#reaches out to touch me/casually/platonically and it's like a 'you're touching me of your own free will??? o H' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seren1tyhaze · 1 year

Text

Dive

PAIRING: doyoung x afab reader (ft djj)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k (got a bit carried away)

SUMMARY: your best friend drags you out to a club to be her wingwoman as she meets back up with a stunning stranger and you cross paths with the hottest man you've ever seen in an expensive suit and a cross around his neck

THANK YOU: @strwbrysunday you know how important you've been in getting this across the finish line and you're a literal angel. thank you so much <3 thank you to all my friends who watched me brainrot over this over the past week and inspiring me to keep working on it with your positive words.

WARNINGS: explicit smut, smoking, drinking, drug reference, profanity, heavy religious imagery in a sexual setting (and I mean HEAVY - so if this is going to bother you, this isn't the fic for you)

PLAYLIST: Dive by DoJaeJung, Angel by NCT 127

This was clearly inspired by the Doyoung D&G promo images with the rosary and the rest was history...

I can dive, I'm diving into you

—

Ouch. You pinch your eyelash with the curler as you lean in closer to the glassy mirror in your best friend’s bathroom. You knew you should be wearing your contacts but had forgotten them at home and you weren’t going to hear the end of it from her if that was the excuse you had for ditching her for the night.

It had been an exhausting week at work but somehow your adorable firecracker of a platonic soulmate since childhood had dragged you to her apartment as soon as the clock hit 5:00PM in the co-working space your small start-up you both worked for shared with some other local environmental companies.

She had shed off her casual work clothes hours before, now wearing a glittery black dress, hugging her hips tightly, strings ruched up the side revealing plenty of thigh, covered with nude fishnets. You envied her long and bouncy locks that flowed down her back, reaching up to touch your straight hair that never cooperated with the curling iron.

“What is it?” she asked from behind you, catching you staring.

“Is there something on my dress?” she spun around, craning her head to look at her own ass in the mirror.

You started to speak before you realized she was showing off, dropping to the floor quickly before slowly standing again, shimmying her rear as she started to sway to the faint music coming from her living room.

You rolled your eyes with a huff, curling your other eye’s lashes and applying a few coats of mascara.

“Loosen up, angel,” she called back as she moved into her walk-in closet to select her shoes and handbag, using her pet name she had been calling you for years.

You finished up the rest of your makeup, cleaning up the little pile of products and packing them back neatly in their small pouch before examining yourself in the mirror. Your dark hair fell almost to your shoulders, eyes accentuated with smudged dark liner and cheekbones dusted with a bright coral blush that complimented the glossy color across your lips. You had let your best friend convince you to dress up more than you usually did, since she said the club you were going to tended to cater to a more affluent clientele.

A skin tight white leather crop top pushed your breasts up nicely and you had even let your friend dust some shimmering glitter across them with a large puff earlier. You smoothed the matching devastatingly short skirt and adjusted the lace up black boots that travelled up your long legs and over your knee. You felt confident in the outfit and only slightly uneasy about the night ahead. Your friend had a tendency to scan for her prey of the night the minute you entered a venue and often spent the night locking lips with half the dance floor or as she did the weekend before, dancing on stage with the burlesque dancers at the late night speakeasy.

Standing next to her as you both did final checks in the mirror, you looked like the moonlight and sunlight, night and day, devil and angel. A dangerous pair for any person to come across in a crowded club with these outfits, to say the least. You giggled as your friend planted a glossy kiss to your ear before pushing your hair back into place, following her out of the spacious apartment.

“WOO!” shrieked your friend, waving long fingernails at a tall, slender man leaning against a private booth tucked near the DJ. A warm grin spread across his plush lips and you couldn’t help it when your heart jumped a little in your chest. How your friend always found the most attractive people to surround herself always surprised you (not like you were complaining).

She had met Jungwoo the weekend before at a rave and had gabbed your ear off about the attractive and rich heir to a fortune who lived downtown in the middle of all the weekend excitement and had fed her drinks all night long while clutching onto her hips as they danced. She hadn’t gone home with him but instead had gotten his number and promised to meet him out the next weekend. The next weekend was now and out the two of you were.

Jungwoo was absolutely stunning, bright white hair damp, long, and hanging around his cheeks and across his forehead. He wore a sheer blouse unbuttoned halfway, exposing much of his toned chest and loose grey slacks that didn’t leave much to the imagination when he moved.

Taking careful steps through the crowd, you followed your friend who now had her hand held close to the lips of another man, this one dressed in the remains of an expensive suit, tie loose and sloppy around his neck with several buttons of a crisp pale blue shirt undone. He had dark hair slicked back to reveal his stunning face and his eyes glittered when he pulled them to yours to greet you.

“This is Jaehyun, Jungwoo’s roommate!” she giggled, a glass of champagne somehow already in her hand as she grinned at Jaehyun’s tender kiss to the back of her hand.

“Lovely to meet you, girls,” Jaehyun spoke deep and smoothly, his voice like velvet.

You cleared your throat with a small smile and shifted your weight in the uncomfortable shoes, eyes darting past the two men in front of you to a third seated in the booth.

Goosebumps instantly dotted your bare arms as you raked your eyes over one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Even seated, you could tell he was tall with a broad frame. His hand was stretched out across his knee, high end designer fabric covering every inch of his body.

As if in slow motion, he lifted his head from his phone, placing it next to him to take a long sip from the short glass of dark liquid on the table in front of him. He brought his dark eyes up to meet yours and as soon as you made contact you watched his adam’s apple move in his throat, gulping as he peeled his eyes down your body.

You moved a hand to grip your other forearm, suddenly self conscious but equally intrigued, cocking your head slightly to the side. Your vision blurred briefly and you cursed yourself for not remembering your contacts as your loss of focus refused to let you make out the expression on the mystery man’s face.

“Doie - don’t be rude, say hi!” Jungwoo slurred out, taking a strong hand to the small of your back to guide you into the booth and directly next to Doyoung.

“Hi,” he spoke, quiet and soft, pulling his hand off his knee to extend a handshake to you.

You chuckled lightly and let him shake your hand, taking a moment to inspect him further now that you could see him better.

The white collared shirt under his suit jacket was tight (almost too tight) with the top buttons straining against the fabric enclosure. He had a soft jaw and plump lips, dark hair styled in a way that was kept but still messy in a sexy way. When he smiled his eyes crinkled in the corners and his neutral facial expression was hard to read when he wasn’t speaking.

You let your eyes wander down to his tight pants before shaking your head, begging your dirty mind to control itself. It hadn’t been that long since you had hooked up with a stranger at a bar but long enough to let your mind wander within minutes of meeting this man.

Doyoung reached across the table to pour you a glass of champagne from the bottle in the ice bucket and as he did, you noticed a glimmering chain around his neck. As he leaned further, you saw the small black beads on the chain catching the light and much to your surprise, a cross slipped into view briefly.

You sucked in a deep inhale at the sight - this man was wearing a fucking rosary around his neck.

Flashes of hours kneeling for Easter vigil mass, heavy clouds of incense in your face as you held the thurible in a floor length white robe, dark smudges on your forehead, and getting tipsy off communion wine in the church basement with your cousins flew across your mind as you watched him laugh at something Jaehyun said.

Jungwoo swore loudly as he dripped tequila across the table, attempting to pour five shots evenly. You can’t pull your eyes away from Doyoung, watching as he bows his head lightly, wincing ever so slightly at the curse words.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Taking a long drink from your champagne glass and tossing back the shot that is handed to you, you reach into your bag and dig out a carton of cigarettes, pulling the ashtray at the center of the table closer to you.

Pulling a loose stick with your lips, you instinctively gesture towards Doyoung who moves a hand quickly to decline. You shrug and move a bit closer to Jungwoo who is taking a long drag from a neon green vape. He chuckles and tosses his hair from his eyes as he watches the interaction.

“You’re better off making moves on Jae,” he says to you on his exhale. He tosses an arm around your shoulder, nudging your bare shoulder lightly with his thumb, cocking his chin up to draw your attention to a smiley Jaehyun swaying to the music, slightly off beat, as your friend tries to get him to salsa dance with her.

“Doyoung is a little more on the conservative side. Doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like getting high, barely gets drunk, takes his grandma to church on Sundays, all that,” Jungwoo adds, giving you a softer smile as he pulls your eyes into contact with his.

You narrow your own eyes slightly, not sure if this is some twisted attempt at reverse psychology to push you even more into the arms of his friend. While he was wearing the rosary, that didn’t necessarily scream “priest”. He was in a high end club’s most desirable VIP booth, surrounded by drinks and other substances, with two party boys that looked like models.

“Well he’s taken every shot that’s been poured for him, so I don’t know about that ‘not getting drunk’ part,” you quip back, taking a long drag from your cigarette and blowing it behind you through tightly pursed lips, intentionally avoiding Doyoung’s direction.

“Yeah he and Jaehyun lost some big account today, I think he’s just blowing off some steam. Plus he owes me,” Jungwoo winks as punctuation, making it apparent that he wasn’t going to elaborate on the end of that statement.

Throughout the night you learn that Doyoung and Jaehyun work at a big investment bank, Jaehyun sharing a small apartment with Jungwoo in the middle of all the city nightlife, the three of them having known each other since they were kids. Doyoung seemed to have never moved on from their strong faith-based formative years, holding onto these ideals even years later and still an active member of his family’s church community. When he checks the time on his phone you see the smiling face of an older woman pushed up against his, assuming this to be the grandmother Jungwoo mentioned before.

He’s quiet as you chat with him, having to do most of the talking, but is kind and puts some of your nerves at ease even when your friend is off in the middle of the dance floor doing god knows what with god knows who.

Despite his reserved nature, you feel his eyes trained on your every move, following your lips and hands as you smoke another cigarette, the way you cross and uncross your legs with ease, despite the short skirt that has a tendency to ride up when you wiggle in your seat.

You watch him in the same way he watches you, the way his hair falls into his eyes every once and a while and instead of pushing it away with his hand, he shakes his head lightly, flicking his eyes up as if to chastise the loose strands. When he leans forward to take a sip of his drink or gesture to the waitress, his toned chest is exposed by the undone buttons on his shirt.

As much as you hate to admit it, his very presence is intoxicating and it’s affecting you more than you would like. Goosebumps crop up on your arms and you suddenly feel chilled in the warm room, sending a shiver down your spine.

A loud laugh draws your attention across the booth and you are met with the sight of your friend feverishly making out with Jaehyun, sandwiched between him and Jungwoo who has his hand up the hem of her dress, laughing into her neck.

You whip your head back towards Doyoung, giving an awkward smile to him before the chill sets over you again. You train your gaze downwards, examining the patterned carpet on the floor and the laces on your thigh high boots, picking at the edge of the string. You startle at the feeling of fabric being draped over your shoulders, looking up to see that Doyoung has placed his suit jacket around your shoulders.

He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulder after placing the jacket and you suddenly feel an additional set of eyes on you as you lift up to meet Jaehyun’s gaze. He’s staring at your slightly spread legs, running a wicked tongue across his bottom lip as it quirks up into a wry smile.

You feel Doyoung’s grip around your shoulder tighten and turn to see his face close to yours, your heart jumping in your chest when you feel his breath across your cheek. You can’t bear to break eye contact with him, despite the fact that you desperately wish you could see Jaehyun’s reaction.

“You seemed cold,” he murmurs to you, lips almost brushing across your skin as he speaks close to your ear. He smells delicious, like soft musk but still clean and warm. You mentally take note to slyly ask Jungwoo what cologne his friend wears.

“Thank you,” is all you can muster and you resist the urge to drop your head to his shoulder, suddenly feeling lightheaded in the haze of alcohol, nicotine, and the blaring music of the club.

Doyoung reaches to the table for his glass, arm never leaving your shoulder, rolled shirt sleeve revealing a large and intricate cross tattoo on his forearm. At the sight of the ink you are jolted back to the reality that this man is not who you want him to be. You would normally have a hand palming his groin in the dim lights of the club, moaning into his mouth as he gripped the exposed skin on your back and whispered filthy strings of words into your ear.

But no, you had to bag the “Holier than Thou, Man of God.” Of course you did. This was not going to be good for your libido.

Your friend is suddenly dragging you by the hand to the bathroom, moving surprisingly fast in her towering heels.

“Sooooooooo, angel,” she whines from the single use stall she pulled you into after locking the door.

“What are you about to ask me to do?” you sigh, fixing your hair in the mirror as your friend hikes up her dress to pee.

“I’m going to take those two home with me,” she bluntly tells you, as you predicted.

“Yeah I think anyone in this club could have told me that,” you reply, rolling your eyes for dramatic effect. You didn’t really care what she did, only frustrated now that you had to make the hike home in an expensive taxi or wait for the unreliable train service.

“It’s fine, babe, I’ll get home okay,” you add, mustering the sweetest tone you can for your oldest friend. She deserved to blow off steam as much as next person, but you loved staying over at her luxury apartment on the weekends and the lazy mornings you spent sipping homemade cappuccinos and doing face masks.

“You’re the BESTTTT!” she nearly shouts, throwing her arms around you, damp hands fresh from washing them in the sink getting your skin wet. You laugh at her, congratulating her on getting her dick wet and ushering her out of the small room with a smack to her ass.

Back at the booth she wastes no time murmuring in the ears of the two eager men before they share a steamy three way kiss that results in Jungwoo tugging Jaehyun’s bottom lip with his teeth, looping an arm around his slim waist.

You are flicking through the various ride share apps on your phone to find the cheapest option, boots feeling uncomfortably tight on your feet after a long night. Last thing you want to do in this outfit is sit on an empty train and make the long walk uphill to your apartment complex once you arrive at your stop.

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asks, face suddenly close to yours again. There’s a level of concern in his eyes that you cannot read when he speaks to you.

“Calling for a car home, I don’t have the luxury of living right here downtown and had plans to crash at hers. I’m assuming my job doesn’t pay as well as yours and Jae’s,” you reply, only lifting your eyes up to meet his after you’ve spoken.

God his eyes are so pretty.

“Why don’t you stay at mine, I can sleep on the couch and my driver can take you home in the morning,” he offers, picking your phone out of your hand and locking the screen.

You open your mouth in protest before thinking more on the offer. His driver?! You would be crazy to turn him down and your friend is already halfway out the door headed towards what will undoubtedly be a night to remember.

You nod and quickly stand, holding a hand out for his, guiding him out the back door of the club. He’s making a call on his phone in a hushed tone while you slide your long coat over his blazer, still wrapped around your shoulders, Jungwoo giving you a small smile and wiggle of his fingers as he slides into the back of a cab.

“I love you angellllll,” your friend slurs out dramatically, knowing she is far less drunk than she appears, playing up the antics for the men around her. Jaehyun has an arm tucked loosely around her waist, grinning ear to ear as the evening wind ruffles his dark hair.

You pull your friend in for a hug before she ducks into the car, latching her lips immediately onto Jungwoo’s exposed neck, drawing a chuckle from you on the street.

Jaehyun pauses before getting in the car, dipping down to whisper right along the shell of your ear.

“Angel is it? I don’t know about that,” he practically moans out, voice breathy and deep.

“Seemed like a devil in disguise in that tight little skirt, slutty legs spread in the club for our sweet and innocent Doie,” he laughs out, laying the degrading tone on thick. His finger is under your chin, tipping it up to force you to look at him. Your heart is pounding and flying around your chest and you can feel your cheeks burn.

Suddenly there’s a hand on your back and you don’t have to look to know that Doyoung has stepped up behind you.

Jaehyun gives you a wink, pushing past you to plant a lingering kiss on Doyoung’s cheek, before turning and disappearing into the car.

Before you can say anything to Doyoung, a black town car replaces the cab in its spot on the busy street, Doyoung moving quickly to open the door for you, helping you in with a strong hand. He closes the door softly before moving around to the street side to slide in next to you, greeting the driver in the front pleasantly.

Your head is spinning and you desperately hope there is time to have a cigarette before going upstairs to Doyoung’s apartment, feeling anxiety creeping up in your chest.

Despite the spacious backseat, Doyoung can’t help but be pressed up against you, twisting to look at you as you make small talk. You watch him when he answers questions you ask and listen to a small story about a frustrating email exchange at work, as if the two of you had known each other forever.

Distracted by the beaded chain around his neck again, you reach over, taking the cross gingerly in between your pointer and middle finger, inspecting it. The metal is cold in your hand and nostalgia rushes over you as you hold it in your hand.

