#Anyways- This game looks right up my alley. Definitely picking it up when I can. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

biffhofosho · 3 years ago

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Perfect Game

Fandom: Monsta X

Genre: Smut, natch.

Word Count: 15k

Pairing: Hyungwon x OC

Trope: Best friends to lovers

Synopsis: Who would have thought that a game of bowling could change the trajectory of a friendship? Then again, maybe that’s been the plan all along…

The Vibe: Dreamboat university best friend Hyungwon, a little jealousyyyyyyyyy, gratuitous falling in love, smut with so many feelings, awkward admission of said feelings, and happily ever after.

A/N: This was inspired by two things, both from the same source: Inssa Oppa, specifically, the man behind the introvert—the Chae Hyungwon I’m dying to call my best friend—as well as that one bowling scene. >.< That viciously up-ended my life. I am not the same woman I once was because of it.

This is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT self-indulgent and most definitely my gift to myself on my 40th birthday, but I hope you enjoy it, too.

It was half past seven when Maaya picked up her best friend Hyungwon from his apartment on the north side of campus.

“Seriously, Wonnie?” she said as he slipped into the passenger seat.

“What?”

“A white tee, skinny jeans, and a ballcap? You know that’s my favorite. Now, I’m going to be comparing every guy I meet tonight to you.”

“Don’t you always?” he teased, and she sighed.

“You’re supposed to be helping me move on from Kun.”

“And I will, a promise is a promise, but can’t I look good, too?”

“Please. You look good in absolutely everything. You could have worn literally anything other than the perfect boyfriend look tonight.”

“But I am the perfect boyfriend,” he protested softly.

“You’re the perfect pain in my ass. What do you need the hat for anyway? The sun’s going down.”

“Well, until it does, I guess I’ll wear it.”

“Annoying,” she groused.

Hyungwon pursed his lips as he appraised her piloting down the main drag through the university. “You’re one to talk, dressed in a flouncy little skirt and a tight tank.”

“You told me to dress cute!” Maaya wailed.

“I said cute, not sexy.”

“Whatever, that’s the point, right? To get guys to notice me?”

“Yeah, well, it’s cold out,” he admonished.

“Barely.”

Hyungwon glowered at the ponytailed driver. “You do know how night works, right? It’s going to get colder.”

“Says the guy in the tee-shirt.”

“I brought a jacket,” he retorted, draping a leather jacket across his lap, and now his boyfriend look adopted that subtle bad boy edge that made Maaya shift in her seat. Hyungwon didn’t seem to notice as he added, “I don’t see any church girl cardigans in the back to dampen your sexy.”

Maaya grinned slyly. “Okay, fine, you’re right. You’re right. Mom always said to dress for the job you want. I thought the same might apply to dating.”

Hyungwon glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he hummed.

“So, what did you have in mind for tonight, Mr. Chae?”

“Midterms were brutal. I’m in the mood for a win tonight. How about bowling?”

“You’re serious? Wonnie, you’ve never been good at a sport in your life unless you count competitive sleeping.”

“Scared?” he baited.

“Not on your life. What’s my record in our challenges? Eight to two?”

Hyungwon tapped his lip with his finger. “You know I was never good at history either.”

Maaya sighed. “Fine, it’s your funeral. Stakes?”

“How about a favor to be named later?” he suggested.

“I was thinking, like, loser buys next pizza, but if you want to be indebted to me, that’s fine. I’ll warn you in advance though, I already know my favor. You’re driving to Jisung’s wedding so I can get plastered and you can stay woefully sober.”

Hyungwon shrugged. “If I were worried at all about losing, that might depress me.”

Maaya had never seen her best friend so confident in anything except the Instagram modeling he did on the side. A slight trickle of worry alighted down her back before a chaser of frustration did.

“Wait, so what the hell did you tell me to get dressed up for if we were just going to go to some grimy bowling alley?”

“I resent the accusation that I would take you anywhere grimy,” he replied. “Let’s go to Lovers’ Lanes. It’s close to campus, and they have cosmic bowling.”

Maaya spared a moment from the Friday night traffic to grimace at her passenger. “Wonnie, I’m in a skirt.”

“Yes, and as we’ve established, you look equal parts sexy and cute. Look, it’s dollar drafts at the lanes, and I’m sure there will be some equally sexy and cute single guy there who will be only too happy to take notice.”

“Not that it’ll make a bit of difference,” she grumbled. “Everyone always assumes we’re a couple. You know you cockblock me without even trying.”

“Do I?” Hyungwon mused with a twitch at his lips.

“You so do, and you so know it. God, you’re insufferable. Why do I continue to hang out with you?”

“How about I promise not to cockblock at all tonight? It would be a shame for you to look so pretty and not get the attention you deserve.”

Maaya rolled her eyes. She knew Hyungwon meant both the compliment and the promise, but it didn’t change the fact that when guys saw them together, they steered clear, and it didn’t help that, over the years, as the pair of them had transitioned from friends to best friends, Hyungwon had become more and more affectionate. He liked sharing a booth with her instead of sitting across from her. He liked torturing her with spontaneous tickles or draping himself over her shoulders. He liked complimenting her as much as he liked teasing her, and who the hell was she kidding, she liked it, too. But as soon as a potential love interest caught wind of that, the “potential” part became “vanishing.”

It also made dating anyone very difficult. Usually, Maaya had to curb her hangouts with Hyungwon down to next to nothing just so she wouldn’t have to deal with the constant accusations of cheating. It didn’t matter if she assured her boyfriends that Hyungwon had never, ever been into her; nobody liked to see his girlfriend curled up alongside a bona fide model watching dramas in an ill-lit apartment. It wasn’t like she could just stop the PDA with her bestie that she was so used to, so if she was serious about the guy she was dating, Maaya would shelve their unsupervised time until her relationship inevitably petered out, and then she’d come crawling back like usual, which was exactly what she was doing now. Hyungwon always understood because he had to do the same with his girlfriends, and in the end, the two of them both knew they’d always find their way back to each other.

Maaya had spent a whirlwind three months with her latest ex, a former teacher’s assistant of hers, having a lot of sex in a lot of wild places, but that turned out to be all it was. It was sex for the sake of sex since, outside of the bedroom (or classroom or car or supply room…), they had next to nothing to talk about. As spontaneous as they could be, in the end, their lack of chemistry kept good sex from becoming unforgettable sex. It was time to forget Kun and focus on finding a guy who made her feel special and heard and pretty and sexy all at the same time. But over the years, that combination had proven elusive.

“Turn here,” Hyungwon said, shaking her from her autopilot. “Now, Maaya! Jeez.”

Her car screeched as she jerked the wheel into the tight parking lot behind Lovers’ Lanes. It was mostly full, but since it was a small lot to begin with, Maaya wasn’t holding out hope.

“That’s a veteran bumper sticker, Wonnie. If this place is all boomers, I swear…”

“Would you quit your whining? You’ll see. Lots of surprises in store.”

She narrowed her eyes again. “What’s with the man of mystery act, huh? Did you pregame before I picked you up?”

Maaya leaned in to sniff his breath for alcohol, but all she could smell was the mint of his toothpaste enhanced by the mint of his mouthwash.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hyungwon retorted. “You are being ridiculous, you know.”

He held open the door for her, and Maaya walked in, expecting a dingy place that reeked of years of cigarette smoke and unwashed feet. The feet part was true enough close to the shoe counter, but beyond that, the place was clean and shiny, already glowing with blacklights near the lanes. Balls thumped, whizzed, and clattered down the oiled wood into ethereal glowing pins.

Maaya scoped out the clientele. As she suspected, there were a few older men finishing their last frames by the entrance while most of the rest of the place was empty.

“What’d I say?” she said as she joined Hyungwon at the shoe counter. “You said, ‘There’ll be tons of hot guys, Maaya.’ And it’s just us and some grandads. I should have known my borderline boomer best friend would take me to hang out with his boomer best friends. Guess I’m angling to be a sugar baby then…”

It was Hyungwon’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Pipe down.”

“Pipe down?” she laughed. “Boomer.”

He groaned. “That’s enough out of you. Have a beer and some nachos. I’m paying anyway.”

“Ooh, boyfriend Hyungwon even pays. Wonders never cease.”

Maaya propped up against the shoe counter as her best friend bought a game and a pair of shoe rentals. Slouching there with his string bean frame and hint of biceps swelling beneath his sleeves, black bangs tousled under the brim of his cap, he really did look like a boyfriend, and it was really unsettling. It was easier to fend off her longstanding, ever-present, but completely pointless crush when she had an actual boyfriend to go home to, but when neither of them did… Well, honestly, that had never happened before, if she thought about it. But at least it was easy enough to lean into their usual bickering and forget how good it would feel to slide her hand under the hem of his shirt to the small of his back…

Maaya felt her hand twitch toward him at her side. Okay, maybe not so easy to forget after all…

She grabbed her dingy shoe rentals from the clerk and dangled them by the laces. “Ah, the height of fashion. Sure beats these heels for sex appeal.”

Hyungwon matched her scowl with a sarcastic one of his own. “ At least you’ll look attainable now. Any guy willing to hit on you when you look this hot is bound to be an egomaniac too stupid to be intimidated by your hotness or just some dumb frat kid like Vernon.”

Maaya laughed as she sank into a seat and slid her feet into a pair of borrowed socks Hyungwon had had the forethought to bring (and, thus, betrayed his plan to take her to this ill-fated man-hunting reserve all along).

“Vernon was sweet and far from dumb. It cracks me up that it’s been almost a year, and you still hate him so much.”

“You were together way too long for how little he put into your relationship.”

“I don’t know where you get these things, honestly,” she said. “Vernon was a great boyfriend, which is why we dated for three years, and I broke up with him because I didn’t want to do long distance, not because he was an asshole.”

“Whatever you say…”

Maaya sighed and finished tying her shoes. The scuffed leather clashed something fierce with her flower skirt, but at least she wasn’t alone in her tragic fashion statement. Somehow, like always, her best friend managed to sell the look with his tight jeans and now-glowing tee. His ballcap had been tossed onto the table, freeing a mop of silky black hair that billowed in soft waves when he forked his hand through it—which was all too often, as far as she was concerned. Normally, he sported what she called “grandpa-chic,” but today, he was a too-handsome college heartthrob.

“I’ll get us set up,” Hyungwon said as he sat at the computer and typed into the board.

When Maaya finally looked up, she slapped her friend’s shoulder as she hissed, “‘Princess’? Really?”

“What?” he said as he finished typing ‘Wonnie’ on his line of the board. “You’re spoiled and you’re definitely acting like one.”

“Hilarious. Yet again, everyone’s going to think that’s your nickname for your girlfriend—me.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I’m so not.”

Hyungwon studied her for a long moment before he asked, “You want me to get them to wipe the board?”

“Don’t bother,” Maaya replied with a groan. “Like I’m going to meet a hunk at a bowling alley anyway.”

“Okay, so, can we play now, princess?”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, though they were both smiling.

At least she had a chance to backspace his screenname in time to switch it to a much more apt “NotMyBF” that made Hyungwon scowl much deeper than the Princess dig had for her.

He found a ball suspiciously quickly, almost like he knew exactly which one suited him best, but it took Maaya a lot longer to find the right weight with the right-sized finger holes.

“And you call me a turtle,” he laughed when she returned to the lane with her swirled orange ball now glowing psychedelic sherbet under the black lights.

“Shut up. The last time I went bowling was fifteen years ago with the other second graders.” Maaya looked up at the mocking name on the monitor and grimaced. “I should make you go first just to serve you right.”

But the man had a quip at the ready: “Winners bowl second so they can size up the competition.”

Hyungwon was doing that irresistible smirk of his, the one that always told his best friend he was holding something juicy back from her. Maaya felt her body charge with electricity.

“Just remember,” she warned as she stepped to the foul line, “you asked for the thunder.”

With a sharp look back over her shoulder first, she focused on the cyberpunk pins waiting in their regimented lines at the end of the glowing lanes. One mighty heft later, and Maaya’s ball skidded down the lane, slowing with every rotation until it veered sharply right into the gutter.

Neck as stiff as she could make it, she turned on her heel and whisked over to the ball return.

“Say nothing!” she demanded to the judge-jury-and-executioner behind her.

This throw, Maaya was determined to get her ball to the pins, and she practiced a few swings, picturing her arm like a pendulum. She threw harder this time, and the ball went straighter… and straighter… until it bent gradually to the right again. At least this time, it scratched the two last pins, and a paltry two emblazoned the monitor above her lane.

Maaya braced, but Hyungwon didn’t say a word. Instead, he squared up to the lane, took a bit of a running start, and swept his right leg behind his left so when he scooped his ball and released it, the momentum launched it fast and far. It thundered down the lane, veering toward the right gutter just as hers had, only his curved quickly back toward the left, hitting the headpin dead-on. The rest of the pins fell with a great clatter, showering like neon blue sparks in the cosmic light.

Hyungwon stood there for a moment, still leaning in his pose like a sail catching a headwind. As the pinsetter racked up his mess, he strolled back to the seats and sat down.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Maaya said through her gape. “You didn’t even put your fingers in the holes.”

“I was just trying to be funny. Lucky shot, lucky shot,” he muttered with a hint of a fresh smirk as he crossed his legs.

For a long moment, she squinted at the man next to her, but he didn’t flinch. “Really lucky…”

“Your turn, princess.”

This time, Maaya was dead set on proving herself, and she adjusted her hold so that the ball wouldn’t swerve into the right gutter this time. And it didn’t. It rolled into the left. She tipped back her head as she let out a gurgling sigh, but Hyungwon didn’t say anything, which was for the best because she was thinking of lobbing her ball into his lap for this stupid bowling idea. She was way too competitive to play a game she hadn’t played in eons, especially with actual stakes.

On her second roll, she split the difference between the two holds, and while the ball trundled neatly down the center, there was no spin on it nor was there any speed, and when it hit the headpin, only three other pins fell.

Again, Hyungwon strolled up to the lane and repeated his elegant toss like the ball weighed nothing. He turned around and headed back for his seat as the symphony of exploding pins heralded yet another victory.

He didn’t even bother to watch…

“Wait a minute,” Maaya hissed as she stared at the second X on the monitor. “Why do you bowl like that? Who bowls like that!”

Hyungwon shrugged. “What’s wrong with the way I bowl?”

“Evidently nothing since you got another strike. You’re going to tell me that’s lucky too?”

“I am. Going to tell you that,” he added after a suspiciously weird pause.

She stalked back over to her ball more determined than ever to put on a good show. This time, Maaya coughed, hoping to distract her competition from realizing she was trying to copy his cavalier bowling style, but it ended up a creating mess, with her ball skipping the gutter entirely and crashing into the empty lane next to them with a cataclysmic boom that made the granddads down the lanes look her way. No amount of black light could hide the heat on her face. Instead, she kept her back stubbornly to Hyungwon as she waited at the neighboring ball return for her do-over.

Luckily, he didn't say anything even when she returned to their lane and bowled as conservatively as she could, borderline ball-between-the-knees kindergarten bowling. The ball wheeled slowly but directly down the polished wood and knocked down a triumphant five pins. Maaya would have celebrated if it weren’t for the unshakable crash of her ball tumbling into the neighboring lane still resounding between her ears.

“Hey, right lane this time,” Hyungwon trumpeted, but she refused to look at him, not when she knew what she’d find on his face—that smug grin, the one that said “at least you tried.” She knew it well because she often gave it to him in their matchups. Maaya just wasn’t used to being on the end that received it. “And since it didn’t even know you bowled that first hand, you get another shot.”

Muttering under her breath the whole time, she sent the ball with all of her frustration down the lane and nailed another pin for her first back-to-back hit of the night.

“I am going to destroy you,” she swore as she plopped back down and crossed her arms.

“No need for sour grapes, princess. You want me to coach you?”

“I want you to shut up and bowl, you one-hit wonder.”

Hyungwon laughed as he brushed a hand through his long hair. Maaya hated it. It took his already handsome face and amplified it, and it was impossible to stay angry at him. And, as usual, her friend knew when to push the envelope even further. She watched with bated breath as his slender fingers slid up his own bicep to his shoulder, and she shook her head meekly.

“Wonnie, don’t.”

“What?” he asked with mock surprise as he cuffed his t-shirt sleeve over his shoulder.

“Come on, that's not playing fair. You're already winning.”

He shrugged his now-naked shoulder before he worked on the other sleeve. “Not good enough. Now that you know a few of my tricks, I need to keep you off your game.”

Maaya’s eyes glazed over. She knew she was gawking at him, but she was also powerless against the onslaught of skin contoured by the shadows of the moody lights. Hyungwon had always been a lean kid, borderline gangly in high school, with his long torso and longer limbs, but since he'd come to university, he’d become a bit of a gym rat. Judging by the flex of his biceps and the supple pull of tendons through his shoulder, it had paid off in spades.

While he loitered at the ball return with that damned freshly-tousled hair, he spared another moment to tuck his t-shirt into the front of his jeans as well, and it shook her out of her glassy-eyed ogling.

“Dude, wait. Is your waist seriously smaller than mine? How have I never noticed! You're giving me all kinds of complexes tonight, Wonnie.”

“It’s just because my shoulders have gotten bigger,” he asserted.

Damnit, now she was looking at his shoulders again and, indeed, how much bulkier they’d gotten. Maybe she hadn’t noticed in a while since she’d had to spend less time with him thanks to her last relationship, but it was impossible to ignore them now.

“Really? Two lousy strikes, and you’ve picked up bragging as a hobby now?” she teased, hoping to lose herself in some familiar banter with her witty best friend.

“Ha ha,” he deadpanned. “Get over here.”

Her eyes narrowed. This, she didn’t expect, but she also knew she wouldn’t say no. Reluctantly, Maaya got up and trudged over to him like a death row inmate marching to her ultimate doom.

“Stand still,” Hyungwon instructed. His hands gripped her waist, squeezing a few times to test the curve of her hourglass.

“What the hell!” she shouted. “That tickles! What are you even doing?”

A second later, the brand of his hands left her body and gripped his own waist. He looked even more slender and toned as he cinched his t-shirt tighter to his body. The blacklight outlined the dramatic triangle from his shoulders to that little waist, and Maaya felt her eyelids drooping.

“Hm. We need further tests,” he declared as his hands dropped from his sides.

“Oh, so that was a test and not just another excuse to grope me?”

“I would never.”

She scoffed. “Okay, you've been spending too much time with Minhyuk.”

“Just come here, come closer.” Hyungwon pointed to one of the markings just in front of his feet, and as Maaya took each step forward, she felt her breath get a little shallower and her head get a little lighter. They were nearly toe-to-toe now. She stared straight ahead, into the blazing neon of his broad chest. “Okay, remember, hold still.”

This time, his arms encircled her waist completely so he had to dip forward and crush his chest into her cheek.

“Oh my god, what are these shenanigans now?” she mumbled into his shirt. Nose buried in the folds of cotton, it was impossible to miss the tendrils of wood and rose clinging to him. Maaya was used to Hyungwon’s lazy boy cologne of fresh linen Febreze, so he must have borrowed this from somebody, which was plenty weird enough, but not as weird as how much her body was reacting to it. Every neuron was firing, sparking a need for more friction to get a real fire going.

“Now,” he began. His voice was always deep and grumbly, usually like a bear forced out of hibernation, but here it was husky and low and far too close to her ear. “Put your arms around me, too. Tighten them.”

“Why?” she protested though her hands were already slithering around her best friend’s waist.

“Science.”

His stupid answer lightened the mood, and Maaya laughed. “There’s nothing scientific about a hug.”

“It’s not a hug. It’s an experiment. Hold me tight. Don't let go.”

Hyungwon was so warm. His skin heated his shirt like a cozy blanket, and it was too easy to sink into its softness. Her throat was very, very dry now, probably from the cologne, she reasoned. Maaya swallowed hard.

“What are we supposed to be learning here?” she mumbled.

“Whose waist is smaller.”

“Well?”

“Inconclusive.”

Maaya pushed off of Hyungwon dramatically and scrubbed her cheeks to hide any redness that might be lurking there. “Why do I keep falling for your very stupid stunts?”

“Because you like them,” he sneered. With that, he picked up the ball and chucked it as he had been all night, with callous indifference, and it rolled as it had all night, collapsing every last damn pin.

She growled. “That was just to throw me more off my game?”

“What game?”

Maaya stuck out her tongue at him.

Carefree as ever, Hyungwon stood at the end of the lane, looking at her with his newly sculpted body pulsing neon blue, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. The corner of his mouth twitched as he nodded back toward the racking pins. “Hey, you know what they call that?”

“A ringer?” she groused.

“A turkey. Three strikes in a row,” he informed proudly.

“You’re a turkey.”

“I am.”

And for second, Maaya actually thought she could see a striking plume of feathers puffed out behind him.

“More like a peacock. I’ve known you six years, and I’ve never heard you talk about bowling once. Where did you learn that?”

Hyungwon shrugged. “My dad’s a league bowler. He taught me as a kid.”

“So that’s where you learned this— this—” she stuttered as she waved at him, “this elegant ball-chucking pose?”

“You think it’s elegant?” His smirk was a full-blown smile now, the one that always made the little bread loaves in his cheek rise.

“Shut up. You know you look good.”

“You want me to show you how to bowl?”

“Thank you, but I think I can manage losing all on my own.”

Hyungwon cocked an eyebrow. “Just trying to help. Might be a cool party trick for your next boyfriend.”

“Guys aren’t impressed when a woman can bowl,” Maaya countered. “In fact, no one is.”

Except that wasn’t true and she knew it. Watching Hyungwon bowl like an ace, tossing the ball down the lane with his leg swept back to twist his long body like a wave about to crest at the shore… well, Maaya wasn’t just impressed. She was turned on, and that was more than a little ridiculous. It was bowling, for God’s sake.

“You’re right,” Hyungwon said with a smug grin that she both hated and loved in equal parts. “Show me what you got, Wantanabe."

Maaya stepped to the foul line, determined to crush the pins just by envisioning her opponent’s handsome face at the other end of the lane, but to absolutely nobody’s surprise, the ball zipped almost immediately into the gutter. She could feel Hyungwon’s smile as oily as the lanes.

“Fine,” she huffed. “One tip.”

“One tip’s not going to help. Quit complaining and just listen, okay?”

Hyungwon joined Maaya at the foul line and, right away, adjusted her form, guiding her right leg back in a cool swoop and situating her ball in her hand. She felt the imprint of his hand on her bare knee for far too long after he’d removed it.

“You want to twist your hand a bit toward the inside of your leg, okay?”

“But it’s pointing toward the gutter now,” she protested. “I want to stay out of the gutter.”

“That’s impossible for you and your dirty mind,” Hyungwon ribbed, but he was standing far too close to her to be making suggestive jokes. Maaya could feel his breath on her skin, and true to form, she was back in the gutter as he continued, “Just trust me. If we do everything right, the ball will hook back to the center. Okay, now, you want to kind of cradle the ball from underneath. Don’t point it down but hold it up just a little. Give it a little cushion. Bend your arm just a bit like a scoop. Keep the elbow soft. Too stiff and you’ll tweak the lines.”

His fingers danced about her arm, adjusting her wrist and her grip and then sliding up her forearm to position her just as he wanted. Maaya was trying to picture those pins, but instead, she was picturing him bending her limbs into all other kinds of positions that had nothing to do with the sport at hand.

“That’s good enough,” Hyungwon said as he appraised her. “Take a couple of swings like that, but don’t let the ball go just yet. Get a feel for the position, okay?”

