#and before you know it youre writing a borderline crack fic about two guys who would Not be at the gay club. probably.

[micahdotgov]

this tweet is killing me because it is more or less the exact plot of the thing i’ve been writing for the past week

[lovebugism]

I have an idea for and eddie x reader fic where f!reader really wants to get into dnd but had no idea where to start, and is afraid of getting further teased by family and bullies at school. Tsym, your writing is the best! 🖤🖤

i can't stop writing part twos to stuff apparently, so please enjoy the unofficial second part of this fic! — the new girl learns about the hellfire rumors (shy!r, hurt/comfort, cw for brief mentions of bullying | 1.5k)

A familiar face waits for you outside Mr. Kaminsky’s chemistry lab. Eddie Munson, anticipating your arrival around the corner, grins with all his teeth when his unexpected presence takes you by surprise. 

You stumble back on unsure feet — a little like you had when you first met (though you don’t fall on your ass this time, thankfully) — then smile before you mean to.

“I’ve been going here for two weeks, you know?” you tell the boy towering over you, peering at him beneath your lashes. “I think I know my way around by now.”

Eddie bounces a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Well, better to be safe, don’t ya think?” 

He flashes you a crooked smirk and tosses a leather-clad arm over your shoulder. You notice quickly that he’s got nothing in his ringed hands, not even a backpack, while you carry a mountain of textbooks in your aching arms. 

With Eddie’s help, you weave through the bustling hall of Hawkins High, which would otherwise trample you completely. The crowd seems to part for him instinctively — whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t tell. You don’t think Eddie notices it, either. He guides you to the west end of the school like doing so is muscle memory. You’re starting to think he knows your schedule better than his own.

“A lot of people would pay good money to have me as their personal escort, you know?” he jokes and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. A few untamed curls tickle the apples of your cheek in the process. He scrunches his nose down at you. “So you should be thanking me, really.”

Your face warms for a reason you can’t name. From the close proximity, maybe, or from the weight of your gratitude. Equal parts of both, perhaps. “Thank you,” you murmur shyly.

Eddie falters, sneakers scuffing against the tile. He’s still getting used to how kind you are; and how softly you look at him. “I was— I was being sarcastic. Don’t actually thank me,” he stammers, cheeks flaring pink. “Jeez. You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that?”

You giggle when he sweeps you around the corner. The sound is pretty enough to make him smile, though it ebbs much quicker than he’d like. It takes Eddie a moment too long to realize why, ‘cause he’s too busy ogling at how pretty you are. Which makes the sight before him borderline gagworthy.

“Well,” an infuriatingly familiar voice huffs. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Jason Carver, clad in his bright green letterman, stands at the center of a bunch of guys, also wearing bright green lettermans. 

You recognize a couple of their faces. Andy is the one with the sandy curls who spends all of biology cracking sex jokes. Patrick is the tall one with the Bobby Brown haircut who helped you with your locker once when the combination wouldn’t budge. 

The rest are nameless and unfamiliar. Save for the blonde boy in the middle of them, with the hundred-dollar haircut and the bright white smile. Everything you’ve learned about him has been entirely against your will.

Eddie blinks slowly at the crowd of muscled teens, not nearly as startled by the sight of them as you are. His dark eyes flit to the side, where they crowd at the entrance of the Hellfire room, and then back to Jason. “Well, are you gonna let us through, or do we need a password?” he deadpans.

Jason’s thin lips quirk at the edges. “Where are you guys off to?” 

“You’re a smart guy, Carver. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

The boy’s stone blue eyes dart between the two of you for a moment, before settling finally on you. “He’s not trying to recruit you into his cult, is he?” Jason squints.

Eddie tenses beside you. His warm arm slips from your shoulders and leaves you fighting back a shiver. An agonizing second passes before you get the courage to speak. “C-Cult?” you echo, noticeably unsure.

“Yeah,” Jason nods with wide eyes and a voice that borders on sympathetic. “They’re Satanists— him and all his Hellfire buddies. The five of ‘em? They’re bad news, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s chest tightens. Not because of Jason’s stupid melodramatics (he’s used to those now) but because he’s calling you sweetheart. And you’re not his fucking sweetheart. Eddie knows you’re not his either, exactly, but the principle still stands anyway. 

“Oh! You can count!” Eddie muses with an emotionless laugh. “I bet you know your ABC’s too!”

Jason’s face cracks only slightly. His sharp jaw clenches enough to make his temples shift. His suffocating gaze never wavers from yours. 

“I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s all,” he murmurs like he’s telling a secret, but obviously wanting Eddie to hear all of it. “Don’t get wrapped up in Munson’s shit, alright? He’s dangerous. He’ll swallow someone as sweet as you whole before you can blink.”

When Jason passes you, he caresses your elbow with a touch you assume is meant to be comforting. You tense like he’s burned you instead. He walks on by and takes his friends and too-strong cologne with him.

Eddie grits his teeth and stares daggers down the emptying hallway. He doesn’t want to cause a scene like he typically would — for your sake — but staying silent leaves him with no real place to put his anger. His rage simmers like a fire behind his ribcage, and he keeps it all to himself. Just like Jason wanted.

“Fucking douchebag,” Eddie grumbles as he storms into the Hellfire room. You follow cautiously behind him, watching silently while he paces around the empty classroom. The boy talks wildly with his hands. “I can’t stand him— He’s like a fucking goblin with an intelligence score of zero—”

“What… What was he talking about?” you wonder in a mousy voice, clammy hands wringing. “Back there? About the… the cult?”

“Nothing,” Eddie groans. He huffs and tilts his head back, revealing the tendons of his milky white neck. “He just thinks a couple of nerds playing D&D are worshipping satan, which is just… I mean, he throws balls into hoops in his spare time, but you don’t see me calling him a goddamn neanderthal, do you?”

He turns to face you, wide-eyed, like he’s expecting an answer. Then he sighs, bringing his chin to his chest and hiding behind his hair. “Nevermind. I actually do call him that, so… I guess it’s fair…”

“Does he always bother you like that?” you question, chest sparking with an emotion stronger than you used to. Strangely protective and very foreignly angry.

“Me? God, no— He’s not that big of an idiot,” Eddie scoffs, then turns suddenly serious. His dark eyes narrow across the room at you. “Has he been bothering you?”

You shift your weight under his smothering gaze. “No… Not like that, anyway. I’m usually with you, so… He mostly leaves me alone.”

Eddie sighs. His chest deflates with the heavy breath. He grows quickly shy as he closes the distance between you, arms crossed over his chest like a shield. He averts his gaze and swallows hard. “I’m— I’m sorry, by the way.”

Your brows pinch. “For what?”

He shrugs sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I just… I feel like I should’ve done more—”

“You did enough.”

“—I should’ve stuck up for you.”

“It’s not your job to stop assholes from being assholes, Ed.”

He doesn’t want to smile, but you make it distressingly hard not to. Especially when you’re grinning up at him like you are now. Especially when such vulgar words are spilling from such a pristine mouth.

“Well, I did kinda promise to keep you safe.”

“You have been, Eds,” you tell him with a pretty laugh, smiling so hard you’re squinting. “There’s no one else I’d rather be around, so… That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“That’s just because you’re crazier than I am, sweetheart.”

Your face flares, warmed by the term of endearment — far more when it’s spilling from his mouth than Jason’s. “Well, Hellfire’s for crazy people, I’ve heard. So I guess I’ll fit right in.”

Eddie’s button eyes go wide. His chin falls to his chest as he flashes you a solemn look. “You… You still wanna join?” he wonders, half shocked.

You take his surprise for distaste and cower all over again. “I mean… If you— If you’ll have me, I guess—”

“Of course!” the boy assures, far quicker and far louder than he intended. His voice rings through the empty classroom and he clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “I just thought that after Jason, you’d—”

“Screw Jason,” you blurt, foreignly harsh in a way that makes his heart skip. “I don’t care what he thinks. I like spending time with you.”

A smirk flickers at the very corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” you echo. When you feel yourself start to drown in his chocolate eyes, you turn to the wooden figurines sitting on top of the table beside you. “You’ll have to teach me how to play, though. I have exactly zero clue where to start.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie shrugs, taking a daring step closer. He smirks and fights the urge to hold you — to caress your arm like Jason had, and to erase any remnants of his unwanted touch. His ringed hands tremble with yearning. He balls them into fists at his side. 

He smiles through the aching. “Just means we get to spend more time together, right?”

[kidflashimpulse]

Finally got to read the new chapter and oh my goodness. So many moments that just made me go ‘awwww.’

I love the way you write Barry and Bart’s dynamic. Obviously we’ve seen a bit of the tension the two of them can have with one another, but this time we got to see some of that sweetness (and humor). Bart trying not to grin when Barry tells him he did good was so sweet. Then there was that part of them talking with the kid, and the mention of Bart helping out at Barry’s job (and bringing donuts! I love when people bring donuts to work… best coworkers for the day).

Then there’s a bit of Bart and Ed. Poor Bart- he should’ve just woken Ed up, he’s about to go a long while without him and his maaaaasive… heart :) (Barry’s borderline horrified reaction hahaha). Also the bit about Bart saying he can’t quit Ed- that’s so sweet dude omg. HELP AND BART SPREADING GAY RUMORS ABOUT HIMSELF? Who would’ve thought the public took him for a straight man… poor Bart.

Lastly the mentions of Jay. God, if Bart doesn’t see him before he leaves that’s gonna make it even more soul crushing. And man, you really laid it on thick this chapter. The but about him tucking Bart in sometimes- I don’t even have words that’s just the sweetest thing I may have ever read.

Overall, 100/10 as usual. Incredible work; thank you for sharing your art with us. I know you mentioned a new story about Bart being missing in space, but nonetheless I don’t know what I will do with myself when this one finishes. New chapters have been something I look forward to for… goodness, over a year now? Anyways, thank you again. I hope you have a good day/night whenever you’re reading this <33

u would not believe how hungry i was for donuts when writing that in like i’m still craving them as we speak when will i get my goddamn donuts damnit

it’s so important to me to try to remember to flesh out the good moments between bart and barry, especially since i’m such a fan of them beefing and having tension/discord, i feel like if anything it contributes to the “stakes” of their relationship so i’m really glad to hear that from u :) <33

this is probably way too serious of an answer to smn that doesn’t warrant it lol but hey, what the heck 😂 so of course ppl perceive queerness in all sorts of different ways considering it’s such a spectrum but to me bart’s appeal as a gay guy (in both the comics and the show) is that he’s just such a guy (i have no other way of expressing this 😭) but then he can also so easily slip into having more neutral traits and insights that r just really refreshing in gender expression (not necessarily wrt to his identity, just his overall sense of being), i don’t know, obviously a massive chunk of my interpretation lies in my subjectivity, but the way i see him, i could see “media” perceiving him superficially as straight + combining that with what i feel like is a “speedster reputation” (atleast in YJA) just results in a bunch of moments that allude to those things, that scene included, whether it be for laughs or a very low-key social commentary 😂 but ultimately i just enjoyed writing those scenes cause they cracked me up so i’m glad u enjoyed them too 😂😂

can u imagine bart jetting off into space without resolving anything with jay? that would actually be so funny, don’t tempt me 🫡

regarding that new story of bart in space, yes it largely revolves around the time of his disappearance during YJ phantoms because i’ve been kind of dying to write that (it’s been 84 years and i still can’t believe the episodes ended up like that) but it’s my least developed drafted story so even though “chronologically” its a Part 2 in the series of fics that AAIT is a part of, Retrocausality is the current sequel to AAIT, that hopefully, once AAIT is finished, you might be able to look forward to <3

it’s actually so bizarre that it’s been over a year now with AAIT (possibly even two at this point ??? i have no idea lol), i never imagined it to turn out the way it has and i have to say, it exceeded my expectations (just purely based on the writing journey and experience) by so much, and that’s 100% because of the feedback i managed to get from it. I know i say this time and time again but it’s just so true, i really mean it so much, the response to the fic has really added so much life to it ! and honestly i probably wouldn’t have been anywhere close to finishing it if it weren’t for all the support throughout it. Truly incredible stuff that I will never forget !!

so THANK YOU for ur continued support and joining the journey, i can’t put to words how much i appreciate it truly ! Thank you again for reading and I really hope I continue to write stuff that u can enjoy 💛💛

[marquisedegramont]

Hiiiiii! Okay, so you asked me about hoplesslydevoted but I want to hear your version. How'd they meet? Who caught feelings first? What makes them such a good match? That kind of thing. Thank you for writing! 💖

(Also if people send me enough asks and prompts about these two, I'll make a masterlist like I did for John and Santino. I could see myself writing a lot more about them. No pressure tho!)

YAYYYY HOPELESSLYDEVOTED :3 all of these are headcanons ^_^ ackkk sorry for the late response i had to make sure all my thoughts were coherent </3

How did they meet?

Before Vincent was Autem Imperator he was an associate of the Table, particularly under Gianna/The Camorra. He was close to Gianna specifically and being an associate of the Table meant also being a target due to you know, association. So you know, Gianna got him a bodyguard which was Chidi who previously worked under her! Yayy Gianna out favorite wingwoman ^_^. Admittedly, Vincent didn’t like the idea of a bodyguard because he was still pretty immature in his college years and well, he felt like Gianna was a little too concerned over him which Vincent didn’t like. But still, Vincent was a social butterfly and confided a lot in Chidi and always talked to him since Chidi was practically almost always there for him. I’ve always thought of them as the yapper + listener duo and it’s honestly canon. Chidi did talk, but most of the time he lets Vincent talk and he just listens.

Who caught feelings first?

I always thought it’d be funny to headcanon Chidi as a dense guy, like he’s just doing his job while Vincent is banging on the walls and kicking the air every night in his bedroom cringing at the fact his flirting seemed to go over Chidi’s head. But you know, the universe still makes it’s way!! It took a lot of time for Vincent to actually get over his own ego from not being asked out and he made his feelings be known to Chidi. Although it did take time for Chidi to fully grasp the fact Vincent liked him in another way that wasn’t just being appreciative. And then Chidi started catching feelings and it was like Vincent started to see clarity. And then they started to FU-

What makes them such a good match?

Introvert + extrovert, listener + talker, undying loyalty and devotion that borderlines worship, and they’re both evil. They’re both cocky, and arrogant, and they’re fucking great at it!!

Other stuff ( Headcanons / sfw + nsfw for fun )

- Vincent has a cat named Lacey that likes to torment Chidi

- ^ It’s okay, she’s their daughter

- Most of the time, Chidi has to talk Vincent out of doing impulsive stuff</3

- And other times Vincent talks for Chidi!

- When Vincent goes to his other estates, he will specifically tell the housekeepers not to give Chidi a room because he wants him close. By that I mean, he wants Chidi in his bed only

- Chidi knows how to cook, Vincent knows how to bake. Unfortunately all Vincent does in the kitchen is sit there and look pretty

- Vincent gets easily jealous whenever Chidi talks to someone else in a positive tone

- Vincent insists on doing Chidi’s tie for him, and they end up having the same knots

Sexy time ^_^

- They’re constantly switching roles but Vincent is a power bottom most of the time because he likes to be of service to his exhausted bodyguard

- Vincent likes being manhandled, who wouldn’t

- Both are possessive of each other!!

- ^ They like to leave marks on each other, mostly Vincent who likes to put scratches on Chidi

- They’re both freaks. They both get hard at the thought of each other with blood on, or stabbing someone

- Chidi goes feral when Vincent refers to him as his

- Vincent has a fascination with pain and likes either administering it or taking it

- ^ He chokes Chidi sometimes (his weak ass can’t really do much)

- Vincent is loud, and the housekeepers in his estate have to just walk past that room (crack fic idea perchance)

- Chidi can manhandle Vincent easily

- ^ Vincent likes it ofc ofc

[cjsinkythoughts]

Flaws

Written for @honeysucklesteve​’s 4k writing challenge! If you haven’t, go check her out because she’s amazing!

Pairing: Mickey Henry x fem!Reader

Summary: You hate his music taste. He hates yours. You have a bad habit of stealing his gigs. He has a bad habit of fucking you until you can’t walk straight. Everyone has flaws. What are you to do about it?

Word Count: 3822

Warnings: Cursing, hate sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, slight edging, there’s a mirror involved, drugs, alcohol, clubbing, smoking, one mention of lung cancer, mentions of Monday’s plot, so slight spoilers; (I hope I’m not forgetting anything. These kinds of warnings are new to me. If I am, feel free to tell me.)

18+ PLEASE!!! MINORS DNI!!!

A/N:��I know I haven’t posted in a while, but here you go! I’m so nervous about posting this. Honestly. I feel like I kinda rushed it a little? I dunno if it’s good. Uhm, I will say that Mickey is not soft in this. You know how he’s all cute and flirty in the movie? Yeah. Not here. I have plans to write for him later on where he’s more on character and adorable and all that, but it’s enemies to lovers and he hates reader and reader hates him. So. Yeah. Have fun with that.

This is a few firsts for me; first published smut, first Mickey Henry fic, and first enemies-to-lovers ever! I’m attached to friends-to-lovers (my parents’ fault), so going in the opposite direction is exciting and I hope it works out! (We’ll see what it can become after it’s been written.) 

Also! Yes, I’m adding the link to the inspiration of the remix here. You’ll see what I’m talking about. I imagine more bass, but that’s basically it.

As always, all mistakes are mine and please excuse them as it’s not beta’d! Be kind to yourselves and others! Stay tuned and enjoy!

Part Two - Addictions

My Masterlist

*****

Between the tumultuous, voice losing cheers and the pounding, headache inducing bass, it’s a miracle the occupants of the building can hear anything at all. The large room is doused in bright pinks, purples and blues, glitter getting into every pore and crack, the smell of cigarette smoke and booze lingering in the air. 

Bodies pressed together uncomfortably tight, breath and sweat mixing in a way that can’t be enjoyable, but no one notices because they’re all too high and drunk. There’s a couple swallowing each other in every dark corner of the room. A group of guys looking to get some are laughing rather obnoxiously at the bar, having consumed far too much alcohol to be safe. 

Bouncers are escorting people out left and right; a streaker who decided to get on a table and dance, a couple who took it a bit too far over the bar counter, a group of girls who were no doubt too young to be in such an environment. Boisterous, chaotic, borderline dangerous.

There’s no place he’d rather be on a Friday night.

Up on the center stage, playing around with his tracks, messing with the turntables, pulse connecting to the music, head bobbing with the beat. He’s in control. 

Every party. Every Friday, Saturday, Sunday night. Every weekend.

He’s in control.

It’s what he liked so much about doing what he does. Once he’s booked, he’s booked. It’s his night. He controls the sounds people hear. He controls what they dance to. How they dance. The pace of the night. The feeling of the night. And no one can take it away from him.

No one, that is, except you.

He hears you before he sees you, which is nearly impossible considering how loud the music is, but you somehow manage to take control of the room the moment you walk in it. You always get what you want with a bat of your eyelashes. And if you aren’t given it, you take what you want without regard for other people.

It really really pisses him off.

You’re laughing with a group of your friends, guys and girls’ heads swiveling to stare at you, captivating every heart in the room as per usual. You always show up with the same group, but he doesn’t even know any of their names even though you run in the same circles. It’s not like you end up hanging out with them for long, and you never leave with them. No, no. You always leave with him.

And that pissed him off too. 

He can’t help it. He has absolutely no control over himself when it comes to you. And he hates you for it. He hates that he lets you take over with only a few snarky comments in his defense. He hates that you always get into his head. And he hates that you’re the best fuck he’d ever had and he can never get enough of you.

But most of all…he hates your music.

“Hey, hey! There he is!” You send him that infuriating smile of yours, a drink in your hand. It’s a flaw of yours. One of many, but probably the biggest. Alcohol. Like him and his cigarettes. He watches you with narrowed eyes as you effortlessly move through the crowd, your girls and guys seeming to vanish into the mob with every step you take.

You end up in front of the stage, leaning on it and giving him a smirk as you sip on your beverage choice of the night. It’s always something different. The only common factor is the alcohol you crave, letting it wash over your tongue, burn down your throat and slip into your veins.

“Heya, Mouse!”

“Don’t call me that!” He shouts with a growl over the music, pulling his headphones down around his neck. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

“I got called this morning! Said there was a gig tonight!”

He shakes his head, gesturing to the set up. “You’re a bit too late there, sunshine! Gig’s booked!”

You shake your head back at him. “I’m taking over from here, Mouse!”

“Says who?!”

“Argyris!”

His jaw clenches, his forehead creasing, a skeptical scoff leaving his lips. “Fuck you! No he didn’t! He said this one’s mine!”

You just give a shrug, no cares in the world, downing the rest of your drink. “You can fuck me later! For now, if you wanna whine about it, Daddy’s over there!”

Another growl leaves his chest as he scowls at you, eyes darting to where you’re pointing. Argyris is by the bar, of course, swaying on the seat. Barking out a laugh, he looks at you with a shake of his head. “He’s so drunk he probably shit himself again! You can’t take his word for it!”

“I can when he called me this morning, sober as he can get!” You shoot back, hopping up to stand besides him. “Besides! Someone’s gotta make sure these people have an actual good time!”

“Don’t touch anything until I get back!” He snaps, pointing warningly at you as he starts to walk towards Argyris.

You smile innocently, even though he knows you’re anything but. “Yes, sir!”

He marches over to his asshole friend and grabs him by the shirt, turning him around. “Mickey! Havin’ a good time?!”

Mickey glares, feeling his blood boil and his ears heat up, not from the proximity of strangers around him. “What the fuck?! You told sunshine over there that she could have my gig?!”

“I thought you’d wanna break! Dance and relax for a little bit! It’s only a two hour slot I gave her!”

“You should’ve fucking asked, Argyris! I don’t want her anywhere near my-” His sentence is cut off by a change in the music and he whips over to the stage where you’re grinning and jumping with the crowd. You catch his eye and throw him a wink, holding one of the headphone cups over your ear. “ Oh for the love of - she’s messing with my stuff!”

“I thought you liked her!”

Spluttering, Mickey gapes at the other man in disbelief. “Like her? I can’t stand her! She’s so fucking annoying!”

“What’s so annoying about her?!”

Mickey snatches the drink Argyris was about to gulp down and slams it on the counter. “She’s a spoiled fucking brat! Everyone lets her do whatever she wants! She steals half my fucking gigs! And her music is shit! Listen to this!”

Argyris looks around the room and shrugs. “Everyone else seems to like it! Sure it’s different than your disco-”

“It’s not disco!”

“But it’s a crowd pleaser! Just relax! Have a drink and go dance!”

“Argyris!” Wanting to scream in frustration, he watches the man stumble off to get another drink down the bar. “Dammit! This is fucking shit.” Grumbling to himself, Mickey storms back over to the stage, easily pulling himself up.

You bite your lip and raise an eyebrow at him. “So?! How’d your date with Argyris go?!”

“I hate you so fucking much! Use your own fucking headphones!” He snatches the pair from your neck, pulling the cord out. “Why do you always have to steal my gigs?!”

You shrug, leaning forwards to brush your lips against his ear. “Yours are so much fun.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyebrows furrowing. This always happens. Every time. The moment he feels in control, you do something and he feels every ounce of himself slipping away. It’s the reason he fucks you. To take back that control he so easily gives to you. To make sure you understand that on the weekends, he’s in charge.

But not tonight. No, no. Not tonight. He refuses to get caught up in that game tonight. You wouldn’t end up in an alley or some bathroom with him. He wouldn’t end up on your couch or in his kitchen with you. He refuses to let it happen. Again.

Instead, he lets out a chuckle and nods. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever sunshine.” He takes a step back, giving you a smirk as your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You have fun playing your shitty music!”

“Have fun moping!” You call back, turning to the table and ignoring him completely as he groans and jumps off the stage.

Good God. You’re infuriating.

But so is he.

You hate Mickey Henry. You just do. You hate that he has zero responsibilities and gets away with it. You hate that he can charm his way out of any situation. You hate how immature he is and how no one ever forces him to grow up. And you hate how easily you let him take charge when he’s with you. After a life full of people making choices for you, you crave control, but with him? The moment he tells you to get on your knees, you fall, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.

But most of all…you hate his music.

You take his gigs to save people from listening to it, but also so he knows he can’t talk every situation into his favor. That Argyris can’t always take care of his job for him. He never checks up on gigs once Argyris tells him he has them. So it’s really his fault for not taking some responsibility.

Watching from the stage as your music flows through you, vibrating your bones and sinking into your skin, you’re not surprised to see him get out a cigarette as he heads to a mutual acquaintance of yours. He has many flaws, but that’s a major one. Like you and your alcohol. Him and his cigarettes. You wouldn’t be surprised if you learn a couple months from now that he has lung cancer.

Mickey is talking low to the guy and you already know what’s going on. That was a flaw you both shared. Drugs. He is much more intense than you though. While you’d be fine with some pot, he almost always hits hard with cocaine. Not that you’re innocent from that type yourself - you’d done it multiple times with the man himself if you ended up at each other’s place. Never in the bedroom. You never made it that far, and you don’t really care to. But after those times bent over the table, being pounded into the couch, hanging against the wall, you’d get high with him before one of you takes off.

You’re not exactly sure what happened earlier. You were a bit shocked when he stepped away. Not that you usually left so early, but he didn’t even stay to bicker some more.

Not that you care. You’re just���curious. Maybe he’s finally growing tired of the game you’ve been playing. You’ve been playing it for a few years now. With that weird little pause last year.

You actually thought he had changed.

Having run into him at a party, you prepared yourself for the arguing that no doubt would end in sex. But it didn’t. It didn’t even start. He was with someone. Like, steady with someone. As in dating someone. Living with her. To the point where his baby mama actually agreed to let him keep his boy in their apartment as long as they were together.

It was a weird six months. You two actually had real conversations. You knew how soft and goofy he could get; you had loads of mutual friends and often went to the same parties so you’d seen that side of him. It was just…odd because it never came out with you. But it did then. And you…liked it. You didn’t see him as often, especially once his kid was cleared to live with them. He stopped going out on weekends, started just attending the small shindigs your friends hosted, worked from home instead of DJing.

But then his girl - what was her name? Claire? Caitie? You can’t remember - left for a job in the States just a few months ago and he was back to square one. His baby mama took back the custody privileges, he went back to partying every weekend, and you fell right back into your petty bickering and rough fucking.

You feel bad. Really, you do. You heard that he’d actually loved that chick. And you know he wanted to see his kid more. You knew about the room at his place. But that almost made you hate him more. That he went right back to his old self. He didn’t even try. He got a taste of being a responsible adult, and then let it go.

Because no matter how hard people try, flaws are flaws. And no one can change that much.

As the night goes on, more booze enters your system, while more cocaine enters his. There’s the occasional glare or immature finger raising between you two. Mickey even sticks his tongue out at you while dancing with some broad, a smirk lifting up the corners of his mouth as yours twist down and your eyes roll.

Your features quickly morph into smug amusement as an idea pops into your head and his eyes narrow. What are you up to? He quickly finds out as you stop the music and bring a microphone to your lips.

“Hey, hey, party people! Everyone’s night going fantastic?!” Cheers are your response. Mickey scowls, not liking where this is going, and starts heading your way. You wink at him. “I’m gonna change it up for just this one song! It’s a dedication song to a good friend of mine! It’s a bit different than the usual stuff, but it’s a bop, I promise! Here’s to the Mouse!”

He immediately freezes as the song starts. “Meeska! Mooska! Mickey Mouse!” He feels his face heat up, his fists balling up at his sides, glaring at you and your shit eating grin as you roll your body to the beat, his feet taking him to the stage.

Effortlessly lifting himself onto it once more, he grabs both your wrists in one of his larger ones to stop the music without you interfering, his rings digging into your skin. “Aww! But, Mouse! We didn’t even get to the roll call!”

“Shut. Up.” He grits out through clenched teeth, putting something else on absentmindedly. He didn’t want Argyris on his ass later for leaving the crowd without music. “God. Stop being a fucking pain in my fucking ass for one fucking minute.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s pulling you away before you can reply. Next thing you know he’s shoving you into the bathroom, growling at the girls that were smoking up the place to get out.

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you, princess?” He hisses in your ear, slamming you against the door once the girls left. He’s so tired of giving in to you, but he can’t help it, crashing his lips against yours messily. Teeth and tongue, the taste of smoke and the fruity drink you had chosen for the night mixing, only making him press closer. Your hands get pinned above your head and he’s pulling your skirt up, bunching it at your waist. It’s rough and careless and fueled by loathing, but when is it not? “Think you’re so funny? Huh?”

“Yeah.” You breath, smirking as he slots a thigh between your legs, squeezing your hips and pressing you down against him, flexing the muscle and making you squirm.

His teeth are biting at your bottom lip and tugging, his hands dragging your clothed core along his thigh. “Let’s see how funny you think you are when I’m fucking you so hard you forget how to breathe.”

Your breath hitches and your hands previously above your head clutch onto his shirt at the friction against your clit. It’s not enough and he knows, but you don’t tell him. “All this over a silly song?” You jest.

He sneers back at you, ignoring your tease. “Did you get jealous, sunshine? Is that what happened? Is that why you decided to be a little shit?”

“Jealous?” You scoff as he attacks your neck, your hands quickly undoing his belt before he shoves his pants down, his briefs following along with your panties. “Jealous of you, maybe. That girl was hot. Way outta your lea - oh shit.”

You always forget how deep he reaches inside you, how much the stretch is. He’s not soft about it, entering you in one swift thrust, your hips connecting. His hands are dimpling your bare thighs, hefting you up so your legs wrap around his waist, rings on his fingers no doubt making imprints. The door against your back starts rattling with every movement, but the music outside was too loud for anyone to hear it.

“Not so mouthy now, are we?” He snaps in time with his hips. He can feel you tightening around him, your fingers dragging down his chest, trying desperately to pull his shirt off.

“C’mon, Mouse. That's all you got?” You pant out, a little whine leaving your lips when he leaves you suddenly, dropping you to your feet. “Mickey! What-”

He cuts you off by pushing you against the counter, a shout leaving your lip when he takes you from behind, making you surge forwards, your head almost hitting the mirror, pelvis hitting your ass with every piston of his hips. His hand is tangled in your hair and he tugs, making your head snap up. “Look at you. So fucked out. I did that. I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had and we both know it.” He isn’t wrong. Your makeup’s a mess, your hair is wrapped around his fingers.

“You’re the one who keeps fucking me.” You argue back, your spine arching as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Over and over and over.

He growls, leaning forwards to fold over you, his lips by your ear. “And who keep being a fucking brat? Huh? Who keeps coming to my gigs, fucking up my weekend? Practically begging me to fuck you.”

You scowl at him in the mirror. “I don’t beg.”

The chuckle that leaves his lips makes you shiver and you whimper when he tugs your hair harder, the sting of your scalp mixing with the pleasure his cock was giving you.

“You will. You may get everything you want from everyone else, princess, but I’m in charge here. Don’t. You. Forget.” His words are punctuated with a hard thrust, making you lurch forwards, your thighs pressing harshly against the counter.

“Oh God…Mickey,” that familiar tightness in your stomach appears, your eye clenching shut as your toes curl. “I’m so close…”

“Open your goddamn eyes. Look who’s doing this to you. Who fucking owns this pussy? Huh?”

Your eyes snap open and meet his again, his breaths fanning across your face, rapidly becoming less steady. “You.”

“That’s right. You wanna cum, sunshine?” You nod vigorously. He takes your lobe between his teeth and tugs as he stills his hips, keeping himself inside you. “Then beg.”

And, just like the many times before, you do. You do because you don’t actually care about begging. You care about him ruining you. That’s what you want. And you always get what you want. Fuck your dignity. 

He starts up slowly again as you plead, stopping a couple more times when you feel yourself getting close. “Mickey! Please, for the love of God!” He’s never edged you this much. Not this intensely. And not in the bathroom at a club. Usually it’s just a quickie before you take him home or vice versa.

But you pissed him off tonight. More so than usual. It was a good night and then you came along. Took his job. Played that dumb song. So he needs to remind you. Put you in your place. “You may be spoiled by everyone else, princess, but I’m the only one who can give you what you really want.”

“God, you’re so annoying.” You grind out through your clenched teeth.

He just smirks. “That wasn’t a denial. Let go, Y/N. Make a mess of my cock. Watch yourself fall apart for me.”

You do as he says, watching your jaw go slack in a silent scream, your body tensing, your legs shaking, as he finally lets you have what you want. Body going slack against the counter, he keeps rutting into you until he groans, a string of profanities leaving his lips as he spills inside you.

The both of you stay there, with him folded on top of you, his forehead resting against the nape of your neck, his grip on your hair loosening.

“That was fun. A little different.” You hum as he gets up. He’s glaring at you as you straighten and fix yourself. “Good orgasm though, so thanks for that. But I gotta get back to work now.”

“You’re such a pain in my ass.” He mutters, tucking himself away and pulling his pants up.

“Kinky. Maybe next time.” You wink at him through the mirror and his jaw ticks. He’s so fucking tired of it. Of you. How you let him have that one bit of control and then your right back to controlling the room once you get what you want. There’s so many nights where he wonders if he should just stop giving it to you. But then he’s inside you and he can’t help himself.

He watches you touch yourself up, although you still look thoroughly fucked, but you don’t seem to mind. This is new. You going back to the gig you stole after sex. He wonders if that was the last time for tonight, or if you’d be leaving together later too.

“I fucking hate you.” He spits out as you open the door, wanting to get the last word in.

You just smirk the same way he did to you earlier. “Yeah…but you love fucking me. Later, Mouse.”

Just like always, you’re the last comment as you walk out nonchalantly, even though he could see the slight wobble in your steps, the door shutting behind you, leaving him alone.

You hate Mickey Henry. You loathe him. You wish you never met him. But you can’t get enough. No matter how many times you convince yourself you have him where you want him, you know you don’t. You’d let him do anything to you. But you can’t stop. Like him and his cigarettes. He’s your flaw. And no matter how bad he is for you, you’re addicted.

Mickey Henry hates you. He loathes you. He wishes he never met you. But he can’t get enough. No matter how many times he convinces himself he’s in control, he knows he’s not. He always gives you what you want at the end of the day. But he can’t stop. Like you and your alcohol. You’re his flaw. And no matter how bad it is for him, he’s addicted.

*****

*****

*****

Personal Taglist:

@happygoreading​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @breadqueen95​ @marvelettesassemble​ @w-wolfhxrd​ @the-larry-romance​ @abitofeverythinggg​

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter 4

Parings: Canon!Levi x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Violence, torture, this one gets a little spicy y’all, descriptions of sexual acts, hints of abuse (please let me know if i’ve missed any)

Word Count: 14.8K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in The Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened be be Humanity’s Strongest... and your ex.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

A/N: well, you guys wanted it all in one post! this is by far the longest chapter, yet, and possibly the longest chapter in the entire fic maybe? i’ve caught myself up now with the progress of writing, since i’ve only completed one part of the next chapter so chapter 5 won’t be out within the next three days like these last four have been. i’m thinking i’ll need maybe a week? not sure, but the next part has a little flashback section which i hope you’ll all enjoy!

god these a/n’s are really long aren’t they? asdfghjkl sorry i’ll make the cut off now. hope you enjoy!!!

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

Whether it had been thirty minutes or thirty years, you couldn’t tell. Struggling to stay conscious as the four soldiers brought your limp body back to your cell. Your legs no longer work, gathering dust as they drag across the ground. Your abdomen and back were on fire. You were convinced. They had simply thrown you into hell to cook for a bit before dragging you back out. There was no other explanation. Other than the countless, seemingly endless beatings you had just taken. Whether your legs were tired or if your spine was broken, you couldn’t tell as they tossed you back behind bars, removing the rope around your wrists. You didn’t have the strength to fight back. Didn’t have the strength to even raise your head as they left.

Broken, split ribs sent agonising jolts of pain as you shifted in a lame attempt to curl up into a ball. You hadn’t cracked like they’d wanted you to. You hadn’t screamed, cried, begged them to stop. And you wouldn’t. When they came back for you, you would hold your tongue once again. You had never broken in the past. Whether you’d been compromised during an assault on a rival gang, or whether it was one of your mentor’s training exercises to get you used to torture. You had never broken.

You weren’t about to start now.

Still, the throbbing in your body prevented you from sleeping. You didn’t know what time it was. Time had escaped you during that ordeal. You didn’t even know what time of day it was, pretty sure it was night when they had come for you.

Fuck, your body ached. But you knew comfort was a long way from here. It always seemed so far away from where you were. Did you ever have comfort?

You lay there for god knows how long, seconds turning to minutes, minutes to hours. Hours could have turned to days for all you knew.

When the now familiar echo of footsteps reached your ears, you didn’t move. You didn’t care. Whoever it was could rot in hell for all you cared. Wishing death upon these fucking soldiers was the only thing keeping you from giving up right now.

“The bed not good enough or something?” Levi. Shit. The one person you didn’t want to see you like this.

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to try and count as many marks on the wall as you could. It helped to keep your focus off the dull throbbing coursing through your body.

“Oi, ‘you seriously still asleep? It's almost midday,” the singing of metal caused you to wince slightly as he rapped on the bars in an attempt to wake you from a sleep you weren’t in.

“Get the fuck u—” You had a vague idea what caused him to stop his impending barrage of insults you knew were about to flutter effortlessly from his mouth, and you couldn’t tell if you were thankful or not. On the upside, you didn’t have to hear whatever colourful language he was about to spew. On the downside…

“What happened to you…?” it was the second time he’d asked that question, but from the tone of his voice, you could tell this was less a passing thought and more of a question prompted by horror.

Levi froze. His breath caught in his throat. He had expected you to be awake by now. To be up, with that crooked, cocky smile on your face. In fact, he’d half expected you to be leaning against the wall, the door flung wide open as you twirled the keychain around your finger, simply begging him to ask you how you’d done it.

The last thing he expected to see was you, on the floor, curled into a ball. The shirt on your lower back riding up enough for him to see violent, deep purple bruises, blood steadily streaming from your spine and lower back.

Still you refused to answer, or even move. Filthy fucking soldiers, you fucking hated every last one of them. How fucking dare they? How dare they string you up like a piece of drying meat. They had no idea what you’d been through. What you’d had to do to survive. How dare they assume.

And yet,

And yet there was still that little voice in your head. That little kernel of doubt, convincing you that you deserved this. You had killed so many. So much blood was on your hands.

You deserved this.

You didn’t even notice Levi had entered your cell until a hand rested upon your shoulder.

“(Y/N)—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” your reaction was instant. Instinctual. Immediately wrenching out of his hand, throwing yourself forward. A yelp escaped your mouth without your permission, fire igniting in your body as you moved so suddenly. It caused you to falter in your movements, landing harshly on your side. “Shit!” your voice broke as you yelped, agony flaring in your entire midsection, hand flying to clutch your side as you backed up against the wall. “Don’t fucking touch me,” there was no conviction in your voice. It was more of a plea than anything. If you had raised your head to look at him, maybe you would have laughed at his expression of twisted shock.

But instead you let your hair fall in front of your face, masking your own expression. Teeth grit in silent pain, eyes screwed shut.

Levi’s worry turned to outright unsettling fear. Over the last two days, he’s witnessed you more broken than he’s ever seen you before. He remembered sitting up with you after you’d woken from one of your nightmares. The two of you sitting on the floor against the wall, sharing a cup of tea to not waste resources. He’d seen you angry. He’d seen you upset. But he’d never seen you shattered.

“(Y/N)...” you’d forgotten how soft his usual bored voice could sound. Even after yesterday, you hadn’t heard that tone from him in years. It was borderline unnatural.

It prompted you to raise your head ever so slightly, glaring at him through thick, matted (H/C) strands. You refused to let your guard down, even though the sight of him squatting before you, eyebrows gently creased with suppressed worry almost made you relax. But you weren’t about to be taken away and tortured again.

Any scrap of trust that may have manifested yesterday during the carriage ride and your conversation had been crushed.

“Get away from me,” you looked feral, bearing your teeth animalistically as you snarled. Though it didn’t seem to deter him. He knew a dog only bared its teeth when it was wounded, fearing to be hurt further.

Levi sighed through his nose as he stood. You flinched at his movement and watched as he made more of a conscious effort not to startle you. Your eyes squinted in suspicious confusion as he took a small cloth from his pocket and started running it under the tap.

It seemed the faucet did work. Good to know.

Returning to squat in front of you, his eyes flickered from your face to your abdomen.

“Show me,” he instructed gently, and you almost obeyed him. Almost.

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat instead, bringing your knees closer to your aching body. If you hadn’t been trained to withstand pain, you would have cried out as your abdomen begged you to stop constricting your muscles.

“I’m trying to help,” your ears caught the slight irritation in his tone, but you didn’t care. He could kick you for all you care.

Actually, you really didn’t want him to do that.

“I don’t want your help,”

“You need it.”

“Burn in hell, Levi,” it was the first time you’d actually used his name since you said it back when they first apprehended you, and Levi couldn’t deny that it cut deep. A sentiment he masked with a frustrated exhale. Clearly he’d expected resistance. Either that or he was just as tenacious as he used to be.

“Well, I'm definitely not going up,” he responded, that same softness in his tone and despite your situation, you couldn’t help the slight huff of amusement. It seemed to put him at ease too, content you weren’t about to lunge for his throat.

Slowly, you uncurled from your position, visibly wincing as your torn, beaten muscles relaxed. Levi took this as permission to inch closer and you felt a small appreciation for his trepidation.

Still, you couldn’t help but flinch every time he moved too fast. A simple reflex stemming from your training. It wasn’t really something you thought about, but it prompted the raven haired man to freeze every time you moved.

You refused to meet his eyes as he gently lifted the fabric of your shirt, hearing his breath hitch slightly.

“Holy shit…” He breathed. You hadn’t seen how bad your body was damaged, but judging by his reaction;

It sure as hell wasn’t good.

Levi felt he could kill someone. Actually, a lot of someones. Shit, when he finds out who was responsible for this he would make sure they wished they were never born. The same rage he felt when seeing you flinch for the first time once again coursed through his veins, and this time, he didn’t think he could just let it simmer.

“Who did this to you?” you blinked, his question caught you off guard. Didn’t he know? How didn’t he know? Surely every soldier in the damn military would revel in the idea of you being tortured all night. You clenched your jaw, refusing to respond. You didn’t know why you were being so stubborn. Maybe it was the sheer principle of not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of him.

In fact, now you thought about it, it was definitely that. Whether Levi sensed it or not, he chose not to press you for an answer. Perhaps he did already know.

You hissed as the cold, damp cloth gently soothed your inflamed skin, glancing back to his face. You hated the way his focussed expression calmed your heart. Loathed how that crease in his eyebrows eased your whirling thoughts. Despised how, from this angle, you could see just how annoyingly attractive he had become.

“Can you move?” he asked, silver eyes rising up to meet your own. The low torchlight highlighted the heus of deep blue you knew he had hidden away. You pretended you looked away because you couldn’t stand the sight of his face, rather than the reality.

You were far too tempted to lean up and capture his lips.

“Yes,” Levi couldn’t tell if you were lying, shifting slightly to help you move but stopping immediately when you flinched away.

“Lie on the bed,” for the first time in ten years, you were compelled to follow an order. You weren’t even obedient towards Viper most of the time. But nonetheless, you found yourself struggling to your feet, an arm braced on the wall behind you.

Clearly respecting your independence, Levi took a step back, allowing you to find your own way. If you weren’t slightly delirious from the pain, you would have missed a kernel of respect flashing in his expression, before he swiftly turned away, washing the cloth again as you collapsed onto the so-called ‘mattress’ with a hiss.

Levi rung the small cloth out onto the floor, focussing on the way the droplets collided with the stone, rather than the way every movement you made caused you obvious pain. Once again, every fibre of his being was screaming at him to cradle you in his arms and whisper soft nothings into your ear. He wanted you to fall asleep next to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He craved to feel your soft hair through his fingertips, gently coercing you into dreams. It hurt so much that he could see you, but he couldn’t have you.

Turning to face away from him, you once again shrivelled into a ball. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want any of this. You just wanted to be left alone. But the dip in the bed behind you told you that wasn’t an option right now, muscles tensing on instinct.

he didn’t ask for permission this time as gentle fingers gripped your shirt, dragging up to reveal your brutalised back. If you could see his expression, you might have even been afraid. Darkness shrouded his face, teeth grit in utter hatred. A muscle in his jaw twitching from the effort of clamping his mouth so tightly.

His first touch felt like you’d been shocked by the static that built up on the bed clothes. The damp cool gliding across the welts and bruises across your back. Balling your hands into fists, you refused to make any sound. Still having the mindset of not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing you in pain. It was a mindset you didn’t think would leave you for a while.

Levi worked in silence, allowing you to settle and almost relax after a while. You wanted to trust him, but you didn’t. Not really. However, right now, you trusted him not to hurt you further. Simply content to relish in the way he soothed the pain. It didn’t come naturally. Every time he pressed too hard it took all your strength not to lunge for his throat, but he would stop upon hearing your sharp intake of breath, waiting for you to settle before continuing.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, you finally broke it with a question that had been budding in your mind.

“Why are you doing this?” your voice came out a rasped whisper, almost as if you hadn’t used your vocal chords for weeks. You were sure he wasn’t going to answer, opting instead to simply continue to clean your bruises. Another blanket of quiet had settled over the two of you before he responded.

“I don’t know,” he lied. Levi wasn’t sure why he lied. Honestly, he thought it was obvious enough. He still cared about you. So fucking much. It burned him to see you in so much pain. He’d never felt the mind numbing fury he felt when he saw what they’d done to you.

You weren’t really happy with the answer. If anything, it simply gave you more questions. But you were too tired to press for more. Almost too tired to notice when he’d stopped. Pulling your grimy shirt back down to your waist, you felt the mattress rise as he stood. You didn’t turn. You couldn’t turn. After the night you’d had, the exhaustion from the last 24 hours finally catching up on you.

Noticing how you were almost already asleep, Levi decided to throw caution to the wind.

You felt a soft caress through your dirt ridden hair, the action sending a pleasant buzz through your system. It was an action so familiar to the both of you, you wondered why you kept flinching away from his touch when all it did was gently drain you of energy.

“Sleep.”

You didn’t have time to contemplate his tone before the comforting nothingness claimed you.

꧁ꨄ꧂

Levi hadn’t been this angry in a long, long time. Sure, he’d been annoyed. When a solider made a stupid mistake or when a cadet didn’t know how to clean properly. But he hadn’t been this furious in years.

Maybe since the deaths of Isobel and Farlan.

It was obvious when Levi was in a bad mood. Sweeping through the headquarters like a storm. Cadets could almost feel his presence before they saw him, swiftly making themselves busy as he paid no attention to any of them. He had one goal in mind. One destination. And he didn’t even knock when he got there.

“Out. Now.” it wasn’t an order to disobey. When he opened the door to Erwin’s office, revealing a small meeting, Levi didn’t think twice to dismiss them, even if they were his superiors.

“Levi, what’s—”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll all leave the room for the next half an hour. Maybe longer depending on how this conversation goes,” his swirling eyes met Erwin’s and he swore he could detect the slightest fear in the man’s gaze.

Good.

He should be afraid.

Without so much as a mutter of goodbyes, the squad leaders and section commanders all dispersed, leaving the Captain alone with the Commander.

Erwin was the first to break the heavy silence.

“I’m assuming this is about Raven?” his voice didn’t waver, seeming to have regained his composure from the initial shock. But Levi wasn’t here for a dainty conversation. The unbridled rage pulsing through his bloodstream clouded his vision, almost seeing red.

“Did you know?”

“Levi—”

“Did. You. Know?” Levi hardly ever raised his voice. Usually it was only out in the field or on a mission, and that was only because it was easier to communicate that way. Keeping his bored, flat tones when slicing open the nape of a titan didn’t seem possible.

Erwin pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep, defeated sigh.

“Yes. I knew. But Levi, you have to understand—”

“I don’t have to understand jackshit. Don’t you think she’s been through enough? She’s led a life being treated like an animal and now you’re allowing her to be beaten like one?”

“It’s necessary, Levi.”

“It’s barbaric!” Erwin had never heard such venom in his voice. Not even when he vowed to kill him all those years ago. He’d seen Levi’s rage. Witnessed it from afar. The way he tore through flesh like it was paper.

Never did he think he would be on the receiving end. Leaning forward, the blonde folded his arms against the desk, clearly conflicted.

“I know this is a difficult subject for you. You two grew up in the same environment, it would only be natural for you to care for her,” the conniving bastard. Levi borderline snarled at the statement. He did care for you. Deeply. But Erwin didn’t need to know that.

“But please listen. As I mentioned before, ties between the Military Police and the Survey Corps are taut. Any discord between us would cause them to snap. I already tightened them further by not allowing them to execute her publicly. I thought if she joined the Scouts instead, not only would we gain an asset, but she would also be able to survive. That didn’t sit well with Niles. He wants her to pay for what she’s done. If not by death, then by various other methods. This was the only way to keep both parties happy, Levi. Trust me,” Levi was starting to lose what trust he had in the man.

Whilst yes, his explanation made sense, it still didn’t sweeten the blow. How long would this go on for? Would they take you everyday, or just some days? How badly would they hurt you?

As if able to read his mind through his knife-like glare, Erwin continued.

“It’s only for this week. Whilst she’s in her cell. They don’t have permission to permanently damage her, only—”

“Only break her ribs and crack her sternum. Yeah, I saw,” he responded bitterly, folding his arms as he leant against the door. Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck them.

Levi had never been so conflicted. Whilst the sight of you, beaten and broken, had shattered him, he also knew it was for your own good. It was this, or death.

He didn’t like the second option much.

But the memory of what they had done had burned into his skull. Running his fingers down your prominent, bruised spine. So fragile, but so goddamn strong. Muscles spread disproportionately about your abdomen and shoulders. Your stomach was concave for fuck sakes. And they were still beating the shit out of you.

It made him wonder. If he wasn’t so lucky…

Would he have received the same treatment?

