philosopher” is derailed about halfway through our time together. We’re sitting at his dining table when suddenly the back door opens behind me and a new voice enters the room: George Daniel, the drummer and main producer of The 1975…

Matty wasn’t sure how much George would be mentioned—especially with the rewrites needed after Matty’s accidental yet all the more revealing post two days after the interview.

You see, Matty hadn’t meant to post it for the entire internet to see.

He’d been trying to catch the moment when George zeroed in on exactly what they were missing in their current project. That moment of pause when all of Matty’s muddled, hummed melodies and extensive rewording of the same (still) unarticulated thought clicked into place and George solved their trouble of the past few hours—few days, often times—with a single adjustment.

More than anything, Matty wanted to capture the calm look on George’s face when he stopped looking at Matty and instead the space in front of him, almost as if he was taking in Matty—and his ideas—all at once, as their whole. George had never seen evidence of the way stillness overtook his face until suddenly something bright and brilliant would flash in his eyes. He’d smile at Matty before turning back to the looping song, placing his right hand on the mouse and left at his mouth, either feeding his bottom lip between his teeth or mindlessly biting at his cuticles (and chipping his nail polish. again.)

And while Matty did capture all such things—being very subtle in how he brought his phone from the table to resting upright on his knees in front of him—all anyone seemed to notice were the fingers pushing at his bottom lip. And the plain, gold ring around his ring finger.

After the sudden rush of responses (and extended panic from Matty), Matty offered to take that entire afternoon back; he’d call the writer and tell them to scrap every bit of the interview where George was even present, even if he hadn’t been speaking. He didn’t need to be pulled into the media’s claws—not like this—incessantly pulling and ripping and searching for a bigger piece of George. Of everything he’d kept private and safe within himself, and between them, for over a decade.

George laughed at Matty’s suggestion. Truly, fully laughed at it. As if he’d married Matty with the hope of remaining inconspicuous, he’d countered while gently pushing Matty’s curls back to better look him in the eyes. He knew who he married and what they both were marrying into.

Kissing away each rebuttal, George laughed and said he was surprised a slip up hadn’t happened sooner. Or, quite frankly, that it hadn’t been him…

“Everything alright, Matty?”

“What? Yeah. ’course,” Matty said, turning to see George leaning into the living room. His eyebrows were raised in curiosity, slowly beginning to furrow with concern. “Why?”

“Been talking to you for the past ten minutes,” he laughed, snapping his fingers. “Did you want anything to go with your tea?”

“Oh. No, no. I’m alright. Sorry.”

“You sure?” George asked again. Matty wasn’t sure which answer George was protesting.

Matty nodded, keeping his smile until George had fully returned to the kitchen. He ignored the vibration of another two texts, and the chime of one lighting up George’s phone.

Instead, Matty listened for the quiet melody of George’s tea creation—clinking of spoon against the side of the mug, the one-two clinking of said spoon and handle against the counter as he set it down, the step and slide over to the refrigerator to get milk.

Out of habit, Matty unlocked his phone and found himself right back where he was in the article. Where George had entered the page, endearingly apologetic and smiling at Matty in a way that made him feel so flattered and proud to be with George. To be seen as the one on the receiving end of such a look, taking all of Matty in all at once, as a whole…

Before he can formulate another all-encompassing—yet all the more embedded—response, Matty is interrupted (although he'd probably argue with the use of such a term) by drummer, producer, and other resident of the house, George Daniel.

George wanders into the kitchen with an empty mug and pleasant but apologetic smile; he’s mixed up the days. He thought Matty’s profile would be the following day.

I repeat and restate my question to Matty. I want to give the fretting, friendly giant the grace of going unnoticed—something of a theme among the other band members, leaving the spotlight to Matty. Instead of answering, Matty completely turns away from me to tell George about the extra coffee he’s made, keeping warm in the simplistic drip coffee maker.

After some polite back and forth between them, reassuring George he was, of course, welcome at the table—and, additionally, that George wanted to be featured in the profile—he sits down beside Matty to have his second cup of coffee for the day. Matty innocently lies that the one in front of him is only his first. “I really should be careful with my sleep,” he tells me with a quick wink over his mug. “Even if we aren’t touring at the moment.”

Suddenly, I am sitting across from pop music's current most symbiotic (or, as Matty offers with a dismissive eyeroll, “codependent”) songwriting team, in their expanding but still cozy suburban London home.

I try to guide Matty back to my previous question, regarding his songwriting process when he’s working on his solo work, when we're interrupted again. This time by Matty himself. While pausing in search of a particular word, his eyes find the distance between his and George's chairs. With a grunt (and still no answer to my question), he scoots his dining chair over to rest flush against the arm of George's.

Matty and George have been side by side, they later tell me, since they were aged 12 and 13—and it doesn't seem like either plan on changing things any time soon.

Seemingly relieved George is there, Matty finally tries to answer my question.

“Wait, what is my solo writing process, George?” he says with a face more earnestly confused than I expected for a songwriter with at least twenty years of experience under his belt.

George echoes my own surprise, as if he isn’t sure why Matty would be asking him either.

“Writing for the band and writing for ‘me’ isn’t really very different, I don’t think,” Matty says finally. “I mean, we’re writing songs all the time, that’s just sort of what we do. It’s more about if songs that are occurring naturally, songs we already have,” Matty gestures between himself and George. Despite talking about writing his solo work. “Seem to gravitate toward more of a ’75 identity or not. Or are just me, I suppose.”

I point out there isn’t much of his life from the last ten years that hasn’t been on a The 1975 album: his parents’ divorce; his mother’s post-partum depression; the pain of leaving his childhood home (and, in turn, his childhood) behind; his struggles with mental health and addiction; his morphing ideas and feelings about love—and something like disbelief it exists in his life at all; various teenage sexual escapades…

“Well, now you’ve made me sound like a bit of a narcissist,” Matty says with the punctuation of a short laugh.

George’s own laugh erupts with dribbles off coffee onto the tabletop. He protests Matty’s use of the phrase “a bit” although doesn’t arm the retort with any kind of malice. Matty grabs the armrest of his chair and shakes it as George continues to laugh. By the end of their inconsequential and playful spat, George has almost spilled his entire coffee down the front of himself.

We take a break here. Not to clean up, but because George has started apologizing again; he thinks he’s making my job difficult by being a distraction. He repeats my words to Matty—almost verbatim, I realize after listening back to the recording—and motions for me to continue. He wipes the table with a tea towel Matty has handed him in the meantime.

I ask Matty if there’s a particular persona in The 1975’s chart-topping five-record run that he’s dropping for future solo work—or a new one he’s constructing instead.

He responds promptly, “I’m not trying to be anyone else, nothing like that. Stage performance aside, I’m not very interested in writing music that creates misleading artifice. Emotional fabrication is one thing; intentional, meaningful art can still be about a truth that’s not one hundred percent from our reality—or perception of it. But I’m not interested in writing songs to create a reductive image: solo ‘me’ is only this one thing, while The 1975 ‘me’ is something else. That creates tension in my art that I don’t think is representative of what each song is trying to individually communicate—either to or from myself.”

Matty adds that he feels the same way about his other artforms, not just Band vs. Solo Artist. Since the start of their sixty-stop “Still… At Their Very Best” Tour, Matty had been rediscovering his interest (and skillset) in visual art, George reports while Matty sips his coffee. He then points back toward the foyer to a row of three 5x5 canvases I’d passed on the way in. George states they’re his favorites, painted almost ten years ago.

This brings into focus the longevity of The 1975, as well as that of the bond between Matty and George: a timeline, anyone with a curious mind and internet connection of the past ten years would know, has never been publicly spelled out. Throughout the band’s lifetime, the truth of their relationship has always been shrouded in mystery—which, that afternoon, confused me, seeing as though Matty was anything but tightlipped.

He tells me the name of the restaurant—and specific dining table location therein—George took him on their first “real” date. In return (and complete shock) I was able to share I had also been there on a date with my previous partner; a painter who had a piece hanging in the dining room. Matty asks which one, then proceeds to begin naming each painting in the main dining room—they’d apparently been more recently than ten years ago. After Matty and I begin talking about the burnt orange tablecloths, present regardless of the season (if you’re any kind of local, this should be your dead giveaway…) George reels Matty back in with a wordless gesture to my neglected notepad.

“And this is why he needs to be included,” Matty says. “He knows when to cut me off.” He pauses. “Only one who knows how, actually.” He sounds relieved.

After learning a brief, sincere—but intentionally impersonal—outline of their entanglement as best friends, bandmates, and now partners, I ask them how it feels to be such a powerful music duo, both professionally and personally. Matty laughs and George smiles, more at Matty's reaction than anything I've said—a common theme, I pick up.

"Yeah, George, how does it feel to be stuck with to me—both ‘professionally and personally’? I bet for George a bit of a nightmare, really." Matty pats George's hand and takes another sip of his coffee.

George takes a while to answer, for a moment I'm unsure if he's going to at all; anyone following the band through their various print or video interviews knows, most times, if Matty speaks the other three guys know they're off the hook and will wait (read: pray) for interviewers to move on.

I don’t.

I didn’t intend to waste the opportunity to learn more about the man—self-proclaimed imperfect, distracted, and currently using the back of his napkin to write down three things they needed at the store when they went the following day—through the lens of his best friend and bandmate that seems to be the exact complementary opposite to him. Like different frequencies of the same tone. Matty is a very active participant in conversation, while George is more reactive and a little passive—but both, incredibly, are the same level of passionate and talkative, if the topic is right.

When a phone call pulls Matty away from the table, George shares with me all the new non-digital hobbies he’s forced himself to pick up since tour ended. The flowers on their dining table are from his garden. The dough left out and proving on the counter is his third attempt at focaccia. The fresh coat of paint on their tall outdoor fencing was his entire Saturday. He talks at a poignant length about each hobby, but in a way that turns the topic back to me—almost in a question—to allow for a conversation change, assuming he’s bored me. He hadn’t. Not once.

The inherent complementary mesh integral to the success of The 1975 goes on full display when Matty returns from taking his phone call. He sits down tunes into George’s one-sided discussion of the various geraniums he’s been looking for down at the nursery. When George pauses, control of the conversation being handed back to me, Matty cuts in: “I hope you’ll include this. People should know George is quite good at a lot of different things. He’s a musical genius, yes, but he’s not in a deficit everywhere else either.”

George ducks his head, embarrassed by the title, but doesn’t deflect. He says a confident, gracious thank you. He trusts Matty enough to know it’s not a hollow or polite gesture said only in front of me.

It becomes obvious that this trust is what acts as the sealed success of their creative partnership, in dealings of The 1975 or otherwise. There is no performative dance to keep the impression one likes the other’s ideas and their contributions. It’s only sincere and direct. There is no assumption of malice—cannot be, and presumably has never been—when one is acting in response to the other. There is only pure curiosity, true commitment, and loyalty to the genius in each of them, seen by the other. Even if was about the status of soil in their flowerbeds.

Eventually, I get them back on track. Or rather, I look at my notes and the last question I’ve asked and George brings things back in. He hasn’t forgotten to answer.

"It's really, really nice [to work with Matty], actually," he says. I prompt him to keep going. "How often do you get to always be with your best friend, you know? Any time we're hanging out together, we get to call it 'work' and no one bothers us.” He stops to laugh. “My job, technically, is and has been hanging out with Matty."

I ask him about his use of the phrase "hanging out." Do decade-long couples just hang out?

George thinks so but defers to Matty after another pause.

"Yeah," Matty says suddenly, clearing his throat. "Married people 'hang out', right? There's no limit on that. We aren't gatekeeping being a pair of idiots from Manchester. We can always hang out, George and I."

George laughs in agreement, but I find myself stuck on something completely new—something that would be made news a few days after our talk, while I was in the middle of writing this profile: Matty’s use of the word 'married’.

The news breaks while I’m getting lunch with a friend, someone disinterested in both popular music and celebrities—especially the overlap of the two. But somehow, she’s the one that shows me the bubbling rumors online that erupt into a confirmed statement. Suddenly, I have so many more questions: was the hiatus in preparation or response to this personal decision? What about the band? The music? The momentum of the last ten years? The only couples in bands I’m thinking of in that moment are the one legendary for breaking up…

But back at their dining table, oblivious to the media conversation this profile would become a part of, I ask Matty what’s next on his own personal to-do list. I expect him to list shopping for the things he’d just written down, but instead he sighs and shakes his head.

“We were ‘homeward bound’ for so long, I’m still just so thrilled to genuinely be home. My big plan every day is to sort of… do nothing,” Matty says. “Touring is an amazing part of doing something we love, which is making music, but there is a certain moment—happens every time, no matter how amazing each and every show is—when I begin to see the next show as one less we have to do before I get to be home. A countdown starts in my head.”

“It’s not that we don’t want to be doing the shows,” George cuts in when Matty begins taking a sip of his coffee. Matty nods so quickly, humming in agreement, he begins to cough. “But once I start to feel like I miss Matty, I know we’ve been on the road too long.”

Before I can inquire how someone spending nearly every waking moment with another person could leave room for missing them, Matty takes my job. He really is a jack of all trades…

The article continued and pivoted topics, but Matty still remembered the conversation. Remembered what was omitted, out of courtesy and sake of privacy.

“You’ve never described it that way before,” Matty remembers saying, losing the thread and point of the interview the moment George spoke. “Miss me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” George said with a small, shy smile. Unsure if Matty was deflecting the sincerity in front of another person, or if he genuinely was in disbelief.

“We’re never not together on tour. Honestly, don’t think I’m out of your sight for more than five minutes at a time.”