She cleared her throat and focused on the foreign stance she found herself in, leg cocked behind her and arm weighted by an eight-pound ball.

“Looking good there, pretty lady,” he praised. “I want you to try and throw it now. Don’t worry too much about speed yet. Let’s see if we can get you to hook it as is.”

As best as she could muster, Maaya tossed the ball down the lane. She knew instantly that she had zero shot at ten pins, but as the ball rolled down the wood with a satisfactory whir-whir-whir, it dodged the gutter at the last second as though pulled by magnets toward the other edge of the lane. It clipped the last six pins on the left side, and she gasped.

“It worked!”

“Of course it did,” Hyungwon replied, and there it was again—the confidence. His smile was so cocksure and proud, that Maaya’s stomach flip-flopped. “Too bad your turn’s over, and it’s back to decimating you.”

Hyungwon promptly knocked over eight pins, which he rectified only a moment later with an easy spare, and went back to lounging with his wide arm and leg splay on the seat as he watched her line up her next frame.

This time, Maaya repeated her last throw with near duplicate precision, and the results were the same.

“See if you can throw a little faster,” Hyungwon shouted, and as soon as she did, one more pin came down. Not perfect, but seven points was the best frame she’d thrown all game.

Back and forth the pair went with Hyungwon demolishing her (though his three spares felt decidedly like gutter balls considering the sea of X’s on his line), but at least Maaya was showing some progress, including one precious spare of her own. She had always remembered bowling games dragging on forever, but since there were only two of them, one of whom only required one turn at basically every frame, the game had flown by, and she was surprised at how disappointed she was that it was over. Chalk that up to the fact that the only good-looking guy in the alley was the one she brought with her.

“Where are all the studs?” she wondered mockingly as she polished off her beer.

“Got here early on purpose,” Hyungwon mumbled as he had continued on the game board.

“Why? So you could showboat without competition?”

“Like I had any real competition,” he fired back.

Maaya assumed that was a joke at her expense and stuck her tongue out at him. “I’ve already shaken off that 247 to 71 loss. Now you've awoken the beast, Wonnie. I'm taking you down this round.”

“You want to play again?” he asked hopefully.

“You promised me cute guys. I’m playing until one shows up.”

Maaya couldn’t read her best friend’s face. One moment, he looked annoyed and the next pleased, but she figured it out as soon as he said, “Fine. Just remember, I won the challenge no matter how many more games we play.”

“Oh, you’re afraid you can’t repeat that fluke success, huh?”

The chide shook Hyungwon out of his weird mood, and they set up the next game immediately. He bought a fresh round of beers and big soft pretzel to share, and Maaya was grinning from ear to ear despite how sweaty the gross shoes were and how stupid she felt being the only woman in the alley in a skirt.

Mid-way through the second game, as promised, the alley started to fill up with younger people, though most of the arrivals were other couples or gangs of girls. That was until four cute guys walked in, the last one particularly striking with his full lips and cocky swagger. In his backwards ballcap and loose hoody, he was ridiculously attractive. And he was looking right back at her.

Maaya bit her lip.

A hand flashed in front of her face. She blinked, trying to remember what else was going on around her.

“Hello?” Hyungwon called. “Did you hear me? I asked if you know what four strikes in a row is called?”

“Oh, uh, um, an ostrich?”

“A four-bagger—what the hell has got you so interested over there?” her best friend complained and put his chin on her shoulder.

Maaya glowered at him out of the corner of her eye. “Guess you weren’t lying after all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“See that guy over there?” she said, nodding two lanes down toward the very handsome platinum blonde with deep dimples that promised sweetness and sharp eyes that hinted at devilry.

“Which guy?” Hyungwon asked as he shuffled closer behind her, arms around her waist now.

She scoffed at her friend and shook out of his grip. “Seriously, Wonnie? He’s literally staring at us. I thought you weren’t going to be my cooler tonight?”

He raised his hands in surrender and backed off. “Sorry, sorry! Old habits. I just thought a little jealousy might go a long way.”

Maaya rolled her eyes. “How is jealousy going to get me laid?”

Hyungwon’s eyes widened. “Laid? I didn't realize you were that hard up.”

“Why the hell do you think I wore those ridiculous heels tonight?” She gestured back toward the beautiful cobalt strappy stilettos she’d paired with her skirt before she tacked on, “Before I knew we were going bowling...”

“Yeah, it would be something to see you struggling to granny-bowl, bent over in that skirt and those heels...” As usual, Hyungwon drifted into one of his zone-outs, his mind a million miles away.

Maaya snapped her fingers a couple of times in front of his face, and his attention returned to her, or more specifically, her heels. It was her turn to poke him. “Hello? What?”

“I think you might have just unlocked something for me.”

“Granny-bowling in heels does it for you now? Lord, your mind's in the gutter, too, now, Wonnie, along with the rest of my balls.”

Hyungwon let out one of his gut-busting laughs that she loved so much, and Maaya sighed. She turned back to the new cute boy, happy to find him still watching. She shrugged at the stranger, let her ponytail out in as seductive a way as she could manage, and thumbed back at Hyungwon with an apologetic face. The other boy, to her great relief, grinned, his dimples deepening to epic proportions.

“Damn, he’s cute,” she muttered under her breath.

Hyungwon exhaled dramatically. “You told me my hat was stupid and pointless, and here you are, drooling over that joker’s.”

“It should be pointless, but it isn’t,” she said dreamily.

“Hey! We still have a game going on, you know,” Hyungwon interrupted, “and it’s your turn.”

“Eh, I’m dead to rites, aren’t I?”

“I mean, you are…”

“Go on, name your favor then, and we can call it quits, so I can go chat him up.”

“I know I promised to be your wingman, but I’m still your best friend,” reminded Hyungwon, “and I’m not ready to be the sacrificial lamb. Besides, I said I was going to name my favor later. It’s not late enough yet.”

Maaya stared down her best friend as she said, “Like I said, that reeks of Minhyuk energy.”

“Oh, come on, don’t lump me in with him again,” Hyungwon whined. “Is it that bad having to hang out with me?”

“Aw, Wonnie, I’m sorry,” she said as she squeezed his bicep, forgetting all about her moratorium on their PDA. “It’s just been a minute since I had a guy’s attention.”

“You have mine,” he asserted and took her opening to kiss the top of her head.

Well, that was new. Kisses weren’t in Hyungwon’s repertoire, even if it was chaste. Maaya felt color rush to her throat and chest, so she was quick to break for her ball.

Things returned to normal after that, and despite the flirty glances and playful smiles, she found her interest in the cute stranger waning with every frame, especially when she still had that weird sensation of Hyungwon’s lips in her hair.

Beer downed and game finally over, they crashed into the uncomfortable plastic seats and stared at the board proclaiming another thrashing, although this one gave Maaya a decidedly better showing at 110 to Hyungwon’s measlier showing of 224.

“Your lessons paid off, wise master,” she said as she finally slipped off the leather shackles on her feet in favor of her much more stylish strappy shackles.

Hyungwon watched her nimble fingers clasp the buckles behind her heels as he gulped the last swig of his beer. “Mm. You broke a hundred. I’m impressed.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he assured with a soft smile. “You’re a quick learner.”

“And you’re a good teacher. I admit it—I had a lot of fun.”

His smile broadened. “See what happens when you blindly trust me?”

“So, what now?” she probed. As Maaya mapped her best friend's face, she felt some strange, awkward twist in her stomach. This night hadn’t gone in any way she had expected, but its impending end made her throat dry.

“You mean is it cool now if you flirt with Dimples over there?”

No, that wasn’t exactly what she meant, she realized.

“I mean,” she said carefully, “if you’re not planning on calling in that favor…”

There was a gulf of silence between them filled only with the staccato tapping of Maaya’s heel. Eventually, she sighed and broke the dam. “Guess if you don’t know what you want—”

“I know what I want,” Hyungwon said firmly.

Why was his voice so low? Why was his gaze so dark?

Just then, his eyes flicked down the alley, and Maaya followed them to find the dimpled cutie approaching with his hands in his sweatpants pockets. Before he reached their lane though, Hyungwon stood up and offered his hand.

“I take it you’re calling in that favor?” she asked.

“Come with me,” was all her best friend said.

Behind Hyungwon’s towering frame, Dimples pulled up short, his confident smile fading as he watched her stand up and take her friend’s hand.

“Have a good night, buddy,” Hyungwon said as he tipped his head, now freshly dressed in his ballcap once again, at the stranger and slid his hand along the small of her back.

A shiver rippled through Maaya.

It wasn’t until they were outside the bowling alley that Hyungwon released her. Instantly, the temperature dropped ten degrees.

“Shit, it’s cold,” she grumbled as she rubbed her biceps for warmth.

“Here, you can wear my jacket,” he offered. He shucked the leather jacket from his shoulders and held it open behind her.

Maaya mumbled her thanks and slipped into it. The leather was already warm from Hyungwon’s body, and with his cologne still lingering, she felt weirdly wrapped up in him, like another hug he wouldn’t release.

They climbed back into her car, and she asked, “So, where to?”

“Back to my place.”

This was their usual pattern, yet Maaya’s fingers fumbled with the keys.

“You okay to drive?” Hyungwon asked.

“Of course,” she objected, and she was, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t anywhere near buzzed—she was just jittery. Weirdly, weirdly jittery, like three Red Bulls and a caffeine pill jittery.

The car mercifully roared to life then, and Maaya headed back toward campus. Beside her, Hyungwon vented about his midterms and the incoming subletter he was dreading taking on while he was out for the summer. His familiar lazy speech patterns inadvertently talked her off whatever ledge she was on, and once again, it was just two best friends on a night cruise.

All too soon, they reached his apartment building, and Maaya idled in the fire lane, unsure of what to do, but Hyungwon was quick to put her out of her misery. He shifted in his seat and raised an eyebrow at her. “Now, it’s time for that favor.”

His braggadocious look ruffled her feathers, and she groaned. “Aw, fuck, go ahead. Hit me.”

Whatever heinous task she figured he would foist on her went straight out the window.

“Come upstairs with me for a bit,” he said. “Like old times.”

Maaya recoiled in her seat. “How is that a favor? I hang out here all the time.”

“Not for months now. Anyway, it’s my favor, so just humor me.”

“Fine, weirdo.”

They entered his apartment, and with the way he was carrying on, Maaya half-expected some kind of surprise party or dramatic announcement, like Hyungwon was moving back to Korea or something. But it was just his usual place, if remarkably cleaner than usual. She took her seat at the end of the couch and smoothed her skirt over her slender thighs.

“Well, you got me up here, so that's the end of the favor,” she said with the smug feeling of outsmarting him. “Hope you used it wisely.”

Hyungwon was already in the kitchen, ballcap tossed on the counter and head in the refrigerator. “Want a beer?”

Her knee-jerk reaction was to say no, but something told her to take it, so she nodded. They popped the tabs in unison, and both took a long draft from their cans, each watching the other.

“Why do you keep looking me like that?” he asked.

There was nothing unusual about his tone which made the whole thing much more unusual.

“Wonnie, what am I doing here?”

“Hanging out.”

“Weren't we already hanging out?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't get it,” Maaya continued, feeling more and more suspicious by the second. “How is this a favor?”

He shrugged a shoulder, took another long drink, and then sucked the lingering brew from his plump bottom lip. “It seemed like you wanted to leave, and I still wanted to hang out.”

Maaya blinked at him. It was such an easy answer in addition to being an honest one. That was one of the things she always liked best about Hyungwon. He was a straight shooter when there weren't many of those around.

Well, it was his favor, so if that was how he wanted to squander it, it was fine with her. She loved hanging out with her best friend, now more than ever. At least it ensured she wouldn’t be doing something boring like helping him with homework or something uncomfortable like scrambling for a plus one to double-date with him—she especially hated that favor.

His sleeves were still rolled up to his shoulders, and Maaya used her beer can in combination with her bangs to help disguise her obvious staring at his toned muscles. Even when the guy was making minimum effort, he owned every room he walked into.

“Aren’t you cold?” she noted. “Your place is an icebox. What gives?”

Hyungwon shook his head. “It’s cheaper.”

“The life of a broke student, huh?”

He mumbled noncommittally before he disappeared into his bedroom and then returned with a big blue hoody. He tossed it at her, and Maaya nearly dropped her beer.

“Aw,” she whined, “I kind of like the leather.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to hear the crinkle all night long. It’s too loud in here.”

Maaya grinned just before she folded and unfolded her arms several times, delighting in the way her best friend twitched at the noisy squeal at her elbows. Hyungwon glowered at her, and with a final laugh, she traded out the jacket for the sweatshirt. It wasn’t warmed from him like she’d enjoyed in the leather, but at least it still smelled like him, this one more familiar with that same fabric refresher instead of the fancy concoction that had muddied her brain every time she’d been close to him tonight.

“Okay then,” she said, “now that you've got me up here, what are we going to do?”

“Movie?”

For some reason, Maaya was a little disappointed. They’d watched movies here hundreds of times. After all the hoopla, she realized she’d been secretly holding out for something grander.

“Yeah, okay, movie. I take it since you won, you’re picking?”

“Damn straight.”

As she settled in, Hyungwon scrounged through the cupboards for snacks and tossed them onto the coffee table before plopping down on the opposite end of the couch. He obviously had a movie in mind because he navigated straight to the action section and queued one up.

“I’ve been wanting to see this one!” Maaya trilled. “Didn’t realize it was streaming.”

“I know,” he replied before he tossed back a handful of chips and hit play.

The night was on autopilot again, and Maaya was happy. She sank into the softness of Hyungwon’s hoody and got lost in the ridiculous banter of a charming himbo muse and his reluctant artist. Before they’d even made it a half hour in, she noticed her friend staring at her instead of the screen.

“What?” she griped. “You picked the movie. I didn’t.”

“Why are you all scrunched up over there? Do I smell?”

“No!” she objected instantly. “I mean, yeah, you smell really good tonight actually. I just—”

“Okay, good. So, why are you sitting so far away? It's weird.”

It was weird. They cuddled all the time without a second thought, yet here she was, curled up in the corner like her best friend had cooties.

Maaya burrowed a little deeper into the hoody before her feet gingerly inched across his lap. Thanks to her foolish choice of skirt, her legs were cold and inescapably naked, but her friend was quick to remedy that with a blanket, though he promptly betrayed her by slipping his hand under it and rubbing her shins.

“You’re stiff as a board,” he commented. “Did you put too much effort into losing tonight?”

Maaya dug her heel into his thigh. “You’re lucky I took my shoes off, mister. Shut up and watch the movie.”

Hyungwon obliged for a few minutes, eyes on the screen and hands on her shins, but before long, his thumbs were stroking the side of her calf, and he was shifting restlessly under her. The longer it went on, the more irritated Maaya was.

“Stop it,” she warned with a glare from the corner of her eye.

“I can’t help it I’ve got long legs.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to sit like this,” she reminded.

“I want to lay down,” Hyungwon insisted, though it was a borderline whine.

“Floor’s open.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Wow, you are really bitter about me decimating you.”

“Decimating? Wow. You’re cold-blooded tonight, Chae Hyungwon, not to mention awfully cocky for a guy who’s still five games back in our challenges. And anyway, maybe I’m not bitter about losing so much as I’m bitter about you yet again being my cooler.”

Hyungwon blinked, first in confusion and then exasperation. “What? With that guy at the bowling alley?”

“Uh, yeah. That was why you were taking me out tonight, remember?”

“He wasn’t your type,” Hyungwon said flippantly. His fingers were tapping rhythmically along her leg now like a librarian overseeing his domain.

“A cute boy with an even cuter smile? No, you’re right, not my scene at all."

Her best friend sighed, though it was more like a growl, and stabbed the pause button on the remote. “Why are you always rushing from one relationship to another, Maaya? I swear, you’re never single for more than five minutes."

Her brow knitted. “So?”

“So, I’m not ready to give you up again so soon.”

His hand tightened around her leg and Maaya sat up. She stared at her best friend’s profile. Hyungwon really had the most striking silhouette. He was tall and lean, with a strong neck leading down into a pronounced collar bone. In spite of his naturally pouty lips and smooth jaw, his button nose and soft cheeks made his otherworldly beauty accessible.

“You start dating that guy, and it’s goodbye for another three months,” Hyungwon continued bitterly. “Just the random meet-up at a bar every other week before you go home to Dimples while I finish my soju in silence. So I’ll start dating someone, too, just so I’m not lonely, and you’ll break up and so will I, and then it’ll start all over again. Why is it never just us, Maaya?”

Dumbfounded, her only response was to look to her hands, curled limply in her lap. That had been their pattern for years, but somehow, she’d never thought to put words to it like that.

On a whim, Maaya leaned forward and kissed her friend’s cheek, and Hyungwon snapped all of his attention to her. Their faces were closer than they’d ever been. She could smell the beer on his lips, malty and familiar. She smiled gently at him as she tugged a tress at the nape of his neck, just long enough for twirling (though she reined in that urge at the last second).

“I’m sorry, okay?” she said with every fiber of honesty in her being. “Let’s just finish the movie and have fun together. That’s my favorite anyway.”

Hyungwon smiled in the way only he could—illuminating and inviting and completely infectious. “Sounds good, but maybe not in here? I’m literally so uncomfortable.”

“I don’t see a movie theater or den lying around, Wonnie.”

“My room has a TV.”

Maaya’s stomach bubbled.

She’d been in Hyungwon’s room before, though never to watch a movie. She’d helped him choose outfits for dates or watched him game on his computer or, God help her, clean up when his parents came into town, but never to lay beside him in his bed.

She wrung her hands and tried to pretend it wasn’t nerves, but after what felt more like a date night than just a good time with a good friend, it was impossible. Those buried feelings, the ones from years ago that had sparked from the first moment she’d laid eyes on Hyungwon, had been unearthed as catastrophically as ancient ruins after an earthquake.

Maaya didn’t want to go to his bed—not because she didn’t trust her best friend, but because she didn’t trust herself.

“I’ll fall asleep in there,” she protested.

“I promise I’ll keep you awake,” he assured before he whisked off the blanket and stood up, knocking her bare legs to the floor. Hyungwon offered his hand, which she took as he pulled her upright, and this handhold felt like even more of a covenant than the one at the bowling alley. Maaya was short, but this close in his shadow, she felt impossibly tiny.

“Yeah right, you’ve never been able to last more than ten minutes awake horizontal.”

For a second, a spark ignited in his eyes. “I think my ex-girlfriends would disagree with that.”

“Gross.”

“I’m gross, am I?” he pouted, those lips of his far too full and flushed.

“Fishing for compliments now? Fine, fine, not you, and you know it, but your girlfriends sure as shit were. I don’t want to picture it.”

Hyungwon stared at her from underneath the tip of his brow. “I like to think I don’t date swamp creatures, Maaya.”

“Not in looks but definitely in personality,” she retorted.

“This from the girl who dated Vernon.”

She bark-laughed and stared pointedly at her friend. “Again with the Vernon hate? You know, only one of us dated someone who declared grades were based solely on bra cup size and a willingness to go commando under skirts.”

Hyungwon’s lips screwed up into a tight bow as the memory of his ex hit him. “Forgot about that.”

“Yeah,” said Maaya, “well, I didn’t.”

Something in his gaze shifted—deepened—as she found him peering down at her now. “No, you definitely didn’t…”

With a toss of her hair for a distraction, she shifted focus. “Okay, if you really want to lay down, we can watch in your room, but I expect you to stop distracting us from finishing the movie. I don’t want to miss when they find the lost city.”

“You just want her to hook up with the himbo,” Hyungwon challenged.

Maaya stuck out her tongue at him. “Can’t it be both?”

They headed toward the bedroom with her leading the charge because it was safer to take the initiative rather than let Hyungwon lead her. That scenario felt… different.

It was unexpectedly clean in his room. By nature, Hyungwon was not a neat boy—he always had a million more things he was interested in doing, even if most of it was just daydreaming as he stared off into space—but today, the dressers had been organized, the dust had been cleared, and even the bed had been made.

“Did Kihyun come over and clean?” Maaya teased.

Hyungwon was beside her now, surveying the space along with her. “Yeah right, like I’d let that miscreant into my room. No, it was just time to clean up.”

“You’re just full of surprises today, aren’t you?”

With only a shrug, Hyungwon dove onto his bed with a grateful sigh as his face sunk into the pillow.

“I’m home,” he murmured before he flopped onto his back and patted the bed beside him.

Maaya laughed. “I never see you happier than when you’re laying down.”

She was so distracted by his silver fillings-showcasing grin that she hadn’t realized his tee had come untucked and ridden up his tummy, revealing another little bullet point of why her best friend was the most stunning man in the world—a very cute, very edible freckle right beside his hip.

Either Hyungwon didn’t notice or he didn’t care about his shirt. Instead, he tucked his hands behind his head, letting the hem rise even higher to unearth his navel next.

“You coming?” he asked.

“Bossy,” Maaya retorted as she took a seat on the opposite side of the bed. She settled in as naturally as she could with her impossibly attractive best friend so close and let the excitement of the movie ease her fears.

Hyungwon’s mattress was ridiculously comfortable, as she should have expected from a man who would otherwise sleep 90% of his day away if he didn’t have to deal with the obligations of university and life. The longer the movie dragged on, the plusher the mattress got and the more accommodating the pillow became. Maaya sank deeper and deeper in it until, the next thing she knew, a wicked pinch in her side shot her straight up at the waist like a jack-in-the-box.

“What the hell was that!” she shouted.

Hyungwon shrugged. “You were snoring.”

“Oh my god, I was not.”

“You were. I was just fulfilling my end of the bargain. Told you I’d keep you awake.”

“Hey, smartass, you didn’t keep me awake. I fell asleep,” Maaya amended.

“So, you admit it! You know, if you were closer, I might not have had to resort to such aggression.”

She glowered at him but wriggled over all the same until their shoulders were brushing. “Happy?”

But Hyungwon closed the remaining gap so their sides were now fused to one another. With a flash of a smile, he said, “Happier.”

“You are very demanding tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am, and I demand that you snuggle me because I’m getting cold.”

“That's because you’re getting sleepy, which is exactly what I told you would happen. You always get cold when you're tired.”

“Not tired,” Hyungwon insisted through a yawn. “Just come here. I’m getting annoyed.”

She laughed. Annoying her best friend had always been a favorite pastime, and it was especially rewarding after a night of being nothing but annoyed by him first, but it paled in comparison to snuggling with him. Maaya loved that better than anything. She cuddled with him as she always had, head on his chest and arm around his waist, but this time it was different. Maybe it always had been? They were on his bed now, not the couch, and her mind was bombarded with a hundred different thoughts that she’d figured she’d long since trained herself to fight off.

“Mm,” Hyungwon murmured, “that feels good.”

Maaya hadn't even realized the hand over his waist had been stroking his side, but even more dangerously, it had found the little swath of skin between his jeans and his shirt where she could drag her nails lazily back and forth. This was different, too. Cuddling, they'd done hundreds of times; petting, they had not.

Which was why, despite what she had started, Maaya was surprised when Hyungwon’s hand curled under her and into the small of her back to start rubbing. It was chaste and definitely more respectful than her own hand, but it was new and it was wonderful. His heat was gentle and his motions hypnotic, and she slipped farther and farther under their spell.