“I dip it in holy water every morning to help keep me grounded and ask that God bless my daily travels,” he offers, smiling lightly at you as he explains in earnest. You know by now that he isn’t lying, that there would be no reason for him to.

“I kiss it as well, asking him to bless my words and calm my mind in a world filled with temptation,” he continues, unwilling to break the heavy eye contact.

He reaches out and draws your fingers to his lips, still holding the cross, and kisses the small metal piece, catching the tips of your fingers with soft lips. They are warm and plush, sending jolts of electricity through your hand and to your chest. You have to shift in your seat to calm the throbbing in your core. This gesture shouldn’t be turning you on this much and you know now that if there is a hell, you surely are destined to take residence there.

The tension in the car is thick as you shiver, hand moving before you have a chance to think, bringing his hand and yours to your own lips, copying his kiss. You watch him gulp and pull his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes darken at the sight of the cross pressed to your lips.

Oh you are so royally fucked.

You watch him as he absently brushes the back of his hand against your own in the elevator ride to the top floor of the sleek and modern building. He lets his fingers tangle with yours briefly before holding his hand out when the door starts to open, bringing the foyer of his apartment into view.

You let a gasp fall from your lips, taking in the beautiful space around you. Lights flick on as you reach down to release the knot holding the laces of your boots in place, stepping out of them carefully by steadying yourself on a small table adorned with realistic looking fake flowers.

You try to keep your boots tidy under the coat rack, slipping off your coat and hanging it up and checking yourself in the small mirror above hooks of dangling keys. You notice one key with a Kuromi cover, smiling lightly and wondering if he had picked that out for himself. He will tell you one day that it is the key to his mailbox and one of the kids from his Sunday school class brought it in for him after they said Kuromi reminded them of Doyoung.

You follow him to the open living area which melts into the compact kitchen adorned with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. He’s opening the door to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of water and pouring two glasses.

The apartment is warm but minimalistic in style, adorned with shades of cream, black and gray. You half expect to see a statue of Mary where the tv sits but there’s barely any religious imagery present. Maybe you had misjudged him after all.

As you close the space between you, you let his blazer slip from your shoulders, catching it and folding it gently in your hands, looking up towards him through your long lashes as you lean your hip against the cold edge of the counter, offering the blazer to him. Instead of taking the jacket from your hands, he leans forward, brushing a thumb across the high point of your cheek, examining your face.

“Let me know if there is anything I can get you to feel more at home, I want you to feel comfortable,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

You feel butterflies in your chest and despite how tired you know you should be, your heart is pounding and core tightening at how close he stands to you in his beautiful apartment, finally able to hear his voice clearly without the sounds of the club or busy streets of the city. It’s velvety smooth and even and his lips tip up at the edges when he finishes his kind statement. You want desperately to push up and capture them in yours but instead nod slowly, taking one of the glasses of water into your hand gulping down some of the cool liquid to try to quell the arousal building within you.

He brushes your skin with his thumb once more before taking the jacket from you, moving to his bedroom and returning moments later with a couple pillows and a large blanket, which he leaves on the plush couch.

“I don’t mind just sleeping out here,” you offer, scanning the comfortable looking room, knowing if you slept in the living room you might be able to more easily slip out unnoticed in the morning. You’ve never been one for tender mornings in bed with a one night stand and this situation shouldn’t be treated any different. You don’t believe he will actually make any move beyond what he has, despite the brief intimate moments you’ve shared since stepping out of the club.

“No no, I insist, take my bed. The bedding was just changed this morning,” he makes sure to note and you realize how rich this man truly must be if he avoided mentioning who exactly changed the sheets. Surely not Doyoung, with his thousands of dollars of clothing and jewelry on his body and on-call car service and penthouse suite.

He moves to open the door to the balcony, cool but comfortable night air flooding the living room as he hands you a vintage glass ashtray from the media cabinet.

“In case you need one before you go to sleep or in the night,” he offers, smiling lightly at the shocked look on your face.

“Jungwoo is always hanging around here when I’m working late and I’ve learned there is no way to stop people from doing something they want to do. I can’t change my friends and I wouldn’t want to. I have things in my life and things I have removed from my life but that is my own decision and shouldn’t affect my relationships with those I love,” he adds, fingers brushing over yours as they make contact to pass the item to you.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower quickly and then let you have the bedroom and bathroom. If you need it, there’s a toilet near the elevator and some fresh fruit in the fridge,” he continues, resisting the urge to brush his lips over your bare shoulder.

You thank him and take your purse out to the balcony, closing the door lightly behind you but making sure it latches fully. Stepping forward towards the edge of the balcony, you quickly light a cigarette and feel calm wash over you as you watch the flickering lights of the city skyline. The cool air feels good against your cheeks and exposed abdomen, needing desperately to cool down. You try (and fail) to not let your mind wander to thoughts of Doyoung in a steamy rainfall shower, steam gathering on glossy mirrors and hot water racing down toned biceps and thighs.

You burn through it eagerly, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray and disposing of it in a small bin attached to the balcony’s railing before heading back inside. Doyoung is emerging from his bedroom in a tight white tank top and loose grey sweatpants, bare feet padding across the plush throw rug.

“I left you some clothes and towels on the bed but help yourself to my closet if you need something warmer,” he mutters awkwardly, the power balance shifting slightly as he stands in front of you in casual clothes, black rosary still visible proudly on his chest.

“I’ll wash up, if that’s okay? If you’re tired and want to sleep, don’t worry about waiting for me to finish. I usually stay up pretty late and I’m sure you have early mornings,” you ramble, scratching at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Take your time, I usually read for a while before bed,” he gestures to a small leather bound bible on the coffee table. Of course he does.

In the shower, you let the water rush over your body, using some of the small skincare bottles to wash your face and step out, massaging shower oil into your damp skin. You sigh into the warm white towel fresh off the warming rack and feel like you’re living in a dream.

Can’t I just stay here forever?

You know your modest apartment waits for you a few miles away, with your own much smaller and dingier balcony where you like to sketch in your journal as you watch birds settle on the hanging flower baskets. You could never see yourself living full time in the cold of the city, barely any green space and garbage littering the streets.

Checking outside the bathroom door before emerging, the coast is clear as you step back into his spacious bedroom, lightly touching the clothing he had laid out for you. A large and faded t-shirt that appears to be from a church camp is folded neatly, logo barely still visible.

A package of unopened cotton boxer briefs is next to the shirt, knowing he must have been panicking thinking of how he could offer you something to wear without it seeming creepy. But he seems to at least have experience taking care of stranded tipsy guests (even if they usually were just Jungwoo and someone he brought home from the bar). You pull the shirt over your head and it falls easily to your mid-thigh, skimming over your hardened nipples, painful as they make contact with the cool air from the vent.

Sliding on the boxers, you pull them up to your waist and the shirt covers them fully. You decide against the sweatpants next to the shirt, knowing they will be far too long for you and opt to instead roll on the pair of long socks before placing the pants back on the dresser. You listen at the door for any noise from the living room, hearing a light hum of music you can’t decipher. Pressing your ear closer you recognize Debussy floating through the air and let out a small smile.

You’re about to tuck yourself into the king sized bed before you realize you didn’t bring the water glass in with you. Scanning the room you don’t see one and silently curse yourself.

Sliding the door open quietly, you stick your head out tentatively, his head lifting to look at you. He looks absolutely adorable, bundled up in a fluffy blanket with his small bible in his lap and two scented candles lit on the table. The music did turn out to be Debussy, playing softly on a record player in the corner.

“Is the music too loud?” he asks, moving as if he is going to turn it off.

“No no, it’s beautiful,” you breathe out in reply, sliding out from the door and covering your chest with your arms, self conscious. This causes the hem of the shirt to hike up, exposing a sliver of the white briefs covering your lower half.

Doyoung’s eyes trail down your body, as if wanting to mentally capture this image of you dressed in his clothes, standing sheepishly in front of him. He pushes away thoughts of you on your knees in front of him, mouthing along his length through his sweatpants while he tugs on your silky and damp hair.

“I, um, just came out for some water,” you add, crossing to the counter to grab the glass before returning to stand awkwardly next to the couch.

“Why does she call you angel?” he asks suddenly, pulling an arm up on the back of the couch, unintentionally opening up a perfect sized space for you to sit next to him.

You smile lightly and cross to sit next to him, perching on the edge of the cushion so as to not crowd him.

“My middle name is Angelica,” you replied softly. “She just took a liking to the pet name many years ago.”

He smiles softly at this explanation, suddenly aware that his other hand has strayed to the hem of his shirt hanging loose on your torso.

“Angel…” he tries, feeling the way it sounds in his voice, feeling the way the words taste as they roll off his tongue. He smirks, pinching the fabric at the edge of the shirt in between his fingers and releasing it.

“Can I call you that?” he breathes out, suddenly closer to your face than you had realized.

“Only if you’re a good boy,” you manage to say in an even tone, hand finally reaching out to touch his chest, flattening against his toned pecs, metal beads digging into your palm.

His eyes flutter, brain clearly short circuiting at the mention of praise, fingers stilling but breathing becoming more labored.

“Can I please kiss you?” you ask, eyes and voice hopeful. You palm the cross on the rosary, holding it tightly in your hand as you pull gently, bringing yourself closer to Doyoung as your eyes slip shut, not waiting for a response.

His lips are on yours suddenly, pressing firmly as his hand flies to your lower back, pressing you flush against his chest, capturing your hand in between your bodies. You refuse to let go of the rosary, pulling tighter so he’s forced to deepen the kiss.

You feel his hand push up the back of the shirt and up your back, as if reaching for a bra to unhook and you can’t help but smile against his mouth, knowing he is far less innocent than he seems.

You rise up on your knees, moving your legs to straddle him on the couch, suddenly feeling something firm against your bare thigh. Your grin grows, nuzzling against his nose teasingly.

“Well, well, look who isn’t such a good boy after all,” you growl out, unable to control how horny you are for this man under you.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss, brows furrowed in confusion at your comment. Reaching between your bodies, he pulls out the leather bible and you flush deeply, unable to process that you thought it was his erection.

You avert your eyes from his and reach an arm up to touch the back of your neck nervously but his hand quickly grabs your wrist as he moves your hand to his lap, eyes darkening. When he pushes you down against his sweatpants you feel him harder than you thought he would be, not to mention way bigger than you thought he would be.

“Who said I was a good boy, angel?” he asked quietly, almost sounding annoyed with you. He grips your wrist tighter, pulling you closer to him before capturing your lips in his again.

It takes you a moment to respond, brain foggy at the name and sequence of events that had just unfolded. It doesn’t take you long to recover before slipping your tongue into his mouth hungrily, fingers lacing his hair to pull him desperately close.

You can’t help but move quickly with him, spreading your thighs to grind slow circles into his clothed crotch, biting back moans that bubble in your throat.

Hands are suddenly tugging at the hem of the shirt and you quickly oblige, peeling off the thin cotton and discarding it on the floor. Your chest is heaving as you sit on his lap in just the white boxer briefs, nipples erect and back arched to push your full chest towards him.

Doyoung hungrily licks his lips, eyes darting over your body as if there’s a time limit to the amount of time he has to look. You know you look good and he knew from the minute he saw you walk in the club that you would be on his lap, tits bouncing as he pressed up towards you with an experimental thrust. A small groan slides from his spit slicked lips as he slides one hand to your lower back and the other to cup your breast.

“Good God,” he lets out before lowering his mouth to your nipple, flicking eyes up to watch as you tumble contrasting curses from your plump lips.

He moves his mouth expertly, tongue laving over the sensitive skin, teeth dragging against your tight nipple. His hand on your lower back feels huge, fingers spread wide and gripping at your flesh as if you will disappear if he loosens his grip.

“Fuck me right here,” you can’t help but mutter into his open mouth after a particularly loud gasp flies from your mouth when you feel the tip of his dick collide with your clothed clit.

He pulls back, face seemingly questioning himself, eyes flicking over to the coffee table with the bible before turning upwards and fluttering shut.

You’re amazed at how this man can have his tit in your mouth one minute and then the next…

“Wait, are you praying?!” you ask in shock, stifling the laughter that builds in your throat.

He peeks at you with one eye open, smiling lightly before closing his eyes again and humming out an incoherent reply.

“Amen,” he says softly after a few more moments have passed.

You don’t have time to question him further when he quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing tight and toned abs and letting his broad chest crowd you in what could only be described as a bear hug. He pulls you close to his chest and you can feel his heartbeat reverberating through your own skin.

“The angel wants to get fucked, does she?” he growls as he digs his nails into your back.

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he adds before flipping you over suddenly, standing above you as he slides the boxers down to your ankles, leaving your socks on.

He then moves his hands to his own waistband, removing the sweatpants and revealing his hard cock, already flushed and angry with arousal. As he bends down, the rosary dangles from his neck and you can’t help but stare.

You’re laid out, exposed in front of him as he drops to his knees, nudging your knees to widen in front of him. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, controlling and calculated. You have to ask yourself the same question you asked in the club, who the fuck was this guy?

“You asked if I was praying earlier,” he speaks quietly, long fingers dragging along your sensitive inner thigh, avoiding where you want him the most.

“I just like to thank God before I eat,” he adds, eyes glimmering with mischief as he pushes forward, tongue licking a long stripe along your dripping core, sending shockwaves throughout your body.

Your brain is swimming with pleasure at the filthy words he spoke and the way his mouth is warm against your burning core, tugging on his hair and slipping your hand down to his neck to stroke the shorter strands there to encourage him.

His muffled moans send vibrations along your folds and shivers up your spine as he laps at you like it’s the fucking last supper. You feel your release close, thighs pulling in to tighten around his face. He shoves them back open every time they threaten to suffocate him, giving him access to every inch of you.

Your orgasm creeps up on you and you are suddenly screaming his name, head thrown back on the back of the couch, vision blinding white. Your eyes are clenched shut as you make every attempt to slow your heavy breathing.

You feel warm hands under your thighs and realize he's lifting you from the couch. You let your arms fall lazily around his shoulders and your head loll over as he carries you to the bedroom. Laying you gently on your back, he’s suddenly leaning over you, lips brushing against your jaw, peppering kisses up to your ear and leaving more along your hairline.

“That was heavenly,” you sigh out, feeling dizzy from the soft gestures.

He smiles and pushes your hair from your face, leaning down to kiss you. You can’t get enough of his lips, every time they press over yours you’re drawn in closer, wanting more and more.

“I know you said you wanted me to fuck you on the couch and as much as I would love to bend you over and slam into you, I want to see your face when I make you cream on my dick,” he says as if it’s the simplest and most normal sentence on the planet. He sits up, reaching a veiny hand over to the bedside table and into the shallow drawer there.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment until you feel his fingers on you again, rubbing slow circles on you, gathering your post orgasm arousal as he tears open a condom that is carefully dangling between his lips. He slicks up his rock hard erection with your wetness before sliding it on and running a hand through his now messy hair.

You adjust yourself on the bed, propping your knees up so he can crawl between them. He brings his face close to yours and drags his tongue lazily against your lower lip before pushing into you.

Your eyes widen, feeling the stretch of his massive cock and the look on his face when he finally feels himself inside you. You swear he’s seen the second coming of Christ and you wish you could take a picture of the pure bliss.

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up a consistent pace of pumping in and out of you, grunts and moans falling from his lips and sounding almost like he’s singing. You almost come at the sight of the rosary dangling above you and moving with each thrust, knowing how fucking filthy this is but how it’s the most turned on you’ve been in ages.

He’s close and you don’t know how much longer you can last after him so you hook your legs around his back and push on him, silently begging to flip over. He obliges and lets you return to a similar position from the couch, him seated against the pillows and you rising up and down on his cock. This drives you insane, watching his face contort in pleasure as you ride him, letting his name fall over and over from your lips like your own prayer.

“Angel, I’m so close,” he moans, pulling you so tight against his chest that you feel yourself becoming one with him. You move together, moan together, and release in strangled cries together.

You pull back, out of breath and struggling to compose yourself, glancing down at your chest to see an imprint of the cross in between swollen breasts. He has a hazy, happy grin across his face and you know you have to look the same in this moment.

He reaches out, brushing pads of his fingers across the imprint on your chest before dipping down to kiss at the cross mark.

You think your heart might explode in that very moment, suddenly visualizing the two of you holding hands in a church pew or leaning over candles, lighting them and bowing your heads in silence.

What the fuck has gotten into you?

–

Once he finishes tucking the plush duvet around your naked body, he lays flat on his back, exhaling in relaxation for what sounded like the first time that night, and humming out an almost angelic note.