“But we’re working, we’re with other people, we’re in a completely foreign space and city. That’s not the ‘you’ you are when we’re home together. Not even now.”

“Are you saying I’m different all the time—”

“No, but you can be if you wanted to be. And I’d know it was for you. Not to please anyone else, just for you—which is the best kind of change to see in someone you love...”

“And here you are,” George said, walking back into the room with and overindulging sense of pride. Or maybe it was just joy.

Matty had stopped reading but was still staring at his phone. He turned to look up at George with a start, blinking and trying to match the smile George was giving him.

“You sure you’re alright?” George asked again.

“Everything’s fine. It’s perfect. Thank you,” Matty said. He tucked his phone back in between the seat cushions.

Matty changed his position on the sofa and placed both feet on the coffee table. He took the mug from George with one hand and invited him to sit beside him with the other. As he sat down, George pulled the blanket to rest over his own legs. Matty placed his arm around George’s shoulders, resting his hand in George’s hair. He’d cut it for George the day before and slowly ran his fingers through his short hair, checking for an uneven shave.

“They mentioned you in the profile, like we’d asked,” Matty said quietly, kissing the top of George’s head—hair length even all the way across the top of his head.

“Yeah? Am I saying anything good?”

“Of course, it’s got just about everything you said.”

“In a profile about you?” George laughed, leaning his head back to rest against Matty’s arm. “Why would they have so much of me? It’s not like they didn’t have a lot of material to work with…”

Matty rolled his eyes but kept to himself the quiet wonder if George really thought his presence—his answers, his reflections, or even his portion of the conversation happening when Matty wasn’t even there—didn’t fit in with something written about Matty? Even to the interviewer, after a brief few hours and no real prior discussion, it was inherent. It was obvious. There was no separation.

George was, and always had been, a part of Matty’s home. His feeling of it, his understanding of, his need to return to it. Although, the wonderful thing was Matty never felt that he ever really left it, never really felt homesick. He’d only ever registered the feeling of missing someone. Of reaching for someone just in another bunk. Of loving someone so much he could feel at ease, at home, surrounded by the same two arms rather than any four walls.

#gatty #gatty fics #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #andfacedown fics #oh I did it I actually posted it :)))

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thefluffychipmunk · 2 years ago

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Fruity Four Advent Day 5 - I Want to Grow Old With You

Fruity Four Advent Calendar day 5 - In the future, the holidays of ‘22. Just a short little ficlet today. Barely a thing. I was initially going to write this an AU where Steve avoids an office Christmas party and Eddie works tech support and has to fix his computer, with very heavy, very excessive flirting. After yesterday’s beast of a story, though, I needed something a little shorter, a little sweeter, a little easier (if you need clarification on any of the terms or language, send an ask and I’ll add them). So here we are. Chanukah 2022/5783

-------------------------------------------------------

Eddie pulled into the driveway, slowly, avoiding the ice patch he still hadn't bothered to put litter on. His house was mostly dark, a soft glow coming from the kitchen in the back but otherwise devoid of the multicolored light every other house seemed to have.

He cracked his back as he got out of the car and grabbed the two bags of Chinese food. It was Christmas. It was their annual tradition, a tradition shared by Jews the whole country over. They’d been to the movies at lunch. They had to have Chinese food at dinner.

It was also the last night of Chanukah. He could smell the oil from outside. Steve was making latkes. He wasn’t sure how well that was going to match with lo mein and fried rice but oh well. If Steve wanted latkes, they would have latkes. Especially if he was the one to make them.

Eddie kicked his boots off in the mudroom and hung up his coat. His gloves and scarf were dropped haphazardly by the washing machine. He left the bags of food on the dining room table and made his way into the hot kitchen.

"I like when Chanukah falls during Christmas break. It's the only time I can do stuff like this before sunset." Steve said, slapping his hand away from the draining tray. There was already a huge pile of latkes, more than the two of them should ever eat in one sitting.

"You could retire." Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve's waist, careful of the hot stove, and rested his chin on his shoulder.

"I'm only 55. I can't afford it yet." Steve dropped the last little latkes into the pan, slowly, so Eddie could move with him and not have to let go.

"You've got your inheritance just sitting there, sweetheart. We could live off my salary plus that." He felt Steve frown, felt his shoulders tense and his back go rigid.

"I'm not living off my father's money ever again, not if I can help it. I can teach for another five or ten years." Eddie didn't push it. He knew better.

“Besides,” Steve continued, “your book sales are good enough. You could retire and just be an author.” Eddie squeezed Steve’s belly in mock shock.

“And abandon my little lost sheepies in their time of need? We haven’t even cast the spring musical yet! I could never.” Steve chuckled as he flipped the latkes. They’d had this conversation so many times. They would probably continue to have it every year as teaching got more and more difficult.

He dropped a gentle kiss to Steve's neck and pulled away. He could at least plate the food and get the chanukiahs ready.

He was placing the last of the candles in his own, having gotten Steve set up first, when Steve came in with the plate of latkes. They didn’t usually light in the dining room. There was a table in the living room window, the big picture one facing the street, set up specifically for the purpose of lighting the chanukiahs every year. But they didn’t use it this year. They didn’t feel like they could. Things were getting pretty bad again, worse than he could remember in a long time, and it just wasn’t safe. He wasn’t going to hide his Jewishness, but he wasn’t going to flaunt it either.

Eddie lit the match and then each shamash. They lit the candles and sang the blessings together. Steve’s singing voice had surprised him, early on, when Steve was still learning how to be Jewish. They’d been together for years at that point but he’d never heard it, never even caught Steve so much as singing in the shower or along with the radio. But he had a good voice, a strong voice, and Eddie was able to harmonize with it easily. He loved to hear it now.

“Happy Chanukah, Love.” Steve raised his chopsticks to Eddie. Eddie raised his back in return.

“Chag sameach, Ahuvi.”

He’d spent thirty five years of holidays with the love of his life. He could only hope to have thirty five more.

#strangerthingsfestivefun #steddie #stranger things #fic

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umichenginabroad · 6 months ago

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Blog Post 2: Settling In (Week 2)

Bonjour! This is Andrew, a rising sophomore here at the UofM. As you’ve probably already guessed, either from the start or because you read my other post (thank you if that’s the case), I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to come to Paris for a one-and-a-half month study abroad experience, and I’m here to tell you all about it. In this post I’ll be talking about the housing and transportation situations in Paris. Also, as a casual will-take-photos-of-anything photographer, I’ll be putting random photos I took that don’t seem to have any relationship with the content in random places in the post, so I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Housing

Sweet. We made it safely to Paris! Now, the fun starts. That being said, the first thing that came to my mind is the worry that I’ll end up living in a dumpster because somehow I messed up my housing application. After making sure that that wasn’t the case, I began looking forward to seeing what was offered in our room. Questions like “would there be a kitchen?” or “would I have to share a bed with my roommate? (Elliot, we’re chill, but maybe not that chill lol)” were the first to pop up, followed by weirder questions like “will we have cockroaches crawling over us in our sleep?” or “what happens if I blow up a socket? (yes I actually almost did)”, as we slowly made our way on an airport cab sent by CEA CAPA to where we would be spending our next month living.

Random Photo 1: Eiffel Tower

Arriving at my room, I immediately noticed something. “There’s no body wash or shampoo (skull emoji)” But after exploring the room a bit, I noticed that it is actually, surprisingly, equipped with basically everything you’d need to survive if you were to be trapped inside by a zombie apocalypse or something. Some important things that came with the room include the beds, the floor, a toilet, a shower. Ok just joking, duh. The room did come with, along with all the essentials, a fridge with a small freezer, two stoves, a microwave, and plenty of dishes, even wine glasses for those alcohol enthusiasts out there. It definitely wasn’t the most decorated place, but hey. You didn’t come out here to sit in your room watching anime. Good living place, check.

Random Photo 2: Louvre Museum

For my trip specifically, I was assigned to the most basic housing option, with other options such as actual apartments or homestays available for extra charge or accommodation. My apartment was “les Etudines”, and it was about an 8 minute walk away from the nearest metro station, which takes me directly to the stop nearest to the school. There’s also a couple bus stops within 50 meters of the studio, so if a bus goes somewhere you want to go, that’s always an option. And hey, it’s Paris, anywhere is technically walkable. Access to transportation, check.

Random Photo 3: l'Arc de Triomphe

One last thing to mention about housing is probably just what comes with the studio in terms of other facilities. To be brutally honest, there really isn’t anything else, which kinda sucks. There is a “gym” on the first floor, but last time we checked there was like one treadmill and one bike-thingy, and that’s about it. A lot of people chose to pay 18 euros a month to go to this other gym three blocks away, and I think that just about speaks volumes about how bad this one was. There’s also two elevators along with stairs for vertical transportation, but one of them had a bad puke in them for like three days so that was funny. Not representative of the overall condition of the elevators though, they were pretty nice. And then there are the laundry machines. Boy oh boy do these things like money. 4 euros for washing and another 3.5 euros for drying. Holy guacamole. The washer had about half the capacity of those in Michigan dorms, shoutout to those, and you can eat a meal for the money you pay for washing clothes. Yeah my jeans are going on my legs four times before they get washed. But they are there, for those that are concerned about needing to hand wash clothes, which, at this point, is a considerable option for me. Facilities…check? Honestly those aren’t necessities, so I don’t necessarily treat them like a negative to the place, just wanted to mention them so you don’t end up bringing your own dumbbells.

Random Photo 4: Château de Chantilly

Transportation

If you’re anything like me, or maybe 95% of the group of people studying in Paris here with me, you’d be scrambling in search of places to go once those stupid classes (which are the main reason we’re here studying abroad) end. Before talking about that, which I’m probably going to do in another post just because there’s almost too much stuff to go over, I thought it’d be a good idea to talk about how exactly you can get places not on foot. Hopefully walking isn’t something that I need to talk about here. Anyways, for the first week, my friends and I have gone to a lot of places, including La Tour Eiffel, Le Louvre, L’arc de Triomph. and Le Château de Chantilly. Some of these places are closer than others, but most of them are best accessed through metro, bus, or train. These three modes of transportation are going to be what I’ll be talking about just because they’ll take you almost anywhere you need to go.

Random Photo 5: A Random Street

We gotta start things off with the metro system. Obviously this part is specifically for Paris, but I’m sure a lot of it can apply to other places that have metro systems. The metro system in Paris is #amazing. You might pass out the first time you see the metro map, which I’ll link here, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll be zooming across Paris effortlessly. It also helps that almost anywhere you go in Paris, there’s guaranteed to be a metro station at most 10 minutes a walk from where you are. To take the metro, you either have to buy tickets every time (definitely not recommended, especially if you’re going to be studying there for a month and a half), or buy a pass, which can either be weekly or monthly. The passes also vary in price based on what zones you want it to cover. Here I’m just going to steal a whole line from this website because I think it explains it pretty well: There are in total 5 travel zones divided into 16 metro lines (numbered 1 to 14 and 2 lines called 3bis and 7bis), 5 RER- regional train systems (lettered A to E), and tram lines (named T1 to T13). Paris city center covers zone 1 and 2. Disneyland Paris and Charles de Gaulle Airport (CDG) are in zone 5 while Orly Airport and Versailles are in zone 4. (Please don’t report me for plagiarism…) But yeah, that basically covers most of what you should know in terms of how the metro system is operated. One thing to note is that the monthly pass doesn’t start when you start using it, but at the beginning of the month, and weekly passes start every Friday. So don’t go buying a monthly pass on the 30th thinking you’ll be able to use it for 30 days.

Random Photo 6: Man Playing Interesting Instrument

The buses in Paris are also live-savers sometimes. Although I did say that metro stations are almost always right next to you, it’s not always the best plan to walk underground and take the metro for two stops to some other place that is still a 5 minute walk away from where you want to go. The buses in Paris have been, as of now, very reliable and even enjoyable I would say. They are almost always very clean, and there have been bus stops right next to places we commonly go, which makes commuting just so much easier if you’re willing to give it a try. I have had many friends tell me that they have yet to try buses out a week into the program due to the fear of having it take you in the middle of nowhere, and I get where they’re coming from. But I think if the place you’re going has this service and they use THE SAME CARD as the metro, you might as well give it a shot. So for me, buses in Paris are really nice and, as long as you pay attention to where you’re going, I think it’s very likely you’ll be saving some precious time for yourself to do some other random stuff you have planned.

Random Photo 7: A Pretty Building

Next thing I want to talk about are the trains, specifically Eurail/Interrail. I’m literally writing this part of the blog while on a Eurail train, and I’m telling you this thing is very irritating. Eurail or Interrail will be your main method of transportation to faraway places such as Monaco or the UK, and there are so many things that my friends and I got screwed over by. First of all, in order to save some money buying a pass, we had to go on the website and pay what honestly already seems like a ridiculous amount of money (226 Euros for 4 travel days???) for the pass, which, for the 4 day pass, only lasts you a month. Next, we had to book the “actual seats”, which will set you back another 12~36 euros depending on the train. This process was separate from the pass, and required us to pay more money to secure a seat. Also, we couldn’t just be like “oh well I’ll just stand”, you need a ticket. FINALLY, apart from having to print the ticket, we had to download the Eurail Planning App, register/activate your month pass, plan a trip in the app, use a travel day for that day, and obtain a QR code that you are to show to the on-board personnel along with your ticket. Oh also, forgot to mention, you have to do all this before you board, even though you can board with your ticket, which (clears throat aggressively) I believe proves that you went through all the necessary nonsense to legally board. My friend and I only planned our trips on the app after being informed by the personnel (who didn’t speak english), and were charged 50 euros for the “mistake”. The train eventually got us to Nice, which was our destination, but I found the process of proving my eligibility as a passenger so absurdly complicated that I don’t think it was an enjoyable trip at all.