The movie wore on, but it may as well have been in Farsi for as well as Maaya could follow along. She was focused solely on the way her best friend’s hand swept up and down her spine. The longer Hyungwon did it, the higher his hoody bunched up, taking her tank top with it. Every sweep of raw contact made her heart clench in time with her thighs until, at last, his hand stopped so it could bury itself casually under her shirt as though it was used to resting on her naked back.

He didn’t move a muscle, and she figured he’d had fallen asleep after all, but when she rolled her head on his firm pectoral, Maaya found him staring at her. He didn’t say a word, but the black cast in his gaze intensified.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” she fumbled.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Hyungwon replied.

Maaya cleared her throat. Her fingers dug a little into his side, and he hummed again.

“Is this weird?” she asked suddenly.

“Does it feel weird?”

“No, it feels nice.”

“Good. All I want is to make you feel good.”

Hyungwon left it at that, and Maaya laid there frozen on his chest. The movie was winding toward its climax, but with every passing second they held each other, she was winding up. Scenarios swam in her head, each one more unlikely than the next, though they all ended with her sweaty and screaming his name underneath him.

“This is nice,” Hyungwon said out-of-the-blue, and to underline his point, he rubbed her back again.

Maaya didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

His hand stilled again, and after a few minutes, he shifted underneath her. She didn’t move because she was afraid to. She didn’t want to let this stolen moment go. But the end was inevitable just as the movie’s, she knew that, especially when she felt him prop up onto his elbows and crane his head forward. The TV clicked off, and the room darkened exponentially.

“You asleep?” Hyungwon whispered.

Asleep? How could she sleep with the promise of his words still buzzing in her brain?

All I want is to make you feel good…

Reluctantly, Maaya rolled a little to the side and propped up just enough to catch her best friend’s eye. Maybe there was something in her face that made him worry because his hand dropped from her back and tugged her shirt down.

“You don’t like it,” he concluded after a deep sigh. It was the most disappointed sound she’d ever heard from him.

Maaya blinked, stunned.

She liked it. She liked it way too much, more than she was probably allowed to. She liked him way too much, and it was all painfully, irreversibly apparent now.

She loved him—outright loved him. Maybe better than anyone ever.

But the weight of this knowledge was crushing. Even though tonight had felt flirty and sometimes borderline romantic, affection wasn’t anything unusual for them. The problem was that at some point in the evening, “normal friend stuff” had become “normal couple stuff” in her mind, and Maaya couldn’t un-ring that bell.

She loved Hyungwon—madly—and that was that.

Alone in his bed, with no random hot boy to distract her and no roommate to interrupt them, it was a paralyzing revelation.

“Hyungwon…” she said slowly. She wasn’t really sure what she wanted to say. All she knew was that she needed his attention.

Their eyes connected, and she felt the hand return to her back only to grip her unexpectedly.

Hyungwon sat up, too, just a bit higher, staring down at her with an unreadable gaze. Maybe he was waiting for her to finish her thought, but words had gummed up in her mouth.

Gently, he pushed her back by the shoulder until Maaya was flat on the bed looking up into his magnetic face. Everything about the way he was studying her was intense. She felt small and helpless and terrified and eager all at once. Could he read her thoughts? She felt terribly transparent, not just her mind but her heart.

Hyungwon gauged her eyes as well as her breath, and slowly, he descended.

And then his lips met hers.

Maaya couldn’t move.

Hyungwon was kissing her.

Every sense funneled to her lips where her best friend bathed them in soft kisses that grew hungrier with each passing sweep of swelling muscle. When his top lip tugged her bottom one into his mouth, she gasped and undulated beneath him, and suddenly, Hyungwon stopped.

“Do you want this? Do you want me?” His forehead touched hers as his eyes closed. His next words were a whisper, dancing across her skin. “Say yes. Please.”

Maaya wanted to ask why—was he just bored or horny or lonely—but she couldn't risk it. She didn't want him to change his mind. She didn't want to lose his touch—or him. If this was her only chance to know her best friend as a lover, she was going to take it.

“Hyungwon…” Her hands held his face as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. If she wasn’t holding him, it might have felt like she was dreaming. Softly, she continued, “I want you. I want you so much.”

He flashed a smile before he captured her lips again and entwined their tongues in a sensual embrace. His mouth was slow and measured, filled with all her favorite things about him—his gentleness, his sincerity, his creativity. Hyungwon had a way of kissing her that felt suspiciously like he was savoring her, and it made her brain fuzzy and her heart erratic.

The tip of his middle finger stroked her neck as he kissed her, igniting nerve endings Maaya didn’t know she had. Between his simple touches and his leisurely kisses, she was putty stretched thin and pliable beneath him. He could ask anything of her, and she would say yes.

But Hyungwon said nothing. The only sounds in the room were the tangle of their tongues and her airy moans as Maaya got lost in his mouth.

Though he was focused on her lips, every part of her felt like it was straining up to meet him. Her body called out for his exploration. Her nipples chafed against her bra and her stomach itched inside the fabric of her shirt while her sex throbbed against its lacy cage.

She wanted to run to the bathroom to freshen up, if nothing else to cover up how she’d soaked through her underwear from just some kissing, but what if she came back and the mood had passed? Maaya wouldn’t risk that for all her pride. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that anyway. Maybe she could—

And just like that, Hyungwon’s hand wandered up under the hoody to grope her breasts over the cups of her bra. His hands were huge and kneaded her flesh expertly until she was squirming on the mattress.

Their lips broke apart just so he could find the rim of her jaw, which he christened with a dozen hungry kisses, before he found her earlobe and nibbled it. Something about the tingle there made the room spin.

“This feels very high school,” Maaya giggled, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, ah,” she gasped as he rolled a lace covered nipple between his fingers, “it feels great. It’s just very horny teenager.”

“Cut me a break,” he mumbled as he sucked a little patch just beneath her jaw. “You wouldn’t let me get near you in high school. I have to make up for lost time.”

“Wouldn’t let you—Hyungwon, you were the one who wasn’t interested—ah!”

His teeth scraped along the sensitive skin at the base of her throat, and she writhed in his hands. “Don’t argue. It’s very annoying when I’m planning to get you off.”

The next thing Maaya knew, both tops were pushed up to her shoulders, her bra cup had been wrenched down, and her nipple was in Hyungwon’s mouth. He guided her hand from its knot in the comforter to the back of his head, where she only too happily threaded her fingers through his soft hair and clasped him to her breast. With every glance of her nails against his scalp, he purred, and the vibrations rippled throughout her body straight down to her core.

Maaya looked down and found Hyungwon blissed out, eyes closed and face set so contently as his tongue worked secret magic on her. This was really her best friend—the person she trusted most in her life—consuming her bit by bit as she had only ever allowed herself to fantasize about when drunk because sober felt too impossible. She felt so special, so loved, and her heart felt so full, she thought it might burst. She arched deeper into his mouth, and he opened greedily to take more. The view was as delicious as the sensation, and it was making her feel foggier and foggier.

“Feels so good, Wonnie,” she murmured. “You feel so good.”

His only answer was to pluck her other breast from its cup so he could pinch and tug her other nipple. The pleasure doubled and sent little fireflies of ecstasy flaring throughout her body. As soon as the other peak had pebbled to a sharp ache, Hyungwon switched to it, and an ice bath of air bombarded her other abandoned nipple. Her gasp filled the room, and he smiled around her.

“Want more?” he asked, teasing—always teasing.

“Of course, you jerk. You really know—”

Maaya couldn’t even finish her sentence before his palm slithered down her soft belly to the hem of her skirt. He grabbed a handful of the offending garment and yanked it up enough to bare her thighs. His fingertips danced along the edge of her underwear, each stroke sending her breaths higher.

The back of his middle finger glanced along her clothed seam at last and beckoned forth a tremendous moan from her.

“That sounds so pretty,” Hyungwon said in the same drunk slur she'd heard at dozens of parties over the years, though she knew it had nothing to do with that last beer. “I want more, too.”

His middle finger hooked the seat of her underwear so he could have just enough play to tease her entrance, but instead, thanks to her obscene lust, he slipped right in to the knuckle. She screamed and arched, hips and all, off the bed.

“Shit! Sorry! God, Maaya, you’re so wet,” he fumbled and tried to withdraw, but her hand gripped his wrist and held him deep in her core.

“Don’t,” she begged through her heavy panting. “Don’t go. Feels too good.”

Maaya couldn’t remember ever seeing Hyungwon’s eyes absolutely black. He nodded and leaned up until their lips met in a fresh kiss. As she got lost, her hand loosened around his wrist, and once it did, no matter how distracting his kiss was, all of her attention funneled to his finger now gliding in and out between her legs. She whimpered, and his other hand tightened in her hair.

After only a couple strokes, Hyungwon added a second finger that had the woman beneath him twitching while he insisted on torturing her with deeper and deeper kisses. Maaya was mired in a haze of sensuality. She was limp with bliss and eager to receive all of his attentions for as long as he was willing to give them. The deeper his fingers delved, the harder her eyes rolled back in her head.

Her hands abandoned him to grip the bed, which felt like her only real tether to reality at this point. It wasn’t just that things felt too good—it was that Hyungwon was the one doing them to her. And, yeah, with her clothes still on and the lights down low, it all felt very stolen-moment-in-her-parents’-basement kind of naughty, but that had always been something Maaya had only dreamed of with him.

“So wet for me,” he mumbled against her lips.

“Yes,” she whined, and Hyungwon took the opportunity to storm her mouth anew with his silky tongue. Urgently, her arms wrapped around his neck to pull him flush against her, and she was rewarded with the press of his denim-encased hard-on scraping her bare thigh. She rubbed her leg against him, and Hyungwon grumbled, his fingers hooking dangerously into her greedy walls.

“I can't stop kissing you,” he mumbled between each press of her lips to his.

“I can't stop kissing you,” she volleyed right back.

For a second, they broke apart to share a little laugh but then slipped immediately back to kissing. Once again, Hyungwon pulled back, his forehead resting against hers as he caught her smoky gaze. “But I’d rather make you cum for me.”

“Huh—oh!” she managed as his tongue suddenly trailed down the column of her throat to her breast again, where he lavished her with kisses before, eventually, taking her back into the warm recess of his mouth. She lifted her head just enough to kiss his brow as he suckled, and he stopped instantly. The softness in his eyes gave way to hardness in an instant.

Newly focused, he continued kissing her torso, tonguing her navel once before nibbling at her hip bone at last. Though his fingers continued their determined thrusting, Hyungwon pulled back just long enough to place a quick kiss to her clit. It was short and sweet but just long enough to send a shockwave of lust and maybe a bit of embarrassment shivering through Maaya.

“Oh fuck, hold on,” she whimpered as goosebumps prickled along her arms and legs, “wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” Hyungwon replied in his gravelly voice. “I need you to cum, princess, because I don’t think I can wait any longer to be inside you.”

“Hyungwon—”

But he cut her off with his freshly licked thumb, which took immediately to polishing her aching little rosebud.

“Shit!” hissed Maaya. “Feels too good.”

She twitched on the bed, her hands grabbing for anything to anchor her against Hyungwon’s diligent onslaught. One hand reached back and closed around the top of the headboard while the other clutched her lover’s shoulder. He sucked in a breath as her nails dug in, but she couldn’t help it.

“Wonnie—oh my god!” Her voice plummeted several octaves when the pads of his questing fingers glanced over a spot so sensitive, her body curled in on itself against the pleasure. Maaya had cum before from foreplay, but this was different. She’d never felt anything so intense, and for some reason, her body wanted to run from it. She writhed beneath him, but Hyungwon’s hand pressed firmly onto her mound as the filthy wet noises crescendoed between her thighs.

“Oh god, wait,” she begged frantically, “wait!”

Hyungwon slowed but didn’t stop, his fingers idling over the center of her ecstasy. His eyes were thin and black, and his mouth, so often bright with a smile just for her, fixed in a stern line. “Do you really want me to stop?”

“No! Please, no! I’m just—”

“Don't be scared,” he said in a deep, soothing voice as his fingers picked up speed. “I want to give you this before I give you my cock. Let go for me, Maaya.”

Cock.

The word tumbling out of those swollen, nude lips was as tantalizing as the secret still confined to those painfully tight jeans. At this point, she’d do anything for it. For him.

“Oh god, yes,” she moaned, and Hyungwon kissed the inside of her thigh to seal the moment.

Faster and faster, he worked her inside and out, and her body reeled under him. Her hips bucked and her feet burrowed into the sheets and her shoulders lifted from the mattress as the most blinding climax of her life consumed her. Maaya cried out between big, hitching gulps of breath. It felt like eternity but also just a second as her body went rigid with ecstasy before she crashed back onto the bed.

Pins and needles tickled her arms and legs while streams of whimpers and half-sobs reduced her to nothing but nerves and a handful of dulled senses. She felt her lover’s fingers slip out of her, followed by an embarrassing amount of arousal, but she was too numb to will her legs to close.

Hyungwon pushed up and laid beside her, kissing her cheek and smoothing her bangs back from her face as he asked, “You okay?”

At first, Maaya was too dumbstruck by the twilight of sensations pulsing through her to respond, but all of a sudden, a laugh, small at first but growing delirious by the second, bubbled up in her throat. The next thing she knew, Hyungwon was laughing with her, too.

“So you’re good?” he asked as their laughter subsided. “I was good?”

Suddenly stone sober, Maaya rolled onto her side and looked into her best friend’s rich eyes. She put a hand on his cheek and cradled him. The urge to kiss him again overwhelmed, and she planted her lips on his. With every sweep of their mouths against one another’s, it was growing devastatingly familiar, and she knew that no matter what happened after this, she could never go back to being just friends.

Eventually, Maaya forced herself to pull back long enough to say, “You’re perfect. Best I’ve ever had.”

He smiled fleetingly before his features hardened.

Much to her dismay, he hopped off the bed, way too far away for her Hyungwon-addicted brain to tolerate. She followed to the edge and swung her legs over, too, but he shook his head.

“I’m coming back,” he promised.

“Not fast enough.”

With a chuckle, he shucked off his t-shirt, revealing a very different chest than Maaya remembered from their high school pool parties. She knew it—she’d seen evidence of it all night—but naked was a revelation. Hyungwon was lean as always, but he was broad now, too, with definition from chest to hip that made her mouth feel like cotton. His shoulders had grown knotty with muscles that flexed down into the beautiful biceps he’d been teasing all night. As her eyes devoured the tapering lines of his abs under the hem of his jeans, she spotted that tiny star of a bullseye at his hip, and nothing could keep her finger from trembling toward it.

“How is there so much about you I still don’t know?” she asked, mesmerized as she pressed that cute coffee-colored mole. Her nail scudded down from there on its new quest, and Hyungwon shivered.

“Hm?”

“The bowling? These muscles? This little freckle? I just want to eat it.” Maaya pitched forward and dragged her teeth over it to his excited hum.

Seeing so much of him naked, it reminded Maaya that she was still fully clothed. She whisked his hoody along with her shirt over her head and unclasped her bra without another thought, casting both into the corner of the room with a domesticity that delighted her. She wanted that to be her new corner, the one where she would always pile up her dirty laundry until they could trundle down to the laundromat together.

Hyungwon followed her gaze from those discarded clothes back her face. He looked pleased, and she stared back up at him adoringly. He let out a little breath and smiled. His finger hooked under her chin, and as his thumb traced over her bottom lip, she popped the button at his fly. But the moment her attention shifted back to his jeans, Maaya felt every nerve in her body vibrating with exhilaration.

It was tough rolling the denim over his hips and ass considering how they’d practically been painted on, and the suspense was slowly killing her. As soon as they were mid-thigh, Maaya dragged her palm over the straining cock in his underwear and sighed at how powerful his desire for her was. She could hear her own excited breaths even above Hyungwon’s as she traced the outline of his manhood again.

“Wow, Wonnie, you’re so hard,” she marveled, this time gripping his bulge at his base. She rubbed him a few more times before he knocked away her hands and shoved down both his jeans and his underwear, leaving him fully on display for her.

Maaya was stunned—not just by his body or his incredible cock, but by the sheer fact that, at least for tonight, Hyungwon was going to be hers. It was overwhelming. It was thrilling. It was impossible.

She gripped his thighs and savored the way his muscles contracted beneath them. Automatically, his hips bucked closer to her face, and her hand shot to his hilt so she could steady him before she swallowed his hardness, but Hyungwon jerked back, and she groaned.

“Oh, come on! Let me—”

“No,” he said firmly.

“I want to,” Maaya insisted.

“Well, I can’t.”

Before she even had time to be confused, he took her by the wrists and pulled her free of his length. He pushed her back and fell with her onto the bed with a shared grunt. She was effectively pinned beneath him, his warm chest pressed to hers. Her nipples, hard from the cool air as much as expectation, scraped against his ribs as his lips found hers again. It was their most passionate kiss yet, full of tongue and breath and the searing awareness of his cock grating the inside of her thigh.

Maaya wasn’t used to Hyungwon being so authoritative, and it made her weak.

“Wonnie—”

When he pulled up, his eyelids were low like curtains drawn on indecency. Through his ragged panting, he ordered, “Move back up to the pillows.”

“Hurry, Maaya,” he rasped. “Fuck, please.”

She had heard him tired before, cranky lots of times, and playful even more often than that, but she had never heard him desperate.

She scrambled back as instructed and lifted her hips, ready to remove the rest of her clothing, but Hyungwon shook his head again.

“Forget it,” he said. “No time.”

He tossed up the ruffle of her skirt and shoved aside the seat of her underwear again, so he could slide the head of his cock against her entrance.

“A—Already?” Maaya gasped.

“Can’t wait another second,” he said and pushed inside all the way to his base.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, Hyungwon! God, yes. Yes!”

Her legs locked behind his back, and her hands wrenched the fitted sheet off the corner of the bed as the inescapable warmth of fullness consumed her. His face nestled in the shelter of her neck as he puffed and groaned.

“Hey,” she said, reaching for his cheek, “you okay?”

“Yeah, you’re just better than I ever imagined.”

“You imagined fucking me?” she teased, though the sexiness of that notion made her walls flare around him. Hyungwon hissed.

“Yeah, and making love to you and everything in between.”

Everything shifted then.

If Maaya thought this was just an impetuous fling or fuckbuddies scenario unfolding, that illusion vanished as Hyungwon rocked forward, his length begging to settle as deep as it could go inside her. He kissed her softly again, his hand finding hers and weaving his fingers through it.

They made out like that for a while, bodies fused and desires ebbing into one another. Maaya could feel every twitch and quiver his cock made inside her. She might have been the one holding onto him, but Hyungwon had totally possessed her.

Every time he threatened to pull out, a little cry escaped her. Her body fought to hold onto him for as long as it could—for forever. Her core constricted hungrily, and he snarled.

“Don’t do that,” he warned against her lips.

“What?”

“I’m really trying to last here, but you’re making it so hard, princess.”

“Can’t help it. Feels so right.”

Hyungwon grunted and kissed Maaya in time with his faster strokes. It was messy and feral and so frenzied that they were both gasping for breath in between, but it was all she’d ever wanted. Her legs fell wide open now, her invitation for him to use her as much as he could, and he didn’t miss his chance.

Hyungwon lifted off her, and her whole body froze where his sweaty skin had once been ironed. One of his hands grabbed her breast and the other clamped to her waist so he could rut frantically into her.

Maaya might have been limp on the mattress, paralyzed by pleasure and mesmerized by bliss, but it made it all the easier to catalogue every intimate detail of the man above her. The smoothness of his thrusts, the possession in his grip, the intensity in his eyes as his lips pressed together in exertion. Hyungwon was flawless, and she was so very lucky.

He tugged her hips higher onto his thighs to work her deeper and deeper, and it fueled the vision-whitening blaze in her belly.

“Need you, Wonnie,” she pleaded. “So close.”

She gripped his hand at her chest and held on for dear life, which sent him tumbling back onto her. He pushed her one leg back, deepening the fold at her belly, and he shifted so good inside her, that Maaya moaned loud enough to rattle the mirror propped on his dresser.

The room was perfumed with sweat and sex and pheromones that clouded out the world beyond the two of them and knotted them tighter together. Her hands were everywhere now—in his hair, on his neck, around his back. As deep as he was inside her, she wanted him closer. She wanted him always.

“So tight,” Hyungwon hissed next to her ear. “Please cum. Cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

There it was, the cocktail of sinful words Maaya thought she’d never hear from him. Coupled with the crush of his hips against her sex and the hot velvet of his length stoking the fire inside her, she unwound.

It was the quietest climax of her life, not because it wasn’t good but because it had never been better. Maaya was overcome—with lust, with happiness.

With love.

She rose up beneath him, muscles rigid with the electricity of release. Her walls seized around him as she hiccupped out pathetic gasps. Her hands shot to the pillows and crumpled the feathers as she convulsed with the never-ending shockwaves of release.

When at last she came down, Maaya lay there, body thumping up the mattress with Hyungwon’s every energetic thrust. It might have been through fuzzy, hooded eyes, but she watched the rivulets of sweat trickle from his brow to his jaw as the skin there furrowed with his panicked exertion. His fat lips twitched, and the cords in his throat tightened as he whined low and desperate into her shoulder.

“I’m gonna— I’m gonna—”

He whimpered against her throat as his hips skipped irregularly now. Maaya knew what was coming. In her shell of a voice, she asked, “Look at me, Wonnie.”

His eyes met hers for a mere second before they shot down between her legs.

“Oh god!” he cried as he pulled out and showered her skin and lace in hot pearl. He tried his hardest to meet her gaze again, but in the throes of climax, his eyes rolled back just before they screwed shut. His lips curled into the most luscious snarl as a wretched whine echoed in the bedroom. It had to be the sexiest fucking thing Maaya had ever heard in her life.

Hyungwon was still pumping his dick and cumming as she tilted his chin up and devoured that snarl along with every gasp and twitch of oversensitivity.

A moment later, he was too drained to do anything but heave with breath. He laid on top of her, face in the hollow of her throat, sealing them together with a lacquer of sweat and cum. She could feel a tear welling at the corner of her nose, and she blinked hard and fast to hide it, but it was no use.

“Did I hurt you? Shit, I’m so sorry,” Hyungwon worried frantically as his thumb blotted the trail down her cheek. He rushed to lift himself off her, but Maaya gripped his forearms and shook her head frantically.

“No, not at all.”

“You regret it, don’t you?” he realized, his whole body deflating before her eyes as he sank into the mattress beside her. “I shouldn’t have risked us. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Hyungwon, no,” Maaya said firmly. “Don’t you dare be sorry.”

He swallowed hard. “It’s just—you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“All night, huh?” she laughed awkwardly.

“Mm, more like since high school.”

“You’re full of it. Like you’d wait that long.”

Hyungwon pressed his lips together as he considered. “Seriously. But you were always dating someone, and by the time I’d give up and settle for someone comfortable, you’d break up and I’d be committed. Luck was never on my side.”

“Baloney,” she scoffed.

He thrust out his hand in front of him and counted off: “Vernon? Mandy. Eric? Yuji. Jongin? Beth. Henry? Haeun.”

Maaya stared up at the ceiling. She’d given up any hope of Hyungwon ages ago, assuming they’d only ever be friends, and maybe that seesaw of relationships was why, even if she’d never actively thought about it.

“Huh,” she said, surprised.

“Exactly. Huh. I wasn’t about to let you hop into something new before I had my one chance.”

Maaya drew patterns on his taut stomach as she mused, doing a terrible job of hiding her schoolgirl smile. “Hmm. I like confident, determined pro-bowler Hyungwon.”