“And on the seventh day, God looked at all he had made and rested from the work he had done,” Doyoung paraphrased, grinning at his joke, turning slightly to nuzzle his face into your bare shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed and eyes welled as you watched your dark haired lover drift off into sleep, arms laying beside him, not clinging to you as they had been all night, as if fully relaxed at how you seemingly fit so easily into his bed, into his life.

Checking the time, you unlock your phone, lower the brightness, and fire off a couple check-in texts to your friend and one to your mother asking if you completed your sacraments as a child and if she knows where your old prayer book is. You can’t believe this man is reigniting this in you and while you know no amount of good sex is going to fully pull you back into a toxic institution, you see the good in him and wonder if there is a world where the two of you can balance his faith and your more progressive views.

The next morning comes quicker than you had anticipated and light is streaming through the sheers covering the floor to ceiling windows. You glance over to see a still sleeping Doyoung, surprised once you check the time, knowing he probably starts his day at the office before you. You check your phone, frustrated at how quickly it will soon be the time when your boss is checking in to see if you are working from home or coming into the office. You send off a quick message to let them know you will have a late start to the day, working from your apartment.

They reply with a teasing tone, noting that you and your friend must have gotten into some fun the night prior since she had called off entirely. Oh boy, couldn’t wait to hear about that.

You roll over, seeing Doyoung’s eyes open in narrow slits, running a wet tongue over his dry lips.

“Morning star,” he smiles at you, placing that same strong hand on your lower back, pulling you gently closer to him.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giggling as his fingers brush lightly over your spine, tickling you.

“Can I make you coffee?” he asks, pressing lips softly to your temple, holding there and breathing in the scent of your hair, still faintly holding the floral notes from his shampoo.

“You don’t have morning prayers to get to?” you tease, pushing your lips towards his, silently asking for a kiss.

He pulls back, knitting his brows together and almost rolling his eyes.

“You really have me all wrong you know,” he starts, pushing strands of hair from your face before cupping your cheek gently, just as he had in the kitchen last night when you first got back.

“Yes, I have my beliefs and values that ground me. But that doesn’t mean I abstain from every activity marked as a sin in the bible,” he continued, his voice even and strong but not mean.

“I would have thought that would have been obvious by everything we did last night,” he added, pressing a little more firmly on your lower back, gliding his palm down to the slope of your ass to grasp at the skin there.

You gulp audibly, startled by his candid admission. Maybe you did have him all wrong. Maybe you judged this book by the cover too quickly, your opinion shadowed by everything you knew from the devout adults you had grown up around. You had always assumed it was black and white, no gray space between for any compromise.

All you could do in that moment, overcome with emotions you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, was pull him close to you and connect your hips with his to slowly create friction between the two of you. You hungrily captured his lips in yours, sighing into him as his fingers gently tugged your hair and brought you to another two unholy orgasms.

–

You don’t bother showering again, opting to take Doyoung up on that ride home from his driver who arrives in less than fifteen minutes, despite the morning rush hour traffic. You’re soon stepping out onto the busy streets, feet back in those painful boots and coat wrapped tightly around you to cover your revealing outfit you still can’t believe you wore out all night (but probably have to thank for this entire encounter).

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t a lost little angel!” comes a familiar voice, catching you as you are approaching the black car, the driver standing with a neutral expression waiting to open the door for you.

“Jungwoo, hey,” you start, stepping towards the man who is placing his motorcycle helmet on the seat, arms crossed as he leans gently against the expensive bike.

He’s wearing low rise leather pants with a matching belt adorned with a large silver buckle. His jacket is open and you can see a tight and cropped red shirt underneath, exposing much of his toned abs and navel. Nude color blocking rose up the sides of the shirt, covered in black crescent moons and he is wearing a stack of gold chains tight around his neck. A large green stone is dangling from his ear, moving as he speaks.

His hair is fluffy from the helmet, eyes smudged lightly with dark liner, most likely still from the night before. He looks absolutely unreal and your mind drifts to images of your friend pressed between him and the equally sexy Jaehyun in the crowded bar, stirring tension deep in your core.

“How was your night?” you add, stepping closer to him, curious about what your friend had gotten into.

“I’m sure just as sinful as yours by the look of this walk of shame,” he almost sneers back, tone unmatched to the large grin covering his face from his lips to his eyes. He grabs your phone from you and punches his number in, punctuating with a sultry wink. His eyes are flicking up and down your body dramatically, making overly exaggerated facial expressions at you.

You roll your eyes at him, turning to head to the car, wagging your fingers at him seductively and putting extra emphasis in your steps as you know he has his eyes glued to your ass as you slide into the car.

When Doyoung emerges from the shower with a towel tied low around his waist he finds Jungwoo lounging in his favorite chair in the living room, flipping through a magazine he had left here the week before. He looks up to make eye contact with Doyoung, smiling and letting a low whistle slide out his lips.

“Don’t start, Woo,” Doyoung warns curtly, pouring two cups of coffee and preparing them the way they both like.

“Look look, I have Father Lee on speed dial, he’s ready to do an emergency confession for you in the lobby of your office if you need it this morning,” he laughs back, closing the magazine and accepting the mug.

Doyoung rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reach over and slap the back of Jungwoo’s head. He knows his friend is exaggerating but he had consequently already sent Mark a text that he would stop by the church later that day for a chat. Having one of your oldest friends be a priest that was known for being more on the liberal side had its perks.

“Just because I don’t flaunt my escapades all over town or upload racy videos into the shared DJJ iCloud album, doesn’t mean I’m not getting my dick wet,” he replies after a long sip of much needed coffee.

Jungwoo almost spits out his coffee at the vulgar comment, lips twisting up into a wicked smile as he watches his friend, relaxed and shirtless mid-morning on a work day.

“Something’s different about you, Kim Doyoung,” Jungwoo chuckles, tapping back into his conversation with Jaehyun from earlier, who had frantically texted him from the office that Doyoung hadn’t shown up for their morning meeting and wasn’t replying to any of his texts.

“I guess you could say I was touched by an angel,” Doyoung replies wickedly, winking at Jungwoo before standing and letting his towel fall from his hips, whipping it at leather clad knees before walking slowly back into the bedroom.

Jungwoo’s eyes widen and a smile spreads across his face, watching his friend’s toned ass move away from him and examining the red marks dotting his broad back.

“Oh Jaeeeeee, I have an idea for something that could be fun and oh so messy,” Jungwoo whispers into the phone as he steps out onto the balcony, lighting a blunt in the cool morning air, surrounded by the sounds of the bustling city below.

Part Two TEASER + Tag List NOW LIVE HERE

#doyoung smut #doyoung x reader #nct smut #nct x reader #nct fanfic #religious trauma slay #djj x reader #djj smut #jungwoo smut #jaehyun smut

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 7 months

Note

i know that Ron fic is going to annihilate the lot of us

I am glad that people are getting excited about it <3 also remember, it's not just a Ron fic, it's a whole Poly Golden Trio x Reader fic <3

the full fic is now POSTED!!

and because I can't help myself, a mini preview (this is about 500 words, and I think the only warnings are possessive!Ron, and rough kissing. and hair pulling - toward the reader.) (also, if you're wondering where Hermione is in this preview, you will be very interested to see how she comes in during the fic)

King For A Day (Preview) - Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader x Harry Potter x Hermione Granger

Ron’s glare fixed on Harry’s hand on your shoulder. It seemed that those words from Harry’s mouth, so casually calling him an idiot, along with Harry touching you - even though it was the most casual, platonic touch he could have performed - this brought Ron’s anger to a boiling rage, and under the influence of the Locket - he snapped.

“Don’t touch her!” Ron growled, reaching around you and shoving Harry squarely in the chest in order to get him away from you.

Harry let out a sharp gasp at this, and stumbled backwards a few steps - partially because of how hard Ron had pushed him, and partially numb from shock, because his fights with Ron had never turned physical before.

You looked between the two of them, tingling with shock yourself, unsure what to say or do. You were tempted to call for Hermione, but then Ron began speaking again and shocked you even further.

“This may come as a surprise to you, Harry, but you don’t own everything in the goddamn world.” Ron said, spitting Harry’s name through his lips like it was a vile poison.

Was he seriously insinuating that Harry put a hand on your shoulder because he thought that he owned you?

Was Ron getting possessive over you?

“Excuse me?” Harry squeaked out, clearly having as much difficulty processing the words as you were.

“You heard me.” Ron growled, his voice dark.

It was something that made your stomach jump, a mixture of shock and lust flowing through you, making you numb and limp and turning you into a perfect ragdoll, entirely receptive to Ron’s next chaotic, unpredictable movements.

Ron threaded a hand into the back of your hair, a grip so strong and commanding, a touch that immediately said ‘I own you’ - you released a small gasp as shockwaves of pleasure pittered through you from this point, from feeling his large, strong hand gripping you there, and in a moment he ripped on your hair, forcing your head backwards so he could have a good angle to shove his mouth onto yours. Dizzy with the combination of pain and pleasure, your mouth so easily fell open to him, having nothing but ripe, burning moans for him as his rough, unshaven face scratched against yours and his demanding tongue shoved past your teeth, almost forcing you to choke on his presence as your needy lust came back with a vengeance, thumping hard between your thighs.

Harry found himself confused.

He was still so bitterly angry, but he found his cock quickly swelling to hardness at the sight of Ron taking you so savagely, treating you to roughly, doing things to you that Harry had definitely never done. Harry was always soft with you. He didn’t know anything but softness when it came to his intimate time with you. Witnessing this was so absolutely hot, and Harry couldn’t deny that. He should have been more upset by this revelation - by the familiarity, by the natural way you just let Ron kiss you.

Harry should have been jealous. He should have stormed away to brood at the fact that you had clearly been fucking Ron behind his back for as long as you had been fucking him. But he couldn’t find himself angry about that. He only found it to be a turn-on.

He was still bitterly mad at Ron. And he watched to watch. And he was confused as to why that was - but he certainly wasn’t going to move unless you or Ron yelled at him to bugger off.

#EEEHEHEHE I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS FIC #fanfic preview #anonymous #sundrop answers #sundrop writes #poly golden trio x reader #ron weasley x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #hermione granger x reader

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buckleyblueyes · 3 years

Note

buddie + " you're shivering. here, take my jacket. "

So, it's July, it's 95 degrees outside, and I have written Christmas/winter themed fluff ft. Eddie being touch starved and having a conniption over wearing Buck's jacket. Blame the prompt? I hope you enjoy!

Eddie isn’t cold. He’s not. It’s barely below sixty degrees fahrenheit, so he isn’t cold. It would be ridiculous for anyone to be cold. He’s fine. He’s sitting outside, on the frigid stone edge of a large fountain, in the middle of December, and he’s fine.

“I told you to bring a jacket,” Buck says smugly. “I knew you would be cold.”

Eddie grits his teeth. “I’m not cold.”

“Uh-uh.” Buck gives him a look of fond exasperation. “Which is why you’re currently staring down a mall Santa like if you glare hard enough at him, he’ll move through the line faster.

“I am not.” Eddie is not glaring at Santa Clause. He would never glare at the physical embodiment of Christmas joy. Least of all on what will probably be one of Christopher’s last trips like this. Next year he’ll be eleven, a full fledged preteen. He’s already expressed doubt over the legitimacy of Santa Clause. Next year Eddie is sure his son will want to skip the mall entirely. So, no. Eddie is not staring down Santa and willing him to move fast. Santa’s Elf on the other hand?

Buck grins. “Not glaring or not cold?”

“Both!” Eddie snaps.

“You’re shivering,” Buck sighs, eyeing him carefully, before pulling at the sleeves of the coat he’s wearing. “Here, take my jacket.”

Eddie wants to protest, opens his mouth to insist he’s fine, that he’s not cold. But the wind picks up, and his body betrays him, openly shaking in the chill of the December air. Buck gives him a look, as if to say see? before sliding his jacket the rest of the way off.

Eddie takes it, holding it in his hands. It’s a beige hoodie, with a thick fleece lining that’s soft to the touch, and it smells like Buck, warm and spicy and comforting. “Won’t you be cold?”

Buck shrugs. “I’m from Pennsylvania, Eddie. We have this thing called snow? It’s white and cold and it falls from the sky. I’ll be fine.”

Eddie could do without the sarcasm, but he can’t bring himself to turn down the jacket. He pulls it on and immediately relaxes into the warmth. It’s something akin to the feeling of being wrapped up in Buck’s arms--which is something Eddie doesn’t have nearly as much as experience with as he wishes, a desire which he finds himself desperate to give into everytime Buck pulls him into a bro-hug, a want so strong that he is always the first the pull away--and if wearing this jacket is the closest he can get to being held in Buck’s arms for an extended period of time, well. He’s going to take it. “You know,” he starts. “I have seen snow before.”

Buck laughs. “Maybe on TV.”

“In real life!” Eddie insists. “It snows in Texas sometimes!”

“Yeah, maybe,” Buck admits, thinking back to the news stories about the freak storms in Texas. “But not regularly, and not in El Paso, and certainly not when you were a kid, old man.”

“I’m four years older than you,” Eddie huffs. “Anyways, it frosted sometimes.”

“That’s not snow, Edmundo.” Buck rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about waking up in the morning to see your normally boring suburban block is covered in at least a foot of snow. I’m talking about boots stuck in snow drifts. I’m talking about peeling off your cold, wet clothes at the end of the day and curling up in front of the fire.”

Eddie has to admit, it sounds nice. “Alright, I’ve never seen that kind of snow before.”

Buck grins, a slight twinkle in his eye. “Maybe I should show you that kind of snow sometime.”

If it was anyone else, the idea of casually implying a shared vacation with your totally platonic best friend might seem weird. But it’s Buck, and knowing Buck, he’s probably already envisioning teaching Christopher how to build a snowman and thinking about how to make sledding as accessible as possible. Not about the inherent romance of a cabin in the snow, sitting by the fire, surrounded by nothing but quiet and calm. Eddie shakes his head, as if he can shake those thoughts out through his ears if he tries hard enough. “Maybe,” he agrees, quietly, even though he thinks he should probably say no.

Buck looks like he’s about to say something else, but that’s when Christopher gets up to Santa. Eddie reaches into his jeans pocket to pull out his phone, but he stops when he sees that Buck already has his out and is snapping pictures.

“Send those to me, will you?”

Buck is giving him that fondly exasperated look again. “Obviously.” In moments like these, when Buck is taking pictures of Eddie’s son with Santa Clause, and Eddie’s wearing Buck’s jacket, and their thighs are pressed together, he thinks Buck might be feeling what he’s feeling. The fountain shoots up behind Buck, creating a sort of halo around his head, and Eddie wants to kiss him. He doesn’t.

“Just making sure,” Eddie mumbles into the hood of Buck’s jacket, turning his head to focus on Christopher, watching as he laughs at something Santa says.

“He’s getting so big,” Buck says wistfully. “I remember the first time I came with you guys for this. He was so much smaller then.”

Eddie’s chest burns at the reminder of their first Christmas in LA, of Shannon coming back into their lives, only to leave permanently. But it’s a happy memory, too, one of the best memories they have as a family. So, he shakes it off. “Pretty soon he’ll be too old for this.”

“Don’t make me think about that,” Buck shudders. “He’s supposed to stay a kid forever.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not how it works,” Eddie responds, watching as Christopher hops off Santa’s lap and begins heading back towards the fountain. Eddie reaches out as Christopher approaches, pulling him into a quick hug.

“What’d you ask Santa for, Superman?” Buck asks, smiling widely.

“Can’t tell you.”

“Aw, come on.” Buck faux-whines, before leaning down to Chris’s level. “You can whisper it in my ear, if you don’t want to tell your dad.”

“Nope,” Christopher shakes his head. “I can’t tell anyone, or it won’t come true.”

The exchange is very familiar to Eddie, who just shakes his head. “Alright boys, let’s head home, and maybe Buck can make us his peppermint hot cocoa.”

Christopher’s eyes light up. It’s not a secret that both Diaz men love Buck’s hot cocoa recipe (which is really just a variation on Bobby’s cocoa recipe, but with a touch of peppermint extract). “Will you?”

Buck avoids looking directly at Christopher, knowing he’ll fold instantly if he does. “I don’t know, do you think it’s cold enough for hot cocoa?”

Christopher glances down at the thick coat that Eddie bundled him in earlier, because of course he remembered Christopher’s jacket and not his own. “I think so.”

Eddie pinches his lips together. “Does cocoa necessitate cold? I feel like it’s just a festive thing to do.”

Buck groans. “You’re so stubborn.”