Random Photo 8: F1 In Monaco!!!!!!!

Apart from Eurail/Interrail, Paris also has train systems called RERs (Réseau Express Régional, or Regional Express Network), which serves to connect Paris and its surrounding suburbs. My friends and I took the RER line D to Le Château de Chantilly, had a blast there, and came back the same way we went there. No hassle, boarding was easy and quick, and as long as you got off at the right place at the right time, you should be good to go and enjoy the rest of your trip. No app required, no extra charge for not registering a trip, nothing. If you couldn’t already tell, I’m going about an unnecessarily rant about something that I should have paid more attention to myself, all while making comparisons between the security measures of international transportation and short-distance train rides. Still, if any of you end up in Europe and want to go from country 1 to country 2 via Eurail, beware. You have been warned.

Anyways, that about concludes this blog. Thanks to those of you who actually came and read this monstrosity of a post!

Hsien-Cheng Chou (Andrew Chou)

Mechanical Engineering

Engineering in Paris

#UmichEnginAbroad #IPEParis #AndrewChou #IPESummer24 #France

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casspurrjoybell-26 · 7 months ago

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Too Old For This - Chapter 3 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Leroy wasn't sure why he had agreed to go into the man's house.

He barely even remembered his name.

He was sure it was Zachary or something to that extent.

The man looked just as shocked, himself.

Those deep hazel eyes opened wide as a small.

"Oh, okay, then," left the man's lips.

"The house is a bit of a mess, so don't mind that," he said, turning his chair before opening the door.

Leroy realized that it was open for him and hurried up the porch stairs before walking past the man who rolled his wheel-chair right behind him.

The first thing he noticed was how 'hollow' the place seemed... empty and only littered with the bare necessities.

There wasn't a dining table in the living room, only two bar stools by the kitchen island.

The living room had one sofa and a television that was fixed on the wall.

Leroy wasn't sure what he'd expected the inside of the bungalow to look like but certainly, it was not like this.

The state of the lawn has given him the impression that the man would be messy or a hoarder of some sort.

Well, he guessed one couldn't move a wheelchair around properly if the place was cluttered to hell and back.

"They are in the basement," Zachary said, making Leroy look over at him.

He raised a brow in confusion as he saw the man stand up and push his wheelchair to the side.

'I thought you were disabled,' the words lingered on Leroy's tongue but he kept that to himself.

It seemed the man noticed that he was staring intently at him because he fidgeted and held on to the edge of the kitchen island.

"I can walk. I just have a lot of pain with it," the man said, giving Leroy an awkward smile.

"Arthritis?"

"No, fibromyalgia."

Well, that was one of his diagnoses but Zachary almost felt ashamed to start listing off a series of illnesses that bounced off each other to put him in the amount of pain he was in because when he started, he often saw the doubt build up in people's eyes and when that happened, he felt pressure to over share and over-explain.

He didn't want to do that today or any day for that matter.

"Ah, I see," Leroy said, feeling slightly uncomfortable that he'd stared so much to prompt the explanation.

"You can follow me, it's down the hallway," the man said, walking past Leroy.

The younger man spotted a limp in the man's walk and he felt bad for being suspicious again.

Regardless, he couldn't help feeling like he had maybe walked into a trap.

If Zachary was a serial killer pulling at his empathy strings... Leroy wasn't saying he was but if he was this would be the perfect setup.

He could see it now, with true crime hosting his story... a man killed in a basement on the promise of cat cuddles.

He smiled a little at his own invention and followed the man... Zachary?

He should probably ask before it got awkward or ask his name again.

When they got to the stairs Zachary walked down and Leroy followed and at the end of the stairs.

Zachary turned on the light and there they were, three cats lodged between different locations.

One at the fat end under a mattress, one on top of a cupboard and another hiding under a washing machine.

Zachary made a noise with his tongue and the cats scrambled to their feet, leaving their hiding stops to walk toward the two men.

All three of the cats rubbed against Zachary's legs before staring up inquisitively at Leroy.

Leroy bent down into a squat, reaching out his hand to brush the fur of a cute white one with a black patch on its back.

"You don't have to worry about them. They have all their shots and they're spayed," Zachary said, taking a stop on the stairway.

"I've tried to do the same for the other cats that haven't come in yet but I might be missing one or two."

Zachary nodded as he hummed.

"Yeah, it makes it safer for everyone since we can't adopt all of them and honestly, not all cats want to be indoors. I usually have my sister take them. I can't drive so it's a hassle to hop in an Uber and take them myself."

Leroy wondered about the driver's license thing a bit too long.

If the man could walk, he could probably drive, right?

Or maybe it was too painful or not safe for some other reason?

Or maybe he didn't just like it.

For all that he knew, he could be like himself, who had had one accident and decided never to get behind a steering wheel again.

So instead, Leroy just muttered 'I see' before picking up a cat and sitting on a stair just below Zachary.

"I'm sorry but what's your name again?" Leroy said, feeling he should get it out of the way.

"Zachary?"

The man smiled, nodding his head.

"Yeah, that's it and yours is Leroy, right?"

Leroy nodded.

"I'm sorry. I'm just super bad with names, so I thought I should make sure."

"It's okay."

"I took today off so I thought I should stop by," the younger man mumbled and Zachary squinted into the distance before he remembered it was a Friday.

The days bleed into each for the most part and there wasn't use in keeping track since he didn't work or go to school.

Every day was just another day of sitting in bed and staring into space.

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sugar-petals · 3 years ago

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can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house.

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like.

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine.

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship.

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like.

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that.

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same.

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket.

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching.

#yoongi #yoongi hc #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts hc #yoongi scenario

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nctsworld · 4 years ago

Text

the yuletide boyfriend

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ your one wish this year is to not be single during the holidays. yangyang, as your best friend, takes it upon himself to be your temporary boyfriend. soon enough, both parties begin to wish this new arrangement could last beyond the holidays. // part of the x-mas in ncity collection WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ implied ‌anxiety attack (during the first part of dec 24th – skip if need to), smut, mutual m*sturbation, couch s*x, angst, miscommunication, swearing RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ mature TAGLIST ⇾ @infnteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ this is my longest fic to date and also... might be my worst b/c i feel like the angst plot points don’t really make sense... but i hope y’all still enjoy!!!

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t share or repost without credit!

NOVEMBER 30th

“So, anything special on your wishlist this year?”

Your best friend, Yangyang, asks you as you two sit next to each other on one of the many plush lounge couches in the Psychology building. It’s the usual lunch spot where you meet with him during your break between lectures.

The Psych building held much sentimental value for both of you because you met in Psych 101 during first year. Fast-forward three years later, neither of you expected to be the close friends that you are today.

Chewing your sandwich, you ponder on his question for a bit. Through the transparent glass walls leading to outside, you see the trickle of students heading towards the building since class is about to start for the noon round of lectures. A couple, you assume by the tight hand-holding and nose kissing, giggles as they enter the building, glued to one another by the hip.

“Not really.” You drop your head downward to your lunch container, smiling to yourself. “I’m honestly just happy to have Mark in my life, especially at this point in the year.”

Yangyang nods in accordance and smiles too, understanding the story behind your sentiment.

The boyfriends you’ve had since first year have always broken up with you before the holidays, right before the end of November. Since you only became close during second year, Yangyang’s been around for two out of three of your cursed holiday break-ups.

To have Mark, your latest boyfriend, be with you and it being already December tomorrow, it was truly a blessing for you and a silver lining that maybe this was the year to break the curse. Yangyang was grateful too, wanting you to have the utmost happiness.

You take another bite of your sandwich and tilt your chin toward the ramen eater.

“You?”

Yangyang slurps a few more noodles before he answers.

“I mean, the new Playstation would be nice,” he hums, mouth full.

Pointing the tip of your sandwich, you joke, “I’ll get it for you, but only if we share custody over it.”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head during a mid-slurp. “You know I can’t promise that.”

Both of you laugh in unison, living in the calm before the oncoming storm.

DECEMBER 5th

The E-Sports club for the university is hosting a party tonight and because Yangyang’s on one of the professional teams, he asked a few weeks ago if you and Mark wanted to attend. Of course you accepted; Mark also had some friends in the club.

However, when you text Yangyang in the afternoon, stating a change of mind, he knows something’s off.

Half an hour before the party starts, Yangyang decides to visit you. Thankfully you both lived on campus, but even if you lived across town, he’d still bus out to see how you were doing. He does it all the time to visit his family, anyway.

In the living room, the two sudden knocks at your door startle you. Peering through the peephole, you see the usual sight of your best friend, his lips curled upward and thumbs tucked in his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

It feels like an eternity for him when you unlock your door. The hinges squeal as you open it hesitatingly, your face barely appearing through the agape crack.

Immediately, his smile dissolves. Your face is drained and blood-shot eyes avoiding his own confront him.

Yangyang has only seen you cry twice in the three years he’s known you:

Once, when you were freaking the fuck out over potentially failing a course (but, on the upside, you ended up passing the final to save your grade).

The second time was at his house for a family dinner, when his mom accidentally added too much hot chili sauce to her homemade beef noodle soup (let’s just say you weren’t the only one crying that night).

Those were tears of dread and physical discomfort.

But this… this was crying he’s never seen from you before. His chest collapses inward, fearful of the reason behind your tears.

His voice shakes as he asks, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Neither of you are major huggers and only exchange them on the rare occasion.

However, this situation screams the necessity of it, so Yangyang lunges towards you, the collision swinging the door out of the way. His arms embrace you like a large, warm blanket. Comforting and safe.

Despite the affection, emptiness has taken over your body. Tonight, you’re a dead, empty shell of who you normally are.

You feel weak to the bone, but you muster up enough energy to scarcely raise your arms over his back to return the hug. Your eyes are dry from all the crying you’ve done all day, but apparently you have more tears left in you to spare.

Your eyelids snap shut and your jaw clenches.

“Mark broke up with me.”

Your words are muffled into his shoulder, but Yangyang hears it crystal clear.

You break down, sobbing out of control over the statement.

As aforementioned, Yangyang’s been around for your last two, now three, break-ups. Sure, he’s aware of how grumpy and distant you can get, but you never cried in front of him. You made an effort to never have him see you at your lowest point.

And yet, here you are, drowning him in your misery. Guilt washes over you for drenching his bomber jacket, but Yangyang couldn’t give two shits. His arms squeeze tighter while he rubs your back tenderly.

After several minutes pass and your waterworks abate, you peel away from him. You sniffle and rub your nose with the back of your hand.

“Sorry about cancelling last minute.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” he whispers soothingly.

“I’m just… so fucking frustrated.”

With fatigued eyes, you drag yourself back inside your apartment. Yangyang discreetly closes the door behind him and hurriedly uses his feet to push off his shoes. As he does so, your mouth begins to run off while you slowly pace around aimlessly.

“Fucking done with boyfriends, especially when they think it’s so fucking awesome to keep breaking up with me right before the holidays.”

He kicks off his last stubborn shoe and catches you raking your hands through your hair, pulling it back firmly. Your lips are trembling, along with your entire frame.

“Like I get that I’m horrible and needy and emotional—”

His mouth opens, wanting to cut in to disagree with you with all his heart, but he clamps it back shut and swallows, allowing you to blow your steam off.

“—but can’t they wait until the fucking new year? I don’t know, or maybe just don’t date me in the first place! I don’t know, I don’t fucking know anymore. I’m just cursed, Yangyang...”

You flop down onto the couch and sink into the ocean of shiny pleather, shutting your eyes and trying to stop crying for the nth time. The deep sting behind your eyelids pain you, but it pains Yangyang more to watch the events unfolding ahead of him.

Unsure of what to say, Yangyang walks around the room. His gaze falls on your laptop screen and he frowns at the mostly bare Word document that stares back at him:

“WISHLIST: -KEEP ONE (1) FUCKING BOYFRIEND DURING THE CHRISTMAS SEASON!!!!!!!! GOD FUCKING SDKMFLDS”

There are a few more lines below it with more profanities and keyboard smashing. He quickly darts away, a pang of guilt striking for invading your privacy.

Then, he turns to you on the couch again. You’re now covering your eyes with your forearm, pressing your lips together. His chest twists and his throat is arid as a desert.

You’re in shambles and he’s dying to pick up the shattered pieces of you, wants to glue you back together. On a regular basis, Yangyang’s a talking machine and can talk your ear off for hours, but right now, he doesn’t know what to say to you in your current state. He second-guesses himself, wonders if he’s even that great of a friend if he can’t comfort you in your worst times.

Blowing out a long sigh and removing your arm, you speak aloud, “You should get going to the party.”

Like awakening from a deep slumber, you rise up sluggishly and sit up on the couch, slouched over. The other figure in the room steps closer to you.

“Sorry about your jacket, by the way,” you say. Your body is still, but your glazed eyes move to the dark spot on the middle of his shoulder. He glances at it and shrugs.

“It’s better like this anyway,” he says with a gentle smile, and the tight knot in his heart softens at the flicker of your own smile, albeit a small one. Unfortunately, it fades in a few seconds. “I don’t want to leave you like this, though.”

You stare at the used, crumpled balls of tissues scattered on the living room table. Some also ended up on the floor. Break-ups are shit and 98% inevitable, but you know you’ll eventually get over it. You always do.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He raises an eyebrow, as if asking, “Are you sure?” The lack of a worded reply causes you to notice the question written on his face.

