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jae-daddy · 3 years

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Duff (9)

im jaebum au series

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven masterlist

pairing: im jaebum x reader genre: angst, smurt, cheating plot: you are the duff and guys use you to get close to your best friend, Heather, and turns out Jaebum is no exception, but as time does on the tension between you and your best friend’s unofficial boyfriend grows a/n: a short one, because I really truly hated where I had left the story last time. it was not it, but I like this. it’s better than the alternative I guess. also, I am writing all of it before publishing it so <3 hope yall like it <3

You don’t know what came first; the guilt, embarrassment or hurt.

But you knew yourself well, and you knew guilt didn’t touch your heart until later that night when you were lying in bed. As you stared up at the ceiling, thinking about that him, for the first time guilt laid its icy fingertips on you.

The first thing you felt was hurt. Hurt that clawed at your heart, and made your soul whimper. Hurt that cut through you entirely as you remained in his arms, watching his face.

“Yes,” he had said, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Yes,” you replied, breathing him in as you leaned closer to him.

You saw his lips draw into a straight line as he pulled away and said, “No.”

“Oh,” was all you said moving away from him.

A simple sound, not even a word to express the pain that seared through you at his words.

No.

He didn’t want you.

Im Jaebum didn’t want you.

You were in his arms, your skirt drawn up to your hips as you sat on his lap. In a single breath, he changed the moment completely, and you were no longer burning in passion, but in agony. Agony of not being desired by this man, not being wanted by him, when you yearned for him. When you were begging for his lips to touch any part of you, he had turned away.

And then came the embarrassment blazing through the darkness of lust, and it hurt. It stabbed you everywhere till you were shivering in sudden coldness. You were so embarrassed, so ashamed. You had- you had done... all of that, and all he said was ‘no.’

It wasn’t the rejection that the embarrassment stemmed from. It was because you had tried, because you thought it would happen, because you thought he wanted you. Because you had offered yourself to him, and all he said to express his repugnance was a simple ‘no.’

You climbed off him and walked out the office. Your face was on fire from the shame as you straightened your skirt. You chuckled to yourself thinking a walk of shame was better then trying to hook up with your boss only to be rejected.

You finished work that day, and the next, like nothing was amiss. As if that moment didn’t happen. As if every time you saw him, you weren’t reminded that he didn’t want you.

Im Jaebum didn’t want you.

It shouldn’t hurt that bad, especially since you almost swore you hated him with your heart. But it did, it hurt truly terribly badly, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You couldn’t even feel sorry for yourself long enough too. Because as soon as the hurt and shame went away, and you looked up at your dark ceiling, you remembered her face.

You remembered the way she had held your hand whenever you were scared. How she would give you that look every time she took your hand giving her courage. Her love, her kindness, her friendship, her.

How for the first time since you’ve known her... for the first time, it seemed as if Heather truly liked someone and you...

You didn’t feel sorry for yourself, or your heart that ached. You weren’t sure if the ache was because of the rejection or from the thought of loosing your best friend. But you didn’t feel sorry because what happened was your fault.

“Thanks for the files, y/n,” Jaebum looked up from his desk. For the first time, he was seated in the big boss seat without any reason. You smiled and nodded, before turning to leave, like nothing was amiss. As if that afternoon had never happened, as if you had never crossed that line.

You were almost out the door when he said, “Have a good weekend.”

Your fingers turned white on the handle, but you nevertheless you turned around and gave him a bright smile, “You too, Mr Im.”

Heather pouted as she sat next to you, before pulling you into a big bear hug.

“It’s so nice to have my best friend back,” she sang, happily, hugging you tighter.

You gave her small smile as you leaned into her, petting her arm, “It’s nice to be back.”

“Gosh, I’m so glad you’re done with that internship,” she huffed over the loud music of the club.

You only nodded as you took a sip of your drink, “I still have three weeks left, Heather.”

“Three weeks pass by like nothing,” she shook her head. She turned to you with a bright smile, “Remember Bali? Maybe now that you’re going to be more free, maybe we can...”

She gave you a huge grin, quizzically raising her brows up and down to the music. Before she began bopping her head like a dork to the beat, “What do you say, y/n?”

I’m sorry.

“Whatever you want,” you smiled at her, and she exclaimed in joy.

“Mr Park Jinyoung is now officially the CEO of Spring Industries, and has sent forward a report and plan for their proposal,” You looked up to see Jaebum opening his mouth, but you cut him off knowing his question. “The file is already on your desks, and I have included a summary report from myself and Mr Paul.”

You had a month and a bit to think about what had happened. In the beginning, you had blamed yourself. It was foolish of you to put yourself out there for him, but the more you thought about the angrier you got.

It wasn’t all in your head. Im Jaebum did flirt with you.

He gave you all the signals, all the green lights, and the arrows leading you to him. He basically had made a pathway for you to follow into his arms, and after all that he said no?

No.

No, it wasn’t your fault for putting yourself out there for him. You had done it because you thought... you felt that he too... but who knows, Im Jaebum was friendly with everyone.