Would he have been thrown in a cell and tortured for a week?

He doubted it.

Erwin waited for Levi to gather his thoughts. Waited for him to say whatever he was going to say next. He had expected Levi to find out. Had expected the man to have some sort of reaction, but nothing quite to this extent. Maybe there really was something deeper between you and him that Levi was keeping to himself.

“So this will continue for a whole damn week?” Levi asked, almost exasperated, running a hand through his obsidian locks. This was a nightmare. All of it. Nobody deserves this treatment. Not even Kenny, but especially not you.

It was Erwin’s slow nod that had his stomach dropping.

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “This will continue for the whole week.”

That was all Levi needed to hear. Whether it was right or wrong, he was powerless to stop it. Turning on his heel and heading back down the halls to his office, he tried to push the images of your broken body and spirit from his mind. Maybe he was hoping you were the same bright eyed, mischievous woman you were before he lost you ten years ago. How had so much changed since then?

How much had you changed so much since then?

He no longer saw that spark of life in your eyes. No longer able to bask in your genuine smile.

If he hadn’t seen so many young, hopeful souls shattered by the paralysing fear of facing a titan, or the desperate heartache of losing a loved one, he’d be surprised.

But he wasn’t. Not at all. Who knows what you have had to do to survive? Who knows just how much of yourself you’d had to sacrifice to get where you are now. But he wouldn’t accept that you were gone.

He would never accept that.

But from the looks of you, only a small fragment of your true self remained. Levi thought he was over being hurt by the changes in people he somewhat cared about.

Maybe he was wrong.

꧁ꨄ꧂

The week was gruelling. Taken from your cell at night and being subjected to both physical and mental torture was one of the toughest things you’ve faced. It was brutal, having to fortify both your mind and body nightly against the blows from the MPs. Sometimes it would change. Sometimes the original four switched out. Sometimes they had an observer. But every time was horrific.

You were sure you’d be dead by now if Levi didn’t visit daily to soothe your broken and cracked bones. If he didn’t ask his monotonous questions, all of which you either responded to with something sarcastic, or silence.

Very few times you actually gave a real answer.

Unlike this time.

“How did you get that scar?” It was always the question he started with. Always wanting to know what happened to you during the time he was away, and that scar down your right eye.

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking that question?” you huffed, tucking your elbows beneath your head.

“Don’t you ever get tired of not answering it?” since you’d seen him everyday since you arrived, you were beginning to relearn all the tells you knew he had, but had changed over time. For example, this smallest lilt in his voice when he found something amusing. He waited for your body to stop twitching as you laughed silently, before resuming the treatment of the damp cloth.

“Not really, it’s fun listening to you get more and more frustrated.”

“As charming as ever, Raven.”

You didn’t know how you felt about him using your alias rather than your name. You knew you’d asked him to, or rather, harshly told him to, but he’d used your actual name a few times since then. But you didn’t want to ask, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable.

You let the quiet blanket the two of you, debating whether or not to answer. You’d refused him everyday, but as more time passed, the more you remembered just how much you’d loved him.

“There was a rival gang in the neighbourhood next to ours. Always fighting us for territory or supplies. Honestly, I wanted them wiped out, but Prongs insisted that would make us far too many powerful enemies,” Levi had paused as you started the exposition, genuinely surprised you’d actually decided to give him a full answer, rather that the usual “I entered a sword headbutting contest” or something equally as ridiculous.

“We were at each other’s throats for years, never really landing a solid hit on the other’s gang, until the bastard managed to take one of my Shadows, Diablo, alive. I owed those people everything. They took me in when you—” you managed to stop yourself, but not fast enough for Levi to avoid feeling the gut punching guilt he felt whenever you accidentally mentioned him leaving. You really didn’t mean to, you were just used to talking more openly about it.

“Uh, sorry. Yeah, they took me in, so I owed them a lot. Plus, I’d known them for years by now. I trusted them and they trusted me. I wasn’t about to abandon her,” Levi could hear your conviction and resolve in the cadence of your voice, and silently wondered when you’d become so strong. He’d almost forgotten he was supposed to be treating you badly damaged back, until you hissed slightly. Looking down, he realised he’d pressed a little too hard with the cloth against your tender skin.

“Shit, sorry.”

“‘S’fine. Just concentrate, yeah?” despite your condition, you still had it in you to crack cocky jokes. Levi had half the mind to swat the back of your head with his cloth, but he decided to be merciful.

You left it a beat before you continued.

“Anyway, I didn’t have a choice. But it turns out, all the creepy bastard wanted to do was to make sure everyone knew I wasn’t untouchable. Then maybe we’d stop having smaller gangs ally with us. I let him scar my face, and in return he gave us Diablo back, completely unharmed. It was really fucking weird now that I think about it,” Levi pondered this for a moment, before another question popped into his head.

“What happened to him?”

“Who?”

“The creepy guy, idiot.”

“Call me an idiot again, I fucking dare you.”

“What will you do? You can hardly stand.”

“I don’t need to stand to beat your sorry ass.”

Shit, he’d missed this. This playful banter between the two of you. He’d missed it so goddamn much.

“He found one of my blades stuck in his throat pretty soon after,” Levi grunted in approval, a small smile bloomed across his face at the thought.

Good.

Creepy son-of-a-bitch.

The two of you continued in a comfortable silence for a short while, before your slightly mischievous voice cut through it again.

“Okay, my turn,” you sounded far too nonchalant for his liking, Levi narrowing his gaze to the back of your head.

“Your turn?”

“You’ve been asking me questions for the last few days, and I haven’t asked you one once,” if Levi didn’t know better, he’d say you were almost pouting. He was tempted to turn your head to check, but it seemed you still weren’t entirely comfortable with the whole being touched thing.

He hadn’t asked you about that yet.

“Alright, alright. One question.”

“How come you get countless and I only get one?”

“Call it a Captain’s privilege,”

“Pffft, Captain my ass,”

“Just ask your stupid question.”

You laughed at his feigned frustrated tone, knowing he was loving this as much as you were. You allowed yourself to think about how you wanted to phrase this.

“Are they still here with you? Farlan and Isobel?” you had been slightly hesitant to ask this, since he hadn’t mentioned them once. You didn’t know them personally, only seeing them fleetingly when Levi would usher you into his room, or having sparing conversation with them when Viper sold them that ODM. And judging by his pained silence, you now feared his answer.

“Yes and no,” your question had definitely caught him off guard. He didn’t even think you remembered them, so for you to ask after them was a little out of the blue. Hence why he opted to mimic your response from a few days ago.

You had clearly caught on.

“The hell does that mean?”

Levi realised he probably couldn’t tend to your back and tell this story at the same time. He was going to need all his strength to suppress the torrent of emotions he knew he was about to unlock. Sensing his change of tone, you slowly shifted so you were sitting next to him, making sure you didn’t move too quickly or awkwardly so as to not irritate your painful back.

You searched his features in the silence, partially hidden by the bangs you used to love running your hands through. You couldn’t help but wonder whether or not they were as soft as they used to be.

“It was my fault,” he admitted quietly. You hated seeing Levi like this. You’d only seen him like this once before, when Kenny abandoned him. You vowed you would never let him feel like this again as long as you were by his side.

This is what happens when you’re separated.

“What was your fault?” you gently prompted, not wanting to push him, but rather wanting to let him know that you were willing to listen.

“It was our first expedition. I was naive, agreeing to let them come with us, rather than the original plan which was for me to go alone. Raven, the reason I— the reason we left, was because we were recruited for a job, and killing Erwin Smith was part of that. But none of us knew what to expect beyond the walls. We’d trained but, we didn’t know what to expect when facing an actual titan,” you didn’t press further when he took pauses or longer breaths. You were happy he was comfortable enough with you now to even tell you this. “Everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly, and it wasn’t long before it all went to shit. I lost sight of them when the storm hit, losing them in the fog. I was completely powerless to stop an Abnormal. Shit, I didn’t even know it had passed me. I just saw bodies and limbs everywhere and knew I had to turn back. By the time I got there, it was too late. They were both gone,” Levi’s fist clenched into a ball, taking his focus away from the pain in his chest to the one in his palm. He didn’t even realise his eyes were closed until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under your touch, not quite able to believe how far the two of you had come in such a short amount of time.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Levi,” he didn’t really understand what you were apologising for, or why you felt the need. Afterall, it was him who left you.

“I vowed after that day I wouldn’t have any regrets. Some jackass said that if I did, their deaths wouldn’t mean anything. But I knew I would always have one. I knew I would always regret leaving you behind,” Levi looked to you through his bangs, an expression of guilt etched into his hardened face. You forgave him at that moment. You forgave him for everything.

“I’m here now, aren’t I? And whilst I may not be the same girl you left behind, I still have her memories,” your hand slid from its position on his shoulder to rest over his heart, feeling it flutter within his sturdy ribcage.

Levi faintly wondered if he was dreaming. If you could feel his heart rate increase with every touch.

“That’s why you said yes and no, isn’t it? Because they’re not physically here, but they are here,” Levi could do nothing but nod, his eyes trained on your face like a hawk. He wanted permission. Begged for it through his dark, swirling eyes. Screamed for it in the way his eyes flickered to your lips, your face so close he could smell that scent of freshly baked bread you’d always carried with you, even beneath all the filth. A few centimetres further and you would have what you’d wanted for ten long years. What you both have wanted.

“You sound ridiculous,”

“Your fault,” he could feel the flutter of your breath against his face, wishing nothing more than for you to close the distance.

Levi slowly brought his hand from his lap, his palm rising to cup your cheek.

It didn’t even get close before you flinched, eyes darting to his raised hand.

And just like that, all the tension dissolved. As if you hadn’t been busy getting lost within the storm that were his irises. Levi pulled back, as if he himself had been struck.

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking,” he rose from his position next to you, wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole.

How could he be so damn selfish? It was obvious you couldn’t do anything like that right now. Maybe not ever. And he was getting way ahead of himself. You had already said the girl who loved him was dead, he couldn’t even think how or why he would assume just because your body was present, your mind was as well. Just because he was willing, why would you be willing as well?

Except you were.

So. Fucking. Willing.

And you cursed yourself for these instinctive reactions. Every sudden movement had your mind flashing back to training. Back to Viper’s brutal learning methods. It wasn’t even that much longer after Levi left you were made the Raven. After Viper’s death, it was almost instantaneous. But that didn’t stop those seven months of brutal punishments to leave a permanent scar on your psyche. You wished you could find your voice to reassure him that you’d get over this.

But you couldn’t.

And Levi was once again the first to speak.

“I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow Raven—”

“(Y/N),” you corrected him. After countless times of him calling you by your alias, you didn’t think you could stand it anymore. Levi raised his brow, seemingly a little confused by your interruption. “I’m not The Raven anymore. Technically that title belongs to Prongs now. So it’s just (Y/N),” despite the awkwardness of your recent encounter, you still felt that familiar warmth blossom in your chest at his softened smile, and quietly wonder if anyone else ever saw him smile this much.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, (Y/N),” you returned his expression, before lying back down on your side. This was your last night in your cell, before you’d be free to join the Scouts. You silently scoffed at the irony of that statement, but nothing could quell your small candle of hope as you listened to Levi’s footsteps get quieter and quieter. Maybe things weren’t so shit up here after all.

꧁ꨄ꧂

“You know, Raven, I’m going to miss our little nighttime meetings,” another harsh blow to your stomach sent you reeling, eyes screwed shut in both pain and defiance. They were trying everything they could to break you tonight. Blood running freely down your abdomen. Fresh bruises now blossoming over the wilted petals of previous nights.

Still you refused to break. Solid walls of spite had erected around your mind, and they wouldn’t be cracked or broken. Not by anything. So you took it. You took your punishment, only opening your mouth to hurl obscene insults or vile curses in their direction. Mocking the way they struck, laughing at their lack of strength. It only resulted in harsher blows, but it was worth seeing the frustration on their faces when you didn’t scream in agony.

“You know who you remind me of like this? I only made the connection a few nights ago. Strung up and beaten like your good-for-nothing father,”

That struck a chord in you. Your eyes flew open, staring at the ground in horror. This is what had happened to him? They had taken him and beaten him? Was he still alive? Was he here somewhere?

The man, who you’d dubbed Dirt, answered all your questions with his next jab.

“A shame he only lasted a few days. You on the other hand… you’re much more fun to play with,” a feral grin sliced through his face as he circled you, drawing back to land three excrutiating blows against your lower back. You grit your teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You didn’t think you had a heart to shatter. You didn’t think any of it remained for it to be broken again.

The MPs had taken two father figures from you.

That grin still adorned Dirt’s face as he went to swing the metal bat again, only to be interrupted by the door behind you opening. Dirt’s eyes narrowed, before whoever it was seemed to please him. God you couldn’t wait for the day where you tore that venomous smile right off his fucking face.

“Captain Ackerman. To what do we owe the pleasure?” you froze. What the hell was he doing here? Why did he always have to arrive during the moments where you really didn’t want him to see you.

But you weren’t expecting to feel a kernel of hope as he spoke.

You weren’t expecting the small smile that etched into your sweat slickened face.

“I was sent to observe. Since she’ll be joining the Survey Corps, I’m here to ensure you don’t break her,” Levi sounded as bored as ever, and you almost huffed a laugh.

Dirt scoffed, in irritation that he wouldn’t get to sever your spine with brute force.

“Very well. However, I must ask you to stand back. She swings like a stallion’s cock sometimes,” If it weren’t directed at you, you would have laughed at the comment. In any other situation, it would have been rather funny.

Just not this one.

Levi had never felt so sick. As soon as he walked in, seeing you strung up like that, helplessly, he had to force down the instinct to rip every one of these torturous bastards to ribbons. He’d never had to have such a tight hold on his emotions in his life, because if that hold slipped…

This would become a blood bath.

“Anyway Raven, where were we?” he asked, though the question was rhetorical. You knew he remembered. He was just trying to provoke a response out of you. But knowing Levi was here gave you a strength you weren’t expecting.

Looking up through your hair, you shot a glare through the thick, matted strands.

“Choke on your own blood, fuckface,” you spat, kicking weakly towards him. It wasn’t the show of defiance you’d wanted, but it seemed to get the message across. You were prepared for whatever consequences there would be for such a demonstration.

The repercussions came immediately. Roughly digging his fingers into your chin, Dirt forced you head up to look at him, his face a picture of mock amusement.

Levi’s jaw clenched.

“Come now Raven. Not trying to impress Captain Levi now, are you?” your eyes flickered over to Levi, his expression unreadable, grey hues trained on the two of you. A rumble of laughter echoed around the chamber as Dirt took in your spiteful expression. “Now I’m left wondering, how somebody like you could come from somebody like your pathetic father. How somebody so defiant, so fucking strong,” —he harshly jabbed at your stomach with the hilt of his bat— “Could be the daughter of somebody so weak,”

“Shut the fuck up,” you rasp, hot fury surging through your veins. How fucking dare he? How dare he insult your father this way. He was a good man. An honest man. He did nothing wrong. Nothing to warrant his or your mother’s death.

“Hm. No, I think I’ll keep talking. This might finally break you.”

“I’ll fucking KILL YOU,” the hook keeping your arms above your head creaked as you thrashed, trying to free yourself to wrap your hands around his goddamn throat.

“You should have heard his cries. His pathetic whimpers as we carved into his flesh. They were… amusing.” No. This wouldn’t be your downfall. You refused. This wasn’t it. You would not be broken by this.

“At least tell me what he died for. At least tell me why you took him, you shit-eating pig!” you spat viciously, trying once again to get free. It was infuriating more than anything. You had so many questions, never knowing why your parents had been killed. Why you came back to your house in disarray, crimson staining the floorboards as your mother’s blood drained from the gash in her throat. Your father, nowhere to be found.

Though he managed to keep his expression neutral, Levi thought back to your father. For the short time he knew him, he was a kind man. He did what he could for the people around him, always feeding those who looked starving. He was convinced that was where you got your compassion from. Why the hell would they take him and torture him?

“Why? He didn’t tell you? Interesting. Your father knew the location of The Nest long before you became our problem. You thought it was a coincidence Viper just happened to take you in? Please, this job was enjoyable enough, don’t make me laugh with your naivety as well,”

“You’re lying. My father was a baker. He was a good man. He wasn’t involved in our criminal shit!”

“Have you noticed a pattern in your life, Raven? Have you noticed how we tried everything to prevent you from falling down this path?” your jaw flickered at Dirt’s tone, mocking you as if they had done you a service.

“We thought your father would introduce you to a life of crime, so we got rid of him for you. When you fell into the care of Viper; well, we got rid of him for you as well,” his smile was snake-like as flashes from that night plagued your mind. Pressed up against the wall as your mentor was savagely dealt with. Begging at them. Screaming at them to stop. To let him go. Only for them to raise a rifle to his head, and paint the wall with his blood.

Dirt imitated a gun with his fingers, putting them up to your forehead.

“Bang.”

Slowly, you stopped thrashing, though the hatred in your veins didn’t cool. You simmered silently, raising your eyes once again. No tears. No sorrow. Nothing but feigned indifference flickered in the low light.

Dirt looked at you for a moment, eyebrows creasing in irritation as he stepped back, twirling the bad in his hands before repeatedly cracking it against your empty stomach. Levi only just managed to control his breathing as he watched helplessly, flinching subtly as every blow connected with your too-skinny body. Clearly Dirt was taking out some intense frustration. He’d just managed to compose himself when the bastard’s eyes turned to him. That fucking smile poisoned his features as he extended the handle of the weapon.

“Captain Levi. She killed a few of your men, did she not? Why don’t you see if you can break the whore?” You almost scoffed in amusement. Levi wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Not after everything the two of you had been through.

You’d finally found each other again.

You were so sure.

You were so sure of yourself.

You were so sure of him.

You’d rekindled that trust over the last week.

You’d rekindled something you thought was dead.

You were so sure.

Until he took the handle.

And the white hot knife of betrayal twisted into your gut once again.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Shit.

The weight of the bat felt ten times heavier than anything he’s ever held in his life. The weight of what he was about to do.

Fuck.

As excruciating as this was to watch, he knew it was ten times worse for you. He knew every blow, every crack, was undoing hours of hard work soothing your aches and bruises. Each thud against your body sent jolts of electricity through him. Nerve ends alight with adrenaline, heart beating as if he was about to fight every single one of these bastards just to get them away from you.

Still you have not broken. He couldn’t pinpoint the slight warmth in his chest, couldn’t comprehend what it was. Was he impressed? Surprised?

Proud…?

Levi wasn’t sure if the look of soul shattering betrayal in your eyes was worth it as his hands gripped the cool metal, slightly slickened with your blood.

He would explain it to you.

He would.

Once you were back in your cell, he would tell you why he did it.

But for now, his glare only darkened as he stepped forward. He couldn’t stand the expression on your face. Confused bewilderment, as if trying to work out what he was thinking.

Levi begged you to stop. Stop looking at him like that. Stop trying to work him out because not even he knew if this was the right thing to do.

It was almost a relief when your wide eyes clouded with heartbreaking realisation and acceptance.

A hiss escaped your lips at the first crack. Somehow, this felt more painful than anything those pitiful soldiers could do. Your eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched so hard you were afraid it would shatter into a million pieces.

Each blow felt so precise. So measured and controlled. It stung your heart more than anything else. You’d been betrayed. Again. For the second time in a week. Betrayed by the two people you’d ever loved. Scarlett, who’d picked you up when you were sure nobody else could. Who nursed your broken bones and your broken soul.

And by the first man who ever held your heart.

And truthfully, still did.

Was that all this last week had been?

A ploy just to fuck with you. To earn your trust only to immediately shatter you once again? To break your spirit? Granted, nobody knew the nature of your relationship between you and Levi, but that didn’t matter. The man you loved had just stabbed you in the back.

Again.

So much had happened in the last week. So much had been brought to the surface. It would take years to unpack it all, not that you had any intention of doing that. You just wanted it all gone. To bury it with your fathers. To never think about it again.

You were dragged from your thoughts by a shock of agony sparking up your spine, stemming from your lower back. It was Dirt’s favourite place to attack. Whenever he thought you were being too feisty, too aggressive. He would land as many blows to your lower back as he saw fit.

Admittedly, you doubted Levi knew you’d been snapping back spitefully all session before he arrived, but that didn’t quell the raging fire of hatred as your lips parted without your permission.

A broken cry of anguished agony wracked from your chest, chilling the air of the humid chamber.

Levi froze, horror flashing across his usually schooled features.

He’d broken you.

Levi had broken you.

And with it, any bond he’d managed to salvage over the last week. Any bridge he’d started to rebuild now came crashing down around him.

That one well placed crack had ripped away at your resolve, exposing the tired, hurt, beaten girl beneath.

The room seemed to have stilled. All falling into quiet awe at what had just happened. A slow clap split the stagnant air as Dirt walked up from where he was leaning against the wall. Levi was tempted to turn the bat on him, but he found himself unable to move.

“Your reputation precedes you, Captain. Striking her lower back like that after leaving it to simmer? Genius! We should have asked you to join us earlier,” Dirt cackled in delight as he produced a knife from his pocket. Reaching up, he easily sliced through the ropes binding your hands.

Stone rose up to greet your body as you fell uselessly to the ground, legs too weak to hold you.

“Oh dear. Are you dead? Maybe you and your father had more in common that I originally thought,”

“Enough.” Dirt’s jeering was interrupted by the no-bullshit tones of Levi, causing the soldier to whirl around. He’d finally managed to find his voice, once again reining himself in.

“But Captain Levi, Sir, she’s The Raven. Don’t you think she deserves some extra time with us tonight?”

“If you don’t leave now I’ll make sure it’s you who won’t be able to walk. Go,” you couldn’t tell if this was a blessing or a curse. If he was an angel or a demon.

Actually no, scratch that.

He was a demon, and this was a curse.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to move as you heard busy footsteps around you, assuming the four horsemen were gathering their effects.

“I do hope you make her crawl back to her cell, Captain. We all know your reputation for cleanliness. It would be a shame to dirty your hands touching this filthy whore,” Dirt drawled one more savage insult, before you heard his echoing steps get further and further away. You hoped the day would never come where you had to see his face again.

The silence in the room now was suffocating. You could both feel the emotions radiating off each other now the MPs were gone. He could feel your loathing, and you could feel his disgust. Or what you thought was disgust. What you assumed was disgust.

How could he not be disgusted? He must be. To do what he just did. You didn’t understand why he would come down everyday and help you if he felt such hatred towards you.

No, that’s a lie.

You did understand.

But that truth hurt so much more than anything else tonight.

It had sowed the seed of doubt in your mind. You knew you weren’t a good person. In fact, to most soldiers and nobles you were a devil. But you’d always clung onto the hope that everything you did was to help people. You stole medicine, you slit the throats of rapists, you provided weapons to those who didn’t have enough to fend for themselves.

There was a small part of you that truly believed you were doing good.

That small part had just been crushed, along with several bones.

Gathering what little strength you had, you extended a limp arm in front of you. Fuck it, you weren’t going to sleep here on a floor soiled by your own sweat, blood and saliva.

You would crawl if you had to.

“(Y/N)...” all he wanted to do was hold you. All he’d wanted to do since he’d found you again was hold you. He’d been so close yesterday, but he’d fucked that up.

Now he was sure you’d never willingly let him hold you again. The bat fell from his hand as if he’d realised it was covered in poison, heart clenching at the way you instinctively threw your arms above your head, terrified of some other attack.

You hated how his voice carried so much comfort. Hated how it soothed your raging mind. God you wanted nothing more than to rip his fucking tongue out and make sure he never spoke to you like that again.

A gentle hand landed on your shoulder, forcing you to stop.

“Get… get the fuck… off me… Get the fuck off me,” you couldn’t fight back as he tucked his arms under your legs and upper back, wincing as he lifted you into his grip. “Don’t… Don’t fucking touch me,” there was no strength left in you to push against him as he carried you back, but that didn’t stop you from weakly hitting the arms that held you.

You didn’t understand. One moment he was savagely beating you, and the next he was cradling you against his chest, holding you close as he took you to your cell.

Laying you down, he hoped you understood why he did what he did. It was a fool’s hope, he knew.

He realised you definitely didn’t understand when you started fighting back.

With a sudden surge of strength, you lunged for him. It was a weak attack, and you didn’t really know what you were trying to achieve as you threw yourself towards him with a cry of anguished rage, but you also didn’t care.

“I fucking trusted you,” you spat in between your flailing limbs. It really didn’t take long for Levi to pin your arms either side of your head, hovering over your body.

“(Y/N), stop,” He tightened his grip on your wrists as you struggled against his hold. It would have been a real test of strength for both of you had you not spent the last week having the life beaten out of you. You were weaker than you’d ever been, and he was taking advantage.

“I was right the first time. You don’t get to call me that. You don’t ever get to call me that. You sick, twisted BASTARD. So that was why you lied to me. That was why you didn’t tell me why you were helping me. You fucking coward, is that all you were doing? Convincing me I was safe with you? Tricking me into thinking you still actually cared about me you filthy fucking LIAR,” you barked a mirthless laugh, baring your teeth in a visceral snarl. “I swear to you Levi, I will not fucking stop until my knife is buried your goddamn THROAT!” you struggled again, twisting as much as you could beneath him, trying to free your arms, your hands, anything that could help you take him down.

He deserved this. He knew he did. Levi looked into the burning betrayal in your eyes and knew he deserved this. He would take every verbal blow you threw at him because he knew he deserved it. But he had to explain. He didn’t care. You could hurl whatever you wanted at him, but he wouldn’t leave until he had the chance to explain himself.

Then he would never see you again.

If that’s what you wanted.

“Just calm down, for a minute, please,” you hadn’t heard him beg like that in a very, very long time. Shit, you fucking hated what it did to you. In this position, your wrists held above your head, his arms caging you in, his legs either side of your hips...

The room suddenly felt far too warm.

“What could you possibly have to say to me? I fucking trusted you. You disgusting son-of-a-bitch. I can’t believe I actually thought—“

Levi finally lost his temper.

“What? You thought what? That just because we found each other again we’d play happy families? Grow the fuck up, Raven,” he spat your alias, finally releasing all the fury he’d pent up. He knew this was a mistake. None of this was your fault. He’d been angry with how you’d been treated. Utterly beside himself at Erwin.

And you were taking the fall for it.

“I didn’t lie to you, I didn’t have a fucking choice. If anyone saw me treat you any differently, they would start to question it. They would question why I was showing pity to a criminal. The Raven, no less. And I can’t—”

“Oh I’m sorry, I would hate to ruin your reputation, Captain,” you struck back with just as much venom. Just as much fury.

“Let me finish. I can’t let them get to you anymore than they already have. It was either them or—”

“Because I’m just so import—” you almost cried out as the grip on your wrists tightened, knowing they would leave yet another bruise on your body.

“Let. Me. Finish.” Levi narrowed his eyes, returning the glare you were holding on him and not continuing until you yielded, finally looking away and clamping your mouth shut. “It was either them or me. I could let them continue to beat the shit out of you mercilessly, or I could do it myself. I could try and make it better. I couldn’t fucking watch that shit anymore. I couldn’t fucking stand it. Those filthy bastards laying their dirty hands on you. Hurting you. Shit, you were half dead when I walked in. I was scared you were for a moment. Terrified they were just beating a corpse. But you’re so much stronger than I ever gave you credit for. They never fucking broke you. And they never will. Because if they touch you again, if they fucking look at you, I will go the the ends of the goddamn earth and tear them apart, because I care about you,” Levi hadn’t noticed he was panting. He hadn’t noticed the tears slipping down your cheeks. He didn’t think his self hatred could sink any deeper, but now he’d made you cry silent tears.

Loosening his grip on your wrists, he looked at you as though he’d been responsible for your murder.

“So, it was mercy? That’s what’s considered merciful up here?” you couldn’t really believe it. Twice in two days Levi had spoken more to you than you thought he ever did back when you belonged to each other. You didn’t think you’d ever sounded so small. So vulnerable. “Let me ask you this, Levi. Was it merciful on me, or merciful on you? Because you sure as hell didn’t make things better for me,” despite the quieter volume, your voice was still harsh.

But you had to know.

You wanted nothing more than to pull him in and thread your hands through his hair. To feel his body against yours. For his heartbeat to lull you to sleep. But you had to know whether he did this for you, or himself.

You understood now. You really did. And put in the same situation, you didn’t think you’d do any differently.

“Honestly…? Merciful to me. I couldn't bear it. I tried. I tried so fucking hard. But I couldn’t let them hurt you anymore,” his voice was no louder than a choked, guilt ridden whisper.

That’s all you needed to hear. Slipping your wrists free of his hands, you reached up. Cupping the sides of his face, you brought him down to you, since you couldn’t exactly sit up and go to him.

As soon as your lips returned home to his, you couldn’t stop the few tears from escaping your closed eyes.

Levi’s own eyes widened, and he was suddenly convinced he was dead. Was this actually happening? After everything he’s just done, everything he’s just said.

You forgave him?

When your tongue gently skirted his bottom lip, he decided contemplating forgiveness was something for later. Terrified of hurting you further, he rested his weight on his elbows, finally closing his eyes. He’d wanted this for so long. Since he laid eyes on you for the first time in ten years, he’d wanted nothing more than to envelop your mouth with his own.

With your eyes closed, you didn’t mind when his hand came up to gently caress the apple of your cheek. You didn’t mind when you opened your lips for his tongue to hesitantly slip in and explore your mouth, that slick muscle moving against yours. You didn’t mind when his hand travelled down to cup the side of your neck, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss.

Neither of you wanted to break away, having waited far too long for this moment. You reveled in the groan he emitted down your throat as your left hand found its way to his undercut, gently scratching and caressing in desperation. You hadn’t heard that sound in so long and you instantly craved more.

Levi’s eyes rolled back into his skull behind his closed lids, feeling your hands in his hair. God, he didn’t want to fuck you in a cell, but your hands and tongue were making it difficult for him to control himself.

He was the first to pull back, instantly missing the warmth of your mouth.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, looking down into your eyes. You could see the swirling confusion in those sterling orbs as they flickered in the low light. You could see the arousal in his dark pupils. Feel it against your inner thigh. You wanted to take him right here and now, but not only did you acknowledge the fact you were literally in a prison cell…

You weren’t sure you were ready. Not yet. Not after everything.

“Levi… if you had done that for my sake, I would have shattered both your kneecaps,” you earned yourself a gentle laugh, his thumb coming up to smooth down your eyebrow. “But you didn’t. I know you feel selfish, and I know you hate yourself for it, but I also know that it was either that, or you beat them to death with that goddamn bat. I know you, Levi. You haven’t changed much yourself,” your left hand came back, softly carding through those ebony bangs.

Levi felt like he could fly. Felt as though you’d returned the wings he’d lost when he thought he’d never see you again.

(Y/N), I want to apolo—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

With that, you stretched up to capture his mouth again, instantly feeling like you’d come back home. You didn’t care about the surge of pain coursing through your abdomen and back. That’s what he was to you.

He was home.

You felt his length twitch in his constraints as both your hands found purchase in his hair, gently tugging at the black strands.

“Fuck…” he breathed into your mouth, his hips bucking involuntarily as you sucked his lower lip between your teeth.

You kept having to consciously remind yourself that you are in fact in a dank, filthy cell. And enveloping him between you increasingly slick folds was wildly inappropriate.

Levi thought it was entirely unfair how you were managing to drag whines and moans from him with nothing but your fingers and teeth. So he decided it was his turn to give something back.

His hand travelled down your body, almost instinctively finding the crease in your thighs. He swallowed his own groan of ecstasy as his knuckles grazed his arousal, opting instead to focus on the way your hips rose to meet the pads of his fingers, gently rubbing your swollen, clothed clit. His circular motions drawing out those small whimpers he’d craved to hear.

“Mmn, L-Levi... ACK, fuck!” your moan of pleasure turned into a small cry of pain as your abs contracted, sending yet another lightning bolt through your system. Levi withdrew his hand immediately, eyes instantly clearing and recognising your signs of discomfort.

“Shit (Y/N), your back,” you felt your heart swell at his concern, though internally cursed yourself.

“‘S’fine,” you insisted, rising up once again to grasp his lips with yours, only to be met with thin air and you ex(?) lover looking down at you.

“No, it’s not. C’mere,” Levi sighed and lifted himself off you, careful not to cause you any further damage. He looked for permission before gently turning you on your side, as if your tongue hadn’t been down his throat less than thirty seconds ago. He cursed his erection, finding himself a little hindered by it as he walked over to the faucet, allowing himself a few moments reprieve before removing the handkerchief from his pocket and running it under the tap.

Though the mirror was cracked, he could still see his slightly swollen lips, distorted against the spider webbing fractures. Could still see the mark you’d left on his face. Shit, he wished for those marks to be left elsewhere. His mind wandered back to the way you used to settle between his thighs, teasing him until you got him to crack. He loved the way you could coerce broken pleas from his throat. Adored the black-blue bites you left on the inside of his thighs, before your warmth enveloped him. Your flexible muscle flicking up and down his sensitive length, running over that prominent vein he hadn’t felt you caress in too long. He missed feeling the vibrations of your chuckle when he begged for you to let him cum. When he felt his balls tighten with release, and yet you denied him still.

But most of all he missed tasting you. He missed the way your arousal freely leaked onto his tongue. He missed the way your hips rose to meet his fingers, that breathy gasp when he found your hidden spot. The begs and cries you made when you wanted him to let you cum. When you whined for his dick to replace his fingers. Fuck, he missed the way your thighs locked his head between them as he brought you to climax with nothing but his tongue flicking over you little, sensitive button. Over, and over, and over again.

“Having trouble?” you grinned from your position on the sorry excuse for a mattress. You’d managed to turn yourself over to watch him, disregarding any agony you felt. You wouldn’t miss this for the world. You wouldn’t miss seeing Levi all riled up and unable to focus simply because of the administrations with your mouth.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, turning the faucet off and ringing out the cloth in the sink. You chuckled at his tone and his predicament, loving every second of it. Though you couldn’t miss the small glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Oi, turn back ‘round. ‘Need to get to your back,”

“I bet you do,”

“(Y/N)...” he warned, with no real malice in his tone. If this was any other man, you would have lunged at them for taking that tone with you. But this was Levi. Your Levi. You knew he would never hurt you. Not unless absolutely necessary.

Case and point: hitting you with a bat to avoid a murder charge.

Begrudgingly, you tore your eyes from his face, haphazardly twisting on the mattress to face away from him.

“Hm, good girl,” Levi purred, eyes gleaming at the way your thighs clenched in reaction. But any spark of arousal was swiftly extinguished, when your body twitched away from his as he took his seat behind you.

You clenched your eyes shut, hating yourself for the reaction you couldn’t control. You didn’t blame Viper for your now primal fear. You knew he was just teaching you what you needed to know, but he had no fatherly experience, and possibly caused more harm than good.

“‘M’ sorry, it’s not you, I promise. I just—”

“No. No apologising. It’s not your fault,” you nodded, not trusting your voice not to crack if you spoke up now.

Levi thought hard about how he wanted to do this without causing any more reaction from you. Attempting to keep his mind from wandering too far, he tried to understand what made you comfortable enough to bring him onto your mouth. To gently tug on his lower lip. To thread your hands through his hair and--

“I have an idea… (Y/N), watch what I’m doing,” you did as he asked, turning your neck as much as you could to watch the movements of his hand. You tensed as his palm hovered over your side. But when you didn’t feel anything, you unscrewed one tightly shut eye, peering at him curiously.

“(Y/N), can you raise your body for me, just to reach my hand?” this might actually work. Levi had been wracking his brains for a way for you to feel comfortable again with touch.

Hesitantly, you slowly raised your body to meet his fingers, almost freezing as you felt no reaction. You didn’t tense, you didn’t instantly balk under his touch.

You hadn’t cried in years, and yet throughout the course of this long, long night, you had cried twice, the corners of your lashes growing damp as a tear slipped down the side of your face.

Growing increasingly concerned by your lack of response, Levi was about to move his hand from your side, but was immediately stopped by your own fingers covering his.

“Don’t. Stay. Don’t move away,” his heart burned at your broken plea, his worried expression softening in slight relief.

“I won’t. (Y/N), I’m not going to touch you without your permission. Ever. But, if you’re comfortable with it, we can do this. If you’re happy with this,” Levi gently moved his thumb against the fabric of your shirt, caressing your side. Your choked laugh of happy disbelief caused his small smile to broaden ever so slightly.

“Yes. Yes i’m happy with this,” still having trouble believing this was truly happening, you closed your eyes in bliss, allowing a few more tears to escape.

“Okay, I’m going to move your shirt up, alright?” your heart sung at his sincerity, nodding silently once again as you felt the fabric of your shirt bunch up ever so carefully. You loved how he always made you feel so precious. Nothing was precious in the Underground, but somehow he always made you feel worth diamonds and gold. You’d forgotten what that was like, until the damp cloth once again soothed your aching welts, chasing away the throbs of pain.

Those spears of guilt once again plunged into Levi’s heart as he saw what they had done to you. What he’d done to you. You were always so forgiving when it came to him. You always have been. He could lock himself in his room for days, not speak to you for hours on end and you would always be there to hold him when the pressure finally cracked. Always there to soothe him when he opened up after long weeks of isolation. When those memories of his mother dragged up again. When the day Kenny left forced him to hide away until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You always forgave him.

And could always sense what he was thinking.

He came back to the present when your hand squeezed his, as if you knew where his mind had taken him.

“It’s okay, Levi,” your soft reassurance broke his heart.

“I should be saying that to you,”

“Go on then,” you retorted, not even trying to hide the mischief in your voice

Levi chuckled, moving his hand from under yours to stroke your hair.

“It’s okay, (Y/N),”

“I feel thoroughly reassured,”

“Tch, shut up brat,” god, at this point your heart could have been a choir. Singing once again at the soft amusement gently lacing his tone. But you internally cringed as fingers threaded through your grimy hair, reaching up to move it away.

“Levi, don’t. It’s fucking filthy,”

“So’s your face but I recall sucking on it a few moments ago,”

“Levi!” you couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He was never one to make such jokes. But you couldn’t deny you loved it. Loved his low, breathy laugh at your indignant call of his name.

“What? Am I wrong?” you couldn’t see his slightly cheeky smirk behind you. Or the way one brow raised in feigned curiosity.

“Well no, but—”

“Didn’t think so.”

“God you’re insufferable. Anyone would think you’re— OW!” you turned to look back at him in mock anger. He didn’t actually hurt you, and by looking at your swiftly disintegrating expresion, Levi was able to decipher you were just fucking with him. Rolling his eyes, he continued his administration with the cloth, watching fondly as you settled back down.

You only spoke again when that hand in your hair started moving.

“Levi, seriously, it’s gross. Just focus on my back,” when he didn’t reply, you once again twisted back to look at him, unable to decipher the expression on his face.

“Stay here,”

“Like I’m in any condition to move, asshole,”

“Tch, don’t be difficult. I’ll be back in a minute,” with a final caress of your head, Levi chucked the cloth back into the sink before standing to his feet. You were a bit of a sorry sight, lying on your side, shirt ridden up to reveal your bruised, still bloodied back. He’d managed to gently scrub off most of the crimson staining your skin, but he wanted to provide you with just a little more comfort, if he could.

You didn’t even try to escape when he left the door open. Too tired to move. Your limbs felt like lead everytime you attempted to shift, exhaustion clinging to your bones like shackles. You didn’t know how long you waited, but you felt yourself start to drift in and out of consciousness, unable to help yourself marvel at how easy it would be to slip into a deep sleep. Your mind was far too heavy to sift through the lake of emotions you’d found yourself submerged in. Just as you were about to succumb to the call of rest, your faultless alert system brought you back to consciousness, adrenaline injected into your veins as you shot upright at the sound of footsteps.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” your brittle nerves settled at the sound of his calming voice, heart leaping when you saw what he carried in his arms.

Levi had brought everything he thought he would need. A small metal basin containing a small flannel, a wash-cloth, a small cup, the shower soap and hair conditioner from his own quarters and a large towel to spare the mattress of the water. Kicking the cell door almost closed with his foot, Levi crossed to the sink once again, setting out the contents on the cracked porcelain before filling the basin.

He left the faucet running, turning back to you with the town folded on his arm.

“Gonna need you to move if we want to set this down,” you raised a suggestive eyebrow, mouth pulling into a small smirk. Levi rolled his eyes. “Not like that, brat. Unless you want to sleep on a damp mattress. It’s up to you, really,” the amused spark in his eye betrayed his neutral, blank face as you gently shimmied down the bed, making a space for him to set the towel down.

You watched as he removed his jacket, mouth watering ever so slightly as his shirt clung to his back, unable to tear your eyes away from the movement of his muscles. They had certainly developed well.

“Oi, stop ogling,” he smirked to you over his shoulder, earning a sly grin from you in response.

“Can’t help it,” you chimed, eyes flicking to his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves. Fuck, if only you weren’t in a jail cell. Or utterly filthy. Or just not ready for that yet.

If only you didn’t have a thousand things stopping you from pushing him against the wall and engulfing his cock in down your throat.

But for now, you just had to settle with undressing and fucking him with your eyes. Something that clearly didn’t go unnoticed, if the way he writhed slightly under your pinning gaze was anything to go by.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Levi tried to steer his thoughts away from his length stiffening once again. Fuck, the way you were staring at him, he was starting to feel hot beneath his shirt, despite the naturally cool temperature of the room. Your heated chuckle only fueled the flames.

“Aw, why? Are you hard?” you teased, raking your eyes up and down his figure, lingering on the small tent in his crotch. You shifted slightly, almost groaning as the mattress below you rubbed against your swollen folds.

“Tch, obviously. And I’m not going to deal with it in this filthy prison cell, so don’t make it worse brat,” Levi marvelled at your laugh. A proper, head thrown back laugh. He couldn’t stop the fond smile spreading across his face at the sight.

“Alright alright, I’ll stop eye-fuckinig you,” you managed to say, after regaining some sort of composure.

“You’re filthy,”

“Isn’t that why you’re about to bathe me?” you tilted your head slightly, watching him lift the basin from the sink after turning off the faucet. He didn’t deem your comment worthy of a response, opting instead to look back at you with a blank, deadpan expression. Tucking everything else under his arm, Levi returned back to your side. He thought for a moment about how he wanted to do this before, wedging the water basin between his legs.

“Lie back, place your head on my lap. Gonna’ wash your hair,” he instructed, busying himself with getting the small, brown bottle of hair soap. But he paused upon sensing your hesitation. Looking back to you, he searched your face, before slowly bringing his hand up.

You shied away, closing your eyes instinctively, almost bracing yourself for the contact that never came.

“Hey, not gonna touch you without permission, remember?” you opened your eyes to see his hand hovering next to your cheek. He was waiting for your next move, and you could see the slight hopeful spark in his eye.

So slowly, you tilted your head enough to gently nuzzle into his palm, your own hand coming up to keep him against your face.

Levi smoothed the skin under your eye with his thumb, trying his damndest not to let any tears well up in his eyes.

Unbeknownst to him, you were attempting to do the same. Not wanting him to see you cry for the third goddamn time tonight. But it became impossible when he said something you didn’t know you needed to hear.

“I missed you so much, firefly,” your breath hitched in your throat at the old nickname. He’d only ever use it in the softest moments in the Underground. Stroking your hair whilst lying in his bed. Staying up and keeping you company when you’d shoot awake from a nightmare. He was never one for nicknames, so one day when he, out of the blue, called you his firefly;

you’d almost cried.

Your eyes widened, hand gently squeezing his own to ground yourself. You let out something halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I missed you too. So, so much,” you hardly had to move forward before your face was nestled in the crook of his neck, his arms slowly tucking you against his body. “I missed you so much,” you whispered again.

Levi didn’t think he’d ever been this happy, at least not for a long, long time. Ecstatic you felt comfortable enough to let him hold you. Though he was usually so good at keeping his feelings to himself, so much had happened over the last week, he felt the walls to his emotional dam cracking ever so slightly, a few tears lining his closed eyes. He could feel the collar of his shirt dampen as you shed silent tears, his thumb rubbing small circles against your back.

Levi held you like this for what felt like hours. Content to just be in each other’s arms once again. In reality, it had only been a few minutes before he gently shifted you so the back of your head rested against his lap.

“Never known you to be such a cry-baby,” he lightly teased, gathering what he could of your hair and soaking it within the basin still wedged between his knees.

“I’m not. I haven’t cried in years. Literally. Probably since Viper’s—” you stopped yourself, not expecting the casual statement to hurt quite as much as it did. “Viper’s death,” you finished quietly, eyes avoiding any direct contact with his own.

Levi took note of your tone change, reaching for the hair soap. He was only vaguely aware of the relationship between you and the old Nest leader. Finding out through those vile MPs.

“Want to talk about it?” The tone of his question matched yours as he lathered the gel into your now cleaner locks to make sure the grime and grease was properly dealt with.

“Honestly? Not yet. Maybe not ever. I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it. Not even Prongs, or Wolf, and they were his Shadows before mine,” you fell silent for a moment, before looking back to him. “How did you do it? How did you just… leave everything behind?”

Levi sighed at the innocence of your question. The raw guilt he knew you were feeling. Knowing you were up here, safe, warm, comfortable, whilst so many people down there were still suffering. Still dying from easily preventable illnesses.

“I didn’t. Not really. I still find myself thinking back to those poor sods down there. But I couldn’t think about it for too long, because I would find myself thinking back to you,” his hand stroked the top of your now damp forehead, smoothing down the wet locks of your hair.

The basin sloshed slightly as you nodded, disheartened by the fact that this feeling of suffocating guilt would probably never leave you. Levi saw this in your face. He saw the exact same swirl of emotions he felt when he knew he would never return.

But you’d left behind so much more than he did. You had a trusted group. A family who would only know what happened to you through the words of that young girl.

“They’ll be safe, (Y/N). He may be an asshole sometimes, but I trust Erwin. He wouldn’t break his word,” running his hands through your soaked hair, Levi gently teased the knots out with his fingers, easily gliding through the now freed strands.

His reassurance calmed your worries. Levi hardly trusted anyone, you only ever knew him to trust Isobel, Farlan and yourself. This Erwin guy must have really made an impression.

Reaching back to the small flannel he’d brought down with him, he began drying your hair, setting the basin to one side. You didn’t think you’d ever felt this pampered. This well looked after. You thought you could certainly get used to it. Returning your thoughts to the conversation, you exhaled a sigh.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… My job was to take care of them. My job was to stop something like this from happening. Our entire operation was compromised because my shitty partner couldn’t get over some grudge she had against a boy she’d never met,” you poked his chest as he rolled his eyes, looking down at you with a brow raised.

“So it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t say that,”

“You implied it,”

“Oh don’t be so sensitive,”

“I wasn’t the one who cheated,”

You almost sat bolt upright at that, if it weren’t for him anticipating the movement. What did he mean ‘cheat’? You didn’t cheat. You would never cheat. Loyalty ran through your veins like blood, and if you weren’t so incredulous you would have spotted the smallest hint of mischief in his steely eyes.

“Wh— Cheat? I didn’t cheat. What makes you think that?” your genuine concern broke his heart, and he almost felt bad for teasing you like this.

Almost.

Taking your face in both his hands, Levi failed to suppress the fugitive smirk on his face.

“We technically never broke up, brat,” you breathed a sigh of relief, before turning back to scowl at him, tempted to lightly smack the back of his head.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that, asshole,” your scowl held no heat, too relieved that he was just being pedantic rather than actually implying you would ever be disloyal. But your glare melted away at the rumble of a chuckle emitting from his chest. You rolled your eyes, trying your best to feign annoyance and failing miserably.  

Removing the small towel from your now damp hair, Levi deemed it dry enough for you to sleep on without catching a cold.

“There. Think you can do the rest yourself? I don’t wanna… make you uncomfortable or anything,” it was your turn for your heart to break, his consideration for your comfort and wellbeing always seemed to be his top priority. You took his hand in yours, gently stroking your thumb over his knuckles.

“You’ve done more than enough,” earnest gratitude swam in your eyes and it was all Levi could do not to stoop down and kiss you.

Instead, he stayed put for a little while longer, stealing all the seconds he could. He’d realised, with you joining the Survey Corps, you two wouldn’t be able to do this anymore. The company you’d both enjoyed for the past week would be ripped away by expeditions, training and paperwork.

So he greedily took as much time as the two of you could spare, before you would inevitably have to part ways.

“I have to go, (Y/N),” Levi whispered, although every part of him was longing to stay, especially when your face slowly fell in realisation.

“I know,” you tried to mask your melancholy with a gentle smile, but your voice betrayed you, breaking slightly as you spoke. Neither of you wanted to be the one to move. Neither of you wanted to be the first to burst the protective bubble of familiarity you both knew you wouldn’t feel again for a long, long time.

But to save him from doing it himself, you were the one to shift, allowing him to rise from the bed.

“I’ll uh, leave all this here and collect it early in the morning,” Levi shifted slightly awkwardly on his feet, running a hand through his hair. You nodded, adjusting yourself carefully. Your midsection didn’t hurt as much, more of an echoing throb, but you were still cautious nonetheless.

“Right, yeah. Probably a good idea, before anyone sees,” you shrugged, avoiding having to look at his face. You knew it would break both of you if you’d asked whether there was any chance of him staying.

Just for a little while longer.

“I’ll see you soon… Raven,” you felt your soul crack as he replaced your name with your alias. You knew it was right. You knew it was for the best. But that wouldn’t stop every fiber of your being shattering.

Levi hated how you said nothing as he turned to leave. He pretended not to notice your heartbreak as he deliberately called you Raven. He suppressed the urge to pick you up and take you with him. To carry you to his bed and cage you in his arms as you both fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

He didn’t know your prolonged silence was because you were gathering your courage. Silently arguing with yourself over what was right and what was wrong until you stopped him by calling his name.

“Levi…” There was no turning back now. You took a breath, finally raising your eyes to meet his now on the other side of the bars. “I—” love you.