“Wait until you meet doting, sex-crazed boyfriend Hyungwon.”

Her eyes shot up to his. “Boyfriend?”

“Did I jump the gun? Shit, I’m skipping all the logical steps tonight. I don’t even know what you want. That’s just what I want.”

“You want to be my boyfriend?”

“More than anything,” he asserted. “Why do you think I had this whole dumb plan where I would show you what it would be like, and maybe you’d like it? I just never thought you’d ever take an interest in anyone there.”

“I knew it!” Maaya shouted as she pointed her finger squarely in Hyungwon’s face, any awkwardness forgotten in her burst of vindication. “It is just boomers and geezers there!”

“It was supposed to be…” Hyungwon grumbled.

She laughed and threw her arm over his waist and nuzzled her cheek to his pec. It was sticky, but she liked being stuck to him. “Wonnie, I haven’t thought about that guy since the second you kissed my head. It’s really hard to think about anyone else when you touch me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Why do you think I have to put so much distance between us when I’m dating someone else? I can’t help it. You take over everything.”

His fingers danced along her spine as he hummed contentedly. “Then I guess I’m always going to have to touch you.”

“Oh god,” laughed Maaya with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t go suffocating me now. You won’t need to. I’m hopelessly addicted.”

“Are you?” Hyungwon asked as he snuggled deeper.

She blushed and hid her face against his side. Half of her was shouting at herself to shut up, but the other half, the louder one, said, Say it. Just say it.

Maaya took a deep breath and held it until her lungs started to burn.

Keep it in. Keep it in.

Nope.

“I loved it. I— I— I love you, Wonnie.”

She pulled the pillow over her face, but Hyungwon forced it away to stare at her. His beautiful face filled her whole world, and she felt more exposed than ever. A fresh tear perked at the corner of her eye, and before she could catch it, it slipped down her cheek.

“Oh god,” she mumbled, but Hyungwon wiped it away with his thumb as he mapped her expression.

“Hey. Hey. I love you, too, okay? Always have, and if you let me, always will. Would have told you that ages ago if it weren’t for that stupid Vernon.”

She belted out a laugh as she clutched his full cheeks in her hands. “Okay, I get it now, I do.”

“Finally.”

This time when Hyungwon kissed her, Maaya opened herself up and let him in in a way she’d never dared before. Her arms spooled around his neck and brought him flush against her, and she purred against him. This was love, and it was hers. Finally.

When he pulled back at last, Hyungwon asked, “Told you I was in the mood for a win tonight.”

“Har har,” she quipped. “Yes, you really have perfect game.”

“Your puns are terrible,” he retorted.

“You love it.”

“I love you,” Hyungwon clarified and kissed the tip of Maaya’s nose.

“So, what do you say to a shower?” she asked.

“Depends. You going to keep your hands to yourself?”

Maaya smirked. “Not on your life.”

Hyungwon was out of bed in an instant. There was that hand again, always waiting for her to take it, and she didn’t hesitate this time. She’d never seen him happier, even four strikes into their game. “In that case…”

#monsta x smut #hyungwon smut #friends to lovers #romance #oneshot #hyungwon #insert i'm going to give me everything i want meme

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thinkingoutlouddblog · 4 years ago

Text

butterfly effect: one

His mouth is slightly ajar, surely shocked to be seeing the girl of his past so far from where he had left her. I myself try to compute what I am seeing, but my brain is running so fast from the adrenaline, the gravity of what is occurring hardly registers.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Word Count: 6k+

Includes: mob!h, mentions of blood, scary dudes late at night, and the set up for my favourite story I’ve ever written!

A/N: guys I am so excited about this story! I swear writing this is the only thing holding me together (so don’t let it flop lmao). It is 2AM pray for me.

My inbox is open for anyone who wants to chat about this series! I love to gab, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. I want this to be as good as possible!!

butterfly effect masterlist // my masterlist

now

It is not until it is already too late that I realise I should have just ordered an uber.

Alex was very insistent that I order one home from my late shift at the pub. He had even offered to split the cost, knowing without needing to ask this was the cause of my hesitation. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it. Strictly speaking, I could. I was just keenly aware of the amount of material I could buy with the amount a late night uber in London would cost me. I would never take him up on his offer. He needed the money just as much as I did.

“It’s okay, I’m good for it,” I gave him a little smile. He was sitting in front of his mirror in his room, midway through getting ready for work. I had simply come to say goodbye before I left for my shift when he had grabbed me by the hand and demanded I ordered an uber home.

“Babe, you have to promise me.”

“I promise!” I stared exaggeratedly into his eyes as I spoke, emphasising my honesty.

In that moment, I made peace with the money I would be losing from my fabric budget. I calculated this budget, of course, by subtracting living expenses from my weekly income. My best friend wanted to make sure I got home safe, wanted the peace of mind while he was working that I would be fine. Who was I to say no to that?

“Make sure you text me when you get into the uber and once you make it up to the apartment.” My chest flooded with warmth at the love and care in his voice. It was moments like these I really sat back and thanked my lucky stars that Alex was in my life.

So, of course I was just going to bite the bullet and order the uber. Of course.

Except, well.

I couldn’t help but think how quickly I got from our place to work. We had picked the apartment just one short month ago, heavily considering the advantage of its walking distance to my work. The King’s Arms was just one block up and down the road. It was barely a fifteen-minute walk. Shorter than that if I took the shortcut down the alleyway back to our block, saving me from walking further down the road and looping back around. It would probably take me longer to get home via uber, once you account for the time spent waiting for it to arrive.

A ten-minute walk home wouldn’t kill me, surely.

The contemplation was pushed from my mind for the duration of my busy Saturday night shift. It was my least favourite shift of the week, as I spent each week chasing after middle aged men getting rowdy in the excitement of watching whatever sport was on TV. The King’s Arm was small, but it was a local favourite known for its homey pub meals, reasonably priced pints and good atmosphere. Much to my contempt they didn’t keep a large staff pool, preferring a smaller, well-trained, reliable bunch. Which was great in theory until it left me to run around like my hair is on fire on a night as busy as tonight.

I was capable of serving everyone well and in a timely manner, but it wasn’t exactly a stroll in the park. More like a seven-hour long sprint, with a half hour break in the middle.

As the final game for the night ended, the crowd slowly but surely thinned until just a couple of small groups remained.

“Hey y/n, are you okay to lock up by yourself if I head home in five?” my manager, Rachel asked me half an hour before close. “I have some time I need to take back,” she added in explanation.

“Of course, you go get out of here.” I knew she wasn’t lying when she said she had some time to take back, putting in all sorts of extra hours to keep the place in tip top shape. I liked Nicola, and I had certainly been working there long enough to handle a couple of customers and lock up by myself. Even if I didn’t like Rachel and thought she was slacking off, I couldn’t exactly argue. She was both my boss and the owner’s daughter, probably not far off becoming the owner herself.

“Are you sure?” She asked, eyeing the few men still seated, probably triple checking she didn’t think they were any kind of threat.

“Yes,” I laughed, “now scram, before I change my mind.”

“Alright if you insist,” she said, already making her way towards her bag.

“Ring me if you need anything! Good night!” She called over her shoulder as she exited through the kitchen door. The cook had gone home ten minutes earlier, the pub serving only drinks the hour before close at midnight.

“Night!” I called back.

I made quick work of what little cleaning there was left to do, and gently reminded the remaining patrons we closed in half an hour. To my surprise they were agreeable and friendly, one of them instantly assuring me, “Don’t worry love we’ll be out of your hair soon, won’t make you stay back late.”

Usually the kind of people that were in the pub this late had no care for closing time, believing that pertained simply to whenever they decided they wanted to leave.

True to his word, everyone was out with ten minutes to spare and I was able to clean their dishes and tables with the remaining time they had granted me. I locked the door to The King’s Arms at 12 o’clock on the dot and riding the high of such an easy close, took not a moment in deciding I was in fact going to walk home.

To Alex: Just ordered an uber!

I felt guilty lying, but I would rather lie than have Alex worrying over nothing. I would be home in a flash, keys secured firmly in between my knuckles the whole way. I felt far safer on the move than waiting out the front of work for an uber anyway.

I kept a fast pace, left only to debate whether I took my shortcut or stuck to the street. I checked over my shoulder, and seeing absolutely no one around, made a quick right turn into the alleyway between two buildings.

I grabbed my phone from my back pocket as I heard the ding of a text notification. I glance down at my screen, reading as I walk.

From Alex: Amazing! I should be home in a couple hours, text me when you get home safe. Love you x

I don’t register the hushed growling tones as I continue making my way down the alley, still looking down at my phone as I type a simple ‘love you’ in reply. It isn’t uncommon to hear the conversations of tenants on the lower levels of these apartment buildings as you walk down the street. Walls are thin and many windows generally left open. It is easy to consign this particular conversation among the other non-threatening city sounds until I eventually look back up from my phone.

I am immediately faced with a most unfavourable scene, under the single light that illuminates this alley, are the two men who I now recognise to be the source of the argument I had barely registered. The first man is tall, dressed in all black, thick muscles protruding through his t-shirt. He towered over the second man who contrasted him starkly in his bright red adidas tracksuit. The tall man’s presence would be dominating the space, even if he didn’t have his dark forearm pressed firmly against the smaller man’s throat.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, stopping myself from yelping stupidly and drawing attention to myself. They haven’t noticed my presence. A witness to whatever it was that was occurring here.

“See all I’m hearing is excuses, bruv,” the tall man’s accent is distinctly that of someone from South London. His tone is aggressive, but even. He knows he has the upper hand and it is clearly not his first rodeo threatening people. This is exactly the kind of person I could’ve avoided encountering by simply ordering an uber.

I snap out of my shocked daze and start to turn to make a swift and stealthy departure. I’m no fool. I know there is a definitive gang presence around here. I also know, if you leave them alone, they too shall (hopefully)leave you. All hopes of making such an exit are of course foiled as soon as my foot connects with an empty beer bottle on my first step.

The two men’s heads snap towards me instantly. I expect the shorter man to ask for help, to say something, but his mouth remains clamped shut. Gang business. He is in a bigger mess than someone like me can ever save him from. The taller man’s eyes narrow. After the briefest moments of standing there frozen, caught, I spin on my heel and run as fast as my feet can carry me.

I run back to the route I should have taken, cursing myself all the way for being naïve enough to believe that nothing bad could happen to me on something as simple as a walk home from work. That women who were raped, kidnapped and murdered from off the street were somehow removed from me. That was something only on the news in my world. Not something that was possibly about to occur.

My heart hammers in my chest as I make the split-second decision, I am safer running all the way home than running as far as I can from the scene of the crime. I’m going to run all the way up the stairs to my fifth-floor apartment, and I am going to lock the door behind me. I turn the corner back up to my block, not slowing down for a second.

I am so quick in fact, that as I come flying around the next corner towards my apartment, I nearly barrel straight into someone. He was clearly walking with some pace too, because he narrowly prevents us crashing into each other head on, but he is a second too slow in his reaction time because I trip straight over his feet. I hardly even see him, even as I am falling straight over him. All I see is brown hair and a dark suit before I’m staring straight at the pavement flying towards my face. I barely manage to throw my forearms out to break my fall as I hit the pavement at speed.

“Jesus,” the man mutters, but the only thing I can hear is my heavy breathing and my own blood pounding in my ears.

I’m on the ground now, I register for a second before my flight response kicks back in.

I don’t even feel the sting of the scrapes with the adrenaline coursing through me, already attempting to scramble up and get as far away as possible from this stranger. “I’m so sorry!” I manage to call as I pick myself and my keys up, gearing up to get moving once more.

“Honey?”

No. It absolutely could not possibly be. There was only one person on this planet who had ever called me by that name.

I stop dead in my tracks. That voice. It’s deeper than I remember but undoubtedly familiar. Familiar seems too simple a word. That voice had echoed around the halls of my brain for years. Even now, six years later, it was not gone but buried, waiting for a simple trigger to spark my memory and bring that beautiful sound back to the forefront my mind. Some days I swear I remembered it like I had just heard it moments ago.

Except now, I really had heard him.

Slowly, I turned to face him.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Before he can verbalise any of the questions on the tip of his tongue, I grab his hand in my own, and yank him forward as I continue running home.

Realistically, I know that we now outnumber whoever it was that may be coming after me and I know even six years since I’ve last seen him, I am always safe with Harry. He proved that in many ways, and more than once, while I knew him. I was not, however, willing to risk the tall man pulling a knife on Harry. I didn’t even want to put him in a situation where it was a battle of fists. Though I did know from experience he could more than hold his own.

“What’s going on?” he yells as we run down the street, rapidly approaching the exit of the alleyway I had fled.

I gradually reduce our pace until we are speed-walking past the alleyway. Tempted as I am to see if they are still there, I keep my eyes trained forward, praying they aren’t there watching us as we pass by.

As soon as we have cleared it, I’m straight back to my running pace, forcing Harry to accelerate speed once more.

“I’ll explain inside,” I call over my shoulder in answer to his earlier question.

Now that I felt a degree safer with Harry’s presence, I had the capacity to feel thankful I had opted for a boiler suit and converse for tonight to accommodate for the Saturday night rush. This run would have been hell if I had worn a skirt and a heeled boot instead.

“Inside where?” He’s laughing as he speaks and as the fear loosens its grip on me, the déjà vu begins to battle for dominance. That laugh had brightened my every day for long enough to leave a mark on my soul. Fleeting as it was, that single sound reignited the shine it had once left.

His question was answered when we came to a screeching halt in front of my apartment. It took me two tries to input my security code correctly, my brain and hands both moving quickly, but not quite matching up. Eventually, the door clicked, and I was able to swing it open, tugging Harry in after me.

I didn’t stop dragging him along behind me until we had taken all five flights of stairs up to my apartment two at a time.

“y/n…” he attempted to grab my attention when we first entered the building, but I was not to be deterred until we had reached the absolute safety of my apartment. I shushed him, not wanting to receive a noise complaint from my new neighbours. I supposed having such a thought was a good sign, my consciousness beginning to register it was not in any imminent danger.

I huffed and puffed as we landed at the doorstep of apartment 5B, the place I loved to call home. Harry, I noticed, was barely short of breath. He had always been a runner when we were in high school. I wondered if he kept up the habit even now.

My hands shook as I located the correct key on my chain, body still shaking from the excitement of the events of the past five minutes. I struggled to align the key with the lock with my left hand, unthinking of the fact my right was still firmly in Harry’s hold.

“Let me,” he murmured, already moving his right hand to take the key. I said nothing, simply surrendering it over to him.

His hands were steady as anything as he turned the key, granting us entrance into my home. I released a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. I finally stopped just past the door, my back to Harry as he shut it behind him. I took a few deep breaths, trying so desperately to ground myself.

Was any of this even real? The sketchy characters I could believe in a heartbeat, Harry Styles’ presence, however, was harder to grasp.

But there his hand was, in my own, even if I couldn’t see him.

Harry stood back and let me take this moment to myself, keenly aware of how much I needed it. He knew I needed to take pause and re-centre myself otherwise I would only shut down. He was also aware of my injured state though, even if I wasn’t.

“y/n, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh,” my head snapped back to look at my arm. In the rush to get home, the blood from the scrapes on my arm had run down my arm and dripped into our connected hands. I quickly released my grasp on him. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“A little bit of blood never hurt anyone,” he quickly dismissed. “Unless you’re the one that’s bleeding, in which case you better get cleaned up as soon as possible.

“Luckily you have me here to play nurse. Just lead the way to the nearest bathroom,” he gave me a little cheeky grin, clearly trying to lift your spirits. The subtle playfulness is not as natural as it once was, but it is certainly reminiscent of our old dynamic. The surrealism of this whole thing goes straight to my head, clouding my ability to form full, coherent thoughts.

Somehow, I manage to come out with, “I think you mean our only bathroom,” in response.

He grunts a laugh, but he hasn’t missed the use of the word our.

I walk like a zombie, leading him through the hallway past the living room and the kitchen to the bathroom. I hold my forearms up in an attempt to redirect the flow of the blood and prevent it from dripping from my fingertips onto the floor. As I slowly came out of survival mode, my awareness of the stinging of my forearms became increasingly prominent. I was sure my hip and knees were going to be bruised pretty badly too. I really hadn’t managed to slow down at all before all my momentum came crashing into the cement.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” He asks upon our arrival to the bathroom.

“Under the sink.”

My eyes trail over the mess Alex and I had left in our rush to get ready.

I tend to procrastinate getting ready for as long as possible, busying myself with just about anything else. Generally, it will be tidying up the mess I’ve made during the day, only for me to create a whole new one in my hurry to get ready for my shift on time. Alex on the other hand, always leaves plenty of time to perfect his look before leaving for the night. Despite having the time to do so, he never cleans as he goes. Leaving his many products and deliberated outfits spread far and wide. Luckily most of his mess was confined to his bedroom, the only trace of him in the bathroom skincare and hair products (though there wasn’t a limited amount of those, either).

“I’m sorry for the mess,” I speak quietly watching Harry get his bearings, standing helplessly as I bled, hands still raised.

“Nonsense,” he doesn’t look at me as he speaks, jumping into action.

Harry turns the faucet on in the sink before opening the cupboard door and grabbing the first aid kid out. It was actually sort of a miracle Alex and I had one. It had been on a list of “Things You Need for a New Apartment” I had googled, scared we were missing important things. At the time, I had deliberated longer than necessary over whether to get one. I couldn’t remember the last time I had required anything more than a band aid for any given ailment. The deciding factor had been the memory of Alex getting into a couple of scrapes while out over the years. It had never been anything major, the worst injury he ever sustained being a bruised jaw, but it was better to be safe than sorry, I decided.

Turns out, that decision was for the best.

He gently touches his fingertips to my right arm, which had copped the brunt of it. With the softest touch, he delicately guided my arm under the stream of water. As I stepped forward to lean over the sink and wash away the dirt of the footpath, he stepped backwards, giving me my space.

I winced at the initial contact of the water as it ran red. I risked a glance at my reflection. Sweaty brow, the light lazy work makeup I had applied half off my face. I quickly diverted my gaze back to my injured arm. This was not exactly how I pictured our reunion. I had hardly ever even pictured it, I was so sure that I would never see Harry again.

I wondered if this silence was as heavy as I thought it was. Everything about him felt so familiar, yet so different. Up until this moment it felt like being in the presence of a friend, but now I realised, he was closer to a stranger.

I knew the person he once was, a sweet but fucked up kid who had been forced to become a man too early. Someone who had his walls a mile high around almost everyone. Almost. The boy who painted his nails on lunch breaks and was friends with everyone but somehow also no one. Until he was friends with me. Then he was the boy who always sat to my left from the first bell of the school day to the last. Back then, I knew him from the inside out, just as he knew me.

He was my greatest joy of those years. Then he was my greatest heartbreak. Now, he was just some guy I used to know who I had plucked straight up off the street, looking very out of place in what was clearly a designer suit in my tiny apartment.

He looked through the first aid kit as I ensured the entirety of the scrape was rinsed. It extended most of the way from my elbow to my wrist, but more pressingly in my mind, it now stung like a bitch. Once the water rain clear as it ran off my arm, I moved onto the much smaller and shallower scrape on my left elbow, working quickly to get it clean.

Most of the bleeding had stopped, only a few spots on my right arm still dotting with blood. I leaned over the sink to prevent the water from dripping onto the floor.

I cleared my throat, nervous to break the silence.

“Can you please grab me that towel?” I nodded my head towards the black hand towel hung behind Harry.

His eyes snapped upwards from the first aid kit he had been busying himself with. I was sure he had been surveying it more thoroughly than strictly necessary, trying to detract from the awkward energy which had crept up on us. We made brief eye contact through the mirror. My breath caught in my throat. The moment was over as soon as it began as he turned wordlessly to grab the towel.

He holds it in his hand, hesitating before handing it over, “Did you want me to…?” he trails off, growing awkward in his offer. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. She barely knows you, back off, he tells himself.

“No that’s okay,” I speak gently, and he quickly passes the towel to me. I get to work patting my arms down delicately.

“Thank you though,” I add, hating the unsure look on his face. I meet his eye, giving him a smile I hope is reassuring.

“Okay, let’s get you sitting down so I can fix you up,” he returns your smile with a slight upturn of the right side of his mouth.

I relocate to the little dining table Alex and I had bought at Ikea just a week prior. Harry isn’t far behind, washing his hands before joining me to tend to my wounds. He lays out everything he is going to need from the first aid kit before holding his hand out. Like an idiot, I stare at his hand without moving for a beat too long before jerkily offering my right arm up.

He laughs silently as he turns my arm over, analysing it carefully.

“So, do you often go for runs at midnight?” He asks as he unscrews the lid on the Vaseline.

“Yeah all the time. I just don’t normally take people from the street with me.”

“Is that all I am? A person on the street?” He tries to keep his tone light, but I can tell he was hurt by my choice of words.

I expect to feel guilty, but a burst of anger I thought I had long gotten over flares in my chest. It isn’t as red hot and overwhelming as it had been years before – I’d definitely had my fair share of time to cool off – but I’m still surprised by the sting of it.

He was the one that made himself a stranger to me, and now he’s upset when I’m stating the fact that he made a reality.

Despite myself, I tried not to come across too harshly in my response. I was never one for confrontation.

“I mean, I haven’t heard from you in six years.”

He is very careful not to lift his eyes from my injuries as he carefully applies the petroleum jelly. I stare down at him, desperate to catch his eye.

There’s a pause as I wait for him to offer some kind of explanation. Some perfectly good reason why my best friend and first love left town without telling me why, or where he was going, and then never contacted me again.

When he doesn’t fill the silence, I sigh as quietly as I can manage. You don’t really know him, I remind myself. I practically kidnapped him, I can’t just go asking him to rehash history. It was so clear that he was what he had wanted me to be. History.

“I just mean, I don’t really know you anymore. I’m sorry I grabbed you like that, I just,” I hissed at the sting of his first aid, “I was walking home from work and I saw these really sketchy looking guys.”

“Sketchy looking?” He finally looked up at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well I guess they didn’t really look sketchy in their appearance particularly, it was more the fact that one of them was practically choking the other. They were arguing over something. I think it was something to do with some of the gangs around here,” I attempted a nonchalant tone, not wanting to worry him. The less phased I seemed, the better. I had caused him enough trouble. The only thing that was probably stopping him from running for the hills and never looking back (again) was guilt.

I go on to explain how I’d kicked that stupid beer bottle and taken off running, “which is when I ran into you. I’m really sorry about that, by the way. I’m so glad I didn’t take you down with me I think I would’ve died of a mix of guilt and embarrassment right then and there.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ho-“he cut himself before his mouth could form that name he had so affectionately given you. “I’m the one who feels guilty, if not for my big, slow feet you wouldn’t have bit the dust.” I laugh at his turn of phrase.

His face suddenly grows serious. “Your head is okay, right?”

Instinctively, my left hand shoots up to the back of my head, ghosting over the slight bump hidden under my hair. The scar tissue was ever so minimally raised, only perceptible to a knowing touch. I retract my hand bashfully, slightly embarrassed by my knee jerk reaction.

“It’s fine,” I match his serious tone, before lightening it up, “as you can see, I managed to break most of my fall,” I gesture to my right arm he has paused work on.

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, discerning whether he thinks I am downplaying anything. He picks up the dressing, moving onto the next phase of his treatment plan.

“And they don’t feel broken? You can move your wrists okay without too much pain?”