But he did tell others his wish was to kiss them?

Did he ever follow anyone to the rooftop of a club and call himself a fool for letting them go?

Did he talk to everyone about his mother?

Did he smile like that at everyone? Look at them like that? Touch them with the faintest touch of his fingertips?

But you should’ve known better.

These rich guys never go for girls like you.

You don’t have any money, any wealth, nothing to offer them to make their status go up. You weren’t even pretty enough to be a trophy wife. You were just a girl they could play with behind closed doors.

But for Jaebum, you weren’t even worth that.

“Spring Industries is having a party on Thursday to announce Park Jinyoung as their new appointed CEO. They have requested your presence to show the companies are friendly--,” you once again looked up from your iPad, to find Jaebum staring at you intently. You ignored his gaze, and the rage that fumed inside you, “It’s most likely a political publicity stunt, but I would recommend you do go to the party, as it will be beneficial for you both-”

“What am I going to do about you?”

“Excuse me?” You gasped, taken aback.

Jaebum chuckled, humourlessly. His lips twisted into a smirk, and you realised you hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in a really long time. You tried to shove the pain shooting towards your heart away, but a pang still rang through you as you saw his sad smile.

“How am I going to do this all without you?” He clarified himself. You stammered unable to think of something to say. Jaebum let out a sigh, “Come to the party with me.”

“I’m afraid that’s-”

Jaebum interrupted you, making you frown.

“Your last assignment as my secretary, Miss y/n,” Jaebum tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly as he said, “Come with me.”

No.

“What about Heather?”

“I can’t go to formal gatherings with her without others assuming it's a political play,” Jaebum answered, before shrugging, “It’s too early for that step anyway.”

Too early? They have been dating for months now, and Heather was head over heels for him, and he is saying it’s too early.

“I-”

“Please, y/n,” Jaebum’s dark eyes bore into yours, and you held your breath. “One last time.”

"Alright,” you sighed, defeated.

“Thanks.”

Thanks, love, the ghost of his past self whispered.

You swallowed the bitterness, before looking down at your iPad once again.

“Mr Henry and Mark are...” you continued on as if nothing was wrong.

Because nothing was wrong.

Everything was right.

You were about to end this dreadful internship, and come out debt free.

Heather was in love with her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend didn’t fuck her best friend.

And your best friend was still your best friend.

Everything was just right, but everything felt so wrong.

You were leaning against the rich white leather sofa and Heather’s shoulders. Your eyes were closed, as you tried not to break down in front of your best friend.

You knew Jaebum wasn’t going to be here tonight. It was Friday night and he had a company dinner with the upper shareholders today. So, tonight you decided to sleep over at Heather’s house.

Just like every moment you spent with her now, you wanted to burst out into tears and tell her everything. Tell her how you fell for him and his teasing words. How you didn’t mean to but you started to like him, how your heart ached every time you saw him. How terrible you felt every time you saw Heather smile at you like that, knowing that you were so close to ruining everything.

“Hey, what’s wrong, babe?” Heather asked, her soft hands wiping the tears that fell onto your cheeks.

You shook your head and moved away from her shoulder. You leaned into the corner of your sofa, and tried to hold in the tears. But you couldn’t.

Your chin began to shake as more tears fell from your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Heather moved towards you quickly. “What’s wrong, babe? You can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, you couldn’t tell her this. You couldn’t tell her this. You couldn’t lose her.

“I’m sorry, Heather,” you whispered into her tank top as she pulled your shaking body into her.

“Shhh,” she hushed, brushing your hair, trying to calm your sobbing body, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s only to be okay. I’m here for you, I’m always going to be here for you. Okay?”

You bit your lip as you cried harder. You managed a meek okay through your tears.

After you had calmed down a bit, you leaned back and looked at your best friend. Her eyes were glistening with concern, and a few stray tears running down her face too from seeing you cry.

You couldn't hide it from her, she was your other half. You had to tell her, but all you could manage was, “I love him, Heather.”

I love Im Jaebum.

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lostcauses-noregrets · 4 years

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Do you think that, during sex if Levi did something odd or a bit out of his normal character and then saw Erwin a bit confused, would he be so embarrassed that he would, not only leave right away, but also try to avoid Erwin for a while? There’re probably a lot of fic like that out there. Man have I fell down a eruri hole during this isolation. Anyways, I hope you are safe and having more fun than I am. Keep of being amazing.

Apologies for the delay in replying Anon. I hope you’re keeping safe and well and surviving these strange times. Please accept this shameless cliched fluff to help you pass the time in isolation.

Lostcauses Fic: In Other Words

“Please…” Erwin pleaded, head thrown back, fingers pressing bruises into Levi’s sweat slick thighs. “Please, Levi, harder.”

Levi needed no encouragement. The sight of his Commander, cheeks flushed, disheveled hair scattered across his brow, begging for release, undid the last tattered shreds of his self-control.

“Come on baby,” he urged, the endearment slipping past his lips unnoticed and unbidden, as he snapped his hips forward, harder, faster. “Come on, come for me.”