“Go,” you plead with a feeble laugh. “Have fun for me.”

Both of you head towards your front door again. Crossing your arms, you lean your head against the door frame and attempt a smile for your best friend.

“Thanks again for checking up on me.”

Yangyang nods with a half-smile, half-pout, “Of course.”

You give him a departing wave prior to sealing your door.

Usually, Yangyang would bus from your place to the student union building, where the party is being held. Instead, he zippers up his jacket and stuffs his fists into his pockets, opting to bear the early winter chill to walk his thoughts off. His blazing self-doubt burns at first, but he overcomes it by focusing on ideas to fix your accursed dating rut instead.

Halfway through the walk, a light bulb moment occurs. A plan begins to brew on the surface of his mind and he thinks on it for the rest of the week.

DECEMBER 11th

It’s been almost a week since you last saw Yangyang.

Finals started already, so classes were done for the semester and thus, your lunch meet-ups halted too. On top of that, since you were simultaneously moping and studying, you hadn’t really texted him much, nor had he, besides the occasional check-up text on how studying was going and random memes. Yangyang knew you preferred time alone to heal and he respected that.

He also thought six days was enough time to get yourself back on your feet.

Yangyang’s at your front door once again, but this time with two bowls of his mom’s beef noodle soup in tow.

“Long time, no see,” you greet. Your tone is chipper, but your eyes look heavy, which could be partially from studying, Yangyang thinks. His smile deepens, content that you seem a lot better than the last time he visited.

“Delivery for two,” he raises the bag in his hand.

“And if I told you I already ate dinner?” you playfully retort.

The boyish man shrugs defeatedly, “Then I’ll tell my mom you hate her cooking—”

“You didn’t say it was your mom’s, Yangyang. Oh, my God,” you gasp, half-mockingly. You rush to grab the bags out of his hand and stroll towards your tiny kitchen. “Start off with that next time.”

As you remove the containers from the bag and onto the granite countertop, Yangyang shuts the door and takes his shoes off.

“So, I’m gonna be upfront and say that I may have come here with a proposal.”

“Changed your mind about the shared custody of the Playstation?”

“I’m still considering that one.” Finally in his socks, he slings his backpack off his shoulder and plops it onto the couch along with his jacket. He stands next to you by the counter. “But it’s on the same page as that. Remember that day we were talking about wishlists?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum as you rip off the lid of one of the bowls. Blatant wisps fly upward and you inhale the savoury aroma, followed by a heavenly sigh.

“Last time I was here… I might’ve seen what you wrote on your laptop.”

Your expression immediately changes into full-on cringe. You bring a palm over to your face.

“Oh, God. Let’s not talk about that. That was just weepy, lonely me talking.”

Yangyang pops off the lid for his bowl and steps into your kitchen, rummaging through your drawers for chopsticks. “So you’re telling me you don’t want a boyfriend for Christmas?”

Your hand flies off your face. Eyes widening, you spew, “Do you have a boyfriend in your pocket, ready for me to have?”

In your open hand, he places a pair of chopsticks into it. “Well, actually, I was thinking—”

Sternly, you point the chopsticks at him. “Don’t you dare set me up with your friends.”

He counters and points his at you, “Even better than that.”

With your interest piqued, you slide yourself onto the counter stool and mix the noodles around, anticipating to hear Yangyang’s fantastic plan. Your friend sits on the other stool, facing you. He pauses for a second, taking a deep breath.

“Why don’t I be your boyfriend for the holidays?”

You freeze, and the noodles’ drips above your bowl are deafening to both individuals. Laughing awkwardly, you break your frozen state to drop your chopsticks and turn your head to look at him.

Sputtering, you say, “What?”

Unnerved, his mouth pinches to one side, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have even said anything in the first place. This was stupid, so stupid, but it’s out in the open and Yangyang already dug his grave—he may as well lay in it.

“Well, for one, it’s something on your wishlist that I can easily get,” he pauses mid-sentence, glancing upward in thought. “Well, really, fill? Is that a better way to put it?”

He continues, eyes back on you, “And two, I’m not setting you up with a stranger or someone you wouldn’t be comfortable with. I assume you know me well enough that you’re comfortable around me?”

Yangyang lifts an upturned palm and raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response to his assumption. Petulantly, you shake your head playfully and stick out your tongue at him.

Rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze drops down to the floor for his last point. His voice lowers.

“And, I don’t know, we’d just hang out like we usually do during that time, except we’d do more couple-y things.”

Realizing the implication of his words, he widens his eyes. “I mean, we'll do whatever you’re comfortable with, obviously. We don’t have to do any of the physical stuff—”

You burst into a giggle at his rambling and hold a hand out, cutting him off. “Okay, Yang. I get it.”

Yangyang watches your next moves carefully. You’re peering off to one side and picking at the tips of your fingers. After a minute that feels like forever, you nod slowly.

“I guess you have a point. We are sorta like a couple already.”

Your best friend sighs in relief, grinning that you’re not outright rejecting the idea.

“So,” you meet his eyes and bunch a shoulder up towards your ear. “We’ll just be a couple until what, New Year’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs indifferently. “Whatever you want. It’s your Christmas wish.”

You chuckle and shake your head in disbelief that you two are actually making an agreement for Yangyang to be your temporary, holiday boyfriend.

Honestly, it’s a little crazy... but maybe it’s the perfect thing to get your mind off of Mark and the handful of holiday exes hanging above your head.

“Okay, since my last final is on the 21st, let’s start ‘dating’ then and we’ll play everything by ear, see how it goes.”

Yangyang bobs his head eagerly. “Sounds good, soon-to-be girlfriend.”

He sticks a hand out for you to shake. You take it firmly, sealing the deal and flashing him a grin.

“Soon-to-be boyfriend.”

Although the night goes on like usual between the two of you, you couldn’t deny how ecstatic you are to finally have a boyfriend during the holidays, even if it was technically your best friend as a stand-in.

DECEMBER 21st

Tonight’s your first date with Yangyang.

That sounds weird to say, you admit to yourself, but it’s the truth.

After you stroll out of your last final of the semester, Yangyang’s waiting for you inside near the main exit of the building with several layers on, including his hoodie over his head and a knitted scarf underneath. His attention leaves his phone and he stuffs it into pocket as he notices you heading over.

“Hey, girlfriend,” he welcomes you, beaming.

You snicker at the unfamiliar label. You wonder if you’re going to get used to this, even if it’s only for two weeks.

“Hey, boyfriend,” you grin harder as the word falls from your lips, trying your best not to outright burst into laughter. “Where we heading off to?”

Although you said both of you could play the dating by ear, Yangyang’s been keen on scheduling plans for the upcoming days. You told him he didn’t have to, however, he insisted by saying that he wouldn’t only be a horrible boyfriend, but a horrible friend if he couldn’t make the next weeks fun for you.

Yangyang was anything but a horrible friend, and the fact that he was willing to be your holiday boyfriend to make you happy proved it further. Nevertheless, you gladly let him take the reins.

“I was thinking the movies tonight? See the latest Marvel film?”

Concurring to the idea, you scurry towards the bus stop and are movie-theatre bound to the nearest one off-campus. Arriving at the theatre, Yangyang and you buy your tickets and a popcorn to share, then head into the respective auditorium where the movie is playing. Since the movie’s been running for a couple of weeks, the auditorium is fairly empty, giving you two the chance to snag perfect middle seats with nobody else is in the row.

Up to this point, aside from the name-dropping of boyfriend and girlfriend, this feels less like a date and more like any other hang-out with him. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing awkward.

But that changes during a third of the movie.

You’re both so immersed by the screen that neither party notices the other’s hand when both of you reach for the popcorn in Yangyang’s lap at the same time.

A jolt runs through as your hands brush together. The duo’s eyes tear away from the screen and flit to the action happening in real-time. The touch lingers for several moments.

“Sorry,” you quickly mumble, drawing your hand back slightly, but still hovering over the popcorn.

“Uhm,” Yangyang licks his lips and visibly gulps under the screen’s bright glare.

He whispers, his voice almost cracking, “As your boyfriend, can I hold your hand?”

Okay, this is just your best friend, acting as your temporary boyfriend, asking to hold your hand. No big deal, no big deal at all.

Yet, the thunderous knocking in your ears, louder than the explosions blasting through the theatre’s speakers, suggests otherwise.

You don’t even register it, but you’re already nodding in response. Your breathing slows to the rate of Yangyang’s hand inching over. At the anticipated contact, you gasp softly. His smooth fingers clasp over yours. Since the arm rest in the middle of you is positioned upward, there’s no obtrusion and you relax, letting your hands mingle in between the empty space.

Without looking at one another, both of you smile bashfully to yourselves as you try to continue to focus on the screen.

After a while, because you aren’t exactly holding hands, you spread your fingers, hastily doing so because you don’t want him to think you’re breaking the interaction, and twist your palm to properly interlock hands with him. You give Yangyang’s hand a warm, gentle squeeze. He does the same and even strokes his thumb against your skin.

Talk about playing everything by ear. Who knew you’d be hand in hand on the first date?

You attempt to not think much on it, but Yangyang’s hand in yours feels... so right, like your hand was made for this, for his to hold. Like you should’ve done this way sooner.

And if Yangyang’s thoughts could be heard, he’s thinking the same.

Despite the mutual fear of sweaty palms, neither of you desire to let go, so much that you not only hold hands during the rest of the movie, but throughout the bus ride back to campus and all the way until he escorts you to your front door.

With a certain charge in the atmosphere, you exchange sweet good-byes. That night, after the culmination of stress from finals and your worries of your holiday exes, you finally have a peaceful sleep, looking forward to your date with Yangyang tomorrow.

DECEMBER 22nd

“Babe, how do I look?”

“Very pretty, honey.” A bundled up Yangyang winks at you from behind his phone.

The second date is an evening at a Christmas light festival at a botanical garden on the outskirts of town. The lights illuminate so strongly; there was a glowing dome-like hue over the location that seemed to reach the dark sky as you got off the bus.

When stepping foot into the garden, all the encompassing lights mesmerize you. Lights on the various greenery, lights as decorative art pieces, lights lining the pathways. Different shades of colours and shapes engulf the massive area.

Yangyang’s currently in the middle of taking your photo near an arch tangled with dark blue, gold, and white bulbs. All night long, you’ve been mockingly using endearing terms, but, despite the frigid air, your cheeks heat up over something else he just said.

“You think I’m pretty?” you genuinely ask, breaking your pose.

He lowers his phone a bit, his jaw dangling.

“Uh, I mean,” he giggles awkwardly, nodding softly. “Yeah.”

Yangyang never told you, but he initially sat near you in Psych 101 because he thought you were the most stunning girl in the class. And sure, he was a little disappointed at the time to find out you had a boyfriend, but that didn’t mean you two couldn’t still be friends. Other than the first few weeks he had a crush on you, he’s never thought of you as more than a friend.

But those feelings are resurfacing, hitting him in the chest like a bag of bricks, due to moments like this one—you’re batting your eyelids, gaze straying elsewhere, and adorably chewing on your lower lip.

“And you’re not just saying that as my holiday boyfriend?”

Pouting to one side, he shakes his head cutely. “Mm-mm.”

On the flipside, the beginning with Yangyang for you was strictly platonic. You were dating Haechan at the time you met him. When Haechan broke up with you later that fall, you kept a distance from dating for a while, heartbroken from the high school love gone sour. During that period, you never told him, but you did run through the possibility of dating Yangyang since you got along so well... until you met Jaemin earlier the next semester, who stole your heart. Ever since then, you’ve never seen Yangyang under that light again.

Despite that, you can’t deny how attractive he is, and now that you’re single and technically dating him, you embrace the fact with open arms.

Beaming as bright as the lights, you tug him by the end of his puffer jacket’s sleeve to bring him closer to you.

“C’mon, handsome, let’s take some pictures together.” Prickles rise under Yangyang’s cheeks from the off-hand compliment.

Holding your phone up in the air at about an arm’s length away, the side of your heads touch to prepare for a few selfies. When you finish capturing them, Yangyang’s hovering over your shoulder as you scroll through to glance through the photos.

“We look good together,” you comment. “Don’t you think?”

In sync, your heads turn to meet each other. Your eyes waver from the blatant clouds of your breaths and over to his lips. The clouds become rapid bursts as you begin to lean forward. So does Yangyang.

“Do you guys want a picture together?” someone suddenly asks. The abrupt voice drags you both apart instantly, crushing the moment into pieces.

“Sure,” you peep, fumbling to hand your phone over to the stranger.

Posing, Yangyang’s hand rests around the middle of your back, which is the norm when you take pictures with him, but he pulls you in snugly. You smile even wider, relishing in the new-level of intimacy and allow yourself to be truly content among his presence.

“You guys are such a cute couple,” the stranger gushes while they return your phone prior to walking away.

“I guess we are, huh, babe?” you jut your tongue out in jest at him. This time, you indulge in the endearing term without a sliver of mockery.

Yangyang copies you, jutting his tongue out further than yours, and seizes your hand to continue the tour around the gleaming garden.

The almost-kiss isn’t mentioned for the rest of the night, nor is it acted upon, but both individuals dwell on the near occurrence before sleep that evening, staring longingly at their bedroom ceiling.

DECEMBER 23rd

For the third date, you find yourselves at the campus’ dedicated ice rink arena to partake in ice skating.

You’ve skated a few times in the past, but you’re by no means a pro. On the other hand, this is apparently Yangyang’s first time, and he’s already skating circles around you.