“So, is that a yes or a no on the hot cocoa?” Eddie asks.

“As if you didn’t know the second you asked that I would make it.”

Eddie did know, but it warms him all the same to hear it out loud, and a smile pulls on the corners of lips, as Christopher cheers. “I know.”

Buck just turns and walks off towards Eddie’s truck, Christopher following close behind him. Eddie lingers for a minute, watching his son and his--well, the man he loves--continue to talk and laugh.

The voice comes from behind him. “You have a wonderful family.”

He gives the elf a small smile, even as his heart aches. “Yeah,” he agrees, because they are wonderful, more wonderful than he probably deserves. “I do.”

#buddie #buddie fan fic #buddie drabble #my fan fiction #prompt fill

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niksfics · 3 years

Text

↬ WHAT COULD NEVER BE

↬ PAIRINGS: bokuto x f!reader? (Side) atsumu x f!reader

↬ WARNINGS: nothing really. Just some heart wrenching angst, bokuto is careless with your heart I guess

↬ SUMMARY: you fell in love with your bestfriend but your bestfriend has never felt that way about you.

↬ A/N: I totally did not cry while writing this pft

↬ WC: | 1.7K |

My first year at Fukurodani had been lonely to say the least. I had been new to the area wheras everyone else had gone to middle school together, and I'd been the odd one out. The cliques had already formed leaving me to fend for myself.

My second year though I'd seen a flyer for the boys volleyball team needing a new manager. I signed my name against my better judgement and hoped for the best. When I'd shown up to the first practice game after a talk with the coach, I had realized signing that flyer was the best decision I'd ever made.

Bokuto Kotaro a second year -at the time- like myself was just a ball of energy. He was an honest to god enigma. Being around him was just intoxicating, a rollercoaster you never wanted off of. We got along fairly quickly and him and the rest of the boys had made my second year a little less lonely.

In my third year I was always greeted in the halls, by my fellow classmates who'd known me because of Bo. When he'd learned that I was basically friendless in my second year he'd gone around and introduced me to just about everyone he knew. Eyes shining with love and happiness. That was the third time my heart had skipped a beat because of him.

By the time I realized the butterflies in my stomach increased as the months went by in my eventful second year, the more I realized I was falling in love with my best friend. My heart thumping against my rib cage every time he'd look at me. My skin lighting on fire as his skin brushed against mine. My breath catching in my throat whenever he'd look at me a certain way, or whenever he leaned down to whisper something in my ear. He made me feel breathless and I could never get tired of it.

The day I realized my bestfriend, Bokuto Kotaro, just might not be in love with me as well was the day I'd stayed late after practice to put some of the equipment in the storage closet. I'd been proudly wearing his jacket. It swallowing my body because that's just how big he was. He'd rounded the corner into the closet and smiled at me sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"Y/n, I was wondering," he'd paused and my heart beat against my chest almost as if it was gonna burst right through my skin. The breathless feeling coming back and I felt myself starting to smile until he'd finished his sentence, "well uhm... I was wondering if I could have my jacket back, Koyuki is cold and I don't want her to freeze," my smile dropped in an instant. The way he'd said her name, it was.. well it was different than whenever he said anybody else's name. "Oh yeah sure Bo, lemme just put this stuff down really fast," I'd turned from him nose stinging from the tears welling up in my eyes, and I swallowed the lump forming in my throat down. Suppressing every single emotion in my body.

I'd handed him his stupid jacket back and slammed the door closed as I watched him drape it over her shoulders and she smiled brightly at him.

I should have known then. Known that he was falling head over heels for akaashi's twin sister, because when bokuto falls in love it's not quiet, its loud and powerful and passionate and it'll swallow you up if you let it.

Koyuki akaashi did just that. Let his love consume her like the raging fire it was. They were a beautiful couple. A match made in heaven.

She was beautiful and confident. His personal little cheerleader. She was undoubtedly the most wanted girl at our school. She was perfect for him. I knew that. I felt it, and I tried my damn hardest to be so happy for him. To love him differently. The way he loved me. Platonically. I watched them fall in love.

Watched him kiss her with a passion I only dreamt of feeling from him. They held looks of love whenever they looked at the other. The hardest part though. The hardest part was she was the kindest, sweetest girl you'd ever meet. A heather. No hidden agenda. Nothing like those girlfriends in the cliche best friends to lovers trope books. She welcomed me as a friend and fully supported me as bokutos bestfriend. She was impossible to hate, and how could I hate her when she was the reason my best friend smiled the way he did. The reason his breath caught in his throat just the way mine did.

When we graduated and I'd become a cheerleader for the MSBY Black Jackals, because I'd promise Bo to not leave his side. Promised I'd followed him to the ends of the earth. We were y/n and bokuto. We came in a pair. It was hard. Hard being around him when he'd talk about Koyuki and how he couldn't wait to feel her again and how it was so hard being away from the person you love more than anything, and then he'd say "you know?" With his puppy eyes, and I'd just shrug and agree.

The way I'd wished and hoped that it wouldn't last. That somewhere in bokutos head he'd realize she wasn't the one. That they'd get in a fight too big to cool down from. The more I'd wished that the more I felt guilty. Why would I wanna ruin my bestfriends happiness? Why would I wish that to go away?

So when shoyo hinata asked me on a date, I'd excitedly agreed. Finally I could, maybe, forget about the big himbo I'd fallen for. No. In fact that made it worse. I found myself comparing hinata to bokuto. The way hinata walked, the way hinata talked, the way Hinata's touch didn't make my skin burn up quite like bokutos did. Me and hinata didn't last. It was a disease, and I was dying. Being eaten from the inside out. My very heart collapsing in on it self, and when he'd proposed to her. God, the way I cried. The way I ached. The way my chest clenched and the tears finally fell.

"Y/n, what's wrong?! What did I do?" He asked desperately grabbing my wrist as I'd gasped and tried to turn.

"Nothing Bo, I'm so happy for you!! These are happy tears Ko!"

He smiled big and bright. Bokuto wasn't dense. He was more aware of anyone's feelings than he was of his own. Either he saw the pain in my eyes that night and ignored it, or he saw it and in fear of our friendship crumbling right in our hands that night swallowed down what he'd wanted to say. It was the latter.

The day of the wedding finally came. Here I stood, next to my favorite boy. Waiting at the end of the aisle for a girl who was not me. My bestfriend, the boy.. no man I'm in love with. Tearing up as is his wife to be walked closer towards him.

Tears gathered in my eyes and I forced a smile as they fell down my face. Atsumu tapped my shoulder. I turned and he'd held open his arms. I'd buried myself in the tight embrace of the setter who knew. Who knew the story. Who'd held me as I cried many times. Times just like this one. He kisses the the top of my head and I turn back around catching the eyes of bokuto.

After the ceremony everyone had gathered at a venue for the reception. I walked away from the laughter. The buzz of the party and the cheers as the groom dipped the bride and kissed her.

Unfortunately for me, he'd soon noticed my absence and come to find me. "Y/n" he whispered hand closing over my elbow, and a warm, salty tear rolled down my cheek and stopped at the corner of my lip.

I turned away from the salty water washing over my feet, and my toes dug in the sand. "Don't touch me" I tried my hardest to sound determined, but my voice cracked.

"What was it? What does she have that I don't Ko?" I asked. Desperate. Reaching for anything. Grasping at straws.

That's when I looked at him, and his eyes said it all. He was never very good at hiding his emotions. His eyes always gave him away, and he'd known. He knew the whole time. I knew that now.

Lovely Bokuto Kotaro had known all along.

He was quiet for a minute. "You have everything that she has and more." He said what he felt and bokuto never lied. He hates lies I knew that.

"Then why not me? I know you knew. You knew the minute we were sitting in that boba shop and you looked at me staring at your hands interlocked. I know you realised. Then and there." I pulled my elbow away from his hand.

"I love you y/n, just not in the way I love koyuki," he says it so casually as if he'd just told me he'd left my purse on the counter. Not tenderly. Not carefully.

My eyes closed collecting myself, "don't you think I know that Bokuto? Don't you think I've cried over that every night for years? I know you do, and God it's so fucking hard to be happy, and bite my tongue. To swallow down the word vomit, because I love you so fucking much, kotaro. I've loved you since the middle of our second year, but now you've gotta let me go. Leave me behind." I turned back facing him again.

"Please don't ask that of me, you know I can't do that. That'll kill me sweets-" I stopped him and turned to glare at him, "you can't fucking call me that anymore. That's a pet name for lovers, not for a man who is married to use on his bestfriend."

You could hear someone walking towards you guys, "y/n?" You knew that voice. "I'm here tsumu," you sighed. Moving around bokuto and walking closer to the setter. "Just... just.. enjoy you're honeymoon Bokuto, and please let me move on and heal. Congratulations on your marriage"

You smiled softly at him kissing bokuto on the cheek as you took the hand of the blonde. Atsumu smiled down at you, heart beating faster just like yours did the day you made eye contact with bokuto for the very first time.

#bokuto #akaashi keiji #sad angst #hq angst #haikyuu angst #bokuto angst #miya atsumu #atsumu #hq atsumu #hq bokuto #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #hinata shoyo #shoyo hinata x reader #bokuto kotaro #hq hinata

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sometimesiwrite · 3 years

Text

The Way It Is

Prompt: Fake Dating

Pairing: Lambert & Essi Other Characters: Julian (Jaskier), Eskel/Geralt

Rating: Teen Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings; platonic/queerplatonic dynamics; pressure to engage sexually; coarse language; alcohol/intoxication; modern AU.

Summary: When Essi and Lambert are setup on a blind date, they don’t expect to get along as well as they do. However, when they decide to keep their relationship platonic and non-romantic, they realize they might face some uncomfortable pressure. For the sake of simplicity, they decide to tell people they’re dating, but is it sustainable?

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Essi fidgeted with the bent corner of her cafe menu, looking around at the various styles of local artworks hanging on the walls. She was early by about ten minutes, but that didn’t stop her from checking the pearlescent dial of her watch every thirty seconds. Finally, the bell above the door tinkled and a man walked in. Essi could tell from the way he was looking around that he was there to meet someone—her. The only other people sitting alone in the cafe were working on laptops and tablets; no one else waiting for a date. And this man was most certainly looking for one.

He was handsome in a ruffled sort of way, though he’d clearly put in a bit of effort. His black casual dress shirt and slim light-wash jeans fit his lean frame impeccably, and a subtle quantity of mousse was clearly doing its best to tame his short, scruffy brown hair. Even his bristly beard appeared to have been trimmed recently. Though there was nothing particularly remarkable about his clothing, there was something striking about the way he carried himself, a devil-may-care sort of presence that Essi appreciated. For a blind date, she thought, it certainly could be worse. Allegedly, they knew each other, at least based on his abruptly out-of-the-blue text, and the closer she looked, the more her memory of him crystalized.

A loud ping! emitted from Essi’s phone and the man looked up from his own cellular device, clearly having just texted.

“Uh, Essi? Essi Daven, right?” He took a step towards her and leaned in, pointing to his phone screen.

“Yes,” Essi stood to shake his hand, “hi.”

“Nice to see you again. Lambert.”

They sat down awkwardly, both struggling to find the will for smalltalk.

“So…” Lambert had become keenly interested in a black-and-white digital photograph behind Essi’s shoulder.

“Listen,” Essi could feel the words start to tumble out of her mouth, and it was too late to do anything about it. Lambert raised an eyebrow, “I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to be honest and probably regret it later: I don’t really do this. Dating. I find it strange and uncomfortable and if I’m perfectly honest I think I’d rather die.” She didn’t cringe apologetically, which would have been the expected behaviour to accompany an outpouring of disinterest. Instead she stared at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly pursed as a muscle in her neck twitched, waiting for his response.

Lambert laughed. Genuinely laughed—a joyful release of tension and dread, “Oh, thank Fuck!” Essi blinked in pleasant surprise and watched as Lambert began to relax.

“Excuse me?” Her startlingly blue eyes widened in amusement.

“No, no, I just mean—I would absolutely and one-hundred percent, without a doubt, rather die in a hole than date,” Lambert slotted the edge of the menu under his fingernails and let his eyes wander a little more freely around the cafe.

“So then… why?”

Hm. Direct, frank, amusing lack of filter… the memories were starting to come back from what limited, heavily inebriated, time they’d spent together.

There was something about the straightforwardness of this endearingly odd woman that made Lambert feel infinitely more comfortable. Usually, any kind of interaction with the potential of building mutual interest made him feel like he was playing a game he didn’t know the rules to. The signals, the code words that never meant what they said: having sex on the first date means you’re a slut; not having sex on the third date means you’re a prude; grabbing coffee means this; having dinner means that; if they your arm but don’t invite you up, it means that they’re actually a KGB operative and need to give you the launch codes for a super secret missile...

Fuck that, we have words for a reason. Say what you mean and don’t waste my time. For that reason alone, Essi was already scoring quite well in Lambert’s books.

He shrugged, “You somehow remembered me from the KM Christmas party almost six months ago, and still asked for my number. I figure that at least deserves a coffee and a conversation.”

Essi was bewildered, “I didn’t ask for your number, you texted me.”

Lambert shook his head, “Impossible. No offense, but I absolutely guarantee you I did not.” He produced their short text exchange and scrolled to the top of their conversation:

Hi, is this Lambert? From the KM Christmas party?

You might not remember me, we got talking about

the political situation in Kashmir after about…

Too many drinks. Eeep!

Anyway, I’d love to get a coffee sometime, if

you’re interested.

Sorry, this is Essi Daven.

You called me Goldilocks at one point and

seemed amused XD

Hope you’re well!

Essi snatched Lambert’s phone, shocked and slightly outraged as she reached for her own device, opening her thread with Lambert. The text at the top was not from her, but from the man across from her:

Yeah, hi, this is

Lambert-from-the-KM-Christmas-party.

As it happens, I remember you and our

conversation quite well. Not many folks

happily get into drunken political discussions

You know what, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a

coffee.

Let me know if you’re free in the next couple

weeks!

Lambert gestured emphatically at Essi’s phone screen, “In what world is this an acceptable way to ask someone out?! I wouldn’t have said yes to that!”

“I don’t know,” Essi fired back, “It was straightforward! I found it charming, okay? Is that a crime?”

“No, but I have some serious concerns about your taste in men.”

“Like you’re in such a fine position to judge after the hollow, paltry invitation you accepted—which I absolutely did not write, by the way. I want to make that perfectly clear.”

“Alright, alright, cool your jets, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Lambert narrowed his eyes as he passed Essi’s phone back to her, “You didn't fire the first shot, so who texted me from your phone and cleared the history?”

Essi nibbled the inside of her cheek, “I can think of a few.”

“Okay, next question,” Lambert pocketed his phone, “who added you to my contacts before you texted. Because we did not exchange numbers six months ago, but your name was already there when I received it.”

Essi shrugged, “Who has access to your phone?”

“I dunno. Really just Eskel and Geralt and neither of them would—”

“Geralt.”

“Why him?”

Essi’s bright blue eyes turned steely and murderous, “Julian… They’re working together.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that Geralt the-last-thing-I-need Rivia and Julian Alfred these-aren't-my-pants Pankratz think we're so helplessly undateable that they decided to secretly set us up?”

“Eskel doesn’t know me that well; he wouldn’t try to set you up with someone he hadn’t vetted. Who did you talk to first when you got that text from me?”

Lambert’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, they’re working together.”

Essi nodded, a flood of embarrassment warming her cheeks. “Sorry to waste your time. You’re very nice but, um, I should just…” she got up to leave.

“Wh-hey, hold up. I mean, if you wanna go, go, that's fine, but there's something you might want to know first.”

Essi tossed her yellow bangs out of her eyes, “Oh? What's that?”

“This,” Lambert produced an Amex credit card from his breast pocket, “is Geralt's.” The cheeky glint in his eyes was a very convincing argument.

“Fine then. Coffee and a conversation.”

The coffee was hot and decent, and the conversation meandered through the usual topics of music, movies, and television, but also dipped into deeper waters as they grew more comfortable with each other’s company. Of course, it didn’t hurt that neither of them had any stakes in the outcome of this “date”. It made it easier to be frank and open, which in turn led to them quickly enjoying their time together. So much so that coffee turned into lunch, which turned into a long walk in the pleasant weather, which finally landed them outside Essi’s apartment, just around dinner time.

“I have to say, this was actually a pleasant encounter,” she said, turning to face him with a characteristic toss of her bangs.

“Yeah, who’d’ve thought two people forced together by meddling friends would actually find it enjoyable?”