Erwin came with a long low moan, arching up off the bed, as Levi’s own orgasm tore through him, the sheer force of it obliterating everything but his overwhelming desire for the man beneath him.

They lay together in the aftermath, warm cum cooling between them, as Levi sprawled, barely conscious, across Erwin’s heaving chest.

“Fuck Erwin,” he slurred, struggling to catch his breath, “fucking love you.”

It was only when Erwin stilled beneath him that Levi realized what he’d said. The full force of it crashing over him in a cold wave of terror.

“Levi …” Erwin started, his voice so thick with emotion that it made something twist painfully in Levi’s chest.

“I should go,” Levi said, pushing himself off the bed before Erwin could continue, and scrambling into his clothes.

Propped up on one elbow, Erwin watched him from the bed.

“You could stay,” he said carefully.

“You know I can’t do that,” Levi spat, sparing a glance over his shoulder as he tied his cravat with an irritated flick. “People will talk.”

“Let them,” Erwin shrugged. “I don’t care.”

But Levi was already gone, slamming the door behind him. Erwin sighed, and collapsed back onto the bed, closing his eyes, as the stillness of the room congealed around him.

Sex for Levi had always been a perfunctory business. A basic, if inconvenient, human need to be satisfied like any other. It was rare for Levi to search out another warm body to satisfy the urge that ached in his bones, but on the infrequent occasions he did, a faceless fuck in an alleyway was enough to meet his needs. It was better that way. Quicker, simpler, no messy emotional attachments, no risk of affection, of feeling anything that could only lead to remorse and regret.

But that was before joining the Survey Corps. In spite, or perhaps because of, the precarity of their existence, the knowledge that their lives could be brutally snatched away at any moment, the Survey Corps’ surviving veterans formed deep bonds with their comrades.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that right?” Levi groused at Mike one night. The older man was smiling fondly as he watched Nanaba weaving their way towards them through of the crowded bar, carrying two tankards of beer in either hand. “You could be Titan shit tomorrow.”

“Titans don’t shit, you know that.” Hange butted in, waggling a finger at him. Levi swatted them away, wrinkling his nose.

Mike just shrugged, smiling as Nanaba placed the drinks on the table in front of them. “All the more reason, to take it where you find it.”

And take it they did. All except the Commander, who was widely regarded as being above such things. A cold bastard, with a heart of stone. Only Levi knew differently.

He couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through him the first time he felt the Commander’s gaze fall on him. The heat and weight of it startled him and set his blood rushing. An entirely unfamiliar feeling, but not an unwelcome one.

He’d responded out of curiosity, to see if he could recapture that unexpected feeling, to find out if the Commander really was a man of flesh and blood under that implacable façade. He was. And oh what a man. Their first encounter devastated Levi, leaving him stunned and shaken, desperate for more.

To his surprise, Erwin turned out to be a fond and affectionate lover, a million miles from the austere, intimidating persona he presented to the world. Attentive to Levi’s every mood, he learned to pick him apart at the seams with such ruthless dexterity that it shook Levi to the core. But what shocked Levi even more was that Erwin gave himself with equal generosity, laying himself bare with appalling humility and unimaginable tenderness.

What started as a casual arrangement soon became a regular one, and though Levi could feel himself slipping, he was powerless to resist. An inexorable force was drawing them irresistibly together and Levi found, that for all his strength, he could no more stop it than he could stop the sun from rising and setting. Truth be told, Levi did not want to stop it. Erwin was the breath in his lungs, the strength in his sinews, the force that drove him forwards, the steadfast vision he followed. But more than that, Erwin was the embrace that circled him and held his broken pieces together, the heat that swelled in his chest filling the cold empty places inside him, the name he cried out breathless and gasping. Erwin, his commander, his liege, his lover.

Not that Levi would admit it, he shied away from the word, stubbornly refusing to face it, as if ignoring it would deny its truth. But now there it was, the appalling truth of it laid bare before them. Unwilling to face the consequences of this revelation, and unable to run, Levi went out of his way to avoid Erwin in the days and weeks that followed. He found endless excuses to skip meetings and briefings with the squad leaders in Erwin’s office, visited the officers’ mess only between meal times, earning the opprobrium of the cooks, and spent endless hours on the training grounds drilling the recruits until they dropped. He even sought sanctuary in Hange’s basement workrooms until they lost patience and turfed him out.

“You again?” Hange snapped when he turned up for the fourth afternoon in a row. “What the fuck is going on Levi? Whatever you and Erwin have fallen out about I wish you’d make it up, because I’m busy here and you’re getting under my feet.”

“What the fuck?” Levi started, but Hange was already shoving him unceremoniously out the door.

The stable block was his last refuge. Barring a familiar nod, the stable hands paid him little attention and any soldiers who happened to be present generally minded their own business and left Levi to his. Soothed by the soft stamp and whinny of the horses, and lulled by the familiar task of grooming his black mare, Levi was almost able to forget the hurt that lingered in Erwin’s eyes, to convince himself that the fateful slip of the tongue had simply never happened.