You immediately stopped yourself, finding those three words caught in your throat. You couldn’t say them. Shit, you couldn’t say them.

You were a coward.

“Thank you,”

Levi stayed searching your face. He knew. He knew that wasn’t what you wanted to say. Because that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He let loose a breath he didn’t know he was holding, giving you one last look of badly masked longing, before turning away.

“Training starts tomorrow,” though the words themselves were cold, his tone was laced with mourning as his footsteps echoed out of earshot, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

Levi had managed all but three steps into the hallway before his name was called by an irritatingly familiar voice.

“Ah, Levi. Good. My office. Now, if you’re not busy,” Erwin had a way of saying ‘if you’re not busy’ that sounded like he was really saying ‘there is absolutely no debate in this, you could be bleeding out and missing an arm and I would still expect you in my office within the next five minutes’. Levi knew he didn’t exactly have a choice.

“Sure. Let me make some tea and I’ll be right there,” he knew he’d made a mistake. The look in Erwin’s cerulean eyes told him that the tall blonde had figured something out. Something dangerous that could compromise his relationship with you.

Actually, he’d probably figured out he had a relationship with you.

Shit…

He was in so much trouble.

[clarissalance]

A sneak peck on the corner of your lips

Pairing: Xingqiu x G/N!reader, Chongyun, mention of Xiangling and Liyue trio

Warning: a peck, hugging, reader and Xingqiu are the same age 

Word count: 3943

Summary: You are going on a ghost-hunting trip with Chongyun and Xingqiu to Mingyun village.

A/N: Last time I said I’m going to write shorter fic, well, my fingers accidentally slip and tada, here it is. I feel like this Xingqiu is a little bit too shy compare to the game but I want to make him blush (or any character in general). This one takes me quite a long time to write but I hope you all enjoy it. Maybe I should write Venti next, I totally forgot his birthday until my feed was flooded with his fanart. I’m sorry Bartobas ;-;   Anyhow, please shower Xingqiu with a lot of love!! He’s the reason why I can pass abyss floor 11. 

Picture credit: Pinterest. ( I really don’t know the author of this picture. If you find the source, please comment so I can add. Thank you (❁´◡`❁) ) 

Hanging out with the Liyuen trio has always been an adventure full of thrill and excitement. Usually, there would be someone who ends up with all troubles and mischiefs the other two sets up. Chongyun is our center, holding a strike 10 times in a row, while Xiangling sometimes gets bombed by them, but it’s nothing compared to our popsicle boy. Xingqiu, you have never heard of him getting into any troubles, but he has been the famous one in the town for plotting pranks and tricks. The victim is Chongyun, and he’s somehow still very oblivious, despite many times falling into the holes.

Maybe the boy is just too naïve and trusting for his own good. 

“ Xiangling is not coming today. ”  Xingqiu announces, successful getting your attention and Chongyun’s.  “She’s busy with the restaurant, so today, there will be only three of us.” Letting out a commital sound, you return your focus back onto the unfinished charm on your hand, fingers skillfully waving through the strings. 

“ Guess we’re off to Mingyun then.” Chongyun stands up abruptly from his seat, the sound of clothes rustling together. “I got a reliable intel this time about a ghost there.” 

Glance up from the unfinished charm, you shoot a questioning look to Xingqiu, to which he sends you a wink and a charming smile. The source of ‘reliable intel’ Chongyun is telling you here definitely comes from Xingqiu. Somehow, the boy has managed to stay away from the Chongyun’s suspicion list, even after those obvious unrealistic intel disguise as pranks. You wonder how has he manage to deceive the poor exorcist this time. 

“Chongyun, there are only hilichurls in Mingyun village. No one is there.” You state the obvious. How can he fall for this so many times? The light blue hair boy turns at you and tilts his head in confusion, waiting for you to anticipate more details. He is really dense, isn’t he? 

“ So, how did you get intel about a spirit at the place if there is no one lives there?” Letting out a huff, you fold your arm, feet tapping impatiently.  

“ Someone sends me the request this morning.” He pulls out a white envelope in his pocket and hands it to you, smiling a bit enthusiastically. The envelope has no trace that indicates sender, yet the exorcist assures you it’s a reliable source. You have no idea what his standard of ‘reliable' is anymore. 

Inside the envelope is an expensive-looking card, the curving and neat writing dances on the piece. Bringing the paper closer, you can faintly make out the scent of floral perfume mingles with the fresh wooden smell of crisp paper. “By the look, this looks more like a love letter than a request of exorcism to me. You’re sure it’s not from one of the maidens?” A little further away, you can hear the sound of someone choking on breath and a muffled laugh. Chongyun then mutters something about no one would send him a love letter anyway. Oh, so he doesn’t know then. Did this boy live under a rock or something? 

This is too well-crafted for a mere prank. Did Xingqiu handwriting improve this much over the past month? Eyeing the blue boy suspiciously, you carefully watch his interaction with the young exorcist while reading the content. 

This letter is pretty legit, but you’re still very suspicious of a certain someone over there who meticulously crafts this. If you ask, will he answer truthfully or skit around the subject again? 

Putting the card back into the envelop and return them to Chongyun, you finally raise your hand in defeat. Coming with them might be a better solution, in case the exorcist condition gets out of control, you can help Xingqiu carry him back.  

“Fine, let’s see the spirit ourselves then.” You stand up, hand dusting your clothes. “ If we’re lucky enough, we might be able to see the adepti on the mountain before catching the ghost.” Shrugging, you beam brightly at the shoulder-shaking Xingqiu and the scratching-head Chongyun. You can already guess what will happen in the village after so many times witnessing Xingqiu’s prank. Is this what we called… experiences? 

---

Mingyun village is located on a mountain and surrounded by many dried up ores mines, which result in people leaving their homes and moves to the Chasm and Harbor. As your group slowly trek to the written address, you notice an unusually high activity of hilichurls. It’s common for them to move to an abandoned village but isn’t this a little too much? From broken bridge connect the Guili Plain, there are many groups clustering, wandering among themselves. Even Chongyun tries to avoid them, not jumping on their head as usual. 

Imagine fighting this many hilichurls, you don’t think your group can make it back to the harbour in one piece. Padding quietly, you walk faster toward Xingqiu, hoping to stick close to him. At least if fighting is bounded to happen, he can protect you. The young master still keeps his unfazed face, following Chongyun while eyes glued on his book. You remember he already finished reading this book?   

“ Psstt.” You whisper. “ Are you sure we’re heading the right way? That direction is crowded with monsters.” From here, they can barely see the beast but you can sense an abundant amount over there. 

“ It’s this way. It’s marked on the map.” Chongyun answers, eyestrain on a piece of paper, which results in his misstep and tripping. Behind, Xingqiu looks up and worriedly calls out to be careful. You trust Chongyun map-reading skill, but right now, you’re very concerned about his navigation. How can he navigating if he does not even look at the road? 

As the scorching sun blazing down the heat, big droplets of sweat dripping down your forehead, and your shirt starts to stick on your skin. Ah, you forgot summer has arrived. The path is sun-drenched, not a single shade can be found. The sweltering heat in this village is almost unbearable, despite the area is borderline with Dragonspine. How can not a single breeze from Dragonspine drift to this area? 

As you lazily following the group, your mind starts going into vacation mode. You imagine staying under the shade, enjoy the cool breeze and munching ice cream. The village is quite close to Yaoguang Shoal, maybe you can convince the guys to head down there after they finish their task. In this weather, dipping your feet in the cold water while enjoying popsicles are the best. Stealing some from Chongyun might not be that bad. 

Next to you, the Chongyun and Xingqiu are not affected as much as you, maybe because they carry visions? You wonder how their visions help them to cool down? 

“ Xingqiu.”  You call, hand fanning your face. The boy looks up from his book, humming, unfazed by the boiling weather. Is he not feeling hot at all? Under all of those long sleeve shirt? 

“Can we hold hand?”

As soon as the question leaves your mouth, some things don’t feel right. Did you phrase it, a little bit weird? 

The cerulean-haired boy chokes on his saliva, eyes widen in surprise, almost drop his precious rare novel. You think you definitely phrase it wrong. 

“ Are you okay?” Chongyun turns back abruptly after noticing the coughing sound, his blue eyes filled with worries.

Xingqiu shakes his head and waves his hand, motioning the exorcist to turns back to his map. After a few second of heaving, he finally returns back to normal, shooting you stinky eyes and put his book away. It’s not your fault that he chokes on his own saliva. He chokes it by himself. 

“Why would you want… to hold my hand?” Xingqiu questions, cringing at his cracking voice. 

“Don’t you feel hot under this weather?” You point your finger at the sky, bright rays hitting your face. Xingqiu nods in confusion, still not understand how your request related to this question. 

“If we hold hand, maybe you can share with me some of your coolness.” 

Xingqiu stares owlishly at you, and you elaborate more on how the pyro transfers heat through physical touch, and maybe, hydro has a similar mechanism. 

As you explain, you notice how his shoulders shaking, while his face remains perfectly calm, except for the betraying light curve on his mouth. Is he trying to contain his smile? 

Finally, Xingqiu folds in half and blurts out in laughter, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. In between his howling, the boy breathlessly explains how you misunderstand the elements and visions aren't used for this situation.   

Potato, potato, you don’t believe the mischievous vision-holder over there has never tried using his vision for different purposes other than fighting.  

Your face burns up, you’re not sure if it’s because of the burning sun, or the embarrassment caused by the hydro user over there. Pouting, you turn away from him, stomping toward Chongyun direction instead.  

Hmph, if Xingqiu isn’t going to help you to cool down, then you’d have to ask the exorcist. Somehow, you already know the man is going to hesitate because it might disturb his congenital condition. Well, you’re just going to bribe him with two or three popsicles when you are coming back to the harbour. Nothing a little money can’t fix. And maybe a lot of persuasions too.

As soon as you make your mind, you rush toward Chongyun, calling out for the cryo user. The exorcist is a distance away from you both, and he doesn’t turn back even when you call out for him. Does this mean he didn’t hear the conversation between you and Xingqiu? 

   Casually skipping toward Chongyun, you call for him again-

“Chongyun, can I... ” before, suddenly hands from behind wrap around your neck, pull you into a wall of meat. You wince at the hard collision with the chest, sensation of callous fingers on your shoulder bring your longing desired: Coolness. Surprised by the sudden touch, you shoot your eyes wide open and crane your neck behind, immediately meet with a sly amber orb. 

What is he doing?

Followed by your call, Chongyun curiously turns back and his gentle light blue eyes unwavering. He doesn’t seem to be surprised at this scene. 

Does Xingqiu always this touchy? 

The young exorcist raises his brows at you but behind, Xingqiu waves his hand dismissive, successfully driving the young boy away, even before you can form your word. 

You see the exorcist shrugs and turns his attention back on the piece of paper, heading deeper into the abandoned village, distance between the cryo users and you two starts to grow.

You gawk shockingly into his small figure starts to get smaller, mouth gapes open slightly. 

Did Chongyun just leave you behind? What kind of cold-heart friend is he? He definitely saw you are being held back by Xingqiu, right? 

Behind, you hear Xingqiu mumbles something about Chongyun being ‘unbelievable’, ‘workaholic’ and ‘careless friend’. Shouldn’t you be the one who says that?   

All of a sudden, you realize your back touching his chest, his hands wrap around you from behind. From here, you can smell the faint vanilla and a mix of woody, musk scent. 

He reminds you of old books, the feeling of immersing yourself in a dusty library. 

Blood rushing to your face, and the first thing that comes to your mind is to escape from his hold. The hydro user somehow able to read your mind, his grip tightens, holding you close. 

In an intimate position, with you both fall in silence, your senses suddenly heighten. Even separated by layers of clothes, you can still feel the heat from Xingqiu. The rapid beat of your heart thumping in your rib cage, the coolness from his palm seeping slowly into your skin. 

Somehow his touch doesn’t cool you but heating you up more, your body slowly burns up like a furnace. “ C-can you let me go ?” You stutter, squirming helplessly inside the young hydro user, avoiding his teasing gaze.  

“ You asked me to touch you, so I comply with my liege's request.” 

“ I didn't ask you to touch me.” You quip back at the shameless hydro user, body twisting weakly inside his hold, the sound of clothes rustling. How come you both learn martial arts, yet your strength is nothing compared to him?  

“ This is not holding a hand.” You point out at his long arms wrap just under your neck, sulky. “ And stop hugging me. It’s burning in here.” 

Xingqiu gives you a grin, amber orbs shoot you a questioning gaze. Well, it’s not true. His long-sleeved are rolled up, exposing the long slender arms, now is pressing on the thin layer of fabric, resonating with coolness. It feels like hydro is running under the vein of his arm. His fingers wrap on your shoulder, constantly transferring the calming sensation of flowing water. 

 “Isn’t this position more efficient than holding hand?” The hydro lazily rests his face on your shoulder, smirking devilishly. You have to admit this is much cooler than holding a hand, but this is too intimate. Flustered by his alluring gaze, you turn your head away, feet start moving toward the exorcist direction. 

“W-we sh-ould catching up with Chongyun, he’s quite far away.” Stammering like a mess, you point your finger at the general direction where the exorcist was heading, the image of a light blue boy is getting smaller, slowly mending into the heat under the scorching furnace resting on your head. A chuckle is followed, but Xingqiu doesn’t say anything else, hands still wrap loosely around you, trailing steps after you. 

You are too naïve to think that walking fast will break his hold. The young master of Feiyun Commerce Guild has proved your effort is futile. He effortlessly adjusts to your pace even when you purposefully try to quicken your step or stop abruptly. He doesn’t faze by your antic, instead, leaning close to your ear and blow hot air into your ears teasingly, knowing well how flustered you are. 

From here, you can see Chongyun still having his eyes glued on the piece of paper, still not noticing his companions drift far behind him. Indeed he is careless, maybe you two should keep a close distance to protect him. 

“ Are you getting cooler?” Xingqiu suddenly leans close, his face just a few inches away from yours. 

You hold your breath in silence, heart almost drops at his close proximation. Can he not scare you like that? “ It's getting cooler.” As much as you tempted to elbow the hydro user away, you know how hot it will be without having his arms wrap around you, so you easily give in. 

The two of you keep a decent pace while the boy wraps his hand around you, clinging like a koala. Look around, you realize this place is mostly dry trees somehow manage to root in the barren soil, broken wagons and holed baskets lying around in this place. Luckily, this area has much fewer hilichurls compares to the entrance of the village. Look like they’re also trying to find a shade in this weather. This place is closed to Dragonspine, and you still have no idea how the land doesn’t receive a single cool breeze from the frosted city.  

“Why did you pull me back earlier?” Hesitantly, you ask him. 

Xingqiu let out a confusing sound, not registering your question. Should you elaborate some more?     

  “When I was calling out to Chongyun.” You quickly add, trying to keep your voice steady and casual.  

“ Oh, that.” He hums, his arms tighten around you. Why did he even hold you closer than before? You didn’t try to pry off his hug, why all of a sudden? 

“ Because…  you were… about to ask Chongyun to h-hold your hand right?” Freeze at his words, you twist your neck, curious at the face he is making right now. It’s rare for him to sound this uncertain about something. As a second son of the Guild Manager of one of the biggest trading guild in Liyue, the young man has been trained to speak with perfection. Every word coming from this young man is carefully formulated and spoken with utmost confidence. 

 As you face him, the young man furrows his brows, amber eyes fill with hesitant and worried. Why is he acting like this? A sudden wave of guilt washing your stomach, uneasiness slowly sinks deep into your skin. 

You… are not supposed to call out for Chongyun?

 “ B-but you laugh at me when I explain about the coolness exchange?” Tilting your head in confusion, you can’t help to not follow the hydro user thoughts. He refused you first, wasn't he? It should be normal for you to find Chongyun instead. The exorcist will probably agree to anything as long as he can help. “Wouldn’t it make more sense if I go to find Chongyun instead?” 

“And holding hand with Chongyun? Archon, no!” Your skin jumps as Xingqiu raises his voice, and you have no idea what tickles him. Why fuzzing over something so trivial like this? 

“ We always hold hands. There’s nothing wrong with it.” You can’t help to shoot back. “ You also hold his hand too.” 

“N-no, our holding hand is different.” He can weakly defend, trying to rack his brain out to think of a time when they hold hands. He gives up soon afterwards. “Besides, you shouldn’t be holding hands with anyone.” 

“ For your information, this is much more scandalous than holding hand.” You meekly point out, finger poking on his arm bares smooth skin. Twist back, you lean in closer, eyes crinkle into the shape of crescent moons. “And what’s wrong with us kids holding hand?”   

  Xingqiu can’t help but let out a defeated sigh, face drops down your shoulder and sulky buries his face in the crook of your neck.  His hot breaths tickle the sensitive skin, cerulean locks brushing your cheek. Under his breath, you can barely make out his muffle word, saying something about don’t understand. 

You slowly trek toward Chongyun’s direction, humming along with familiar tunes. Sudden changes from Chongyun and Xingqiu have no longer made you felt lonely or sadden. Boys at this age are unusual. They aren’t being closed with you as before, no longer inching close to you or hugging you from behind. They are more cautious when being close with you, more mindful when your fingers accidentally graze their.  

If you ask them directly, will they answer you why they're acting like a married woman, always jumping every time you innate skinship?   

You have a feeling they probably won't answer that. 

“ /N… Y/N! ”

Abruptly, you raise your head, forehead almost hitting with Xingqiu’s. Your face is a breath away from his, so close that you can see his long lashes fluttering like a butterfly, shying away from the captivating eyes. His porcelain skin is smooth and flawless, a sudden urge tells you to caress it. A blush slowly creeping up his cheek, and finally, the hydro user shies away, staring at the road.   

Xingqiu clears his throat. “ I was talking to you. You were spacing out again?” You can only offer him a sheepish smile. 

“ S-sorry, I was thinking about something.” 

Xingqiu looks up and stares at your face intently like he is trying to make his way into your maze-like mind. You shift away from his fierce gaze, but the hydro user is faster. His fingers easily catch your face, your cheeks fit perfectly into his cool smooth palm. Xingqiu lets out an amusing chuckle, fingers squishing your cheek playfully like a stress-reliever. 

You feel like he has you wrapped around his little finger, literally. 

“I don’t know what you were thinking, but whatever it is, it’s incorrect.” Despite the mean fingers toying your cheek, his voice is awfully soft and reassuring. Is he trying to comfort you? Carefully, you gloss your eyes over to his direction, observing the mischievous feature on his face slowly melts into a soft and mellow. 

Before you can enjoy the rare gentle side of his, the amber eyes slowly gleam with playfulness, and he leans closer, only stops when your face is just a breath away. His hot breath fanning on your cheek, tickling. He is so close to you, so close that if you tilt your head, our lips will meet. 

“ A moment ago, I said that you shouldn’t let any male hold your hand right?” His voice drops low, golden orb flickers like a torch. What is he planning again?  You carefully nod. 

He isn’t going to… bite you right? 

“ You see, holding hand...” The young man chuckles slyly, the arm was wrapped around your neck makes the way down and nudges into your hand, fingers interlocking. " can easily drifting to this." You turn back fully to face him, the other hand still glazes your cheek. 

“ They can easily slip their arm around you into a hug…” Slowly, the coolness in your palm slips away and snakes around your shoulder.  “Then, they can…” Xingqiu’s grip on your cheek slowly relaxes, fingers slowly inch down on your neck. 

Take a big gulp of saliva, you can only widen your eyes, nervously follow at the tracing fingers of his. His long digits don’t stop after wandering around your neck, they slowly creep up, follow your jaw, and then cup on your cheek. The cooling sensation you craved a moment ago now feels like frost nipping on your skin. Heart thumping loudly in the rib cage, you unconsciously hold your breath, waiting for his next move.    

In the comfortable silence, his thump delicately brushes your cheek, caressing the sensitive skin. You notice his touch is loving and delicate, it makes you want to snuggle your face into his palm, enjoying this lasting moment. 

“…then what?” You open your mouth impatiently, voice light and mushy. 

A light pinkish blush quickly dusts on his cheek, you feel the man in front of you tenses up, but he remains his eye contact with you, refuses to avoid your gaze. His lips quiver but nothing coming out. Is he… hesitating?  Finally, you hear him mumbles something quietly.   

…you

“ What ?” You cock your brows and inch closer, eyes training on his plump lip. They remain still. 

Feeling an intense gaze on your head, you feel a light squeeze on your cheek so you curiously tilt your chin up, just to see Xingqiu leans down and presses a light peck at the corner of your mouth.

His plump lips brush yours like a feather, almost non-touching. It’s soft and plush, but the moment only lasts for a few second. Abruptly, the coolness on your cheek leaves hastily, follows by his sleeveless arm around your shoulder. 

As soon as you realize what just happened, the young master of Feiyun Commerce Guild has already dashed away, leaving a burning tomato behind. You shyly lower your head, face heats up profusely.  Fingers slowly draw up to your lip, you recall the feeling of his lip touching yours. 

You feel like you can combust right here and right now.   

Unknownst to you, if you look in his direction, you might have spotted a pair of red ears and his inelegant falling on his butt.   

[goddamnitkastle]

The Ring

Happy Valentine’s Day!

So I finished my binge watch of the CW’s Nikita and well, I think we all know by now that I just love ripping off scenarios from other media and making Kastle fics. It’s my schtick and I’m gonna run it into the ground.

So here is an unconventional marriage proposal Kastle fic. Honestly this is probably how it would go anyway so it’s not like it’s beyond the realm of reality.

But first I want to give a huge thank you to my beta reader and editor, the amazing @joanofarkansass. This fic was initially, um, rough to put it nicely. But like a fairy godmother, she made it happen with incredible insight and gentle critique. I am literally indebted to you and I cannot thank you enough.

I also want to thank @evilbunnyking for reading the final draft, their awesome support, and catching every misplaced period and comma. Thank you!

And just a heads up, the canon in this is really screwy. Foggy and Karen know that Matt is Daredevil and Daredevil Season 2 is canon but basically just ignore the rest of the Daredevil/The Punisher Netflix/MCU timeline lol. Frank is a free man and clear of all charges here (yes that is unbelievable but just go along with it please and thank you). This is canon divergence borderlining on AU and slightly self indulgent and well, I don’t care ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Enjoy!

Karen pulls up right behind the police cruiser, about a block away from the 15th Precinct. She gets out and knocks on the windshield window, making Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney jerk his head up at her in fear for a fraction of a second.

But once he sees her he lets out an annoyed sigh and gets out. Karen crosses the front of the cruiser to get out of the street and onto the sidewalk, trying to hide her laughter from scaring Brett.

“What’s got you nervous, Mahoney?” Karen asks as he joins her and pockets his keys.

“What’s got me... oh, you know, about to watch Frank Castle walk out and be a free man. Again.”

“Nelson and Murdock won the case. Unfortunately this was not the sequel to The People vs. Frank Castle that New York City was hoping for.”

“That you were hoping for?” Mahoney cracks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No. Well, maybe Ellison was hoping for it, but… look I’m just glad he was acquitted and that justice prevailed. It’ll be a more positive ending to write up.”

Mahoney shakes his head and starts walking toward the precinct. Karen follows and falls into his stride.

“Look, I know he didn’t kill that mobster,” Brett starts. “As crazy as that sounds, given his track record. But he gave us a hell of a time when we arrested him…”

“Do you blame him? In the span of two years, he has been charged and put on trial for murder twice,” Karen says pointedly.

“Well, you didn’t hear me say this but… the guys did a great job convincing everyone that Frank Castle was a changed man.”

“He is a changed man, Brett.”

“Believe me Karen, I know. I thought Frank Castle was scary as a man who had nothing to lose. I was wrong. Apparently I needed to deal with Frank Castle when he’s got someone he cares about…”

Now it’s Karen’s turn to jerk her head up at him.

“What did he say?” she asks.

“Nothing incriminating, your reputation is safe... I guess. But it’s all over the man’s face Karen. He really…”

“I know.”

It’s a tense silence but the look Mahoney gives Karen is more perplexed than judgmental.

“Do Nelson and Murdock know?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Jesus…”

“We kept it quiet for a while but when he was arrested we had to tell them. They’re… slowly coming around to it. Should only take another couple years for them to be sort of okay with us.”

“Yeah I doubt that,” Brett replies sarcastically.

Karen chuckles half heartedly in response.

He quickly sobers up again though. “Well if you’re both happy then… I am glad. You both deserve some happiness after this shit show.”

“Thank you, Brett. That’s really sweet of you.” Karen says, just barely able to hide the emotion in her voice.

“Like I said, you didn’t hear any of this from me. Alright, let’s go get him.”

Just then, the front doors of the precinct building burst open with Matt and Foggy dragging Frank away from a horde of pissed off cops.

“Shit,” Mahoney mutters. He jogs ahead toward the mob with his hands up to stop their hot pursuit.

Karen takes her .380 out of her purse and speed walks toward the commotion. She honestly hopes she’s not gonna have to use it but she’s glad to have the comforting weight of it in her hand. She catches up to Matt and Foggy as they let go of Frank. Matt tilts his head toward her, then lets out a deep sigh.

“Come on Karen, that’s not…” he says as he gestures towards her hand that’s holding her gun.

“It’s just Mahoney, Matt. They’re gonna kill him. We have to help,” Karen insists ardently.

“No, we have to get out of here,” Matt dismisses with a wave of his free hand.

“I’m with Matt on this one, Karen,” Foggy agrees. “You have no idea how lucky we got with this case. And that none of those cops tried to kill him just now.”

“Exactly, because of Brett.” She turns her attention back to Matt, who has his walking stick in a vice grip. “We can’t leave him behind.”

“The cops are just upset. They’d be stupid to try anything. He is their boss, and at the end of the day they have to follow his orders.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Karen argues.

The frustration is palpable between the three of them. Karen just then notices Frank’s silence. She turns to him and takes in his clenched jaw and that trigger finger of his tapping away against his thigh.

“Frank? Are you…”

Just then several loud shouts catch everyone’s attention. Mahoney is on the ground now and a cop has his gun drawn.

“Oh, that’s not…” Foggy gasps.

“Come on Foggy.” Matt grabs Foggy’s arm, leaving Frank and Karen alone.

“Let’s get to the car, Frank. Before this gets a lot worse…”

Frank’s expression had barely changed so when he whips his head toward her she can’t help but take a step back.

“Give me the gun,” Frank commands quickly.

“What? Why?”

“Give me the damn gun, Karen!”

He snatches it from her hands and runs back toward Mahoney and the cops.

“Where are you going?!” Karen shouts incredulously.

“To get your engagement ring!” Frank shouts back.

Karen is stunned and suddenly, the last month comes into focus for her. The jumpiness of his movements whenever she entered a room before he was arrested. His trigger finger tapping away more than usual during the trial. How his bottom lip began to tremble out of nowhere each time she kissed him.

Karen smiles as Frank bolts past Matt and Foggy. He takes on several cops at once, knocking them down like bowling pins. Karen makes her way to the boys as Foggy raises his arms in disbelief while Matt tries to pull him away.

“Unbelievable! Are you kidding me, Castle?!” Foggy yells. “Matt, can’t you do something?”

“I’m in the wrong suit, Foggy.”

“Damn it.”

“Matt is also technically blind Foggy. Do we really want to open that Pandora’s box tonight?” Karen reminds him.

“Come on, let’s get to the car. Looks like we’re gonna have to make an escape. And figure out how we can keep this quiet...” Matt muses.

“We almost got through this damn trial without issue, I swear on the Nelson name…” Foggy groans as he runs his hand over his face.

“Karen, come on,” Matt says as he passes her.

Brett is the last man standing and both men have their guns pointed at each other. Karen is about to join the standoff when Brett holds his hand out and reaches into his back pants pocket. He reveals a ring box. Frank takes it and starts running toward her.

“Go! Go! Go!” Frank hollers at her.

Karen bolts to the car, makes a beeline for the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. Frank joins her a moment later in the passenger seat, flushed pink and his hand wrapped around the ring box.

...

“I’m surprised you didn’t take me to Metro General. Or get us back in that service elevator at the hotel…”

Frank laughs and Karen is relieved that the last 24 hours haven’t deterred Frank.

“Seriously, what was your proposal plan?” She teases as she pokes him in the arm.

“Just... trust me Karen. Okay?”

The Williamsburg Bridge is shadowed by a deep orange sunset as they walk hand in hand. Frank suddenly stops and Karen’s stomach drops. He turns to her, tears in his eyes as he exhales a shaky breath.

Suddenly Karen can’t catch her breath, everything is about to change and she isn’t sure she is ready for it. “Frank, you don’t have to do this…”

“Yes I do. It’s tradition and I’m a traditional man. And the hell I went through to get this ring to you... I want to do this right.”

He gets down on one knee and Karen covers her mouth with her hand. Frank produces the ring box in his hand and opens it. It’s simple; a small, oval diamond on a silver band. It’s perfect.

“Karen. A long time ago now, in some diner, I told you that you had everything with a man that I thought you deserved to be with. I told you to hold onto it, use two hands, and never let go. But the truth was he didn’t deserve you. And I honestly don’t either. But I will spend whatever remaining days I have to be worthy of someone like you. I love you. Karen Page, will you marry me?”

Karen hoists Frank off the ground, holding his face in between her hands. Any doubt she was holding onto is gone now.

“You had me at ‘Give me the damn gun, Karen.’”

They both laugh as Karen holds out her left hand. Frank takes the ring out of the box, caresses her hand before sliding the ring into place. They crash into each other, their hands wrapped around each other’s necks.

“I love you too, Frank Castle,” she says when they finally break apart. She takes his hand as the darkness settles in around them. But the ring doesn’t feel like the weight of her .380. Rather it feels like it has always been there. Like home. And she’ll fight like hell to keep it that way and so will Frank. They’re in this together now.

[spiderparkerpeterman]

kissing your best friend

anonymous asked: Hi this is a rly cringe-y request huhu but do u know the “i try kissing my best friend” tiktok trend? [...] Hehe sorry it’s v specific but lots of changes are up to u ofc ily

this fic made me feel real old, i'll tell you that. but it was fun to write! specific requests are good sometimes. i had no idea what this trend was before the request, so it was a cute learning experience. thanks so much for the request! i've shortened it as to not give away the plot.

content: fluff, tiny bit of angst, peter parker the awkward gen z wildcard

warnings: i only use tiktok to let out meme steam and it shows, really bad twerking

word count: 1579 (whoops i went off hard)

--

peter was a nervous wreck. he had invited you over to his apartment- not an unusual occurrence- and led you into his bedroom- this happened all the time- and set up his cracked and duct-taped laptop so you could watch silly youtube videos together while curled up on his bed- what was new?- with a bowl of popcorn rested in-between his crossed legs. but this normal, everyday situation wasn't why he was borderline sweating, his heart pounding, fingers shaking.

it was that damn tiktok he'd seen earlier this morning. he had woken up and scrolled through tiktok to see what was new and popular. he came across one, where a girl was holding her phone with a guy behind her, the two smiling, the caption saying "this is my best friend". there were a few clips of them being all cute and whatnot until it said "i decided to kiss him!" and then she had tapped him on the shoulder, held his face and pulled him in, sharing a kind of awkward kiss, until they broke apart and her best friend leant in again and the video looped. something within peter's chest had done double flips, only intensifying when he thought of maybe... maybe doing that with you.

and now here you were, on his bed, laughing at the meme compilation you two were watching- well, that you were watching, while peter daydreamed and sweated some more- eating popcorn that you were getting from a bowl in-between his legs, being all cute and sweet and pretty. but he wanted to do this. he really wanted to do this. he'd liked you for ages, after you had run into each other at the same circuit in gym class and he had taught you the proper form for situps. the way you had smiled at him, completed your circuit and jogged off and then later caught up with him at lunch to say thanks and "maybe we should hang out sometime?" had made him obsessed. it had got to the point where even ned was throwing hints that you liked him and he liked you and wouldn't you two make such a cute couple? and then you were paired up together for a spanish project and the way the language rolled off your tongue made him fall even deeper in love and-

peter had to do this. for ned's sanity. for his own sanity. because if he didn't do this soon he would give up and maybe kiss you in the middle of class or something.

he cleared his throat, prompting you to look at him.

"can i make a tiktok?" he asked, his voice somewhat strained. "there's this thing going around where people show off their best friends, it's pretty nice."

"oh, sure," you replied sitting up. "what do you want me to do?"

peter pursed his lips, unlocking his phone and opening tiktok. he went into his bookmarked sounds, selected that song to make a tiktok with, and then held it up like he was going to take a selfie. "maybe just like smile and wave? and then i wanna get a few videos of us just doing our everyday things, y'know?"

you nodded, taking a second to fix your hair. peter pressed record and grinned, somewhat nervously. you also smiled softly, raising a hand and waving. he stopped the recording, and the two of you collapsed into giggles.

"sorry, that was really awkward," he groaned.

"you're really awkward," you countered, running a hand through your hair. "what's next?"

"i dunno... maybe just you mucking around? i, uh, i really don't know!" peter laughed.

you rolled your eyes with a grin, getting off peter's bed and standing up. peter was typing a caption for the portion of the video, so you waited for him. he held the phone camera up at you.

"what are you gonna do?" he asked. you looked off at the side, considering, but while you were doing that peter pressed record.

"you should dance with me," you said. peter put his phone down, and you gasped. "did you- you just filmed that!"

"yeah, i did," peter laughed. he felt his nervousness fading away as he joked around with you, so he felt like he could really do this. "you wanna dance?"

"yeah," you replied, leaning forward to grab his hands gently and pull him up. peter felt his skin burnup where you were touching him, but he smiled. "set your phone up, and we'll dance."

"what kind of dance?" peter asked as he bent back down to get his phone, crossing his room to set it up on a shelf at shoulder-height so that the video would capture your antics. he selected how long to record hands-free, but didn't press record just yet. he turned to you.

"you should twerk," you suggested jokingly, but peter had an idea. he pressed record, smirking, ran over to you, and started shaking his butt at you. the acoustic music played, nowhere near suitable enough for his "twerking". you laughed aloud and started mockingly hitting his butt. you messed around for a few more seconds, even after peter's phone stopped recording.

he stood back up and nudged you, laughing. his face was bright red, and you laughed even harder at that. he went back to get his phone and selected another few seconds to record hands-free.

"what should we do now?" he asked.

"not sure," you replied, crossing the room to rest your head on his shoulder. you reached out and pressed record for him. "i could just stare at you creepily like this."

the music started playing so you widened your eyes and stared intently at him, but peter immediately burst out laughing and knocked your head off his shoulder. you grinned at the camera just as it finished recording.

"okay," peter said, selecting the last bit to film. this was it. "now i want you to stand here, and like make weird faces at the camera or something, i don't know."

"i can do that," you replied, standing next to him.

he reached out and pressed the record, looking at you through the phone's capture as you put two peace signs up. he smiled then turned, and gently cradled your face, turning it towards him. he leant in, hearing you gasp and feeling you also lean in and-

a loud ding came from his phone- a police alert. he sprung away from you, swearing. you looked away from him, your cheeks bright pink. he left tiktok, now playing the loop of the tiktok, and went into his police app, seeing a shootout in brooklyn.

"i have to go," he stammered, rushing around his room to take off his clothes- you looked away pointedly- put his spider-man suit on, find his spare web fluid just in case and where the hell was his mask? he stopped just as he was about to climb out the window.

"stay here," he said, "please. i'll be back soon. just stay. i'll explain everything, i promise."

he lept from the window, leaving you shellshocked, webbing himself up and away. he almost smacked into multiple buildings on his way over to the shootout, too distracted to really pay attention.

did you really lean in?

he arrived at the scene, not saying his usual quips as he pulled guns away and webbed people to walls and avoided the hail of bullets coming his way and broke one guy's nose.

no, he totally imagined it.

when he had dealt with everyone he didn't stop to chat with the police, just webbed himself back to where you were, hopefully waiting, please be waiting...

he leaned in really quickly, and he was nervous, but maybe...?

he clambered back into his window and pulled off his mask. you were curled up on his desk chair, scrolling through your phone. he stared at you.

"i looked it up," you said, not looking at him, your voice quiet, "best friend tiktoks. the only thing that came up was kissing your best friend."

it took peter a few seconds to open his throat back up. "yeah."

you looked at him, something sad in your eyes.

"did you-"

"i only-"

peter bit his lip, gesturing for you to speak first. "go."

you took a deep breath. "did you- did you just do it for views? it's a kinda popular trend and so i was just wondering... i mean, it'd kinda suck if you did, and i mean- um..." you trailed off, looking away again.

"i- no, i just... uh, did you see that most people who do it have a crush on their best friends?" he asked, hoping you'd get the message.

you looked at him again, confused. but then that confusion morphed into comprehension, and then that comprehension morphed into hope and-

"you mean it?" you whispered.

peter threw his mask away somewhere, striding up to you and pulled your hands up so you'd stand. he held your face again, so gently, as you stared back at him with your big eyes, and leaned in. your lips touched, and something exploded in peter's chest. he shifted an arm to your waist, holding you tight against him, as your arms snaked around his neck, holding him closer.

a few moments later, you broke apart, your face bright pink again. peter knew his face was just as bright.

"i think we need to adjust the tiktok," he murmured, before leaning in to kiss you again.

[softboywriting]

Welcome To The Pack | Mendes Triplets Series | Part Two

Summary: You’re a human who has moved in with the Mendes triplets as their newest housemate. You’ll have to learn to navigate life with werewolves, college classes, and your feelings for each guy.

Word Count: 980

|Masterlist In Bio|

"Can I help?"

You look up from your notes and see Peter at your bedroom door. He's in pajamas again, it seemed like he was always dressed in sleepwear. He's such a soft boy though, the comfy clothes makes sense. "I don't think so. I'm just taking notes for my history presentation on Wednesday."

"Oh. Well, can I come in?"

"Uh, sure?"

Peter sits down beside you on the bed and crosses his legs under him. He grabs some of your loose pages of notes and makes a humming noise. You glance over and he's reading them quietly, shaking his head. "You should take your notes differently."

You stop writing and stare at him. "What? Why?"

"Because, your brain isn't going to absorb as much if you're just writing everything down just like a shopping list." Peter grabs your notebook and scoots closer so he's pressed against your side. "Let me show you."

You watch as he makes groups on the page and starts copying your notes. He divides them by subject, putting your notes about people under one column, places in another and events in another.  "That's a good idea."

"Mmhmm." He passes the notebook back to you so you can finish. "It helps me remember for sure."

"What're you going to school for?"

"Astrophysics."

You raise your eyebrows. "Damn."

Peter smiles bashfully. "What? It's just science."

"Space science."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Just science."

You reach out and pick a piece of pink fuzz from your blanket off of his sweatshirt. "I think it's cool."

"Really? I know werewolves usually just like are thought of as fighters and laborers or like athletes, but I want to change that. Even just a little. I want to be the first werewolf to work at NASA."

"You'll do it." You grin and he flushes as he pushes up his glasses. "Dr. Peter Mendes, head astrophysicist for NASA."

"That's the dream." He sighs softly. "One day. How about you?"

"I'm going to be a teacher."

"That's awesome. Little kids or like a professor?"

"Grade school kids. I'm aiming for kindergarten or first graders."

Peter smiles big. "You're gonna be such a good teacher."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because if you're patient enough to deal with me and my brothers, kids will probably be a cake walk."

You chuckle. "I suppose so. You guys are good training."

"Glad to be at your service." He says with a salute and you shove him playfully. What a goof.

_____________________

A month into living with the Mendes boys and you almost start to regret it. Individually they're pretty chill. Peter loves to tell you about space and hangout while you do homework. Raul always seems to have a different question for you every few days, infinitely curious about why you want to live with them and borderline suspicious of you, you think. And Shawn, well, Shawn is a sweetheart. He's always making sure you're comfortable and happy and healthy. But when the boys get together, it's madness. Already you've overheard four flights in the last two weeks.

"Raul, clean up your shit your animal!" Shawn yells from the bathroom. This will be the start of a fifth fight. Always over the stupidest thing too.

"What? What'd I do now?" Raul asks, walking toward the bathroom. "What's pissed off Shawnie boy now?"

Shawn glares at him.

"What?" Raul asks angrily.

You walk out of your room and step past the two of them just outside the bathroom. You really need to wash your face before you go to bed. With a history of acne, it's not something you want to skip doing.

"There's a wad of hair in the tub drain, clothes behind the door, shaving remnants in the sink. Come on dude, you're gross."

"Oh big deal." Raul rolls his eyes. "Stop being such a little bitch."

Shawn growls and you look over from the sink. You may have never lived with werewolves, but you have known a few in your lifetime. Growling like that meant a challenge.

Raul growls in return. Just past Shawn's shoulder you can see his face curled up in a snarl, teeth showing and eyes golden. It's pretty terrifying and you don't particularly want to be in the middle of this argument. Hearing them was bad enough and if this was anything like the last one, it is bound to get rough.

"Can you guys take this outside?" You ask quietly, towel drying your face. Maybe there's a chance they will listen to you.

Shawn turns to look at you and you swallow hard. He's just as terrifying as Raul, possibly more so. The tension between the two of them is palpable. Suddenly you're very aware how defenseless you are compared to the likes of them and how you would stand no chance if they started fighting.

"Shawn, stop, she's scared." Raul says, shoving his brothers shoulder, face returning to it's normal features.

"Sorry." Shawn mumbles, face relaxing a well, eyes and teeth going back to normal. "I didn't think about scaring you...I'm sorry."

"It's okay." You mutter, stepping past Shawn to go down the hall. You don't want to stick around in case they start arguing again.

"Look what you did," Raul says angrily.

Shawn growls. "You aren't any better."

A while later Peter comes to your room, slipping in the cracked open door. You aren't asleep. He sits on the end of the bed and shakes your foot.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah?"

"You should be sleeping. Are you awake because of Shawn and Raul?" Peter sighs. "They can be obnoxious, but I promise they won't hurt you."

You sit up. "It's just something I have to get used to. It's alright, I'm not scared now."

Peter leans in and puts his arm around you in a small hug. "I promise I'll try to make them fight less."

"Thank you Peter."

"You're welcome."

———–

End Part two

———-

thank you for reading! please reblog if you enjoyed. Part three coming soon! - A

customer header per part made by the incredible delicateshawn

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[master-sass-blast]

The Literal Crack Fic

Whoooo boy, this one’s a doozy.

Summary: You wind up overdosing after falling into a vat of cocaine and inadvertently inhaling too much of it.

The fic makes more sense than the summary, I promise.

Rating: M for accidental drug usage, seizures, drug-induced psychosis and hallucinations, drug overdose, drug withdrawal, cocaine, and hospitalization.

Like I said, this one’s a doozy.

Massive thank you to @leo-writer for proofing this fic for me and making sure my tired brain Englished properly! <3

Taglist: @chromecutie, @marvel-is-perfection, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @starman-thorsus-canos-jock

Also, to anyone who is struggling with drug addiction, who knows someone struggling with drug addiction, or has struggled with drug addiction: you are a beautiful human battling a dangerous and difficult beast. Your beauty and value are not and will never be diminished by the beast or the fight, I promise. <3

I thought it best to find a few resources to help those struggling with drug addiction. Obviously, I’m one person, so I can possibly cover every country. If someone knows the hotline for their country --or thinks of one I didn’t mention for a country I have listed--please include it in a reblog or a comment!

US:

-https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline

-http://drughelpline.org/cocaine-hotline/

UK:

-https://www.nhs.uk/live-well/healthy-body/cocaine-get-help/

Australia:

-https://au.reachout.com/articles/cocaine

-https://adf.org.au/help-support/

You watch, satisfied, as your fiancé hauls off a group of mutant drug runners towards the X-Jet.

Charles had gotten the call a couple weeks ago; a team of mutants was using their abilities to run drugs through New York, and had gotten too dangerous for the regular authorities to handle. The X-Men had been asked to take in the mutants, and Charles had handed off the task of tracking the group’s hideout down to Nate and Wade.

Earlier today, the two had called the other members of the X-Force with the news that they’d found the drug runners. Within fifteen minutes, the X-Jet had been in the air and on its way towards upstate New York.

And, well, everything had gone pretty smoothly from there.

Wade groans as he stretches. “Fuck, I should’ve stretched my hammies more. I’m gonna be sore for like… another two minutes.”

“You’ll forget how you hurt yourself before the two minutes are up,” Ellie snarks.

“Yes, but until they are, I’m gonna be in agony!” Wade gripes. “Dammit! Why do my hamstrings hurt so bad?”

“Ellie, why don’t you and Yukio go help out Piotr,” you say, nodding at the jet. “Wade, Nate, Neena, and I will try to track down the runners’ stash so we can hand it off to the proper authorities.”

“Minus a serious chunk!” Wade adds as he starts skipping towards the warehouse the runners had been holed up in. “Because daddy needs a restock!”

“Absolutely not,” you fire back as you trail after him.

“Since when did you start sounding like Colossus?”

“Since we can’t afford to look like we’re skimming drugs, dorkus. What were they running?”

“Cocaine,” Nathan answers as he stops Wade from fiddling with various lab equipment on set of tables stationed on the far wall of the warehouse. “Decent grade stuff, and a lot of it from the looks of our recon.”

“I’m guessing there isn’t going to be a big sign with flashing neon lights that says ‘we hid our drugs here?’” you quip as you scan the warehouse for any clues about the drug stash’s whereabouts.

Nathan smirks. “Probably not, no.”

“We’ll find it,” Neena says confidently as she pulls out her phone and taps at the screen. “I’m feeling… two minutes and fifty seconds.”

“Still lazy writing,” Wade says as he turns a Bunsen burner on and off until Nate slaps his hand away.

You chuckle, then start walking the perimeter of the warehouse. The flooring’s wooden and somewhat rotted, so you have to watch your step in a couple places.

“Look, I’m not saying I’m an expert!” Wade protests mid-argument with Nate. “I’m just saying I’ve hidden cocaine before, and we should absolutely be looking for a hollowed-out statue of Betty Boop firing a machine gun into Stalin!”

“You’re the only person on the face of the earth who even has that statue.”

“Not true! The artist on Etsy made three.”

You snort and continue walking the perimeter, scanning the floor for any sign of where the drugs might be hidden –hello.

In the far-right corner of the warehouse is an area where a square has been cut through the floor.

You pry it up and peer down in the cavity beneath it –and, sure enough, there’s several slabs of cocaine at the bottom.

You pop up just as Neena’s phone timer goes off. “Over here!”

Neena cheers. “How about that!”

You jump up and down as you cheer with her—

Then shriek as you land on the hidey-hole panel and plummet through the floor.

You land on the slabs of cocaine –which, admittedly, aren’t too shabby for breaking a fall—and send up a veritable mushroom cloud of the drug into the warehouse. You cough, wheeze, and sneeze as you try to fan the coke away from your face.

And then, from the floor above you, comes the most horrified, blood-curdling shriek you’ve heard in your life. There’s a rush of footsteps on the floor, then Wade practically dives in with you because he can’t stop in time. He manages to catch himself on the lip of the floor, repositions himself so he’s laying down on his stomach, partially hanging over the ledge, then hauls you out by your collar, all while screaming “Get out of there! Get out of there! Get out of there!”

You hack and swipe at your face as you plop onto the floor of the warehouse. “Oh, fuck. That’s worse than the time I dropped that ten-pound bag of powdered sugar.”

Wade seems to be too busy having a nervous breakdown to notice your quip, though. “Oh, fuck! Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god! Fucking monkeys on a stick! Oh, sweet balls have mercy, no!”

“Relax,” you say as you stand and brush yourself off. “I didn’t hit my head; I’m fine.”

“I will not fucking relax!” Wade snaps at you. “I think I fucking shit my pants when you fell down in there, so no! No relaxing! No relaxes ever again! This is the worst possible situation to have ever happened in the history of the universe, including the invention of polyester boxers! Holy shit, Colossus is gonna kill us! He’s gonna kill me!”

“Wade, take a breath,” Neena interjects firmly. “Colossus isn’t going to kill anyone. It was an accident. You didn’t even do anything.”

“He most certainly will if his precious fiancée dies, which is exactly what’s gonna happen to her!”

“Wade, calm down,” Nathan says. “Y/N’s not going to die.”

“Yes, she is, you fucking imbecile!” Wade snarls –and his tone, combined with the fact he’s snapping at Nathan, really settles that he’s being completely serious. “She’s on antidepressants! You can’t mix those with cocaine! Even I don’t mix those with cocaine! Fuck, we need to get her to a hospital. We needed to get her to a hospital five minutes ago! Fuck, why are we still standing here?”

“You’ve been monologuing,” Neena offers.

“Dammit! Not the time! Bad me!” He slaps himself. “Ow!”

“I can just fly myself there,” you say, voice thready with anxiety because you’re starting to get the picture of just how fucked you might be.

“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Wade clasps your shoulders in a way that would’ve been gentle if he hadn’t been death-gripping them due to being so worked up. “No, nobody’s flying anywhere except in the jet. You need to keep your heart rate as slow as possible. Just stay calm. Everybody’s cool, everybody’s fine, this is totally chill, nobody’s shit their pants and nobody’s going to die, except for maybe you –fuck! Where is Piotr?”

“He’s handing off the criminals to the authorities,” Nate supplies, peering out the warehouse door. “They’ve got some kind of court case they need the guys for.”

“Dammit! This is no time for the boy scout act!”

“Come on.” Neena takes your arm and starts walking you towards the door. “We need to at least get her on the jet.”

 ***

 So, as it turns out, cocaine feels pretty fucking great.

You’re borderline vibrating when Piotr all but sprints onto the jet, followed closely by Wade. “Hi, babe!” you chirp, words coming out in rush. “How’re you? Are you good? I’m really good. I’m super buzzy. Are you super buzzy? Did you eat any bees?”

“How did this happen?” Piotr asks as he kneels in front of you, looking you over with a distraught expression.

“She fell through the floor, I swear to Cthulhu,” Wade says as he frantically strips you out of your jacket. “How’s she doing?”

“Temperature and heart rate are elevated, but other than that she’s been okay,” Neena says.