“In light of that,” Essi squared her shoulders and found Lambert’s hazel-brown eyes, “I think it’s fair to say I want to see you again.”

He cringed regretfully and scratched the back of his head, “Ahh, yeah, so… I don’t know if that’s really--”

“Oh, relax,” Essi smirked with a casual touch to Lambert’s forearm. “I don't mean like that. I just mean--you're interesting and fun and, well I don't have many close friends and I feel like we connected well today.”

“Well…”

“I'll make it even simpler: I absolutely, one-hundred percent, am not interested in dating you.”

“Easy there, you know I love it when people get all straightforward with me.”

“I mean it, I just want to be friends,” she toyed back, trying her best to look sultry. It kind of worked.

Lambert bit his lower lip in mock arousal, “Mmm, oh yeah...”

She swayed her shoulders forward and back, doing her best to emulate the seductive actresses and models of the 1950s, “I want to Netflix and chill with a documentary about Soviet propaganda.”

Her last comment prompted a playfully stern look from her companion, “Careful now, you’re wading into actual turn-on territory.”

“You're such a weirdo,” Essi chuckled, giving him an endeared shove. “Seriously, though, would you like to do this again? Friends?”

He nodded sincerely, “Yeah, I think I'd really like that. Just one problem, though.”

“If we claim not to be interested in each other but keep hanging out we’ll never hear the end of it?”

“Bingo.”

Essi hummed thoughtfully and nibbled the inside of her bottom lip, “Well… we could always… pretend?”

***

“Sounds like you two are hitting it off. I’m glad. I know Essi’s been feeling a little isolated between work and being new to the city.” Geralt closed the fridge with his foot and headed towards the sofa, popcorn in one hand, three beers in the other. “I’ll take my card back, by the way.”

Lambert reluctantly handed the Amex back in exchange for a beer and perched on the arm of the sofa. “She’s really something. We’re, uh—yeah, hitting it off is a good word.”

And hitting it off, they were. The last ten days since their first “date” had been more enjoyable than all the dates he’d had in the last year combined. Essi was a fantastic companion: sharp, witty, kind, took no bullshit… They had done absolutely nothing but hang out, and no one had pried them for many details about the nature of their relationship. As far as their friend group was concerned, they were simply dating in the way that most adults dated. This also meant more time to themselves without unwanted interruptions (namely Julian barging in with his spare key to gossip about whatever fires were currently alight on twitter). The first night Lambert had been over, it took Julian all of five minutes to “grab something from the fridge” before parting with a knowing wink.

To her credit and imagination, Essi had expertly fielded her cousin’s initial barrage of questions when she first announced their “involvement.” It wasn’t that she didn’t like her cousin, Essi adored Julian, but she was also the first to admit that the man had no boundaries. What he lacked in that arena, he certainly made up for with opinions, which he was always more than happy to bestow on his younger cousin—usually dating advice, almost always unsolicited. Lambert had a much easier time convincing his side that he and Essi were taking it easy to see where things went. Between Eskel being a consummate gentleman and Geralt having his own Delicate Sensibilities, neither of them had demanded any details.

“As long as you’re both happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters,” Geralt’s partner reiterated, reaching into the bowl on Geralt’s lap.

“Jesus, Eskel, you sound like my Nonna.”

“That's no way to talk to your father,” Geralt smirked into his hand of popcorn

“You're no better,” Lambert took a swig from his beer, lips popping as he lowered the bottle. “I swear, you've turned into a couple of mother hens since you two got together. Quit fussing and watch the game.”

Geralt put his arm around Eskel’s shoulders, “We have gotten a little soft haven’t we?”

Eskel huffed out a laugh, “Probably. Hey, Lambert, don't fuck it up or I'll kick your ass into next week.”

“Thank you. See? Was that so hard?”

“Eh,” Eskel shrugged, helping himself to another handful of popcorn, “I stand by my original statement. Geralt agrees.”

“It's true,” he said between mouthfuls. “Essi’s a good woman. Smart, talented, kind, attractive.”

Eskel cleared his throat.

“Eskel, she is, it's just a statement of fact it doesn't mean that she doesn’t have other…”

“I know it doesn't but I still think you could bear to be a little more…”

“Funny thing,” Lambert interrupted, “I still can’t figure out how this smart, talented, kind, attractive woman’s number programmed itself into my phone. Because I may have been drunk the night we first met, but I have never in my life forgotten a successful number grab. Fess up, fellas. Who was it?”

Eskel’s eyes widened, “Geralt, you didn’t.”

“I… may have… helped Julian gain access to Lambert’s phone.”

“Unbelievable. The betrayal,” Lambert shook his head, eyes still on the game. “If only there was some way to square things up…”

“You charged everything to my company card, didn’t you?”

“First two dates and a fresh pair of pants. Thanks, bud.” Geralt accepted a pat on the back as Eskel began gently but sternly berating him.

Lambert shook his head, smirking as he took another swig of beer, leaving the two lovebirds to bicker amongst themselves. His hip pocket buzzed and he checked his phone: Essi.

Next Wednesday? Pizza and a movie? Still can't believe you haven't seen Ocean’s Eleven.

Yeah, okay, fine. Jeez :P 7:30 my place? I'll provide beverages.

If by ‘beverages’ you mean watery beer…

Fuck off, I'll get the good stuff. Unless you prefer Arbor Mist or some shit.

*gasps* I am offended! (but also it's delicious)

*sigh* do you want me to get you some?

*turtles into hoodie* ...peach or cherry pls?

Haha okay, fine, I'll get a bottle. Can't promise I won't judge you forever, though ;)

It's okay, I deserve it. g2g, see you tomorrow! xox

***

Lambert groaned contentedly, massaging his stomach as he sprawled back on his aging brown sofa, long legs resting habitually on the coffee table. The now-empty pizza box lay abandoned on the far edge, accompanied by four empty beer bottles, and a nearly-empty, unfavourably warm Peach Arbor Mist. The toilet flushed and Essi emerged. Her dark gold hair had long ago been pulled into a messy bun, but her indigo skinny jeans had been replaced by soft-looking grey leggings.

Lambert shook his head in amusement as she settled back next to him on the couch, "I still can't believe you brought your own lounge pants"

"That's because I'm a genius," she quipped, crossing her legs and adjusting the height of her waistband. "Besides, when else will I have the opportunity to actually be comfortable during a date?"

"You took your bra off, too, didn't you?" Lambert asked without missing a beat, eyes never leaving the screen.

"Yup!" Essi confirmed, her sparkling blue eyes glinting with joy as she raised her glass to her lips.

The movie continued as the new friends settled into comfortable silence, their food-drowsy, alcohol-fuzzy states lulling them into a new level of comfortability around each other. Legs fell asleep, positions were adjusted, and shoulders leaned on as the two sought maximum comfort for minimum effort. Soon, an arm was around Essi's shoulder as she settled her cheek on a comfortable spot on Lambert's chest.

"You good?" Lambert asked, only half-irritated at her seemingly endless search for the perfect angle.

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd found a good spot, but..." A few more adjustments of her head and Lambert couldn't take it anymore.

"Jesus, woman, here. Get up for a sec."

Essi sat up as Lambert rearranged himself into a sort of semi-recline with one foot on the floor so his other leg could make room for the tiny pain-in-the-ass that was taking up the rest of the couch space. At his invitation, she wriggled up to the crook of his arm and quickly settled in. Lambert hadn't really thought about what they were doing. Not when Essi had harmlessly leaned against his arm; not when their weight settled into each other; not when Lambert had put his arm around her; not even as he was rearranging to get to where they were now. It had all just... happened. Now, though, with Essi lying still, Lambert felt the weight and warmth of her body shifting gently against his, and it dawned on him that this had the potential to be, well, weird.

But the strange thing was, it didn't feel weird. He'd fucking cuddled before, but there was always a sense of holding back, a tension in his body, being on the lookout for signals from the other person to move onto the Next Step. But now, he actually felt comfortable. There wasn't anything that was supposed to happen after this. Nobody was asking anything of him, no one sending signals he could pick up on but never read properly, no sinking feelings of dread as the other person moved in for a kiss that always felt too soon. Essi was just there, breathing, content. And Lambert was relaxed.

The woman half-on top of him gave a twitch as the credits started to roll, and Lambert let out a private laugh, "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, show's over."

Essi inhaled heavily through her nose and lifted herself up, "Hmmm?"

"Movie's over."

"Did I fall asleep? I'm sorry!" she sat and rubbed her eyes, taking a sip of water to rinse the stale taste from her mouth.

"Eh, only a little." Lambert exited Netflix and tossed the remote back on to the table. "Thought you might wanna start heading home before it gets too late."

Essi nodded in response as she grabbed the pizza box and brought it to the kitchen trash, leaving Lambert to bring the empties.

"You going to finish this atrocity of a beverage?" Lambert waggled the near-empty wine bottle at Essi as he passed on his way to the sink. She merely scowled and shook her head, letting him pour it down the drain 'where it belonged anyway'.

Essi gathered her things and met Lambert by his front door, checking her pockets for her phone and keys one last time before putting her shoes on.

"You okay to walk? Want me to come with?"

It was only 10:30 on a weeknight, and she appreciated the gesture all the same, but it was fine to walk. "Thanks, though. And thank you for tonight. I really needed to get out of the house. I hope, um..."

She trailed off, not sure how to ask. She didn't have the same physical boundaries that most others seemed to have. She was affectionate—often overly so, and it had led to more than a few misunderstandings in the past. She didn't want Lambert to feel as though she had ulterior motives when the simple fact of the matter was that she hadn't really been thinking. Between the instant relief of not actually being on a date and Lambert's easy manner all evening, she'd forgotten that most friendships didn’t generally involve that much physical contact. Would Lambert be confused now? Thinking they were onto something more than friendship? Had he been wanting more? Had she pushed past a point of no return and doomed their friendship?

She inhaled, "Were you comfortable tonight?"

For a split second, Lambert flailed, wondering whether he’d made her uncomfortable. Fuck, she'd seemed comfortable, if anything it felt like he’d been following her lead but maybe...

"I—yeah. That was, I enjoyed that. Were... were you not—?"

Essi smiled and Lambert relaxed again, "No, I was. I wanted to ask in case, that's all. Boundaries and all that. I'll text you when I'm home."

Lambert opened the door and waved her off toward the elevator, "'Kay. 'Night!"

The door clicked shut.

Okay, alright. Fine. Did they cuddle? Yes. Did he enjoy it? Fuck yes. He absolutely didn’t care what anyone might think about how he chose to enjoy his time with other people. However, this didn’t stop him from acknowledging that he was in uncharted friendship territory. More than anything, he was worried about how Essi really felt. Of course, she had no reason not to be honest with him. But the last thing he wanted to do was play fast and loose with someone’s emotions, especially not a friend, and definitely not one as close as Essi. Time would tell. As Lambert’s head hit the pillow, the memory of her warmth and weight settled over him again, and he slept soundly for the first time in months.

***

“Yes Poppet, but have you slept together yet? Honestly, you’ve been dating for almost three weeks now, what could you possibly be waiting for?”

Oh, I don’t know, hell to freeze over? You to mind your own business? Whichever comes first…

“I mean, you clearly adore one another, I’ve never seen you happier. What’s there to lose?’”

Essi scoffed.

Julian placed his hands on her shoulders, “I know it’s been a while for you, but I think you can afford to let yourself go a little, have some fun, hm? Besides, it’s better to find out sooner rather than later if you’re sexually incompatible.”

She took a deep breath, “That’s a very good point, Julian, I’ll think about that.” The dating act was starting to wear a little thin, but it was worth not having to explain to anyone that they weren’t doing exactly what it looked like they were doing.

Julian took time to give his cousin a scrutinizing look, “Well, by the look of things it won’t be long anyway. If you spend all of your time together as tangled up as you were the other night when I came over, it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Just trust your gut, and when in doubt, a little hint never goes awry.”

Needless to say, Essi more or less ignored her cousin’s advice.

As the weeks stretched on, it became evident that they were quickly becoming what most people would consider to be more than friends. The first time they pulled the covers back and climbed into bed, each on their half of the mattress, they were aware that yet another boundary of friendship had been pushed a little farther into the grey zone. But, they woke up the next morning feeling happy, content, and refreshed, and surely there was nothing wrong with two people sharing a comfortable bed. Essi had woken up with crust in her eyes and her nightgown bunched around her waist. Lambert had woken up with morning wood and his hair a mess. Neither of them cared. People wake up in the morning, big deal.

Still, it didn’t stop the questioning that oscillated in the background of Lambert’s mind. Was he unknowingly leading Essi on by allowing her so much closeness without a clearly defined relationship? She’d made her own disinterest clear enough on their first “date”, but feelings change over time. What she’d told him three weeks ago might not be true anymore…

And then there was that soft warm tingle in the middle of his chest every time she lay her head in his lap, every time he ran his fingers through her hair. He knew he wasn't in love. Not that he was an expert, but what was all that "when you know, you know" bullshit if he couldn’t trust his own feelings? He loved her, sure, but more like a... not a sister, that would be weird. He didn't know what like. Whatever. Fuck it. Eskel had said it best three weeks ago: “As long as you're happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters.” Yeah, sure. We’ll stick with that.

As far as Lambert and Essi were concerned, it was what it was, and whatever it was was working… wasn’t it?

***

"Fuckin' finally!"

The door to Essi's apartment clicked closed as the tenant wilted against it, emitting an exhausted groan, "Two. Hours. It took me two hours to get home!" She toed off her penny loafers and abandoned her purse and jacket in a pile by the front door, ignoring the hook three inches to her left. She flopped heavily onto her living room carpet.

"I see you found my spare key," she added, not at all surprised that Lambert had managed to let himself in.

"Yeah, you should probably put that in a less obvious spot," he answered, crossing to the door to hang her things up. "So, I see it's a lying on the floor kind of evening. Can I interest you in a drink to start? Vodka pairs well with the general vibe of Done-With-This-Shit, or we also have tequila if you feel like shouting out the window after a couple shots. Alternatively, there's gin if you want to cry later."

Essi smiled with her eyes closed, feeling her body slowly relaxing into the spongy throw rug underneath her, "You know me so well."

"Vodka?"

"Vodka. Euch, I need to vacuum!," Essi peeled herself to a seated position as clinks and clatters began in the kitchen. She hopped in the shower to rinse the day off, and after a few minutes, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Yeeees?" she called, playfully.

"Drink delivery!" Lambert hollered back, "you want this now or later?"

"Why are you so good to me?"

There was a draught of cool air as Lambert opened the bathroom door, "Because you only marginally annoy me. Here," he passed his hand between the shower wall and the opaque fish-scale-patterned curtain. "What's on the docket for tonight?"

Essi groaned, "I don't know, I'm sorry. I used all my brain cells trying not to murder people on the streetcar."

"Okay," Lambert sat on the lidded toilet, "here's the thing. I kinda maybe figured that might be the case so I kinda maybe picked up a few things to make dinner."

A shampoo-piled head poked out from behind the curtain, "You're kidding."

"Nuh-uh."

"I love you."

Lambert chuckled, "Yeah, you're alright. Come on, hurry up, this bathroom's a fuckin’ sauna, and I don’t want the croutons to get soggy." Essi burbled an answer about conditioner and almost done, and Lambert took that as his cue to leave.

Dinner was simple: pan fried Salmon with crispy skin (delicate and buttery on the inside); wax beans in butter (tender and not overcooked); grilled brussels sprouts (just beginning to brown on the edges); and a fresh caesar salad. Everything done to perfection. Full, content, and ready to take their relaxation to the next step they settled themselves on Essi’s blue-grey sectional to begin the arduous task of deciding what to watch.

This was proving particularly difficult with the addition of Essi's caveat that whatever they chose not be "too plot-heavy" which so far had included Masterchef, an interior design show, and program about shepherding in the Orkneys.

"Sweetheart, you gotta give me some slack here. I thought I was on track with the sheep!"

"I know, I'm sorry!" Essi muffled into his shirt sleeve. "I do like animals..." She gasped loudly. "BLUE PLANET."

Lambert stopped the endless scrolling and pushed play as the soothing voice of David Attenborough filled the small living room.

"Hey! Why'd you pause it?"

Lambert was standing up, "If we're going to do this, then we're doing it right. Hang on."

Essi slumped on the sofa as the microwave kicked on. In a few minutes, there was popcorn in their laps and half a bottle of vodka on the table with an ice bucket and lemon wedges in a bowl. Lambert read off his phone screen.