But it had. Nothing could take it back, and the longer Levi avoided Erwin, the more he was consumed by regret, shame, anger, and remorse.

“Levi.”

Levi looked up from where he was cleaning the mare’s fore hooves; absorbed in his task, he had barely noticed the stable hands closing up the stalls for the night, the soldiers returning to the barracks. The sun was starting to set, bathing the interior of the stable block in a soft rosy glow, empty now but for himself and the Commander.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

Erwin smiled ruefully and shook his head.

“You know I could reprimand you for speaking to your commanding officer like that?”

“So? Why don’t you?”

“Levi…” Erwin took a step forward, and Levi tried not to notice that way the soft light gilded his hair. “You must know that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here then?” Levi crossed his arms over his chest and stared defiantly at the Commander. The mare stamped and tossed her head, sensing his sudden change of mood. Erwin reached out a hand to calm her and she nuzzled into his palm.

“There’s no need for you to go to such lengths to avoid me Levi. You don’t need to keep running.”

“I’m not,” Levi started, “I haven’t…”

“I know.” Erwin said simply. “What you said…I’ve known for some time. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a gift, and I don’t know how I can ever repay you, but I promise that I…”

Suddenly Erwin stopped and blinked, peering at Levi in the low light.

“Oh,” he said softly. “You didn’t know? Until then, you didn’t know.”

The denial died on the tip of Levi’s tongue and he frowned and looked away.

“Levi,” Erwin stepped towards him. “It’s alright you know.”

“What’s all right?” Levi asked. He had a desperate urge to run but Erwin was close enough for him to smell his faint scent of ink and cologne and he yearned to close the gap between them, to lean his head against his chest, to loose himself in that familiar warmth.

“It’s alright to love.”

“You could be dead tomorrow,” Levi muttered, “or worse.” He still couldn’t bring himself to look Erwin in the face, afraid of what he might see there.

“I know, and so could you. That’s all the more reason to make the most of it don’t you think?”

It sounded so obvious, so easy.

“You sound like Mike.” Levi replied.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, he said something similar.”

“Well you know,” Erwin continued, “sometimes Mike’s worth listening to. He hasn’t survived this long without learning a thing or two.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, quiet. “It’s not the word that makes it true Levi, it’s everything else. And besides, there are other words.”

“What words?” Levi finally looked up to meet Erwin’s gaze, brimming with such hope, such desire, such belief, that it almost floored him.

“Captain.” Erwin reached out and brushed a lock of dark hair off Levi’s brow.

“Comrade.” A callused thumb swept lightly over the arch of his cheekbone.

“Right hand man.” Warm lips set a kiss on his forehead.

“That’s three words,” Levi murmured.

“Sorry.” The kisses moved to his cheek.

“Trusted companion.” Levi closed his eyes, leaning in to the kiss.

“Humanity’s Strongest.”

“Fuck off.” Levi snorted pushing Erwin away, but strong hands caught him, circling his waist, drawing him into the embrace.

“Wait there’s one more.”

“What’s that?” Levi tried his hardest to affect a skeptical scowl, but it was spoiled by the smile that was pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Friend.” Erwin breathed against his lips.

“Friend.” Levi agreed as he melted into the kiss.

(PS. You may also enjoy @ladymacbethsspot‘s beautiful fic on a smilier theme.)

#asks #lostcauses fic #eruri #erwin smith #levi ackerman #mike zacharias #nanaba #hanji zoe #snk

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thesunandseonghwa · 4 years

Text

Shadows and Angels | Part Five

changbin x reader / chan x reader (hyunjin’s character debut !!)

warnings: suggestive content

see here for glossary for terms

masterlist

Okay, you had to give it to this warlock.

He had an amazing sense of style.

The dress that sat inside the box (prettily folded and accompanied by a matching necklace) was gorgeous. It looked like it cost at least five times more than what you were worth and you couldn't help but run your fingers over the beautiful, shimmering material. It looked absolutely magical but what did you expect?

It was a gift from a warlock!

"I have never worn anything like this in my entire life," You muttered to yourself, Nayeon had quite literally squealed when you had first seen the dress.

Granted, you had too.

"Go put it on, I have the perfect pair of shoes for you, we look about the same size," Nayeon gestured for you to get dressed behind the black divider in the corner of her room.

Clutching the dress to your form, you took off your clothes and let the dress slide down onto you. It hit just after mid-thigh, slightly longer and more elegant than the dress you had worn to that club the other night. A pair of shoes and what looked like a thigh holster for a weapon was pushed behind the divider. You chose not to question the thigh holster, after all this was probably the norm in the Shadowhunter realm.

Nayeon beamed at you as you came out from behind the divider. She sat you down on her bed to help you with your hair and makeup, refusing to let you see your reflection, “You’ve been here for quite some time, it seems like you know everyone really well,”

“I’ve seen almost everyone here grow up, Chan was eleven when he first arrived here from Alicante to train with Changbin,”

“Alicante?” Puzzled, you asked. You had never heard of that city before.