“We need to get her to a hospital,” Wade insists.

“Already called McCoy,” Nathan calls from the cockpit as he goes through the stages of lift off. “He called the hospital that works with the Institute; they’re already waiting for her.”

You press your sweaty forehead against Piotr’s shoulder, relishing in the cool temperature of his armor. “You feel good, baby. Just like your dick does when you fuck me.”

Piotr hugs you gently. “Just stay calm, dorogoy. Focus on breathing.”

“Oh, I can do that. I am so focused right now. I am the most focused I’ve ever been.”

“Very good. Try to stop talking and just focusing on breathing, pozhaluysta.”

“Okay, I’ll try not to talk, even though it’s really easy right now. It’s like I’ve got entire dictionaries in my head all at once, and they’re all pouring words into my brain, and I have to make sure I let the words out so my head doesn’t explode. Wait, am I still talking?”

“How much longer to hospital?” Piotr asks.

“Ten minutes,” Nathan replies from the cockpit.

Piotr shifts so he’s sitting in the seat and holding you in his lap. “Deep breaths, dorogaya moya. Focus on breathing.”

You’re too focused on tracing the ridges on his forearms with your fingers to really do that, but you are staying calm. Honestly, you feel really good. You’re alert, your brain feels like it’s going a billion miles an hour, and you feel really happy.

Granted, you could do without your chest feeling so tight, but you can’t have everything. You cough a little, then go back to tracing Piotr’s arm ridges with your fingers.

“Alright, Y/N.” Neena squats in front of you. “We have to do some tests to see where your cognitive function is at, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, drawing out the ‘a,’ while you continue to trace Piotr’s arm ridges. Wait, didn’t I just do his wrist?

“Good. Can you tell me your name?”

You let out another burst of coughing before answer. “Y/N M/N L/N.”

“Okay. What’s today’s date?”

“Uh…” You cough again, harder this time, then rattle off the date.

“Good. Can you tell me your date of birth?”

“Uh… uh… oh, it’s—” Before you can answer, you start coughing again, hard and long enough to make you start wheezing.

“Are you okay?” Neena asks as you double over. “Do you need some oxygen?”

You start crying, out of breath and more than a little disoriented. “I can’t breathe. My chest’s too tight, I can’t breathe.”

“Let’s get you some oxygen,” Neena decides, walking away to get a tank and mask.

Piotr rubs your back and helps you stay steady as you keep wheezing. “Try to stay calm. I know you are scared, but we are almost to hospital. Everything will be better soon.”

You weep against his shoulder—

Then suck in a harsh breath when you see your mother standing across the plane’s interior, glaring at you.

“What is it?” Piotr asks when you scream. “Moya lyubov’, what’s wrong?”

“My mom!” you hack out between bouts of coughing and wheezing. “Get her away from me!”

“Myshka… your mother is not here.”

Neena curses up a blue streak as she sets an oxygen canister next to your fiancé. “Wade! Get in here! She’s hallucinating!”

There’s the sounds of general panic and chaos from the cockpit, then Wade bursts into the main area of the jet. “Fuck—”

Everything goes black after that.

 ***

 Beep… beep… beep…

You wish someone would turn your alarm clock off. It’s hard enough to sleep with something stuck to your face, but the continuous beeping in your ear makes it borderline impossible.

Beep… beep… beep…

Maybe it’s one of those alarms that keeps going until you solve some sort of puzzle or something. You tried installing one of those on your phone at one point, but Piotr had to keep solving them to turn the alarm off because you’d sleep through the damn thing anyway, which kind of defeated the purpose of getting a special alarm to begin with.

Beep… beep… beep…

No…

Beep… beep… beep…

No, wait…

Beep… beep… beep…

That’s a pulse monitor.

Aw, shit.

You open your eyes with a slight snort and peer up into blinding whiteness.

You’re in a hospital room. Fucking fantastic.

“Easy, easy,” someone says –it’s Piotr, you recognize his voice even if you can’t see him—while you shield your eyes against the lights. “Hold still. I will turn lights down.”

You relax as the lights dim down to a more respectable level, then start trying to look around for your boyfriend –except you can’t really move; every single movement –even down to the twitch of your fingers—feels like you’re swimming through molasses.

Then there’s the sensation of the bed dipping on your left side, and Piotr’s face appears in your field of vision.

He cups your face gently in his hands, rubbing your cheeks with the utmost delicacy. He’s smiling, but his baby blue eyes are watering with unshed tears. “Privet, myshka. How are you feeling?”

You try to reply, but you can feel the thing on your face somewhat impeding the movement of your face. You try to reach towards it to move it away, but you have all the limb coordination of a newborn giraffe at the moment.

“Careful, careful,” Piotr cautions, taking your hand in his. “Oxygen mask. You were having difficulty breathing.”

Well. That explains that.

“Where… am I?” you rasp as you try to get your bearings.

“Hospital,” Piotr says. “You… you had seizure from cocaine. They had to give you some drugs to calm you down.”

You frown as you try to piece together what he’s saying. “I… can’t remember…”

“It is okay. Doctors said that might happen. Speaking of which—” he picks up the little remote attached to your bed “—I need to call your nurse so she can check on you.”

***

 The full story is such: you inhaled enough cocaine to cause an overdose, and that combined with the interaction between the coke and your meds caused you to experience psychosis before you started seizing. You blacked out when the seizure started, then lost consciousness when you started convulsing. Fortunately, the convulsions only started when you were two minutes away from the hospital. The team there was able to treat you almost immediately –with bendodiazepines, which is a fun word to say—and put you in a room for observations once they were able to stop the effects of the seizure and the overdose.

You don’t remember anything that happened on the jet, and barely anything from the mission itself or the incident in the warehouse –which, all things considered, might be for the best. You’ve got enough traumatic memories to deal with as is.

All in all, you’re tired. Between the mission, the overdose, the seizure, and the drugs they gave you to calm your body down, you feel like you’ve been awake for a week straight. You manage to stay conscious while the nurse checks you over and ascertains your memory recall –average, considering what you went through—but once she leaves, you’re out like a light.

You wake up a couple other times –once to go to the bathroom, once because Piotr sneezes—but otherwise you remain konked out well into the evening, when you wake up to a quiet cacophony of voices in your room.

At first, you almost right it off as having some sort of strange dream or semi-conscious auditory hallucination –except you pick up on that the voices are speaking Russian, and hey!

You open your eyes, and sure enough the rest of the Rasputin family is in your room, greeting Piotr and speaking to him and hushed, worried Russian.

Illyana, unsurprisingly, notices you’re awake first. “Hey.

Piotr’s by your side in an instant, pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead. “Privet, sleepyhead. How are you?”

“Really hungry,” you say, which is punctuated by your stomach gurgling. “Can I eat something?”

He kisses your forehead again before standing. “I will go ask nurse.”

Alexandra takes his spot as he strides out of the room, clasping your hand in hers and rubbing gentle circles on the back of it. “How are you, malen'kaya ptitsa?”

“Drugged as fuck,” you answer with a tiny smile. “I can’t… can’t remember most of what happened.”

“That is what medvezhonok said. He sounded very panicked over the phone.”

“It was pretty bad, apparently,” you say.

Mikhail grunts in agreement. “Uppers and antidepressants do not mix.” He holds up his hands defensively when Alexandra and Nikolai pin him with sharp looks. “Not speaking from experience! Just saying.”

You chuckle tiredly, then refocus on Alexandra. “Why are you guys here? I thought you were in Russia.”

“We were,” Nikolai pipes up. “We get call, then we come.”

You frown as you try to do the math. “But… the flight…”

“We teleport in emergencies,” Alex says with a conspiratorial wink. “Medvezhonok needs us. As do you. We are here to help until you’re back on your feet.”

You smile at them, chest swelling with appreciation and love. “Thank you.”

Alex just shakes her head and pats your hand. “We are family. It’s what we do.”

***

 The doctor on rotation comes in while you’re eating dinner. He checks your chart, asks you and Piotr a few questions about your medical history, then delivers what just might be the worst news of your life.

“I’m going to be here for a week?”

Okay, maybe ‘worst news of your life’ is a touch dramatic, but still.

“It’s standard practice with seizure patients,” he explains. “We need to make sure you’re stable, especially since it’ll take time for the cocaine to leave your system and you’re on antidepressants. Speaking of which, how familiar are you with drug withdrawal?”

You frown. “I mean… I’ve had painkillers after surgeries before.”

He quirks his mouth to one side, then shakes his head. “Not quite what I mean. You might experienced some minor side effects with that, but cocaine withdrawal is an entirely different beast. Even with your advanced constitution, you’re going to be in a world of hurt for a while.”

“What are we looking at?” Piotr asks.

“Well, typically, cocaine crash happens within the first week after taking the dose. Users who crash often go through various psychological side effects –increased anxiety, irritability and depressive symptoms—along with physical ones –chills, impaired coordination, exhaustion, and so on. Weeks one through four usually constitute the withdrawal part of the process. Again, there’s more of the symptoms I just mentioned, but also an uptick in nightmares, muscle and nerve pain, and difficulty concentrating. She’s basically going to need intensive care from her support system during the withdrawal process; there’s a reason why most centers that help people get clean are live-in facilities.”

“But I’ve never even done anything recreational before,” you insist. “I barely even drink.”

“And that’s definitely in your favor. The fact that you don’t have any preexisting habits puts you ahead of the game. But drug withdrawals severely impact brain chemistry,” the doctor explains patiently. “You’re not going to be yourself or think like you usually do. Your brain will be going through a depletion of endorphins, especially dopamine, and it’s going to drive you to possibly do some incredibly risky things to get more.”

“How do we keep her safe?” Piotr asks, expression concerned.

“Close supervision, for one. Making sure she’s comfortable, that she has the assistance she needs, and that she’s not isolated are going to be key. Keeping her closely in touch with her therapist or someone who specializes with helping addicts with be important, too.”

“But I’m not an addict,” you argue.

“You’re not, but specialists have more experience addressing the problems you’ll be facing. The goal is to help you as effectively as possible. Also, make a point to limit any other substances she could have access to –alcohol, prescription drugs, even over the counter stuff. People who do cocaine often try to get another hit by switching over to a different drug, and we don’t want to risk further complications. Do you live with her?”

Piotr nods.

“Good. You need to be in control of her medication until she’s completely recovered. I know it sounds ridiculous,” he adds when you make a noise of protest, “but this is a deathly serious situation. The odds of you overdosing via trying to get another high are exponentially higher right now. This is about keeping you safe.”

“But I don’t need to get another high!” you insist. “I’m fine!”

The doctor sighs and braces his forearms against his knees. “You inhaled a lot of cocaine when you fell into that vat. Between that and the benzodiazepines we gave you to stop the overdose seizure, you’re still high right now. You aren’t feeling any withdrawal symptoms because your body still has a lot of drugs in its system. Believe me, when they do hit, you will feel them and want to do anything to make them stop.” He favors you with a sympathetic smile. “This isn’t about you being a bad person, or an addict, or anything like that. The situation was an accident, and your intentions are good, but cocaine is a serious drug. All of this is for your safety, I promise you.”

You sigh –and reach for Piotr’s hand because all of this is more than a little terrifying—and nod. “Okay. What happens when I go back home?”

“I’ve instructed Dr. McCoy to keep you in observation for another three days, just to make sure your antidepressants are still interacting properly with your system. If all of that goes well, you’ll be free to resume normal life –under supervision, of course.”

You do your best not to pout. It’s for my own safety. “How long do I have to be supervised for?”

“Cocaine stays in the system for a long time. While withdrawal symptoms usually stop around the fourth week, the elimination stage –which is where the drug starts fully leaving your system and the risk of relapsing gets progressively smaller—can take up to five weeks on its own. Given that you have a slight healing factor and that you don’t have any other substance abuse problems, I would wager you might shave a week off of that cumulative total, but not much more than that.”

You grimace. “Ten weeks? I have to be supervised for ten weeks?”

“The supervision can be less restrictive as you progress through the weeks of the elimination phase, but yes, essentially. I’d advise setting rewards and goals for yourself at each milestone to help things progress better. The hospital staff will be providing you with some information about drug withdrawal and treatment before you leave; it should have suggestions for some good milestones to implement.”

You sigh, then look over at Piotr. “Here’s hoping you don’t get sick of me in that time.”

He smiles fondly at you and kisses your cheek. “Never.”

 ***

 Withdrawal hits like a bitch.

You’re cold. Downright freezing. No matter how many blankets you shiver under, you can’t get warm.

The monitor you’re hooked up to, however, says that your temperature is staying at a healthy level, the lying little bitch.

“I swear to Danny Devito that thing is mocking me,” you grumble as you eye the readout of the traitorous device. “There’s no way my temperature’s normal.”

“Give it time, myshka,” Piotr says as he loads up a spoon with more ‘berry blast’ yogurt; your coordination is still completely tanked, so he’s taken to feeding you for the time being like the absolute angel he is. “You will feel better eventually.”

You groan and grudgingly eat more yogurt. “I just want to feel better now.”

“I know, moya lyubov’. I know.”

***

 The anxiety is worse.

Even though you’re still on your anti-depressants –score one to the latent healing factor and overall hardiness mutation there, if you’d had to go off those too you might’ve lost your mind—the crash and slow withdrawals from the coke you’d accidentally taken is enough to put you on a knife blade’s edge. You feel like you’re continually one split second away from a panic attack, no matter how much deep breathing or meditating you do.

Fortunately for you, though, Piotr is a dedicated partner and fiancé who knows just about every trick in the books to help you relax. He has Ellie –who has her license now, which is kind of hard to believe, you swear she just turned sixteen yesterday—bring your favorite movies from the house and generally helps you stay distracted. When you do tip over into a panic attack, he’s right by your side and stays there until you ride it out.

You’re not sure where you’d be without him –here, and in life in general.

 ***

 The exhaustion, however, is what really kills it.

You can’t remember a time where you’ve ever been more tired. Missions, flying out to your uncles, your various escape attempts, flying to the X-Mansion for the first time, escaping kidnapping attempts, that one time you decided to stay awake for three days because Piotr was off on a mission and it sounded like fun and then he came back home to you being borderline delirious and attempting to cook Bagel Bites in the toaster (sorry, Piotr)…

It goes past being just “tired.” You’re exhausted all the way down to your bones, to the point where you can barely move or eat or do anything, and no amount of sleeping makes it better.

Worse still is that Piotr seems determined to keep you on a somewhat normal sleep cycle –which, okay, you need to be on one for the sake of your mental health, but you’re so damn tired that it almost seems pointless.

You sob when he rouses you from yet another nap. “Please,” you beg, “please, baby, I’m so tired, just let me sleep…”

Piotr wipes away your tears and kisses your forehead gently. “I know, moya lyubov’, but it is not good to sleep all day. Besides, it is time to eat.”

“I don’t want to,” you weep. “I just want to sleep, please just let me sleep!”

He hugs you gently, careful not to disrupt the hookup to the heart monitor, and presses his lips to the top of your head. “I know, but you need to take medication. Besides, I brought your favorite.”

You pry your eyes open, sniffling –and sure enough, he’s brought a food container from home stuffed with chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, the works. “Can I sleep after I eat?”

“After a bit. You should try to stay awake for little bit.”

You whimper and try to turn away from him. “No—”

“I know, I know.” He smooths your hair away from your face in a soothing fashion. “And I am so sorry, moya lyubov’, but you know it’s best for you.”

You sniff inelegantly, then turn back towards him and take the box. “Fine. But I’m not sharing my bacon.”

Piotr chuckles and kisses your temple. “Whatever helps you get through it, myshka.”

(You wind up sharing your bacon anyway.)

 ***

 Despite your misery, the week passes quickly enough –which probably has to do with your general disorientation regarding the passage of time, what with your exhaustion and all, which only adds to your suffering.

The Rasputin family takes various turns watching over you and keeping you company while Piotr gets sleep or attends to his duties as an X-Men and general overseeing adult at the Institute. Mikhail and Alexandra teach you the finer points of playing Poker without losing like a scrub, Nikolai tells various stories about growing up in Russia and his kids’ early lives, and Illyana pops in from time to time to just keep you company –more often than not, with Kitty in tow as well.

Ellie even drives Russell and Yukio over and figures out how to hookup her Wii to the TV in your room so the four of you can play. Your skills at Mario Kart are none too improved by your impaired coordination –but, considering you were pretty shit at it to begin with, not too much of your game play is changed overall.

Conspicuously absent, however, are Nate and Wade. You’ve gathered that Wade is still pretty freaked out by the whole thing and is generally avoiding Piotr and his family at all rational –and irrational, because Wade—costs, and that Nate is babysitting him to make sure he doesn’t go on a reign of panic-induced destruction, if the texts he sent to Piotr are to be believed.

Which, honestly, is probably the best thing for Nathan to be doing right now. Wade gets extremely unpredictable when he’s stressed out; having Nate around is basically the only way to ensure he doesn’t attempt to “liberate” the zoo again –or, worse, do something hurt himself.

Either way, after one week of observation, you’re discharged with a few hefty bills, a thick pamphlet of information about recovering from withdrawals and what to look out for, and strict instructions to take it easy and for other adults to keep a close eye on you.

And then you’re taken home and veritably shunted into another hospital bed for another three days of observation.

Honestly, fuck your life.

 ***

 Granted, things could be worse. You’re surrounded by your friends and family, you can afford the bills you’ve accrued from this whole shitshow, you’ve got medical staff used to dealing with the special conditions that come attached with your mutant status, and you don’t have a past addiction to deal with on top of all this.

And gratitude is good, as is perspective, but sometimes suffering is suffering –constantly making sure your attitude is justified is exhausting and nigh impossible.

Plus, you’ve hit a second wave of side effects: freakish nightmares and full body pain! Fantastic!

(To be read as: not fantastic.)

Piotr’s by your side when you wake up with a whimper. “What’s wrong, moya dusha?”

“Nightmare,” you groan, waving your hand dismissively. “Just… weird.” You blink a few times, then peer at him, confused. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Not quite,” he says. “Mikhail will switch off with me soon.” He smoothes your hair back, then kisses your forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit.” You wince, then try to reposition yourself as aches run through your body –not to any particular avail, since the pain seems to run straight through your bones and out the other side.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

He tsks quietly –a habit you’ve learned he picked up from Nikolai—and starts rubbing your hands and forearms.

And it does help you feel better, just a little.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble tiredly.

“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Just… you have to deal with all this. It’s so much. You don’t deserve that.”

“And you don’t deserve to be dealing with withdrawals or any of it. Besides—” he kisses the bridge of your nose “—we are going to be married soon. That means ‘for better or worse, in sickness and health.’”

“I’m pretty sure whoever created those vows didn’t have ‘accidentally falling into a giant vat of cocaine’ in mind when they wrote them,” you mutter.

Piotr snorts, quietly. “Perhaps not, but principle is same. Besides, I love you. This is no burden.”

“There is an objective level of burden here, Piotr. Even if you don’t mind it, you’re still dealing with a lot.”

Piotr goes quiet for a moment, then concedes with a nod and small smile. “Fair enough –but as you said, I do not mind. You are my fiancée and love of my life. I would sacrifice much more for you than what I have to do with this.”

You lean towards him –even though it sends stabs of pain all over your body, but you can’t be assed to care right now—and kiss his shoulder. “Well, here’s hoping you don’t have to.”

***

 Your uncle shows up on the second day of observation at the X-Mansion.

He practically tumbles into the room you’re staying in, hair wet and t-shirt somewhat askew, but otherwise in one piece. “What the fuck happened?”

You stare at him, agape. “What are you doing here? Why are you wet?”

“Alex called me. Said you were in the hospital. I flew out as soon as I finished my most recent mission,” he explains in a rush. “Showered first. I figured you guys would appreciate that.”

“Uh, yeah. Probably.” You frown when you notice him swaying a little on his feet. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate anything?”

“Oh, come on, I’m not that hopeless. It was…” His voice trails off as he starts ticking off numbers on his fingers, which stops shortly after as his face goes blank, which in turn is punctuated by a simultaneous yawn and shockingly loud gurgle from his stomach.

Piotr bites back a snort –Mikhail doesn’t bother—and stands. “I can—”

“Nyet, nyet,” Nikolai interjects as he stands. He says something else in Russian, nodding to you with a smile, kisses Alex on the forehead, then clasps your uncle’s shoulder as he walks out of the room.

“What’d he say?” you ask Piotr as he sits back down in the seat next to your bed.

“Just that I should stay with you.” He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

“Right. Okay.” Your uncle plops haphazardly into a seat provided by Mikhail, scrubs his face with his hands, then gives you a slightly crazed look that you suspect is mostly fueled by exhaustion-induced delirium. “What happened?”

You look at Piotr, then shrug. “Uh… I accidentally fell into a vat of cocaine and overdosed.”

“…What?”

***

 Wade finally shows up three days after Dr. McCoy releases you into Piotr’s –along with his family’s and your uncle’s—care.

Which isn’t to say that he necessarily shows up of his own volition.

“Nate! Put me down you time traveling, infinity scarf wearing, fuck-boi haircut sporting bastard! I’m fucking serious! I’ll chop off my testicles and hide them under your pillow –again!”

“Like you said, wouldn’t be the first time!”

“Nathan Charles Elizabeth Craigory Sam-becca Summers, so fucking help me—”

You and Piotr watch –along with Mikhail, who’s basically on the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter at this point—as Nathan forcibly carries Wade into your room –and, in a moment of predictable and yet somehow unpredictable desperation, Wade tries to brace himself against the doorframe like a dog who doesn’t want to get into the bath and is doing everything they can to avoid getting wet.

“You fucking cheater!” Wade gasps when Nathan uses his telekinesis to force Wade’s arms and legs forward. “You can’t just do that!”

“Can and did, sweetheart.” Nathan grunts as he sets Wade on the floor, facing your bed –which is where you currently are, propped up on a bunch of pillows. “Time to face the music, darling.”

“Absolutely not. Ryan Reynolds couldn’t make me face my emotions, and neither can you.”

“Wade,” Piotr says softly. “Talk to us. What is wrong?”

Wade looks pointedly at the ceiling and groans. “Ugh, why does he have to be so gentle? So caring? He’s like if the Pillsbury Doughboy and modern therapy conventions had a lovechild.”

Mikhail blinks slowly as he tries to process the sentence. “Pills-berry… what?”

You just shake your head at him.

“Wade,” Piotr says, a little more serious this time. “Please. This is serious matter.”

Nathan takes Wade’s hand and squeezes it gently when the other man looks pointedly at the floor. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“I fucked up,” Wade says after a moment. “It’s… it’s my fault.”

A mildly pained expression crosses Piotr’s face. “What did you break? Did –Wade, if you had another run in with soap dispensers—”

“No! Although, I do need to refill mine back at home; thanks for reminding me.”

“I refilled our soap dispenser yesterday. With actual soap,” Nathan retorts in the tone of someone who is deeply in love but also deeply annoyed. “And stick to the point, sweetheart.”

Wade fidgets for a moment, then looks to Nate for reassurance, then sighs when the gray-haired man nods. “What happened with Y/N. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have even had her in the warehouse. I know the ins and outs of coke, I know it’s dangerous to people who take antidepressants, I should’ve sent her out with you—”

“Wade,” Piotr says gently, cutting the scarred man off before he can dive too deeply into guilt. “What happened was an accident. I know that, Y/N knows that, we all know that. In fact, if you had not been there, she probably would have been in much worse danger. By all accounts, you helped save her life –so, thank you.”

Wade purses his lips, but manages a small nod before looking at you. “Can I talk to you for a minute? If you’re feeling up to it?”

You nod, then pat Piotr’s shoulder. “I’ll be alright.”

Piotr kisses your forehead, then stands and motions for Mikhail to follow him out –which the eldest Rasputin does without question or complaint.

Nate kisses Wade on the temple, then follows the two brothers into the hall.

You pat an open spot on the bed. “Come sit.”

Wade does, sighing heavily and curling forward so his forehead is resting against your shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “I never wanted anything like this to happen to you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hugging him. “You took good care of me afterwards –and, like Piotr said, it’s not your fault.”

Wade laughs thinly. “Not gonna lie, I was pretty sure he was going to kill me when Nate dragged me over here.”

“Nathan would never let that happen,” you chuckle. “And Piotr wouldn’t do that, either. You drive him a little crazy, but he knows when you’ve instigated something and when you haven’t.”

“I’m always instigating something.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Wade concedes with a sigh. He sits up and gives you a half-hearted smile. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you groan. “Withdrawals are a bitch. Cravings, too.”

“Yeah,” Wade says with a chuckle. “Those go away a lot faster when you have a healing factor.”

“Lucky you.” You latch onto his hand. “I didn’t think I’d even get cravings. I’ve never even done drugs before.”

Wade shrugs. “It’s not necessarily about coke; it’s about the dopamine and serotonin. It just becomes a coke thing because of how much gets unleashed on the brain when you take coke.”

“And here you say you aren’t smart,” you tease him.

“I snorted six kilos of cocaine in three minutes after ‘Nessa died,” Wade grumbles. “If that didn’t teach me anything about coke and the brain, nothing would.”

You grimace slightly. “That’s not healthy.”

“Yeah, well, Nathan made me get rid of my stash, so don’t worry. Can’t do anything anymore.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Says who?”

“Scientists and doctors everywhere. And also Nathan.”

Wade huffs, though there’s no real anger behind the noise. “Well, I know who I’m listening to.” He pauses, then smiles and checks you gently with his shoulder. “Love you, sis.”

You grin and check him back –well, as much as you can in your state. “Love you, too, bro.”

***

Here are the resources I used when writing this fic:

Cocaine:

-https://www.drugfreeworld.org/drugfacts/cocaine/effects-of-cocaine.html

-https://drugabuse.com/cocaine/effects-use/

-https://drug.addictionblog.org/how-long-does-cocaine-last/

-https://www.therecoveryvillage.com/cocaine-addiction/withdrawal-detox/#gref

-https://www.thefix.com/content/ask-expert-which-street-drugs-dont-mix-antidepressants

-https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/drugs-recreational-drugs-alcohol/recreational-drugs-medication/#.XTWlDOhKjIU

-https://www.therecoveryvillage.com/cocaine-addiction/cocaine-overdose/#gref

-https://www.mentalhelp.net/substance-abuse/cocaine/overdose/

-https://deserthopetreatment.com/drug-overdose/how-much-cocaine/

Drug-induced seizures:

-https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4767205/

Epilepsy (for general understanding on seizures):

-https://www.epilepsy.com/start-here/about-epilepsy-basics/what-happens-during-seizure

-http://wwwp.medtronic.com/Newsroom/LinkedItemDetails.do?itemId=1160041417054&itemType=fact_sheet&lang=en_IN

[ariannjs]

KARIN | A SasuSaku FanFic - (1/10)

Sakura was all smiles around the hospital the whole day. She's a cheerful woman, alright, but there was seemingly something so eminently special about that day that caused the pink-haired medic nin to be at the pinnacle of her emotions. There was no heavy workload, irritable workmate, nor delayed appointment that was intense enough to wipe away that dazzling smile plastered on her face.

The Rokudaime, as he observed during his routine checkup conducted by Sakura that morning, was certain that it has something to do with what he and Naruto had told her a week ago – the best news she had ever received in the past two or so years – for Sasuke was finally coming home. He was sure that his former kunoichi student has been waiting for this day, and so he decided to send her and Naruto to welcome the wandering ninja near the gates of Konoha by the time that she ends her shift at the hospital.

"Finally! It's about time teme comes home, 'ttebayo!" Naruto exclaimed with his hands behind his head. If there was someone whose excitement could parallel with hers, it was surely their raven-haired teammate's best friend and rival. "I'm so excited I could give him a punch for not attending my wedding!" He laughed rather boisterously, earning an eye roll from his female teammate. "I'm sure you'll be over the moon once you see him again, Sakura-chan!"

Sakura's cheeks became as pink as her hair as she shoved him by the shoulder. "Shut up, Naruto!"

Naruto giggled. "Oh, did you know? Sasuke has finally requested to renovate the Uchiha compound last month. I wonder what his plans are." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Sakura is smart enough to catch what he was thinking. This made her face turn even redder. She fiddled with her fingers as she mused about the possibilities. Of course, she has been wondering about Sasuke's plans after his return as well. And for the longest time, she has been pondering about what he meant when he told her that he'll see her when he's back after giving her forehead a tap that seemed to be affectionate, if she understood it right. Somehow, she has started to imagine the delight it would bring if she becomes a part of his plans, but she didn't want to assume too much.

"It might not mean anything, you know? At least, we could now say that he's finally ready to be back in that place." She smiled. "It's been difficult for him to accept his past, embrace the present, and move towards the future. But this could be his first step."

Naruto beamed back at her with awe. "You really love him, don't you?"

Sakura sighed and stared at the grassy road ahead of them. "More than words."

It wasn't too long until they started seeing a silhouette from afar. At that instant, Sakura's heart began to pound inside her chest.

This is it.

The wait is over.

She could finally welcome him home.

She bit her lower lip in anticipation, hands clutched together as if praying that time would speed up and rid them of the suspense they were feeling. Moments later, the very moment they've been waiting for finally arrived.

"Oi! Welcome home, tem—! Oh..." It was Naruto who spoke first.

Sakura, however, could only stare.

For Sasuke was now standing in front of them. And behind him, was a very pregnant redhead.

Naruto's eyes shifted back and forth between the two newcomers. For a split second, he narrowed his eyes but decided to brush it off and continue with his welcoming attitude. "Welcome, guys! Hey, Karin! Congratulations! About to bring another Uzumaki into the world, huh?"

"She's not an Uzumaki anymore." And those were the very first words that they heard from Sasuke after a good dose of more than two years.

If Sakura's heart didn't skip a beat earlier, right now, it seemed to have fully stopped beating. She's...not an...does he mean that...?

Karin blushed and pushed her glasses upwards, grinning from ear to ear at the guy beside her. "Sasuke’s right."

"Oh." Naruto scratched the back of his head, discreetly giving Sasuke a "what the hell?" look. "Uh, that's nice." Although he is the physical embodiment of the term extrovert, he seemed to have finally succumbed into the awkwardness of the situation. He spared a glance at Sakura who was silent the entire time, and for a moment, his fists clenched. This was not the way he imagined his bestfriend's return. "Well then, what are your plans now, Teme?"

Karin suddenly scooted closer to Sasuke and clung her arm to his. "I'm sorry, Sasuke. But I'm terribly exhausted right now. I might pass out anytime soon."

Sakura's breath hitched at the sight. And she could feel her hands tremble when she caught Sasuke's eyes widen abruptly, his expression borderline panic. She felt like a total intruder all of a sudden, with her heart constricting in a manner that felt so real, almost too tangible even.

Sasuke then turned to Naruto with his brows furrowed. "Naruto, is the Uchiha Compound finished?"

"Uh, yes. Captain Yamato and some of his men had finished it just last week," Naruto confirmed, blinking in confusion at the sudden change of topic. "Wait, since Karin's exhausted, and it seems like she's about to give birth any time soon, should we bring her to the hospital? Or find a place? Or maybe Sakura-chan here could check up on—?"

"No, she's staying at my place."

That's when all hell broke loose. Sakura was sure that she didn't hear anything else other than those six words but she clearly felt her heart shattering into pieces as if it fell onto the floor with a very loud thud. Her mind seemed to have shut down as she stared at the man that she has waited to come home after all these years.

Nonetheless, she knew that time that the longer he sees him, or hear anything else that he would say about Karin, the more that her heart would feel as though its cracked pieces are being stepped on.

Repeatedly...

Mercilessly...

Naruto on the other hand merely stood there with his lips parted, shifting his glance on each of the three people with him by the gates of their village.

Before her jinchuriki teammate even talked again, Sakura slowly mustered the energy and courage to speak, and then she cleared her throat. "I...I think I should go back to the hospital now for my second shift." She looked on the ground and uttered the words she has been waiting to tell the Uchiha: "Welcome home, Sasuke-kun..."

She clenched her fists. "...and Karin."

She then quickly turned and headed to the hospital passing through the roofs, ignoring how a startled Naruto repeatedly called her name.

Jumping from one roof to another, Sakura realized that tears have begun streaming down her cheeks. She tried so hard to get a grip even though her knees were already feeling quite wobly, trembling in pain that was not even physical. For years, she has looked forward to this day, but who would have thought that she'll finally reach this day only to be astounded with what seemed like a slap to her face?

Sasuke finally came home.

However...with someone else.

And worse, that someone else was already married, pregnant, and about to stay at his place.

She still hasn't heard Sasuke's elaborate story, but it appeared that he already mentioned enough. And she was hurt enough.

Is this all that she's gonna get after waiting for him all this time? She has never felt so betrayed. Until she realized that Sasuke just tapped her on the forehead and said that he'll see her soon. And now that he has seen her, maybe that's it. Why did she even believe that it could mean something more?

Brushing both her hands on her face to wipe her tears, she heaved a sigh and chose to set aside the incident when she reached the hospital. She wasn't supposed to return for a second shift, making Shizune curious about her sudden change of plans. But once Shizune saw the massive difference on her current countenance compared to the one she had that morning, she decided not to dare question Sakura's return anymore. Besides, she could use the help in finishing the research analysis they were told to present days from now. But she didn't expect Sakura to stay in the hospital up until past midnight just to work on that.

———

(Karin - Part 2)

Hey, guys! Comments and reviews are very much welcome! This was painful for me to write, tbh😭 Share your feels!

- A

You could check out my other SasuSaku fics here! :)

#SasuSaku

#SasuKarin

#Karin

[dr-gloom]

Borderline

The second song-inspired fic requested by @dead4sevenyears inspired by Thomas’ On The Borderline. I had to write this before I slept cause it was gnawing at the back of my brain.

Summary: Virgil reflects on how much things are changing. Takes place between Accepting Anxiety Part 2 and Fitting In.

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairings: none

Words: 994

Tags/Warnings: Virgil is angsty, reflections and introspection, anxiety, worrying, the others are mentioned but this is Virgil-centric

I say at one point in the fic that Virgil is a teen - this is because when I watch the videos and I think of how they act and such, Logan and Patton seem well into adulthood (late 20s, early 30s) and Roman seems like a young adult (at most, mid-20s) and Virgil comes across very much like a teen. So I'm not screwing with the timeline or anything weird, it's just.... My headcanon, I guess. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

Read it on AO3

fic masterlist

like what I do? buy me a coffee or GoFundMe

Virgil sits on his bed, the curtains closed to keep out most of the light. The fan spins slowly overhead, the soft rotation the only noise in the room. He rubs the fabric of his hoodie between his thumb and forefinger. It’s his old one, the black checkered one he’d worn for… most of his life. It’s just as much a part of him as his voice or his hair. It’s him… was him. He looks at the hand-made purple-accented jacket he’s made. He could have easily just conjured it, but… this was too important, it mean to much. He had to make it count. It’s brighter, somehow conveying more comfort and acceptance than the old thing in his hands. He thinks of the first video he’d appeared in; back then, he’d come completely without consent, telling himself he was just doing his job.

“WhAT THE HECK???”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I not wanted at this exact time?”

“Oh, for crying out loud…”

“This is what I do.”

“This is what frustrates me about anxiety… SOMETIMES. IT JUST SHOWS UP. OUT OF NOWHERE. AND RUINS Whatever peace I have.”

He wasn’t accepted. Wasn’t even liked. He told himself he didn’t need their acceptance to do his job. He put on the dark persona to get Thomas to pay attention to him, because the ends justified the means.

“Eugh, God, I hate that guy.”

“Ah! Anxie-“ “’Anxiety what’re you doing here?’ Yes? This is exactly what you do every time I pop up. Let’s just skip that part and move on.”

“I’m no defeatist.”

“Stop! Stop. I know we tend to overthink a couple things.”

“Are you just- trying to counter everything I do?”

“We all know that I’m a bit-“ “Dismal.”

And it was the little things. The way Patton would always compliment him and worry about him. “I’m not always the bad guy.” “Aww, of course you’re not big guy.” How Logan enjoyed their talks and took his side sometimes – or even just took the time to listen to his side. “Well, you are wrong about a lot of things, but I don’t necessarily mind your company.” How Thomas stopped shouting when he appeared. “Can I go?” “Nah, stick around.” “You… Never want me to stick around..” It was small things like that that caused his shell to crack. He let some of his real self show – his doubts and insecurities, not Thomas’, laughing at Patton’s jokes, taking Logan’s side.

But Roman was a steady constant too. His callous dismissal of Virgil could turn the other three away from him in seconds. “-not without your friends, Thomas.” “Okay, enough of you.” He was easily forgotten, because the other three sides had a relationship – a bond – he’d never had. It wore on Virgil. Hours spent locked up in his room and listening to the others have fun and live without him had increased his doubts and insecurities. He’d told himself he wasn’t wanted, or needed, and that made the decision easy.

But then they’d come for him. He was scared to hope that they were being genuine. That they actually cared and weren’t just placating the flight risk. It was Roman who convinced him otherwise. If Roman was just trying to make sure Virgil didn’t leave, he wouldn’t have been so sincere. He could have told Virgil anything, fabricated any number of lies, but instead he did the hardest thing and validated Virgil’s place in the group.

“You let his excitement and passion for performance take over, I think that’s as good a sign as any that you’re willing to work as a team. And that you make us better.”

So, he trusted them. His trust was fragile, a small baby bird in his palm he presented to them with hesitation. The change was gradual, then all at once. It felt like he was suspended in that moment between when your foot left the last step and met the floor. That fleeting second where you’re not looking and feel like you’re about to fall. He was scared. Scared he’d wake up and it’d all have been a dream. Or worse, that they’d all take it back. He should just push them away before they could do the same to him. Go back to being Princey’s villain. It was safe. It was expected. They only knew Anxiety. Would they like Virgil?

Or what if they think Virgil and Anxiety are still the same? That Virgil is a villain instead of a scared teen trying to do his best? What if they did see that and wanted him to be Anxiety again? He doesn’t want to lie about who he is, and he doesn’t want to have to change, to become someone not even he recognizes to keep the others happy.

He strokes the fabric in his lap. He’s afraid to let go of what’s familiar, but… To go back to it, he’d be giving up everything, His family, their love and support, his peace and security. He’d be giving up his chance to help the others and Thomas, to grow along with them. In the end he knows he can’t go back, that he has to keep moving.

He puts his checkered jacket on, taking a deep breath and saying a silent goodbye. This will be his last video wearing it. He knows Thomas’ video is going to be about the new hair, so Virgil is taking this chance to change himself too. To stop being Anxiety and start being Virgil. He puts his hands in his hoodie pockets, casting a glance at the purple and black lump on his bed. He feels a soft tug in the back of his mind; Thomas is calling him. “See you soon, Virgil.” He gives a two-fingered salute to the jacket and sinks out of his room to join the others one last time as Anxiety. Next time he was here, he’d be Virgil, and that… felt good.

[wellhellsbelles]

Que Será Será, Part II

i got over excited and couldn’t help but post the second part. and yes, there will be one more part after this because i decided it’d be better if i split the grand finale of the fic into two separate parts. the last part will be the perspective of our dear riley :)

anyway, enjoy!

ao3 link found here.

//

Farkle is twenty-four, going on twenty-five, and his whole world, this existence he’s procured for himself, is getting ready to shatter.

He’s never been one to pace around his house anxiously, but he’s also never been waiting to turn twenty-five before, the seconds ticking away at the clock a reminder of something he’s never once had faith in.

That is, until now.

Even he can’t deny the fact that he wants so desperately to have letters appear on his skin at this point; he’s been fooling himself for years, trying so hard to dispute something that has a high probability of occurring. He’s seen numerous friends go through it that he can’t deny it any longer, which is why he’s wearing a hole into his tile kitchen floor, each minute passing by slower than the next.

Maya insisted she be there, but Farkle wouldn’t let her. This was going to be an experience he had to deal with by himself, to figure out how he felt about it. After all, his opinion on the matter had changed drastically within the course of a month, and he was still dealing with the numerous possibilities that were running through his mind.

Millions of trillions of possibilities, each one a figure he could not even begin to understand, let alone imagine.

It’s probably Riley’s romantic tendencies that have rubbed off on him, he figures, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s waiting for something he never even once believed in.

Until now.

He’s not quite sure what changed his mind. Of course, seeing his friends have the writing appear on their wrists was a factor, but that alone wasn’t enough to change his mind.

Maybe it’s delusions of grandeur.

To think that he’s so important that his wrist warrants a soulmate mark, that he deserves one in the first place, might just be borderline laughable. But he doesn’t ignore his heart’s desires, just this once, and waits for the night to pass and for the letters to appear.

His twelve-year-old self would be laughing at him right now for being so foolish; Farkle’s just glad he’s let himself be open to love. He appreciates not being jaded and cynical, not letting logic rule over every part of him (just most of it).

Farkle is . . . excited. He’s genuinely excited to be a part of this sort of rite of passage, this sort of magic life holds that science can’t explain for, if his apprehensive shifting is any indicator. He stops for several seconds occasionally, just to adjust a picture frame on his wall or to drum his fingers on the kitchen table or the countertops to bide his time.

And then it happens—one minute before the day of his birthday, and the countdown in his head rattles his body, sends goosebumps tingling amongst his skin. Fifty seconds becomes forty, thirty, twenty, and then he’s down to the final ten seconds, and he counts the seconds in his head, practically holding his breath in.

Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .

 One.

 His phone vibrates immediately, both to relay his alarm for his annual birthday reminder, as well as mass texts filing in from his friends. Farkle places his phone down on the counter gently, wobbling as his breath catches, the anticipation building with every passing second after midnight. Then he lifts his wrist—the left, of course, always the left—and gingerly and carefully moves up his sleeve, the black lettering coming to view almost instantaneously.

And then he gasps, loudly and very audibly, covering his wrist back up immediately.

It wasn’t a stranger. It wasn’t an acquaintance he met once in passing, or a face that only manifested itself in his dreams when his brain was trying to make sense of the world around him during slumber. No.

 It was Riley Matthews.

[Hartbreaker]

yoooooooooooooooooooo who yo soulmate be ya NERD

you can tell me i promise i won’t spill

probably

well maybe not

but you can still tell me

cause

I WANNA KNOWWWW

WILL YOU SHOW MEEEE

I WANNA KNOW ABOUT YOUR SOULMATE MARK, PLEASE

get it? phil collins!!!

. . .

???

u out there???

 -

 [Zayday]

k if u aren’t gonna tell maya then u gotta tell me

we cool

cooler than cool

ice cold

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT

come ON you gotta appreciate that

okay, okay i get it i won’t ask

just text me if u alright?

i won’t do the annoying thing again i promise

. . .

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT

maybe i lied a little about that

sorry man i am who i am

but seriously minkus

TEXT US

 -

 [Huckleberry Friar]

 First of all

Is my name still Huckleberry Friar in your phone?

I feel like you should change that because Maya doesn’t need the satisfaction of everyone in our friend group having my name as that in their phone

Secondly

Are you okay?

I don’t care about the other thing

Just wanna make sure you’re doing fine

Come meet me for lunch if you want I’m going to that pizza parlor around the corner

We can just chill and catch up just lemme know

 -

 [Isadora Smackle]

I have heard that you are not answering phones.

Well, you answered Lucas, which is nice.

But I feel like you owe the rest of us the courtesy of answering our phones.

Also, we have a birthday party planned for you that I was not supposed to spill about, but I feel like you are obligated to come to that.

I am just informing you of this.

I will also drag you out by your ear if I have to.

That is all.

 -

 [Smiley Riley]

Hey, are you doing alright?

Is this a mid-midlife crisis?

Should I be running over to your apartment to check on you?

I just really worry about you, Farkle.

Okay, you definitely don’t have to answer our texts, but you definitely have to show up at my apartment tonight at eight.

FOR NO REASON AT ALL

JUST A COOL FRIEND HANG OUT NO SPECIAL OCCASION HERE

Dress up nice, though. I know you can do it, Minkus!

Also there might be a certain dessert involved?

Also also objects of particular interest to you that are uhhhh covered in pretty paper that will be relinquished unto you??

I’m really bad at this please just come to your party tonight I made a really cool cake (thanks Pinterest!!) and you’ve got lots of good presents and I feel like you need a hug.

See you tonight! ♥♥

  [OPERATION: TOTALLY NOT FARKLE’S BDAY]

 Riley: Okay no one talk about the YOU KNOW WHAT at the party

Riley: It’s officially off limits

 Maya set the nickname for Riley Matthews to Lame Nerd.

 Maya: Uh huh

Maya: Suuuuuuuuuure

 Lame Nerd: Maya!!!!!

 Lame Nerd set the nickname for Maya Hart to Stupid Dummy.

 Stupid Dummy: Good comeback, Lame Nerd!

 Lucas set the nickname for Riley Matthews to Riley.

Lucas set the nickname for Maya Hart to Maya.

 Lucas: Come on, guys.

Lucas: I agree with Riley. Don’t talk about it. If he wants to tell us, he can, but don’t press him.

Lucas: It is his birthday, after all.

 Smackle: I second that. I don’t want you two to ruin the party.

 Maya: You two??

 Smackle: You and Zay.

 Zay: Awwwww how come I gotta be called out like this

 Maya: It is what it is, Zay

 Riley: Alright, you two are outvoted by Smackle and Lucas and I.

Riley: No talking about it!!!

Riley: Also, Zay

 Zay: Yes?

 Riley: Please wear something nice.

Riley: As in, NOT YOUR TUXEDO T-SHIRT

Riley: If you’d like, I’ll send you a list of APPROPRIATE wear

 Zay: You’re no fun!!!!!

 Riley: ISAIAH BABINEAUX

Riley: YOU WILL DO AS I SAY OR YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO THE PARTY

 Zay: Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine MOM

 Lucas: Don’t sass your mother

 Maya: Yeah, ZAY. Don’t sass your mother!!!!

 Riley: When did you all agree on me being your mom????

 Smackle: A while back.

Smackle: Mom 

Smackle: :)

 Smackle set Riley Matthews nickname as Mom.

 Mom: I’LL ONLY ALLOW THIS FOR THIS GROUP

 Smackle: Oh, Bubbles

 Maya: Oh, Hon

 Zay: Too late

 Lucas: DEFINITELY too late

 Mom: YOU GUYS ARE THE WORST

Mom: . . .

Mom: Please arrive at 7:30 for set up thank you

Mom: GOODBYE FOREVER

 Mom left the group.

 Maya: Awwww party pooper

  Turning twenty-five is not all it’s cracked up to be.

 As Farkle sips at his light beer, he watches his friends from beside Riley’s bookshelf as they argue about what to do next, and Farkle really loves them, he really does.

But he wants to leave.

He’s got this overwhelming suffocation in his chest, both from anxiety and proximity to Riley, who doesn’t know she’s supposed to be his soulmate. And by the time she does, it probably won’t even matter to her because she’ll be happy where she is, most likely married to her current boyfriend.

 She likes Daniel, as she should—he’s a veterinarian, part-time afterschool tutor. He’s got a great dog that loves her unabashedly, and she fits right into his picturesque home like the last piece of a puzzle.

 And that, that is the reason why he doesn’t tell her. But what does he say? He certainly can’t tell them that his best friend’s name is on his wrist; that’s a disaster waiting to happen. Farkle’s had enough rejection in his life time, and for Riley to find out they’re supposed to be together because some unknown force dictated it?

She wouldn’t care for it.

Yes, she does care for him, he’s not unaware of that fact. But caring for someone and being in love with someone are two different things, and Farkle knows for certain that Riley is not in love with him. If she was, they’d be living together happily, and instead of his party being thrown at her house, it be their house.

But there will never be their house, it will always be his house and her house, and Farkle will remain infinitely in love with a girl who doesn’t feel the same way.

Honestly, this whole ordeal is just a punch to the gut, and Farkle would rather stick his head in the toilet for a full minute than admit what his wrist says, so he decides then and there what he’s going to do.

He’s going to pretend he doesn’t have a soulmate mark and live for an eternity with his wrist covered so that no one ever has to know.

 It’s for the best, really.

 “Okay, Farkle, it’s settled. You’re going to stop moping against this bookshelf and come join us for a fun dance party with no complaints. And you’re gonna dance with me first!” Riley appears at his side, tugging at his left arm. Farkle’s initial reaction is to pull away, but he doesn’t want to make her suspicious, so he complies and lets Riley tug him to the living room as Maya puts on her favorite playlist.

The music starts and immediately Riley starts jumping around, her periwinkle lace dress swishing around her as she beams brightly, her eyes pleading for him to join her. He sighs, setting down his beer so that he can comply, because when can he ever say no to her?

It’s impossible.

And as the room becomes drowned out by Maya’s music and the visage of Riley, Farkle wishes he could live in this moment forever—uncomplicated, undemanding, effortless.

 If only.

 If only, if only, if only.

  Farkle, after turning twenty-five and getting the name of a person who will, despite the forces of the universe trying, never love him back, finds dating to be extremely difficult.

And yeah, it sort of makes sense. People don’t flock to people with soulmate marks, and if they do, it’s because they’re looking for the match to their soulmate mark.

So Farkle quickly learns to deal with the fact that he’s going to be alone forever; that’s just how it’s going to go.

But he tries anyway, because he’s a fucking idiot, that’s what. It never lasts, even the ones that promise him it will, and all of it can be explained by the other person soon finding their soulmate and ditching him. It drives him up the wall, but he gets it. He really does.

It doesn’t help that he knows he’s in love with Riley still, too. How can he not? If he had gotten her name tattooed on his wrist when he was younger, he would’ve fainted, maybe even died from shock. But now that he’s older and his love for her has become more solidified, more an actual part of him rather than just a fleeting feeling, he can’t deny the fact that he is hers forever, regardless of what capacity.

Not that he’d ever tell her what capacity he’d prefer it to be. Riley is his oldest and dearest friend next to Maya. Feelings complicate things and make them messy, and the last thing he wants to do is make things messy with the girl who makes his life better by just being in it.

Ugh, he’s a fucking sap.