My heart swells at his concern. I stamp out the small joy as soon as it flared up. It’s guilt that’s fuelling him. Nothing else.

I shake my head no. He looks up once more, having missed the gesture in his concentration. “Sorry! No. All bumps and bruises. I’m fine honestly, I probably majorly overexaggerated the whole thing and freaked out for nothing. I’m really sorry about all this, its so late at night.”

“Don’t apologise,” he says firmly. “It’s not your fault and you did exactly the right thing by making a break fo’ it. You never know what could’ve happened. Ya’ know. Out late. By yourself. In the dark.”

My face burned red with shame, but also defiance. I knew what I did was stupid and extremely risky, but I also didn’t think I needed a lecture about it in this moment. The fear still coursing through me and my scraped-up arms were surely lesson enough.

“I could say the same thing to you,” I countered.

We both knew my argument didn’t hold up very well. He was a man out alone at night. There was obviously a risk there, but it wasn’t the same.

We also both knew, I wasn’t really trying to start a debate. Just signalling to him I didn’t want to get into it and wanted to move on.

“I was walking to the tube from a mate’s place,” he explained simply, letting me off the hook.

He had begun to tape the dressing down to my skin, securing it safely. He worked expertly. Even if I didn’t already know, I would have said this was one of many times he had done some at home first aid.

“In a designer suit?” I questioned. There were two things I was asking, but also not saying. Was this the kind of ‘mate’ you wine and dine before going home with them? And what happened to that poor kid from Holmes Chapel I once knew?

“I came straight from work.”

Jesus he wasn’t giving me a lot to work with in the way of details.

“Oh,” I say lamely, not wanting to pry. As much as I could tell myself (and him) that I didn’t really know him anymore and he was basically a stranger, it still hurt to be treated like one. We used to be so open with one another. The one thing I ever kept from him was how I truly felt about him.

“I work in finance,” he offers up after a beat of silence. “It uh- I’m pretty lucky to have the job I do,” he alludes to his financial standing, obviously wanting to acknowledge the contrast comparative to how I knew him. A boy not even of eighteen, fending for himself while trying to complete his high school education.

My face practically split in two with the size of the smile on my face at his words. “I’m so happy for you, Harry,” I say, hoping he can see how genuinely I mean it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you happy, H?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Internally, I kick myself. Externally, I try to keep my face neutral, yet interested. That’s a perfectly normal question to ask. Totally.

“Um,” he switches to my left elbow, making quicker work of the smaller wound. “I think so. In my experience you never realise how happy you are until you aren’t. But still, I think I am.”

“Good,” I say firmly. “I’m glad.”

“What about you?” He turns the questioning back on you. “What’s your story?”

“Oh, you know. The sad story of the girl chasing a dream,” I nodded my head towards the sewing machine stationed at the other end of the table.

“Don’t say that!” His tone jests, but he is serious as he speaks. “I think it would be far sadder if I discovered that your talent was going to waste. I’m really glad to hear that actually,” he half says the last sentence to himself, concentrating on fixing his dressing properly on the more difficult angle of my elbow.

“There you go,” he gleams as he admires his handy work. “Good as new.”

“Thank you so much, Harry. I’m so sorry for all this-“

“Not your fault,” he quickly dismisses.

“Even so, I’m sorry for all the trouble. I’ll pay for an uber home for you or something,” I try to come up with something to offer him that can even begin to repay him for his help.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” His brow creases in concern.

“Oh, Alex should be-“ I smack a hand over my mouth, realising I never texted him to let him know I had gotten home okay.

“Oh fuck,” I remove my hand from my mouth. I gingerly fish my phone out of my back pocket, muscles beginning to protest, the impact of that fall settling in.

Four missed calls and a flurry of text messages. My phone had automatically turned onto ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode as scheduled at 12:30. I hadn’t been notified of any of it and he had definitely assumed the worst.

“Is everything okay?”

“I forgot to text him and let him know I made it home okay,” I don’t look up as I speak, opening our text chat.

From Alex: I’m coming home

Received ten minutes ago.

“Your boyfriend?” He questioned, keeping his face impassive. That had my head shooting up.

“Uh-“ I began, but cut myself off as the unmistakeable sound of heeled feet running up the stairs to our apartment ran out loud and clear.

Shit.

Before I could even think what to say next, Alex’s key was in the lock. The door swung open, smacking the wall with the force of it.

Both Harry and Alex’s brows hit their bloody hairline I swear. Or more accurately, Lexie’s.

There my best friend and roommate stood, in full drag, light catching the sequins of the pink mini-dress I had sewn myself. If I weren’t standing there with the guiltiest expression of my life, I would be thinking about how stunning she looked.

Harry looked between the two of you, as Lexie did the same. Both trying to catch their brains up to what they were seeing. I myself was at a loss for words. I probably should have started with, “Lex, I am so sorry,” but Harry broke the silence first.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he breathed, transfixed by the look Lexie had created. Drag was an art form, and she was quite the artist. He was not the first to become enchanted upon first look, and he certainly would not be the last.

Lexie narrowed her eyes at Harry, jaw falling slightly open at the audacity of the acknowledgement in this moment. She had little patience for besotted strangers in moments like this. Her narrowed eyes moved to mine, face filling with rage.

“Lex-“ I begin, but am cut off for what seems to be the millionth time tonight with the simple raise of her hand. The close of my mouth is instant. I was not about to make this any worse.

“Bitch, if you do not have a very good explanation for this,” she breathes deeply, trying to gain her composure, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

********

As soon as he is out of your apartment and onto the street, his phone is in his hand. Fingers not able to press to type the message fast enough for his liking.

From Harry: We need to talk. I saw her.

As soon as the message was delivered, he was returning the calls he had silenced in y/n’s presence. The moment she had turned her back and left him to wash his hands, he had turned his phone to airplane mode.

“Jesus Christ bruv, I thought you were dead,” Michael joked as soon as he picked up.

The two of them had parted ways for what should’ve been five or ten minutes. Harry hadn’t seen it happen, just heard the clatter of the beer bottle as it skated along the ground and the screeching halt in the argument. He had been waiting patiently for Michael to finish working in the shadowy doorway to the side. He hadn’t seen a thing, and he was sure from his concealed position, whoever had seen Mike hadn’t seen him. So, he obligingly offered to take a walk, ensure she hadn’t gone calling the police.

He had just been bored. Ready to go home and have a drink with Michael so he could have a bitch and a moan about work. It always left him feeling better when he returned on Monday. He was killing time, that was all. He hadn’t expected to stumble over the girl who had changed everything.

Harry didn’t take time to explain his extended absence, moving straight along to what he had called for. Just like Mike, he preferred to skip the pleasantries.

“I need you to subtly divert as much traffic from this block as possible,” he didn’t ask. He never asked. It was always an instruction with him. In this business, asking nicely didn’t exactly lend itself to going far.

“What’s this about?” Harry gritted his teeth. He did not enjoy having his authority questioned. The only reason Michael would get away with it was because of their pre-existing friendship. Even then. Harry was not exactly in a forgiving mood. Made all the worse when Mike added, “This isn’t about that girl from the alley is it?”

Michael had his answer when Harry said only, “Get it done or I’ll have your fookin’ head.”

chat with me about butterfly effect!

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spasmsofthought · 4 years ago

Text

flashes. (dick grayson x reader)

I’m not really well-versed in DC, at all, but I wanted to give this a shot. let me know what you think! It’s a bit of a mess, so please take this with a grain of salt and some grace. sorry if he feels ooc; I tried my best but I am by no means an expert or even an amateur. please be kind. idk if i’ll write anymore for him, but i wanted to try. it might be trash but it’s out there now xo

It’s not like Gotham is known for being a walk in the park. The city is all alleys in the middle of the night, dark vapors rising from sewers, and secrets in the shadows. At least, in your experience.

There were no gated communities or fences to keep the darkness out in the apartment complex you lived in with your family. Only survival and common sense keeps you returning to your bed and food on the table.

So, when your younger (genius) brother is offered a scholarship to Gotham Academy on what feels like a whim, the world shifts.

When your mother still works, though, it means you are the de-facto adult during the day. Your job keeps your busy in the mornings, hers during the afternoon and night. You’re just getting into learning what it’s like to handle a job and bills of your own, even though you’re still living with your family (part of it is to save money, part of it is because you just don’t want to leave). Your family is the only real home you have ever known. Why leave to only find inadequate housing where you have to worry about your safety and theirs separately?

So, like every month, you swap out of your work clothes, put on your newest (at least 2 years old) pair of jeans on, the only blouse you own that hasn’t faded or stretched or shrunk from countless wash cycles, and grab the bag you’ve stored in its own special place in the cabinet by your family’s loud, old, run-down fridge.

You chance a ride on the bus, hopeful for no public catastrophes today. You listen to your small, but loved, playlist through the one earbud that works during the ride and you almost want to leap with joy when you step back down on concrete like this is what it is like everyday.

The architecture is a thing to behold. There is no wonder why this is acclaimed as the most prestigious private school in Gotham. Light is everywhere, and it’s like the outside world doesn’t exist. Every month you step on this campus it’s like you’ve never seen it before.

The grounds are meticulously groomed, everything in lines and straight edges. Concrete and nineteenth century buildings both cast heavy, sharp shadows in the late afternoon sun. There are some students lingering about, all grouped up and chattering in their similar uniforms. Compared to public art, haphazard graffiti, and buildings of all shapes and sizes, this place feels foreign. Different. It makes you feel strange and unwelcome; like entering a different world altogether.

When you enter the pristine, elegant office, the entrance door propped open, there’s two figures you immediately spot: the secretary and the man standing in front of her. Your brother is yet to be found. He’s running late again.

“Hi, hun, take a seat,” Grace’s sweet voice soothes from her position behind the desk. “He should be here any minute.” The man standing in front and a little to the right of her glances behind for second, casually swiping a look at you, before he turns forward again.

“Thanks, Grace,” You exhale as you sit down.

The chairs are nice, soft fabric and cushioned, but small. You so desire to bring up a leg to draw close to you, but it’s impossible without making yourself a human pretzel. And you don’t want to dirty it with your less than perfect shoes so, instead, you chose to bring the bag onto your lap and you pick at your cuticles, resisting to bring your nail to your mouth and chew on it anxiously.

There’s never been anyone else in here when you’ve come before. Grace can make polite chatter, but then she leaves you in relative silence. It makes you feel anonymous. The man uttering sweet words to the secretary and then glancing at you again before sitting down next to you does not. You stop fidgeting with your hands and intertwine them together instead.

A flash of the ceiling’s fluorescent lighting on glass against your eyes is what you first get a taste of, then all polish and silver, or something like it, cradling a wrist. The watch looks heavy, expensive. It looks like it could buy your family a newer, safer, apartment in a suburbia far away from here.

“Hey,” Smooth as honey it drips out, and you are drawn to blue eyes and ebony hair. There’s a softness to his face and his eyes are warm. It would only take an hour, you think before you stop the thought from going any further. An hour to do what? You’re not sure, but the list expands the longer you take him in.

The first thing you ever learned on the streets when you walked by yourself to work was how to be aware, vigilant; on guard. Men were unpredictable creatures who were driven by greed or lust or power, and any of the good ones were swooped up and carried away to better things or dead before any second glances could take place. Or carrying on just fine behind their high fences and impenetrable walls. Just because this one introduces himself first does not mean he has proven otherwise.

“Hi,” is all you can offer, a quirk of lips to his gesture of kindness.

You glance towards to door before your eyes make their way back to him. The gesture doesn’t offend him. There’s a familiarity to his face, but you decide to not spend time right now trying to figure it out. It already only tells you one thing: this guy is way out of your league.

Grace gets up from her seat, rounds her desk, and makes her way out of the office, leaving you two alone. You watch her the entire time.

“You waiting for someone?”

“Yeah,” You nod even as the word comes out, “My brother.”

He leans back like he’s got all the time in the world, and there’s a perusal that makes you taste butterflies and gulp down caution at the same time. You wonder if he saw the scuff marks and stains on your worn-out sneakers, or if he notices that you still haven’t had the chance to wash your three-day old hair and that’s why it’s up and back, and that your blouse is definitely from the clearance rack at Goodwill.

“Your favorite one?”

Out of self-preservation, you try to hide the reaction to the humor you feel, “My only one.”

“I think that’s the same thing.” You almost want to roll your eyes. But there’s a genuineness in his conversation, like he means the words he’s saying to you. Like this isn’t a game.

“Sure,” You shrug, “You’re allowed to be wrong.”

“My name’s Richard.” It’s old-fashioned. It’s something you don’t really hear rolled off of tongues in your neck of the woods, that’s for sure. A hand comes out and rests halfway between you and him, and it’s one of the most graceful things you’ve ever witnessed in your entire life.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You smile. Your hands stay clasped in your lap.

“You gotta earn a handshake from my sister,” A voice pops up from the open door way. You swing your head around and watch for a moment as your brother makes his way towards you.

“Hi, J,” Your stand, open your arms wide, bag moved from your lap into one of your hands. His solid presence allows a brief hug before he steps back again. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude--”

The man sitting next to you has chosen to rise as well and you’re closer than you thought you would be when you turn back to him. You notice now that your height means your eyes literally meet his lips straight on. There’s a curve of a smirk there for a flash of a second before it straightens back out into the smile you saw at first. The rest of your sentence is forgotten. He takes one, two, three steps back.

“You got them all?” The question saves you. Your brother pulls you back to him as you hand him the brown plastic bag. In it? His favorite snacks from the liquor store on the corner (the nearly sold-out, hard-to-come-by ones).

“Every last one,” Your hands come to his cheeks, turning his face to each side.

You have to reach up now and it strikes you just how much he’s grown even in the past month. You both spend much of your time on the phone with one another. These monthly meetings set-up frequently enough for deliveries and some quick face-to-face time and seldom enough to avoid embarrassment (that’s what he says anyway).

He brings the chip bag out and holds it up, “You even got these.”

“Geraldo got them special order just for you.”

“Tell the old man I said thanks,” He smiles like he’s seven again, spoiled and self-indulgent. “Richard” is still standing behind you and to the side, silent. You can feel his eyes flipping back and forth between the two of you.

“Of course,” Your hands smooth over his shoulders and brush away imaginary dust. “Mom sends her love and says she’ll try and call you on her lunch in a few hours.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll make sure I answer.”

“Thank you.” You exhale an affectionate sigh.

Avoidant loner that your brother can be, there’s a reason you both want him here. He’ll be able to do the things you only dreamed of when you were his age. And one day, hopefully, you’ll all be out of this hellhole, onto better things.

“I gotta go, but thanks for these. Even though you should be saving every penny,” He chides, holding up a finger like his words are somehow a threat.

“Okay,” You chortle like you wouldn’t give everything up for your brother in a heartbeat. There’s another quick hug before he’s looking back at the man behind you, who is still standing there like some sort of stealth ninja.

“Like I said man,” He nods and there’s something in his face that changes as he looks at “Richard”, “You gotta earn it.”

It’s with those parting words that he begins to walk out. You stay stock still for a second before you leap after him, “I wanna hear all about what happened last week with Cara tomorrow on the phone!”

Your brother, a mile away already on longs legs, shouts something indistinguishable back at you from down the hallway, his figure turning a corner.

“Who’s Cara?” The voice brings your back to reality.

You sweep your palms against your jeans and turn back to face the man with a three-piece suit and a watch that probably costs more than 20 years of your salary. Oh God.

“This girl my brother asked out the other week. I bribed him with some of his favorites so he would tell me what went down.” You shrug your shoulders, not worried about spilling the tea about your brother’s romantic life.

“Does he know that?” His arms seem to relax a little more and you think you could stare at him all day.

“Eh,” You say, creeping back towards the open door. Your small crossbody bag is already on you and there’s no reason to sit back down. Richard follows you as you, apparently, both start to make your exit from the office. Nothing about it feels unnatural. “Sometimes you got to persuade instead of demand.”

“Ha,” There seems to be something you are missing based on the way his mouth curves and his eyes spark, “That’s the truest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

“You’re welcome. That’s the only one that comes for free!” Your arms swing back and forth. “Anything else is gonna cost you.”

The hallways usually feel like a labyrinth here, but you don’t feel lost this time.

“What forms of payment do you accept?” You pretend to be thinking, but really you’re just glancing between the different features of his face. You’re not sure you’ve ever met someone like him. You’re not sure you ever will again.

“The bank’s closed right now, actually,” The wariness is back. This guy walks like he’s used to treading on perfectly paved gold streets in his shoes. All you’ve ever known is cracked cement and rusted pipes that burst underground. “But I think it’ll be back up and running soon.”

He doesn’t falter and there’s no anger or hurt in his expression at the metaphorical rejection. Instead, it looks something like silent patience. Maybe even acceptance. This guy could totally not be interested and you could just be being (too) ambitious. The door to the open courtyard, and your way home, is already before you both.

“It was nice meeting you Richard,” You say as you begin to take steps forward. Your hands nervously hold the strap across your torso. You take a few more steps before his words turn your head back to him.

“You can call me Dick,” He says with ease. The tone makes you feel like he’s speaking a language you don’t really understand. His blue eyes seem like they’re on fire; a contradiction, you know. There’s something about him that almost makes you catch your breath. You’ve never been been winded by just looking before.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” You offer, hands squeezing your bag strap.

“I look forward to earning that handshake next time!” He calls out when you’re several feet away.

I think you’ll earn a lot more than that, you almost say, but refrain.

Instead, you wave back to him once before making your way out of the courtyard, caught between staring at your shoes and looking ahead to make sure you’re going to right way. You smile and daydream the entire bus ride home. Blue becomes your favorite color.

#help ive never written for dc before #i dont know what im doing #be nice please #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x oc #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x female!reader #richard grayson #richard grayson x reader #dick grayson oneshot #dick grayson preference #richard grayson oneshot #nightwing x you #nightwing x reader

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writtentodeath · 4 years ago

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hey! i love your work! if you have time, would you be willing to write something for me? maybe the villain and the hero have always hated each other, but soon the villain discovers that there's an even worse supervillain in town that's being cruel to the hero in unimaginable ways (not explicit or graphic or anything like that lol) but the villain tries to get the hero out of the new villain's grasp because they don't like seeing hero scared? idk lol. thanks

Villain couldn’t help but feel a spark of relief when Hero showed up to fight them again. It wasn’t at all because they wanted Hero to be alive, but they did prefer to know where their enemy was and what they were doing. Having Hero suddenly disappear for a week was suspicious, to say the least, and while it would have been nice to have Hero gone for good, at least now Villain knew where they were.

Hero’s punches didn’t land as hard as they usually did, instead glancing off Villain rather harmlessly. On a normal day, Villain would have chalked it up to their skills being vastly superior. Whatever it was, they took it as a good sign. The less of a nuisance Hero was, the better.

Except… Hero wasn’t normally quite this slow.

Villain took professional pride in breaking their heroes, and they’d been working on this one for nearly three years, on and off.

Hero fought hard, fought passionately. They rarely gave up, a stupid streak of stubbornness keeping them fighting, day after day. Villain could beat them, interrogate them, threaten- Hero was proving a tough nut to crack.

Villain’s fist connected with Hero’s stomach, and they stumbled back into the wall of the alley, one hand back to brace themself. They coughed, doubling over, and their fist came away bloody. “Would you look at that,” they said with a laugh, “I’m going to die.”

They raised an eyebrow at the hunched figure. “And why is that? I don’t plan on killing you anytime soon.”

“I was- I coughed up some blood,” Hero said, chest heaving, “which obviously means I’m going to die of- of tuberculosis, or something.”

Villain grabbed them by the collar, pushing them up against the wall. They always enjoyed this part- beating the smirks and wisecracks out of Hero. It was a little game of theirs.

They pulled back for a punch, and Hero squeezed their eyes shut.

Something cracked under their fist, and Hero screamed, doubling over.

Villain definitely hadn’t hit them hard enough to crack a rib- even when they’d done it in the past, it always took more than a single punch.

“Alright, enough,” Villain said, roughly pulling Hero upright again. “Start talking.”

Hero glared at them. “What?”

“What’s going on with you? Where were you?”

Hero opened their mouth, presumably to spit a curse at Villain, but they stopped. Their eyes widened.

They were terrified- but they weren’t looking at Villain. They were looking behind them.

“Hero, you didn’t tell me I had competition,” a voice purred.

Villain turned, coming face to face with the new Supervillain in town. “You’re the one that took them?” they asked, gesturing to Hero. They could feel Hero behind them, and Supervillain was pressing them a little too close for their liking. Villain wasn’t going to let Supervillain anywhere near Hero, though.

“Oh, yes,” Supervillain said, “we were just getting to know each other.” they tilted their head. “Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

There was something off about their bright, shining eyes, and Villain knew with unshakable certainty that Supervillain’s definition of fun probably explained exactly why Hero was a shaking mess.

“Get up,” they hissed down at Hero.

It was like they weren’t even there. Hero’s eyes were locked on Supervillain, paralyzed.

“I don’t think your little Hero is going to listen to you,” Supervillain said. “I didn’t quite have the chance to break them, but I’m sure I made an impression.” They reached down towards Hero’s face. “I’m sure we can pick up right where we left off, though.”

Villain caught their wrist, pushing them away from Hero. “That’s enough.”

Supervillain took a step back, looking at Villain like they were seeing them for the first time. “Now that’s interesting.” They looked Villain up and down slowly with a kind of predatory look that sent shivers down their spine. “Protecting your enemy? Not very true to code.”

“I have my own plans for them,” Villain snarled, “which are none of your concern. I don’t need you meddling.”

Hero had gotten back to their feet, moving away from the pair of villains.

Supervillain was entirely focused on Villain now, and if that kept them away from Hero, so be it. They were in better condition to handle a fight anyway, if it came down to it.

“A Villain who protects their Hero,” they mused. “Very interesting indeed.” They grabbed Villain, slamming them into the wall where Hero had been a few minutes before.

Before they could do anything, however, Villain had a blade pressed to Supervillain’s stomach. “One false move,” they said, “and I spill your guts onto the ground.”

Supervillain released them, slowly and carefully.

“I’m going to leave now,” Villain said, “and you’re going to leave Hero alone.” They stepped away from Supervillain and leapt onto the roof, disappearing from sight.

Supervillain stared at the place Villain had been. “Oh, I’ll leave your hero alone,” they said under their breath. “I’ve found a much better prey.”

#hero x villain #villain x hero #creepy supervillain #hero #villain #heroes and villains #writing #my writing #creative writing #snippet #story snippet #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years ago

Text

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 5)

This is pretty par for the course as far as some slightly horny bits but no actual horniness. Still, if that squicks you, read with caution.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, (here) Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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The next few days of Geralt’s marriage didn’t fare much better than the first. He and Jaskier were truly an ill match. Sure, the young man was charming, not even Geralt was immune to his wiles, and he was certainly easy on the eyes, but he’d never met someone as annoying as Jaskier.

Jaskier could talk a mile a minute, and the less Geralt talked, the more Jaskier did. This rankled. Geralt had learned that talking less was supposed to encourage less conversation, but clearly Jaskier hadn’t grasped that.

Far worse than the talking was the singing. Singing, humming, tapping, even playing his lute, Jaskier was always doing something. It was like riding beside a musical whirlwind, with the added penalty that at least a whirlwind wouldn’t know lyrics.