“It’s a city in the Shadowhunter realm of Idris, Chan’s parents are a pretty big deal in the shadowhunter world and by no surprise Chan is now too, he’s one of the best I’m positive when Jihyo steps down as the head of the institute --he’s next,” Nayeon said, the way she talked about him was heart-warming. It was like the way mothers bragged about their kids. You could hear the pride in her tone.

With your eyes closed rendering you unable to look into her eyes, you felt just a little more courageous so you asked, “What about Changbin? What’s his deal?”

“I don’t think his story is mine to tell, all I can tell you is he’s been through a lot in his life and though he acts the way he acts, he’s one of the best people I know and there’s no one else in the world who could be a better brother to Chan,” Nayeon’s voice softened, the strokes of the make-up brush against your eyelids soft and repetitive.

Tapping your foot, now clad in a pair of black heels with a single strap, it made a clicking sound against the mahogany floors. She finished off your make-up insisting on you keeping your eyes closed. You felt her clasp the matching necklace at the base of your neck, "Alright, take a look at yourself!"

You were amazed.

You were never the most confident person in the world but right now you felt like that.

Hyunjin had been right too.

It did fit, it complimented your curves almost too perfectly.

A knock at Nayeon's door drew your attention, Nayeon opened it and there stood Chan and Changbin.

If you could sum up the way they looked in one word, it would be magnificent. You couldn’t help but gawk just a little bit.

Of course, in true Shadowhunter fashion, they were clad in all black. Both sporting long coats but wearing them differently, Chan's was closed over a shirt while Changbin's was open. Chan's blonde hair styled back and Changbin's dark locks parted save for a few strands which refused to be tamed.

They looked like the protagonists of every fantasy novel you'd ever read.

"You look amazing," Chan said, taking in the sight of you. He quickly shook his head as if he felt bad for looking at you like that.

"Thank you, Chan," You smiled, you tried desperately to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks, fiddling with the hem of your dress to avoid his gaze.

“If you two are done, can we get a move on?” Changbin crossed his arms over his chest, turning on his heel. It’s not like you expected him to care but he didn’t even spare you a glance.

Chan gave you an apologetic look as you moved to his side, you mouthed a quiet thank you to Nayeon as you left her room. Nayeon peered at you in an odd way as if she knew something you didn’t as her gaze swapped from Chan to you. She cracked a smile at you with two thumbs up on either side.

And so you were off into the night, to a warlock’s home filled with immortal beings and with the hope of finding your true self driving you forward.

“Try not to stare at everything, don’t consume anything anyone gives you and stay close to us,” Changbin barked as he opened the door of the car and got out, the cold air that rushed in making you shiver slightly.

He did not spare you as much as a glance as he walked towards the front door of an exceedingly fancy building with vines running up the walls and a black carpet leading to the double doors which were decorated in ornate patterns of silver. Hyunjin seemed to have a liking for the colour you noted.

And Changbin seemed to be laying the attitude on extra thick tonight. You huffed, the person you had spoken to the other night seemed to have shriveled up and been forced inside a glass jar.

“Wait,” Chan whispered just as you were about to step out of the car, “Take this, I don’t suspect you’ll use it tonight but I’d feel better knowing you weren't completely unarmed,”

Chan held out a blade, similarly engraved with runes as you had seen before but smaller and more elegant. The hilt was engraved with words in a language you didn’t understand, you weighed it in your hands. It was light and balanced perfectly, “I appreciate it even though I have no idea how to use it,”

“It will come naturally if you have to use it, it’s in your blood,” Chan smiled, he opened the door on the other side of the car, you took the time alone to quickly slip the blade into the thigh holster Nayeon had given you. You exited the car, Chan closing the door behind you.

Changbin was tapping his foot impatiently, hands in his pockets as he waited for the two of you to join him at the front door.

The front doors swung upon the second you stepped on the threshold, you tried not to look too surprised. With Chan on your right and Changbin on your left, you walked into the building.

It was amazing, people were everywhere dancing and music played but you saw no speakers, no people playing any instruments yet it sounded like it was live. The people there were all assortment of strange. Some with pink skin, some with skin that was so pale it looked like marble. Eyes in shades you’d thought were impossible, horns, tails and all the manner of unnatural. The black and white checkered marble of the floor even seemed to glow in it’s own way even though the room itself was dimly lit and wrapped in a strange haze.

“Stop staring, you’re drawing attention,” Changbin reprimanded you, you shook yourself out of your trance. You tried to put on an almost bored expression as if you’d seen such grandeur a million times before.

“How are we supposed to find this guy?” You asked, scanning the faces in the room. What did a high warlock look like?

“Hyunjin will make himself known to us when he wants to be, he’s kind of dramatic that way,” Chan exclaimed, a faraway look in his eyes, “In the meantime, just blend in with everyone else,”

“Her? Blend in? That’s asking a lot, look at her,” Changbin noted,

“I think she looks beautiful, strikingly so,” Chan said before you had the time to reply,

“That’s the problem,” Changbin sighed, quickly playing it off with a cough. You almost laughed at that. You couldn’t help the smile that played at your lips.