“Show off,” you grumble as he does another lap past you. Your gloved hands are splayed out in front of you, careful not to fall flat on your face.

Turning on his blades, he rebounds over to you.

“Sorry,” he pants. His raised cheeks glow an adorable shade of pink. “This is really fun when you get the hang of it.”

Yangyang intertwines his fingers with yours before you can say anything. “C’mon, take my hand.”

At first, it was sweet to skate alongside your holiday boyfriend, notwithstanding the few times you almost trip. As the minutes pass, you think you’re getting the hang of it, but suddenly, Yangyang unleashes your hand and glides ahead of you, abandoning you to slide at a swift pace that is definitely out of your comfort zone.

“Yangyang, what the fuck?!” you screech, completely disregarding the handful of surrounding parents with their kids, the former sending daggers your direction. Your ankles struggle to make a T-shape to stop, but the struggling only somehow makes you move faster.

As he spins to face you, now skating backwards with ease, he says, “See, you got the hang of it-oomph—”

Air’s struck from his lungs when you crash into his body. Thankfully, Yangyang skids his blades harshly against the ice and is able to steady and support you within his arms.

“You little fucker,” you gripe, lightly punching him in the arm.

He chuckles blithely, “Sorry, but it was kinda funny, you gotta admit.”

You breathe a large huff, which makes you note how your hair is falling over your face after the catastrophe. You’re about to lift your hand to rearrange the strands, but Yangyang beats you to it and is in the midst of tucking them behind your ear.

The knocking in your ears reappears with a vengeance and the physical source of the knocking is thrashing violently against your chest.

Your scorching breaths fuse in the refrigerated rink as Yangyang eliminates the inches of space between, his plush mouth ultimately converging with yours.

You have to constantly remind yourself to breathe under Yangyang’s intensity, and remind yourself that you’re in a public space and shouldn’t be making out like this.

But everyone’s skating around the couple, daring to not disrupt the affectionate display.

God, you don’t know when was the last time you’ve been kissed like this. Have you ever even experienced a kiss that was a fraction of this? Yangyang daintily cups your cheeks like you’re glass, but his lips press ruggedly into yours, inflaming your entirety and melting any existence of your figurative fragility.

You ignore the echo in the back of your mind that reminds you he’s your temporary boyfriend.

The Talk will inevitably occur, but your future self could deal with it. Presently, you’re too caught up, drowning in Yangyang’s embrace.

DECEMBER 24th

On Christmas Eve, Yangyang decides to bring you to an outdoor Christmas market.

Understandably, since it’s the day before Christmas, the place is absolutely packed. For the first fifteen minutes or so, it’s joyous being immersed in the Christmas spirit with the assorted little shops and their respective products. You’re holding Yangyang’s hand tightly, pointing and half-shouting over the bustle about the items that catch your eye.

Unfortunately, someone accidentally bumps against your arms and your hand is gone from his.

Swivelling your head, searching through the crowd, it occurs to you that you officially lost Yangyang.

Your feet come to a halt as your hand attempts to dig into your jacket pocket to pluck your phone out, but the moving crowd forces you to constantly follow the stream.

You yell for him, but words can’t materialize. Your windpipe tightens. Your breath is becoming shallower and shallower. Blood pulses in your ears alarmingly, blocking out the clamour from around you. Your mind’s running everywhere without control.

Where is your boyfriend?

No, scratch that, he’s not your actual boyfriend—where is your best friend?

Did he leave you? He would never.

Right?

But what happens when all of this is over? Will you still have your best friend?

You’ve avoided The Talk long enough, but you didn’t expect to catch feelings for him. Not like this.

Maybe you’re just destined to be alone.

Is this how it feels to actually lose him?

Tears fight your vision. You hear a faint call of your name, but you can’t urge yourself to turn around, sinking only further into the sea of anonymity. You’re just a face in a crowd, all alone, with no one who cares—

Yangyang grasps you by the arm and maneuvers you aside to a less busy area behind one of the vendor stands.

“Oh, God, thought I lost you there—”

You cut him off, hugging him with all your might and stuff your face in his chest cushioned by the downy layers of his winter jacket. Yangyang immediately drapes his arms securely around you, reading your uneasiness.

“Hey, I got you. I got you,” he soothes, running a hand through your hair. “God, not my best idea. Sorry for bringing you here.”

You shake your head, wordlessly informing him that it’s okay. You’re just glad to be with him again.

“Wanna go home?”

You nod solemnly, and Yangyang zips you out of there in minutes with his arm tucked by your side, ensuring he doesn’t lose you in the crowd again.

Fortunately, the jitters mostly disappear when you arrive at your place in the late afternoon. You’re in the middle of rummaging through your keys to unlock your door.

“Sorry I didn’t have anything else planned for today,” he mumbles, leaning with folded arms against the wall.

“Did you...” You insert the correct key and turn the lock, clicking the door open. Your gaze lifts to match his. “Did you wanna maybe have dinner with me tonight? I was thinking of ordering pizza in.”

The grin that reaches his eyes is a sufficient answer for you.

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He hangs his arm around your shoulder and plants a kiss atop your head.

After chomping down pizza and playing a few rounds of Super Smash Bros. on Yangyang’s Switch, you peer over to him on your living room couch while he’s figuring out which character he should play next.

The little mental voice in the back of your mind prods you, reminding that you should really, really have The Talk soon. The Talk that you swept under the rug at the start by saying you’d play everything by ear.

Four dates later, and the thought of this ending scares the living daylights out of you. This not only including the interim relationship, but the dire possibility of the friendship itself too. Is it possible to go back to how you were, flipping it off like a light switch?

But the internal voice is smothered as you’re drawn to his pouting lips in thought. His pouting, oh-so kissable lips. Following the ice skating kiss yesterday, you only shared a good-bye kiss when he dropped you off. Since then, you’ve been itching to have his lips on yours again.

Yangyang eventually detects your lack of focus and finds you gawking at his mouth. Your gaze dashes to his eyes, blinking innocently, but then his eyes flicker to your mouth.

The tension in the room snaps. You two carefully throw the Switch controllers off to one side and attach yourselves together. Unlike the crashing of your bodies at the ice rink, this one is purposeful. Deliberated, as his forehead presses into yours and his tender caress carries your cheek. Your body plummets backwards until Yangyang pins you completely into the couch.

Initially, the lip-locking is gentle and mild. Your fingers lay in the vicinity of his angular visage and sturdy upper frame, in contrast to his hand curling around your waist in a light squeeze.

Soon, hands traverse to other regions—his back, your thigh, his stomach, your ass. Each touch seeking, craving, whining. Tongues slinking and dancing with appetite. Your bodies buzz for more.

Open-mouthed kisses transition from the damp lips to each other’s necks. The touches dig deeper, thriving with hunger. Your back bows, body curving into his. Grinding ensues and his robust desire is blatant against your own pulsing passion.

“You don’t happen to have any condoms on you, do you?” you groan upwards to the ceiling.

He retracts from your neck to swing his head side to side, grumbling a “Sorry, we can stop...” yet you interrupt his apology by cupping his covered length. The guttural groan he exhales into your lips makes you shiver with pleasure.

“Doesn’t mean we still can’t have fun with our hands...” you say slyly.

“Fuck yeah,” he rasps, smirking, before diving in again to taste your mouth.

Clothes are stripped with the assistance of each other, leaving you with only your bra on while Yangyang opts to be completely bare. He tops your body in the same position once more.

On the couch arm rest, your head is perched with his hand clutching the space next to it for leverage. Both figures are too scatter-brained to delve into the exquisite nudity of one another, hands flying desperately to your respective arousals.

Your pretty fingers wrap around his possession almost exactly when he dips two digits into your warmth. In unison, two sharp, quiet gasps pierce the room.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he hisses observantly. You’re so overwhelmed by the bliss that you can’t assemble any sort of response.

Your mouth’s parted to one side, chest soaring with each plunge. Through his clouded vision, he ambles over your curves and lines and yearns to see your breasts, but he respects your choice of keeping it on and opts to ambush the expanse with kisses. Your chest is launched further into his mouth and Yangyang assumes you’re enjoying this.

Fearing friction burn, you drop him from your grip momentarily, swiping a few licks over your palm. When your hand pumps him again, now drenched with saliva, grunts reverberate against your skin.

“Yangyang?” you whimper, causing his face to pull away from the temple of your body.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m-I’m close.” And he can attest to it; the contractions around him are increasing, harshly squeezing his fingers.

“Same,” he pants.

Your best friend flicks his wrist with ignition, securing your waves of elation. You attempt to do the same, but it’s difficult when he’s also sloppily thrusting himself into your fist, so you simply clench your grasp harder. His features pinch and choppy moans dribble as he yields to his climax, gushing himself over your stomach.

Still sucking in lungfuls of air, Yangyang kisses you tenderly before removing himself to clean up the mess he made.

Following the clean-up, while putting on your clothes, Yangyang expresses how he should get going since it’s getting late.

“Did you wanna stay the night?” you pipe up.

His mind races, debating on whether to leave or not, anxious to blur the lines of your relationship even further.

Sure, he’s your temporary boyfriend, thus staying over at your place shouldn’t mean anything. But this agreement is ending next week, and he’s questioning if you two can stay just friends after this, knowing that he’s going to want more. Yangyang has had a taste of the what if, and it’s now irrevocable.

He wants you all for himself. Selfishly, but deeply.

For the sake of keeping this a great thing for you, he shoves his thoughts aside. This is all about you and for your benefit, anyhow.

“Uh, sure, I can take the couch like I always—”

“Yangyang, you just put your fingers inside of me,” you snicker, snagging him by the hand to your bedroom. “C’mon.”

The rest of the night is relatively chaste with some kisses and touches here and there. Eventually, you fall asleep facing each other with your fingers interlocked, excited for the big day tomorrow.

DECEMBER 25th

Normally on Christmas, Yangyang and you spend it with your respective families, but coincidentally, both of your families, your parents being retired and all, ended up vacationing this year, leaving the two of you to spend it with each other.

After getting up around noon, Yangyang heads to his place to grab his gift. He takes longer than you expected because, as it turns out, he also went home to grab baking goods he bought beforehand since he wants to make butter cookies with you today.

The cookies end up fine, but the mess is another story. Besides the chaos on the counter, your faces and aprons are splotched with flour (you swear he started it, but he disagrees and stands his ground that you’re the perpetrator). With a damp cloth, Yangyang aids you to clean, but not forgetting to wipe your face and giving you pecks over your cheeks and nose.

The baking and aftermath occupies most of the afternoon, so dinner comes in the form of fancy, romantic instant ramen for two. Afterwards, you two sit in your living room and start to exchange gifts.

Yangyang hands his over to you first. From the size of the gift and the crumpled, oddly-shaped wrapping, you already can guess it’s a stuffed plushie of a cute animal to add to your never ending collection. You hug it tightly with a large smile.

“It’s so cute, thank you!” you squeal, but you change your expression in an instant to a serious pout. “But you can’t steal this one like you did with my Ice Bear plushie.”

“Hey, I didn’t steal Ice Bear, I just forgot to give him back.” You roll your eyes sarcastically and he laughs. “I’ll bring him over tomorrow, if it makes you feel better.”

Then, when it’s your turn, you head into your bedroom and come out with a large, white shopping bag. His eyebrows raise, unsure of what could warrant a gift this size.

“For being my holiday boyfriend,” you grin, placing the bag in front of his feet.

Despite the hugest smile on your face, his heart sinks at the label for a second, but he blinks and wills himself to look inside the bag.

His eyes shoot open, so much that you’re scared you might have to stuff them back into his sockets.

Yangyang slips the box out of the bag with precision and stares at it speechlessly.

It’s the new Playstation.

He shifts his eyes toward you. You’re swaying on the couch, pleased by his reaction.

“Your parents paid for most of it, so I can’t take all the credit.” Sticking a finger in the air, you add, “You just gotta promise to share custody with me though—”

A hand behind your head yanks you into a deep kiss. He’s not the only one left speechless on the couch. He places the top of his head against yours.

“You’re crazy, but I love—” He quickly catches himself from saying something he might regret. “—I love it so much, thank you. Now I feel bad for getting you only the stuffed animal...”

You shake your head softly, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone.

“Thank you for everything.” Your eyes twinkle. “I couldn’t have asked to spend the holidays with anyone else.”

Carefully, like a newborn baby, he safely situates the boxed Playstation to one side and nabs your lips with his again. The scene feels like repeat of last night as your bodies wrestle passionately on the couch.

“Not to be presumptuous,” he mutters between the kisses upon your neck. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation. “But I also grabbed condoms from my place when I stopped by.”

His words sends the two of you leaping towards your bedroom. Under the dim lighting, you fall into the bed as Yangyang pares your layers off, one by one. With each peel, his lips roam the revealing bare skin. You swear he has kissed you from your literal head to toe when you’re fully nude in front of him.

Your companion drags his shirt over his head, throws it off to your floor, and immediately targets in onto your nub with his mouth, finally satiating his craving from last night.

Fingers thread into his hair and over his flexed back. His tongue swirls and his teeth lightly tug on your perkiness, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And he still isn’t even inside you yet.

After leaving love upon your other bosom, Yangyang fumbles with the condom, forgetting which way it should go on. Giggling, you perch yourself onto your elbows and assist him. Rolling it over his possession, you recline yourself back and spread your legs for him.

Pensively, he sticks his tongue out as he adjusts himself between your sex, easing himself into you, and upon the full impact, you meet his gaze head-on. His stare makes you feel vulnerable and exposed beyond the physical plane.