It wasn’t totally Jaskier, Geralt knew. They were riding hard to get as far from Lettenhove as possible, and the weather hadn’t let up. It had rained for almost five days, steady, drenching rain, with never enough time to get dry. They went to bed damp and woke up damper. Their socks were moist, their hair sopping. Jaskier was pouting because he couldn’t play his lute and somehow that made him more talkative. Despite the springtime, the rain was cold and sometimes he had to pause mid chatter to shiver. All this, made Geralt’s mood go south. Worse, he always hated parting from his brothers. There were so few of them, the first days without them were hard.

And he had to deal with some spoiled little rich boy.

That wasn’t being fair to Jaskier, he rarely acted spoiled, not really spoiled. It was, however, intensely clear that he was used to comfort and they were not, right now, comfortable. He didn’t complain too much about things Geralt couldn’t change, like the weather, apart from the odd sniffle about all his clothes being wet. He did beg to stay in an inn though.

That bothered Geralt too. They really had little money, and here the lad was trying to get Geralt to spend it on something they didn’t need. He’d survived rain before.

That thought gave Geralt pause. Of course he’d survived rain before, but had Jaskier? It was unlikely. Days and nights of being slightly damp and chilly weren’t good for humans, they tended to get things. Like chest infections. And pneumonia.

Geralt spared a glance at the figure riding, hunched, beside him.

Unfortunately, Jaskier seemed to take this as an invitation.

“I can’t wait to get to Oxenfurt,” he said. “I have this friend, Essi, I think you’d love her. She’d certainly love to meet you, and she’s quite pretty, so even if you won’t tell me your stories perhaps you’d tell them to her.”

Was there a hint of bitterness there?

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued. “She wouldn’t be frightened of you in the least, I know because one time we were drunk... well, I was drunk and she was tipsy, and this man came up, really rough looking type you know? And I was raised to be polite so I ask him his business...”

Geralt stopped paying much attention. If the bard could manage that much, all in one breath, he was fine. Jaskier continued, all about this Essi character and a man trying to mug them in an alley. Apparently the girl had kicked him in the rattle and flute so hard he’d thrown up.

“And there’s this great pub,” Jaskier was saying, gesturing broadly with one hand and flinging raindrops into Geralt’s face. “It’s called the King’s Boots, dunno why, but it’s got good ale. Like, really good, not the swill you probably get in these little backwater towns. Pretty barmaids, too, if that takes you fancy.”

There it was again, that odd little inflection.

“It took my fancy, when I was a student there, of course. They weren’t terribly interested in me but, well, I began studying there at fifteen. Really, I still had spots. I wasn’t the catch you see before you now.”

Geralt didn’t deign to respond. Whether or not Jaskier was a catch wasn’t something he was going to weigh in on.

Even if he definitely had an opinion.

That was maybe the worst of it all. In spite of the constant noise and restless intrusion into Geralt’s life and routine, he did like Jaskier. That was good, considering they were married, but he wanted to kiss Jaskier, at least once. Just to try it out. That was bad because their marriage was about a half inch from being a sham. Married in name only.

“What sort of ladies do you get?” Jaskier was asking. “I mean, it’s obvious you never have any trouble finding partners.”

Geralt thought of a woman in the woods, of Blaviken, of blood.

“Shut up.”

“No really, Geralt,” Jaskier whinged. “I wan’t to know. Queens and mages? Legendary beauties.”

“Prostitutes.”

“Ah, legendary beauties it is then.”

“I don’t know about legendary,” Geralt said, cursing himself as he did so for encouraging this inane line of questioning. “But they were beautiful enough. For a price.”

“Ah the ladies and gentlemen of negotiable affection will forever have a place in my heart,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt wasn’t about to hear Jaskier’s sexual history in any capacity. For his sanity, he decided to shut the conversation down.

“I expect they’re the only ones willing to touch you.”

Shit. That one had been too harsh. He didn’t mean it, surely men and women and people all fell at Jaskier’s feet with even a glimpse of his smile. He must know he’s attractive.

Jaskier barely spoke the rest of the day. He wasn’t even pouting, exactly. Just...quiet.

They made camp under cover of some trees. The thick canapy leant enough dryness that Geralt could build a big fire and they hung their clothes over some low branches to dry. Out of the corner of his eye Geralt saw Jaskier take the basilisk leather from his pack and stroke a hand over it, which was strange. The material simply didn’t absorb water and needed no care.

Perhaps he just...liked it. It was a nice thought, sitting sort of warm and heavy in Geralt’s stomach, like a good meat pie. Jaskier liked his gift. Of course, he’d known that, back the day they’d met. That actually, apart from Jaskier’s father, hadn’t been too bad of a day.

Geralt thought about that day as he hunted wild game for their supper. He snagged a pheasant, a male, because it was mating season, and remembered how nervous he’d been, how at ease Jaskier had seemed. Perhaps it was because Jaskier had likely always known it would be, at least somewhat, a political match. Geralt had never thought there’d be a match at all.

Back at camp Jaskier had water boiling and was sitting in front of the roaring fire in just his trousers and chemise, even his socks so damp as to need a good drying. Geralt set the game to boil with a few wild carrots for a stew and sat beside him, feeling his hair finally begin to dry.

“This didn’t start out bad,” he said. He meant them, of course, and he meant it as a sort of apology, even if he knew it was woefully lacking. He just didn’t know what to say. Somehow, Jaskier’s mind must have been running along the same track.

It’s alright. You never wanted to get married to me.”

No, Geralt thought but didn’t say. I never wanted to get married. It has nothing to do with you. There’s nothing at all the matter with you. I’m just a grumpy bastard and we’re not a good fit.

A little voice in the back of Geralt’s head said, ‘you could be. If you let yourself, you could fit’. It sounded unnervingly like Eskel.

The truth was, if it had been anyone besides Jaskier, especially any noble, Geralt may have hated all this more. Jaskier liked nice clothes and clean appearances, but he wasn’t vain. He liked nice things but wasn’t greedy. He craved praise but wasn’t prideful, disliked many things but wasn’t hateful. Compared to the thieving, conniving, small minded nobles Geralt knew, he was unlike them all.

He was definitely unlike his father.

Jaskier played his slow tune on his lute. It was comforting and almost familiar, just background music. Geralt stirred the pot, breaking up some larger chunks of meat with the spoon.

Maybe this would fix some things. They’d be dry, with hot food. That could fix a lot.

“Geralt,” Jaskier asked. “Can I sing?”

Damn. Well, it was weird the lad was asking for permission, but Geralt didn’t like the idea of controlling the man’s voice, no matter how often he told him to ‘shut up’. Somehow it didn’t feel the same.

“Whatever,” he said.

Jaskier sang lowly, voice pitched at the edge of human hearing. Geralt wasn’t a human, of course, and could hear it clear as day. It was a folk song he’d heard before, a tragedy about a young woman who’s love left and she drowned herself.

It didn’t seem fitting. Jaskier was so lively. Geralt prayed he hadn’t fucked up enought that he’d dampened the bards spirit.

“Do you know The Chandler’s Wife?” Geralt asked when Jaskier’s song was done.

“That one, with the” Jaskier clicked his fingers three times, mimicking the snapping or tapping that happened in the song.

“Hmmm,” Geralt confirmed, nudging the contents of the pot.

Jaskier began to play. It was a bawdy song, with tapping substituted where innuendo would be. It was simple and cheerful and short, and by the time it was finished they both had steaming bowls of stew.

“Of all the songs you could have asked for,” Jaskier said, blowing on his stew. “I never would have picked that one.”

“Lambert’s favorite,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier chuckled. “Makes sense, seems like his sort of song.” He took a large spoonful of stew and groaned in delight. Geralt very emphatically did not pay attention to that sound in any way at all.

“I expect you miss them,” Jaskier said.

“Some,” Geralt didn’t want to talk about it, so he focused on shoveling stew in to his mouth instead. Jaskier got the hint. He just settled one tentative hand on Geralt’s shoulder for a second, then went back to eating. He may as well have pressed a brand to Geralt’s skin.

That night, in their separate bedrolls in mostly dry and fire warmed clothes, Geralt could still feel Jaskier’s palm against him.

There was another reason, Geralt knew, for his over-grumpiness. It was guilt. Mostly he was alright, but hearing Jaskier chatter excitedly about Oxenfurt and all the things they could do together there...ate at him.

Jaskier had said he didn’t want to be left. Gotten rid of, had been his phrasing. And Geralt was going to. This rain had just been proof, though. Next time it could be pneumonia or hypothermia. The boy shouldn’t be out here.

It didn’t help Geralt sleep much better. Jaskier had also used the phrase ‘abandon’.

-- -- *-- --

The next village had a monster problem.

“Drowners, what do they do?”

“They drown people, Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, I meant, what do they look like--”

“Ugly.”

Another eye roll. “And how do they do it. Do they spin like an alligator? Do they sink claws in and pull...?”

“The second one,” Geralt said, sharpening his sword. He figured they were far enough from Lettenhove that whatever political turmoil Vesemir had unleashed wasn’t going to catch them too soon.

“I can’t wait. Do they have scales? Fins? Are they slimy like frogs?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, finally paying attention. “What do you mean ‘you can’t wait?”

“I get to see you in action! Heroic witcher risks his life for helpless townspeople, it’s all very...Galahad.”

“Galahad?”

“Yes Geralt, he’s only the most famous hero written about in the last three hundred years,” Jaskier said. He was gesturing broadly, the way he always did when talking about literature. Geralt settled in for a rant.

“You know, ‘my strength is as the strength of ten becasuer my heart is pure,’?” That was Jaskier’s quoting voice.

“Never heard it,” Geralt grunted.

“That’s okay, it’s about this hero who’s good and saves everybody. You’re better than him anyway because you’re real.”

“I’m...better than a mythical hero.”

“I mean...yeah,” Jaskier said like it was obvious. “Everyone knows flaws make a character better. You’re totally hot with a heart of gold, score. Very classic. But also,” Jaskier turned to him grinning. “You’re emotionally constipated and smell like onion.”

“You said heroics a few days ago.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, that’s what’ll go in the songs. Best of all is that you’re a witcher. Nobody likes witchers but that can change. You’ll be a tragic hero!”

“Tragic?”

“That hair is, do you ever brush it?

“We’re getting away from the point,” Geralt said, resisting the urge to swipe his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t going to see me fight.”

“What, you can’t just leave me at camp!”

No, no he absolutely couldn’t just leave Jaskier at camp. There could be assassins, wolves, anything.

“We’ll get a room at the inn.”

“Really? Oh Geralt, a real bed would be so nice, there’s been this crick in my neck, but you’re not leaving me in an inn room either.”

“You could perform.”

“Excellent bait, but no.”

“Jaskier, please. You need to stay in town,” Geralt was pleading. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been pleading. Probably when he was trying to convince Vesemir not to marry him off for the betterment of witcherkind.

“I want to see you fight!”

“It’s dangerous!.”

“You fight tons of these, right? I’ll stay super far away.”

“You could still get hurt, something goes wrong and you’ll get hurt! Humans are...soft.”

Jaskier tilted his chin up defiantly. Because they were the same height this wasn’t exactly necessary, but it gave Geralt a better view of his simply devastating eyes which was...not helping.

“I have the perfect plan,” Jaskier said. Were there silver flecks in his eyes? In this light Geralt was almost certain there were.

“I’ll stay back,” Jaskier was saying. “Any distance you want so long as I still get a reasonably good view. And I’ll wear the basilisk doublet.”

It was a good idea. Jaskier would stay back, the doublet would keep him safe.

Geralt might get another chance to be smiled at byJaskier.

Doublets. Doublets, doublets doublets. Think about the doublet.

“That would only keep your chest and arms safe.”

Jaskier smirked and patted a hand on Geralt’s chest, causing his slow heart to speed up just a little. “Are you going to let a drowner get to me? Get to my head, Geralt? My pretty face?” Jaskier pouted and Geralt’s stomach flipped over.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted. “You can come along.”

Jaskier looked very fine, all buttoned up in his basilisk leather doublet, and he was surprisingly quiet. This area of the forest was silent. and the ground was soft and slightly damp underfoot. They were near the Pontar river, which they would follow the rest of the way to Oxenfurt.

Here and there Geralt could see signs of human activity, but thankfully no humans in the area. Signs of woodcutters, likely the ill-fated ones who’d discovered the drowner’s pond in the first place, were scattered about.

They came within view of the pond. More swamp, really. It was so covered in green algae that it looked like some sort of oddly paved floor. It was as still as glass. Geralt took Jaskier’s--surprisingly strong--shoulder in one large hand and steered the boy to a log that he deemed was sufficiently far to be safe. Then he drew his sword.

Drowners weren’t hard to fight, and here in this little pond there were just two, skinny and hungry. Geralt felt relief flood him as he realized that he wouldn’t even need his potions. He didn’t want Jaskier to finally understand what a monster he was. Geralt was enjoying putting off that realization as long as possible. He was also enjoying being a noble hero, likened to this Galahad character, who sounded alright if a bit boring.

Geralt rolled his shoulders. He didn’t need to, but it looked nice and Jaskier was looking. The first drowner was close, now, trying to sneak through the algae, but Geralt’s vision was much better than its. He waited until the wretched thing lunged.

The slash of the drowner’s long claws missed Geralt narrowly, but he hadn’t been worried. He pivoted, working on years of instinct. This was who he was. Here he was on much safer ground than with courting and castles. He was a witcher, and fighting monster’s was what he was trained, and to some extent built, for.

The first slash didn’t kill the drowner, instead lopping off the arm that had so recently threatened to claw his eyes out. Then, with a clever twist of his wrist he sent his blade back the other direction, lopping off the head. It had taken all of a second from the point of the drowner’s lunge.

It’s companion was slinking up, ready to attack as well but Geralt didn’t need time to recharge. His senses honed in, he felt his pupils dilate to take in the low light coming between the trees and he leapt.

No normal man could have made the leap that sent him over the drowner’s shoulder and onto the shore behind. It hadn’t been the full length of the pond, but rather a diagonal leap that gave him just enough time as the creature spun around. Geralt brought his sword down and cleaved the thing in two.

“Holy shit.”

Geralt looked up, not even breathing hard.

Jaskier was still in his spot on the log. Unlike Geralt, he was breathing hard. There was a flush across the tops of his cheeks, pretty and pink, and his eyes were wide. Even from his spot across the pond Geralt could see the dark pupils and the blue of his irises.

Gerals severed the heads and warned Jaskier that he was removing the brains for his potions. His response was a squeaked ‘okay’.

Damn. Had he scared the lad? He didn’t smell scared. Geralt wasn’t sure what Jaskier did smell like.

He took the brains quickly and packaged them, then slung the heads of the drowner’s from Roach’s saddle.

Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, had been left at the inn. Inaccurately named, the creature, despite his large size, was docile, gentle, and prone to startling.

Geralt dipped his hands in the scummy water and dried them on his pants to at least get off the worst of the gunk.

“Well?” he asked Jaskier.

“Wow,” the man said, stepping closer. “That was quick, too.”

Geralt grunted. “Only two.” He didn’t bother mounting up, leading Jaskier and Roach out of the forest and back towards town.

Jaskier’s heart still sounded like it was going a little fast.

“Frightened?” Geralt asked. The lad smelled like adrenaline and...oh.

“No, just...exhilarated I suppose. I’ve never seen a battle like it.”

Jaskier smelled aroused. Now that Geralt had realized what it was it was all he could smell. The scent clogged his nose and set his brain in a pink, fuzzy cloud. Did Jaskier think...? Would he want..?

Except, of course not. Everyone knew you could get sort of adrenaline high. Plenty of young warriors got a little...stiff after a battle. And being nineteen, Jaskier probably got, got in that situation, with a light breeze.

He was looking up at Geralt like he’d personally hung the moon, though. No one had ever, as long as he could remember, looked at him that way. There is a certain kind of beauty that comes with being kind to someone, Geralt knew. He hadn’t often seen it. Eskel had scars across his face that were frightening even to some other witchers but his friendship and care towards Geralt always blurred those over.

Now, in this fetid, swamp of a forest, Jaskier was developing that special beauty to Geralt as well.

He was loud and talked all the time, even now that he seemed to have regained his wits he was chattering about what he’d write. His voice sounded less harsh in Geralt’s ears, though. Because Jaskier thought Geralt was special, and that made him special in return.

They made it back to the inn, with a brief stop at the alderman’s house, muddy to the knee, although that wasn’t new. Geralt was also somewhat bloodspattered, which was horrible and wasn’t winning him favors with the townsfolk.

“Got a room?” he asked the innkeeper, a bent old man that Geralt could probably lift on one finger. As is the wont of many smart inkeepers, there was a taproom on the first floor of the inn, and he was industriously cleaning mugs.

“One,” the man said. “One room, one bed. No prostitutes, them ladies’ gotta do business elsewhere.”Geralt nodded and handed over the coin.

“Bathouse in town?” he asked. They followed the old inkeeper’s directions to the edge of town, near the river.

“I can’t wait for a good bed,” Jaskier said. “But I think I’m looking forward to this bath even more. I think my dirt has dirt on it, and my hair is disgusting. Yours too, will you let me wash it?”

Geralt wasn’t listening, also looking forward to the bath. He hummed in response.

“I hope it’s hot,” Jaskier continued. “No, hotter than that, I hope it’s boiling. I want to feel like a carrot in a stew pot when I get in.”

“You’d be a turnip,” Geralt said without thinking.

Jaskier sniffed. “And you’d be an onion.”

Geralt almost chuckled at that. The only reason he didn’t was that, at this moment, it was probably almost true. They both smelled pretty ripe. Jaskier had been correct, too, about there being layers to the grime. Geralt could almost peel himself. Like an onion.

“Anyway, I think I’d be something special, like a dash of pepper or, oh! I’d be a tomato.”

That caught Geralt off guard.

“What.”

“A tomato, when they’re cooked just right so they almost burst when you cut into them and the juice explodes all over your mouth.”

Geralt wasn’t going to think about any juices of any kind exploding all over anyone’s mouth. Especially not Jaskier’s mouth, with it’s pink lips and clever, wicked tongue that darted out from time to time to wet them.

“Don’t you think so, Geralt, aren’t I a tomato?”

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier did it again! It was liable to take Geralt’s sanity, the sight of him wetting his chapped lips like that. Maybe if he didn’t speak so much, worse, if he didn’t bite those lips so much, they wouldn’t be so chapped. For some reason Geralt had an insane desire to smear ointment across Jaskier’s lips with his own fingers.

They would feel so soft.

Geralt paid the bath house attendant and they followed directions to a separate area in the low, stone building, where they could strip off and have a sort of sponge bath. This was of course so that they didn’t get dirt and monster guts in the bath, and was done with each in their own little three-walled wooden stall. Geralt had to call for a second bucket of water to get the guts from his hair.

Sufficiently scrubbed, he stepped out into the main baths. Only then did he realize the crucial fault in his plan. They were open plan baths. Jaskier was beside him wearing nothing but a towel. Geralt, likewise in a towel, began to sweat.

He kept his eyes firmly forward and cursed his excellent witchery peripheral vision because he could see...see Jaskier. Dark chest hair, soft and slightly damp. The way a droplet of water trailed from the back of his hair and down his neck, wetting tender skin.

Fuck.

Jaskier walked towards the bath as if nothing was amiss. Of course, nothing was amiss, they were just two traveling companions. Having a bath. For Melitele’s sake they were married, even.

Geralt saw Jaskier’s foot hit a wet patch and the young man’s steps faltered, sliding a little. Geralt caught him with all his witcher speed, feeling Jaskier collide with his chest. Those blue eyes again, and yes, definitely silver in them.

Jaskier was blushing, whether from proximity or steam, Geralt didn’t know. He leaned in. Jaskier’s tongue wet those inviting lips again.

“You missed a spot on your cheek,” Geralt said, drawing back. He hadn’t been sure it wasn’t just a freckle, but it was definitely a bit of dirt. Jaskier sighed.

“Better get in and wash it off, then.”

Why did he sound dissapointed?

Geralt looked away as Jaskier released his towel and slid into the water, doing the same and waiting a second until he was absolutely sure it was safe to look. Jaskier had his head tilted back to rest against the floor, where the bath was sunk into the ground. Geralt sat next to him on the little ledge and let the warmth hit his muscles. It wasn’t boiling as Jaskier had hoped, but it was warm and lovely. The day’s fight hadn’t set any ache into Geralt’s muscles, but the days of sitting tensed up about Jaskier had, and he let them drift away.

Next to him Jaskier hummed contentedly and Geralt couldn’t help but agree. They lingered, not speaking, in the warm baths until they were truly pruny. Geralt neatly had to drag Jaskier out, but couldn’t risk Jaskier becoming too drowsy and drowning.

They toweled off and redressed and were back at the inn in time for supper and for Jaskier to play.

Geralt sat in the back of the small taproom, glowering about at anyone who looked like they might get close. He would have gladly gone up to their room and not bothered but Jaskier was performing. He couldn’t leave the bard there, where anyone could attack him, or ply him with too much alcohol and rob him or worse. Besides, he was curious.

Jaskier was capable, in an odd sort of way that was so far different from what Geralt was used to, but he was good at things. There was nothing he tried that he seemed to be terribly bad at. Geralt wasn’t a good judge of music, but he wanted to see if this applied to performing.

As he’d suspected, it did. Jaskier was masterful. Not only was his music top notch, but all his energy, the liveliness, the live wire electricity of him was directed when he performed. Normally, all that energy seemed to make Jaskier’s thoughts and actions a little disorganized, almost mess. Here, in this dingy little tavern, it made him radiant. Every eye was watching, every gaze enthralled, at least for a short time. If Geralt’s medallion hadn’t lain still on his chest he would have called it magic.

It was incredibly sexy. This was Jaskier in his element, fierce and confident and wearing the doublet Geralt had given him.

That struck a strange little shiver down Geralt’s spine. A piece of Geralt, prancing about, tied to Jaskier. The gift of the wolves of Kaer Morhen shimmered and twisted with his movements, the black pearl buttons catching dim light. Every eye was on Jaskier, some more salaciously than others, but Geralt couldn’t have cared less. He wouldn’t have cared even if someone had kissed Jaskier there and then. Geralt had no claim to Jaskier like that, they were only married in name. But they were married, and somehow Jaskier so proudly wearing that doublet meant more than a kiss ever could.

A little part in the back of Geralt’s brain wondered if he could have a kiss and Jaskier wearing the doublet, but that was silly.

Geralt went out to see Roach briefly when the performance was over. The applause was too much for his ears and his head, but ran back in when he heard the shouts.

Three men had Jaskier against a wall, looking furious, and Jaskier looked angrier than they were.

“Let him go,” Geralt growled, hand going for his sword...which was upstairs in their room.

Fuck.

The men turned to him, all holding knives that were only knives because no one let swords get that jagged.

“Your whore here,” one of them said with a shrug towards Jaskier. “Was telling us all how we shouldn’t talk shit about you witchers.”

“Yeah,” sneared another man with rotten teeth and even more rotten breath. “Got all righteous.” He stepped forward, raising his knife. “Said we ought to be thankful.

Geralt felt his muscles tense, gearing for a fight he really, really didn’t want to have.

“I think we oughta show you our ‘gratitude’,” said the third man.

“Or I can show you the door to the next world,” a voice purred. It was Jaskier.

“What is poking into your kidney, or thereabouts,” the bard continued. “Is a fish knife, I believe. I picked it up off the table. It’s pretty sharp, so I wouldn’t recommend moving very quickly. I would recommend, if you like to keep living, dropping your weapons, all three of you, and just walking away.”