He just admitted that you looked good despite his cold shoulder. You’d take that as a win for you. You decided on ignoring his attitude, Chan was here and Chan made you feel your heart feel light in the strangest way.

"Chan, dance with me?" You asked, watching as his dimples started to show when you pulled him onto the dance floor.

﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

Changbin was angry and he wasn’t entirely sure why anymrore. In all honesty, he was always angry these days but something about the way you got along with Chan was making him clench his fits even tighter than he usually did. He hated the way you looked at him, he even hated the way Chan looked at you and he hated himself for that. Chan was his parabatai, he was supposed to be happy that you seemed to look at him the way Chan looked at you. He was supposed to step back, let Chan have his happiness even if it was with you. This wasn't just anybody, it was Chan. His brother in every way except blood, someone who had saved his life more times than he could count and in more ways than one. Chan who had helped him cope with his parents death. Chan who would force him to eat when he got to into work.

But something about you made him want to dream, a dream where he had you all to himself. One where he’d be the one you asked to dance. A dream where he was the one that got to hold you close, counting the beats of your heart. Where you looked at him with those soul-searching eyes of yours that made him want to spill all of his deepest secrets and give you everything you wanted, those eyes that made him weak.

The thought of being weak in any way was yet another thing he could not handle, so he would push those thoughts away. He had too, it was a desperate effort. He’d push you away, be as unlikable as he possibly could be. He had too for both Chan’s and his own sake. He could not be the reason Chan didn’t get the happiness with you he deserved and he couldn’t afford to be weak.

Still, he couldn’t help the way his nails dug into the palm of his hands so hard it almost hurt as he watched you two.

“Love is hard, isn’t it?” A familiar voice chimed in behind him, his hands immediately flew to the blades at his sides out of habit as he spun around to face the owner of the voice.

He faced the high warlock of Seoul. He recognized his face though his hair had changed from a blonde to a pink to match his eye-makeup since the last time he had seen him, he was dressed extravagantly as usual. His hair tucked behind his ears, dangling silver earrings in each ear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Changbin said monotonously, letting his hands drop from his blade hilts,

“Of course you don’t, gather your friends and meet me at the top of the staircase in my study, you know the way,” Hyunjin stated, "And for what it's worth, I'm sure by the way she keeps glancing here every so often even though she's in your lovely Parabatai's arms that you must mean something to her,"

His lips quirked into a mischievious smirk, he grabbed a cocktail glass from the table he had been leaning against and disappeared into the crowd.

Changbin wouldn’t lie but he did take some sort of sick joy in splitting you and Chan apart and immediately hated himself for it afterward. He explained what Hyunjin had said to Chan and you however more so to Chan than you. He couldn't bare to look at you, not when you looked like someone who should be in a painting, the type of girl people wrote songs about. He was much too afraid he'd stare and wouldn't be able to stop.

He felt like he needed to bang his head against a wall just to get you out of it so he could think straight as he guided Chan and you to Hyunjin's study. He wished he didn't know the way as well as he did but he knew Chan would never judge him for his actions in the past.

With Chan now at his side, he felt a new wave of strength flow through him. This was the strength in Parabatai.

Changbin pushed open the door to Hyunjin's study, the warlock was sitting atop a massive desk of a dark, almost black wood. Assorted books were thrown across it, a stack of worn papers to his right with a now empty cocktail glass being used as a paper weight.

Hyunjin's eyes were focused solely on you, "It's lovely to see you again, I knew that dress would look excellent on you, Miss L/N,"

"Thank you but how do you know me?" You questioned, not an ounce of fear or trepidation in your eyes even though you talked to one of the most powerful men in Seoul.

Hyunjin sighed, "Tsk tsk, it's always business with the Nephilim I suppose," With a swirl of his hand, silver fire swirled around it and out of thin air he procured a photo, "The people that you believe to be your parents were not actually your parents, I knew your father very well and he brought you to me when you were only a few years old, he asked me to wipe your memories of them and strengthen the cloaking spell I'd put on you when you born,"

He handed the photo to you, from where he wad standing he could make it out a woman who had your hair colour and your eyes and a man who had must've yielded to you the shape of his jaw and nose. He didn't recognize the man himself but he recognised the runes that lined his arms. They were embracing each other, a brilliant sunset behind them and scrawled in the corner was writing:

I have never met two people more suited to each other, my deepest and sincerest best wishes for your future together. All my love to the people who became like my family, Hyunjin.

Changbin saw you stumble back as he laid the picture flat on the desk next to him, shock making all the blood leave your face. He was at your side faster than he needed to be, steadying you with a hand to your back. Chan giving him the most peculiar look and he knew they'd have to talk when they got back to the Institute. You straightened up, gazing longingly at the photo.

"But why? If my parents were shadowhunters, why did they do all this? Why did they put a cloaking spell on me? Why did they leave me to be raised by other people?!" Your voice was slowly gaining volume.