He’s also in love with his best friend, and for the first time in his life, Farkle Minkus has no idea what to do.

[sakuurae]

overrated [m]

» summary: notorious bad boy, dong sicheng, was never one for attachment. well, not until he met you. surprisingly, there was more that met the eye of the reckless bad boy—something outrageously... pure.

❀ pairing: "bad boy”!sicheng & reader insert || university!AU

❀ includes: light fluff, humour, smut (trivial dom/sub elements, teasing [public & private], oral, sixty-nine, fingering, handjobs, penetration), alcohol mentions, light drug mentions

❀ wc: 41.7k

❀ note: I finally have a fic out for my baby ;; I hope you guys have fun reading this as much as i had fun writing it!! The word “bad boy” is in quotes because we all know that our baby winwin is a chaste little angel—for now ^~^

I made a few changes to this from the preview, but the most prominent one is the tense change, ahaha. I wanted to try writing in present tense, so this is a little different! And i dont think ill try this again... lmao. I also lost a lot of motivation to finish this along the way, so i apologize if this isnt the best. :( Nonetheless, i hope you enjoy!

Dong Sicheng has a tarnished reputation that is effortless for him to maintain.

Sicheng wreaks havoc day by day, practically stirring an immature calamity on university campus. He carries a storm wherever he goes, his footsteps equivalent to a roll of thunder. From his sour persona to the sharp way he talks; his words are bullets to those he aims them to. Yet, girls flock around him mindlessly and praise him like none other, falling for his recklessness without a care. On campus, students are either irked, find his personality rebarbative, or completely in love with the idea of him.

Sicheng is stellar in his own way, a star in the worst way possible that manages to outshine the rest. Men ache to be him while girls crave to spend a night with him—just one, enough to see what he truly, dutifully packed. But that is where Sicheng expeditiously draws the line, austere and grim, and leaves them. Like rain battering down on a scorching pavement, his trace disappears within seconds.

It is not because the spark of attraction towards the girl is absent, nor is it because he wants to bring each to the edge only to leave them hanging, adding each to the list of rejected individuals. It is due to something else—something borderline shameful to his existence and reputation.

And it is because not a single soul knows that Dong Sicheng, notorious bad boy and ruthless heartbreaker, is a virgin.

Dong Sicheng has not always been a scandalous “starboy.” Rather than being known for the negativity that surrounds him to this day, he used to be quite popular for factors of good. He used to have grades on the top tier, a miraculous talent in dance (and he still does to this day), but now he has made choices to never exhibit such favorable qualities. It is as if the tarnished name of “bad boy” stuck to his being like an annoying mask that can no longer come off.

Everything for Sicheng started back in high school, his breakthrough of reckless tactics. One accident led to another, like a perfect cascade that built him into who he is today. Impregnable pillars that held him up in the past to his prominent standing had crumbled down to rubble, and soon his pristine title became blighted.

All because Sicheng made the silly choice of dating.

Surprisingly enough, and as cliché as it can get, she was a member of the cheer squad. It started off simple: occasional dates to the cinema and unmitigated walks to the park. Though, despite those activities that might be seen as tedious, he developed genuine feelings for her and cherished every moment. Clearly, it was not him who diminished the relationship, dragging it down to nothing. It was due to her impatience. She was restive to win; to be more specific, to win a bet with her friends to get into the boy’s pants, and when Sicheng found out he was utterly heart broken at the least. So, the night she was ready to initiate and carefully play her cards, facing the false belief she would win the bet, he left her—hell, he never even showed his face to her since that night. Of course, she spat out angry curses at how he was gone like the wind.

Unwanted results were a consequence for him, for her sour tongue spread negative comments about Sicheng, and the fragile display of his innocent life fell apart like a poor house of cards. But rather than having those unwanted occurrences to run and take over his life, enveloping like an abrupt darkness, he took charge and swore that it would never happen again. Sicheng built himself up, never allowing anyone to cross his path or get close to him, and those who tried were given the cold shoulder. Physical contact was a virus for Sicheng, and he swatted individuals away left and right. The comments that spread around him were too much for his pure soul to handle at the time, so  he skipped out on school. But of course, others claimed he ditched for the hell of it. Word even went around that he was dating an older woman—which was more than false, but who was out there to listen to him?

Sicheng maintained his stellar grades through the calamity, keeping everyone at a perceptible distance away. As much as he wanted to avoid making contact with others, spreading his name around the school, the opposite result had occurred and he was helpless to it.

Brushing this off to the side, high school is also where everything began for you too—not that there was a prominent shift in your name to begin with. You used to hear word of a student named Sicheng messing around with girls and breaking hearts like it was a hobby, but you never paid mind, always focusing on your studies.

It was how things always were for you, and how things would forever remain.

After all, at the end of that line, you and Dong Sicheng made it to one of the most prestigious universities out there—with a purpose.

The sun beats down on the slip of Sicheng’s neck as he lingers with his friend, Jaehyun, around the university parking lot. The two of them are cracking jokes about meaningless things, conversing over trivial topics, and laughing the day away. It happens so often, as if daily, to the point it is a fixed part of their routine. Sicheng and Jaehyun would typically wait for their friends to come by, to which they all converse for a short while before driving uptown for a bite, or crash at one’s place.

Speaking of Sicheng’s friends, they are making their way towards him right now. One of them, recognizable as the stellar sportsman, Taeyong, has his eyebrows crossed together in a frustrated manner; he appears to be spitting curses to the other individual who graciously listens in—as much as he is drained from the taxing day.

Jaehyun’s and Sicheng’s conversation withers into silence as they watch the two boys stop their tracks in front of them. After Taeyong indignantly rakes a hand through his hair, Sicheng questions him what is wrong, for Taeyong’s frustrating is more than out in the open.

His friend laughs, informing the other boys of the news of the century. “Our boy, Lee Taeyong, just got rejected.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen, startled to the core at the newfound information. “Whoa, Yuta, are you serious? Taeyong… got rejected? That’s a first.”

“Well why do you care so much?” Sicheng asks Taeyong. “You can get anybody in this university except for that one girl. Well, any sorority girl that is.”

Taeyong chuckles lightheartedly, annoyed by his friends’ words. “Tell me about it. I’m just as shocked as you are.” Taeyong turns his head to Sicheng, a sour expression painted on his face. “And Sicheng, I care because I got rejected—for once! The tables actually turned here.”

Sicheng laughs, acknowledging his point. “Right, right. Sorry.”

Taeyong huffs in vexation, still disbelieved—and he will continue to remain that way for a good while. It is amusing to Sicheng, a surprising twist of events, to see one of the guys in his sacred group get turned down by a girl. After all, it is a rare occurrence. Each of them are captivating in their own way, and he knows it entirely; at least one of them would fit into the standards of members of the opposite sex. Occasionally, Sicheng wonders how he placed himself in such a group of charming and devilish individuals—also cocky, if he must say. It is as if the life he has tried so hard to orbit away from has made its way towards him with might, impressioning on Sicheng’s being for the rest of his life.

Sicheng does not feel like his whole self whenever he hangs around the rambunctious group of boys, but the fun that is frequently stirred makes the wasted time worth every second. Oh, and hearing all sorts of dish about their lives. That is just on the surface though. Surprisingly enough, beneath each of the boy’s outer shell of superiority and arrogance, is a softer, gentler version of who they exhibit themselves to be. Perhaps that is why Sicheng remained; it is how he became closer to each one of his friends. And after two years in the university they still remain together like peas in a pod.

Though, within those two years, Taeyong has never gotten rejected.

“So what’s the story?” asks Jaehyun, crossing his arms over his chest.

Yuta’s eyes flash in delight, excitement running throughout his body as he clears his throat. “Well, Taeyong—”

“Why are you the one telling the story?” Taeyong asks, sourness evident in his tone. “You’re going to add all these extra details again.”

Yuta shrugs, smirking at his friend. “Fine, I’ll get straight to the point”—Yuta takes a step towards the two boys, almost like he is ready to exchange confidential information—“but don’t laugh at him. We gave him enough shit for this today.”

Jaehyun laughs and assures Yuta of his light worries. “Don’t worry, just speak up.”

Yuta smiles. “There’s a girl who always stays by the bleachers during baseball practice, probably ‘cause her friend drags her around, but she doesn’t even pay attention to us. She’s always reading her book and studying all sorts of stuff. In my opinion though, the girl’s friend is pretty cute herself.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow in skepticism. “Okay, I don’t see the problem yet.”

“And this hotshot”—Yuta nudges Taeyong with an elbow—“thought it would be a fun idea to make her interested—in him, and not our practices. So out of nowhere, Taeyong started to talk to her, but she was never interested. It was like she started to hate us after he spoke to her. He said the girl looked easy to get, and then—”

“Come on, dude!” Taeyong groaned, cutting his friend off. “She had her nose in a book constantly and I swear when we locked eyes for the first time she wanted me.”

Sicheng shoves his fists into the pockets of his sweatshirt, stultified by the story. “Are you sure it wasn’t the look of ‘leave-me-the-fuck-alone’?”

“Hey!” Taeyong stomps.

“Anyway,” Yuta continues, “when someone’s reading, Taeyong, you’re not supposed to interrupt. Oh, not when they’re talking either… In short, she rejected him pretty harshly by saying—”

Taeyong flinches, grabbing onto Yuta’s sleeve and pulling him back. “No! Don’t tell them what she said, I—”

“‘You? And me—on a date? I had hopes in you being bright, but you must be horribly stupid to think I’d go out with someone like you. It’s one to annoy me, but it’s another to actually ask me on a date while I’m here with my friend studying. Oh, are you expecting me to hold your hand that has been up other girls’—”

“Okay, Yuta, that’s enough!” Taeyong badgered, hanging his head low. Shame dawns over his being like gargantuan waves, dragging down the last of his dignity. The laughter that pours from the boys’ lips appear endless, like a never ending waterfall of jocularity caused by Taeyong’s embarrassment. Taeyong’s ears tinge with pink the longer they keep up their fits of chuckles, commenting about the utter failure that is the highlight of their day.

Yuta continues feeding the details to the two boys as if the riveting information would satisfy them for an entire week, and Taeyong wells in his own congealing ignominy. After Yuta concludes the entire story, shamelessly talking about himself amid, the boys let out a sigh in relief. Until, of course, Taeyong opens his mouth again.

“She was bound to crack,” Taeyong hisses. “But not with me. I want to get back at her but I don’t know how.”

Jaehyun shifts his weight on his feet and crinkles his nose, his mouth twisting into a confused smirk. “Tae, how petty can you get? We’re in uni now.”

Sicheng releases a chortle, leaning closer to Jaehyun. “Very petty, apparently.”

“Though,” Jaehyun adds, “your situation reminds me of something horrible, myself.”

Sicheng’s gaze veers from Jaehyun to the older boy who is boring in his desolation. Taeyong stares at Sicheng for a while, almost scrutinizing him from top to bottom, and soon his lips quirk into a sly smirk. Sicheng raises his eyebrow, dumbfounded to his friend’s change of expression, and asks him what is wrong.

“Sicheng,” Taeyong says in a singsong voice. “Want to do me a solid?” Desperation drips onto his tone. Each word that leaves Taeyong’s mouth appears to be leading into the next thread of ideas that run through his mind; all Sicheng has to do is pay more mind to decipher what he is saying.

Sicheng remains silent for a while, unsure on what to say. The other boys exchange curious glances and wait for their friend to continue.

“Get her back for me—for rejection, please?” Taeyong requests.

Sicheng laughs out of pity, unamused by his question. “Taeyong, we’re too old to play games.”

“Seriously!” Taeyong persists, walking up to the younger boy. “I already have an easy, perfect plan. Just lead her on, get her on the edge, and leave her hanging—you know, what you usually did with girls back then.”

Sicheng clenches his teeth in disgust when he heard Taeyong’s reasoning. Back then? Right, Sicheng has completely forgotten that Taeyong, and his other friends, are aware of his prevalent title and the actions he has “committed” to achieve it. Sicheng forces out laughter, a disguise of how repulsive he finds the entire idea. “What the heck? You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not,” Taeyong insists. “Come on, go pick her up in your nice car or something. Take her out for a ride—then take her out for a ‘ride.’”

The thought of Sicheng witnessing a member of the opposite sex wholly naked makes him sweat profoundly, and he shakes his head, brushing aside Taeyong’s request. Shit, Sicheng never has evocative imaginations of any women before and he refuses to start here and now. “N-no thanks,” he denies, his eyes averting from Taeyong’s.

“But—”

“Enough of this,” cuts in Jaehyun with an announcement, “I’m starving. We’ve been waiting for you and Yuta for a while, can we just get something to eat already?”

“The billiards hall?” questions Yuta, fishing in his pocket for keys.

Jaehyun nods in response, and seconds later all of the boys separate into multiple vehicles, driving right on over to their local hangout.

Sicheng, situating himself in the driver’s seat, wonders who Taeyong is referring to. Sicheng is lost to why he is inquisitive to the girl’s identity. Maybe it is the fact there is a student out there who withstands Taeyong’s overflowing charms. If Sicheng was not driving, he would close his eyes and remain deep in his thoughts. He grips onto the wheel and shakes his head, removing the thoughts out of his mind to have a momentary peace. Though, the moment Jaehyun opens his mouth to complain about his empty stomach the evanescent peace is disrupted.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

Back at the university you are waiting under the overhang of the indoor swimming pool for your friend to exit. Your eyes scan the familiar campus, searching for out of the blue occurrences that would be an obtrusive scene; but of course, within your university, nothing far too estranged ever occurs.

Your friend, Sowon, has finally exited the building  with a gleam on her face. (y/n)!” she exclaims, latching her arm around yours. “Have you been waiting long? Why didn’t you just go inside?”

“No, don’t worry,” you assure. “And the smell of chlorine is far too much for me.”

Sowon smiles, innocent. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug off, hiking your bag over your shoulder. “Are we going to the bleachers again? I brought my biochem book so I can distract myself as you drool over the baseball players. You know, we have an exam tomorrow right?

“You’re always studying,” she complains. Sowon pulls you back when you start to walk away from her. “And no, the guys I’m usually there for left—so we have an afternoon to ourselves. I saw them leave when I was entering the locker room.”

“Wait, the guys you usually are there for?” you question, steepling your fingers to your chin as you attempt to recall the boys she is referring to.

Sowon forces a stern frown towards you, pursing her lips into a pout soon after. “Yeah, remember? The one you coldly rejected as you walked me to practice.”

“Oh, him,” you spat out distastefully.

Sowon giggles at your bitter response. “Taeyong!” she sings his name. “God, he was the cute one I was searching for, and he asked you on a date—and you rejected him. What were you thinking?”

You glared at your friend, unable to fathom what she has seen in a man like Taeyong. “What were you thinking for ever seeing something in him?”

“He’s—”

“The question was rhetorical.” You rolled your eyes, irked and unwilling to hear a response. “Well, if you’re not going to drag me anywhere then I’m going to head back to my apartment.”

Sowon grips onto her duffel bag, dutifully following you like a shadow as you begin to saunter to the street parking. “I’ll come with! We can study together—in quiet like you’ve been asking for.”

You reluctantly look at Sowon, thoughtfully considering whether or not she would disturb your restless studies. Knowing that she would be sustained, you release a sigh. “Fine, just for today though.”

After all, who would you be to reject any sort of study session? Your studies are always valuable to you, and they tend to be more productive with others in the milieu; you spend hours on end immersing yourself in books. Ever since high school it has been your goal to attend the university you are currently enrolled in—and your dream has been achieved after zero contact from the social sphere outside. You carried on your studies for a good while for the beginning of your first year at the institute, but afterwards was when everything crumbled down for you. The walls you built around yourself during high school to block students out had finally diminished, for girls were intruding on your personal space and boys were beckoning you over countlessly.

Honestly, it used to feel like you were placed in an outlandish environment against your will, which consequently made the environs that surrounded you wider. That is actually how you met Sowon, one of your closest friends. At first she pestered you like a wearisome fly, feeding off the few bits of energy you poured into arriving at the institute. After you became used to her presence the two of you became friends without verbally establishing it. Lunches together became a part of one another’s routines and so was hanging out in the city on empty weekends.

Oh, and she was the one who brought you to your first party uptown, which was where everything had taken a turn for the unexpected.

You, the bibliophile and quiet learner, attended one of the most dynamic parties of the year with your polar opposite, Sowon. Keeping details at a minimum and compacting everything within a nutshell, it was the first night you drank an immense amount of alcohol—and the first time you had sex.

It was spontaneous and out of the blue, but surprisingly you did not mind. Nervous would be an understatement to how you felt, but those anxious wrecks were becoming sparse as the scene carried on. The man who you had a drunken makeout session with and the one who prompted the idea of sex was nothing but talk. And you remember his name perfectly: Jung Jaehyun.

From the word you had heard many times about him, he was a stellar soccer player and an ultimate playboy. To be fair, you believed in the rumours you heard about him; it was what made you anxious in the first place; but, it was nothing surprising at the end.

Jung Jaehyun was a complete derision to his notorious group of friends—and you found that out during the unpremeditated night. Not that you cared or anything. He let you take over, and he said that it was the first time he allowed a girl to top him. But, pushing your own limit and his, you rode his cock intentively while dirty words spilled from your mouth. His skin became marked by your masterpieces as if his body was a blank canvas waiting for your color, and he enjoyed every second of it.

Before the heated scene with Jaehyun had escalated you thought the first time you had sex would be your last; oh, you were dead wrong. There was a sort of thrill you got during it, and some sort of element that made you spellbinded to the sensation. Or maybe it was the delight you had received after catching the completely drained out look on Jaehyun’s face. To say he was surprised by your skill in be would be a euphemism. What else was he supposed to feel though? The girl he recognized from the cafeteria and always had her face in a book showed up at a party. If that was not an easy shot to him, what else would be?

In short, Jaehyun was dead wrong.

You left him alone in the bedroom and made way for the exit, grabbing onto Sowon’s arm as you tried to weave past the crowded party house with quivering legs. The moment you were out of Jaehyun’s sight your face flushed with the deepest shade of roses, and Jaehyun laid on the bed in unmitigated disappointment.

It did not take long for stories about you to spread around the university. Drama that stood on equal par to high school turmoil stirred out of the university twist, but they were far too fraudulent for you to pay enough mind to. It was a shocker for others to hear that someone like you fucked Jung Jaehyun, for you were the definition of erudite and you never associated yourself much with others. And that factor was what drew other guys to test their own abilities with you.

Occasionally, the times you grew bored and had studied enough for upcoming exams, you would act like you had fallen into the other boys’ traps—for a good night to yourself. As weeks and months flew by it was some sort of unwonted rumour that you slept with a couple of men. It was always old news that no one believed except for those you slept with and Sowon, who knew the verity, and you were thankful for so.

After all, no one would ever think that one of the university’s taciturn bibliophiles would go around sleeping with men for fun.

You and Sowon spend the rest of the day avoiding distractions and diving into each other’s studies. It is an even longer night full of passages after extensive passages, and you fall asleep at the kitchen table as she knocks out on the comfort of your couch.

When you wake the following morning there is still an hour and a half prior to class beginning, and you shake Sowon until her eyes open. “Get up,” you order, ignoring the curses that spill from her lips since you disrupted her slumber. “I didn’t say you could sleep over! See, we got so distracted to the point we had to stay up late.”

“Sorry!” she laughs. “It’s not my fault I never come here often. You have a sweet place so it’s impossible for me to not get distracted. You usually linger at my dorm room, but your apartment is way cooler.”

You roll your eyes and drag her off the sofa. “Go hit the shower and borrow some of my clothes. We have to get to class.”

“But we have an hour!”

“And we have a test,” you argue, the glare you send towards Sowon providing hints of fear to shoot up her spine.

Sowon groans and makes her way to your bathroom to prepare for the day. You and Sowon get ready to head over to the university within half an hour, and quickly enter your vehicle. She then makes herself snug in the passenger seat, her eyes fluttering closed as if she is ready to knock out again right then.

“No sleeping,” you order her, twisting your keys into the ignition.

Sowon let out some complaints as you start to drive; the roads are surprisingly vast considering the time of day. A serene quietude fills the empty spaces of your car and you use the remaining time before the exam to rehearse the frequently leaned information in your mind for the upcoming exam. Considering the time of day, not many people would be present in the student parking lot at your institute. So, rather than fixating your vehicle on the far end of the busy street, you drive straight into the lot in search for parking—which is graciously everywhere.

You move your car to the center of the lot, parking it neatly between two vehicles, and step out with your arms stretching to the sky. Sowon yawns as she starts to trudge out of the car and to the lecture hall, her arm looping around your own as she moves in a desultory pace.

“I don’t get why we’re here earlier than usual…” she mumbles.

You sigh, pulling her to the hall. “You can nap in the room and I can study. It isn’t bad to be at class a little earlier.”

“God, now I completely understand why people don’t believe you sleep with a shit ton of guys,” she announces.

Sowon grumbles out of pain and allows you to drag her past the doors of the lecture hall, sitting her next to your seat. You leaf through your textbook, eyes perusing every single passage in hopes of absorbing the unknown information. To no surprise, after a good ten minutes, Sowon has drifted off into a gentle sleep. Sighing, you resume your studies until it is time for the assessment to start.

After a few more moments as time soars by, you peer up from your textbook. You notice that majority of the seats have been filled; you have been in your own expanse when you were studying, and it is the weight of the exam that halts time, allowing it to crash onto your shoulders.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

Twenty minutes past the designated time class begins; Sicheng finds himself speeding down the streets in high hopes of making it to the lecture hall within a heartbeat. It is as if the higher his speed meter went the baggage that falls on his shoulders from the teacher’s scornful gaze would not be as substantial as he expects.

“God damn it,” he spits out. “Note to self: no drinking on weeknights anymore—especially with a devastated Taeyong.”

Sicheng mutters other curses under his breath, the indignant words swirling with the blaring music that suffuses his vehicle. He is twenty minutes late to an exam, and the mere thought of this reality is poison to his thoughts. Sure, Sicheng the notorious “bad boy” and, claimed, epitome of devil-may-care, might not pay mind to trivial details—but when it comes to exams and studies he takes them very diligently. In fact, if all the rumours that circulate around Sicheng did not exist then he would be unrecognizable to everyone.

In a tight rush he erratically veers his vehicle into the parking lot and goes to his designated spot—which he finds out is taken, to his surprise. Confused, he studies the car that is present in his student lot for a good minute or so, only to become more vexed at the sight as more time passes by. “You’re fucking kidding me,” Sicheng sighs. “I didn’t pay the fee for student parking to have this happen.”

Sicheng turns his head over his shoulder and leans back, his arm resting behind the neck of the passenger seat as he swiftly exits the crowded lot. He zooms out of the classified parking tact and roams the streets, his eyes attentive to the road and curbs to find a vacant spot. The streets are fairly crowded with pedestrians and passersby, cars speeding down as if they are racing against one another amid their routinely commute. After another ten minutes he sees an empty spot at the far end of the bustling street, almost perfectly unoccupied as if it is to bee waiting for him. Sicheng kicks up the speed of his car and rushes to the spot, the carking honks of certain vehicles directing towards his recklessness. He finally parks after what feels like aeons.

Apparently it is immensely taxing to find a spot that is by the institute. Then again, Sicheng is running on three hours of sleep—a disturbed slumber created by Taeyong and Yuta cracking jokes as if being dormant is not in their dictionary—not a single cup of coffee, and a tired mind. He rests against his driver’s seat and takes a deep breath, his chest palpably heaving, and he closes his eyes as his head leans against the headrest.

Ready to drift off into a much needed, entailing sleep, Sicheng shakes himself up and gets a mental reminder that he is already far too late for an exam. He bolts out of his vehicle and begins to zip past the streets, the chill of the wind pricking at his skin with every fast, large step he takes towards the institute. Sicheng is using the last of his energy to reach the lecture hall, and he wastes the remaining pieces of his mind to read the directory boards.

When he storms into the lecture hall it is as if he is a raging tornado, bringing down a few loose papers by the desk near the door. Out of breath and making his way to the front, he grabs onto an exam that is lazily, and angrily, being held by his professor, and begins to sit at the first vacant spot available.

The disturbance is vexatious enough for your eyes to peer from your paper to study the interference. All you see is a rowdy boy, a recognizable face from Taeyong’s obstreperous group of friends, and high school, finding a solace on a plastic chair within the room. You sigh, shaking your head in disappointment before you return to your exam.

The boy’s distant rummaging for supplies fades away from your senses after a few moments, allowing you to give complete focus to your exam.

Sicheng briefly glances at the assessment before him and releases a sigh of relief, mollified that the content on the paper is everything he can claim he has an expertise in. Biochem is never a struggle for Sicheng—if he even struggled with studies to begin with. The years he has poured into studying sedulously in high school truly paid off, from treating it like a hobby and using it as an escape from the nasty rumours that disseminated around him. He used to be the top of his class while he was in high school, and that was what earned him the open door to his present, prestigious university.

The longer Sicheng stares at the test the quicker the answers arrive to him. His pencil is creating scribbles all over the scratch paper, and the solutions piece together not long afterwards. It takes him forty-five minutes for the exam to be thoroughly completed and skimmed through, and he grins at himself as if he has achieved a nonpareil victory. Around this time you finish the exam as well, taking longer than usual by returning to skipped questions and reviewing your work.

Contemporaneously, you and Sicheng make each other’s way to the front and hand the exam to the professor, who accepts it with reluctance. Well, to be completely true to the story, you halt the boy’s stride by stepping in front of him, practically shoving the assessment to your professor. Sicheng cocks an eyebrow upwards towards your miniature stunt, hoping it is an accidental disrespect, and waits.

With belongings in your hand you leave the lecture hall with haste. You hope that the last minute studying for the exam is worth it; after all, it is a refresher. Looking back at the room, Sowon is still sitting at her spot with a furrowed brow, torn on which formula to use for one of the many onerous questions.

Sicheng, on the other hand, keeps his eyes on you as you walk out the door, blinking twice to your phantom-like action to leave the hall. He then proceeds to talk to the professor for a short while about the following unit. Soon afterwards he meets up with one of his friends, Taeyong, and they roam the university campus for a good while amid conversing about random topics in regards to women and pointless get-togethers.

“So, Sicheng,” Taeyong starts, “our next party is going to be next week.”

Sicheng looks at his friend, engrossed by the conversation. Hearing about parties is either music to Sicheng’s ears, or the complete opposite if there is a vital project or assessment close. “Really? I’m down, where is it though?”

Taeyong shrugs. “Probably at Yuta’s. We haven’t had a party at his place in a while.”

“More like we haven’t been there in a while—it’s like he wants to keep us away from his shit.”

The boy lets out a laugh, agreeing with his younger friend patently. “We can stop by his place when he comes back. For now, we can just chill out in your car.”

“Yeah, we—”

Sicheng cuts his words short. It is not until Taeyong speaks the final statement for him to recall it: his car is not in the student parking lot, and it is the momentous event of the day. Taeyong becomes startled at the sudden groan Sicheng lets out that is quite similar to an enraged beast waking.

He rubs a palm on his face as he says, “Right, my car isn’t here.”

Taeyong’s curiosity catapults rapidly before he asks, “What are you talking about? This is where your spot is.”

“I know,” he says with a sigh, shoving his fists into his pocket. His face is contorting into an expression of annoyance, a childish pout appearing on his pursed lips. “But someone was in my designated parking spot. Tae, you know what I had to do?” He swats his friend’s arm. “I had to drive all the way to the end of this busy street just to park—I could have gotten hit if I wasn’t careful!”

“Well, good thing you were careful.” A small fit of titters is impossible for Taeyong to fight when he heard the lilliputian story, it being the highlight of his week.

Sicheng sternly frowns at his friend. “It’s not funny. I don’t pay the parking fee for this uni for nothing. I was late today too, and it had to be on the day of an exam.”

“Sorry, bro,” Taeyong comforts. Well, an excuse of comforting his downhearted friend to be precise. “If it makes you feel better I’ll drive you to the end of the street so you don’t have to risk your life on the sidewalk.”

Taeyong’s frolicsome tone brings out Sicheng’s querulous side, like a storm that has been waiting to strike its thunder, but the younger boy is in no mood to shoot back any rude remarks.

“Come on”—Taeyong urges his friend with a hand—“let’s go. Then we can text Jae and them to meet up at the billiards hall later before we head to Yuta’s.”

Sicheng stares at the vehicle that is occupying his space for a few more seconds before shadowing Taeyong to the opposite side of the parking lot, brows still together in a derailing manner. The walk to Taeyong’s vehicle is a good ten minutes, considering the wide parking tract. Once the two boys reach the desired car they plunk inside and prepare to drive.

Taeyong’s engine purrs and he begins to back out of his spot; shortly, he slowly makes his way around the area and heads for the exit. Sicheng is reposing in the passenger seat, his eyes closed as if he aches for a deep sleep to make up for last night—and quite honestly, he does. The smooth drive is going well until Taeyong’s car comes to an abrupt halt, causing Sicheng to open his eyes in a desultory rate to gawk at the reason why.

“Why’d you stop?” Sicheng asks, looking at his friend.

Taeyong glowers, displeasure priming on his features. “People are crossing the street. You know, one of them being the girl that rejected me.”

Sicheng bats his eyes, blinking the sleep away as he leans forward, examining the students. One of them, Sicheng recognizes within a dream, and he is ephemerally caught off guard. It is the same girl who shoved himself in front of him after the simple test, cutting off the thread of his actions swiftly—in fact, she is you.

You are dragging your feet to your car as Sowon’s arm is compactly looping around your own, almost dragging you back. She is voicing an exasperating legion of complaints about the exam, constantly claiming that her life has now come to an end after that devastating assessment. Then again, this is just a typical Sowon.

Sicheng is ready to lounge and nap in the passenger seat until he noticed the transparent path you are walking on. At it was to his parking lot; to your vehicle.

“Wait a second,” Sicheng mumbles, his gaze narrowing on your figure. He roots himself in the passenger seat of his friend’s car until he is sure you are going to his designated spot, and Taeyong ogles at his friend in unmitigated dubiety.

“Dude, that’s definitely the girl that rejected me. That’s—”

“Her,” Sicheng completes mindlessly. Sicheng notices the way you are fishing for the keys in your bag, and later unlocked your car.

Taeyong speaks some more about you as he rambles on and on, but Sicheng is highly inattentive to his friend’s words, for he is far too invested in his anger building up inside of him. God, because of you he is more than late to the exam, and it seems like the fee he paid for the parking is put to waste. Exasperated, he unbuckles his seatbelt and impulsively exits Taeyong’s car, marching towards you in an indignant manner.

Taeyong’s eyes blow wide to his friend’s brisk exploit, calling out for him, but nothing stops Sicheng’s bourning stride.

“Excuse me,” Sicheng calls out for you. Rather than catching your attention it enraptures Sowon’s, who quickly tugs onto your sleeve to notify your awareness. The drag Sowon creates pulls you back, and you shake your arm out of her grasp with a whine.

“What is it now?” you question her. Her head is facing elsewhere when you bombard her with the question, and your gaze follows her rising arm that is pointing to a man a short distance away. With an angry gait he approaches your being after a few moments, and he is a short yard from you.

The man you recognize as Sicheng clears his throat. “You parked in my spot today. It’s actually assigned to me.” Sicheng tilts his chin high as if he is looking down at you, but the words that left his lips come out gentler than what anyone would expect.

It takes you a moment to assess his words and Sowon creeps off to the side, watching the spectacle like it is an all-star movie. Your gaze fleets from the parking lot ot Sicheng, and you release a huff of breath. “Your spot?” you repeat distastefully. “I thought parking at this university was for whoever gets it first.”

Sicheng crinkles his nose at your mistake, how conspicuous it is. “Y-yeah,” he stutters, attempting to approach the incident in a collected fashion. With none of his friends around he has no point in keeping up the malicious bad boy mask he created. “You’re wrong. There’s actually a fee we pay to—”

“If you bothered to show up to class on time, especially on a day of an exam, maybe this would’ve never happened,” you comment. You notice the way Sicheng gets taken aback by your sour tongue, for he never thought that someone like you would speak with flames, matches igniting every word that left your mouth. The fire scorches Sicheng’s dignity—enough to burn it to ashes.

Sicheng’s mouth gapes as he agitates at your response; it really is the polar of what he expects to come from the pretty lips of yours. You are a sweet trap in his eyes, the epitome of one. A simple appearance with angelic features to him, but that one statement reveals all the poison that vests within your being. “I’m sorry,” Sicheng lets out with a laugh, “what did you say?”

“You know what I said,” you articulate, not willing to spend another second conversing with him. There is an ache to return to your apartment after that arduous exam and create comfort in the familiar confinement, but here Sicheng is, preventing you from doing so.

Sicheng’s lips twist into a smile, his impatience running thin. “Look, girl, I—”

“(y/n),” you correct. “My name is (y/n), Sicheng.”

Sicheng abides to your patience and he takes a second to calm himself down before he blows a fuse. “How do you know my name?” he questions, steering away from the topic at hand. The mask he has constructed for a day-to-day basis has come out, hoping it would rip an apology out of you. “Ah, of course. Who doesn’t?”

Though, to his surprise and your unamusement, the opposite occurs. "Aside from us attending the same high school and hearing all the rumours about you, the girls who sat behind us wouldn't shut up for a good two minutes about how ‘adorable you look when tired’—during an exam. I'm upset the professor didn't notice.”

Sicheng shrugs, pushing his interest about the girls’ words to the back of his mind. “Really? If I was not late due to someone taking my parking then that wouldn’t have happened. Half an hour, (y/n).”

“You can be ten minutes late, twenty, or even half an hour—I don’t care.” You start to walk to the driver’s side of your vehicle, opening the door vehemently.

Sicheng continues to follow you halfheartedly and questions, “Seriously?”

Your hand hangs off the car door and you toss him a look of annoyance. Meanwhile, Sowon slips onto the passenger side. “Do you only know how to ask questions in disbelief?” you spit out to him.

“No, I’m just—”

“You seem surprised that I’m talking to you this way,” you think aloud. You pull on the strap of your backpack and start to take your baggage off, lobbing it onto the backseat.

Sicheng swallows another breath of air, waiting for you to continue. “A little.”

You indicate a sound of annoyance and you start to step into your vehicle. “You’re at our university, Sicheng, so you need to have a purpose. If you were seriously a hardcore 'bad boy' as everyone says, then we wouldn't be having this conversation. Why? Because you wouldn't be here."

With that, you shut the door on the boy and start up your engine.

Sicheng’s jaw drops to the floor as he watches you back out from his assigned spot. Nothing but raw shock takes over him and he is more than startled that you would talk in such a lethal fashion—especially towards him. In fact, he is not used to it. Someone has little to no interest in him, and treated him with such impudence to the point his inquisitiveness soars. Maybe the rumours he heard about you are true, and that you possibly did have a prestige of getting into countless of men’s pants.

You roll your window down once you completely back out of the driveway, only to say to the boy, “I won’t park here tomorrow for you though.”

And there is no apology. The last sound he hears from your vehicle is the excited screaming that comes from your friend, who is equally surprised at your attitude towards the notorious bad boy.

Sicheng remains planted onto the concrete of the tract until Taeyong pulls up next to him, snapping him out of his daze. “That doesn’t seem like it went well,” Taeyong points out the obvious.

Sicheng scratches the back of his neck and shuffles involuntarily. “Tell me about it… Say, Tae, you were interested in her?” Sicheng is unable to put it together: why would Taeyong ever show an interest to someone with a sour personality like yours? It is as if you are a rotten apple that would blight those who linger around you; absolutely abrasive.

Taeyong nods, somewhat ashamed from the brief past. “Yeah, why? Was it a mistake? Isn’t she kinda’ cute?”

Sicheng gives it some thought before shrugging. “I guess.”

“Don’t you want to get her back? You know, people say that she’s always down for a good fuck. You should do your signature: leave ‘em hanging.” Taeyong questions, implying more than just a request in his tone. He speaks with certainty, inexorable to his plan. His lips quirk into a cunning smirk, an expression that would enchant women, but Sicheng merely laughs it off.

He shakes his head, seeing no use with meddling in rumours. “No point. Come on”—he enters Taeyong’s vehicle, shielding how enraged he is with a smile—“let’s just go to the billiards hall.”

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

For majority of the drive, along with the car radio’s convivial tunes to set the impressible mood, Sowon’s voice entangles with the music. She speaks like a broken record that is unable to shut off, and you really want to mute her as if she is a rebarbative vinyl. It is not because you feel animus towards her, as hard as that may be to believe, but Sowon refuses to quit maundering about your daring exploit to Sicheng. Sowon is more than aware with who Sichen is, or, to be exact, who he makes himself to be; after all, the rumours have spread around the first day of university like wildfire. Oh, and he lingers within Taeyong’s compact crowd.

“I still can’t believe you talked to him like that,” Sowon lets out, her arms animatedly flailing around.

You roll your eyes and grip onto the wheel, paying close attention to the road as you search for the correct street to turn at. It is a good mid-afternoon, the preeminent time to eat lunch with your friend, and, with empty stomachs, you are both looking for a delectable place. Each time Sowon speaks of the scene you remain quiet, not allowing yourself to reply to her petulant reaction.

And so she continues, “Most girls are either too infatuated with Sicheng to even commit a fraction of what you did, or are entirely afraid of him. It’s strange though—like he and his group just has a spell over girls but you’re immune to their abilities.”

“You’re speaking of them like they’re witches,” you say with a laugh.

“They are,” she jests, a wide smile crossing her face. “I didn’t go to the same school as Sicheng, but I heard so much stuff about him.”

You raise an eyebrow, allured by her words and how she views the story of the notorious starboy. You ponder how much it differs from what your information of him, how you are most likely the one who is aware of the truth. “Like what?” you ask her.

Sowon hums a tune to the melody of the current song, her eyes upped as if she is soaring past her thick clouds of thought. “I heard he messed around with a lot of girls—more than he did in this uni. But it was all for fun. Those girls are so lucky—they got to go in his pants!”

“Yeah,” you agree, thoroughly carefree, “the boy rarely showed up to school when the year was ending though.”

Sowon giggles, her fingers hovering over her mouth. “I heard too. He went around with his friends downtown to sleep with older women. They were probably the most wild group out there.”

“He still acts like it,” you mumble.

“Because he still is like that—he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to change.” Sowon lets out a frown. “Since Taeyong is interested in you, should I just go for Sicheng?” she asks with a smirk.

For the first time throughout the entire drive your gaze breaks from the road; you study her buoyant face in hopes that this is another one of her jokes. “You’re talking as if you’re a part of their group.”

Sowon tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the instead-of-getting-in-his-pants-i’ll-go-for-their-friend’s.”

“What?”

“Nevermind,” you sigh. “It’s funny, I know Sicheng in a completely different way.

Sowon’s mouth gapes and she leans in over the center console, inching closer to invest herself in the details that are about to spill from your mouth. She acts as if she is a overwrought reporter, ready to receive the news that would be the talk of the century. “How so?” she questions. Then, a lightbulb flickers on in her hand—one that has been shut off for aeons. “Right, you went to the same high school as him!”

“Unfortunately,” you add. “I had to deal with the cheer team members in my class whispering everyday about how Sicheng broke their friend’s heart. Then when that was over, I had to put up with all sorts of girls being intrigued by how heedless he was. I never even crossed paths with him until today—thankfully.

“Sicheng was a stellar student from what I could tell. The times he were present in school he was always studying and such, or maybe wasting daylight in the dance room. That’s why I refuse to believe he’s a stupid starboy that loves getting in other’s pants. That boy’s probably a total softie—you should have seen how easy he went on me from earlier.”

Sowon’s eyebrows are raised, and she is somewhat taken aback from your description of the ultimate bad boy. She sees Dong Sicheng on a completely divergent path from you, so hearing new facets about him—from your experience—come as a large shock. She wonders if you are truly correct; she has heard so many stories like how he was an obstinate biker, but quit after a horrible accident. Word used to go around that he smoked dependently until he met Jaehyun. Everything was absolutely preposterous, but others asininely believed in everything they heard.

Laughter escapes her parted lips once more and she leans back in her chair, her head turning out the window as she thinks more about your words, imagining Sicheng as a milksop. It is futile for her to attribute the characters you provided her with to someone like him, for the image of Sicheng all around Taeyong and the other negligent personages is imbued into her mind. Almost like it is carved onto a tomb until eternity.

“I guess so,” she acknowledges. “So he’s kind of like you in a way.”

“What do you mean by that?” you ask her, defensive.

Sowon thinks for a few seconds, struggling to find the words to say. “Well shit spreads about you sleeping with a lot of guys, but no one believes it. Actually, you’re not the person people think you are—same with Sicheng. You’re my cute little bookworm, but to others you are a sex goddess who—”

“I don’t want to hear the details,” you say with a slanted grin.

“Moving on,” Sowon chants. “Now you know to not park there again. He’d probably break your windows or something next time.”

You raise an eyebrow at her words, parking your vehicle at the curb of the retail restaurant plaza. There is a specific look that sketches on your face, one that insinuates an instigating action that is bound to evoke a mirthful reaction.

“Would he?” you question yourself, voice inaudible to Sowon, who is preparing to exit the car. It takes a couple of seconds for you to come to a personal conclusion, and you result in going back on your word.

An unspoken game has been declared between you and Sicheng, and you are ready to make the first move tomorrow. Rather than having guys chase your back for a special night, it is your turn to chase a man for the sole purpose of teasing.

You and Sowon ate a fairly large lunch yesterday, and after dropping her back off to the dorm you got the best amount of shut eye you have had in weeks. But that is because you slept early, not due to sleeping in.

Once the first light of the morning seeps through your sheer curtains you rise as if it is your alarm, and you become ready for school within a short amount of time. It is pointless to spend a lot of time to look your best that early in the morning, so you keep apparel simple with leggings and a sweatshirt. Then, you enter your vehicle with your belongings and start to drive with a wide grin on your face.

Vastly emptier than usual, you cruised the streets in the ensconcement of your seat and comfort of your car. With the windows rolled down you have the gentle breeze whistling through your hair somewhat, and it all comes to an end when you reach the student parking lot. The more you get closer to the designated spot that is not yours, the more giddy you become. You are humming a tune in joy and narrow your eyes down on Sicheng’s spot, eager to fill it with your annoying vehicle.

Once you stop the car and pull out your keys you send Sowon a text, informing her that you have arrived at the university. You slip your phone into your bag and start to walk to the girls’ dormitory, almost dancing with each step towards the building. A good ten minute walk from the parking lot is what it takes for you to reach the entrance to the dorms, and Sowon meets up with you, opening the door to allow you inside. She greets you with an excited hug, dragging you to her dorm room as if she is an electrified child ready to play a few games.

“I’m surprised you decided to come early,” she comments, letting you waltz inside her dorm.

The familiar scent of vanilla created by her lightened up candles kisses your nose, and you take a seat on her messy bed. “Me too, but my morning’s been surprisingly well.”

“Mm, I wonder why,” she says in a singsong voice. Sowon looks out her window, observing the condensation present on the thick glass. “Isn’t it a long walk from where you usually park? It’s kinda’ cold out this morning,” she comments, a little worried.

You assure her with a smile, waving your hands to shy off her concerns. “Don’t worry, I parked closer this time.”

“Where?” she asks, lounging in her bean bag.

“My new spot,” you declare with credence, “where else?”

Sowon’s eyes blow wide, shocked at the confession that easily slips from your lips. “No way.”

There are stars twinkling in your eyes from the incoming victory, and you nod to confirm her suspicions. Like stated, it is a game that you and Sicheng have never spoken of, and you have every intention of winning.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

When Sicheng wakes he is not behind the time schedule like before. There is no blare of his phone alarm to snooze, no ostentatious early morning yelling from his friends; in fact, there is nothing but silence, and it sends him a plethora of peaceful sentiments. Sitting up in his bed for a while, he thinks deeply amid the calming quietude. It is enjoyable: the serenity of the morning with no disruptions, and he wonders if this is what his life would constantly be like if he purged the mask he set up for himself.

Sicheng presently makes the choice to get out of bed and prepare himself for a placid day. He strays away from his phone to avoid the rowdy group chat and he moves slower than usual, like a tranquil streamline. He is only going with the flow of the aerodynamic, allowing it to carry him throughout his day. Breakfast is small and simple, and he dresses up for school. It does not take long for him to enter his car and begin driving to the university.

The drive is strangely quiet, pellucid. There are not many clouds in the sky, like the sun has scared them all away, and the heat pours into his vehicle to create a slight discomfort. With his eyes on the road, periodically veering to the atmosphere, there is a contrail that he seems like he is following to reach the institute. Sicheng hums in thought and is going through his mental checklist as he drives into the student parking lot. The day is peculiarly calm, and it constructs a perfect morning for Sicheng.

Until he reaches his paid parking spot, only to find that same vehicle from the day before occupying it.

As if his mind is still slow, like he is wakening from a recent slumber, he stares at the unavailable spot for a good while before reacting. Sicheng takes quite a while to fathom your daring action, and he only responds with a tired sigh, making his way to the busy street to park his vehicle. So much for his good morning.

Sicheng has a sea of sheer purple underneath his eyes to indicate his tiredness, and his mouth is being dragged down into a frown that intimidates others that walk by. He is trudging through the campus in a search for his friends, completely irked by your new stunt. There are flames that are hazing around his being, warning students away from him—a mere lock of eyes would be enough to burn their pneuma.

In the distance underneath the tree in the center of the campus Sicheng sees Yuta perusing an article on his phone. “Hey, Nakamoto!” Sicheng calls out to him, smug as ever.

The sound of his name enraptures his attention and he diverts his awareness to his younger friend. “Sicheng!” he responds, walking towards the boy. “You’ve been dead since last night—we were making plans this morning in the chat, what’s up?”

“Oh, I couldn’t find my phone,” he responds rapidly, quick in thought. “What’s going on?”

“The usual,” Yuta laughs. “Why are you coming from that side? The parking lot is on the other.”

Sicheng’s expression runs niche, and he is motionless for a brief second or two. “My parking got jacked.”

“Again?” Yuta asks, taken aback. “You know, this is actually kinda’ funny.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes and roots his fists into his pockets, shifting his stance. “It’s not. My money is being wasted for someone else to take my fucking spot.”

“Take it back,” Yuta says without thought. He is speaking flamboyantly, like jokes are the only way he can keep up a conversation.

Sicheng looks his friend in the eye austerely, and Yuta, one who typically shares the flames of anger with Sicheng, is being scorched by his look alone.

“Yeah,” Sicheng breathes. “Let me just crash my car right into hers, you know? So none of us can use the spot.”

“You can always break her windows,” Yuta proposes.

Sicheng gruffs, raking a hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to get in trouble at this point in the semester?”

“Didn’t you always used to get in trouble back then anyway? This isn’t anything new for you,” Yuta falsely claims.

A few moments is what Sicheng needs to comprehend Yuta’s words. Of course Yuta would think that; Sicheng used to go to the counseling office every other day for help with the transfer program, and to vent about the stress that eats him from the inside, out. For a good week rumours had spread about Sicheng—to no surprise, and yet again—that his mother was forcing him into counseling at the school to work on his personality.

Recalling that episode in his life makes Sicheng sigh in disappointment, for he has a brief epiphany that everyone’s outside opinion of him is based off false columns that built him to where he is.

But all Sicheng can let out is an, “I guess.”

Yuta and Sicheng start to walk around the campus in search for the other two boisterous boys; for the most part, Sicheng is complaining endlessly about the taken parking spot. And the second they walk past the dormitory building, he shuts up. Not because he has been rambling seamlessly or that he dedicated ten minutes of his life to grousing, but because he sees someone not too far from him, recognizing the person within a heartbeat.

“God damn it, (y/n),” Sicheng spits out abhorrently.

“(y/n)?” Yuta repeats, looking at his friend. “Oh, the one who rejected Taeyong?”

The answer is obvious, but Yuta still commented unsurely amid Sicheng angrily striding your way. You and Sowon have recently waltzed out of the dormitory, giggling from miniature jokes.

“Hey,” Sicheng calls out to you.

Your jocular giggles wither into silence, and you stare at the recognizable boy before you. “Hey there, starboy.”

Getting straight to the point, Sicheng calms himself down with two deep breaths prior to continuing. You notice the way his chest puffs in and out, indicating that he is trying to lock the choleric fraction of his personality away.

“What happened to not taking my spot now? I don’t pay half a grand to have you take my parking,” he informs, forcing a smirk on his lips.

Sowon stares at Sicheng, intimidated by his fuming presence. Her gaze is exchanging from you and the boy, and she takes a step back as if a quarrel is ready to take place. Yuta on the other hand, who is leisurely observing from a close distance, takes entertainment.

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to walk that far again,” you tell him jovially. A part of you wants to be honest with Sicheng, to just announce ‘ Let this game begin ’ to see his next move, but instead you wrig in excitement.

Yuta joins Sicheng’s side, nudging the younger boy with his elbow and waggling his eyebrows to imply something else. It is a golden chance for Sicheng to break out a premier line, but not for you. If it is not obvious enough, their petulant antics have no effect on yourself; like you have a shield around you that is infrangible.

“You have to make it up to me somehow then,” Sicheng proposes, taking a step closer.

You cock an eyebrow upwards and tilt your head as if it would help you assess his words. Seriously, of all times and the array of things he can say to lighten up the situation, he has to draw out the poorest of utterances.

Letting out a titter, you take a step as well and tilt your chin up, a leonine presence coming over you. “How so?”

A fit of chuckles that failed to be sustained is audible in the background; of course, coming from Yuta. Sowon looks at the other boy and scrutinizes him for a good while, and when the two outsiders lock eyes, Yuta winks her way.

Sicheng swallows his breath, feeling tyrannized by you. It is not a normal occurrence for Sicheng to feel subdued by another member of the opposite sex; he usually has a way with words; typically his smile is all that is needed to charm others. His gaze averts from you and he flutters his lashes, silent for a couple of moments. Fuck, it really was not a smart choice to prompt something he is not able to finish.