The man’s compatriots looked at Jaskier in confusion. Jaskier pressed the knife in just a hair’s breadth further.

“Do it,” growled the man currently held hostage. Three knives clattered on the floor.

“Very good,” Jaskier purred in a voice that was both menacing and sent electric signals all the way down Geralt’s spine. “I can see you’re the brains of the outfit. Now apologize to my friend.”

“Wha..?”

Jaskier twitched his knife hand. “Apologize. To. My. Friend.”

“I’mverysorrymisterwitcher,” the man said, all in one breath.

“Good, and?”

“And...and thank you for getting rid of the monsters?” said the man, hesitantly. Jaskier let down the knife.

“Scram,” he said. The three toughs fled.

“A fish knife?” Geralt asked, trying not to focus on how spine tinglingly sexy that had been.

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t keep weapons on me usually. Shall we go to bed?”

Bed turned out to be an overstatement. It was pretty much a cot, and a very slim one at that, but neither of them were going to sleep on the rough floorboards so they squished in together.

Jaskier snuggled up to Geralt with contented little humming noises and laid his head on his chest. In the corner, in the moonlight from the window, Geralt could see the basilisk leather doublet where it lay on Jaskier’s pack. It would be a shame, he thought, wrapping his arms around Jaskier to keep him from tipping entirely out of the narrow bed. To part from his husband in Oxenfurt.

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

Tag List!

@llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar@aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam @sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest @innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @toothhurtyam @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna @limevodka @rocknrollphanda @seralyra @permanently-exhausted-witcher @aj-itated @watchthewolvesfall @00qtee @the-blondey @birds-of-forgiveness @west-moor @abstractartwithoutpaint @darkonesdagger7437 @onwardsandfourwords @underwaterattribute @whenrainbowsend @goldbvtton @little-piece-of-tamlin @in-love-with-writing002 @flustratedcas @fontegagrilledcheese @so--many-fandoms @kirk-spock-in-the-impala @oniongrass @flowercrown-bard @maya-the-yellow-bee @thecomfortofoldstorries @wellthisstinks @flowercrown-bard @obsessedchildsworld @debellatis @zotinha456 @tumbleweedtech @goblin-loves-shiny-things @birdsflyhome @holymotherwolf @the-shenny-of-azkaban @enkelikauneus @silvermirror1997 @just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard@iamaqt314 @itsthelittlethingsnlife @oneshots-galore @inikokoru @gryffinqueen

People who I tried to tag but can’t seem to: @ailorian @thenameislion-dandelion @darkangel91939 @saphiramalbec

Supposed to be tagged and weren’t? Is your tag listed but not actually linked? I’m having some trouble, so let me know!

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #BAMF Jaskier #Bath scene #briefly #pining #miscommunication #they each think the other is sexy #and that they couldn't possibly be interested

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gothamslittlejester · 4 years ago

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Obsessive Ledger!joker x reader

I’ve been spoiling you all recently with all this Ledger!Joker, so you’re welcome 😎 (but also so sorry because I did go on a hiatus without saying anything for half a year 😬). Let me know in the asks if you want something in particular, I love writing for J so much! I have a few already that I am working on as we speak, so stay tuned for those 💜

Below are headcannons for a more yandere and darker joker than I usually write 👻 nothing abusive here because J is still very much my comfort character, but it definitely includes over-possessive, protective and stalker themes, as well as encouraging reader to join in on his murderous chaos

Warnings: morally ambiguous reader, joining joker on his “fun” i.e. mentions of torturing others, blood, weapons, severed body parts as gifts, implied seggsy time

· Before adoration, fondness or love, the first feelings Joker had for you was pure obsession. Obsession with what you thought and felt, what you liked to do and why you liked to do them. Obsession with your safety and the need to protect you, which led to jealousy and possessiveness very often. It was primal, and longing, and left him thirsting after your presence like a greedy, hungry wolf. He wanted you- needed you- and he was going to get you

·In spite of a period of flirting, suggestive jokes and hinting touches, Joker made it clear pretty quickly what his feelings were for you. Because of his lifestyle death is like a waiting shadow, and wasting time on what he wants is just not his style

· Quite soon into the beginning of your more romantic relationship, you move into his hideout for the sake of your safety, which calmed J down with some of his possessiveness and paranoid thoughts. He knew his home was the safest place in Gotham, excluding Bruce Wayne’s cave, and with you in it that meant you were safe too.

·When he’s gone, he’ll leave a huge shotgun behind for you to use in case of emergency, as well as Chechen’s Rottweilers. You’ll find some stray knives and pointy objects hidden in your coats too, “just in case”, but its more heartwarming to you than annoying

· He loves to lay on you at night, whether it be right on your chest to hear your heartbeat, or on your belly where he can feel your soft skin pressed against his scared cheeks. Not only is it pleasant and lets his touched-starved soul get some attention, but it also makes him hyper aware of every shift or move your body does while asleep. It also prevents you from sneaking out of the bed to run away, which is one of his more paranoid thoughts. Don’t try to move away or push him off, he will smack your hand back and snuggle in deeper, wrapping his arms around you like a snake

· He doesn’t care what insecurities you have regarding your appearance; he admires every single piece of you and will cuddle with whatever he wants, so push your anxieties aside because Joker hungers for all of you

· His gifts can sometimes be very macabre. Generally, he loves to spoil you with an array of things, such as new clothes or lingerie, plush toys of your favorite animals, snacks you said you’ve wanted to try, or even just random knick-knacks he stole from his victim’s homes. However, if he’s feeling adventurous or extra flirty that day, he will bring you certain body parts to symbolize his feelings for you.

· You’ve definitely found your fair share of human hearts in your fridge, because he adores how your heart races when your scared. You’ve found a pair of lungs stuffed in there too, because the little gasps you make when frightened or anticipating his touch are delicious to him. You went to get milk once and right behind the carton was a tongue, symbolizing how much he relishes your little talks and midnight conversations

· Once, he brought over a whole corpse, the body decomposing and gnarled, skin ripped to shreds and a face pummeled so brutally it had concaved. “Don’t need to worry about them any more doll,” he giggled, spitting on the body with a fervor that thrilled you. It took a few minutes of intense staring- why did they look familiar?- but then it clicked in your mind; it was the very person you had fumed and vented to Joker about last night, right before he had spontaneously left

· “J,” you began, eyes nearly popping out of your head. “Did you kill him... for me?”

· “ ‘Course I did, sweetheart.” He rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know I’d, uh, kill anyone for you. Nasty fucks like them especially-ah.”

· If you have to leave for longer periods of time, whether that be for school or work, Joker will always have a few of his men stalking you from a distance, making sure you’re safe and that no one dangerous is within a 1 mile radius of you. They also have explicit instructions to take photos and send them to J, because he likes looking at your oblivious little face.

· He’d do it himself if he has the time, which he sometimes does, but he too is quite busy with his own things (when anarchy calls, as they say), so hiring lookouts is the next best thing. If he could, he’d have you right by his side at all times… how pretty you’d look in a soft purple leash... but that’s just daydream fuel for now

· Speaking of photos, Joker knows his ways around a camera. He makes... lovely home videos that he sends to news channels in his free time (rip fake batman) and he continues to practice at his craft from time to time. He even won a deepweb award for best snuff film of the year, which boosted his ego to ungodly heights. He’s absolutely delighted about it and hints that you should watch it on one of your movie nights, but he does warn it’s not for the faint of heart

· Taking videos and photos are one of his favorite hobbies, and if you’re down to clown… he’d certainly bring it in the bedroom

· Speaking of his more thrilling hobbies, Joker will constantly suggest you join him on his escapades or help out behind the scenes, especially if he picks up on any sort of interest from you concerning his ‘job’. Joker is an observant man, and he reads you like a book. He knows you likely have some dark, sinister thoughts running around in your head - you must, if you’re with him- so he does everything he can to encourage you to let them out. Joker will never judge this side of you, no matter how grim. He’ll try and harness it, bring it to light. He hates the thought of you shying away from your true self, embarrassed of your darker nature, but what he hates even more is you thinking he’ll be disgusted with you or disappointed. How can you think that?

· “No no no, bunny, not me. You’re my muse, so give me some inspiration hmm? Tell daddy exactly what’s going on in that mind of yours...”

· If you do show interest in the darker side of his job, he’d smile so big that his scars take up his whole face. He’d teach you everything; how to fire a gun, how to stab someone, how to hide a body and how to torture one. He’ll spread out all his weapons on the floor and let you choose which one calls to you, like a deranged ceremony, informing you on the pros and cons of each one. He’ll even invite you into the warehouses he designated just for torture, which are just as gruesome and sinful and they sound

· J let’s you watch as he hurts his victims, whom are purposefully rapists and killers to make you feel less guilty, and let’s you join in on the fun whenever you gain the courage. He even went as far as to buy a whole torture set off the black market, from scalpel to needles, just to give you options. Joker loves to see how creative you can get, and it’s one of the few times he lets you take complete control

· “The floor is yours, bunny. Impress me.”

· He is down for pretty much anything, and that mindset is not exclusive just to the bedroom

·Any couple activity you fear might be too far or creepy for other people… is right around J’s alley. Weird kinks or foreplay games you want to try? No problem. Making love in abandoned houses or cemeteries? Now that’s his type of romance. You want to carry a small vial of his blood around your neck? He is all game, but only if he gets one of you as well. Matching knives? He’s blushing. Satanic blood ritual from a sketchy website that’s supposed to bond your souls for eternity? Perfect, his weekend plans were centered around you anyways

· Now…If he feels that you’re not giving him enough attention or start to push him away, he will resort to crazier means to obtain your love back. He’ll set off random bugs, rats or even henchmen into your home to scare you, gleefully waiting to hear you cry out his name in fear. Like a small, dependent little kitten, mewling for their protector. He’d come in, guns ablaze, looking for whatever scared his darling angel, killing them on sight. You’d run into his arms, tears streaming down your face as you cling to Joker like your life depended on it- just how he liked it. He’d coo mockingly and pull you closer, rubbing your back as he unashamedly basked in your physical touch.

· In general however, your soft caresses, kisses and reassuring words are enough to keep him very pleased. He knows you adore him and are head over heels obsessed just like he is, and that truly does put a smile on his face.

#joker x reader #ledger joker x reader #ledger!joker x reader #joker headcannon #dark knight joker #x reader #dark headcannons #yandere

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in-my-feels-probably · 3 years ago

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INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Chapter Seven

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more. don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!

INEFFABLE – Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of.

Chapter Seven

Now in Kribirsk, East Ravka, the Crows and Arken sat around a table in a pub, mindlessly eating and drinking, thinking about the past days events. Kaz had left them there, leaving Elham in charge of making sure everyone stayed put while he scoped the city out, finding out what he could.

Arken was grumbling, slamming a flyer onto the table. “The Little Palace winter fete. There’s just no way he can find a way to the Sun Summoner without Nina. Especially during this ridiculous party, the place will be crawling with Second Army.”

Kaz suddenly approached the table, in an immensely better mood than the rest of them, despite his disheveled look. “We’re in luck. There’s a good chance we can crack on. Now that we’re three days’ travel from the capital, the next play is finding a way inside the Little Palace. It turns out the Kribirsk archives house the Little Palace blueprints. But, they’re kept under lock and key. Far from the prying eyes of the masses.”

Elham scoffed. “As if that’s ever stopped you.”

Jesper had perked up, high fiving Elham. “Yes.”

Arken looked confused, suddenly uneasy around the group. “What does that mean?”

“Time for a heist!”

“Jesper, I don’t think you could sound any more excited. Excited to get that kruge, finally pay me back all you owe me?”

“Oh, but Elham, isn’t my company a good enough payment?”

She threw her head back laughing. “Oh, honey, you’d have to be around me the rest of your life to pay off your debt. Honestly, I don’t get it, Kaz pays you as much as he pays me, how is it that you’re always asking me for more kruge? I must say, though, the satisfaction of watching you lose almost makes it worthwhile.”

Jesper gasped. “Elham! Rude!”

“It’s my money you’re losing anyways. Now come on, let’s go say goodbye to the goat, and get this show on the road.”

---

Elham stood next to Arken, watching Jesper hand off the goat that he had dubbed Milo, to a barmaid, giving his tearful goodbye. She rolled her eyes, and called out a goodbye to Milo, turning her attention back to Kaz, who was giving Arken instructions. He handed him a wad of money.

“I have a job for you. We need to hitch a ride east to the Little Palace. Make friends.”

Arken nervously chuckled. “But that’s the hardest job.”

Kaz tapped his cane to the back of Elham’s leg, signaling her to follow him. Over his shoulder, he called back to Arken. “You managed to win us over, didn’t you?”

Once out of earshot, making their way out the door, Elham muttered. “Hardly. He was our only option. I still don’t like him.”

“I’m not asking you to like him, I’m not overly fond of him myself. But he’s our only shot. We aren’t getting in the Little Palace without him.”

“Oh, come on Brekker, not with that attitude we aren’t. Now, what’s your big plan here, where are we going?”

He almost smirked. “You’re not going to like this.”

Kaz led them over to the alley Inej and Jesper were standing in. “Alright, Royal Archives heist, here’s the game plan. Watchmen are on guard around the clock. We want to get in and get out as quietly as possible. That means the hardware stays in the holster, Jesper.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Inej, the dome on the roof is directly above the repository where the blueprints to the Little Palace are kept.”

“Got it, that’s my way in.”

“I’ll set a trail of phosphorus that will lead you straight to the target. The repository is secured at all times behind a two-part lock mechanism. So Inej, you have to leave the way you came in. Two hours after sunset is when you’ll go in, Jesper. You’ll need to blend in.”

“Easy.”

“The lighting valves are on the second floor.”

Inej nodded. “I’ll take my cue once I see the lights go out, and then follow your trail straight to the blueprints.”

“The archivist has to pull them a number of times a day, so we can’t steal them or they’ll know something is up.”

“So? Make a copy.”

“But careful, if you're heavy handed, you'll bleed the ink.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Elham listened to the Crows talk back and forth, and then interrupted. “Well, I don’t. What am I supposed to be doing this whole time?”

The smirk crept back onto Kaz’s face.

“Well first, you’re coming with me to plant the phosphorus. I’m going to need you to keep the sarcastic comments to a minimum while we’re there, you are going to hate this part of the plan, though. I’m sure Jesper would love to hear them after we’re done. After we leave the archives office, I need you to distract the guards if Inej or Jesper get stuck...maybe take out one or two if necessary.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I can’t distract anyone. Kill, yes, but that seems like a bad decision.”

“It’s a last resort. Now, do you speak Suli? Zemeni?”

“No, I grew up in Kerch, I only learned Ravkan before coming to Ketterdam.”

“Well, let’s hope you don’t come across any guards then, otherwise you’re going to have to fake it. Now let's go, everyone get into place. El, you’re with me.”

---

Kaz and Elham stepped out of the carriage in front of the archives building in town. Kaz was dressed in clothes he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in the Barrel. His usual hat was replaced by a beret, his black coat for colorful drapes. Elham, however, definitely got the shit end of the stick. She was wearing a knee length poofy dress, bright fabrics and Suli silk adorning it. She wore a matching drape around her neck, the same one Kaz was wearing.

Elham was grumbling, rolling her eyes. “What, I don’t get a hat too? Honestly, Kaz, I look ridiculous! Not as ridiculous as you, but still, you had to pick this?”

“You have to blend in, El.”

“Blend in? I look like a wedding cake! At least you get to wear something semi-normal.”

“You’re supposed to look like a foreign artist, El, one good enough to be working for the King. You couldn’t show up in your normal attire, could you?”

She huffed, smoothing down the folds and fabrics of her dress, and Kaz stifled a chuckle.

“Oh, this is funny to you? Is that why you brought me, just needed a good laugh? Bastard.”

“I brought you to play the part. You’re here for the guard. Men fall for plots like this much easier when there’s a woman in a dress around.”

“Well, if you’re wanting me to seduce someone, you seriously missed the mark. Should've let me pick the dress.”

Kaz rolled his eyes, sighing. “You’re here to be the distraction. He’s not going to pay much attention to me if he’s looking at you. I don’t need you to seduce him, hence this dress. Stop grumbling, let’s go.”

---

They stepped inside the office, and Kaz greeted the man at the desk. Elham looked around, uncomfortable after having to pass so many people on the way in looking like that.

“Good day to you, sir! My name is Ivanovski, the sculptor.”

Kaz turned and motioned to Elham, who stood awkwardly behind him. “This is my wife, she’s the artist, a very good one at that. She doesn’t speak any Ravkan, she’s Suli, but she wanted to come along and see the archive building, right, love?”

Elham stifled her shock, and gulped, turning to the man at the desk, who, as Kaz predicted, only had his eyes on her. Elham hesitated, before slightly bowing, and nodding her head towards the man.

The man seemed to lose his annoyed attitude, smiling at Elham. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Exotic, there seems to be a lot of pretty women at the capital this year, it must be the winter fete. You’re a lucky man, Ivanovski, aye?”

Elham fought the heat that rose to her cheeks, stepping from foot to foot, flustered. Kaz’s face had gone cold for a second, his jaw clenched. He quickly recovered when the man turned back to him.

“Yes! Yes, she’s very beautiful, I’m the luckiest. Actually, the winter fete is what we’re here for. I am in desperate need of your assistance.”

Elham tilted her head towards the floor, no longer able to look in Kaz’s direction. She pretended to fiddle with the ribbons of her dress, lost in thought, while listening to Kaz talk.

“I am working on a real showstopper for the winter fete. I need the dimensions to the Little Palace entrances. The grand piece may be too grand to fit through the door frame. The King will have my head if his statuary must be parked in the courtyard. Can’t leave my wife here alone, can I?”

The man sighed, looking at Elham, before heading into the archives room to retrieve the prints. “Damned fete. I have to pull the blueprints every day. Wait here.”

Elham watched Kaz reach into his pocket to pull out the phosphorus, and so she shuffled in front of the man, stepping closer to Kaz, a bright smile on her face. She nodded again in the man’s direction, and he smirked, turning to head through the door. Kaz dropped the phosphorus to the floor, using the end of his cane to sweep it under the man’s foot, and it stuck to his shoe as he walked through the door, leaving a trail for Inej to use later.

Once through the door and far enough away from earshot, Elham let the smile fall from her face, whipping around to face Kaz, who looked very pleased with himself.

“I hate you. I can’t believe you made me do this. That man stared at me the entire time, eyeing me. You’re lucky I took my knife off of my thigh for this dress, otherwise I would have been tempted to use it. You weren’t much help either.”

“That was the plan. Can’t say I didn’t want to stab him for having to listen to him speak like that, though, but it worked, didn’t it?”

The sound of footsteps slowly approached them, and Elham quickly moved back behind Kaz as the man walked back in, handing Kaz a piece of parchment.

“Ah, may the Sun Summoner bless you!”

“Oh, I’m not a believer.”

Kaz leaned closer to the man, like what he was saying was supposed to be a secret his wife couldn’t here couldn’t hear. He eyed Elham, before turning back to the man. “No, truth be told, neither am I.”

The man chuckled, leaning in as well. “Why would you, you’ve got enough to believe in standing right behind you.”

Elham saw Kaz go rigid, and she stepped closer to him, getting his and the man’s attention. Remembering she was supposed to not know the language, she spoke brokenly, sounding unsure. “Ready? We go?”

Kaz was relieved to be leaving, placing a fake smile on his face. “Yes, love, we go.”

Elham waved goodbye to the man, smiling. He waved back, eyeing her as she and Kaz walked back out of the building to the carriage.

---

An hour later, and Elham had changed back into her regular clothes, knife strapped back onto her thigh. Kaz had decided the dress was too risky if she were to get caught on the grounds, and opted for the pair to both wear guards uniforms. Still, Elham was to remain scoping for other guards or for Jesper and Inej in trouble. If she had to, she’d attempt talking her way out. The knife was still a last resort.

Kad had also decided to keep her within eye shot near him, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. Elham was stealthy, but she was no Wraith. And truthfully, although Kaz would never admit it to himself, after today’s events, he wanted her close. He didn’t very much like her being the distraction.

They were heading to their positions, Inej already inside, Jesper soon to follow. Kaz and Elham were slowly patrolling, on opposite sides of the courtyard, making their way to the meeting point outside the exit Inej would come out of.

Thankfully, Elham didn’t run into any guards. She had seen one on the way around, and quickly ducked behind a wall, clutching her knife. Kaz had held his breath watching her, but he remained at the door Inej would come out of, releasing the breath when the guard walked away. Elham made her way up the courtyard to where Kaz was standing. She took her place by his side, and hoped that if any other guards came by and saw them from a distance, they would just assume the two had been placed on watch together as an extra security measure.

It was a waiting game at this point. Elham every once in a while glanced at the door, scanning the windows and balconies for any sign of trouble. She let her thoughts shift away from the heist, knowing Kaz would be alert.

She had felt something on this heist.

She always felt something around Kaz, but she so often pushed it away.

She thought about how long she had known Kaz, when he brought her in at 14. He had told her about the girl he met when he was a kid, who turned out to be just another part of Pekka Rollin’s scam on him and his brother. He at the time had thought she was the prettiest girl in the world. He refused to say much else about it, it taking years for Elham to piece together the story.

But when they were 14, and Elham had been part of the Dregs for a few months, he met another girl. Elham couldn’t even remember her name, but she remembered how she felt around her when she would see her on a rare occasion. Jealous. The girl could hold her own in a fight, she was confident around the other members of the gang, and she had gotten Kaz’s attention. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, she was a year older than them, and she showed interest in him too.

The one thing about her that was distinct in Elham’s memory was the girl's walk. She walked like she owned the very place she stood, exuding confidence. Like she knew something you didn’t. Elham by now had grown into herself, she could be confident as well if she wanted to, but it took some time. Imogen was long gone, a fleeting moment in their past, but she left enough impact for her to stick in Elham’s mind.

While lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Kaz’s gaze set on her, trying to figure out what she was thinking. He grew frustrated, finally just asking in a hushed tone.

“What are you thinking about? You’ve got that little crease in your brow, like when you’re really concentrating on one of those books you leave in my office. You’re distracted, so spit it out.”

Elham hesitated, before speaking. She knew he wouldn’t let it go. “Do you remember that girl from when we were younger, who had a kind of sidle when she walked? She had smashed that bottle over that one guy’s head for getting too handsy?”

Kaz stiffened, unsure of where she was going with this. He cleared his throat. “Imogen.”

That was her name. It fit her, Elham decided.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I was just thinking about her. You...you--”

Elham stuttered, and Kaz grew uneasy.

“What, Elham? I what?”

He had turned to face her completely now, and she felt uncomfortable under his gaze, like she wanted to shrink away.

“Today, when the man was looking at me, saying all of that stuff...you looked at me like I would see you look at her.”

Kaz said nothing, but he was fighting to keep the heat from rising to his cheeks, his posture becoming rigid.

“And I was just thinking about where I had seen that look on your face before, and it was when you’d look at her.”

Kaz stayed quiet for another minute, just staring at Elham, who was beginning to regret speaking up in the first place.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t--”

Kaz interrupted. “You know, you don’t walk like her.”

Elham’s face scrunched up, confused. “What?”

Kaz continued, eyes glancing over her. “She walked with confidence and her hips forward, but it was too cocky. She’s going to get herself killed, if she hasn’t already. You don’t walk like that. You walk with your knees slightly bent, like at any moment you could get into a fighting stance. And your weight pivots to whatever side you have your sword on. You walk like a Valkyrie.”