But, unlike the others you have been with, you trust him with everything, like you always have, and be free with him. Losing your inhibitions and submitting to your whims, you entangle and become one with Yangyang.

Behind his hazy vision, Yangyang’s simply thinking how beautiful you are, how he can’t imagine anyone else under his touch but you, how he is willing to give up anything to make you smile.

Well, in this case, he’s willing to give up anything to make you pleased.

However, it doesn’t seem like he needs to do much because you’re howling his name and clinging onto his skin and the sheets in a frenzy, like you’re about to die of exhaustion.

You perish a few times under him before he finally reaches his little death himself, convulsing into the sheath.

When air’s replenished into your bodies, you rest on his chest under your blanket. Glancing up at him, you move some of his tousled hair off his sleek forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Yangyang,” you whisper, snuggling him with a satisfied smile.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he whispers back, giving you one last peck before you both drift into a deep slumber together.

DECEMBER 26th

Last night took so much out of the both of you, you don’t get out of bed until about the middle of the afternoon. Yangyang doesn’t have anything planned for today since it’s Boxing Day, since the crowds might be crazy wherever you go, so it’s officially a chill, rest day for you both.

When you step out of the shower in fresh clothes, from behind the couch, you watch Yangyang gaming on his Switch.

The little voice in your head looms, prompting that now is the time to have The Talk, and speaks up on your behalf.

“Do we have to end things next week?” you croak.

You see Yangyang’s shoulders stiffen, then he pauses the game and turns around to face you. His gaze follows you as you step closer to the couch, opting to stand.

“Uhm.” His Adam’s apple bobs and he shrugs. “It’s up to you, it’s your—”

“Yangyang, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking what you think, how do you feel?”

His lips press together and he’s staring at the floor. You can tell the gears are moving, but you can’t read his expression clearly.

“I’m down for whatever you want to do,” he says slowly, eyes still averting yours.

That’s a I’m-your-best-friend answer, you deduce. Not a I-want-to-be-your-actual-boyfriend answer.

He adds, stuttering, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing this a little longer if that’s what you want—”

Your face scrunches in annoyance. “Did you just sign up to be my short-term boyfriend so you can fill my empty heart?”

His eyebrows crease with confusion. “I mean, I never want to see you unhappy.”

“So it’s pity dating then?” you lash, raising your voice.

“No, I—” Yangyang bites down on his tongue, almost letting the one word slip out again. He blows out a lengthy sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I care about you, so much. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

You’re defining his words as an affirmation of friendship and as an underlying rejection of your love.

You need to know for certain.

“Do you love me, Yangyang?” you blurt. “As more than a friend?”

This is it, Yangyang thinks. This is your chance to let her know how you feel.

But the distress written on your face makes him wonder if he should even go through with it, and it’s intensifying with every passing moment that he’s not speaking.

If only he knew your distress was deepening because you took his hesitance as absolute rejection.

Your heart is breaking because of him, and he technically wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You smack your lips together and gulp a few times, trying to make the huge knot in your throat disappear.

“You know what, maybe let’s just forget this arrangement and leave it all behind and forget about the sex and—”

“You wanna stop this?” he utters quietly.

The word “this” hangs heavy in the air. This, carrying the weight of not only being the temporary agreement, but also your friendship.

“Yeah,” you whisper, tears beginning to blur your eyes. “I think I do.”

DECEMBER 28th

Two days have passed since you last saw Yangyang.

That day before he left, Yangyang, feeling guilty for how events unfolded, wanted to give back the Playstation, but you insisted for him to keep it. In spite of everything, it was a Christmas gift to him from you and his parents.

But both of you weren’t sure if the shared custody promise was going to be held up.

In hopes that things would eventually get better and heal itself, Yangyang thought it’d be best to leave you alone for a while, like how he usually did.

And maybe he was right to do so, but this time is different.

Because he’s on the other end of the stick now; he’s the one who broke your heart.

Under regular circumstances, whenever you needed space, he was always ready to be there by your side.

But Yangyang’s uncertain if you’re going to let him comfort you this time.

And you’re uncertain if you even want him to.

DECEMBER 30th

Today, Yangyang finally makes the move to get in touch with you, texting you to call him, but you don’t, so he leaves a voicemail later in the evening.

“There’s a New Year’s party I’m going to tomorrow,” he starts off, then spews the specific details.

There’s a pause and you hear shuffling in the background. You assume he’s pacing around.

“I know you ended our agreement, but I wouldn’t mind fulfilling my end since New Year’s is the last day tomorrow. I’d be really glad if you came to the party with me, whether it be as my friend or my girlfriend.”

Another pause.

On the other end, Yangyang rubs his palm over his face, considering whether or not he should say it. If you picked up the phone call, he was going to do it anyway, but this just felt improper. He wants to say it when he knows you’re listening in real-time, so he ends off the message with:

“I miss you. So much.”

DECEMBER 31st

It’s 8:40PM. Before Yangyang buses out to the party, he’s back at your front door for one more shot. His fist taps at your door, cognizant that you wouldn’t be elsewhere since your other friends are out of town for the holidays. Despite that, you don’t come to the door. Nevertheless, he speaks to you through the wooden barrier.

“Hey, I know you want to be left alone, but I just wanted to see if you changed your mind about the party.”

Still no answer. He lets out a sigh and prays the following will incite a reaction from you.

“About the question that you asked me that night...”

He closes his eyes and allows his mouth to carry him.

“I do. I do love you. As both my best friend and more. I’m sorry if I hurt you that night by not saying anything, but I love you so much and I think we should give us a shot.”

Still no answer. Yangyang continues.

“Look, I know it’s scary and crazy to date your best friend. I’m scared too, but you know what? I’m okay with being scared. I’ve watched you gone through those assholes over the last few years and maybe you’re scared I’ll end up like one of them, but unlike them, I don’t think you’re horrible or needy or emotional—you’re beautiful, intelligent, and strong for putting up with all those fuckers.”

He leans his forehead gently against the door.

“And even if we ever do break up, and this is a big if because I’ll always try my hardest with you to make it work, I’ll still be your friend. I promise. You won’t lose me ‘cause I need you in my life. I gotta keep my end up for the custody of the Playstation, right?”

A smile breaks over his face from his joke, but still. Radio silence.

“Can you at least say something?” he begs.

After a few minutes, realizing he needs to probably give you more time to be left alone, he departs and heads to the party.

Originally, you actually were planning on attending the party to see Yangyang to make-up with him.

Unfortunately, out of all the days you had to take a late afternoon nap, it had to be today.

And you overslept. Big time.

At 10:55PM, you scramble awake, realizing you’re absolutely late to the event. Since the party’s downtown, you know calling an Uber or Lyft there would be fast, but tonight’s the worst night for any share riding service and there aren’t any available drivers. Thus, you have to manage with busing there.

It’s 11:40PM when you finally reach downtown, but the bus can’t take you all the way to the core centre where the party is; hordes of people are out on the streets and traffic is dreadful. God, you’re going to be cutting it close to midnight, but you make a run for it.

You’re grateful the party is on the second floor of a small building because you slide in right through the entrance at 11:58PM. You rush to call Yangyang’s phone, hoping he’ll pick up as you try to find him in the scattered groups of people.

You begin to holler for him in hopes he can hear you, but the countdown is happening, drowning out your voice. Thirty seconds left until the clock strikes for the new year.

When his number finally goes to voicemail, you redial his number. Suddenly, a hand grasps you by the wrist.

Yangyang looks at you, dumbfounded.

“When did you get here?”

The harmonious chanting around you floods your surroundings.

“Ten, nine, eight...”

Getting closer to him, you practically scream into Yangyang’s face, trusting he’ll hear what you’re about to say.

“I know Christmas is over, but I want to change my wish.”

“Seven, six, five...”

“I know you might not feel the same and I know things might not work out.”

“Four, three, two...”

”But I wish to date you past New Year’s until whenever, however long we last.”

“One...”

“I love you, Yangyang—”

The one you love snatches you by the waist and your cheek, stealing your lips at the last millisecond before midnight.

“Happy New Year!”

A wave of noisemakers, clappers, and hollering erupt around the room. After it dies down a bit, Yangyang shocks you with a scolding.

“Why didn’t you say anything when I came over?!”

Confusion rushes over you. You realize he probably came by when you were sleeping.

“You came over?!”

“Yeah, I confessed my love for you.”

“Wait,” you blink blankly, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Your love?”

“Yeah,” he nods, giving you his cheesy, adorable smile. “I love you.”

“As more than a friend?” you clarify.

“Babe,” Yangyang’s thumb caresses your cheek. “I don’t think I could ever go back to wanting less with you.”

Your lips tremble with relief as your gaze melts in his.

“And, anyway, who else am I going to share the Playstation with?”

“Well, I mean, you do have Hendery, Xiaojun, Winwin...” you start to count his infinite list of friends on your fingers.

“Yeah, but I need you so I can constantly beat your cute little butt at games.”

“You do not constantly beat my cute little butt at games, I’ll have you know that I beat you at—”

Yangyang shuts you up with another kiss, the one of many for the rest of the night.

JANUARY 2nd

It’s your second morning at Yangyang’s place. You’ve only done it a few times now, but you realize that waking up in his arms is one of the greatest feelings in the world, second only to his kisses.

In his bed, spooning you from behind, he grumbles into the nape of your neck, “Morning, girlfriend.”

Half-awake, you mumble back, “Morning, boyfriend,” and sink deeper into the curve of his body.

Content, you finally broke your string of cursed holiday break-ups for good.

And all it took was to be with the one who was in front of you all this time.

2K notes · View notes

libraryofloveletters · 4 years ago

Note

so cute fic request. You are Maddie's OBGYN and at every appointment she insists to set you up with Buck, you deny her and finally one say yes just to be quiet and you meet what a great guy Buck is

The Set Up

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and doctors offices, reader wears makeup, alcohol and the consumption of

Category: Straight Up Fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: here's a lil late v-day present for y’all :)

Part 2: Dispatch: Labour in Progress

----

“How does the baby look ?” Maddie was laid back, her eyes on the monitor. “Perfect, a perfect little baby” you smile at her as you hand her a towel to wipe up the gel.

“How many copies would you like ?” you turn towards the ultrasound machine.

“As many as you'd give me” she laughed, pulling her shirt back down.

“Dad’s working ?” you asked, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, he’s been trying to get off a day to come with me” she sits up, pulling out her phone.

Maddie was one of your favourite patients, she was a sweetheart and always happy, regardless of what was happening, you didn't know how she did it. She began showing you a few pictures of the nursery and two guys who were in the picture. The first guy was Chimney, who was the baby’s father and Maddie’s boyfriend, the two of you had met at a previous appointment and the other guy, who you hadn't meant yet but felt like you had, was her brother Evan or Buck, which is what he went by.

“You know, if you want to just come in one day when he's off work, we can just do a regular check-up just so he can see. It doesn’t have to be anything special for you to come in”

“You’d do that ?”

“Of course I would, between me and you, you’re my favourite patient”

Maddie smiled at you, “so,” she gave you a look, “since I am your favourite patient, would you also go on a date with Buck ?” she asked, you nearly choked on your coffee. Maddie had a habit of trying to set you up with her brother. She did it often but it still caught you off guard each time. You coughed, “Maddie, no.” you laughed, “that would be unprofessional”

“Oh come on, take a risk y/n. Life goes on and one date won't kill you”

“Who said I’m looking ?”

“Please, you are. You can't lie to me” she smiled, you shook your head. “Still a no Maddie” you handed her the copies of the ultrasound. “If you do want to do the ultrasound when he’s home, just give me a call” you smiled at her and she got up. “I will, thank you”

A few weeks later and Maddie was back in your office. “Good afternoon momma,” you were looking at the files as you walked in, pushing the door shut with your foot. Taking a seat on your little spinny chair, you look up when Maddie says good morning back to you.

“Oh Chimney, it’s nice to see you” you smile as you shake the gel bottle.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “it’s good to be here”

You hand him the gel bottle, he looked at you with brows furrowed. “You’re a paramedic, aren't you ? Go ahead” you chuckle as you turn the ultrasound machine on. “How are you feeling ?” you ask, “good actually, thanks for asking” Chim answers you.

“I’m glad to hear that but I was asking Maddie” Chim’s mouth forms an O and he nods, Maddie smiles at him. “I’m good, baby’s good too. Kicking a lot recently. Especially when I drink orange juice” she chuckled.

“And still just the one cup of coffee ?”

“Yeah, he won’t let me have anymore” she groans

“Good, as he should be. You’re lucky I agreed to the one cup Maddie, you know I rather if you didn’t”

“Ugh,” she groaned and rolled her eyes, “not you too”

“I’m your doctor, it's my job to remind you unfortunately”

Maddie sighs and rolls her eyes once again. You get what she meant, you couldn’t be pregnant and not have coffee, pregnancy is exhausting as it is, imagine it without coffee. “you know how to use an ultrasound machine right ?” you look over at Chimney, who was looking rather confused.

”I do, why ?”

“Would you like to do it ?”

“Really ?”

“Yeah, I let the dads have a chance to do it sometime. Makes them feel a little more involved”

“I'd love too”

You hand him the wand and step back, you watch as he rolls it across her belly. It was always sweet when the fathers came to the appointment, even more so when they're involved.

“Y/n?”

“Yes Maddie?”

“Will you go on a date with Buck ?” She smiled sweetly at you, Chim looked at her, half shocked and half confused.

“If I say yes to one date, will you quit bugging me about it ?”