"We will take a drink when:

-David says 'Extraordinary' -David uses a clear understatement such as 'But then again, living in an active volcano is not without its risks' -An animal is being eaten -An animal is mating -There is sped up footage of a plant growing."

"Oh no," Essi lamented, chewing her popcorn ungracefully, "I'm going to get so drunk."

"You got it, Goldilocks. Fill up."

And with that, they were off, taking it slow with their vodka twists, but nonetheless feeling the warm buzz start to tingle under their skin. The box of microwave popcorn was empty by halfway through, and the remains of Essi's exhaustion had almost dispersed entirely.

"Ooh! Understatement! Drink!!"

By ten o’clock, pink-cheeked and feeling boisterous, they had finished with their favourite parts of Blue Planet, or at least the ones they had patience for, and had moved on to Planet Earth II.

“Holy fuck, that’s a lot of snakes—Go, you little fucker! Go!”

The drama on the screen had caused the two to separate from one another while Lambert invested himself in the success of the small lizard. Once the baby Galapagos Iguana had made it to safety, they were once again able to recline without Essi risking an elbow to the face.

She bundled against him, scooting farther between his legs where he leaned in the corner of the sectional. He gathered her hair and draped it over her left shoulder so it wouldn't get caught in his buttons—they'd learned that the hard way. It was still damp, cool to the touch, and smelled like verbena sea salt shampoo. He felt a pulse of affection ripple through him as her weight resettled. He loved that feeling. It had taken some time to get used to it. But now it was high on his list of favourite things. He was happy. And it was healthy. And that really was all that mattered.

Right?

Eskel’s words turned themselves around again in his mind as he wrapped his arm around the front of Essi’s shoulders. He let himself indulge in the texture of her cotton knit nightshirt under his fingers. He relished in the peace of mind at being able to just be there with someone who meant something to him and made absolutely no demands. He let himself relax.

Essi felt a kiss land on the top of her head with a playful, "Muwah!"

She giggled quietly, "Thank you!" Then, upon further thought… Did he want to kiss her? Her mind did a double take as she tried to get on top of the ball.

It wasn’t impossible. They were close after all, and she wasn’t opposed to the idea. She’d recently found herself in a balancing act of realizing she could, in theory, have a deeper kind of feeling for Lambert. Only if, for whatever reason, it turned out he felt the same way. These weren’t the helpless uncontrollable feelings of ride-or-die infatuation; they were malleable, translatable, general feelings of affection and fondness that belonged in any number of different relationships and dynamics.

No sense risking it, she thought. They'd found a liminal space of comfort and safety that she'd never experienced with anyone else before, and if the options were between being a little confused and ruining everything, the choice was an easy one. Then again, if Lambert was developing feelings for her, she didn’t want to miss an opportunity. Shit. Her cheeks burned as she felt the question rise closer to her lips.

"Lambert?" she sat up abruptly and turned to her friend who was still moulded into the corner of the couch, watching the mating rituals of exotic birds with bewildered skepticism.

He jolted at Essi’s sudden movement, "Hello, yes."

Her bright blue eyes were now slightly unfocused, "Do you—? Nevermind." She lay back against him, suddenly skittish..

"Mm, nah, try again," he said, sluggishly. "What’s up, buttercup?"

She swayed a little when she sat up, "Are you happy with what we are?"

Lambert blinked, caught slightly off-guard. The question was easy enough to answer, "Yeah! I mean I don’t know what the fuck we are, but I’m feeling pretty good about it. Shit, why? Are you not? I can be less… whatever. Or… more?" It wasn’t like he was repulsed by the idea of anything else happening between them—in theory it was a possibility. In practice, however...

Essi put an emphatic hand on Lambert’s knee, her glassy eyes going wide, "Do you want more?"

"What? No! I dunno, I—maybe. I haven’t really thought about it. I mean…” Lambert searched Essi’s face for any clue that might help him know how to proceed, “I don’t not want anything else. Fuck, I don’t know! I’m used to doing things the other way around. You know the drill: uncomfortable date, smoosh faces together, have sex, hope feelings fall out. Lather-rinse-repeat. I dunno, do we have to… But what if we try something and...? I don’t wanna lose this."

Essi leaned in close and whispered, “I have an idea.”

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?"

"We should kiss."

Lambert nearly swallowed an ice cube, "What?!"

"Just once. Quickly. Just... in case."

"You want me, Lambert, to kiss you, Essi Daven, on the lips."

She nodded sincerely, "For science."

There was a brief pause during which Essi felt the beginnings of panic brewing in her stomach, but by the time she'd finished grappling with potential consequences, Lambert was filling their glasses.

"Alright. Fine. My friend wants me to kiss her for science? Fuck it. I'll drink to that."

They downed their drinks and squared up, knee to knee on the edge of the sofa as they each prepared for their best form—or as good as they could offer given the circumstances. They counted down, 3-2-1...

The kiss was quick, over as soon as it had begun, and both friends pulled away with questioning looks. Inconclusive. They tried again for a little longer, still returning with the same quizzical expressions. They went in for a third time, committing more thoroughly, and for a brief moment it seemed they might have found the semblance of a spark. But it didn’t build. It felt… fine? But no different than if they were lying together on the sofa. It was just another thing they were doing. They each tried to find the right word for what they were feeling, but were soon distracted by the oddness of it all.

Essi started to giggle. Less than a second later, Lambert joined her, and they both pulled away, thoroughly satisfied that their experiment had yielded a strong No on the subject of More. There was a dull thud as Essi slid from the couch and onto the floor, still holding her drink in one hand and laughing hysterically.

Lambert sighed and shook his head, "I think it’s time we got you to bed."

Headaches and dry mouths greeted the two friends the next morning when they blinked awake. Essi’s hair was a cotton-candy mess, having still been slightly damp when Lambert put her to bed. The brunet himself didn’t look much different from his usual scruffy state as he gathered Essi up in an armful of duvet and squeezed tight.

“Gods, Lambert, I still need to breathe,” Essi chuckled, pressing her back into his chest.

“You’ll get over it,” he teased and self-indulgently nuzzled even closer. “You feeling alright? I mean, aside from the hangover. About last night?”

“Oh no,” Essi groaned, “I’m so sorry, Lambert. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just—you kissed my head and then that got me wondering about whether you might want something else, and then I didn’t really know what was happening and—”

“Hey, easy on the rambling, okay, I’m running on limited brain cells, here. Look,” Lambert sat up to find those big blue eyes, now shining brightly, “I have no idea what the fuck this is that we’ve got going on, but I like it fine just the way it is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And we can keep talking about that. Just, you know, maybe next time something’s on your mind, don’t wait ‘til we’re wasted at 2am?”

“Okay, deal. Can we go get bacon now?”

Lambert chuckled, “Yeah, alright, fine. Make me put pants on, I see how it is.”

Their conversation continued over strong coffee and eggs benedicts. Between their check-in that morning and everything that had happened the previous night, it was well-established that they were perfectly happy where they were. Rather, the main topic of conversation was their growing desire to level with their friends about the nature of their relationship. Eskel and Geralt, they both agreed, would be the easiest—Lambert could tell them that evening. Julian and Essi’s friends on the other hand would be a little more difficult.

Telling Julian together would be best, Essi thought. He was bound to have questions, and if both she and Lambert were there to answer them definitively and explain that no, they didn’t have secret feelings for one another; and yes, they really were just friends and not at all interested in exploring the relationship further thank you very much. Exactly when this discussion with Julian would occur still wasn’t clear. Realistically, they could pick any time, but they decided to wait until Lambert could tell the Old Men. At least then they were assured some less invasive support.

Their reaction was easy enough to predict: Eskel reassuringly repeated his standby “As long as you’re both happy with things…” and twirled a forkful of pasta; Geralt tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “That sounds very nice. I’m happy for you.” Lambert had expected mild disapproval, concern that they were deviating too far from the norm and into a complex dynamic that would be too messy to manage. Instead, Geralt simply said it ‘sounded very nice.’ Lambert smiled into the open refrigerator on his way to get a beer.

The following weekend was Julian’s birthday, and, as per their annual tradition, the group all gathered on Friday evening at the birthday boy’s favourite restaurant—Vegelbud’s. The two decided to tell him the week after his birthday so as not to detract from his Big 3-0. Just one more week, and it would all be in the open. Easy breasy.

The afternoon of the dinner, Eskel and Geralt received a group text: Haven’t told Julian the details yet. Keep the beans to yourselves please (I’m looking at you, @Eskel).

“Why me?” Eskel turned to Geralt over his paperwork, looking a little hurt.

Geralt chuckled, “You have a slight tendency to overshare when you want to be supportive.”

“I do?” He turned on the bar stool to follow his partner on the way upstairs.

“It’s not a bad thing, but…” Geralt sighed, “Lambert has always needed to feel in control of situations like this. He doesn’t want one of us bringing this up before he’s ready to talk about it, especially in a public place, you know how he gets when he feels cornered. And Julian is Essi’s cousin…”

Eskel raised a hand, “You’re right, you’re right. All points taken. Are you showering?”

Geralt smirked as he headed for the stairs, “Come on then.”

Four hours later and halfway through dinner, everything had gone swimmingly. The food had been expectedly delicious, the company and conversation excellent, and so far no one had felt the need to bring up Essi and Lambert’s relationship on any level. That is until Julian got a few drinks under his belt, and decided it was time to document the occasion. Geralt and Eskel were the first victims.

“Aww just look at you two! So in love, so vivacious and full of adoration,” Julian held up his phone as Geralt touched the side of his head to Eskel’s. Beep-Chk! A perfect image of a happy couple was captured and posted to Instagram (#julianturns30 #dinneratvagelbuds #dinnerout #cutiesofinstagram #favoriteotp #gaycouplesofinstagram #livelaughlove…). There were a few more photos of the three of them together, the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake with the candle in it, a group shot taken by the waiter. It was all so close to being over, Essi could practically taste the refuge of the streetcar.

"Come on, lovebirds, show us a smooch!" Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Essi’s stomach lurched and she felt her cheeks start to warm. Lambert’s hand landed gently on her knee under the table, his fingers pressing firmly into her leg as she desperately tried to think of something to say.

"Oh, um..."

Across the table, Geralt and Eskel shared a wordless communication: de-escalate, distract, redirect.

“You’ll want to eat that cheesecake before it gets warm” Geralt offered. “I hear it’s so light it’ll disintegrate in a heartbeat.” Eskel nodded in encouragement, taking a bite of his own.

“I know, I know,” Julian shrugged, “Just a quick one. Say Cheese!”

"Not right now, Julian," Essi tilted her head, her eyes flashing a little.

"Oh come on, Poppet! I know you don't like PDA, it's just one little picture--"

“Don’t call me Poppet.”

Eskel cleared his throat loudly, "Doesn't seem they're that keen on it. Maybe let's try for one another time."

"It's past your one-month-a-versary, let everyone see how in love you are."

"Julian," Geralt growled, "leave it."

Julian covered his mouth in alarm, "I’m so sorry, have you not used that word yet? I didn’t mean anything by it, I just want the world to see how happy my beautiful cousin is!"

“Really Julian, it’s not necessary we—” Essi’s fingernails were starting to dig into Lambert’s palm from the sheer effort of maintaining composure. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or disappear, and with neither of those being an option, it seemed the only possible escape was for them to kiss. They’d done it before. No big deal. It would feel off, but they’d just go back to her place and drink about it after.

“Essi, what’s the matter with you, it’s just one little picture, and we all know you’re not camera-shy. On three, ready? One, two…”

"For fuck's sake we're not dating!"

The table all silently turned their attention to Essi whose cheeks had been turning progressively redder.

“What?” Her cousin laughed incredulously.

“We’re not a couple, Julian. We’re friends. We have been from the beginning, but we didn’t want to tell you because we knew you wouldn’t fucking leave us alone until you could boast about having set us up.”

Lambert shared a brief look with Eskel before lowering his eyes to the tablecloth, his hand still firmly clutched in Essi’s.

Julian gaped, “So, it was all… the cuddling, the laughing, that time I came over and you were asleep on the couch, that was all… a ruse?”

“No, Julian, that was real. I told you, we’re friends.”

“That’s not friends! Since when have friends watched a movie half-on-top of each other?”

“Two people can enjoy each other's company lying flat, Julian,” Eskel’s rich voice interjected across the table and the discussion ground to a halt.

Geralt shrugged with his tea at his lips, “It is the twenty-first century after all.”

Julian’s cornflower blue eyes flitted back and forth between the two friends, utterly bewildered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well what with your complete and utter invasion of privacy for the sake of hooking us up, we didn’t necessarily trust you to believe us,” Essi answered curtly, her hand shaking slightly.

“Poppet, you could have just told me—”

“Stop. Calling me that. And I did tell you, Julian!” she exploded. “I told you the first day I moved here. The first. Day. I said, ‘Julian, I think I want to take a break from dating until I’ve been settled for a year.’ And what did you do? Conspired with my well-meaning former mentor to hook me up with someone I had one good conversation with at a Christmas party. And do you know what? We are happy. But we’re happy in our own way. And maybe our boundaries with each other seem a little strange to you, but we’re not fooling ourselves. We don’t want to kiss each other, we don’t want to have sex, and we don’t want a relationship. And even though it’s absolutely none of your damn business, I’ll tell you anyway: we’ve talked about it. All of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I want to be here anymore.”

The chair legs scraped against the floor of the restaurant as Essi stood to leave, throwing her purse over her shoulder as she went. Lambert looked hesitantly around the table, “I should probably, you know…” He gestured after Essi with his thumb. Eskel gave Lambert the go ahead and he quickly stood to follow his friend out of the restaurant, leaving a very stunned Julian with the other two. He found her perched on the parking barrier in the small lot to the left of the front doors. He called to her and she looked up. Eyes shining, mascara running...

“Ah shit, you know I’m no good with this kind of thing.”

“I’m sorry, Lambert, I just—” she blew her nose, “—he just wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do or say, and it all just came pouring out. I didn’t want it to. The whole time I was begging myself to stop, but I just couldn’t, it’s been bottled up for so long and-and—but it’s his birthday, and—oh, he must feel so awful! I didn’t want to make him feel bad, but—and with Eskel and Geralt there too! They must think I’m horrible! I’m so sorry, Lambert, I didn’t want it to be like this, I wanted to have him over and sit him down and be patient, and instead I’ve just made a complete mess of things. And on his birthday! It’s his birthday, oh God, this is the worst thing I could have done.” Essi choked back bitter tears as she tried desperately to stem the flow with her soggy tissue, “Are you upset with me, Lambert? If you are, I understand. Maybe we should take a break of some kind, you know. Not see each other for a while and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it right there. Look, I’m probably not going to say any of the right stuff here, but I am absolutely not upset with you. You got that? And for what it’s worth, I don’t think us taking a break from spending time together is going to do anything. Unless you’re looking to punish yourself by taking away a nice thing which, okay. But the fact that you’re willing to ditch me instead of Arbor Mist says something about our friendship I’m not too pleased with.”

Essi turned her wide, pleading, bloodshot eyes to Lambert who cracked a smile, “Jesus, I’m kidding! You adorable fucking mess, c’mere.” He pulled his petite friend into a hug and rested his chin on the top of her head until she quieted down. Neither of them was quite sure how much time had gone by, but Essi found herself wishing it had been long enough for everyone to have gone home so she didn’t have to face whatever aftermath she’d left behind.

Meanwhile, Eskel and Geralt had settled the bill and offered to give Julian a lift back to their place for a night cap, not wanting to leave the evening on such an unsettled note. Essi needed space, and whatever company she needed, Lambert was clearly capable of providing. It was for the best, they suggested, and dissuaded Julian from trying to call her.

“Best to sleep on things,” Geralt said, tucking his card back into his wallet and giving the waiter a nod in gratitude. “We can meet for coffee this weekend and sort this out. For now, just let her cool down.”

Eskel clapped Julian encouragingly on the shoulder as they made their way into the damp summer night air. As they turned into the parking lot, they came face-to-face with Essi and Lambert who had clearly just turned to come back inside. Both cousins looked like they had seen better days: Essi’s eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks blotchy and streaked with inky makeup stains; Julian was perhaps less dishevelled, but the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, his boyish features now dejectedly weighted down with remorse and hurt.

“Juian, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

Essi’s cousin raised his hand, “Don’t. Please don’t. Essi, I am so, so sorry. I never meant to push you like that, I didn't realize... you both have been so happy this last month and—"

"It's okay, really, we can talk about this all another time. I'm just so sorry I ruined your birthday. We wanted to sit down with you and talk properly but..." Essi's tears welled up again, and Julian smiled weakly.