Staring at the boy in front of you breaks down his bravado, it tumbling down as if it is an unstable house of cards. You wait and wait for Sicheng to answer your question, but he remains silent, uneasy as the tension in the air rises.

“Come on, starboy,” you edge, smirking from the prominent standing of having the upper hand, “Finish what you started.”

Sicheng releases a sigh, brushing off the weight of the moment but turning his back to you. “There’s no point,” he articulates, walking back to his friend. Yuta’s eyebrows are raised in a fashion of attentiveness, unable to pinpoint the exact reason for Sicheng dropping the tight scene.

The moment the back of Sicheng’s head is what you are spitting your false sense of superiority towards, Sicheng’s expression withers into relief. It is like the strength he utilizes to hold up the mask of braggadocio is not even a fraction of what he needs to face you head on. Giving it more thought, Sicheng recalls the few hearsays that once spread the campus about you—and frequently the same words still make rise—and how you truly are not the donnish student you display yourself to be.

With his suspicions rising, yours are sensibly confirmed.

As Sicheng walks to Yuta, the older boy looping his arm around the younger’s neck to pull him close and hound his friend for backing out, your eyes cannot tear from his figure until he is out of sight.

Narrowing down your thoughts, you conclude that Dong Sicheng is nothing but talk, the epitome of overrated; the personality he exhibits to others a mere act he has molded himself to fit in almost perfectly. But it is the faulty fraction that allows you to see through his false persona. With a smug grin, he dissembles his true self inside. And knowing this defective element absolutely galvanizes you, prompting you to maintain the unspoken game.

Thinking in terms of a game, there are those who fear him and those who ache to be near the being of vehement carelessness. And then there is you: someone who has always been made aware of his noxious existence since high school, but has chosen to stray far away from him. It is like crossing paths has kindled the start of a spirited stratagem, and you want to give Sicheng a taste of what he is unobtrusively missing, which is a night of zealous coition.

You are snapped out of your daze when Sowon waves her hand in front of your face, catching your attention abruptly. Looking at her, you smile triumphantly.

“Seriously? What are you thinking?” she asks you from witnessing your farcical stunt. “Sicheng’s going to get you back for this. I heard that the last time sometime tried to reject him his friends—”

“Everything you hear about Sicheng is so absurd,” you acknowledge with a breathy laugh. “But whatever he does—if he wants to do anything—it’ll be amusing.”

Sowon presses a palm to her forehead before dragging you to the main path, pulling you to the direction of the lecture hall. “You really are diabolical,” she comments.

Shrugging, the two of you chuckle, pushing the recent moment to the back of each other’s minds, refusing to speak about it until the short future.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

Yuta’s hands are flying all over the air as he talks animatedly, passionate about his thoughts from the recent encounter with you. If one is to look towards his way, they would assume the worst; after all, Yuta is speaking with anger and a sour tongue.

“You should have said, ‘Make it up to me tonight’!” Yuta exclaims, annoyed at his friend’s reluctance. “It was the perfect chance, and you said the opening line to it. It was your open window, and all you had to do was jump out!”

Sicheng grumbles in annoyance. “There was seriously no point.”

“Um,” Yuta hesitates, “yes, there was! Are you forgetting about sex? You would have given her a night to remember.”

“It’s not like I want that,” Sicheng comments, his voice silent like a whisper. He thinks about his statement a little more, assessing Yuta’s confused expression before Sicheng adds, “I mean, f-from her.”

Yuta sighs in defeat; it is anticlimactically futile to argue with Sicheng. “You’ve always been the softest one out of all of us. It’s kinda’ funny, everyone else thinks so highly of you to the point they fear you. But you don’t want to fuck around with that many girls. When was the last time you even had a good fuck?”

Sicheng rolls his eyes at Yuta’s persistence. “Long enough, I suppose.”

“That’s why at my party next week, you’ll score big—maybe.”

“So the party’s really going to be held at your place?” Sicheng questions.

Yuta nods his head, confirming his question. “You bet. Get ready, ‘starboy,’ you’re probably gonna’ score it big.”

Sicheng’s breath is lodging in his throat, unsure on what to think about the upcoming party. Wild festivities are a must within the group, and every so often they are held—each being deemed as the party of the month, always to be better than the last. As much as the others look forward to them; men looking to score and women searching for a long night; Sicheng somewhat dreads them. It would be questionable if he is absent without a valid reason, and studies is not rational enough in their books. So, typically at intimate gatherings like those he would stray off to the side and avoid conversing with drunken individuals, and leave after a few hours of sitting and moping.

Usually girls would crowd him though, but a party is the last place Sicheng would want to converse with anybody. The impression of the other individual would substantially drop; it practically screams that they are there to get into someone’s pants. When Sicheng is being held down by a sphere of excited partiers, his friends orbit around him and prompt him for a drink or two, but it always leads into a few more.

Whoever would be lucky would be leading Sicheng into a bedroom where the only occupiers are the two of them, and, sure, kissing would occur and sensual touches, but once clothes begin to get discarded Sicheng becomes reluctant. Though, to the other’s eyes, it seems he has lost interest within a heartbeat, growing bored when they try harder to catch his attention again. Sicheng would try to talk them out of it—if he is not too flustered by the sight of a half naked body. However, it is his turn for him to rid himself of his apparel, he stands up irresolutely and heads straight for the door, no words needed.

In short, parties are no fun for the false starboy.

You have never been one to dwell within your thoughts. Problems pass by like quick showers of rain, disappearing within a couple of moments, and negative reflections are always shattered. However, the rumination of the damned boy, Dong Sicheng, has never left your mind. It is impressioned onto your brain like ancient carvings, and they do not seem to be disappearing any time soon.

Throughout your two years of being present within the university, the stir of events you have witnessed recently, and the game you set up for yourself have to be the most eventful. It keeps you occupied, pushes you to the edge of your seat in excitement, and gives you another action to do aside messing around with guys who crave a taste of you. In fact, with the line of guys who test the rumours and theories of your sex skill that you once found alluring, they no longer have a spot in your aspirations. All because Sicheng is in your radar, and he is the next target.

It is interesting to see how the events have cascaded upon one another: you never batted an eye to Sicheng in high school, now all you want is to tease him. Conceivably, you want to tarnish that “bad boy” reputation that surrounds him—because that would be your greatest accomplishment. Hearing the nosy speculations that encompass Sicheng makes you burst out in laughter. Who everyone sees as a negligent but charming man is nothing but rotten to you. Some say that he used to get in fights uptown when he was in high school, and others say that he never studied, always skipping class to find older women. Though, after attending the same high school as him and noticing the trivial particulars, taking every detail into consideration, Sicheng is far too overvalued.

Sicheng skipped class from the negative insinuations that surrounded him, and everything made sense to you within seconds. Almost like the sky has cleared after its storm, you gained a decent understanding of him and who he makes himself to be.

Sowon has a point: you and Sicheng are similar in many ways, yet differ substantially at the same time. Both you and the starboy have speculatory gossip besieging to the point going against it is futile. There is even a false impression of you that other students have. The university bibliophile and intellectual—one that no one expects to even converse with the opposite sex, lewdly—has scored with far too many guys on campus. And because of your assiduous exhibition, no one truly believes that you have slept with one or two of them.

The following day after an easily deemed victory you wake up with intentions to steal his parking spot again. You are running a little bit later than the clock, but with enough time to get dressed; and so, within ten minutes, you are out the door. The weather feels identical as the day before: clear skies and a warm sun, but the rush you face to reach Sicheng’s parking spot makes it difficult to enjoy the mild weather.

Amid your careening, you have reached the entrance of the student parking lot and see a familiar vehicle driving down the opposite end of the tract. Focusing your vision, you recognize the driver as Dong Sicheng, and the man in the passenger seat as Jung Jaehyun. You sigh and let out a sound of annoyance, your head turning left and right to see if there is another way to beat him to the locale. And it is either you turn left and enter a one way zone, or obey the rules and go all the way around. Obviously, with your ache to top Sicheng—in many ways, that is—the answer is in the air. Taking a deep breath, you grip onto the wheel and turn it, veering your vehicle into the one-way zone that is opposite from you. You are driving recklessly as you zip down the road, and just as the other car is about to make its way towards its designated spot, you swerve right into the vacancy.

The other vehicle comes to an abrupt halt, for its brake is rapidly pressed down onto as you cut off their bearing. “Shit,” spits out the driver, Sicheng. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Jaehyun’s body is jerked from the sudden freeze of momentum, and he gets dragged back to the passenger seat, groaning, “Whoa, what happened?”

Sicheng tossed his head onto the headrest and closed his eyes, frustrated at your stunt. He calms himself with a few deep breaths, his grip loosening on the wheel as Jaehyun studies his actions.

“You good, dude?” Jaehyun asks, hitting his friend’s arm with the back of his hand like he is an empty shell.

“Yeah,” Sicheng concludes, his voice descending. “Just a little frustrated.”

Jaehyun bats his eyes and looks at the vehicle that has taken Sicheng’s paid parking spot; it takes a while for Jaehyun to comprehend the situation, then he finally speaks. “Again? Isn’t this the third day in a row?”

Sicheng nods and opens his eyes, his teeth biting the outline of his lip. There is a concerning mien that is priming on his face: an empty-looking stare, but fire hazes this two orbs. Though, when Sicheng opens his eyes and shifts his gaze to his friend, he notices someone else in his field of view—he notices you, hiking your backpack over your shoulder as you start to walk across the lot.

“Because of that fucking—”

“(y/n),” Jaehyun interrupts, his voice susurrous and questionable.

The sound of your name leaving someone else’s lips sounds incredibly foreign to Sicheng, and it catches his attention. Jaehyun appears uneasy as he gawks at you, shaky eyes and his hands balling into fists. Sicheng takes in every detail and he is about to question the well-being of his friend; until, Jaehyun smiles reassuringly to him.

“Sorry, I recognize her from a year ago,” he informs.

Sicheng raises an eyebrow, his hands coasting off the wheel. “What? Did you guys have a thing—an actual relationship?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “No,” he says with a laugh. “It’s a short story, but I can tell you later.”

“Whoa, it’s something I don’t know? I guess there really is a first for everything.”

Jaehyun laughs lounges in the passenger seat, his stare finally breaking from you and your friend. There is a bitter taste that reposes on Jaehyun’s tongue, a familiar heat efflorescing in his chest; it is the taste you left him with, the anger that has been created the night you two had sex. Jaehyun has seen you around campus a couple of times and he ignores the innocent look you have whenever you enter another social surrounding. At the time, he was aware that voicing his complaints about you would put everyone in a state of disbelief, and Jaehyun would be deemed as a first-class liar—despite the truth pouring from his lips like endless waterfalls. Oh, and Jaehyun would never let anyone else know that he allowed a girl to top him for a night, then leave him as if he was nothing but detritus. There was no call back later, and a conversation the following day was absent. You and Jaehyun turned into instant strangers afterwards, and there has never been a reason to go back on that title.

You wave your hand in the air to catch Sicheng’s attention, to which he diffidently forces a smile your way, his anger failing to be shielded. Grinning at the starboy, you finally see the familiar boy in the passenger seat clearly. Jaehyun’s head turns out the window; he is refusing to look at you, and you titter quietly. Sowon pushes you ahead, bringing you out of the parking lot as she tries to hide her own sounds of entertainment.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Sowon surmises.

“I’ve been doing the same thing for two days—this is my plan,” you inform her.

Sowon pouts. “I mean when you entered the one way zone—what if someone was trying to exit? Or of a staff member saw you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you assure. “This whole thing is foolproof.”

Meanwhile, Sicheng and Jaehyun are driving out of the parking lot, finding no point in complaining about the unexpected occurrence. Sicheng is making his way down the familiar street, hoping that the line of cars parked snugly at the curb would end soon. Jaehyun appears to be back to his wholesome self once the vehicle exits the parking lot; he releases a sigh of relief and Sicheng questions him yet again.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Just show me where you parked on days like these,” Jaehyun jests.

“At the end of the damn street,” Sicheng informs, vindictive rancorous lacing his tone. “Jae, you sure you never dated (y/n)? You two act like you had a horrible relationship.”

Jaehyun swallowed his breath, systematizing his thoughts in order to deliver the plain truth—in a way that will not shock his friend. “We didn’t have a horrible relationship—or any relationship!” Jaehyun protests, his voice rising as if it would support his defensiveness like a pillar. There is a period of soundlessness that creeps into the vehicle as Sicheng finally finds parking, praising the fact he is not at the busy end of the curb. Sicheng is about to cajole in joy like a young child, the feeling as if the parking is an oasis within a parched desert standing on equal par, but Jaehyun mutters incomprehensible words that rouses his interest.

Jaehyun’s voice lowers, and the entire aura around him appears enervated as if the thought of you feeds on his lively energy. “We had a horrible night together,” Jaehyun mumbles; this time, his words swimming through Sicheng’s ears.

Sicheng presses his foot down on the break before asking, “What did you say?”

“We just had a bad night together.”

“A bad night?” Sicheng repeats, his eyes wide. “As in, you guys had a bad fuck?”

Jaehyun lowers his head, feeling an overwhelming sense of chagrin to hear the truth come out his mouth.

Sicheng does not react for a good ten seconds. His mind is not able to piece together the scattered puzzle fragments and evaluate the entire situation. Jung Jaehyun, stellar soccer player and complete expert under the sheets, had a horrible sex experience with you? The thought of that is as unbelievable as the truth behind the rumours that circulate him. Then, it hits him.

The demarcation that splits shock and jealousy becomes prominent, and Sicheng is lodged right in the middle of the side of jealousy. There has to be some truth behind Jaehyun’s words; after all, why would he choose to fib about something like this? Hell, maybe the entire thing is valid—but that is the root of the tree of covetous desires.

“She’s very, um, ascendant,” Jaehyun mutters. “I mean, it was a good bang in some ways and I liked it, but she left me hanging right afterwards. I actually felt an attraction towards her, and I thought that with, you know, someone like her—innocent on the outside and sweet personality and whatnot—would not have sex with someone unless she really liked them too.

“But God, she is the opposite. She’s literally the guy version of Yuta: accepting invites to fuck whenever she grows bored, but by the end of the night she’ll grow bored of the guy. I didn’t think that’d happen to me—especially with someone like her! Those rumours that go around about her are true; well, some of them. It’s true that a lot of guys want to test the waters and see if what they heard is true, and it’s true that she chooses to spend a night with one of them, but that’s all I can say.

“But no one really believes what goes on behind the scenes. It’s all some large exaggeration of some sort.”

Sicheng goggles at his friend, concentrating on his information. It is more than palpable that Jaehyun has never spoken about that episode in his life before, and considering it is the first time, the words pour from his mouth endlessly. And for some reason, Sicheng is fazed. Hearing his friend talk about you, the word that surrounds you have all been confirmed.

“Oh,” Sicheng whispers. “Whatever, I see where you’re coming from, Jae. You know, this isn’t anything to really be ashamed about.”

“It is when people will laugh at my story like it’s a joke.”

Sicheng turns his head back, judging the distance from the curb and his vehicle. “I’m not laughing.”

“‘Cause you’re a bro, dude.”

“I’m more surprised that it took you a year to break out that news to me.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, wondering, “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t bother me,” Sicheng says quickly. He fights the urge to say something else; he has no opinion towards the information he has recently heard about you, no negative comments, for Sicheng and you are on the same boat.

He smiles, leaning in the seat. “Gosh, you are such a bro!”

“But I’m really surprised at this,” he adds.

“It’s okay,” Jaehyun assures. “I still am too.”

Jaehyun plants a punch on his friend’s arm and Sicheng laughs, finishing his imperfect parking, and the two of them make their way to the university. Their backpacks are slumping, gait free; they speak with one another as if there are no problems present in the world. But it all comes to an end when they walk by the parking lot and see a notable staff member sauntering to the main office.

Sicheng pauses, his lips pursed into a pout of curiosity. “Jaehyun,” Sicheng begins, “I’ll catch up with you later. I left something in my car.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows come together, puzzled, but he does not question anything. “Alright, I’ll be looking for Yuta then. Later, dude.”

“Later.”

Sicheng turns his back to his friend who is then walking away, and he peers over his shoulder to see if he is still in sight. The second Jaehyun becomes occupied by his phone and enters the main hall, Sicheng pivots and begins to chase after the faculty member.

“Excuse me!” he calls out for the staff. Sicheng is jogging, a luminous, innocent grin sheening on his face.

The staff member halts and rotates his body to the boy, inspecting his unkempt appearance. “Yes?” he says, ignoring the aspect of disheveledness.

“I sort of have a problem, and I wasn’t sure on the answer, but someone has been parking in the spot I paid the fee for—it’s been occurring for three days now, and I’ve always been parking down the street because I don’t know who it is to tell them to stop.” Sicheng scratches the back of his neck and presses his lips into a thin line after he lets out a mingy deception.

“Someone’s been taking your spot?” the faculty member repeats, thinking aloud. “I can report it to the main office. What’s the spot number?”

The corners of Sicheng’s lip tug upwards in a scheming manner as he says, “2810. What’s going to happen to the car?” Sicheng feigns fear, stammering as he says, “Y-you won’t tow it out or anything, right?”

The staff member shakes his head, clinching his worries. “Don’t worry. At the university we give the student a warning the first time, the penalize them the second. And boot their car the third. For the third they’d have to come to the office, where we penalize them again.”

Sicheng’s mouth gapes. “Ah, I see. Thank goodness. Would you like me to come with you to the office to report it? This is the third time it happened, you can check the cameras if you’d like as well.”

“If you’d like,” the staff member says with a single breath, unwilling to deal with miniature drama in the early morning. “Or you can write out your name, license number, ID number, and spot number on a piece of paper. I can submit it to the office.”

“Oh, great”—Sicheng slides out a slip of paper and scribbles on the desired information, using his hand as a stable surface—“here, t-thank you, Sir.”

The staff member grins and takes the paper from the student’s hand, bidding him goodbye as he starts to make his way to the main office.

Sicheng stands in silence, feeling completely giddy from the instant. Springing in his glee, he heads straight to the lecture hall for his class rather than searching for his friends.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

After a long day of classes you feel drained of your vitality, and all you crave for is to catch some snooze-time in your own apartment. Lectures feel like they grow longer by the day, and it is impossible to fight the breakers of fatigue that come over your body. You meet up with Sowon first before you two part, and she talks to you about upcoming plans to procure.

She is accompanying you to your vehicle, straying from the main topic at hand occasionally; and all of a sudden, her final sentence remains unfinished. Right when you reach your vehicle Sowon has an empty stare at the front wheel, crossed on how to break the news to you.

“Is everything okay?” you ask her, your eyes following the alley of her stare. “Can you finish what you were saying so we can go—”

But your sentence endures as unfinished likewise. Your eyebrows furrow together, heartbeat kicking up its pace, and you take a shallow breath. So much anger has been briskly unsheathed, like a determined knight ready to face a cataclysmic battle, and you are ready to act upon it—because over the front tire of your car is a scintillating saffron car boot.

“You’re kidding,” you scoffed. “God damn it Sicheng.”

“We should go to the office,” comments Sowon, attempting to be tenable.

Your head turned in every which way in search for the aggravating boy; but to no revelation, he is absent within the area—probably at the opposite parking lot with his lawless friends. Exasperated breaths are leaving your lips and you shake your head, turning away from Sowon.

“(y/n), I don’t think we should act impulsively and—”

But you are already off. Sowon is left talking to nothing but the gust of air you left her with when you stormed away like an irate tornado. Your hands are balled to fists as you have an angry gait towards the other side of the parking tract, and the flames that surround your being have never been so visible. Students gawk at your enraged self, some scared to even be within the same area as you. It takes a ton of slow breaths for you to calm yourself down, at least enough to be reasonable with Sicheng, but the second him and his noxious group of friends come into sight your incensed fire is kindled abundantly.

“Sicheng!” you pant, your bag sliding off your shoulder as you marched to him and his friends. Despite their puzzled stares being aimed in your direction you are only able to look directly at the pernicious starboy, absolutely vexed to the core.

Sicheng smiles at you, holding his arms out as if he is ready to take you into a loving embrace. “(y/n)!” he exclaims. “Funny how you’re coming to me for once.”

His friends exchange mutual, confounded looks; each is unsure to the reason behind your storm. The words that soar from your lips are equivalent to a strike of lightning, but it is inefficacious towards Sicheng.

“You freaking asshole!” you exaggerate, allowing your bag to drop to the ground. His friends take a perceptible step back, marveling at your sudden exploit.

Sicheng’s jaw drops, feigning apprehensiveness. “What happened this time?” he questions you.

You rake a hand through your hair and point to the opposite side of the tract, acting vivaciously. “You fucking called someone to boot my car! Y-you told the office,” you declare. “Do you know how much work it will take to get that removed? I’ll be stuck at campus for another hour!”

“You’ll be here for two hours if you continue to yell at me,” he bites back, tilting his head with a dishonest smirk. “You should get going.”

“Seriously?” you pant, catching your breath.

Sicheng shrugs, an innocent expression sketching on his face as he ushers you to leave. Out of all if his friends, Yuta is the most dumbfounded. After all, Yuta has been egging on Sicheng to slip into your pants, butter you up with sweet words, but the opposite result is occurring this very moment.

“I’m fucking tired today, Sicheng,” you add.

Sicheng snickers, “Well I’ve been tired of your bullshit too! I had to do something.”

“So reporting me to the office was—”

Your sentence is left on the edge once your mind catches up to wrap itself around the fuming moment. It calms your apoplectic self, and prompts a few amused chuckles to leave your lips. Sicheng stares at you in confusion, pondering the sudden change of demeanor. He raises his eyebrow, a signal for you to continue.

You craft a guileful smirk whilst saying, “What kind of ‘bad boy’ reports someone to the office? I was expecting you to slash my tires, or maybe even bust my windows out.”

“If I did that then I’d be the one in trouble,” Sicheng informs you rapidly, quick to thought. “You’re smarter than this, (y/n).”

“I thought you’d be smarter than this too,” you spit out, glancing at his friends. In their eyes they either have the sentiment of horror or entertainment hazing their two orbs, and you push your chest out in confidence. “Whatever,” you say. “I’m wasting my time talking to you.”

“I’m glad you realize that,” Sicheng cackles.

You bend down and reach for your backpack, hoisting it over your shoulder as you start to trudge to the office. Seriously, this is the last thing you want to deal with after a taxing day of lectures.

“Anyway…” Jaehyun comes in, breaking the ice. “Yuta, your party’s next week?”

Your attention is raptured and you start to slow your pace, listening in to the last of their words while you are able to.

Yuta gives his friend a thumbs up, grinning. “Yep, on Tuesday night. So, Sicheng, what was that all about?”

Sicheng shrugs, keeping himself quiet. “I’m not sure myself, but, hey, I’m looking forward to your party.”

“Same,” Taeyong chimes in, “Yuta hasn’t thrown one at his place in ages—and they’re always the best.”

Those are the last words you hear from the loud men before you exit the area, and not long after your insistent stride, an idea blossoms in your mind—one that is a larger step in the game than the others you have committed.

It takes a while after negotiating with the office to retrieve the code and remove the car boot. You have to pay a penalty nonetheless, but it is not as much compared to other students who go against the rule; after all, the notable angel of the university who only studies would never prompt such hasty premature to begin with. The false reputation has aided you once again, and within an hour you are out of the university, driving impetuously to your apartment.

Once you are within the familiar comfort of your quarter you situate yourself on the sofa, slipping out your phone to send Sowon a text.

You [4:33 p.m.] Did you hear about yuta’s party next tuesday?

Staring at your phone in anticipation for her response, for a split second you wonder if your latest scheme is the brightest idea. The result is unknown, the line of result that is dashed into a nebulous haze. All you know is that the aggravation you have felt from today is fueling you, and Sicheng will soon face another degree of irascibility after your idea.

Sowon replies after a few seconds, straying away from your question.

Sowon [4:33 p.m.] since when were u interested in parties

Sowon [4:34 p.m.] especially ones by yuta and his friends ;)

You [4:34 p.m.] Get real. I’m just asking

You stare at the device for a second; your thumbs roaming the keypad after you decide to break out the question.

You [4:35 p.m.] Do you know what the address is?

And of course to that, Sowon responds within a heartbeat.

Sowon [4:35 p.m.] whoa who are u

Sowon [4:35 p.m.] i dont btw but i can ask around

Sowon [4:36 p.m.] wanna go?

You [4:36 p.m.] Fuck no

You [4:36 p.m.] But yes please ask around

Sowon [4:37 p.m.] here i was thinking u were ready to live a little :(

You [4:37 p.m.] Not around those guys.

Sowon [4:38 p.m.] haha, alright alright. ill text u later when i get the deets

The topic shifts abruptly after she sends that message, and you and Sowon result in texting about onerous classes and the abundance of assignments that have come each other’s way. With each message you send you become tired out by the second, the notification of a received message nothing but white noise as you fall into a deeply desired slumber.

When you rise the following morning, it is a placid Saturday aurora, gentle sun rays leaking into your apartment from the windows. You realize you knocked out cold on your couch, allowing the fatigue to overcome your body and take you into a cavernous sleep. Your phone is resting on the floor and you reach for it, vision still blurry from the stupefying rest. Struggling to focus your vision, you see the first message is from Sowon—and it has been sent not long after you decided to shut down your mind for a few hours.

Sowon [5:22 p.m.] i got the addy

Sowon [5:22 p.m.] what are u planning?

Instantly, you mind awakens and a sheepish grin that is impotent to fight paints on your face. The second you received the address of the appointed location, your next move is ready to take action. You slowly reply to her, humming an aubade as your thumbs press on the keypad.

You [5:25 a.m.] Let’s call off their party

The weekend passes by gradually for Sicheng, a largo build up like the calm before a storm, for he spends his entire weekend studying for exams. He keeps his phone tucked away elsewhere, notifying his friends that he will be busy for an unknown reason as a poor excuse. Sicheng, though, finds it comparatively burdensome to bide focus—because every twenty minutes or so he thinks about you and how mirthful your reaction was to his significant stunt. It feels like the accomplishment of the year, as if the trophies and gold medals he has earned from past dance performances no longer surpass the success that is angering you remarkably.

The thing is, he finds it quite strange.

Why is he lingering on the fact he earned a reaction from you—and why does he ache to prompt more? There seems to be an underlying phenomenon that rests beneath the root of the feat, one that he might be horribly blind to. As obscure as it might be, it is not negligible. Sicheng merely lacks the elements to piece together the scattered puzzle fragments to view the gargantuan picture. But, sooner or later, he will retrieve them.

When it is Monday morning Sicheng drives to the university with little-to-no expectations. There is no vehicle of yours—or any—that is filling up with parking space, and the slightest trace of you and your friend are absent. Walking to class alone and lingering with his friends for a small while, he never crosses your path once. It seems as if your role in his life as a pest has disintegrated, eroded off the face of the earth to give him a few sentiments of peace; but, Sicheng feels the opposite. There is a sense of discomfort from not even looking at you from afar, despite the new quietude and lack of annoyance. That factor pricks at his mind even more, rendering him unable to focus on future lectures and coursework.

The boys within his group are cracking jokes like normal and play games to see who can get the most girls’ numbers—nothing too out of the ordinary for the false starboy. Of course, it is perceptible that there is a stick of worry prodding at Sicheng’s brain, and Jaehyun is the first to ask about it.

But all Sicheng responds with is a smile of assurance, brushing away his friend’s worries.

“It’s okay,” Jaehyun tells him. “Yuta’s party is tomorrow night and you can drink away your problems.”

Sicheng laughs at his friend’s response, concealing his worry for the upcoming night. For a moment he wonders if you would show your face at the gathering; but knowing you, that thought alone is a joke.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

Tuesday night comes quicker than Sicheng prefers.

Lectures that usually feel extensive are over within a blink of an eye, and lingering around his friends makes time soar by quicker. Word of the party at Yuta’s place has spread around like wildfire, creating it the most anticipated university bash of the month—because there is bound to be another the following month. Students they have not interacted with before gain an interest and swear to show up, empty handed and some with bottles of potent to make it a memorable night. The fame that douses the party gives Yuta joy, and the drags his friends over to his place early evening before the first group of guests show their faces.

“Shit might break, people might get too drunk,” Yuta lists out, “but we will still have a fun night.”

The boys laugh, opening bottles of beer and clacking them together to cheers and take a few sips. Taeyong plugs his phone into the aux and starts up the tunes in his playlist, indicating the start of Sicheng’s dreaded night.

Sicheng is luxuriating in the last few minutes of peace before guests start to roll in. It feels as if parties are forced for him to attend to; he would much rather slump in the comfort of his apartment any day over a wild get-together. Jaehyun rests next to him, clacking his beer bottle to the younger boy’s, and flashes him a grin. “Have fun tonight,” encourages Jaehyun. “Quit thinking about (y/n).”

Sicheng blinks his eyes a few times, comprehending the last part of his words. “I wasn’t,” Sicheng informs him churlishly, biting on his tongue to hold back his protests.

“Really?” Jaehyun cocks up an eyebrow. “Whatever you say. You should have told her to come over tonight.”

“Why would I do that?” Sicheng questions with a scoff. “She’s the last face I’d like to see here.”

A playful smirk dances on Jaehyun’s lips as he remains silent towards his friend’s excuse.

“Whatever,” Sicheng huffs.

The first guests to the household arrive soon afterwards, entering the house that is practically a booming mansion. Greetings are exchanged and friendly introductions are made; it does not take a while for others to arrive, each contributing to the long night with their own belongings of alcohol and other substances. Sicheng remains in his seat as if he is glued to the chair, and rarely he rises himself to grab another handful of chips to snack on. He searches for his friends within the sea of conversing bodies, them soon to be drunk, as a protective caution to stop them from going past their limit. After all, being surrounded by his friends—especially without them being a hint of sober—is an absolute aggravation.

Sicheng closes his eyes and allows the music to swim through his ears, paying enough attention to the bass and lyrics to pass time. However, a voice louder than the music he is attentive to breaks his false peace. “Is that all you’re going to eat tonight?” asks a silvery voice.

Sicheng’s eyes remain closed as he assumes the question is not being directed towards him. Though, the same inquiry comes once more, “Is that all you’re going to eat tonight?”

That time it came out more raucous, as if there is a thread of indignation that is choking each word. Sicheng opens his eyes and stares at the individual in front of him, to which he believes is the one who asks him about his excuse of dinner.

He looks down at the chips in his hand that rest over a napkin and nods at the lady. “Pretty much. I don’t usually have an appetite during our parties.”

“I see.” The girl brushes her shoulder-lengthed hair behind her ear and smiles at the boy. Sicheng stares at her for a couple of seconds, wondering if he has ever seen her around campus before or if she is a local who is not from the university that heard about the party. She is dressed in a white cropped top and blue shorts—nothing too revealing or extravagant. “I can say the same,” she adds, squeezing herself onto the couch.

From the lack of space that was originally on the sofa, her body and Sicheng’s are practically being pressed together from teeming.

“Mind if I have some of your ‘dinner’ then?” she asks him, revealing her pearly whites.

Sicheng gazes at her, continuing to study her appearance. Getting a better up-close view of her, he is able to say that she is pretty, the type of pretty that is strangely rare. The type of beauty where stars are placed in one’s eyes, or flowers bloom whenever one would brilliantly grin. Sicheng feels himself become flustered at the sight of her, and his heart starts to race from the tiresome feeling of embarrassment. He had no plans to leave the sofa the entire night, but with a fresh face squeezing her way onto the sofa and being little to no proximity from him, he suddenly has an urge to bolt from the party.

“Go for it, I can always get more.” Instead of holding the napkin-full of chips to the girl, Sicheng places it on her lap and starts to lift himself from the sofa. Though, his plan to escape fails horribly when she latches her hand around his wrist and tugs him back.

“W-wait!” she spits out. Sicheng looks down at her past his fringe, an empty stare scrutinizing her desperate self. “I-I don’t really know anyone else here at this party, and my friend left me. I don’t usually go to parties like these and you seemed approachable. I was wondering if you’d stay with me for a bit? At least until my other friends arrive.”

The girl’s eyes veer away from Sicheng; she bats them innocently as he takes a few seconds to think. “Fine,” he sighs. “But I’m not going to squish on that couch with everyone else.”

The girl shoots up from her seat and tugs him her way. “We can always stand at the corner or something, maybe in the hall.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sicheng responds, his voice carrying over the blaring music.

The girl leaves the napkin-full of chips on the table and starts to follow Sicheng to the side of the room, like a lost puppy desperate to find its way home. As much as Sicheng aches to go home, he cannot leave his friends without guidance, and he decides to bide time by conversing with a stranger—at least for a short while.

Sicheng and the woman lean against the wall in silence, hardly any words being exchanged between the two of them. Periodically, Sicheng takes a sip of the beer he grabbed on the way over, relishing in the unpleasant taste.

“May I have some?” she asks him, holding her hand out.

Sicheng motions his hand to the counter across the room, telling her, “There’s plenty for everyone over there.”

She laughs at him and brings her hands to her side, perusing the scene. “I’d rather not get pushed around by a bunch of drunken partiers.”

For the first time throughout her presence invading his own, his lips quirk into a smirk, addressing the accuracy in her statement. “I can see where you’re coming from. Though,” he adds, “from my experience and the countless times I’m stuck at these parties, you can’t really avoid the crowd. They sort of just come to you.”

She gawks at the taller boy, unable to pinpoint the root of his words. “Is that so?”

Sicheng nods his head and motions the beer bottle to her. “Yes.”

She gushes, her face flushing a bright shade of roses as she realizes who he is referring to. Like a helpless orbit, she found her way to Sicheng; she is a part of the crowd that he is unable to avoid. She squirms against the wall, thankful for the dark lighting to mute out her red hues.

Sicheng glances at her from the corner of his eye and takes another sip. “I was just kidding,” he lets out.

She grins, her gaze still casted downwards to the floor. “You have a strange sense of humor then.”

“People are surprised I even have one,” he laughs.

She chuckles, her hand covering her mouth, coy. “I support that statement.”

Sicheng freezes at her recent affirmation, reading in between the lines of her words. To be fair, Sicheng has been in a situation like this far too many times to figure out where it will lead, and with the woman’s recent proclamation, everything is confirmed. She knows who he is; he deciphered what her intentions are.

He lets out a frown and brushes the thought to the back of his mind, his head leaning back against the wall. This would be the cue for him to leave, but with the rest of the night still waiting to make its way through, he needs someone to converse with.

And so for the next few hours the girl and he talks to fill up the empty spaces. He drinks more and she finally downs a few bottles of beer, but he does not consume an abundance for him to lose his mind—not like Yuta or the rest of his friends. It is sufficient for him to notice the minor details: she becomes flirtatious with him and far more physical contact is initiated, she starts to laugh at everything he says as if her humor is strange, and he realizes that her friends—the ones that she has been waiting for—never arrive.

As she speaks doltishly, Sicheng’s eyes scan the crowd in a desperate search for his friends—an occasional check-up to see if they are not the ones stirring asinine trouble. He feels a rough hand land on his shoulder, the manner similar in one ready to force someone to face the other for the sole purpose of bashing their face in, and Sicheng jolts from fright.

“Agh, Christ,” Sicheng groans. “Seriously, Yuta?”

Yuta’s grin widens, almost in a cheshire fashion. He takes a heavy breath, the plethora of alcohol lacing the air that leaves his mouth creating a tribulation for the younger boy. Yuta shrugs, a question resting on the tip of his tongue.

“Sicheng, can you - hic - fetch me my phone? It’s charging in my, uh, room,” Yuta requests, the words pouring from his mouth fast enough to be a single slur. He locks eyes with the girl that is standing next to Sicheng, winking at her coquettishly.

“What, I’m—”

“Thanks, bro,” Yuta cuts him off, flashing a sign of approval his way. Yuta drunkenly dives back into the crowd, conversing mindlessly with his guests as Taeyong throws himself on the sofa.

Sicheng groans and trudges to Yuta’s bedroom, leaving the girl alone like her existence is little to nothing, and waves his way past the vivacious crowd. He pushes the door open and switches on the lights, revealing the mess that is his chamber. Clothes are scattered on the floor and stacks of paper find home on the desk—and his phone. Sicheng walks over to it, his back facing the door, and unplugs it from the charger. Just when he is about to head back to the foreboding party, he hears the door softly shut behind him.

The sound startles Sicheng, and, sooner than he is able to realize, a pair of hands rest on his shoulder. It captures his attention and he turns his head to the identity: the same girl from earlier. A sneaky chuckle emits from her lips and her hands coast down to Sicheng’s torso, wrapping her arms around his toned chest.

“What happened to waiting for your friends?” Sicheng asks her, nonchalant and austere.

She remains wrapped around him, smiling. “They’re not coming. And my other friend is too drunk—partying with Yuta too.”

“You should be out there with her. Aren’t you worried?” he questions her.

“What’s there to be worried about?” she asks him, her hands sliding off to allow Sicheng to turn and face her. “I sort of want to spend time with you.”

‘Oh, God. Not again,’ Sicheng thinks. He grips his friend’s cellular device in his hand, finding relief in the force he is exerting, and tries to sort out an excuse to exit. Currently, he is in a confined room with the stranger—a fairly good-looking one as well—and she does not seem to have a desire to let him go. Sicheng gulps, hesitant and badgering his brain for being reluctant during situations like these. He would always be dumbfounded, far too flustered to react coherently or even run out the door.

Sicheng curses at himself for not running away from the expected situation sooner. He has been made aware of the girl’s true intentions, catching the train before it was even able to make a full stop, but he still decided to push himself—for his own benefit of passing time. Now, he is stuck in a room with her, apprehensive to move.

“Was all that talking earlier for nothing?” he asks her in a jestful tone, his question coming out as a joke to her ears.

She hums, confirming his statement. “No… I really did enjoy speaking with you. I just wish”—she places a hand on his waist, sliding it down to his hip to wrap her fingers around the belt loop of his jeans—“we sped things up a little. To get to this moment, you know.”

By then, her face is inching closer to his, her breath dancing over his petal-like lips. Her warm huffs meet his mouth, and it is still mingling with the unpleasant scent of alcohol. Craving for a kiss, she smiles up at him with her innocent eyes. Sicheng sternly frowns at her, his gaze not breaking with hers. He appears like a rigid man, unable to be moved from the slightest touch—the lightest contact—but in reality, that is the complete opposite on the inside. His heart is beating erratically against its rib cage, almost like it is its own beast that aches to be set free; his hand is in a compact fist, the other still wrapped around his friend’s device; a cold sweat starts to drip from his temples.

Of course, with a prepossessing woman standing temerarious before him, proximity only a few inches, it has an effect over him. It comes as a helpless wave, one that is unable to be ran away from, and he falls victim to her spell. There is a tent that starts to form in his pants from sharing the heated moment with her, and she has merely placed a hand on him. He becomes shameful and finally breaks eye contact, his lashes fluttering their lush blankets.

She releases an audible chuckle, tugging on the belt loop. “Do you want me?” she asks him.

Sicheng gulps, spilling the truth, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”

“Good,” she whispers, her candy-coated lips now ghosting over his, “because I want you. I’ve been—the whole entire night.”

Sicheng is unable to voice an equally sensual response, for she hushes him with a kiss. One would expect that with her guiltless appearance she would kiss softly with care, as if each one has love pouring with every slight movement; but, that is not the case for her. The girl kisses him with the drive being lust, a shameless flame that notifies him that she wants nothing more but to get into his pants—to be the one girl who succeeds—and he can taste that on her tongue as his palm snakes its way to her lower back.

As a result, he retracts from the indecency.

“Sicheng,” she mumbles, “why’d you stop?”

Her hand starts to trail lower and there is something within her question that makes his curiosity raise. But he is far too perturbed to go against her at the moment. Sicheng never introduced himself to the girl; consequently, she is like every other partier he meets at a rowdy gathering.

Sicheng takes a step back and opens his mouth to speak, but the sudden swing of the bedroom door shakes the two of them up, shivers running high on their bodies. Staring at the cause of the distraction, Yuta is there with surprised eyes, panting as if he ran a marathon to reach his own bedroom door.

“What’s up, Yuta?” Sicheng asks, holding up Yuta’s phone. “I got your phone right here.”

Yuta takes a deep breath before talking in a single huff, “Party’s off, bro.”

Sicheng’s eyes dart around at the information, walking towards his friend. “What’re you talking about? It’s only been a few hours.”

“W-wait, Sicheng.” The girl grabs onto Sicheng’s wrist, frantic to prevent him from leaving.

“Get your hands off me,” he demanded, shooting her a cold glare. “Sorry to say this, but I’m not interested in girls like you.”

Her face becomes pale, alarmed at the sudden change in his demeanor. A few moments ago he was unfazed by her evocative actions; she fell under the umbrella of assumption that her hands were free to roam his body however he liked. Though, she has been proven wrong.

“Hell,” Sicheng adds, “you never even told me your name.” Sicheng drags his feet to his drunken friend, placing Yuta’s arm around his shoulder as he says, “What’s going on?”

The younger boy ached to tell him more, some words of thanks since Yuta unintentionally saved his ass from another long night; but, with Yuta’s desultory mind caused by potent grog, Sicheng keeps his mouth shut.

“Someone…” Yuta trails off. “Someone called the cops on our party. And some of us are in some major shit right now, bro.”

“What?” Sicheng raises an eyebrow, his forehead crinkling. “Are you serious? Dude, I swear this wasn’t even as bad as the others we threw.”

Yuta rubbed a palm on his face, unwilling to listen. “I know, I know. But - hic - what else can we do?”

“I don’t know.” Sicheng shrugs. “But we can try to—”

“Yuta!” exclaims another friend from the front door. The two boys turn their attention to the noise and notice Taeyong waving his hand in the air as if he is trying to hail a cab. “They wanna talk to you.”

Yuta narrows his eyes, attempting to focus his vision. “Who?”

Sicheng, though, with full capability on seeing who is barely still in the household and who is not, sees familiar uniforms at the front door. “The fucking cops.”

The boys face a longer night ahead—not in the manner that they preferred. They attempt to question Taeyong and Yuta—of all people—to find out whether or not illegal matters are occurring. Though, Sicheng commits to most of the negotiating by being the only sober individual present. It takes a long while of negotiating and speaking, assuring them that everyone is safe—that every action they acted upon is legal. With Sicheng’s astute way with words, the boys are left with a warning, and the few who remained in the household (that did not sneak off from the back) leaves the busted party.

Jaehyun tosses himself on the sofa in relief, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. His entire world is spinning in his eyes, his mind a whirlwind.

Yuta crows, “Who the fuck would call out our party? My neighborhood’s chill as fu—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Taeyong appealed, making himself at home at the kitchen table that was once crowded with bags of chips. “This whole thing blows.”

“You guys act like we don’t hold parties every month,” Sicheng chimes in with a smirk.

“But this one was actually getting places,” argues Yuta, taking a breath every few or so words. “I was having the time of my - hic - life, Taeyong was winning beer pong, and Jaehyun—who knows what he was doing, I’m sure it was fun. And you? You were about to get some pu—”

“Okay, Yuta,” interrupts Sicheng. “No need to give me a re-cap. She’s gone, it’s all done with.”

Yuta chuckles maniacally, slapping his thigh as if he has heard the joke of the century. “But you were really going to score big!”

Sicheng releases an exasperated sigh, finding it useless to argue with Yuta unless he is sober. “Not her.”

“With - hic - with who?” Yuta leans in, nudging the younger boy with his elbow. “Tell me the truth, would you bang (y/n)?”

Sicheng’s eyes widen and he impulsively pushes his friend away, defending himself hastily. “You all need to knock out right now.”

The boys erupt in a static laughter, each finding comedy within Sicheng’s forestalling opposition.

“God,” Sicheng articulates, “I should have left earlier…”

When Sicheng wakes the following morning, the noticeable deprivation of sleep sets his morning to imperfection. His friends have risen earlier, and they are fooling around in the kitchen whilst trying to clean up the remnants of the busted party, shoving plastic cups in the bag and wiping down the counter. He presses a hand to his forehead, an oncoming headache ready to pound its way through his mind.

“Morning, Sicheng,” greets Jaehyun, tossing a pillow onto the boy’s head.

Sicheng grabs onto it and hurls it to the other side of the room, loathing their early morning antics. “Morning. How’d you guys sleep?”

“Good,” Jaehyun replies. “Well, I did at least. I went to go take a piss but I saw Taeyong puking his guts out into the toilet.”

Sicheng shudders from the thought, and Taeyong stumbles into the room to defend himself with, “I’m actually fine—thanks for asking.”

Yuta laughs, tossing a bag of trash in the corner of the kitchen for later disposal. “Of course you are. I feel like out of all our parties—this was the most wild.”

“Because we got busted?” asks Taeyong.

“Pretty much.” He shrugs.

Sicheng yawns, stretching his arms in the air. “I’m so slumped,” he declares. “And we still have class today.”

Jaehyun chuckles, his joy fraudulent. “Blame that on Yuta who decided to throw a party on a Tuesday night.”

Yuta argues, pointing to his friend. “You know how much crazier this place would be if it was a weekend—we’d have shit in the pool!”

“I’m going to head back to the uni in a bit,” informs Sicheng. “Are we going to carpool?”

“Hell yeah we are,” states Taeyong, who starts to dash for the door. Sicheng stares at him, already regretting the fact he even asked the question. If he kept his mouth shut and left while they were busy cleaning, then his morning would be peaceful, and maybe he would catch hours of sleep in his car.

Jaehyun and Yuta soon follow afterwards, slipping into the vehicle like children squeezing their way onto an amusement park ride. For the most part of the taxing drive, Sicheng’s friends each are voicing their complaints about their hangover, repentant about even showing up to the university. They each formulate brainless plans, stating that they will lounge in the library to catch some sleep or down all the water given at the student cafeteria. They speak as if they are a broken radio, going on and on with nothing but quibbles of condemnation.

Sicheng turns into the parking lot after a couple more minutes, completely irked at the lack of peace he has received throughout the morning. Though, the intruding thoughts of his friends are replaced when he sees the empty spot at his parking space. It is absent of your vehicle, not a fraction of your presence lingering; thus, Sicheng hums in thought. He has not seen you for a while, and the ache to tease you being unsatisfied sets him off.

Sicheng parks his car neatly between the other two vehicles, and the boys hop out, their voices raising as if the compact confinement of Sicheng’s vehicle prohibited them from speaking at their normal level.

“I’m gonna get to class,” informs Sicheng, locking his car while he starts to walk the other way. “We can meet up later.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows come together, worried about his friend. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Sicheng confirms with a miniature smile. “I think I have to catch up on some lessons—I’ll talk to my professor.”

Sicheng waves off the rest of the comments that lies on Jaehyun’s tongue, leaving them unsaid. Yuta chuckles and loops his arm around Jaehyun’s neck, whispering, “He’s just upset ‘cause he was about to score before the party was called off.”

Jaehyun startles at Yuta’s words, “Seriously?”

Yuta sheepishly grins at Jaehyun, pulling him closer to fill him in with false details and assumptions. Sicheng groans, yawning as he begins to wander the university. He tries to distract his tired eyes by allowing them to peruse the campus, taking in the minor details like students passing by and watching the leaves dance in the gentle breeze. Finally achieving a state of peace, he takes a few deep breaths to enjoy the momentary stoicism.

Though, it is easily disrupted the moment a recognizable voice calls out his name.

“Hey, starboy!” you exclaim, catching his attention. Your grip tightens around the strap of your bag and you start to saunter his way, your lips quirked up into a smirk.

Sicheng’s small smile withers into a frown, galled at the sight of you. The dishonest expression that is painted on your face raises his curiosity, but all he can do is respond with a lifeless, “(y/n).”

Tilting your head, you question him, “Why so glum?”

“My day was well until I ran into you,” Sicheng says with an airy laugh. His gaze stops roaming the campus and locks with your own, a spark of electricity emitting from the ephemeral engagement. “Aw,” Sicheng grins, bloviating a joke, “are you worried about me? I knew you’d come around.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, releasing a scoff. “Dream on, starboy. What’s there to come around? You don’t even know what you’re capable of packing,” you state. You lower your head, giving attention to his package below the belt.

Sicheng lifts his chin and waits for your eyes to meet his. “You’re always welcome to help me out.”

“Maybe when you have experience.” You laugh. There is a brief silence that lapses, allowing the whistles of the wind to fill up the high-tensioned scene. You then blurt out, “How was the party last night?”

Sicheng is taken aback by your inquiry, taking a step back. “It was great,” he fibs. “How’d you know there was a party last night?”

You stare out in the open, shuffling involuntarily as you are placed under the spotlight. “Y-you guys talk obnoxiously loud. I was actually interested in going.”

“Oh?” Sicheng raises an eyebrow, genuinely interested in your statement. “Why?”

“I wanted to see what you guys pack at those festivities. They’re not really for me, but I was willing to check it out for a moment.” Shrugging, your smile becomes unwarranted. You nod as you speak, trying to amplify your deception. “I sort of wanted to see you too—I wonder how you are when you’re drunk.”

“Please,” Sicheng says with a breath, “I’m not that much of a drinker.”

“You’re not that much of a banger either,” you add.

Sicheng remains silent at your comment; as true as it is, it strikes a chord within him. You gloat in hitting a weak spot of the boy, finally adding another statement, “And neither was that party.”

His eyes widen, finally comprehending your words. He finally pieced two and two together, only to end up with the prankish result caused by you. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“What?” You take a step closer to him as if his voice is a whisper, leaning in to listen. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re the one who fucking called the cops to bust our party out? I mean, you did me a favor, but all the other guys would have gotten into some deep shit because of you!”

“I did you a favor?” you repeat abhorrently. “Damn, that wasn’t my intention. Why? What happened?” you question him. “Was a girl about to enter your pants?”

And his silence is the easy answer to your question.

“Of course,” you let out with a breath, not surprised from the obvious. Taking another step closer to him, you puff out your chest as if it would draw out more of your leonine presence; he takes a step back, intimidated, only to have you ease in. “I’m not even surprised, Sicheng.”