“Of course, just one date is all I’m asking for”

“Does he know you’re setting him up ?”

“Yeah- well no ? but he won't mind. It's part of my job as his sister”

“Maddie, I have siblings as well, you don't see me setting them up”

“Yeah yeah, that’s fine”

Chim turned to you. “everything looks good doc”

“Then we’re all done. Just hit print on the machine and you’ll get the pictures”

Maddie wiped the gel off her stomach. She took a pen from the desk and scribbled a number down before handing the paper to you. “That’s his number, just message him”

“You’re setting me up and I have to message him too ?”

“Oh come on, you’ll be fine. Thank you for this and I'll be expecting details at my next appointment!” She gave you a smile before walking out. Chim looked at you, “I’m sorry I didn't know she was going to do that.” You laughed, “it's okay, she’s not the first person to do that. You should catch up with her though, she walks really fast for a pregnant lady” you chuckle, Chim smiled and walked out to find Maddie. You had some time to kill before your next appointment, you looked down at the paper in your hand.

Do you text or not ? Wouldn't that be creepy ? Like oh hey, I'm your sister’s doctor let's go on a date.

You know what ?

Screw it, what’s the worst that could happen.

To Buck: Hey, I'm y/n. Your sister gave me your number, hope this isn't weird. She's been trying to set me up with you for months, thought we’d hit it off haha

God that was so stupid. Why the hell did you put haha ?

From Buck: Hey, it’s cool. She’s weird like that. What’s up ?

Oh shit, he answered.

To Buck: Just at work, how about you ?

From Buck: Same thing

Wait what do I say now ? Do you ask him out ?

From Buck: Hope this isn't too forward of me or anything like that, but maybe you’d wanna grab a drink tonight ? Only if you’re free

Guess you don't have to ask him now

To Buck: Yeah, that sounds good. Pick a place and let me know ? I’m off at 4 so anytime after that is fine.

From Buck: I’m off at 6, how about 7 at the bar on Main Street ?

To Buck: sounds good, see you then

It was now 3:30 and Maddie was your last patient of the day. There was no harm in leaving now. After putting away your files and replying to a few emails from patients, you headed out. Only one issue you had when you got home was what to wear.

Well so you thought.

Taking a shower was the easy part, trying to do your hair and makeup with only 2 hours left, was a bit of a hassle. First disaster of the night was too much mousse in your hair, making it sticky and tacky. Washing it out, you managed to set it the way you like. The powder compact had fallen onto the floor, you hoped it wasn’t broken, turns out hope isn't enough. The other powder you had was far too light for your complexion right now and you decide against makeup for the night.

Let him meet the bare you, you can wow him next time, if there is a next time.

Deciding on a simple outfit, a white shirt that fit you nicely and a pair of black pants that went along with it. In your head, it seemed boring but in the mirror, it looked much better. Walking into the kitchen, there was a half drunk glass of wine from the night before.

Stale wine or nervous wreak ? Stale wine it is.

You down the wine, spilling some onto your shirt. “Are you kidding-” groaning and turning back to the room, you end up changing your entire outfit. A pair of blue jeans and a black top that fit you in all the right places. One more look in the mirror and a hand through your hair, you headed out the door.

It didn't take you long to arrive at the bar, as you only lived a few minutes off Main Street. You had seen Buck from the countless pictures Maddie had shown you so it didn’t take long to spot in at a table in the corner either.

“Hey” you walked over, a smile on your face. He stood up, “Hi! you must be y/n” he leaned in for a hug, you mirrored his actions. “I am, it’s nice to meet you”

The two of you sat across from each other and there was a bottle of beer in front of you. Buck spoke up when he noticed you noticing the bottle, “I ordered for you, I hope that's alright- you can order something else”

“It’s fine, thank you” you take a sip, not your usual choice in drink but you didn't need to complain either. There was some silence for a while, not uncomfortable but not comfortable either. Anyone that passed by could tell it was a first date, if you could even call it that.

“How do you know Maddie ?” he asks, you smile at him and take a sip of the beer before answering him.

“I’m her OB”

“Her ?” Buck had a confused expression on his face.

“Her doctor, her obstetrician actually”

“Oh for baby Buckley” he nodded.

“Yeah, she's been bugging me about you since we’ve met actually. She’s sweet but she’s persistent” you chuckle and Buck gives you a smile, “that’s my sister”

The night went by rather quickly, the two of you sharing work stories. Buck told you about the time he worked a full moon and they responded to a call at a yoga class only to have 3 women go into labour simultaneously.

“It was the full moon I swear! I tried to tell Bobby but he didn't listen to me!” he said, laughing.

You nodded and laughed too, “no, it’s true. I've had so many full moon babies. I never book off full moons because I know someone is going to go into labour”

“Thank you! Someone gets what I mean!”

You then told him about the time you filled in for your colleague, he told you it was supposed to be a regular birth but turns out it was quadruplets. It was nice to find someone who understood your weird work schedule. The two of you shared stories until the waitress came over to tell you that they’d be closing in a few minutes. It was a little past midnight when she came over, the two of you decided to call it a night and head out together.

“How are you getting home ?” he asked you, you walked with him over to his Jeep that was parked down the street. “I’ll just walk, I don’t live too far from here”

“No” he stated while shaking his head

“No ?” you questioned him, your brows furrowed as you looked at the man in front of you.

“I invited you out, at least let me take you home. It’s late too, it won't be right to let you walk home by yourself”

“Are you sure ? I don't want you to go out of your way”

“Oh no it’s cool, c’mon”

He opened the door for you like the gentlemen he is and then got in after. “Which way my darling ?” he gave you a cheesy smile which made you chuckle. “A left at the next light and the brown building is me” you leaned back in the seat. It was quiet as he drove down the street, you looked over at him and admired him. From the way his hand rested on his wheel to the little smile on his face, even to the birthmark above his eye.

“It's rude to stare”

“Can't help myself, you're pretty”

Oh shit, did you just-

Buck looked over at you, a wicked little smile on his face. “You think I’m pretty ?”

You could feel the blush on your face, “uh- well- um I guess ?”

“I think you more than guess that but whatever you say” he smiled

Buck pulled into the building parking lot, he stopped and his head hit the seat as he leant back. Looking over at you, “let me walk you up ?”

“You’ve already done enough, it's fine”

“It’s fine. Come on” he got out, you mirrored his actions. Buck followed behind you as the two of you made your way up to your apartment. Unlocking the door, you stepped in and he stood by the door.

“Do you want to come in ?” setting your keys on the counter, you look back at the man who was leaning against the doorframe.

“I’d love too but I've got the first shift. Maybe another time ?”

“Yeah, that’s fine” walking back over to him, you stood in front of him. Even with him leaning, he still towered over you.

“I had a nice time tonight” you say, he nods. “I did too. Maybe we can do this again sometime ?”

“I'd like that”

“Okay.” he smiles, “well, good night then y/n”

“Good night Buck” standing on your toes, you go to kiss his cheek but it seems he had the same idea, both of you turning your heads at the same time and your lips were on his. Buck’s hand cupped your face for the few moments your lips were on his. When you pulled away, Buck had a slight red tint on his face, a blush or simply could have been the heat coming from your apartment, either way you were sure you looked the same way.

“How does Saturday sound ? Noon for lunch if you’re free ?” he breaks the silence.

"Saturday sounds perfect”

Buck smiled at you once more, he turned and began walking back to the elevator. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning back once again and walked towards your door. He leaned down and gave you one more kiss. Laughing at the sweetheart that was now smiling at you from the other end of the hallway, you watched as he stepped on the elevator and then shut your door.

Outside of your building was a happy Buck who skipped his way over to his car, his keys twirling on his finger with a big grin on his face. As he got into his car, he sent his sister a text message.

To Maddie: You seem to know me better than I think, thank you.

Upstairs, there was a similar scene, a happy you skipping their way to bed with a smile on their face. As you laid in bed, you too sent a text message to Maddie.

To Maddie: Your match making efforts have worked, thank you.

----

taglist: @mrs-dr-reid @ssa-volturi @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover @venusrosepetal @mikaelson-emma @beth-winchester21

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stopeatingwhales · 3 years ago

Text

"how come we've never spoken before?" x noel gallagher

why haven't I written anything for noel in ages??????? anyways this was so cute I hope u lot like it <33

Pairing: 1990! noel gallagher x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 1.951

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

“You wanna come over tonight?” Liam asked me as we were walking out of the sixth form building. “Our kids coming to pick us up so was wondering if you wanted to come with.”

“Yeah alright.” I nodded, linking my arm with Liam as we walked out of the gates together. Going over to the Gallagher residence wasn’t an uncommon matter, if anything I was over at theirs at least once a week. Since their father had left the environment was always pleasant, his mum always cooking the best, most delicious meals which caused your body to crave it again each and every day until you returned back for dinner once again. As well as that, being able to spend time with Liam was always an enjoyable experience - him being my best friend since first joining the college, we hadn’t been able to separate ourselves from each other since. Of course, we would have different friends, different groups, but we always turned back to each other - something that I adored most about our relationship; we didn’t constantly need to be with one another to consider each other our best friend. Whenever I was over we would relax in his room, talking about practically everything and everything, sometimes smoking a joint by his window to prevent his mum finding out, even though the stench of it would stick to our clothes like glue - giving it away instantaneously.

After exiting the school gates, we walked for a bit until we reached the nearest neighbourhood of houses, where Noel said he would pick Liam up. To waste the time, Liam brought out a spliff from his pocket, placing it between his lips, then lighting it, him failing a couple times to get the lighter to produce a flame. “Give me a hit,” I said, watching Liam as he quickly inhaled the roll of weed, then passing it to me, a wave of smoke hitting my face from Liam’s mouth. “Stop that you twat.”

There was hardly anybody outside, from the look of the area, merely just the occasional car whizzing past us, causing the empyrean of smoke discarded from our throats to diffuse into the atmosphere. It produced a clear contrast against the skies, which had little to no clouds visible at all. Having a clear, sunny day in Manchester wasn’t something ordinary; it was a rarity, but for the past year the weather had been brilliant, though brilliant becomes unlivable when the temperature continues to increase to the thirties, celsius wise. That’s when the nature of constant traffic, crowded streets and lengthy queues at the ice cream machine disperse into their homes - the sun being too strong it becomes a chore to leave the house. Having the world so silent, hushed, brings another kind of tranquillity to the mind. Watching an inanimate street fixated in the same position, as if it were a ghost-town, encompasses that feeling of being the only person present in the world at that moment, which makes you realise that the life you live is not lead to be controlled of dictated by others - it is yours, and it is something in which you hold complete control over.

After a couple minutes of small talk shared between me and Liam, a small car drove past us, stopping promptly as the windows rolled down, indicating that it was Noel. Me and Liam quickly rushed out of the sun that was beaming down at us, to get inside his car; Liam hopping in the passenger seat next to his brother whilst I occupied the middle seat in the back. “Hi Noel.” I said softly, smiling at him through the rear view mirror, our eyes connecting for a short second whilst he greeted me back, then turning to greet Liam before taking off. Mine and Noel’s relationship wasn’t anything special: we spoke here and there, but since he usually was occupied by hanging out with friends, or travelling as a groupie for Inspiral Carpets, we never conversed much. It was a mere relationship formulated from my closeness with Liam, as manners are important - even if Liam shows the opposite. I was quite intrigued by Noel disregarding his conventional absences; he seemed to lead a life which was exciting and alluring, and was a complete contrast against Liam’s persona from what I had noticed. Liam was more into sports, mainly football, and causing havoc wherever he could (me constantly joining him since he knew how to have an absolute good time), whilst Noel seemed completely consumed by music and the wonders of working with bands. Regardless, they shared some idiosyncrasies, one thing in particular definitely being their love for weed.

Once we arrived at the house, we were greeted by Liam’s mum, who welcomed me in lovingly. “Always a pleasure to have you over, Y/N,” she said as I broke away from the embrace we shared to allow me to take off my shoes. “Liam, I'm going to need you to help me in the kitchen today.” she then said to Liam, whose face then dropped in complete annoyance.

“Why?” he moaned in response, sighing at his mum whilst removing his shoes. “Y/N’s literally here!”

“Maybe because you haven’t done the washing up for over a week, Liam,” she responded, turning her gaze to look at me, rolling her eyes at his demeanour. “Y/N’s not going anywhere, it won’t take you a year.”

After we were able to get Liam to do his chores, I told him that I would be waiting upstairs for him, in his and Noel’s room. Once I went inside, I wandered around the medium-sized room, finding my way over to Noel’s side, especially fixated on the stack of records that he had owned, aligned by the table next to the record player. He had all sorts of bands; the Beatles, the Who, the Smiths, Sex Pistols... All the best artists. The more and more I found out about him the interest I had about him increased. He seemed like a cool older brother to have, and share a room with, even though Liam sees boys in bands quite odd - which is humorous, since he’s practically an entity of his own. Proceeding to pick up a vinyl by the Smiths, the album in particular being the Queen is Dead, I admired the cover whilst grasping it in my palms. The Smiths were the only band that seemed to use the most aimless, but oddy aesthetic images of random men as their album covers - most likely courtesy of Morrissey’s desires - though I suppose is one element which creates the artistic composition of the band, and their music. Snapping me out of the trance I was consumed in, a voice echoed in the room, one which was definitely not Liam’s. “Like what you see?”

Turning around to find out who it was, I was accosted by the sight of Noel, who was holding a warm mug of tea. Flustered, I placed the vinyl back in the stack before taking a seat on Liam’s bed. “Sorry,” I mumbled, looking at Noel whilst playing with my fingers in my lap.