Changbin could see the way your fists clenched at your sides, bunching up the sides of your dress in them. He wanted to unravel those tightly wound hands and slip his hand into yours just so that you'd have some sort of comfort but that didn't feel right.

He didn't feel worthy of that, you were much too full of love and light.

"Your father was a shadowhunter, your mother however was a seelie or one of the faeries if you will in more mundane terms," Hyunjin explained, "She was not just any random seelie, she was the only daughter of the Seelie queen. She was a princess and she ran away from the Seelie court,"

"Why? Why did she run?" You pushed on, Hyunjin gained a sort of otherwordly look in his eyes, a glance passing between you, him and Chan,

"For love, your mother fell deeply and passionately in love with your father even though it is against the laws of the Cold Peace, so together they ran off, hid their love and eventually hid you," Hyunjin watched the reactions of everyone in the room carefully, Changbin knew that watchful gaze very well.

He wasn't phased with the news of your downworlder blood, there were shadowhunters that would be, they'd demand you to be exhiled from the institute from the likes of the Nephilim but he was not one of those people. Neither was Chan.

"Your parents loved you so much even before you were born, I had thought that your parents would never love anyone more than they had loved each other but when they brought you to me, I saw in their eyes that you were their heart now," Hyunjin hopped off the tabletop, pushing a few strands of his long cotton-candy hair behind his ear.

You looked like you might cry now but you kept your guard up, Changbin could almost see the way you forced those walls up and he found it admirable since he had lived his entire life behind similar walls.

"The Seelie Queen will never stop looking for you or leave you alone, you've got power you don't know you have and she wants it, you've royal blood, the car crash that killed your mundane parents was no accident even your real parents had tried their best to run away and distract the attention from you to them but queen is relentless, they did not her to know of you, their biggest secret and they paid the ultimate price," Hyunjin finished off and with a whirl of his hand, the picture disappeared into thin air.

Hyunjin's eyes suddenly shot to the closed door, ears perked, "Chan, do come with me, there's some no-good-riff-raff that have crashed my party and I need you to help me sort it out,"

"Why me?" Chan asked, confused by his request,

"Don't ask questions, come along miss y/n will be perfectly safe in here with your diligent Parabatai, " Hyunjin exclaimed though Changbin didn't miss the smirk Hyunjin threw his way. Changbin vowed he would burn all that warlock's fancy shirts the second the study door closed leaving you and Changbin alone.

Changbin roughly ran his fingers through his hair, you were leaning against the desk now. Your fingers holding on tightly to the wood as if it was your only anchor to the world. A distant look in your eyes, he could almost see the way your mind was working.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked tentatively, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Your mood swings are giving me whiplash," You said, "To answer your question, I'm good as you can be when you find out your whole life has been a lie,"

He wasn't exactly the best at giving advice, this was usually Chan's area of expertise so he did the only logical thing he could of —stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. Your head just under his chin, he chose to not comment on the sound of the sobs that came from you and the newfound wetness on his coat from your tears. He patted your back soothingly, the same way that his mother had always done for him.

Your hands looked so small against his chest, he was sure you could feel the beating of his heart and he hoped that somehow helped you calm down.

You slowly pulled away, still in his arms. You looked up at him with those eyes of yours. Slightly red and puffy from crying but nevertheless beautiful. He couldn't help the hand that came up to cup your cheek gently, thumb swiping away a tear that had escaped. The way you had closed your eyes and leaned into the touch made his heart wrench in his chest, squeezed up against his ribcage. Surely, he didn't deserve you.

Then you kissed him.

And for second he thought he was dreaming. He tasted the sweetness of something on your lips mixing with the salt of the tears that had been running down yours cheeks. Even though it felt like his heart was being shoved up his throat to choke him, he allowed you to kiss him and returned the fervour of it back tenfold.

He was truly a despicable person but now he wanted to focus on the caress of your lips against his and your unbelievably soft skin under his hands. You slipped your hands around his neck, his dropped to your waist as the kiss deepened and tongues met. He gently pushed you up against the desk, his hands taking a hold of the back of your thighs and lifting you up, your legs immediately parting and wrapping around his waist.

For a moment, he couldn't think about anything but you. you. you. you.

The way your hands felt in his hair, the softness of your thighs, the way your chest felt against his, the sound of your heavy breathing, the taste of you. He savoured the moment before setting you down on top of the desk.

Deep down, he knew you were probably using him as a way to not think about everything you had just discovered and in a way that somehow made him feel less guilty for the way he truly felt about you.

Maybe this was the one glorious moment he'd get with you and like a beggar he took the morsel of food and ate it hungrily. He kissed his way down your throat all the way to your collarbone, your legs tightened around his waist. The whine that you let slip when he began marking the skin there; only encouraged him. He took a moment to look at you, flushed skin, messy hair, kiss-swollen lips, the strap of your dress had fallen down.