"But we both did what we always do?"

She sniffed, nodding emphatically with a tearful, "Yeah.” Julian pulled his cousin into a fond embrace while the other three clumped together to watch the reconciliation.

“Oh! Here,” Essi reached into her purse and pulled out a small, neatly-wrapped box. “Happy birthday!”

Julian opened his gift without a second thought, his face brightening instantly. The box contained a set of premium ultra-light guitar strings and a pair of concert tickets. The perfect gift. Overwhelmed with gratitude, and the atmosphere having been recovered, Julian suggested they all attend brunch together that Sunday morning, his treat by way of apology. Geralt offered to split the bill as a peace offering for his part in the initial setup, and the five made a date.

A fresh start, a promise of spending time together with fewer secrets and, Julian conceded, a few more boundaries.

#witcher rarepair summer bingo #wrsb #Platonic #queerplatonic #no romo #Geralt/Eskel #Essbert #Gereskel #Jaskier #Julian Alfred Pankratz #alcohol #drunkenness #Essi & Lambert #Essi Daven #Lambert

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misc-headcanons · 4 years

Note

heyyy I (hopefully) finally got a chance to make a request! uuhh I don't wanna be greedy and ask for a full on scenario, but could I maybe get a short little thing about Basil Hawkins flirting with a lady-reader through a fortune telling session? ://0 thank you v much! (if it's a completely uninspiring request you're more than free to pass on this since I haven't seen you write anything else for him, and maybe you'll have more fun with something else filling my request slot)

(Commissioned by @supernova-hcs-art ! Tysm, this is my first-ever commission and I'm very excited about it 😚)

Hawkins/F!Reader: Expression

Word Count: 1426

Basil Hawkins was a hard man to read, even to those closest to him. Whether he was happy, upset, scheming, or simply looking off absent-mindedly in the distance, he naturally kept his thoughts and emotions behind a stone-faced mask. Normally, he didn't view this as a problem; the less emotion he showed, the more he was recognized as a cold and calculated man that was not to be trifled with. When it came to a certain matter though, he hated just how difficult it was to broadcast what he was feeling: ____.

She was captivating in every way, always managing to make his mouth a bit dry and his pale skin the subtlest bit of pink just by speaking to him. He hoped that telling her how he felt would put him at ease, but he'd never confessed before; hell, he hadn't ever felt attracted to someone like this outside of a platonic appreciation of beauty or personality. Not only that, but he didn't want to overwhelm her by confessing out of the blue when she had no idea of what he was really feeling, thanks to that stoic expression of his. No, he needed to be subtle about this. And when ____ had asked him if he would give her a tarot reading, it seemed that fate had given him a golden opportunity.

Hawkins silently opened the door to his private cabin and let ____ inside to sit at a large circular table in one corner of the room. She marveled at the intricately painted art on the wooden table's face, which was a beautiful dark blue that was speckled with gold and silver stars, a brilliant sun, and a crescent moon across from it. It blended in perfectly with the rest of Hawkins's room, with its iridescent crystal statuettes and shards, indigo curtains, and the heavy-yet-soothing smell of incense smoke and lavender. "So," she remarked, turning to face Hawkins with a smirk. "This is where the magic happens?"

Hawkins shut the door, ignoring how white his knuckles were when he gripped the handle; how did she make his heart race like this with just one glimpse of her face? "It's...not exactly magic," he replied, walking to the chair opposite hers and taking his deck of cards out of his coat pocket. The familiar tingling of his fingertips as he held the cards eased some of the giddy anxiety in his chest after he'd heard her laugh at his response.

"Fair enough," ____ replied, settling into her chair and running her fingers over the image of the sun in front of her. "This is where the 'interpretations based off of probability and dozens of varying factors' happens." She watched Hawkins expertly shuffle his cards, admiring how graceful his movements were as the cards flipped through his slender, gloved fingers. "Is there anything I need to do? Just so you can get a better reading from me?"

Hawkins pursed his lips slightly as he had the idea to try flirting with her for the first time, just to subtly let her know how he felt about her. "Performing a tarot reading for someone I'm already familiar with doesn't require much," he replied. "And...we are very familiar with one another, are we not?"

____ shrugged and nodded. "I'd say so," she replied casually. "When you're fighting and traveling the seas together in close quarters on a ship, it'd be hard for us not to become close with each other."

Hawkins's face remained unchanged, but internally he felt a twinge of disappointment; apparently he'd been too subtle and indirect with that approach. He'd have to think of something a bit more bold. His attention turned to the cards, and he set down the shuffled stack in the center of the table. "Cut the cards with your dominant hand, please," he instructed. ____ complied and when she reached out to pick up the cards, her fingers brushed against his. Hawkins felt much warmer under his ruffled shirt collar, and he gently pulled down his neckline to try and get some relief.

____ noticed this and raised an eyebrow. "You're warm, too? It is kind of muggy in here," she remarked, setting the cut neck down to pull down her shirt a bit as well. "Might be the incense, though."

Hawkins was externally cool, but internally screaming. He wasn't the kind of man to luridly gaze at a woman at the first sign of showing extra skin, but...she was right across the table from him, pulling her neckline down; it was in his direct line of sight, dammit! His eyes quickly snapped to the cut deck and he picked up the card on top to begin arranging a tarot spread. "This will be a simple Celtic Cross arrangement of the cards," he began, laying the first card down.

____ peered down at, leaning forward a bit with her elbows on the table "This card describes your overall personality," Hawkins said. "The Queen of Wands: Passionate, creative, courageous…" He glanced up to see her reaction as he trailed off. "Beautiful…"

Hawkins saw ____'s eyebrows raise ever so slightly, and the corners of her lips turned up a bit. Their eyes met for a moment, and Hawkins quickly shifted his gaze to draw the next card. "What is crossing you, or simply what you're dealing with at the moment," he continued, clearing his throat a bit. "The Page of Cups usually indicates a message, one of love or happiness, or good news."

____ bit the inside of her cheek. "Hmm. Would wanting to confess something count? Or maybe…" She glanced sideways for a moment. "Maybe wanting someone else to say something to you?"

"Depending on the message, that could be what the card is referring to," Hawkins replied, wondering what--or who--she could be referring to. Hopefully as he continued the reading, he could get more answers. "What crowns you…"

He set down the third card, and ____ let out a small laugh at the image of the Lovers in front of her; she covered her mouth as she grinned at the image of a young couple embracing each other. "Oh my god, you've got to be kidding me," she sighed, looking across the table at Hawkins with a playful smile on her face. "I knew it, I knew you knew."

Hawkins tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brows; the knowing look in her eyes and mischievous smile confused him, and he felt as if he were hearing an inside joke that he didn't actually understand. "I...don't follow," he replied, not used to feeling completely lost like this.

____ pointed down at the cards. "The cards," she replied. "You didn't 'shuffle' them, you set all of these down to get me to say it first. I mean...really? 'A message of love', 'passionate', and the LOVERS card?" She held up the card between her fingers and waved it back and forth.

Say "it"? Say...what?

____ shook her head with a smile and rolled her eyes. "And you've still got that handsome poker face of yours, even after you got caught," she sighed. "I was always so nervous about admitting it, just because I wouldn't know how you'd take it. I mean, I didn't know if you'd feel the same way; I know that expressing yourself like that isn't your strong suit."

She set the card down in front of Hawkins and purposefully brushed her fingers against his before resting her hand over his own. When he saw the warm color in her cheeks, the way her eyes shined as she looked at him, and felt her fingers touch his…the realization of what she was saying slowly dawned on him. The only changes in his stoic expression were the more noticeable spots of pink on his cheeks, and how his normally heavy-lidded eyes widened to the size of saucers.

____ gently laughed again, surprised to see that for such a cold-and-collected pirate, Hawkins seemed to be floored by the smallest of touches. She already thought he was handsome, but now he was comically adorable. The color in his cheeks intensified, and she gently squeezed his hand. Hawkins regained his composure and was hesitant for only a moment before awkwardly squeezing her hand in reply. When he saw how her smile widened a bit, he felt the lovesick tightness in his chest from before fade into a warm and pleasant feeling. She definitely wasn't the only one whose fate was currently crowned by the Lovers...

#one piece #one piece scenarios #one piece scenario #hawkins #basil hawkins #mine #commission #female s/o

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 5 years

Note

I'm kinda late on sending this but if you're ever in the mood, Gababel + kiss on the fingertips for the writing kiss game? Thanks amiga 😘💕

No problem. I hope you like this little Gababel read.😉

“Oof!” Isabel cried out as she once again fell to the floor in an undignified heap of ruffles and swollen pride.

“Stupid heels.” She muttered against the scratchy wool carpet that had been giving her face what felt like 2nd degree rug burns for the past few minutes.

Why did Cousin Esteban insist that the whole Royal Family and Grand Council have to wear full hoop skirts, puffed-up sleeves and layer upon layer of linen in making their entrance for Elena and Mateo’s official engagement announcement.

The whole kingdom knew that the royal wizard proposed to her, and have been having impromptu celebrations since the announcement. Why did they have to be all dressed up for the official one?

Though she could understand the excitement. There hadn’t been a royal wedding for 57 years so lots of people were going all out in decorations, gifts and food to celebrate the upcoming event of the century. Cafe Angelica’s even created a new

And really, Isabel was so happy for her sister and her soon to be husband. They completed each other in a way that Isabel hoped to have someday. Having someone that could read your thoughts, whose smile immediately got bigger and brighter whenever you entered the room, just true loyal companionship.

So far, she hadn’t met anyone who met that criteria.

Well she had but he couldn’t possibly….. No she wasn’t going to think about it. She had 15 more minutes before she was supposed to go out and greet the crowds and she had to master these shoes.

She had worn heels before, but these were barely a heel, it more like a stick trying to hold up her entire body and throwing her off balance.

Isabel shook her head and forced herself back to standing position, taking a big inhale as she slowly stepped forward.

“Princess Isabel, you are supposed to be ready in 10-” a voice commanded, suddenly opening the door to her room.

Isabel yelped in surprise and embarrassment at the sudden presence broke her concentration and she came crashing down to the floor again.

“Oh Isa! Are you okay?” The voice lost its commanding tone and became soft and tender as his strong arms bent down to lift her up.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Isabel weakly batted his hands away, wishing her red blush wouldn’t show so prominently, “It’s just the heels. They’re– um. I’m having some trouble walking in them.”

“Well those are very useless shoes then if you can’t walk in them.” Gabe grinned easily at her, his white teeth shining brightly and Isabel wondered how he had the time to keep up the well-groomed appearance between his guard duties, helping Elena among other small duties he had to regulate and look over the army. It was really admirable that he managed to organize his life that well and that he actually cared to look good too.

Isabel forced herself to look down when she realized that she was looking a bit too long at his face for it to be considered platonic. If she looked too long at his face, she began to think and if she thought too much then she would become a flustered mess and only leave Gabe to continue thinking of her as Elena’s immature little sister.

“Yes, well, that’s tradition. According to Esteban at least. It’s the height of fashion in Avalor today.” Isabel mimicked her cousin’s snooty tone, regaining some of the casual atmosphere she felt with Gabe.

That was another thing she admired in him. When she wasn’t overthinking things he made her feel so comfortable. Secure to be more accurate. She felt like she could truly be herself around him with her interesting science factoids and all and never feel judged.

She didn’t know when she first realized how she felt for the handsome Captain of the Guard, but once the epiphany hit her she could barely think of anything else especially when he was so close to her as right now. She could barely remember the elements of bozone when he was near much less remember how to act normal.

Unexpectedly, she felt the miniscule touch of soft lips against her fingertips and she nearly jumped out of her skin if it hadn’t felt so tingly, “Isa?”

“Y-yes.” Isabel stuttered realizing that Gabe was staring at her again. His expression was a bit concerned and also…amused on her behalf. She supposed she must have zoned off again thinking about him or thinking about something else. He couldn’t possibly know that she liked him.

But then why did he kiss her fingers? That was not a friendly-friend thing to do at all. That was intimate. That was like the hand kisses Elena kept giving to Mateo during meetings even though their abuelos and Esteban kept reminding her that they had to act professional in public.

She stared at her fingertips that were still curled around Gabe’s strong paw of a hand. Her hand looked so small against his. They still tingled and it felt like lightning awas zooming up and down her arm, taking all strength to not shudder with delight at the sensations.

“Isa?”

“Yes, Gabe.” Isabel squeaked, the blush coming in full force now as she realized that this was the second time he called her name and the second time he caught her staring in amazement at her own fingers.

“Since you seem to be having trouble walking would you like me to escort you around the ballroom. You know, hold on to my arm so you won’t fall?”

“Yes please!” Isabel cried, inwardly berating herself for the eagerness but trying to play it off as a joke “You are truly my knight in shining armor. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I was forced to wear these all night.”

“Glad to be of service.” Gabe winked in return, pulling her up to standing position and placing her hand firmly in the crook of his arm.

Isabel tried to remind herself that he was just being nice. This was Gabe, he was always so conscientious and helpful to others. This is totally platonic.

Though in taking a sneak peek at his expression from the corner of her eye Isabel was surprised to see that Gabe seemed to be looking down at her. With an unfamiliar yet heart-stopping expression.

Something was going on between them.

Isabel quickly looked away, gulping past the need to jump and down like a little girl. Instead she smoothly yet casually laid her head against his shoulder as they walked down the hallway, lifting it up when they reached the doors to the ballroom.

“After we greet the people… would you save me the first dance, Nuñez?”

“I’m your knight, princesa, what you say goes.” Gabe answered with a small bow. Isabel curtsied in return and they turned to greet the people.

#gababel #isabel castillo flores #gabe nuñez #kiss meme #my fanfic #my fanfiction #elena of avalor

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ilosttrackofthings · 6 years

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If you're still taking sunday six prompts, how about 'floor' of February 22, 2018 or 'home' or 'broken' of January 21, 2018.

Good news: I actually managed to get ‘home’ going again and have what should be part one of two finished so yay!

Bad news: I think ‘broken’ was a little too ambitious so here’s what I did manage to write, along with some explanations/headcanons. (Also this is unedited so don’t judge me for stuff I’d clean up if I ever posted this for real.)

Once, after aparticularly successful mission in the Bahamas, the team spent a dayon the beach, soaking up the sun and enjoying the ocean breeze. Afterlunch, their bellies too full of food to go out into the water, Jemmaand Skye sat at its edge, near enough the surf would wash over theirlegs and around their hips. When it rolled back out, it sucked thesand from beneath them and they laughed like children every time.

That’s what thisfeels like. The monolith is the ocean, vast and unforgiving, andJemma herself is the sand, torn away from the shore no matter how shestruggles to hold on.

She’s senttwisting and turning, caught in a riptide, and when she’sthrown—gasping and aching—onto dry land, it isn’t the solidfloor of Vault E. Not that she cares about the dirt beyond that itgives when her fingers dig into it and absorbs the sounds of heragonized screams.

Pain—real,physical pain—cuts through her skull. Sunlight breaks through herfluttering eyelids, curling and twisting around her eyelashes, makingstrange patterns in the air, obscuring the faces of those around her.

Orperhaps that’s the head wound.

Handscarry her and more reach out to touch her as she passes by. Too hard,too soft. Too hot, too cold. They’re all wrong. All completelywrong. None are what she needs.

It’sthe soulbond.

Sherealizes it with a clarity that only increases the pain. The bond hasbeen severed, that’s the pain she’s feeling.

Butit can’t be like this. Millions of people outlive their soulmatesand it hurts, yes, but how can they go on if the pain is always thismuch? If Fitz is really dead-

(Oryou are, a cruel little voice inher head says. She’s the one who was swallowed by the monolith.She’s the one who disappeared. Perhaps this is the afterlife.)

-howis she meant to go on living for another fifty years or even fiftyminutes with pain like this?

Thehands holding her lose their grip on her head. It’s too heavy forher to lift on her own and it pulls her neck to a sharp angle,aggravating the blow she took earlier.

Shesinks gratefully into unconsciousness.

(She comes to himcrying, so overwhelmed by her suffering that even in sleep her tearsfall. His worshipers lay her at his feet and scamper away. What is tocome is not for them to see.

Hereaches out to her, lets his power fall on her that she might befreed of her pain. The thread of connection he anticipates does notform. Rather, he feels a sharp tug that nearly knocks him off hisfeet and the lingering ache—the one he has suffered for generationson end and has learned to pretend he does not feel—is suddenlygone.

Hebreathes, for the first time in a literal age, easily.