The proximity between you and the falsely stated starboy is now at a minimum, merely a few inches away from each other as the conversation progresses. Your fingertips dance at his belt before they wrap around the loop. Giving it a light tug, you bat your eyes innocently to the man.

Sicheng gulps, counteracting your movements with actions of his own. His hand races up your side, an index finger twirling a lock of hair before he moves it behind your ear. “When you act like this, it makes the rumours that surround you sort of believable,” he mutters.

“Does it? It depends on what you heard,” you mumble.

Sicheng smiles, his hand now resting on your shoulder. “Why can’t you show me?”

“When you act like this,” you begin, “it makes the shit that goes around about you believable.”

Sicheng backs away from you, the threat that is your existence getting to his head. The fire that hazes your eyes scorches him, discouraging every fiber of his being to put up another fight. You chuckle in triumph, but the moment ceases when another chimes in.

“Sicheng!” calls a familiar, friendly voice.

You study the figure that starts to approach you and Sicheng, eyes narrowing as you attempt to recall the familiar face. “Jaehyun,” you and Sicheng both say in unison. Sicheng’s gaze darts to you and Jaehyun gulps a mouthful of air at the unpleasant sight.

“It was nice talking to you for once,” Sicheng lets out, concluding the moment.

You stare at Jaehyun for a short while, taking in his differences from the time you last saw him. “I wish I can say the same”—you turn around swiftly, starting to drag your feet away—“See you at class later.”

Jaehyun’s gaze is locking on your walking figure until you are out of sight and turning the first corner. He lets out a sigh of relief, almost like your presence had prevented him from breathing steadily, and looks at his friend. “When did you guys become friends?” Jaehyun asks. “Are we gonna be seeing her around often?”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow in skepticism to Jaehyun. “We’re not,” he corrects, defensiveness dousing his tone. “And there’s no way she’s going to be around us.”

“So she isn’t eating lunch with us?”

Sicheng looks at his friend in disbelief. “Isn’t that a good thing for you?”

“It is,” he agrees. Silence ensues for a few moments before Jaehyun clears his throat, hesitant to ask the next question. “So…” Jaehyun purses his lips, dragging out the word. “Fuck buddies?”

Sicheng presses a palm to his forehead, annoyed. “Not even close.”

Though, the thought of occasionally fucking you spontaneously does not sound entirely bad to him. Not anymore, that is. But first, Sicheng recalls Taeyong’s words, and the invitation on his plan to get you back is suddenly tempting.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

Sicheng spends most of the time in class staring at the back of your figure, scrutinizing it as if it would help him formulate a plan to strike you back. He has never been one to cross the line; he always attempts to veer out of the road that would intentionally cause unhappiness for the other party, but you are a different story. Unable to focus on the lecture, his mind is piecing together the sparse ends of the thread to create a demise that would bring upon your misery.

Christ, he really is not sure why he is placing a lot of effort into spiting you. Is it because of the stunt you pulled with the party, rejecting Taeyong, or messing around with Sicheng, himself? The fact that “all of the above” is a proper option makes his insides boil, and Sicheng places his head on the desk like his mind short-circuited.

“She’s impossible,” Sicheng mumbles to himself, shutting his eyes.

Unintentionally, Sicheng has drifted into a deep sleep and finally caught the shut-eye his body has been craving for. The non-stop messages from the group chat and annoying prods of his friend always keeps him up late at night; it seems as if sleeping during important lectures is the only chance he has to make up for the lack of preservation.

His slumber lasts for a good hour but he feels as if he has drifted away for centuries. The student chatter is background noise to his lethargic brain, and he is not completely dragged back down to earth until another external factor intrudes his space.

You approach Sicheng with your belongings on you, an arm tight around your notebook as the other reaches for him across the desk. His head is still resting snugly on folded arms, taking deep breaths as he soars through his clouds of stupor. His raven-like hair has copiously dragged down over his features, giving the flawless appearance of an onyx waterfall. You clench your jaw at the sight of him, staring his features down fleetingly before you shake your head to reality.

“Wake up, starboy, you missed an entire lecture—again.” You drum the pad of your index finger on his head, tapping him until he awakens.

Annoyed with your irritating prods to his head, he grabs onto your wrist swiftly and moves it away as he raises himself in his seat. “You know,” he begins, his voice raspy, “I was having a really nice dream.”

You raise an eyebrow, dubious of his upcoming story. “Was I in it?”

“Well, no—but I wish—”

“Then I don’t care,” you cut him off, shaking your wrist out of his gentle hold. Both of your arms wrap around your notebook, hugging the bind of paper close to your chest as your eyes roam the classroom. Students pass by the two of you, glancing at the awkward silence that is wrapping around both your beings. It seems like an early start to juicy gossip, for no one would ever expect that the notorious bad boy would talk to the university bibliophile; two opposite sides of the spectrum unfathomably coming together.

As you try your best to not lock eyes with Sicheng, his gaze is glued onto your physiognomy, unintentionally adoring it. There is a distant look in your two orbs, a falsely innocent glow that has the capability to bewitch others.

“You look good,” he comments, thinking aloud, “but I wonder what you’d look like if you’re on top of me.”

You roll your eyes, twisting your lips into a smile. “All of a sudden I have regrets for even waking you up.”

“Is it ‘cause you can’t resist me?” Sicheng insists, leaning in lovingly.

You tilt your head to look at him, your mouth pressed together tightly as you release an exasperated sigh. “Where is all this flirtatious talk coming from? It’s annoying.”

Sicheng shrugs, his lips pursing into a pout. “If it’s annoying then why are you still here?”

“You’re right, why am I still around you? I might catch your sickness that is your stupidity.” You rotate your body to the exit, already beginning to stride towards the door. “Later, starboy. Don’t break too many hearts by tomorrow.”

“Is that the best you got?” Sicheng calls out, shooting up from his seat. “Did you just want an excuse to talk to me?”

Your mouth opens to bite back with another vehement statement, but you swallow your words with no desire to kindle his flame. After all, he does have a point. What is the reason you went up to him to begin with? It seems as if the root of teasing Sicheng has changed, shifting into a guilty pleasure to be under the light that is his attention. And it took you a good week or two to realize this.

After class you find Sowon waiting for you in the front of the institute, her patience running thin. You greet her with a bright grin, waving at her.

“Ready to go?” she asks, her weight rolling from the balls of her feet to her heels—a sign of her excitement.

“We’re just getting lunch, why are you so eager?”

Sowon hums, clutching on the strap of her bag as she tries to think of a response. “Because I’m excited to try out that new cafe. You know how much I love coffee.”

“You know, I almost forgot that we were eating lunch together.”

Sowon pouts at you, falsely hurt by your comment. “I know you don’t mean that—you don’t forget about plans.”

Laughing, you allow Sowon to accompany you to her vehicle. As if Sicheng and his group of rebarbative individuals are not the slightest bit significant in your life, the two of you joke around as if your paths have never crossed to begin with.

The drive to the retail restaurant roundup feels shorter than what it really is: time has passed by quicker due to the nonstop converse that is exchanged between you and Sowon, the music you both jam out to—the fun that occurs. Once she drives into the plaza she finds parking and lounges in the seat of her car for a few moments as if driving is a galling chore.

You and Sowon spend a good three hours in the restaurant plaza walking in search of a place to eat, and relaxing within the confinements of the chosen joint comfortably. Conversation has been kept at a minimum, most of the time being poured into enjoying the delectableness. The unpleasant thoughts of Sicheng never come into your mind until Sowon swallows her last bite and clears her throat to ask, “So how did it go?”

You look at her, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Sowon smiles, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “About the party—you shutting it down. Did Sicheng find out it was you?”

“I think it was pretty obvious I did that. I ran into him today and he didn’t seem that happy,” you say risibly, gaining joy from recalling his crossed expression. It was a face you would be able to feed joy from for aeons, and you feel giddy at the thought of it. “Not that I care though.”

“Of course you don’t,” Sowon agrees. Her eyes roam the perimeter as if she is searching for a new topic on the walls, but past the window pane she sees a recognizable group of boys—one of them being Nakamoto Yuta, who was Sowon’s guilty crush. Sowon hums, blinking a couple of times to confirm that it is not a dream, and grins. “Speak of the devil.”

“What?” You rotate your body and peer over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes to follow Sowon’s line of sight, but once you see the element you wince in disgust. As if running into two of them once in the day is not enough. Sicheng and Jaehyun are cracking jokes side-by-side, appearing as thick as thieves. “Of all places we had to run into them out of uni, it has to be here? I just wanted to enjoy my lunch.”

“It’s almost as if the universe doesn’t want you and Sicheng to move away from each other,” Sowon jests.

“God, universe, why?” You laugh, rising from your seat. “Let’s just leave now in case we actually run into them later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sowon agrees, shooting herself up. “But first, I’m going to use the restroom. Sit tight for a minute or two, then we can head out.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, keeping the question to yourself as you sit back down. “Don’t take too long,” you complain. “This place is like poison to me after seeing those boys.”

“Don’t worry!” she assures, kicking up her pace to the restroom. “I’ll be back in five.”

Sowon dashes to the restroom, a mischievous smile sketching on her face as she heads the opposite direction the second your head dropped to look at your phone.

You check the time and roam some of your social media, scrolling through old news and uninteresting headlines. Releasing a sigh, you watch as the servers start to clear your table and wipe it down for the next set of customers—and Sowon is nowhere in sight after five minutes. With pursed lips you impatiently wait for your friend to return, but no trace of her comes back into the milieu. It seems as if she has left you to pay for the bill like it is an actual date set for ruin, but the bill has already been paid for and she promised you a return. You groan, turning your head around to see if she is chatting up some waiters, but the sight you see is more galling than charming.

Past the window pane you see Sowon talking to one of the rambunctious boys—conversing with Nakamoto Yuta, of all darn people. You press a palm to your face, releasing a sound of annoyance as you shake your head. “God,” you mutter, “what else was I supposed to expect.”

Watching Sowon playfully mess with Yuta’s hair makes you shudder in disgust, and you can practically hear the vexatious laughter emitting from his mouth as the boy throws his head back. The sight being unwanted, you shoot up from your seat and grab onto your bag, strolling out of the restaurant door to fetch your friend.

“So”—Yuta clears his throat—“I didn’t think I’d run into you here. I never see you anywhere else aside the uni.”

Sowon shrugs, brushing off his statement. “I was getting lunch with my friend. Maybe we got lucky then.” She winks, stars twinkling in her eyes.

Yuta smiles, an act of interest clear to his friends and Sowon. “Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, gaining an idea from the person who he is referring to—unpleasantly. “Which friend?”

“Oh, (y/n)—”

“Sowon!” you exclaim, stomping your feet with every step. The amount of force you exert due to your anger makes it seem as if the ground would crackle, and it rattles up Sowon’s spine out of fear.

Yuta winces at the sound of your voice, almost as if it has a similar impact to striking a blow to his face. The rest of his friends stand on guard, alerted by the storm that is currently heading their way. Sowon smiles nervously over her shoulder, waving to you innocently like you are a distant acquaintance.

You roll your eyes at her gesture, standing confidently beside her. “What happened to going to the restroom?” you question her, borderline ready to interrogate. “Is this the long way?”

“Uh,” she begins, her gaze fleeting from you and Yuta, “I meant the bathroom over at the other coffee shop!”

Confused, your eyebrows cross together and you release a sigh. “Let’s go,” you ask her, tugging on her sleeve. “You don’t want to be around these boys any longer”—you lean closer to her ear, whispering as your eyes scan the crowd and lock with Sicheng’s—“you might catch their stupidity.”

Sicheng cocks an eyebrow upwards, bored by your words. As susurrous as you attempted to make them, Sicheng heard them as if they were announced emphatically, contemplating to whether or not he should respond.

Sowon backs away, grinning like a child at you. “No way—that’s an impossibility.”

“Then let’s go,” you complain, pouting to her.

Yuta chimes in, tugging on the hem of his shirt as an act of nervousness. “What if she wants to hang out with us for a little while?” he questions you, peering towards Sowon.

The mere thought of that gives you an urge to gag; Sowon has the opposite reaction, for she is flushing deep with roses. “No way,” you spit out defensively, “we have plans and she’d never want to—”

“Actually, (y/n),” she mumbles, apprehensive before she finishes her sentence. You gawk at her with curious eyes as you await her finishing sentence. “I don’t know. I sort of want to get to know Yuta—after we ran into them at the parking lot.”

You attempt to recall that scene, and it barely rests in your mind from how irrelevant it is to you—due to the boys, that is. “Seriously?” you ask in astonishment. Sowon and you spark a conversation, almost forgetting about the boys that share the same milieu as you two. “I don’t even know how long ago that was, but Yuta? Seriously? He’s the university fuckboy.”

Sowon shakes her head. “I heard, but I just want to spend the afternoon with him. Seriously, if I’m not interested then I’ll call you right away.”

“And I’ll beat him up right afterwards if he tries anything,” you threaten, holding a fist up in the air.

Sowon laughs, her hand flying to shield her mouth. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better—wait, what about me? How am I going to get home? You’re the one who drove,” you question her, suddenly regretting your choice. “Unless you give me the keys to drive your—”

“Not happening,” she interrupts, walking to Yuta’s side. “Sorry, (y/n), but you’re more of a reckless driver than I am so there is no way you’re gonna be driving my car.”

You take a step back, dazed at her response. “How am I going to get back to my apartment?”

“Uh”—Sowon turns her head to Yuta—“do you mind if we only spend two hours together?”

Yuta smiles, admiring her effort. “Well, we can always have more time later on.”

“Oh gosh,” you continue, “nevermind, I’ll just take the bus. Those two hours would end up as five.”

“I’m willing to drive you home.” Sicheng winks.

With a split moment passing to comprehend his words, you grumble, “Piss off, starboy.”

You throw your arms in the air in defeat, walking past the small gap between Jaehyun and Taeyong, and start to search for the nearest bus stop. Rummaging in your bag, you attempt to search for your wallet to pull out some cash to pay the bus fare—which would probably be an hour and a half ride from the distance of the university to this town. A disappointed sigh leaves your lips as you turn the corner; you lean against the brick wall of the building and take a breath, annoyed with yourself.

The sound of distant footsteps near you around the corner and you tilt your head in expectations on who the person might be. A part of you hopes it would be Sowon saying ‘sorry’ and ready to drive you back; the other aches for it to be Sicheng—for an unexplained reason. However, the person that turns the corner is a mere passerby, one of the many bustlers that is probably on his way to work. You release a puff of air, kicking the dirt as you people watch the busy street. Paying more attention to your surroundings, you begin to notice the loud roads that are filled with vehicles and chatty citizens.

Becoming too lost in the scene, you do not realize the man that approaches you to the left. His shadow towers over you, and that is what catches your attention. Diverting your attention to the man, you recognize him within a heartbeat: starboy, Dong Sicheng.

“What do you want?” you ask him, twiddling your thumbs together.

“Nothing,” he answers rapidly. “I parked my car down this street and I need to head back to my place—to study, that is.”

“Not for me?” you joke, crossing your arms over your chest.

The corner of Sicheng’s lips quirk upwards, an impish expression priming on his face. Sicheng starts to stroll by, ruffling your hair. “You wish.”

Sicheng continues to mess up your locks, ogling at you and your figure in front of him. The sly smirk withers into a look of adoration as you nag him to quit, and Sicheng startles from the thought of being charmed by such a simple action. He takes a step back and turns his head the other way. “Ah, it’s getting a little chilly,” he changes the subject, shoving his fists into his pockets.

You fix your hair, smoothing it down with your palms as you look in between the lines of his words. “Then go to your car,” you huffed. “You said it was down the street, didn’t you?”

Sicheng hesitates, gawking and standing in silence for a few seconds. “Do you want a ride back?”

You tilt your head, puzzled by his unforeseen gesture. For a moment, you consider saying yes, accepting the ride back rather than waiting in the cold for your friend—or even riding an extensive, bumpy bus ride to your apartment. But the smaller part of you takes control, causing you to blurt out a, “No way.”

Sicheng presses his lips together, blinking twice before responding. “You sure?” he asks. “It seems like it’ll get colder—and you might fall asleep on the bus. What if you end up at the east part of town? That’s a good two hours away.” Sicheng takes another step away, slowly starting his stride to his vehicle whilst waiting for your response. “I mean, not that I care or anything.”

Smiling, you look at him through your lashes. You scrutinize the boy, eyeing him from top to bottom. It is enough for you to notice the shades of red that creep onto his cheeks, and the rosy hues that tinge his ears. The boy is blushing, almost embarrassed, and vulnerable to your goads. “Sure you don’t.”

Sicheng grumbles, halting the beginning of his stride. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Try harder,” you comment, pushing yourself off the wall to brush past him. “Where’s your car, starboy? I can deal with an annoying car ride with you over a boring bus ride that’ll last for an hour.”

“Really?” Sicheng’s voice cracks. “I-I mean, what’s gotten into you?”

You shrug, the change in your demeanor protruding. “Answer the question.”

“R-right at the corner,” he stammers, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He follows with a reluctant point before walking to the vehicle, and you shadow him with a high guard.

Sicheng unlocks his vehicle and allows you to plop inside. He situates himself comfortably as he starts up the car, the radio instantly turning on and blasting the horrendous tunes on the radio. He reaches over quickly and shuts it off, uttering out an apology as he begins to back out.

You smile at him. “No need to apologize.”

As Sicheng backs out, he glances at you occasionally, unable to fight the urge to gawk at your features that were getting kissed by the incoming sunlight. “Whatever,” he responds.

Sicheng veers onto the road and begins to drive smoothly. He has a tight grip on the wheel as he continued to head to your apartment and you voice directions every now and then. He stops at the red light and slumps in his seat, tapping the wheel as if he is anxious to speak to you. The mood of the car is quite stiff; two polars are stuck in the same, condensed space right now, and he is not sure what to think.

Until he has a question that prodded at his mind for him to ask. “So,” he sighs, “why’d you call off our party.”

You look at him, cocking up an eyebrow in interest. “That’s quite a conversation starter.”

Sicheng does not bother to lock gazes with you; rather, he waits for the light to turn green and he begins to drive again for ten minutes in your reticence and enters the freeway.

You and the boy sit in silence, anticipation for your response raising the tension, and you hum. “It’s because you booted my car—and I had to pay a fine.”

Sicheng gains an urge to stop the vehicle where it is to look at you, addressing your stupidity, but instead he presses harder on the pedal. “What are you expecting? For me to let you park in my spot all the time?”

“You could have told me—”

“I did.” He grumbles. “You just don’t seem to listen.”

Your mouth hangs open at his comment, and the quietude that is caused confirms the validity behind his statement. You lean to the car door, your sight aiming out the window.

“So I also heard you slept with Jae,” he adds ten minutes later, exiting the freeway and starting to drive to your street as you ordered.

“Geez,” you sigh. “You really don’t know how to start proper conversations, do you? Ah, Make a left here. It’ll be in sight in a few moments.”

“I’m just saying.” Sicheng shrugs, steering the car in the desired direction. “Would you believe me if I said he was interested in you—for more than a, you know, bang?”

“Hmm…” you trail off, thinking about it in a wider perspective. “Yeah.”

Sicheng tilts his head. “Is that so?”

Sicheng starts to slow down on the road after you inform him that he is nearing the complex. His eyes are scanning the area, absorbing the new scenery. “You live pretty close to the uni,” he comments.

“If a fifteen minute drive is ‘close,’ then I guess so,” you reply. “It’s this one on the left. Just enter the parking lot and it’ll be fine.”

Sicheng nods and turns his car into the lot, driving all the way down with intention to pull up at the side.

“My turn to ask a question.” You clear your throat as Sicheng braces for it. Who knows what would leave your mouth—what you would be up to. To him, you are cryptic—a labyrinthine of emotions and negative events at every dead end. “Would believe me if I said I was interested in you—for just a, you know, bang?”

Sicheng gulps, stopping his car in the middle of the lot. You take notice of how his ears tinge with peach hues, and how his eyelids flutter from embarrassment. “I-I,” he stammers, grip deadly on the wheel. Sicheng struggles to find his breath, his gaze looking everywhere but your own. A hundred different lewd scenarios cross his mind—all sparked by your evocative question. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, but mostly because there is a growing tent in his jeans.

You giggle, opening the door to take a leave. “Later, Sicheng. I’ll see you at class.”

The name catches his attention, causing Sicheng to finally look at you with a grin.

“What?” you ask.

Sicheng chuckles, tossing his head back momentarily. “I’m so used to you calling me ‘starboy,’ it’s kind of strange to hear my name come out your mouth.”

“Maybe you can get me to scream it one of these nights,” you suggest, winking at him before shutting the car door.

His expression runs niche and he is unable to move an inch from your parting words. Fuck, that really did not help his situation. Sicheng stares down at his crotch, the bulge sticking out prominently as it remains stuck in his pants. He gulps, one of his hands letting go of the wheel to sail down to tend to it, but he is interrupted by a loud honk from the vehicle behind him.

“God damn it, (y/n)...”

The note you left Sicheng off of even surprises you.

Sure, the point as of now is to tease him endlessly, but there appears to be an underlying sentiment behind each witty phrase you shoot towards him. You crave his attention and ache for a response whenever you badger him; likewise, he can say the same.

When it is the third day of the week you drive on over to your class, wondering what you would say to Sicheng throughout the entire commute, and sauntering to the lecture hall. You are gripping onto the strap of your bag tightly, your mind in its daze as your eyes remain fixated onto the floor. When you approach the lecture room you up your vision and see Sicheng lingering around some of the classmates in sight. Smirking, you walk towards him, stopping in front of the door to the room.

“Hey, Sicheng,” you greet with a sly quirk of your lips. Your arm wraps around him, a hand resting on his shoulder as you give it a light squeeze. You bat your lashes at him, feigning innocence as you await a reply.

Sicheng’s breath hitches in his throat as he diverts his attention your way. The simple gesture you are giving him feels like complete electricity, warming up his chest from such a diminutive contact. The exchange of similar glances spellbinds him, and he is barely even able to utter out, “H-hey.”

The conversation that has once been taking place comes to a halt, the colleagues he has been conversing with staring at both you and Sicheng in curiosity. “Why aren’t you in the room? Is the professor not here?”

“Ah, no. That’s not it,” informs Sicheng. “We’re just getting in some conversation before we go inside.”

“I see.” You nod you head. “Well, it’s better to be inside early, right? Or”—you sail your palm down his back, a feather-light touch ghosting over his clothed skin—“are you always going to be one for late attendance?”

Sicheng does not bother to respond to your question; instead, he watches you swiftly enter the lecture room with a foolish grin on his face. His face feels hot from an easy gesture, and it is more than clear that he is a blushing mess in front of his colleagues.

“(y/n)’s always caring about everyone,” says one of them. “I asked her for help with an assignment and she agreed within a heartbeat.”

“Really?” responds the other. “I should try talking to her some time. Invite her to the next party!”

Sicheng crinkles his nose at their talk—how oblivious they are to you and your devilish tactics—and says, a little out of jealousy, “Don’t bother. It’s better to not get involved with her anyway.”

Sicheng then follows your footsteps into the lecture room, it echoing in the quietude. Sicheng immediately finds you lounging at the second row, and he joins you, sitting two seats away. He takes out his belongings and prepares for the lecture, peering at you from the corner of his eye occasionally. He twirls his pen in hand as your chin is propped on your palm, and, finally, after ten minutes you two lock eyes—right when the lecture begins.

As much as you try to remain focused on the lecture, Sicheng’s presence is a complete blight to your focus. Your mind cannot help but run to the direction of him, thinking about him seamlessly about multiple scenarios that are, to no surprise, quite carnal. He is simply leaning in the seat, a childish pout on his lips as he tries to absorb the material, yet you are utterly distracted by him and his looks. His hair is a little more on the messy side this afternoon; is that the after-sex hairstyle that would take place? God, you are incredibly curious. All of a sudden you ache to tug on his hair, perhaps when he is going down on you irresolutely.

Sicheng grins at you, noticing how you are lost deep in a fantasy; he cannot help but wonder if you are thinking mutual thoughts as he. He is replaying the scene from earlier over and over in his mind, like it is the only movie the cinema of his brain can project, and it makes his mind jumble out into scattered puzzle pieces. And each piece is one impure thought after the other.

Sicheng bites the outline of his lip as he allows his imagination to run wild. He wonders what you would look like if he has the upper hand. If he is to be the one taking charge of all situations instead of you—if he is to be the ‘bad boy’ that everyone thinks he is. Once, just once, does he want to hear you whimper his name as you are beneath him.

Your eyes widen at Sicheng tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth; you never thought that was a sight you wanted to see until then, and you turn your head away to try and block out the distraction. Sicheng chuckles and lifts his head, trying to return back to the lecture. Of course, it is not as easy as he wishes because in his pants again is his own rising hardness.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

Once the lecture comes to an end you pack up your items by shoving them in the bag like it is an oblivion. You snap your fingers to enrapture Sicheng’s attention, and you gain it with posthaste.

“What do you want?” he asks you, his voice groggy as he has recently risen from a heavy slumber.

“You,” you respond playfully. “And for us to get out of this lecture hall ‘cause I feel like I’ve been suffocating in his room for far too long.”

Sicheng fixes his gaze on your figure that towers above him and he releases a sigh. He rubs the nape of his neck and gathers his belongings, accompanying you out the hall. “You actually waited for me,” Sicheng points out, grinning.

“Stop commenting on everything I do,” you demand, bitterness lacing your tone.

“I can’t help it,” he pleads, “it’s all so cute.”

You draw in a sharp breath through your teeth, disgusted by his stunt. “Gross.”

“So, answer me,” he requests, stopping your stride before you exit the entire building. “Just what are you trying to do?”

You narrow your eyes, furrowing an eyebrow. “Trying to do about what?”

“You know,” Sicheng edges. “You’ve been touchy lately.”

“Oh,” you acknowledge, “nothing. I’m just having a little fun.”

You lean against the wall by the door, arms crossed as you scrutinize Sicheng’s response, and he isn’t buying it at all. He is finding your reply unhumorous, as true as it is. You are only playing around with Sicheng because it causes you fun—and of the irresistible attraction that creeped its way onto the surface, but he has no reason to be aware of the latter.

“But why—”

“Hey, Sicheng!” calls a familiar voice.

You and Sicheng look to the direction of the voice, only to realize it is coming from Yuta—who has Sowon hanging around him like a puppy.

“I’m assuming that date went well?” Sicheng thinks aloud, waving to his friend.

“Unfortunately so,” you add, shaking your head at the disappointment that is Sowon and Yuta possibly becoming an item. “Be careful, Sowon.”

Your friend giggles, almost feeling your seeth. “It would’ve been better if his friends didn’t stick around us.”

“I had space in my car,” says Sicheng. “I could’ve lessened the load.”

“Oh hell no,” you comment, swatting Sicheng’s arm. “It was bad enough dealing with you.”

Yuta tilts his head in confusion, looking at Sowon as if she has an answer. “I thought you needed to go home, bro. Why was (y/n) with you?”

“Ah,” he pauses. “I-I did. I ran into her on the way to get to my car and she was on the way…”

“Don’t get any ideas, Yuta. The last thing I need is for your mouth to run on and on about how Sicheng and I would be an item,” you demand, already calling for the future. Knowing Yuta, his mouth only knows how to talk and spread rumours—and that is only one of the many reasons you hold an antipathy against him.

Sowon chimes in, breaking the ice. “So why are you two still in here? Our lectures ended at the same time.”

Sicheng peers at you, motioning you to speak. Sighing, you say, “We were just talking.”

“Talking?” Yuta laughs. “Or flirting?”

Yuta winks at his friend, notioning your way that has Sicheng bursting into a fit of chuckles. “Totally,” Sicheng agrees, obtaining and idea. Sicheng steps closer to you, the remaining proximity closing as he places an arm around you comfortably—an act that makes it seem as if it is the most natural gesture in the world. “I’ve been trying to get her to go on a date with me, but she loves playing hard to get.”

You turn your head to look at him, incertitude painted all over your face, and he leans over to whisper into your ear, “Don’t you?”

You bite onto the outline of your lip, his breath hitting your skin, sending goosebumps to race up your spine. Heat flows into your face and the blush is more than evident, almost like a wave of coral hues splashed on your skin. “Get real, starboy.” You push Sicheng off you, taking a step away as you calm yourself down. You feel your heart beating rapidly against your chest as if there is a raging animal that wanted to be set free, and you are unable to calm it down. “T-try again next time.”

“So we have a next time?” he asks you, smirking in victory. He appears to have found a weak spot of you—one that he can use to his advantage to win the game.

“Get a fucking room, you two,” implores Yuta. Yuta latches onto Sowon’s hand and gets ready to guide her out the door, but Sicheng says something that makes the older boy explode into childish laughter.

Sicheng shoves his hands into his pockets, swaggering back to you. “There’s a room right there—a classroom—if you’re into that.”

Your eyes widen at his idea, another vehement desire to follow his proposition present. You shake your head at the intruding thought, the longing for you to satisfy your amorous desires difficult to maintain. Speechless and unable to think properly, your flustered self watches the starboy exit the lecture hall in triumph and all you want to do is clout the back of his head.

“Gosh,” you spit out, “he needs to piss off…”

Yuta and Sowon exchange similar expressions, both making a silent call for the future. It causes them to chuckle and you face them, your face still tinted with pink—the mark of embarrassment. You are unable to stop thinking about Sicheng and his words—everything he has stunted today. Looking at the entire moment in a wider perspective, Sicheng seems to crave to take the game in his own hands; to kick you off the pedestal and take charge happens to be an event he is absolutely ravenous for.

But it is arduous for you to pinpoint the root of it. Shit, when did Sicheng start to put up such an act—and why is it working on you? You have ever been one to feel anything by flirty words or touchy gestures; you have always been the one to initiating a stimulating response, but the tables truly have turned. Because...

It is not until now for you to realize that this is no longer a game, but a chase for who breaks first.

To say that you enjoy Sicheng’s method of peppering compliments on you would be an understatement.

It feels like a guilty pleasure whenever you hear him make a positive comment about your appearance or wit—whether he wholeheartedly means it or not. Every encounter you have with him, he gives you a playful wink and, if you are to be lucky, words that keep you keen. And that routine continues for a good two weeks. For you, it seems as if you have made zero progress in pushing Sicheng to the edge and he is always one move ahead—always getting you on checkmate. There are times you have attempted to avoid him by purposely walking the longer way to the lecture halls and taking the back path to go to where you typically park, but as if there is a hopeless magnetism, you and Sicheng have always been made bound to cross paths—which leaves you utterly weak.

You notice as time passes that with each time you see Sicheng your heart kicks its pace up; not due to the thrill or anger of seeing him, ready to grind on his gears, but for a feeling that has always been foreign to you: a complete attraction to a man that you used to see as the epitome of pest. After such a realization you have tried to sort out your thoughts, but the more you think about Sicheng the more crazy it drives you. It isn’t rocket science—what you feel for the falsely stated bad boy—but it is something you are borderline ashamed of feeling.

And what if he finds out?

With the two weeks of avoiding Sicheng and attending classes, bolting for the exit once the shared lecture ends, he finally catches on. Well, to be fair he has always had an idea of your feelings toward him—and he knows you would never voice such as if it is to be a curse. Sicheng finds your reaction to be cute, charming whenever you told him to get away like he is a fool in love, and he aches to be around you even more.

However, two weeks passing is far too long of a wait for him and he decides to take the larger step, a more riskier move on the game board.

He sees you walking across the parking lot with your notebook held tightly in your arms and he grins, pausing his converse with his friends to say to you, “Looking good, (y/n), but what’s new?”

His voice catches you by surprise and the heat returns to your face. Ignoring him, you start to pace yourself to the hall, but he ditches his friends to run towards you, joining you by your side. He laughs, ruffling your hair as he points out, “Are you blushing?”

You bare your teeth, glaring at him as you spit out, “Piss off, Sicheng.”

“Why are you so brash to me?” He places his hands in the air in defeat. “I’m just complimenting you.”

“I don’t want your stupid compliments.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, genuinely curious. The compliments don’t work, and neither does his loving gestures; he wants to crack down to the bottom of this like it is a cryptic code that has been impracticable for aeons. “That I’d love to f—”

You place a hand over his mouth, hushing him as you push him back. “We’re in front of so many people, have some decency, Sicheng.”

“We can go somewhere private,” he says easily with a shrug. He grabs onto your wrist and lowers your hand, giving him some free space to talk openly. Your expression is still the same: a foolish blush with sparkling eyes, a shy demeanor—like Sicheng’s true self has an impact on you. “You seem like you’d like that.”

You remain silent and walk away from him in hopes that you have escaped his scripted plan of the day, but he chases after you, opening the door for you to the lecture hall. You stare at him and that prince-like smile that is blossoming on his face. With such gestures, it confuses you even further, and you release a sigh as you enter the hall.

Sicheng frowns at the lack of response, shadowing you from behind. “Why are you so annoyed with me?” he complains, both hands gripping tightly around the straps of his backpack. “And there are twenty minutes before the lecture. No one is even inside the hall.”

Rather than being able to formulate a coherent reply, you are more focused on the rapid beating of your heart—the swirled up thoughts in your brain—and it prompts Sicheng to tail you like a puppy, pestering you for attention. “(y/n)?” he calls out to you, catching up to your side. But you refuse to reply, ignoring his presence. “(y/n), is everything okay?”

You reach for the doorknob of the lecture room, but a clasp around the small of your wrist prevents you from doing so. Sicheng turns you around, enrapturing your attention has his gaze beats down on your face. “Did I do something wrong?” he questions, his voice frail like a child that has gotten in trouble. “Did I cross the line?”

Sicheng’s gaze casts downwards to the floor, his eyelids fluttering like pirouetting butterflies. The solemn countenance that is conveying on his face makes you feel guilty, a clear sign you have fallen victim to his previous manners. “No,” you respond, unable to look his way.

“Then why are you ignoring me?” he questions.

“You act like I haven’t been trying to ignore you for the past two weeks.”

“But why?”

“God,” you spit out, attempting to turn your body so you can swing open the door to the lecture room, “you’re so annoying.”

But Sicheng stops you from doing so. His grip is tight on your wrist, yet he acts with hesitance as if he is calculating his every move, afraid to hurt you. His eyes finally meet yours when he prevents you from escaping his grasp, and it is a moment that is far too electric to break the current. In fact, this is the closest you have ever been face-to-face with the starboy. There is no turning of heads, no gushing or childish blushing to prompt an abscond—but a pure moment as if one is reading far too into the other.

The silence that is filling the moment is amplifying the weight of the moment, and Sicheng releases a shaky breath. He is studying your expression: your pursed lips that are coated with a thin gloss, the apples of your cheeks that have a natural tint on them—because he caused it. One by one he notices your features, and he hears your unsteady breath get drawn in.

Your heart is beating furiously against your chest; his is aching to be set free from its own cage. The compulsion to enter the lecture room is no longer overpowering, and you are rooted in stance before the boy, your mind completely blank as well. The last bits are drawn back to your mind once you hear a breathy laugh come from his mouth.

You tilt your head, eyebrows coming together as if frustrated. “What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing,” he clears out, shaking his head. “You’re blushing,” he whispers with a smile quirking at his lips.

“No I’m not,” you respond instantly, defensive on where you stand. Your head turns the other way, shielding your face from the truth.

Sicheng chuckles, finally gaining the last piece of the puzzle to see the larger picture. It explains it all: the times you avoid him, spit defensive words, and the countless blushes and hopeless grins that blossom on your face. “Did this game you declared turn into something more?” he asks you. “Am I beating you at your own game? And here I was, worried that I crossed the line.”

You are rendered speechless, coherent sentences unable to thread together as he voices out validity.

“But I didn’t.” He finishes off, “You just have feelings for me.”

“I don’t,” you announce.

Sicheng closes the gap that is shared from your face and his, inching closer and closer until you are able to feel his warm breath hit your skin. “I think you do.”

You slowly face him again, witnessing the stunt he is trying to pull. What has gotten into him? It truly isn’t like him to be head-on flirtatious with a member of the opposite sex. Why isn’t he gushing or running away? Cowering in embarrassment? Perhaps what you thought you know about Sicheng is completely false—and it has always been the reason to why he has the upper hand. As cryptic as you are, Sicheng is the definition of arcane—a walking enigma that is solely made for you.

Sicheng lets go you your wrist and trails his hand up the outline of your body slowly, a desultory action that sets your insides ablaze. He moves your hair behind your ear, gaining a better view of your features, and smiles lovingly.

Gulping and in need of a riposte, you spit out the first thing that comes to your mind, “Are you saying that as defense?” You narrow your gaze on him, the fire in your two orbs evident. “Are you not the one who has feelings for me? You’re constantly complimenting me and following me around—I think it’s for more than just to—”

“But I do,” Sicheng informs, cutting your sentence short.

Every word you have wanted to say dissipates on the tip of your tongue, for his response has caught you by surprise. It is like an impact you never expected, like someone has came from your behind to strike. So your suspicions have always been on the right track. There has always been an underlying reason for Sicheng’s actions that you brushed to the side—but why? Has it been a method for you to fight how you feel towards the starboy?

The silence that is being shared between you two has turned deadly—an uncomfortable still as you allow the words to sink into your mind.

“What?” you question him, your voice a whisper. Sicheng has not moved from where he stands the entire time; his head has always been a few mere inches away from your own, and your breath brushes against the petals of his lips.

Sicheng swallows his breath out of nervousness, relieving his anxious sentiments. His mouth constantly opens and closes every now and then because he is crossed on what to say. Every sentence that comes to mind does not make it past his mouth, and he swallows his words as if they would be the wrong choice to make—like it would be the key to set you free from his presence.

The boy has waited for a moment like this for quite a long time—longer than the two weeks you have been annoying him. The first three encounters with you have been nothing but unpleasant, but as time has passed and the paths kept on crossing, intertwining, it would be impossible for him to not gain an idea of you under another light. The night of the party a girl approached him, and he rejected her for more than just avoiding an intercourse with her—because Sicheng thought of you. The girl was even closer to him physically, her arms wrapped around him; you are inches apart, and the pull has never been stronger.

Sicheng shakes his head and stares through you, whispering your name. God, what on earth is he thinking? The more time that passes the greater the urge grows to become closer to you. He craves for a kiss, a pull—anything that would diminish the game that has stood.

And so he asks.

“(y/n),” he mumbles. You blink twice at him, a signal that he has all of your attention. “C-can I kiss you?”

You look up at him through your lashes, unable to turn away. Sicheng twirls a lock of your hair in between his digits as he watches you with dilated pupils. Fair enough to say, he is as nervous as you are. Both hearts are racing as if there is a finish line, breaths are being held and let out shakily, and words are being chosen oh-so-carefully.

So you hope that your response is enough—even if it is a breathy, “Yes.”

Sicheng’s eyes blow wide for a second, surprised at how quickly you complied, and he watches you close your eyes delicately, waiting for the impact. He smiles softly to himself, admiring the longing that is painted on your face.

Slowly in the empty hall, he comes closer and closer, his warm breath a tease for every second his lips are not pressing against yours. Sicheng acts with reluctance—not because he fears that this is the wrong choice or if he is leading you onto the wrong direction but due to the lack of experience. Nonetheless, his head leans in and the last sight he sees is your lips being pursed gently.

His forearm moves to rest against the flat of the door as he closes the gap, and the contact is more electrifying than ever. There is a smile that plays at the corner of his mouth that you feel; you cannot help but do the same. Sicheng’s lips dance with yours to the melody of each other’s brisk heartbeats, the softness an unfamiliar sensation that provides you with the pleasure of longing. It feels as if you have waited aeons for a benevolent kiss, like your existence has been created for the lush act.

He sucks on your bottom lip, swiping the tip of his tongue against the surface, and gets a taste of you—and it is surprisingly sweet. It appears like you are a fruit off a tree with a sour appearance, drawing people away, but if one is to peel away layer by layer they would catch a look at the real you.

Sicheng’s other hand snakes its way to the small of your back, pulling your body closer to him to deepen the kiss. You cannot help but break the kiss to laugh, for his act is entertaining and unexpected. Locking eyes with him, you see more than just the mischievous glint, and it prompts another playful kiss.

He smells of coffee and musk, the two scents swirling together in a divergent harmony that sends your senses to the edge. There is something that impels you for more—a craving to taste him even further and to bring your bodies closer, and as the heated kiss progresses it is the only thing that intoxicates your mind.

There is one thing that is holding the two of your back, and it is the fact that you are both two shadows standing right in the middle of the lecture hall, in front of the door to the classroom. Anyone could walk in at any moment and be astonished to the core to see that the university bibliophile and notorious bad boy is locking lips. It would be the gossip of the week and the puzzle of the century. What witchcraft has taken place to bring two polar opposites together? Whatever it is, you are glad it has charmed you.

Sicheng presses harder against your lips, sucking on them passionately to solicit a quiet moan from you—and he obtains one. You break the kiss, cowering out of embarrassment, and he chuckles. He assures you of your worries by cupping your cheek and running his thumb across your skin. Kissing you once more, you decide it is your turn to make a move.

Your hands tug at the hem of his short before one tugs at the belt loop of his jeans to drag him in close. As he falls victim to your grasp, his crotch comes in contact with your front and you feel something preposterously… hard. You break the kiss to catch a glance at the tent that is building in his pants—the uncomfortable hardness that gives him pleasure once you palm him through his pants.

He takes a breath in between his teeth and hangs his head low, positioning it at the crevasse of your neck prior to him peppering kisses all over. Sucking on your skin, he leaves a mark—a promise that more would come and the moment would be finished later.

You grip onto his hardened member past his jeans, feeling him up, and he releases a moan right by your ear. “Fuck,” he utters, his voice weak. “God, (y/n), t-that feels good…”

“Does it?” you ask him rhetorically, gripping onto it with more force.

“Shit,” he says within an instant. “Y-yes! God, I—this is the first time that I—”

You shake your head and he raises his, allowing you to plant a kiss. “You talk too much,” you comment, pecking him again.

Sicheng chuckles, sweat accumulating on his forehead. “Whatever.”

You take a step away and change spots with the boy, pressing him against the door. Your mouth is ghosting over the cupid bow of his own, enticing him by the second. Sicheng is unsure on how to act next. Should he leave it up to you, or take charge once more?

Whatever he has been thinking, it is far too slow because you act first. Acting as if you are about to kiss him again, Sicheng closes his eyes to brace; however, your hand chases for the doorknob and your clasp around it, twisting it so that the door to the lecture hall opens.

Sicheng, who has been leaning on the flat of it, stumbles right into the lecture room from the loss of balance.

“We can save the rest for later,” you tell him.

Sicheng is on the floor, rubbing his forehead as he gawks at you. The blush returns to his face and you laugh in triumph, entering the room with a grin. “Good morning, professor,” you greet her—the professor’s eyes scrutinizing the two of you.

You move to take your seat, unwilling to help him up, and start to unpack your belongings to prepare for class. Sicheng watches you, his mind dazed and struggling to fathom what just happened. Only ten minutes have soared by and it was ten minutes of confession and sexual build-up. He groaned, picking himself up and stretching his arms into the air.

You stare at him, still entertained.

Sicheng used to be someone you could not stand to be around—a man that made you dread. Now, the one thing that has always been killing you is making you feel incredibly alive. You can only hope that the promise to satisfy your need for him would come sooner than you expect.

There is no point in faking your antipathy towards Sicheng anymore.

No walls have to be built to protect yourself from the truth and to prevent him from seeing it—especially what has happened a good four days ago. Sicheng and you were having an empirical, heated make out session in the middle of the lecture hall. Feelings were dutifully exchanged and one thing led to another; that was, before everything came to an abrupt halt.

A large fraction of you regretted opening the door to have him fall inside; it was your chance to tell him to dip class and spend the two hours in private, getting an even better taste of one another, but you didn’t.

So for the past four days you have been outrageously frustrated, the thought of Sicheng driving you insane. He’s like a drug—an element you are completely hooked on and you cannot seem to fight the urge to want him. Thing is, no matter how far the scene can escalate between you two, you have no idea what the boy is thinking.

Well, that is because Sicheng has no idea what he is thinking. He never had such a heavy crush on a girl before; let alone, had a makeout session until he crossed paths with you. The feelings you provided him with gave him a thrill, a rush of excitement and so much longing to the point he is addicted. Of course, with the way events have cascaded perfectly into one another, he could not help it.

With similar thoughts to yours, he never thought that he would be willing to go so far with you. He kissed you, ached for more, and was ready for you to guide him—no matter how shy he was. And the most shocking part to him is that you have no problem with him being a virgin. You used to take pleasure in annoying him—teasing him to the edge about the truth and what he makes himself to be—but that all strengthened the magnetism of his attraction to you.

So here he is, standing in the university parking lot with his friends, excessively sexually frustrated from the lack of contact he has had with you. To be honest, the last time he has had a full-blown conversation with you was four days ago, right in front of the lecture hall. Everything that came afterwards was quick ‘hello’s’ when passing by one another. And that got him thinking: did the kiss mean nothing to you to the point you’d act like it never happened?

Or maybe he was thinking out of proportion. After all, he never experienced such a turn of events.

However, there was a moment where he saw the mark he left on your neck—the sign that what happened four days ago would take off where it was left off from, and the only question became ‘when?’

Sicheng is staring at the sky as his friends chat the day away. They are talking about the usual: girls, planning the next party, and whenever they will go the billiards hall. There is nothing too out of the ordinary occurring and the day is stunningly placid. Sicheng’s head is in the cloud as they listen to Yuta bicker about his progression in his relationship with Sowon—the potential of how ‘serious’ the two of them might become, and the other two boys cannot take him seriously.

Hearing of such an instance reminds Sicheng on how he first started with you. If he made the choice to not attend class that day due to the wild night from before then none of this would be happening. It sounds even more preposterous that Sicheng is hopelessly crushing on the girl he used to wholly have forebodings about.

Sicheng closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, relishing in the reminisce. The boys’ laughter intrudes on his journey among his thoughts and his lids flutter open, whilst attempting to catch onto what he has missed.

As Sicheng’s vision slowly refocuses as he blinks a couple of times; from the corner of his eye he sees you. Habitually, you are walking with Sowon across the parking lot to return to your vehicle down the street. It is distinctive that you are trying to avoid running into the group, which is notable by being on the opposite side of the small lot. Sicheng smiles, and the manner is strangely perpetual. The little things of you appear to drive him crazy, whether you are annoyed by him to the point you would walk away with a blush, or if you are to prod him with belittling jests. And he feels helpless to them.

Yuta, who is talking endlessly, finally puts an end to his roam mid-sentence when he sees you and Sowon on the opposite side of the lot. “It’s Sowon!” he points out loudly, causing the boys to divert their attention your way. Though as booming as his voice naturally is, it did not reach the two of you who are vivaciously laughing the day away.

“Is Yuta seriously pursuing a real relationship?” asks Jaehyun, giving Taeyong a light punch. Taeyong chuckles and nods his head as Yuta glares at them, biting onto his sour tongue to restrict ill-mannered comments.

“And she’s friends with that total witch,” hisses Taeyong. “(y/n), wasn’t it? How do you feel about that, Sicheng?”

But there is no response.

Taeyong rotates his body to where Sicheng is standing, only to find out he is no longer there and is dashing for the two girls. Sicheng’s presence blended so well into the shadows for him to abscond, confusing the three boys on his chase towards you.

“What the hell is he doing?” Yuta questions, piqued.

Jaehyun’s face contorts in displeasure and inquisitiveness as he watches his friend run towards you. Setting all feelings aside, he lets out a sigh. “Sicheng’s facing the same thing you are, Yuta.”

Taeyong’s jaw drops to the floor in shock, the color in his face washing away as he is the last to catch onto the recent turn of events. “No fucking way. How did he get her? No offence to Sicheng or anything, but aren’t I hotter in more degrees?”

Yuta blasts out into a childish laughter, agreeing. “Very, Tae.”

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

… “So then after I said I would take the bus back home, he offered me a ride!” Sowon rambles. “I never thought he’d be like that, but we ended up having a second date I guess—in his car.”

You skeptically raise an eyebrow at the information, studying it thoroughly. “Don’t tell me you two used the back of his car to ba—”

“No!” She shakes her head, waving her hands towards you dismissively. “W-we didn’t do anything! I mean, he kissed me and that was it—I promise!”

“What the”—you halt your stride to look at her, pondering if you are hearing things correctly—“you guys already kissed? You guys are moving faster than Sicheng and me. You know when we first kissed? Two weeks ago.”

Sowon laughs, grasping onto your hand to pull you towards her. “That’s because you two hated each other when you first met. You don’t just make out with someone you don’t like.”

“Good point.”

When you think about your friend’s comment you realize how childish the story of you and Sicheng sounds. Both of you acted upon one another by a petulant drive, only craving to see the other well in their own misery, and now all you both want is each other. You press a palm to your face for recalling the immature acts and sigh.

Sowon starts again, giving you another tug, “Anyway, I really want to go and eat some—”

“(y/n)!” your name is called in the distance.

You turn your head instantly, attributing the recognizable voice to the familiar face. Sicheng is dashing towards you as if he has forgotten a beloved belonging in your grasp, and you slip out of Sowon’s hold to wave to him.

Sicheng stands before you and your friend, catching a breath before he says to Sowon, “I need to borrow her for a second. Maybe the whole day.”

With a sweaty palm, Sicheng takes a hold of your hand and pulls you away from your friend, dragging you from the lot to behind the main building of the institute. You attempt to dig your heels into the ground to prevent him from doing so, uttering, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You study the boy, noticing the hint of red that stains his ears—a small blush that gives you an idea on why he is acting so promptly.

Sicheng is grumbling some words to himself, already flustered from the stunt he is pulling, and groans exasperatedly. He releases you from his grasp once he makes it to the back of the main building; his back is turned to you for a good while before he opens his mouth again.

“Two weeks,” he declares. “It has been two weeks since we kissed and you rarely made any contact with me since. Is something wrong?”

