Special Instructions (6/?)
Summary: Drunk Emma really likes pizza. She also really happens to like the cute delivery guy who seems content to carry out all of her wishes via the “Special Instructions” box on the website. (AO3)
Word Count: ~9000
Chapters: One Two Three Four Five
we interrupt your regularly scheduled UST to bring you: far too many words of dialogue, back stories that i changed 193874 times, and maybe some actual relationship development! god i hope the effort was worth it. this is… a v long chapter.
reader requested tags: @ilovemesomekillianjones @lenfaz @like-waves-on-the-beach @emmaswanchoosesyou @blessed-but-distressed @tiganasummertree @ab-normality @xemmaloveskillianx @deathbycaptainswan @a-city-dove @sam-jordyn @yayimallamaagain @andiirivera @its-like-a-story-of-love (if i missed u, sorry fam, just let me know and i’ll fix it next time)
“Hey, it’s uh, it’s Walsh. I just thought I’d call and uh, check up on you. See how you were doing. I know this is selfish but… I miss you. A lot. Look, I know that things between us didn’t exactly end well and that- that’s my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have trusted her. Turns out she didn’t even want me, just my- my money. She stole a few grand and bolted and I just really- I should have known better. She’s always been like this, reeling me in when I least expect her to and then tossing me out like garbage when she gets what she really wants. I’ve always been weak when it comes to her and she used that against me, knew just how to target my soft spot. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this when I know I messed up. It’s just… I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, about us. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to give up what we had for that- that succubus. I’m sorry, baby. Really. And I was just hoping that you might… wanna grab a bite to eat sometime? Maybe start over? Uh, yeah, so… that’s all. Give me a call okay? I… I still love you, Emma.”
The nerve. The audacity.
Emma grumbled loudly before pressing the replay button for the third time in a row and downing the rest of her wine, glaring at her phone like the object itself was offensive.
God, why did she do this to herself? Why did she let him get under her skin even now? She was done with him, so done, and had been doing extremely well adjusting and now with one damn voicemail she could physically feel the anguish from their engagement party resurfacing.
The man had no fucking right to call her and ask her out. What the hell was he even thinking? Did he want to have his balls kicked up inside his own body? Because that would be the only reason she would ever agree to see him again; to make it so that asshole would never procreate and pass his douchebaggery on to another generation.