Elham knew she was blushing now, unable to hide it. She couldn’t think of a response, just staring back at him. She was growing and more insecure under his gaze, and he had picked up on it, of course he had, he always did.

He couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t thought about the earlier events of that day, the rage he felt watching the man eye Elham and talk about her like that. He felt a pit in his stomach watching her smile at the man, and fiddle with her dress. He had noticed Elham’s glances at him in the archives office, studying his face.

He couldn’t pretend like, even though he had picked one of the most outrageous outfits he could find for her to wear, that she hadn’t looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful, even with the cuts and bruises on her face from just the events of last week alone. But he had never seen her in a dress, even if it was that dress, and she was a sight to behold.

She was supposed to be the distraction for the guards, but she ended up distracting him. He hadn’t decided whether or not that was a terrible thing yet.

He looked at Elham a moment longer, sucked in a breath, and broke the silence.

“I remember Imogen. She was pretty. Would’ve been good in any gang. But she’s not here. She didn’t stick with me all those years, did she? She’s not my Valkyrie. That’s you, El.”

She felt tears prick at her eyes, and she gave him a nod, her voice shaky. “Yeah. That’s me.”

She stared a bit longer, and then broke their gaze when she heard the door open behind them, immediately getting into a stance ready to attack if need be. Inej walked through the door, Jesper following after her.

Elham cleared her throat. “Are you both alright?”

Inej nodded, sending her a smile, Jesper coming up next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulder.

“One step closer to paying you back, love.”

She laughed again. “I don’t know, Jesper, might not be enough. I may just have to settle for your company.”

“Come on, we have a heist to plan.” Kaz nodded at the Crows, motioning them to follow him off the property and back into town.

Elham took a deep breath, and Kaz turned to her, watching her collect herself, getting more comfortable again. He nodded his head towards the path once more, and she stepped in stride next to him, Jesper and Inej on the other side of her.

---

A/N - hi everyone, this is a longer chapter. i'm starting to put in some elements from the books, mostly involving kaz's backstory, i hope that's ok and not too confusing for those of you who haven't read it and have only seen the show. i'm a little unsure about how to feel about this chapter, so let me know your thoughts. feel free to comment or message me with anything, and thanks for the support!

#wattpad #grishaverse #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #six of crows imagine #six of crows #in my feels probably #ineffable #x reader #oc

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fangroyal · 4 years ago

Note

#3 What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Fun Meta Asks for Writers

Adding the link to the ask game at the start this time, 'cause this is gonna be a long one, y'all. 😂

Where do I even begin? First of all, @angie-leena, thank you so SO much for sending me this ask! It was the kick in the ass I needed to get me to actually write this scene, and for that I’m extremely grateful. I still don’t know if I’m entirely happy with the finished product, but it exists now, and that’s something.

So some of you may remember (if anyone actually follows my ramblings, haha!) that I’ve been simultaneously complaining about and obsessing over this gigantic WIP I’ve had since fucking March 2019. Nearly two and a half years have passed since I put the first word to paper, and oh how I’ve loved to cry out in frustration about how I have about 12k written on the stupid thing and yet not a single scene finished.

AT LEAST

NOT UNTIL TODAY

YES, I’VE DONE IT. I’ve finished a scene on this amazing, wonderful, and incredibly stupid WIP, and I could just cry.

FYI for anyone who doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about (which I’m sure is everyone, ‘cause I don’t expect anybody to remember this insane thing I’ve been shouting about all this time, LOL): this is the Slytherin My Gryffindor WIP. Yes, that is a working title. 😅 I will find a better one.....some day.......Ron/Draco is the main pair, but there will also be plenty of others sprinkled in the background.

Anyway, about this ask and that context I haven’t been arsed to write yet...

Context required in order to understand this scene 😂:

Fred Lives AU

The Muggle world and the Wixen world has kind of mixed in recent years, and it’s very common for magical people to be using Muggle technology

The Weasley twins have opened a second shop in Diagon Alley...selling sex toys (yes, really)

Their first original product line issssssss..........dildoes shaped like the Weasley brothers’ own dicks (and a fleshlight kind of thing for Ginny)

Yes this is crack!fic (but, like, also not???)

Ron has been made general manager of the shop and is there all the time, as they’re incredibly busy

Draco wants 👏 that 👏 D 👏, but is worried about Ron finding out, so keeps coming into the shop randomly hoping he won’t be there (and of course he always is)

Eventually there’s a day where Ron’s in the backroom, Charlie’s visiting and helping out at the register, and when Ron emerges, Charlie informs him that Draco Malfoy has just run in and bought Ron’s dildo

Cue Ron being incredibly turned on by this notion

So that pretty much brings us up-to-speed for this scene - it’s been a few days now, and Ron’s been trying to figure out a way to contact Draco to talk to him about the whole thing, since they never became friends or anything after the war and don’t regularly talk unless they’re just seeing each other around

The fic is meant to touch on, like...fame in the aftermath of the war (i.e. why anyone would be interested in sex toys modelled after the Weasley siblings in the first place)

Ron has evolved from his teenage self and grown to hate the fame - it prevents him from being able to date, because the press can never let him keep anything private

After this scene, the fic will focus on Ron and Draco developing a sexual - and eventually romantic - relationship (originally under the guise of “testing out” other products from the shop together)

They will try their best to keep their relationship a secret, but, like...everyone knows 😘😘😘

Also Draco is a model in this one (not important for this scene, but just thought you might want to know 😂)

In addition, some warnings/content to make note of before reading:

NC-17 (smut incoming!)

Technology circa 2005

Phone sex

Semi-public sex

Sex toys

Both Ron and Draco are a little drunk (but very consenting!)

Crack taken way too seriously

Of course, this hasn't been betaed or Britpicked, so I apologize for how very rough it is right now, lol. It will likely be a little (or a lot!) different if I ever actually finish this whole fucking fic and post it later on. I am treating this scene like a “sneak peek” of the fic, because I definitely do still want to try to finish it someday...

HOLY SHIT, I had a LOT more to say about it than I thought. 😅 So anyway. Scene under the cut.

Friday night at the Dragon's Head was packed. It took a bit of initiative, but Ron, Seamus, and Dean finally managed to snag them all a table in the back corner, hoarding the extra seats till Harry and Neville finally arrived, trailed closely by Ginny and Parkinson ― who were curiously short one blond wizard.

Ron tried not to think about it. He bought the first round with Harry, listening to him chat about the recent Puddlemere match against the Magpies. They ordered nibbles for the table. Ron munched on chips, his heart skipping every time the door opened across the room and another few patrons trickled in.

He was on his third pint of the evening when he started getting antsy. He sipped his Simison, using the light smoke curling around the rim of the glass to discreetly glance around the pub, hoping to spot a familiar head of blond hair in the crowd. His foot tapped impatiently on the floor.

"Is he coming, then?"

Ron's head snapped to attention. Ginny checked the door as well before turning back to Parkinson.

"Who?" Neville asked, snagging a vinegar-soaked chip from the bowl in the center of the table.

"Malfoy," Ginny said, craning her neck to see her girlfriend's screen.

Parkinson tapped away on her mobile, shaking her head. "No. Says he's already curled up with a bottle of wine and a good book, and doesn't fancy getting all done up."

Fucking hell. Ron drained the dregs at the bottom of his glass. It wasn't often Malfoy joined them on a mostly-Gryffindor outing ― not unless Parkinson could convince him. Somehow, Ron felt he should've known it wouldn't be in the cards tonight. Conversation pivoted again, and Ron ran his fingers up the sides of his empty pint, thinking.

At some point, Seamus and Harry set off to get another round, and Ginny hurried away with them after a quick peck to Parkinson's cheek. Neville and Dean had gotten into a chat about proper Mimbulus mimbletonia care, and Ron saw his chance. He could feel his heart start to thud in his chest as he cleared his throat, raising his voice to catch her attention.

"Parkinson?"

She turned back from watching Ginny leave, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yes?"

"Think you could give me Malfoy's number?"

The smirk she gave him in response made his hands shake a little as they drummed against the tabletop.

"Whatever for?"

Ron stared her down, knowing full well any excuse he told her would never be enough. Parkinson's expression was predatory ― as if she already knew the answer anyway. He waited for her to comment, bracing himself.

To his surprise, she instead dug her mobile back out of her handbag.

She turned the screen towards him, and he typed the number directly into the dialer on his phone. He waited a few minutes until everyone ― Parkinson included ― had moved on to other things and forgotten about him, and then slipped from the table.

Ron shouldered his way through the crowd to the loo, pushing inside and locking the door behind him. It was a small room, hardly bigger than a broom closet. There was a toilet and a sink, a grimy mirror hanging above it, and a dim ceiling lamp that barely lit the space.

Ron backed up to one side of the room and slumped against the wall. He gripped the phone in clammy hands. Those pints had picked a perfect moment to hit him all at once. Ron blinked away the creeping dizziness, staring down at the numbers glowing dauntingly on the tiny screen. He'd been unable to get it out of his mind for days ― the image of Malfoy riding his dildo ― and now that he had a way to contact him, he was frozen. The leaky faucet dripped, the sound maddening as it mingled with the rush of blood in his ears. This was stupid. This was so bloody stupid.

He hit call.

Ron held his breath, cupping the phone to his ear. The line rang and rang, until he started to realize he didn't have a plan B. What if Malfoy didn't answer? What if he had to leave a voicemail? What would he even say? He should've just texted him, damn it.

Then, suddenly, the ringing stopped. There was rustling and a mumbled, "Bloody useless thing." Then, louder, "Yes?"

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, this is ― Weasley?"

Malfoy sounded surprised. Ron breathed out gradually, his heartbeat slowing with it. Malfoy's voice was clear and present on the other end. No looking back. He tried to think of something to say, and only came up with one thing.

"Haven't seen you round the shop yet this week."

"Don't tell me that's really why you called." Malfoy sighed, trying to sound put-upon, but Ron could hear the hint of nerves underneath. "If you must know, that would be because I found what I'd been looking for."

"I know."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. For a moment, Ron thought Malfoy might hang up. But then he cursed quietly. "Damn that brother of yours. Incorrigible."

So it really was true. Charlie hadn't just been taking the piss. Ron felt a warmth flare up in his belly, spreading down to the tops of his thighs.

"Try growing up with him. And the twins? Now that's a real nightmare."

"I was trying for discreet, but you were always there."

Ron leaned further back against the wall, staring up at the dark ceiling above. He thought of all those times Malfoy had dropped in at the shop, only to hurry out again if Ron ever came too close. Malfoy had jumped at the chance when Ron had been called away to the back that day.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well. You know. So what, then? Looking to mock me for it?"

"You always assume the worst with me. Why is that?" Although Ron couldn't exactly blame him. He hadn't given Malfoy much else to go on in years past. Neither of them had. "No. No, I was calling because…" Why had he been calling? It had seemed such a natural thing when he'd asked Parkinson for Malfoy's number not five minutes ago. "I was curious. If there was, er." He waved his free hand, searching for the words. Nothing sounded right. "Any particular reason for it."

Malfoy laughed ― a short bark of a sound. "I mean, obviously yes. It's a sex toy, Weasley."

Ron snorted, taken aback. "That's not ―"

"Actually, I thought it'd make a nice statement in the middle of my dining table. It would be an excellent conversation piece for dinner parties."

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, I didn't ―"

A chuckle rumbled through from the other end of the line. There was that snark again. Merlin, it made Ron hot, his skin blooming from his collar up to his ears. He chewed his lip, pulling back the grin that threatened to spread across his face.

"I only meant ― was there a reason? That you'd picked mine?"

The line suddenly went quiet. Ron had to check his phone just to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

When Malfoy finally replied, his voice was soft, uncertain. "What would possess you to call and ask me that?"

Ron breathed in slowly, his hand tapping an incoherent rhythm on his thigh. "Well, I'm a bit pissed, to be honest," he admitted, still feeling the slight burn the Simison had left in his throat.

Malfoy didn't say anything more at first. The lamp above buzzed as the faucet continued to drip. Ron could hear the noise from the pub pressing up against the other side of the door.

Then, Malfoy said, "Maybe there was."

Ron felt his heart jump into his throat. "Was what?"

"A reason why I bought it," Malfoy said slowly, deliberately. "Figure it out, Weasel."

Oh, bloody hell. Ron took a shaky breath. Every nerve felt like it was on fire.

"And...how was it?" Ron heard himself ask as if from very far away.

Even over the din of the music beyond the bathroom door, he could hear Malfoy swallow. "It was good."

"Oh, ta." Ron chuckled despite himself.

"No, I mean...Bugger." It was nice hearing Malfoy so flustered. A rare occurrence, and one that the little fluttering pixie in Ron's stomach very much wanted to repeat. "It was brilliant, alright? Happy?"

Brilliant. The word tingled down Ron's spine. For some reason, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. Bloody hell, was this really happening? He thought of fleeting insults thrown in the school corridors all those years ago ― then he thought of a night just a few months ago, the look in Malfoy's eyes as Ron told him about the shop.

"You wrote a song about me once, if I remember correctly," Ron said, feeling deliriously happy.

"I suppose I did." Malfoy sighed.

Ron's eyes flicked to the door, to the noise of the crowd beyond. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

"Oh, please, Weasley," Malfoy said bitterly. "Pick a reason."

"I know, but ―" Ron tried to argue, but Malfoy cut him off.

"You don't owe me anything. It would be incredibly unfair for me to expect you to be interested in return."

Ron supposed that was fair enough. He'd had similar feelings towards Malfoy until very recently.

"I would be, though. I mean ― I am."

Saying the words out loud gave them a weight Ron hadn't felt before. He let them roll off his tongue, flattened the tip of it along his lips as he thought about flashes of icy blond hair, high cheekbones, and long fingers swirling around the rim of a glass. He thought of the moment he'd finally realized Malfoy had been looking back.

"Oh." Malfoy paused, seeming surprised by that revelation. "Good to know."

Malfoy fidgeted. Ron listened intently, hearing the breath he released and the scrape of his fingers against his mobile.

"You wouldn't ― ah." Malfoy caught himself, and Ron waited for him to continue, his ears ringing. "Would you want to…?" Malfoy trailed off, finishing his thought with a scoff.

"Would I want to what ― oh."

Oh.

Ron swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Malfoy was asking him what he thought he was asking him, but even after everything, it was almost too good to be true. The long stretch of awkward silence on the other end told him he was right, though, and that made him jittery, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

"I could be reading too much into this," Malfoy muttered.

"No, no, definitely not. I mean." Ron licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling far too dry. "I just don't want you to think I expect this."

Malfoy made a sound, and Ron could practically feel him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.

"Oh, so you don't ring up every person who buys a model of your cock and ask them how they enjoyed it?"

"What? No, of course not!" Ron stopped, realizing, and laughed at himself. "You're joking. That was a joke."

"Terribly clever, this one."

A sudden jiggling of the door handle made Ron jump, almost dropping his mobile in the process.

"Occupied!"

He fumbled with the phone, his heart thudding wildly. When he put it back to his ear, Malfoy was laughing. The sound made Ron feel weak in the knees.

"Where are you?" Malfoy asked, still snickering.

"In the loo at the Dragon's Head."

"Oh, of course." Malfoy sucked his teeth contemplatively. "Hang on. Is there anyone in there with you?"

Another frustrated turn of the door handle.

"It's a single."

"Good." Malfoy lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Do you want me to use it?"

Ron pressed his hand flat against the door, waiting until he heard the bloke give a huff and storm off. "Use what?"

"Your dildo, Weasley."

The silken drawl of Malfoy's voice spread like gooseflesh across Ron's skin. "Right now?" he asked incredulously, although he was already half hard at the thought.

"I could give you an exclusive product review. Unless you don't want to."

"No, I do!" Ron replied quickly, and Malfoy laughed again, making him blush.

"Eager, are we?"

"Yes." Ron passed a hand over his face, trying to laugh as well, but it came out shaky. Merlin, it had been all he could think about for the past few days. Still, he'd never imagined Malfoy would offer it outright. "Just didn't take you for the phone sex type."

Malfoy hummed. "You caught me in a randy mood. Now how do I ― ah, right."

Ron assumed he'd been put on speakerphone, as there was now an echo. He dug out his wand for a moment and cast a quick Silencio on the bathroom. It was a wonder how he had the brain power to spare, when all the blood in his body was suddenly rushing to his cock. He could hear Malfoy fumbling for something on the other end.

"Where are you?" Ron asked in return, trying to distract himself from the heady thrum of anticipation.

"In bed. Naked," Malfoy added with a hint of a smirk in his voice. Ron groaned, shutting his eyes against the image of Malfoy stretched out on soft sheets, hard and waiting for him. Merlin, had he been naked the whole time they were talking? Ron pressed the heel of his palm to the crotch of his jeans.

Malfoy went silent for a moment, until there was a faint intake of breath. His bed creaked distantly in the background.

Ron licked his lips, cupping his hand around the solid, hot line of his cock under his trousers. "Are you prepping yourself?"

"Of course." Malfoy breathed out steadily, the bed creaking again. "You're bigger than I thought you'd be. Although I'd always wondered."

Fucking hell. Ron arched against his hand. Was he really going to get his cock out in a pub toilet? The last shred of his resolve melted away when he heard Malfoy moan, low and guttural, a sound that shot straight through Ron, all the way to his toes. He imagined Malfoy laying back, his knees bent up, and slick fingers down between his legs, pressing in and out of his puckered hole. Ron was switching the phone to his left hand before he could give it a second thought. He flicked open the button on his jeans and pushed his pants down to hook under his balls, taking himself in hand.

Ron rolled his hand down over his length. Malfoy's breath hitched, and he cursed, the bed shifting with him. Ron caught his lip between his teeth, wondering how many fingers he had in him. He imagined himself leaning over Malfoy on the bed, licking a hot stripe along his neck as his hand worked him open, his thighs falling open as he settled between them.

"Fuck, I needed this," Malfoy breathed. Ron moaned, pulling his foreskin back and rubbing over the weeping head of his cock.

Malfoy muttered a Cleansing charm, and then a drawer was pulled roughly open nearby. Ron heard Malfoy pick up the phone, moving and setting it down again as he bounced on the bed, adjusting himself.

"Are you ―?" Ron wanted to ask, but he couldn't finish the thought, left hand gripping the phone hard as he tried to steady himself.

"Yes, gods."

Ron paused, listening as Malfoy shifted and panted on the other end. He didn't have to ask when it was fully in. He knew the moment Malfoy's breath faltered, the gasp he gave sending shivers down Ron's spine.

Malfoy huffed, the sound so loud to Ron's ears as the whole world funneled down to a point, to this moment as he listened to Malfoy move the toy inside of himself. He moaned, and Ron thought he could hear the squelch of lube on the other end of the line as it entered him.

"Talk to me, Weasley."

Malfoy sounded wrecked. It was enough to make Ron's toes curl just to hear it. It was almost too much to handle ― the idea of Draco Malfoy being thoroughly fucked out by a dildo modelled after Ron's own cock. Ron's head thunked back against the wall. His hand trembled a little as he began stroking himself again.

"Get on your knees for me," he said softly.

Malfoy swore. Ron heard him flip over, his panting breaths suddenly closer to the receiver. In his mind, he could see Malfoy bent over the bed, arse in the air and cheek pressed against the mattress, lips rosy and parted. He imagined himself knelt behind Malfoy, hands gripping his slender hips.

"There's, uh." Ron swallowed. "There's a self-shagging feature. If you want. The spell's ―"

"Oh, we're well acquainted."

"Fuck," Ron moaned. No way he was going to last like this. He rocked his hips, thrusting into the tight circle of his fist. Malfoy sounded like he was trying to collect himself, even as his voice broke on the last word. Ron couldn't begin to explain why that aroused him so much, but he didn't care, already speeding up his hand as it flew over his cock.

Malfoy cast the spell, and Ron felt his cry as the toy began to move on its own. The bed gave a jolt under Malfoy's weight. He gasped again, and Ron heard his fingers scrambling across the sheets.

Ron could almost see it. He imagined Malfoy's bowed back, his knees slipping and spreading apart, his toes curling. The bed creaked with each movement. A dildo of Ron's own making, Malfoy arching back onto it as it fucked him down onto the mattress. Merlin, he should've known Malfoy would take it so well, his eyes rolling back as he listened to the sounds Malfoy made as it thrust into him.

Ron closed his eyes and felt like he was sitting in the room, watching the whole show, watching a copy of his cock pound into Malfoy again and again. The pub outside the bathroom door fell away from him, and all he could focus on was Malfoy's voice and his hand on his own cock.

"Tell me how it feels," Ron choked out, wanting to hear it, see it, touch it, to watch Malfoy unravel under Ron's hands and cock, to capture each cry with his tongue.

Malfoy groaned. "So ― good ―"

"Tell me," Ron rasped again, thrusting his hips forward into his hand. "Tell me ― ah ― how good it is."

"It's so ―" Malfoy cried out, his hands skittering over the sheets. "So good ― so big ― I ―"

"Fucking hell, Malfoy."

At that point, Ron didn't know if he wanted to be watching the toy fuck Malfoy or if he wanted to take over for it. Was he really getting jealous of a dildo? He wished he was there. He wanted to tell Malfoy as much, but he couldn't manage it, instead moaning loudly as he felt his balls begin to draw up against him.

"Fuck, Weasley, you're gonna make me come," Malfoy whined, his posh accent slipping.

Holy shit, and that was what did it. Ron made a gut-punched sound, his wrist flicking over the head of his cock. He was coming almost before he'd even realized. He barely had the presence of mind to do anything about it before the first spurt had dribbled onto the floor. He pushed off the wall and lent forward, pumping the remainder into the sink. He heard Malfoy swear, and Ron slumped back against the wall again, listening as he came apart with a shuddering cry.

The line went quiet once more. Ron rested his head on the tiles behind him, closing his eyes, holding his softening cock. For a long time, all he could hear was Malfoy breathing on the other end, his own heartbeat equally loud in his ears.

"I liked that. A lot."

Eloquent as always. Ron half expected for Malfoy to say just that, but instead he heard a very soft chuckle ― and then, quietly, "So did I."

Now that his heart rate was gradually slowing, the noise of the club outside wormed its way back in, reminding Ron of where he was, and what he'd just done. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, glancing at the door when he heard a chatty couple pass by. How long had he been in there? Were the others looking for him?

Another person suddenly banged on the door, and Ron started, pushing off from the wall and quickly withdrawing his wand, disabling his Silencio and spelling himself clean.

"Right." He wanted to say more. Merlin, he did. But instead all he said just then was, "Well, I should probably, er, get back to it. You know?"

"Of course." There was rustling on the line, and then Ron was off speakerphone, Malfoy's voice close and intimate again in a way that made him shiver. "Have a good night, Weasley."

"You too, Malfoy."

Ron exited the bathroom, ignoring the irritated look the other patron gave him as he slipped past.

The entire way back to their table, he felt like he was floating on a cloud. Harry gave him an odd look when he slid into his seat, pulling the fresh pint they'd bought him an indeterminable amount of time ago towards him. Ron couldn't even begin to catch up with what they were all talking about, his mind drifting to thoughts of Malfoy, his mobile a leaden weight in his pocket as the night wound on.

#writer asks #dron #ron x draco #ron weasley #draco malfoy #harry potter #hp #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #fangqueen writes fanfiction #fangqueen speaks

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