Sicheng rotates his body to face you, and the glint in his eyes is a mark of genuine curiosity.

“Is something going on with you?” you ask him, chuckling from amusement.

Sicheng’s eyebrows come together in a frustrated manner as he blurts out the truth. “Yes, I’ve been sexually frustrated the entire time! How can we kiss and then leave me out like that?”

“You do realize that’s what you do to all the girls that try to get into your pants, right?”

“But that doesn’t mean you should do it to me…” Sicheng whines. He grabs onto your hand tightly and releases a breath of air. “(y/n), come on. I’m getting impatient. I haven’t felt this way towards anyone else before and you’re really leaving me on the edge.”

His confession comes as a surprise to you. You are not sure on what to think. You gain from watching him struggle to keep his dick in his pants, but also from hearing him come to the edge due to sexual frustration. Giggling, you say, “Sucks to suck, Sicheng. But you gotta wait.”

“W-what?” he stammers. “How long?”

“I have an exam coming up—I have to study.”

You shake out of his grasp and start to walk back to Sowon; however, he tugs on the hem of your shirt, stopping you. “W-when is it? What class—where?”

“Next Monday at around three. The second portable—why?”

“Just wondering,” Sicheng tells you. His grip tightens as he thinks out another addition to his sentence. Whenever he is with you, the words do not come quickly to his mind. “Do you want to go out after your exam?”

“Out?” you repeat. “Or… out as in—”

“No,” he corrects you, interrupting. “Out as in an actual date. I can treat you for finishing.”

You narrow your eyes on him, trying to see if there is an underlying message in his proposition. “All of a sudden you’re being romantic, what’s going on?”

Sicheng chuckles, his head hanging. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

“I’m not.” You shake your head. “But that sounds like a good plan.”

Sicheng finally allows you to part from him. You walk back to Sowon with a childish grin painted on your face, for the mere thought of going on a proper date with the boy makes you giddy. Sicheng watches you make your way back to your friend. The smile that has been pressed on his face withers away instantly as he realizes what he just committed.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Did I say I was okay with waiting another week?!”

Despite his silly mistake on allowing another week to past, time soars by quicker than expected.

Sicheng occupies his time by digging his face into his books, absorbing necessary information for his classes to prepare himself early for exams and whatnot. It is not the best distraction, but it is enough to suffice as you have the time of your life preparing for an exam—and teasing him. It is another story when you are in the same class as him. He really cannot focus, no matter how far away he chooses to be seated from you, and it prods at his brain like an unwanted stick.

So, when Monday comes along he decides to look extra spiffy.

The morning of, he spends more time styling his hair and picking out a decent outfit to impress. He sprays on cologne and tests out award-winning smiles at his reflection in the mirror; he wants the day to go by perfectly. Sicheng attends his classes like normal at the university, and his mind runs wild the more minutes that pass by. It is a countdown to you, when he can see you again and possibly score the night.

Sicheng dashes out of his lecture once it concludes, running by his group of friends who call out to him, but he does not bat a single eye. The wind whistles in his ears as he runs across campus to reach the portables (considering he has been at the opposite side of the campus) and hopes he is running on time. The lecture ended at around 2:47 p.m., and that gives him thirteen minutes to make it to your class—well, if it already did not end early. Lectures never run on schedule to begin with.

Sicheng is starting to break out into a sweat in his outfit: a blue flannel with black ripped jeans, a plain white tee under as well. Not only that, but his hair is an absolute mess, like a cat has made a home on the top of his head. There are so many elements that he can be fretting about, but the second he sees you in the distance, his worries erode away.

He is standing on the top of the staircase, noticing you leave the portable of your class at the bottom of the steps, and he calls out for you, “(y/n)!”

The sound of your name being exclaimed captures your attention, causing you to turn your head left and right for the direction the sound is coming from. Other people are attracted to the stunt Sicheng pulls, and he keeps chanting your name, waving to your frantically like a young child greeting his friends at the start of the day.

“Shut up!” you retaliate, your face flushing with pink.

You start to walk up the steps to meet him, gossip already circulating among your colleagues. Whispers upon the topic of you and Sicheng being an item start up—and people would be foolish to not believe it at this point. With the givens that you and Sicheng have spent with one another, him tailing you and you pestering him with insults, the signs have been everywhere.

Sicheng lovingly watches you climb up the stairs, the tired look on your face making him laugh. It is not until you are three-fourths of the way up for him to notice your lasting beauty. You are wearing shorts and a loose white tee, an outfit that seems like you picked up dirty laundry from your room floor because effort was not in the dictionary this morning. Even so, you look incredible to him.

Your hair is messy, a look he expects to see after sex with you and—fuck, is he getting a hard on?

Sicheng’s expression turns niche as he looks down at his crotch, the hardness barely noticeable (thankfully). He gulps, hoping that it would go away soon. Is this what happens when sexual longing is extended for three darn weeks? Sicheng proceeds to smile at you as you meet him at the top of the staircase.

“How was the exam?” he asks you.

“Good,” you reply, your pace not stopping. Sicheng accompanies you, leading you to the path to his car. “I think I aced it.”

“I’m sure you did,” he agrees with nervous laughter, fighting the uncomfortable sensation in his pants. “We both study like mad—and you blew me off to study.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “so I can focus.”

“Do I get a reward if you get an A?” he questions you with beady eyes. Even though he asked it as a question, it sounds like Sicheng is implying another—an obvious craving he has been wanting to become satisfied.

Smiling, you say, “Maybe.”

The walk to Sicheng’s car is filled with smalltalk and gossip on what is going on between Yuta and Sowon. A couple combination that no one even expected—but that is what makes it so risible. It is just how you and Sicheng start off, and possibly how the word will spread around. Sicheng is smoothing out his hair as he ambles to his vehicle, laughing the day away with you as he breaks out in a sweat from the hot weather. What brilliant choice did he make to wear jeans and a long sleeve?

The moment you both reach his vehicle at his parking spot, he strips the flannel off his being and tosses it in the back seat once the car is unlocked. Your eyes are glued onto his figure, the somewhat muscular man feeding your eagerness. Shit, has he always looked this good? In fact, have you ever seen Sicheng wear anything else aside longsleeves and sweaters? He looks divine.

“What are you staring at?” he asks you, tugging on the seat belt.

You mimic his motion. “Nothing, you just look good.”

He smiles, red chasing the apples of his cheeks again. “Thanks.”

Sicheng starts up his car and starts to back out of the lot, informing you of the plan for the rest of the day. “So there’s this restaurant downtown that just opened, it seems pretty good. There’s a bakery right next to it as well, so we can stop by there afterwards—I heard their macarons are amazing.”

“You planned out the entire day?” you think aloud.

“No, I didn’t plan out the details—but that’s just the gist.” He beams. Sicheng enters the street and begins to drive. He switches on the car radio to fill up the moments of silence that come along after the end of each conversation topic. You notice the way he nods his head to the music, tapping his fingers to the beat rapturously.

“I see,” you mumble. “So, how was your day? You actually look pretty good.”

Sicheng grins jocundly, shrugging his shoulders. “It was fine. Do I really? I just put on whatever,” he fibs.

You nod your head. “Yeah, you do.”

Your eyes roam his vehicle, enjoying the look of it. It is a black, e350 mercedes, and it smells just like him, and a hint of the scents he has hanging on the air conditioners. At every stoplight Sicheng has a tendency to look your way. The mere sight of you alone sets his insides ablaze, and he over thinks: what should he say? Is there even anything to say?

You snap him out of his thoughts when you ask him, “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” he retaliates quickly. “Y-you just look really good.”

“I’m in a white tee and shorts, Sicheng. This is a typical outfit that half the university can wear.”

“B-but you look good…?” His voice raises at the end of his obscurity; he ponders if he is choosing the correct words properly, or he is ready to cower in his own embarrassment.

“Would I look better beneath you?” you ask him, tilting your head the other way. You bite onto your lip to ease your anxious wrecks, your eyes clamped shut as you wait for his response.

It catches him by surprise and his foot eases off the gas pedal, prompting him to stutter, “W-where did that come from? I thought w-we were just having a nice innocent date…”

You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful he didn’t unleash his wit. You face him again and ruffle his hair. “We are,” you admit. “I just wanted to get this out there.”

Sicheng’s eyes bat continuously your eye, his vision fleeting from the road to you dangerously. “I-I see...”

An uncomfortable hardness forms in his jeans and it bothers him. He is barely able to focus on the road, for his attention is devoted to you. So, when the next red light comes after eight minutes of continuous driving down an avenue, he is more than thankful.

At the red light Sicheng’s fingertips tap onto the wheel. His lips are pursed as he whistles a playful tune along to the music of the radio, and you look at him admirably. His lashes appear lush, like curtains and whenever he blinks they sweep over his skin. His lips are decently plump, kissable if you have to admit, and it intrigues you in. You lean over the center console to gain a better look. With him at such a close distance again, you are able to notice more about him and his features. He has a complexion that is almost too perfect; well, his being as a whole. It seems as if what creates perfection has been doused onto this man, charming you and others. Of course girls fall for him, he is outrageously good looking—it is one of the reason you have as well.

But the larger majority is due to the playful cat and dog-like feud you had with one another. Unpleasantries grew into an irresistible magnetism; grievances blossomed into loving memories. To be honest, the first kiss you shared with him had you hooked like crazy. You made a mistake by opening the door for him to stumble in the class, but there was no going back. The date you have with him right now is like a redemption.

The longer you stare at Sicheng the more enchanted you feel; soon, it is enough for you to plant a kiss on his cheek.

The action catches him by surprise and he quickly rotates his head to look at you with eyes blown wide. Utterances of shock rest on the tip of his tongue, but as soon as he locks eyes with your own he is unable to speak. The words disappear and his mind becomes blank from you and your noticable beauty. His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, the perfect cupid’s bow he wants to peck, and he swallows his breath.

Sicheng acts by his desires and places his lips against your own. He acts in a desultory pace, testing the waters to make sure kissing you is okay—if it is granted by you and that it is enjoyable, and it is. His lips are paradisiacally soft against yours as they dance with one another. The action alone impels you to place a hand at the back of his neck, and you pull him in to deepen the kiss. Sicheng sucks on your bottom lip and swipes a tongue over it, the slickness a peek of what is coming next.

He softly bites onto your bottom lip with his teeth, dragging it out before coming in for another rousing kiss. He takes a breath, the scent of your perfume sweet and alluring. A compulsion to take everything to the next level dawns upon him—the struggle for him to resist. His right arm reaches over the center, a palm being placed on your thigh for him to squeeze.

You cuff him with your tongue before invading his mouth, and he willingly accepts the invitation. His tongue capers with your own, swirling in harmony before he retracts to fervently suck on your lip.

With foreheads touching, breaths being taken, you both smile at one another and move in for another kiss—that is, until there is a series of honks being aimed towards him for halting at the light that has recently turned green.

“God,” he whispers as he fixes his posture, pressing on the gas pedal. “Of course the moment has to be ruined.”

His hand stills rests on your thigh as he drives with one hand; the palm runs up and down your delicate skin. You place your own over it, grasping onto his hand tenderly. Sicheng’s grasp is tight around the wheel, eyes glued on the road, but his other hand inches up your thigh. He is attempting a light tease, a gentle touch to give you a light push to the edge of your desire. You enjoy the moment of childish teases for the five minutes that it remains, but it comes to an end when he retracts to grip on the wheel, turning it to guide his way in a roundabout.

The loss of his touch angers you, and all you want to do is finish what has been started from day one. The fight for who can get what they want; in this case, you want Sicheng. You reach over and place a palm over his cock, coaxing it gently.

“W-what are you doing?!” he stutters, dangerously slowing the vehicle down in the roundabout.

“Forget the date,” you fume, no longer able to fight your overexcited urges. “Drive to your apartment.”

“W-what?” Sicheng pauses, his foot easing off the gas pedal again.

You proceed to palm him through his jeans, squeezing his hardened member through the thick fabric of his pants. Sicheng hisses in a sharp breath, struggling to maintain his composure as he is a victim of your impure touch.

“F-fuck,” Sicheng spits out, making a full circle, “yeah—okay.”

“I want you so bad right now…” you tell him, palming his crotch. The friction you create makes him hiss in a breath through his teeth.

He nods his head frantically, pressing down on the gas pedal once he exits the roundabout. “So do I—give this a good seven minutes.”

“What if I can’t wait that long?”

“You made me wait for three weeks,” he tells you, annoyed.

You lean over the center console, whispering in his ear, “And I’m sorry”—you kiss his neck, swiping your tongue over a part of his skin—“But I really want you now.”

He shakes his head and starts his hasty pursuit back to his apartment. Sicheng dangerously drives down the road, cutting a couple drivers off as his sexual longing takes over. You are gently petting his cock over his jeans the entire way there and once he parks it in the lot of the complex, he takes the keys out of the ignition and presses his lips against yours.

The kiss catches you by surprise; it is intense, passionate and filled with lust, and you break it. “I-Inside,” he says when you catch a breath.

You nod your head, stepping out of the vehicle. You follow him throughout the complex, eyeing the details of the outdoors as a temporary distraction. He fumbles for the keys when he stops in front of the door, and he shoves the house key into the lock, twisting it to push the door open. He makes way for you to step inside, grabbing his keys amidst to toss them in the room. He shadows your figure without much things to say, but he definitely eyes your figure from top to bottom, loving every bit of it.

Sicheng presses you against the door as he forcefully closes it, his mouth coming in contact with yours amid. This time, he kisses you with more fervor, quick and sloppily. Tongues are swiped against one another every so often, and the sucking on each other’s lips continue vigorously. His forearm is pressed against the flat of the door, the other hand snaking its way to your lower back. You have a tight grip on the collar of his flannel, pulling his head to you to deepen the kiss as the other slides down his torso and to the waistband of his jeans.

You mimic the motions you have done in his car: slowly palming him through his pants and squeezing his solid cock to satisfy the extensive longing you have been through. Sicheng’s breath hitches in his throat and he breaks away from the kiss to take in a gasp of air, a puerile grin sheening his face from the minimal pleasure being provided. Your action prompts him to slide his palm under your tee, and his warm hands meet your skin in a blazing touch. He moves in a similar pace as you, taking his sweet time.

Travelling down the crevasse of your neck once more, he leaves a light trace of soft kisses as he allows himself to feel every inch of your body. His hand paths its way down to the curvature of your ass, leaving it there for a few seconds caused by hesitation before squeezing it. You release a quiet titter and you feel Sicheng smile on the tender skin of your neck. He lifts his head up by an inch or two from the canvas that is your body and takes a few breaths. The warmth of his respiration splashes on your complexion, a blissful sensation you relish yourself in momentarily.

Sicheng continues to act with reluctance, hoping he is not making any mistakes for his first time, and allows his inner, prurient desires to overtake him. The ache to act on what he has been yearning to do to you finally washes over him like an elephantine wave, making this his pristine chance. The times he imagined causing your ecstasy, joyously kissing you all over, and driving you wild can all come to a reality tonight. Being aware of how close he is to his prolonged aspirations makes his cock harden even more, his imagination continuing to run on its own frenzy.

A hand of his streams under your shirt and up your torso; he grabs the underside of your breast and squeezes it mildly as his lips press onto your skin again. You crane your neck to provide him more access and grip onto the belt loops of his jeans. Sicheng takes a step closer, hardly any proximity present while he begins to grind his hardened cock onto you for more delight.

An exasperated groan leaves his throat; it is an experience he has never felt before. God, has he been missing out on this much? Sicheng parts from you to lock gazes. With parted lips and accumulating sweat, he releases an airy laugh. You smile at his innocent act; despite the animalistic exploit being put to play, he is still as ingenuous as ever. Seeing him amused by the moment makes your heart flutter, but it also makes you want him more.

Sicheng pecks your lips, and you return it with a kiss on his jawline. Your arms tangle with his neck and his trail around your lower back.

“Up,” he whispers.

In a high heaven, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist. His hands have a tight grip on your thighs and he locks his lips with yours as he attempts to stumble his way to the bedroom. You part from the kiss and rest your head on his shoulder, your eyes barely open as he guides your enmeshed bodies to his room. You are able to feel his rapidly thumping heart from being pressed hard against his chest; he has a sense of yours as well. It is like the two hearts are racing to have their desires be met—but the race has been going on for too long.

“Eager?” you ask him.

Sicheng darts his gaze to you and sets you down carefully on the soft of his bed. “I’ve been waiting for this far too long,” he tells you, crawling over your frame.

You scoot back on his bed, almost to the head rest, and he meets your face. His features are centimeters apart from yours; the sparkles that typically stain his eyes have diminished into darkness, the mark of a nonpareil desire he cannot withstand.

“So have I,” you respond, your voice clear and audible under the immense quietude of the room.

Sicheng kisses the apple of your cheek before moving to the conch of your ear to ask, “Tell me what you want—what you want me to do.”

You rotate your head to face him again, shocked by his willingness. Gulping, you gape at him for a long while before peering at your crotch. Your core is uncontrollably soaking with need, pulsing with desire, and you need it to be satisfied. The weeks have built on so much and the sexual attraction towards the bad boy skyrocketed.

Sicheng follows where your line of sight is being directed at and thinks for a second or so. Wordlessly, he strips you of your tee. No words need to be exchanged for him to catch onto what you want; the distant look in your eyes give it away, a silent beg. He unlatches your bra in a single go and tosses it to the side, discarding it as if it has no relevance. With steady palms, he roams your whole torso until he reaches the valleys of your breasts. Squeezing them again with cordial, you blithely throw your head back in acquiescence, fancying the enormous satisfaction. Intaking a hiss of air, you allow yourself to let loose and give Sicheng the main control for once.

Whilst massaging circles onto your chest, he kisses down your cleavage. With zeal, his plush lips leave its amorous trace in a peppered path of admiration. With every peck you feel the sturdy walls you have built around your being crumble. Sicheng acts as a weakness, your kryptonite, and you cannot do anything to stop it. The compelling indulgence is too much for you to resist at this point. He kisses you until he reaches your hip bones, to which he leaves a love bite before he continues his pursuit for your drenched core.

Carefully, his fingertips hook at the waistband of your shorts along with your panties, and he starts to tug them lower and lower. The sight of him pulling down your fabric kicks you on the edge of anticipation for what is about to happen next. Impatient, you want him to charge already with his tongue at your core, to feel his lips around your bud that is aching for anything to touch it.

You thrum, a hand being sent to his locks as you lay yourself flat down onto the bed. Tugging onto the soft strands of his hair, you whisper, “Sicheng, come on.”

Looking past his delicate lashes, he locks mesmerizing gazes with you. His listens, his head then hovering over your core—close enough for you to feel his breath linger over the dampness that stains your skin. He pauses, staring at you emptily like he is facing a mild debate in his mind.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, petting his head.

Sicheng swallows his breath, afraid. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

You blink twice to comprehend his words, your mind moving slowly still. You chuckle and stroke his locks again. “Don’t worry, I can guide you through it. Just go—do something—please…”

Sicheng nods his head and opens his mouth. The last sight you get of him is his tongue peeking from the wide parting of his lips, his movements still mellow. You rest your head on his pillows and close your eyes, his breath hovering at your core a moderate tease. But nothing comes.

“Sicheng…” you trail off. You stroke his hair, trying to encourage him and ease him of his insecurities on lacking experience. “It’s okay, Siche—fuck!”

Sicheng has taken a breath before he sticks his tongue out completely. From your core and upwards he laps at your womanhood. The warmth of his muscle on your pussy causes your mind to twist in its own whirlwind, and your eyes clamp shut. You hear a few chuckles from the boy before he continues, and you are unable to question him in regards. He repeats the same action and earns the same response, like a puppy finding out what pleases its owner to earn a treat; in this case, your libidinous moans are a rhapsody to his ears.

His velvety lips wrap around your clip and he sucks onto it mercilessly. Sweaty hands of his rest on your thighs; every now and then he gives them a slight squeeze when you attempt to close your legs around his head. Sicheng lifts his head off your womanhood to take a breath—after a few moments, he dives right in. His tongue swirls all over your core, he takes your clit in between his lips and drags it out gently before he wraps his entire mouth around it for a vigorous suck.

“S-Sicheng!” you gasp, your head digging into the plush pillows. Your chest starts to heave, breathing now erratic as he continues. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

Sicheng continues to lap at your core with avidity to earn more of the pleasurable music rip from your throat, and it is not until he slides one of his hands over to your core for you to scream his name. Sicheng lifts his head for a split second—and that brief moment is all he needs for him to slide in two digits without warning. Your desire coats his fingers after a single pump, your dripping wetness a prominent sign of the unbeatable desperation you feel towards him. He stares at you for a few seconds, his eyes glued onto your bare torso: chest heaving as you struggle to catch a breath, and the marks he left on your body giving you the appearance of a masterpiece.

He starts off slow with his fingers, pumping them in and out at an agonizing pace. The stillness of the situation allows you to steady your breathing, and once you do Sicheng chuckles as if he has a plan hidden in a vault.

And he does.

Sicheng pulls out the tips of his fingers to your hole, the squelch more than audible in the room, and he rams his digits inside of you intensely. Consecutively, his tongue meets your pussy again and he savors in your taste—the muscle licking up your womanhood. A cry of his name leaves your mouth and you feel like you have hit the verge of tears. The grip on his locks tighten and you tug onto them, aching for a break—but a larger part of you craves for him to continue.

The force and pace becomes a set momentum, and the feeling is far too overwhelming for you to keep up with. Your mind can barely utter out words to the boy; let alone, think of coherent praises. Bits and pieces come together only to eradicate. You are unsure why—until your thighs begin to quiver. With Sicheng’s digits prodding in and out of you with slight twirls, curls of the fingers to attempt to hit your sweet spot, and his tongue ruthlessly acting onto your clit, you feel yourself coming close to the edge.

Your moans become louder as the exquisite scene continues, and your mind is doused by delectation that he is providing you with. You feel like you have hit a high heaven with each fervid thrust of his digits inside. It is not until Sicheng takes your clit between his lips once more, rubbing it in between the soft skin and immediately sucking on it as if it would soothe your ache for you to scream out for him.

It all happens so quickly: the transportation to a blissful seventh heaven. Your body is raptured by the pleasure and you cry out for the boy as the elation hits its brink. It is like the bliss he has created you has overflowed, similar to a cap popping off a bottle from the pressure. Your hips grind down onto his fingers as his head raises from your core, allowing you to ride off your state of thrill.

You never expected it to happen so quickly. To be honest, it is the fastest that a man has brought you to an intense release—and the fact Sicheng has little to no experience stuns you to the core. Sicheng slides out his fingers to slip his hand inside his pants, one digit after the other wrapping around his length to slightly jerk himself off. He lets you rest on his bed for you to catch your breath, your naked chest still heaving. Occasionally, your muscles spasm as a part of the aftermath, and he laughs.

Sicheng slips off his jeans and leaves them on the floor by the side of his bed. He joins your side, a tight grip still present around his member as you rest. Groggily, your arm reaches over his torso and you pull him close—a loving embrace that lasts for a few seconds, for your palm sails down to his cock and you replace his hand with your own.

Sicheng grumbles at the touch, especially when you give it a light squeeze. The feeling of your grip compact around his pulsating dick has him swimming in delectation. The lustful scenarios he always imagined is finally making its light into reality and he can barely wrap his head around it. You swipe your thumb over the head of his leaking cock, the tip a soft pink that is slowly bleeding into a saturated red, spreading the precum all over.

With licentious a gaze, Sicheng is gaping at you and your actions. It is like a young boy witnessing the wonders of the world for the first time: astonished to the core and curious to find out more. In this case, the wonder is you and you are providing him with an immense amount of indulgence that will eventually bring him to the edge of wanting more.

It becomes difficult for him to keep his breath steady from your hidden teases; he has to bite onto his lip with force to hold back any of the wanton noises that struggle to rip from his throat. Though, his efforts are all going down the drain once you slide your hand up to the tip of his cock, jerking it down to the base with a twist of your wrist.

A strangled groan pours from his mouth and he lurches over for a few seconds, caught by surprise with the raunchy action. His cock is warm in your hand, thrilled with desire—you only ache to satisfy it. However, watching Sicheng begin to wiggle under your touch makes you miss his own, and the wanting between your legs resurfaces.

Nonetheless, you jerk him off steadily. You raise your hand to the head of his cock once more only to bring it back down with force, tightening your grip. The tension that is occurring with Sicheng’s dick does not help the situation, for it merely amplifies the amount of rapturous glee he is feeling. He never thought that his cock would become so sensitive; he has been accustomed to his own hand, so it is an entirely divergent story when someone else is doing the deed for him. Sicheng has no control over it: he cannot slow down the pace or loosen the grip when he needs to take a break—and you keep on going.

You speed up the pace of jerking him off, your hand gliding up and down his cock quicker than before, and Sicheng throws his head back into his pillow. He struggles to properly catch his breath as you continue. His cock tenses under your touch. Being fully erect, it is the best feeling in the world to have your hand swirl over his hardened member, the leaking precum dripping to his length to aid it in its smooth journey.

He is facing a state of constant arousal with you being by his side, your hand wrapped snugly around his cock. Frankly, you are able to say the same. Watching Sicheng struggle to keep his moans of pleasure to himself, his chest heave for air, and the accumulating sweat on his forehead makes you miss the sensation of him touching you.

“God,” you mutter, voice barely audible.

Sicheng takes a while to respond, the letters coming together to form a word piece by scattered piece. “W-what?” he says with a groan, his own palm soaring downwards to wrap around your wrist.

You watch him with hungry eyes: his other palm is twisting his sheets and he can barely open his eyes as you jerk him off—almost turbulently.

“I still want you…” you whisper to him.

Sicheng chuckles as a response, his face turning slightly red. Even in a situation like this he is unsure how to react. The typical flush of cural hues and his lips quirking upwards into a smile is all he can really get out. That is, until your hand loosens its grip around his cock and you retract it, bringing it to his chest. The loss of contact makes him whine, and a few moments later without being tended to there is an ache that comes to it.

His eyebrows cross together in frustration due to the loss and he reaches his own arm over, willing to take care of business himself because you refused to—but you stopped him by swatting his wrist and holding it down to the mattress.

“W-what are you doing?” he says in between breaths.

You repeat, uttering each syllable. “I still want you.” You tilt your head higher, kissing his neck tenderly.

Sicheng pauses. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Smiling, you propose, “Eat me out again.”

Sicheng appears taken back. Maybe it is his mind being swirled into its own tornado, or perhaps it is due to his lack of understanding in this situation. “I want you too—but how is this going to work…?”

With a fit of playful chuckles, you raise yourself from the bed and start to position yourself on top of his face. “It’s called a ‘sixty-nine.’”

Sicheng’s eyes are blown wide as he has an A-class view of your rear, his two orbs glossy while his mouth begins to water. Sicheng stops you from lowering yourself with both of his hands on your hips. Nervous he asks, “Wait, what do I do?”

With your lips quirked into a smirk, you lean down, your head hovering over his cock. You wrap your fingers around his red member again, unable to take your eyes off his leaking slit.

“Same as earlier,” you tell him. Sicheng sighs at the lack of clarity in your response. An abundance of questions is resting on the tip of his tongue, but rather than voicing his unsurities he tightens his hold on your skin and pulls you down to him, jumping the gun.

Sicheng darts his tongue out onto your core, lapping at it hesitantly. So far, nothing is different aside from the position; he is trying his best to not falter his motion, to make you feel your greatest, but the second he feels a moist warmth over his cock he loses his focus.

Rather than jerking him off with your hands, your mouth wraps around the head of his cock. You start with a few kitten licks over his slit, the salty wetness kissing your tongue before you lower your head halfway down his length. Sicheng grumbles from the magnified sensation, making him take a quick breath. Lifting yourself to his head, you flatten your tongue as you sink down his solid length again—this time, going as far as you could to the base. With Sicheng’s cock you have to wrap around the space your mouth is not able to cover with your hand, and with a tight squeeze you suck.

The pressure he feels is overwhelming, but it is like a reward he has earned for treating you like a divine being. You bob your head up and down his hardened dick, your tongue swirling over the tip whenever you take a quick breath for air, and you sink your lips over his cock once more. As you continue to bob your head over his leaking cock, your hand swirls around his member, slightly jerking it off with each feral suck.

Sicheng is unable to yelp in joy as you give him the sensation of a lifetime. His wanton moans are muted by digging his face in between your folds, and instead of focusing on trivial motions to make you feel incredible, he is mindlessly licking stripes up your womanhood, sucking on your clit in replacements of cries of delectation. Whenever the sensation gets to you your grip becomes more compact, and it causes his muscles to spasm.

Or maybe that is because he is becoming close to his release.

Sicheng is starting to squirm more under your touch, his muscles tensing and twitching. You notice the quivering of his thighs—a signal that his orgasm is merely at the corner. As he continues to aid you in your pursuit for extreme elation, you act the same. Your lips are tightly packed around his head, his glistening cock throbbing for release. Your hand paths down to his balls, to which you squeeze and fondle—playing with them in your hands to brace yourself. You sink your head all the way down his cock, and Sicheng squirms uncontrollably from the sensation.

The wetness providing a smooth passage for you, and the warmth his aching dick is met with is more than satisfied. His entire length is covered by your mouth, and it is enough for him to feel a high heaven. Sicheng’s head is completely away from your core, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Fuck, fuck fuck—” he utters.

Then, you swallow around his cock.

There is a light sensation of pain that pricks at your throat, the feeling of his dick lodged in your mouth bringing tears to your eyes; as you feel a slight pain, Sicheng gets an intense wave of pleasure.

“D-do that again…” He begs, “P-please.”

Fluttering your eyes, you swallow around his cock again. Sicheng bucks his hips up your throat, prompting your gag reflex to occur. You raise yourself from his quivering dick, sitting comfortably on his torso as you cough, struggling to find your breath for a few seconds.

It takes you a while to realize the string of broken syllables that are your name leaving the boy’s mouth, his hips rolling into nothing but the air. Then, you see it. Sicheng’s cum spurts out of his hardened cock, sending its opaque whiteness into the air and back down to his sheets. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as you watch his cum leak intensely out of his member, its twitching erratic.

Sicheng takes a breath, speaking amid gasps for air,“God… (y/n)... I-I’m cumming.”

You are mesmerized by the sight, hypnotized by the melody of his cries of delight.

Sicheng’s mind is whirling in its own intense thrill, the frenzy provided by you overwhelming for him. His hands no longer gripped onto your skin, but onto the sheets as if it would relieve the raptures he is soaring through.

Mindlessly, you lower yourself over his cock again to catch a light taste of his cum. For his dick to meet the wetness that is your tongue makes him jerk in elation. The saltiness that meets your tongue is a taste you expected, but there is something about it that drives you into a delirium, making you ache for more than his mouth digging into your folds.

“(y/n), okay, o-okay… This is good,” he struggles to say.

Sicheng’s dick is now flaccid and you move your body by his side, almost ready to pass out from the tiring moment. However, there is something in your sexual drive that prompts you to act one more time, for the scene is not finished yet.

Sicheng takes his soft cock in between his thumb and index finger, coaxing the member gently to avoid the painful sensitivity. There is a childish smile that is gracing his face; his body is relaxed; muscles no longer tense, but occasionally spasming. Laying by each other’s side in silence, glancing at one another with striking look, is like two hearts coming together as one. There is nothing wrong with Sicheng being by your side, nude; vice versa as well.

Five minutes pass, and that is five minutes of Sicheng continuing to coax his dick. The continuous touching has made him a little hard, making you realize this is a chance you have to take.

“Are you tired?” you whisper, nuzzling at his neck.

Sicheng needs a moment to respond. “Not really… why?”

“Well neither am I,” you inform. Your arm reaches over his chest to give him an embrace before you add, “I want to keep going.”

“S-still?”

You chuckle at his startle. “You said you’re not tired”—your eyes cast its gaze downwards to his cock, and the comment of you wanting more than his tongue alone made the blood rush down to his dick, so it is as hard as it was earlier—to no surprise—“and you seem like you need something as much as I do…”

Sicheng hums, questioning you, “What do you have in mind?”

“Well…” you trail off. “Do you have any condoms?”

“C-condoms?” he stutters. Sicheng lifts himself from the bed and moves himself against the headrest, gawking at you.

“It’s fine if you don’t,” you assure, “we can do this another—”

“I do,” he interrupts. Sicheng reaches over to the nightstand beside his bed and tugs on the handle of the drawer. His hand rummages in the depths of the drawer for a short while before he pulls out two square packages of foil, tossing them on the mattress.

He shuts the drawer closed, stretching his arms to the ceiling. Confused, you hold one in between your fingers to examine the packaging. “I thought you’re a virgin,” you tell him.

“I am,” he confirms.

Ripping a packet open, you toss the other onto the floor. “Then why do you have a stash of condoms in your drawer?”

Sicheng’s face turns pink, embarrassed as he says, “Taeyong gave me a pack around two months ago. He said he had too many and he wanted to get rid of some, so I took two boxes.”

You blink at him, your digits digging inside the packaging to take out the slick material. “I’m not even going to question that.”

“Good choice,” he jests.

You reach over and take his dick in one hand, sliding the condom over the head. Sicheng pays strict attention to you rolling the material over his length; after all, he has never really used one before. He watches your expertise as the material covers his entire cock, and the corner of his lips quirk upwards.

“I’m learning so much from you,” he says with a fit of laughter.

Blushing, you lay back down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “Whatever.”

“So, uh, how do I do this?” he questions you.

You press a palm to your forehead, disbelieved at his lack of understanding. “Have you ever watched porn before, Sicheng?”

“Yeah, is it really the same thing?” he questions. “Jaehyun always told me it’s nothing like it so I don’t know if I should—”

“Just go—do anything. Trust me,” you tell him, reaching to hold onto his hand, “once your dick is inside me nothing else is going to matter.”

Sicheng nods his head and plants a kiss on your forehead. It is not unexpected for him to act slowly. He appears to be doing mental calculations before each action: to kiss you, have his hands roam all over your body, and for him to finally rest on top of you.

His left palm trails down the outline of your body before sliding down your core, making you shudder in the cold contact. He slides in two fingers, testing the waters to see if you are stretched out enough; the last thing Sicheng wants is for you to feel pain during an indulging moment. Luckily, you are.

Sicheng takes his cock in hand and positions it at your entrance. You close your eyes, hearing the deep breaths he takes to calm himself down. Your stroke his cheek with the back of your hand and say, “Do you want to do this?”

Sicheng nods his head, moving to kiss your forehead once more. “I do.”

“Take your time.”

He nods again and looks down. Slowly but surely, he starts to enter you. Little by little his cock becomes wrapped by your folds, starting with his tip. The wetness of your womanhood makes the process easier, enjoyable for both parties, and it takes a good minute for him to be completely inside of you. You take a deep breath and flutter your eyes open to look at him.

No words need to be exchanged for such a heartfelt moment, and none are. He presses his lips against yours before he starts to move, rolling his hips onto you. The motion is enjoyable off the bat. The feeling of Sicheng filling you to the brim, his hardened length sliding in and out of you is the root of the exquisite sense. Movements are fluid, slow as his lips dance with yours. It is quite similar to the act of two lovers having sex, and knowing that makes your heart warm.

The gentle thrusting into your aching pussy is slowly transforming itself into prods of passion. Once you order him to go faster, he acts by it and kicks up his pace for you, amplifying the force of his sharp movements. His cock is making you feel excessively full of desire, and you start to breathe out his name. “S-Sicheng,” you whisper, your arms looping around his neck.

You pull him close to your chest as he starts to thrust harder into you, and his lips latch onto your skin, sucking marks all over your breasts to create a masterpiece. Your own dew was coating his cock, and it only aided in the smooth flow of his dick being propelled in and out of you. He feels a compulsion to bring you to your orgasm, a profound fixation you make you feel the fascination he had; so, he rams into you with more force—moving quicker.

Sicheng shifts his position a little, making himself a little more comfortable; though, it is that one simple shift of a few inches that gets him to hit your sweet spot at the proper angle.

“Fuck!” you cry out, your back arching off the mattress. “S-Sicheng—shit, t-that feels good.”

Sicheng takes his cock out of you, only leaving the tip of it at your entrance, and he takes a breath. You are about to whine at the loss, but the cries of sadness transformed itself into a moan of elation as he snaps his hips into you, hitting your sweet spot with an incredible amount of force.

Tears begin to well at your eyes from the inordinate feeling, your mind is in its own ecstasy as he keeps up the motion.

The moans you have struggled to keep lodged in your chest finally come out in screams, broken syllables of his name and commands. Your hands untangle from his neck and slam onto the mattress. You grip onto the sheets tightly, quite similar to the tight sensation that forms at your abdomen. Your muscles start to twitch and the libidinous moans that pour from your lips feeds Sicheng’s drive.

It is fair to say that he feels the exact same way you do. Your pussy is clenching around his throbbing cock; it is disturbingly hard and is aching for release, and he is doing all he can to hold off until you finish. The pressure that wraps around his dick is immeasurable; groans rip from his throat and the two of you create a rhapsody of sensual noises.

“F-fuck, Sicheng, I’m g-going to come…” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his back. Your nails dig into his skin as you feel yourself coming close to the edge—dangerously close.

He nods his head in understandment, and he takes his cock all the way out, only to slam it back it—which is the final cue for you to reach your extreme rapture of delight. You scream his name like it is the only thing you know and impassionately pull him close.

Sicheng subsequently acts in a similar manner, moaning your name as he releases his load into the condom. The wave of pleasure spreads throughout his entire body for the second time; a wonderful, euphoric feeling, and it is like bliss is coursing through his veins. He proceeds to gently roll his hips in and out of you, aiding your journey until your mind is back down to earth.

He slips his softening cock out of you and slips it off, immediately passing out on the empty spot next to you. Both you and Sicheng lay in silence to regain each other’s breaths. It is almost impossible to believe the moment that has just happened: you two had sex with each other.

You roll by his side and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you in closer to his chest like a loving embrace. His body is sticky like yours from the accumulated sweat, and the heat that circulates in the room withers into a bearable warmth.

There is something about being in Sicheng’s embrace that makes your heart flutter. You do not react out of disgust from the mere sight of him, but act in a way no one thought you would. You tilt your head up to look at him and he notices, locking eyes with yours.

“What is it?” he asks you with a smile.

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you respond.

You cannot help but think more about what has happened—the journey to build where you are with him.

The rumours that went around about Sicheng, constructing the belief that he is a bad boy—a partier that does nothing but fool girls and drink, party and try drugs—are definitely false. There is something about him that has you hooked, but you do not need to pinpoint the reason why. Admiration has worked in mysterious ways and being by Sicheng’s side is enough for you. Whether the immature fighting would pursue or if it is to turn into a loving, tawdry relationship, you would not mind.

Because Sicheng’s existence as a whole has you hooked, and this moment right now with him by your side is enough for nothing to matter.

Sicheng clears his throat, preparing to ask a question as he pulls you in closer to his chest. “So, uh.” He hesitates. “Do you still want to go out on that date?”

Smiling foolishly, you tighten your hold around his torso. “Maybe later. I want to stay here a little longer.”

Your response makes Sicheng’s heart skip a beat. A hand rests on his chest as you slowly close your eyes, the fatigue waving over your body to pull you into a serene sleep.

Rather than responding with words, Sicheng places a kiss on your forehead before shutting his eyes as well.

Time after time Sicheng has faced countless girls trying to score with him, and over a series of events you have witnessed many men willing to spend a night. The thought of a decent relationship and meeting on the mutual field of love has always been out of the question. However, after both abundances and unpleasant situations cascading one after another, it led you to cross paths. Two polar opposites coming together is almost surreal, unfathomable for everyone else to believe—but it has happened.

Sicheng truly was never one for attachment, and love never was a word in his dictionary—not until he met you.

Fairly enough, you are able to say the same.

[carly-they-jepsen]

Canon Compliant Daisuga Fic Recs

For @volleygifs and her anon!

I’ve read all 35 of the fics on this list, and I highly recommend all of them. They’re all rated General-Mature, and are mostly one-shots.

Coming Out of the Cupboard (6.7k) (G) (dancingwithwings)

"He finds out later that the angel’s name is Sugawara Koushi and he isn’t really an angel after all: he cracks scandalous jokes and grins like the devil himself, and loves shrimp onigiri more than anything else in the world.

Daichi likes shrimp onigiri too, he decides, but not as much as he likes Sugawara Koushi."

In which the infamous Karasuno storage cupboard helps to solve quite a few of Daichi's problems, Suga being one of them.

Love and Other Dumb Emotions (1k) (G) (hobbit_hedgehog)

DaiSuga Week Day Three: Shy or Bold

Today's the day. Today's the day that Koushi is finally going to ask Daichi out. But why is he so nervous?

Maybe Memories (4.9k) (G) (hobbit_hedgehog)

DaiSuga Week Day Four: Past or Future

Daichi was hiding something, Koushi knew that much. He had been looking at Koushi funny all morning. For Daichi to be acting like this was highly suspect, but Koushi had a fairly good idea of what was going on. Daichi was keeping secrets, and Koushi didn't care for that shit at all.

Root of the Root (33k) (T) (SedentaryZebra) (Tw: Institutionalized Homophobia)

When an extremely famous pop star comes out as gay the day before Suga’s third year of high school begins, he thinks the only impact on his life will be the extra chocolates he will need to buy to console his mother.

He’s wrong.

The real beauty (5.4k) (M) (Ellessey) @ellessey-writes

“You’re going to love this house, Daichi,” Koushi says. He tips his chin up, so the kisses Daichi has begun to press to the crook of his neck can keep traveling upwards. “You’re going to...wonder how you ever doubted me.”

“I never doubt you,” Daichi says.

“You think our house is ugly.”

Daichi’s soft exhalation just under Koushi’s ear sends a perfect shiver down his spine. “It is ugly,” he says. “But I already love it.”

--

Their first house needs a lot of work, but Koushi loves every moment of turning it into a home with Daichi.

Exception to the rule (4.5k) (T) (Mysecretfanmoments)

In which Sugawara Koushi just so happens to belong to the .001% of guys Daichi might conceivably fall for, and it takes a confused third party for Daichi to realize it.

boys (5k) (G) (buu)

Before, if Suga had been asked to pick a type, he would have hummed and thought it over, maybe said something vague like “nice eyes” or “nice legs” or “a good personality”. Now, he can only think “Daichi”.

Perfectionism (2.9k) (T) (Mysecretfanmoments)

“I just wish it was something you could practice before you have to… perform.” He narrows his eyes, imagining it. “Like a CPR class.”

Suga raises an eyebrow. “You want to practice it. Beforehand.”

“Yeah. Are you offering?”

((Daichi doesn't like to be bad at things--kissing included--and Suga is willing to help him practice.))

we are teenage hearts (3.7k) (G) (Pyrahus)

Daichi one day realizes that he does indeed see Suga as more than a friend -after the entire team figured it out ages ago- and contemplates how to ask his vice-captain out, while having to deal with his unruly kouhai and Nekoma.

you're good where you are (3.5k) (M) (Mysecretfanmoments)

Daichi’s legs look good in shorts.

It’s an unnecessary statement, like "trees are plants" or "the earth orbits the sun", but it keeps on surprising Koushi just how good they look in shorts; he thanks his lucky stars every day for whatever it was that led Daichi to pick up volleyball when he was a kid.

((a day in the life of Sugawara Koushi))

i do (cherish you) (3k) (T) (gabstar)

The first time Daichi suggests it, it’s a joke.

“Sugawara Koushi,” he says solemnly. He’s bent on one knee, the floor is still sticky with sweat post-practice. He offers up the lost ring, found while mopping off gym floors. “Will you marry me?”

((Five times Daichi asks Suga to marry him, plus once where he finally, finally says yes.))

Flybys and Landings (2.9k) (T) (sterlinglee)

When Daichi's behavior takes a turn for the strange, Suga attempts damage control because that's what Suga does. He doesn't know the full story, but in his defense, "your captain and best friend has decided he like-likes you" isn't the first conclusion most people come to. There's confusion, a little heartache, and certain things that fail to be said until it's nearly too late. But they make it to the same destination in the end.

love is a battlefield (and there are always casualties in war) (3.9k) (T) (skittidyne)

Tanaka and Noya had crossed a line. It had involved copious amounts of Red Bull, water balloons, food dye, one of Ennoshita’s film plots, and bad ideas. Daichi, Asahi, and Yachi had been the unfortunate victims. He didn’t want to think about it. It was a miracle Yachi hadn’t run home, crying, and quit the club. (Daichi had felt like it. Asahi tearfully threatened Noya with it.)

“I need revenge,” Daichi announced on the way home from practice.

(( or: daichi and kiyoko fake-date to get back at tanaka and noya after a particularly bad prank; everyone can see the collateral damage except for them ))

you can only take what you can carry (4.2k) (T) (skittidyne)

Suga pulled Noya down from the chair. Daichi finally decided enough was enough. He knew he was just doing it to draw him in, and damn it, it worked (just like it always worked against him), because there was no way he was letting Suga get into one of Kuroo and Bokuto’s competitions.

Suga had their libero thrown over one shoulder by the time Daichi reached them. “Daichi-san! Look!” Noya chirped, waving the arm that wasn’t wrapped around the vice-captain.

Suga put up his free arm, flexing, and gave Daichi a wink.

(( or, alternatively: "do you even lift, bro?" ))

Kiss it Better, Captain (6k) (M) (utsu)

In which Koushi realizes that it's okay to be human.

**(This is the one fic on the list that is untagged borderline E smut)

The Captain and his Vice (Series) (145k) (G-M) (Crollalanza)

Daisuga stories that follow the same canon. They're not necessarily in timeline order as some span several years. and it's not entirely necessary to read them in this order. The majority of my HQ stories follow the same canon, and will intercept at certain points. Enjoy.

**(Mature fics do get smutty, but they are tagged.)

winner in the whirlwind (7k) (T) (tothemoon)

In which Suga beats Daichi at games and the latter finds someone to cherish.

(Or, snippets of encouragement and care under the guise of foot races, mischievous bets, and late night sessions of Mario Kart.)

just tell me how to get it straightforward (635) (G) (astroturfwars)

They don't need words. They never have. It's always been just them, heart to heart and eye to eye, and Daichi is as convinced of that as he is of the anxious thrumming of his blood.

Or: Daichi isn't so good at expressing himself, but that's never really mattered for Suga.

pride (4.4k) (T) (owlinaminor)

Daichi knows that Hinata accidentally called him ‘Dad’ once, and Suga often teases him about parenting the first-years, but this is just ridiculous.

“I’m not your dad, I’m your captain!” Daichi protests.

The cheering only increases in volume. They’re probably disturbing anyone who’s still at the school – but then, it’s New Year’s Eve. Nobody is still at the school besides Daichi’s insane, ridiculous, wonderful team.

“Okay, fine,” he says at last, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m proud to be your dad.”

Pick a Number, Any Number (3.3k) (G) (fansofcollisions)

It’s hideous. Repulsive, even. It makes Daichi want to curl up into a pretzel of existential horror.

“I call him ‘Bear’,” says Suga, smiling fondly.

when all the songs are through (5.7k) (T) (thewindraiser)

Daichi is out for lunch with some of his colleagues when he spots it.

The ring.

Halfway Between (5.3k) (T) (Skylark)

"Even if we come back here, it won't be the same.... Some things won't change, though. We'll still play volleyball. We'll still be friends."

Suga comes home in more ways than one.

Suspicious Pizza (1.2k) (T) (Pouler)

Daichi felt his heart skip a beat. Was this it? Was this the moment?

Oh… (318) (G) (myria_chan)

The first time Daiichi says his name in public. Does it have to be in front of Karasuno?

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond (5.2k) (T) (themorninglark)

Suga has learned to solve his problems, save for one.

It's their graduation day, and he's staring at it.

Burning (3.1k) (T) (DreadfulMind)

"Why do you have to make me look bad?"

Daichi scoffed, "yeah, like anyone could make you look bad,"

"Well when you're showing off your muscles like that, the rest of us are left to look like twigs," Suga tugged at the sleeves of Daichi's t-shirt, which he had rolled up around his shoulders to cool his arms down.

"It's hot, what do you expect?" he lightly slapped Suga's hand away.

"For you to not be so hot," Suga retorted easily.

They Call Me Captain Mom (4.7K) (T) (StormySteady)

Suga and Daichi make out in the gym's supply closet. This decision proves exactly as injudicious as it sounds.

(Or, the story of that one time Daichi had to take over the role of “team mom” for a few minutes while a half-naked Suga just kinda hid in the corner and giggled)

you and your dusty radio, me and my two left feet (1.1k) (T) (raewrites)

Suga already has his fingers curled into the blanket, ready to bury himself back into the welcoming warmth of sleep when a thought suddenly crosses his mind.

'It’s my birthday today.'

Sweatpants (3.5k) (T) (shady)

Daichi wears the same pair of gray sweatpants every time he spends the night, and they're driving Suga insane.

Of Course (2k) (T) (ofperspicacity)

Daichi has been acting strange for a while, and Suga isn't sure how to take it. The reason is the happiest kind of surprise.

Based on a section of "national hot dad alliance is now calling..."

First Snow (3.1k) (T) (Feelsripper)

Walking Suga home had started out as a joke between the two of them, until Daichi realized he sort of liked it way more than he should have.

Commit This to Memory (2k) (T) (shions_heart)

Daichi is in love with Suga. It just takes him a while to confess.

Mom And Dad No! (1.6k) (T) (imabignerd, kate882)

Suga and Daichi find out about the team calling them Mom and Dad behind their backs in an unfortunate way.

Look; it's You and Me (1.4k) (T) (WildKitte)

How should he say this? That he listened to a sappy love song and got so wound up around it thinking Daichi that it became unbearable to be physically separated from him?

In which Suga listens to a song.

PDA (4.3k) (T) (Veto_power_over_clocks)

Someone's leaving thimbles for (an increasingly confused) Suga. We all know how it's going to end, but what matters is getting there, isn't it?