View stuck on him, I watched him walk to his bedside table, placing his mug of tea on the coaster, then reaching out to grab the vinyl that was once embraced by my palms. “You like the Smiths?” he asked, his eyes now connecting to my gaze.

“Yeah I do,” I said, smiling slightly at his question. “That’s my favourite album of theirs actually.”

“Didn’t expect that from you,” He replied back, taking a sip from his mug of tea before taking the vinyl out of its sleeve and placing it on the record player, watching the needle intently as it gently dropped onto the black disc before sitting back on his bed. The title track’s intro then seeped into the silence of the room, paired by Noel humming along to it. “Think their debut was better, if I’m honest.”

“Well preference always matters,” I answered back, walking over to his bed to grab the vinyl sleeve, gazing at the lyric sheets, also taking a seat next to Noel. I felt his stare on me, but I attempted to ignore it as I focused on the little verses of poetry in one of the songs. “Morrissey is such a depressing writer.”

A laugh rumbled at his throat at my absentminded comment. Averting my gaze, I looked at Noel and smiled again. “I’m not wrong!”

“What else you into?” he asked me, curiosity laced in his tone as he diverted the topic.

“Everything else you listen to really, I looked through most of your vinyls,” I replied, watching Noel as his eyebrows furrowed together in shock, my smile widening as I felt my cheeks start to burn slightly - I had never thought that I’d be having a genuine conversation with Noel. “Especially the Beatles, Liam’s told me how much you love them.”

Noel was impressed, and it showed on his face quite evidently. “What’s your favourite album by them then?”

Looking away for a couple seconds, I thought of a response. “Probably Sergeant Peppers. Was their most innovative stuff, in my opinion at least.”

We continued to ramble on about music for a short while, Noel continuing to act excessively shocked whenever I had told him I had indeed listened or liked an artist he questioned. It was nice to finally discuss music with somebody since Liam was never really into it. “You’d never expect me to listen to all of this because I’m friends with a lunatic.”

Another laugh left Noel’s mouth, a smile stuck on his lips. “All he’s obsessed with is football, I don’t even get how you’re both mates.”

“Opposites attract.” I answered back, leaning back to have my back against the wall as we continued to talk. My cheeks began to hurt after a while of us chatting, due to the smile that was unable to leave my lips.

“How come we’ve never spoken properly before?” He asked, walking over to flip the vinyl to side B. “You’re cool.” he added in a mumble, almost as if he didn’t want it to be heard.

I felt blood slightly rush to my cheeks after the compliment fell from his lips, my top teeth clinging onto my bottom lip as a wave of nervousness washed over me. “Maybe because you’re always out.”

A hum of agreement rumbled from his throat as my eyes fixated themselves on the white ceiling. I could see that Noel was staring at me through my peripheral, which caused my cheeks to increase their redness, only slightly. “We should hang out sometime.”

Connecting eyes with him, I admired his dark brown orbs for a second, before I responded. “We should.”

Breaking our moment together, we were welcomed by an exhausted Liam rushing into the room, breathing heavily from his jog up the stairs. Falling onto the bed, me and Noel shared a moment of laughter as we simply stared at Liam’s state. “What’re you lot laughing about?”

Me and Noel turned to look at one another, sharing a gaze once again. There was a specific glint in his eyes which I marveled at, his face beaming at me, only causing me to reciprocate in the same manner. Our stare meant more than what it was, a certain tension was held between us that was felt by both participants. Especially for Noel, whose heart was pumping as if it were about to burst out of his chest, his cheeks a little flushed out of admiration for the girl sitting next to him. “Nothing.” we replied, giggling slightly as our eyes stayed glued on one another.

#noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher #oasis #oasis band #Liam gallagher #britpop #nineties #my writing #90s #music #band imagines #fluff

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asset35-maya · 3 years ago

Note

I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

#maya bday ask event #reed900 #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh nines #gavin900 #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #dbh #dbh writing #my writing

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kassandras-one-braincell · 3 years ago

Text

Abby Anderson x GN!Reader - Please Don’t Leave Me

Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: Please Don’t Leave Me (I’m creative with my titles)

Can be found on AO3 here.

Setting: before Abby leaves to go golfing. Abby and the reader are in an established relationship.

Warning: angst angst angst, excessive usage of the f-bomb and discussions of murder.

(Y/N) replacer safe.

Word count: 1846

Fuck, she’s really doing this.

Every day since Isaac had granted the Salt Lake Crew leave to hunt down Joel Miller, you tried to bargain with Abby, tried to make her see some sense. That killing him won’t take away any of the pain she feels. The grief. The gaping hole in her heart. But she’d always brush you off, distancing herself from you, suppressing her emotions with bicep curls and crunches as per habit.

Each passing hour, a nail was hammered into the coffin of the woman you love. And this morning is the final nail.

The quaint apartment you call home is filled with a cacophony of rustling and pleas as Abby shovels supplies into her backpack, preparing for her hunt. In her mind, Joel’s death warrant is signed, the execution nigh. And God are you desperate, trying to drill some semblance of reality into her stubborn mind one last time before she embarks on a journey she’ll only regret.

“Abby, please just listen to me for one minute—”

“I need to do this.” She heads to your small shared closet, refusing to look at you from your position by the bed. You frantically try to intercept her path, knowing full well she’s much, much stronger and can reposition you with ease. But it’s worth a try.

“This isn’t going to solve anything,” you implore, clutching the wood.

“Move, (Y/N).”

“Abby, this isn’t going to bring him back. You know that.”

“Move.” Her tone is exasperated, utterly focused on packing her shit and promptly leaving. Your heart sinks to your stomach.

“That girl in the hospital. The immune one. She must have been like a daughter to him for Joel to kill a group of innocent people for her,” you plead, feet firmly planted on the floor. Searching for her eyes, those blue irises alight with a maelstrom of hateful determination. They meet yours. “Killing him will just put her through all of this.”

Abby reaches for the closet door and slowly pulls it open, acknowledging your reluctance to move, deciding to disregard it. The wood begins to dig into your back and you’re forced to step aside. “This isn’t going to end, Abby. You fucking know this.” As she folds some spare clothes and places them in her backpack, you fall gracelessly to the bed, needing to sit down. Bile climbs up your oesophagus. Shit, where was her sense of fucking empathy?

“Abby…” Once again, she doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, folding the garments in robotic fashion. “Abby, you said she was a kid. A kid.”

The final shirt is stuffed haphazardly into the bag. She grits her teeth and turns to you. “He killed dozens of Fireflies, (Y/N). Dozens. And that’s all we fucking know of. There could be hundreds of others because he’s a stone cold killer.” Her face flushes with anger, no remnants of the woman you know left behind. “No one person is worth that many fucking lives.”

You let out a breathy laugh in sheer disbelief. “But it’s not about them, is it? Not to you.” The words escaped you in a hiss, one that didn’t go unnoticed. “Never fuckin’ has been.”

Abby rolls her eyes and grabs her maps from the coffee table, iron fist crumpling the papers beyond legibility. “There could have been a cure. A fucking cure to all this.”

On the surface, her words are rational. One life for a cure that would save millions was a worthy sacrifice, that you would be foolish to deny. But the odds of developing this cure were slim, and the girl would have likely died in vain. You knew this. Abby knew this. Jerry knew this.

With a shaky breath, you cradle your arms, never before having felt the urge to cage yourself around Abby. Fingers firmly gripping at your elbows, you let the cards fold. Unadulterated truth.

“You’re in denial, Abigail.”

A tut. “Don’t you fucking ‘Abigail’ me.” Her previous efforts to maintain a steady tone have been vanquished, anger seeping into each progressing word.

She’s gone.

And it’s this precise revelation that fills your eyes with oceans. Throat closing up, nose burning with the urge to spill over, you attempt – attempt – to articulate yourself, to no avail. Seconds later, rivulets trickle from your eyes to your cheeks, and you find yourself sniffling like some stupid kid… No, not a kid. A grieving adult, bereaved by the loss of a lover. Because the other figure in the room is but a husk of the radiant soul you fell for.

“All…” You pause to inhale, deeply: a futile effort to regulate your breathing, to lay rest to the turmoil suffocating your ability to fucking think. “All that’s going to happen is… You’re going to have to—” Hiccupping, you close your eyes, praying no more tears would fall. “To live with the guilt of orphaning a kid.”

Sentence finally out, you surrender to your sorrows, allowing them to wrack your chest with sobs and heaves until it gets too much, salt freely spilling from the floodgates. You can’t…you won’t bring yourself to look at Abby – the machine in her place, one programmed to kill and kill alone.

It’s wholly terrifying.

Distress flickers in her eyes, her frown slackening for a fraction of a second at the sound of your despair. “No one is forcing you to come,” she puts plainly, as if that has anything to do with the issue at hand.

“You know this – isn’t about that. Fuck, even Owen knows this…this is a bad idea.” Too dejected to cry. Too dejected to battle the hitched breaths you take trying to force out the words.

Words that fall upon deaf ears. “That’s not what Owen told me.” She slots a Swiss army knife into her cargo pants’ pocket, headed with a canteen in hand towards the kitchenette. “He was there, (Y/N). He agreed that Joel needs to die.”

“Because he’s fucking scared of you!” We all are, nearly breaks free from your lips, but that’s not what Abby needs to hear right now. Nothing that will push her away. Further away. The reigns you have on your lover are fraying, leaving you grasping at nought but strings. Frenzied, you attempt a softer, less concrete approach. “Baby, it isn’t normal to be so…hellbent on revenge like this.”

Silence. The delicate trickle of water sounds from the faucet as Abby fills her canteen. Then, a sigh, one of frustration as opposed to defeat. “If you think calling me ‘baby’ is going to erase four motherfucking years of grief, you are sorely mistaken. You’re smarter than that.”

Patience thinning, you stand up, wading through strewn supplies across the apartment floor towards the kitchenette. “Four years and you still haven’t given yourself time to mourn properly,” you reason, deliberately obstructing her path out of the kitchen with your body again. “Maybe if you had you’d see some fucking sense.”

God, that was a mistake. Shit, shit, shit shit shit the last thing you want to do is piss her off, not with her mind in such a volatile state, devoid of all logic.

“I appreciate you’ve lived a fucking sheltered life since the outbreak,” she seethed. What?

“That’s not true—”

“And you have no fucking idea what it’s like to have someone ripped away from you like that.” Volume rising, words a mantra fuelled by detest. “And you know, maybe, just fucking maybe, this’ll be my one chance to put an end to this shit!” The fist not clutching her backpack clenches. And for the first time ever while alone in her company, you flinch.

“He fucking deserves this, (Y/N)! If I can show him a fraction of the pain he caused me—”

“Abby, you’re scaring me,” you whimper, closing in on yourself. Genuinely afraid she’d raise her hand towards you.

Had you a mirror, you’d know truly how perturbed you look in this very moment. Streamlines drying on your cheeks, eyes reddening and puffy from crying, wide with fear like a doe face-to-face with a moving car. Body subconsciously making itself smaller, reducing its surface area, reducing the likelihood for any incoming swings to hit.

She lowers her guard, colour returning to her knuckles as she unravelled her fist. Knitted brows returning to their natural place above her eyes, mouth parted as the horror of her behaviour settles in.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” Even her previously stern voice cracks at this.

It takes tremendous willpower to not fall back as she takes a tentative step towards you.

Drying your eyes with your sleeves – her sleeves…you forgot you’re wearing her old sweater, the notion sour on your tongue – you break your mutual gaze. “You’re not you right now,” you whisper, not trusting your larynx to produce anything above a mouse’s squeak. “This isn’t the Abby I know.”

For the first time this morning, a sentiment other than bloodlust registers in her face. Hurt.

Either unable or unwilling to respond, Abby recommences her packing in solemn silence.

Shit, you have three, perchance five minutes at best to dissuade your girlfriend from leaving and doing something that will haunt her for all eternity. Yet all you can do is brace yourself against the wall and allow a second tsunami of tears to wash over you, pangs of anguish striking your heart. “Abby—”

“I’m going, (Y/N).” Firm, with a shred less conviction, but firm enough.

A violent sob tears through you as you beg, beg, the vessel of the woman you adore, “Please don’t leave me.”

For a fleeting moment, your heart stops as she hesitates in her tracks. A flicker of hope seizes your mind, that perhaps she has reconsidered, that finally some logic has entered her train of thought.

It all crashes down when she reaches for the spare rifle ammunition by the front door.

“Fuck, Abby—”

“I’ll be gone a month at most.”

Hail-Mary.

Please.

Chest shuddering with each sob that wracks through you, you utter through violently trembling lips and hiccups, “You’re so – fucking blinded – by your hatred – right now – that you can’t – fuck, see – this will – kill you—”

The gravity of the situation threatens to make your knees buckle.

Abby plucks her jacket from the coat hanger and wades over to your crippled stance by the kitchen. A hand brushes your salt-slicked cheek as a lock of hair is swept out of your line of sight. “I love you,” she whispers in pained honesty.

“Abby…” You try to take her hand, to ground her, to remind her of the life she’s leaving behind on her relentless pursuit of this warped sense of justice.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).” She squeezes your palm and lets go, zipping up her pack as the front door to the apartment creaks open and slams shut.

Death is a word that isn’t used lightly, especially not after an epidemic takes the world by storm. But part of your spirit certainly died the moment that door closed behind her.

(I’ll leave it up to you whether she has a change of heart or leaves and scores a few hits above par.)

#abby anderson x reader #im sorry :(#abby tlou #angst #bad things happen bingo

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