Hisknees hit the stone floor beside her and he pulls her to him, feelsher skin, her hair, the beat of her heart in her breast. He presseshis face to her neck, takes in the scent of her. He remembers this,the sense of completion long since lost.

Hertears have stopped falling and though she sleeps on, she turns intohis every touch, deepening the closeness. She is his. For always thistime.)

Atinkling like wind chimes eases her awakeand when she opens her eyes she sees rainbows dancing where the lightfrom an open window falls on a wall.There’s no sudden spike of the ache that’s been sitting in herbones for days or theemptiness so deep she fearedit might drown her. There is, however, a slight twinge at the base ofher skull that eases when strong fingers slide gently over it.

“You’reall right now,” a voice says. Or … doesn’t. She recognizes thewords, but she doesn’t hear any sound.

Shetwists, finds herself in the lap of a man she’s never seen before.Her heart pounds. Though not from fear.

“Whathappened?” she asks.

Helooks human enough but as she was able to determine, between bouts ofunbearable agony, that this cannot possibly be Earth, he might aslikely be a member of one of the many races Sif claimed are similarenough to pass for human. As if to prove her right, hetips his head to one side like a bird consideringa scrap of food it’s never seen before. “You don’t know,” hesays, but his mouth doesn’t move at all.

Itisn’t a question, but she shakes her head anyway, using the motionto turn more fully onto her back. She’s on stone, but the lap she’sresting on is plenty comfortable.

She’sconscious of her precarious position—of how intimately she’slying against him and how casually he draws his fingers through herhair even now she’s awake (she’s glad for that though, it feelswonderful)—but can’t find it in her to pull away. Perhaps she’sbeen drugged.

Hiseyes narrow in confusion, which he shakes off swiftly. “You areaware your soulbond was severed?” he asks, still without moving hislips. The words are in her head, some sort of telepathy which bringswith them a sense of unease and caution.

Thequestion reminds her of Fitz and of the gaping hole left where herbond to him used to be. Guilt washes over her and that, finally, hasher sitting up.

Thestone they’re on turns out to be a bench and she slides her legsover the side so that she and the man face opposite directions. Theposition allows her to somewhat face him, but she focuses on the viewout the window. It, like the bench, is stone with no glass save thedecorative pieces hanging from narrow strings. The jungle—sheimagines the same one she’s been struggling to survive in while hersoul felt like it was dying—is beneath them, stretching out like agreen carpet until it disappears in distant clouds and fog.

Shecan feel the man’s eyes on her as well as the lingering buzz of histouch on her skin and shifts slightly away. She’s always felt alittle guilty with other men even though her bond with Fitz is purelyplatonic, but ever since he confessed his own belief that it wasromantic instead… She could barely hug Trip after he rescuedher from Hydra, for heaven’s sake! Lying in the lap of a completestranger is far more than she’s done in the past year, and knowingshe’s done it while Fitz is surely suffering as deeply as she is?

Was,she realizes with a jolt. There’s a lingering tenderness when shefocuses on the bond, but no pain at all anymore.

She’snever heard of anything like this—of course she also hasn’t heardof many people separated from their soulmates by light years; perhapsthe bond simply needed time to adjust to the distance.

“Youdo not need to explain,” the man beside her says. His eyes arefixed ahead on the lights on the wall. “But you must know that myown bond was severed as well. She … feared me.”

Amillion questions buzz through her head. The bond can be severed? Wasshe brought to him because of his familiarity with the subject? Doesthat mean her bond with Fitz hasn’t adjusted at all and he’s onlyeased the pain of its loss somehow?

Butwhat she says is only, “I’m sorry.” She touches his arm andfeels a vibration down to her toes. Her breath catches and it takesmore concentrated effort than she expects to pull her hand away.

Hewatches her, eyes oddly predatory. Prudence urges her to ask whyhis soulmate feared him, but curiosity sends her another direction.

“Whatdo you mean when you say it’s been severed?” She focuses on itagain, feeling the familiar warmth. It’s there, exactly as itshould be. She must have been right and the bond only required sometime to adjust to the distance. But if that’s the case, shouldn’tshe be able to feel the distance between herself and Fitz?And-

It’snot so familiar anymore. Her bond with Fitz was like walking into awarm house at the end of a long winter day. But now the bond is warmlike a crackling fire, eating up wood and gas and whatever else fallsin its reach. She’d almost think her soul’s caught a fever.

Theman drags in a deep breath, his eyes fluttering in pleasure.

Asuspicion takes root in Jemma’s mind and she struggles to push itaway while he brings himself out of whatever that was.

“Mysoulmate turned to dark magicks. She was willing to damage her ownsoul in order to see me cut from it. Though I cannot imagine anyonegoing to such lengths to be free of you-” he reaches for her andshe wants to pull away—she does—but she can’t seem tobring herself to move- “I assumed your soulmate had done the same.”

Sheshakes her head furiously and his hand falls from her hair. “No.No, that’s not what happened. He wouldn’t-” She knows Fitz hasbeen frustrated with her, but he would never break the bond. It’snot even possible. Is it?

“Itwas the monolith,” she says firmly. “It dragged me away.”

“Monolith,”he echoes and she feels a sharp something in her skull before hisexpression clears. “In the temple.”

“Yes!”It was all carved stone like this place—but much dirtier; no onehad been there in ages—and she spent what felt like days by theside of the monolith’s twin, hoping it would take her back, beforehunger drove her to find her way out and into the surrounding jungle.

“Atoy the Kree left behind,” he says, the words in her head vibratingwith barely leashed disgust.

“TheKree?”

Henods. “They changed me, turned me into one of their weapons. Thatis why my soulmate feared me. But I would not have harmed her and Iwill not harm you. I want only to help my people.”

Shebarely hears the second half of his statement, too distracted by thefirst. “But the Kree stopped experimenting on less advanced racesages … a … go.”

Shelooks around again, taking in the primitive stone architecture, theuntamed wilderness outside, the human-looking man beside her. Whatare the odds that the Kree would pick another species so physicallysimilar to human beings? As a scientist she can reason that theymight have hoped to repeat their successes by starting with similarbase genetics, but that thought does little to stop the fear mountingin her chest as pieces slot into place.

“I’mon Earth,” she says. There’s no way to test her theory, no way toprove it’s true, but she knows it is when she says the words. Theman’s hand rests on her back, giving her support. “I never left.That’s why the bond broke, because Fitz-”

Fitzdoesn’t exist. Not even in some theoretical afterlife. He won’texist for several thousand years.

“Iam sorry.” There’s so much sympathy on the man’s face, so muchcompassion, that she allows herself to fall into his arms.

After recovering from the shock of what’s happened, Jemma eventually gets around to asking Hive all her questions and he explains that, since neither of them has a soulbond of their own, they bonded naturally when they came into contact with one another. She spends a lot of time considering how different this new bond is from her first and also coming to terms with this new world she’s found herself in. She’s not sure how she feels about Hive’s position but ultimately comes around and accepts what is definitely not a platonic bond for what it is.

Then I had some vague thoughts that, with Jemma by his side, fear of Hive would increase because now there’s the potential for a dynasty (whereas before any dissenters could simply hope to kill him alone and be done with the whole mess). So the two of them would find a way back to the future where they’d learn what became of poor Fitz.

It’s possible to survive the severing of a bond, but not easy, spiritually or physically. Hive honestly only survived as long as he did because of his powers. Fitz struggles for a while but once the ATCU shows up on the scene and they learn about the stasis pods, he starts going into one for long stretches, only being revived when the team truly needs him. This leads the team to branching out and bringing in more scientists, including Radcliffe.

Ultimately Radcliffe still builds Aida a body and the Darkhold happens and wouldn’t you know it, when Fitz is revived to help deal with the Russian’s army of robotic copies, he bonds with the newly (In)human Aida.

So everyone is happy and bonded. The end.

#sunday six meme #my fic #parasimmons #*td #anonymous

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riotgrlpossum · 7 years

Note

*hands you motivation in a jar and pokes you to go write* Your writing is amazing and I can't wait to read more! I don't really know what prompts you're looking for but I'm always a sucker for Murphy siblings content :D Or dancing!Connor

this was going to be fluffy and then it like ultra was not. upside, i might continue it though and give it a happy ending later. also there’s dancing connor and murphy siblings soooo

(An Attempt To) Grab A Scoop

Connor Murphy x Evan Hansen (implied/set up), Evan Hansen & Zoe Murphy being platonic best friends

Rating: T (swearing, angst)

Word Count: 1725

In the moments before he was murdered by Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen took a minute to exam all the mistakes that had lead him to this point.

He could blame Zoe Murphy, for inviting him out with her after the Jazz Band concert. He’d had to interview Zoe after the concert for the school newspaper, and she’d invited him out for celebratory ice cream. He could blame Jared Kleinman, for being the reason he was at the Jazz Band concert in the first place. Evan wasn’t technically a reporter for the school newspaper, he wrote think pieces and occasionally helped out on the advice column. Jared was supposed to report on the Jazz Band concert, but he’d gotten sick and forced Evan to go. He could blame Alana Beck, for convincing him to join the school newspaper in the first place. He’d made the mistake of saying how his mom wanted him to join an extracurricular around Alana. She’d all but dragged him to the English classroom that served as the newspaper headquarters. He could blame his therapist, for telling his mom that he needed to join an extracurricular. He could blame his mom, for making him go to therapy.

Or, he could blame himself, for being such a colossal fuck up that he worried his poor mother to the point that she needed to pay for him to go to therapy, even though she already was tight on money because she had to raise him all on her own, because his dad had left because Evan was just too much of burden, so really, this whole thing was Evan’s fault, and he’d been leading up to being killed by Connor Murphy since the day he was born.

After she’d convinced Evan to get ice cream with her, Zoe had confessed that she’d needed to pick up her brother first. Connor had apparently texted her, saying he’d been working late and needed a ride. Zoe assured Evan that it wouldn’t be a big deal, and that she would just drop him off at their house, he didn’t have to actually come out with them, and please Evan, don’t let my brother ruin this, and Evan thought for a second that maybe, perfect, shining, talented Zoe Murphy was almost as lonely as he was; but then when they’d pulled into the parking lot, she’d gotten a phone call from her mother and sighed, mumbling that this would take a while, and will you please just run in and grab Connor?

Evan, who had the inability to say no, nodded slightly and with shaking legs, exited Zoe’s tiny yellow bug, facing the frigid November air. He glanced across the dark parking lot to lay eyes on the building where Connor worked.

“Ms. Marya’s Dance Academy.”

Of all the places Evan had expected Connor to work, a dance studio had not even entered the realm of possibility. He walked slowly towards the flickering neon light, the outline of a petite girl in a bun and tutu accompanying the pink lettering. He pulled open the door to the studio, ringing a faint bell. There was no one at the reception counter, or in the waiting room. At the end of the hall, he heard the faint sounds of music. Evan walked towards the sounds, careful not to make any noise. He shivered at the sight of all of the darkened dance studios. The whole atmosphere was creepy, like something out of a low budget Youtube horror film. The hallway ended with an open door, leading to a brightly lit studio.

Connor Murphy stood in the studio, dressed in a skin tight black leotard with his hair pulled into a tight bun. Pink pointe shoes wrapped up his legs. Vivaldi blasted from the speakers. His eyes were closed as he gracefully leaped off the ground, landing in an artful crouch that drew far too much attention to his long, graceful legs. Evan’s heart beat at an unexpectedly fast rate. He had never seen Connor so content. He had never realized how nimble and elegant he was. He was beautiful.

Then his eyes snapped open and filled with his ten times his usual rage. He lunged at Evan, slamming him up against the wall, hand pulled back about to punch him.

“Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing here! I’ll fucking kill you!” It was in this moment that Evan realized everything in his life had been leading up to being murdered by Connor, and that it was all his own fault. If only he could be a normal fucking person, he wouldn’t be on the verge of brutalization via a stunningly attractive sociopath.

“CONNOR!” Zoe’s voice bounced off the walls, angry and commanding. “What the fuck!?”

Connor’s grip relaxed slightly, but his voice remained steely. “Who is this kid? Is he with you? Is this your idea of a fucking date night, Zoe. To bring your little boyfriend out to laugh at your crazy faggot brother who works at a dance studio?”

“No!” Zoe said. She sounded offended, and maybe a little bit sad, that her brother would think of her like that. Evan remembered how lonely she looked when she realized he was the only one who’d come to see her after her Jazz Band performance.

“Then what the fuck are you doing here!?”

Zoe was on the verge of tears. “You… you asked me to come pick you up,” She said, her voice shattered and broken.

“I didn’t say you could bring a fucking date!”

“He’s not my boyfriend! He’s my friend! I’m allowed to have friends, Connor! Maybe you’d be more used to it if you didn’t scare them all off!”

Connor released Evan. “Fuck you,” He said to Zoe, though his voice lacked its usual vitriol. Evan scurried away from Connor. He met Zoe in the doorway. Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were glassy.

“I can take you home if you want,” She said, defeated.

“No!” Evan said, even though all he wanted to do was go home. “We’re getting ice cream! To celebrate your performance!”

Connor met up with them, a bag slung over his shoulder and a towel around his neck. His hair was down and his arms were crossed. He stared sullenly at his shoes, which were now heavy combat boots. “What performance?” He asked.

Zoe shoved her hands in her pockets. “I had a Jazz Band concert tonight…” She said, trying to sound casual. Connor stopped. He looked up, something undefinable in his eyes.

“Oh,” He said. “What… what did Larry and Cynthia think?”

Zoe looked down. “They weren’t there.”

“Oh… Zoe I -”

“You don’t have to pretend you care, Connor. You weren’t there either.”

Sadness flickered across Connor’s profile, but before it could take any sort of hold, he shut his eyes and let his face harden.

The three of them walked back to Zoe’s car in silence. Evan wondered if everyone else could hear his heart beating. He wished Zoe hadn’t parked so far away from the studio. It felt like the trek to her bug would take hours.

Once they reached the car, Zoe silently slid into the front seat, slamming the door shut. Evan reached for the passenger seat door handle, but Connor grabbed his elbow and yanked it away, twisting Evan so that the two of them were uncomfortably close. Through the cold air, Evan could feel Connor’s body radiate heat.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, spitting the words out like they were made of acid.

“Wha… um… what?”

“I’m sorry for earlier. I was… I just… I’m not going to fucking say it again, Hansen.”

“H-How… you um… y-you know m-my name?”

Connor’s scowl deepened. “Jesus Christ. Look, let’s just be done with this conversation. It is way too fucking cold out here for all of your… just… for you.”

He released Evan, causing him to stumble back a bit. He needed to take a second to get his bearings. Connor had apologized. Connor knew his name. Connor’s eyes were two different colors.

“And… Hansen?” Connor said, with his hand on the car door. His voice was quiet and bitter. “Thank you. For showing up. For her.”

Evan opened his mouth to say something, but Connor quickly climbed in the car. Evan followed suit.

The silence during the car ride to the Murphy house was heavy. Zoe pulled up in front of their obnoxiously large estate, and Connor climbed out wordlessly, slamming the door shut behind him.

“I… Ice c-cream?” Evan asked weakly once he had gone. Zoe stared at him, and then burst into tears, resting her head on the steering wheel.

“No one… no one came. My mom didn’t even… she called asking why I was out so late… I told them! I told them all over and over again but they were too busy screaming at him or about him to hear.” She sat up, and slammed her hand against the dashboard. “And he’s such a fucking asshole!” Her face was a mess of partially frozen tears and snot. “He asked me… I was just trying to be a good sister! I never miss his fucking dance recitals. Even if no one else comes, even when one of them was on the same night as homecoming… I don’t understand.” A fresh stream of tears fell down her face. “Why does he hate me so much?”

There was so much that Evan wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that Connor didn’t hate her. He wanted to tell her what he’d said out in front of the dance studio. He wanted to tell her that she was so kind and so loving and no one in her shitty family deserved her, but instead he just sat there and watched her cry. After far too long of doing nothing, he reached over and wrapped his arms around her. She relaxed into his body, sighing at the touch.

“I’m sorry…” She said, her voice garbled from crying. “I’m just gonna… I’m just gonna take you home. We’ll get ice cream soon though, alright? I promise.”

“O-Okay, Zoe,” Evan said, rubbing her back. “Soon.” He stared at the dark and imposing house, wondering what could go on behind its walls that it could produce two utterly different yet completely broken children.

#dear evan hansen #convan #tree bros #connor murphy #zoe murphy #evan hansen #my writing #it's past one am and i was high key procrastinating homework while writing this but i also kind of love it #kath speaks #kath shut up

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