A look he didn't understand in your eyes, "Changbin, please-" You pleaded, "Please touch me,"

His resolve quickly crumbled as you pulled him in, slotting your mouths together like before. A cautious finger of his running along the inside of your thigh–

"I'm afraid the show's over you two, I think it's time you head back to the Institute, hmm?" Hyunjin exclaimed, the both of you instantly ceasing all movements, "I suggest you make yourselves presentable, Chan will be coming up the stairs any moment now,"

Hyunjin took his leave with a smug smile and a wave. Changbin stepped away from you, quicker than he had intended too. Running a frustrated hand through his hair to tame it after the mess your hands had wrought.

"Come on, let's go," He said gruffly, you looked at him like he had just slapped you in the face.

You moved off the table top, adjusting your dress and your hair so that it covered the marks he had left on your skin. He silently prayed that you were good at hiding them.

He let you exit first but before you could he grabbed your wrist, pulling you close so he could whisper, "This never happened, don't you dare tell anyone about this,"

He swore he saw the ice form in your eyes as you ripped your arm out of his grip, your shoulders held up high as you walked away from him.

And as he sealed himself once again inside his fortress.

﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

#stray kids angst #stray kids au #stray kids fluff #stray kids fic #stray kids #skz #skz aus #skz au #skz angst #skz fic #skz scenarios #changbin #changbin au #bangchan au #stray kids shadowhunter #bang chan #skz smut #skz imagines #skz fluff

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evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 158

Word seemed to get out fairly fast that you were ordering food. From your found-family who still seemed keen on staying up a little while longer came little touches while you were on the phone with the nearest (and best) delivery place that would cook and serve ASAP. It made the call a little longer than necessary- and your brain was still foggy- ...although maybe it would have been more polite to ask if they’d wanted food, too. Then again, they’d been at a party all night that had had free food…

But maybe they didn’t consider appetizers and small plates real food. Suddenly everyone wanted in on this Chinese thing. Everyone except Steve, who had seemed to disappear. Hopefully he’d left for a good night. But most of you doubted it. Didn’t seem like him. Still, eventually when Tony was done shepherding the other guests out and shooing away the team so you could complete the call, you got all the orders in and were told it’d take a half hour. Which was fine by you, it gave you time to excuse yourself to the lobby to wait for them and get some fresh air.

Not outside fresh but fresh enough. And not outside because- the lobby was a safer perimeter- even though-...

You quickly shook the thoughts away. It was as surprising as it was disappointing when Steve reappeared, walking through the lobby doors, hands in his pockets, smile on his face- that was at least until he looked up and saw you. Then he seemed not only caught but briefly confused. “You waitin’ up for me?” Smile reappearing not too long after as he came closer.

“I was wondering where you went.” Honest at the very least about this. “-but I’m actually waiting for some food.”

“Not enough food at the party?” Teasing you a little. “I walked Sharon back to her hotel. That’s all.” The way he said this was a little final. Like he wanted you to understand that really was all.

“That was nice of you.” Steve was a sweet guy for sure, no doubt about it. “Did she have a good night?”

His head dropped in a long nod. “Yeah…” A little sigh escaping him. “Thanks for uh… pushing me. We had a much better time tonight.”

Maybe it was a little self-congratulatory, but you couldn’t help feeling a little warm as you smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it. She didn’t invite you in?” This was absolutely none of your business, but you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

He balked a little and then ducked- the shine of his embarrassed grin was only outdone by the light pink on his cheeks. “Let’s not get carried away.”

“Oh.” Giving him a little nudge. “Am I making Captain America blush?”

His chuckles were a little more on the nervous side, though he did shake his head. “Couldn’t even lie to you if I tried, could I?”

Your smile up at him was on the more intoxicated side of sunny. “I mean- you could. If I’m amenable I might even let you get away with it.”

Perhaps you had tipped your hand a little too far- not that being in heels all night helped- but Steve reached out to put a hand on your shoulder to steady you. You hadn’t even realized you’d been swaying. “Seems like you’re a little more than amenable.” Drunk is what he was implying, though you were hardly that lush right then. “Tony let you come down here like this?”

Reaching up you bat his hand away, face scrunched up with a look of great offense. “Why? I’m not allowed to go anywhere without his permission?”

“That’s-” He wound up to bat but then stopped with a tight exhale. Because at this point he must have known better. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”

Deciding to not let it be a thing, you gave him a little bump with your hip and then wrapped your arm around his. “You are sorry.”

“I am, alright?” His smile was nervous for a few more seconds before he eased up, holding on to you now that he had your permission. “You know I didn’t mean it that way- and, besides, between the two of us, it’s pretty obvious who wears the pants around here.”

“Not currently, but I couldn’t agree more. And don’t you forget it.”

“Couldn’t if I tried.” There was a little catch of uneasiness from him and you worried perhaps you were laying it on a little too thick. But as you tried to uncurl your arm from him, he held you still. “How much longer is your food gonna take?”

Tilting your head up, you tried to regard him a little more closely. If you were making him uncomfortable, you wanted to let him go, but… “Maybe ten more minutes. Why?”

“Mind if I wait with you?”

You couldn’t help the little pout. “I’m really not that drunk, you know.”

“I’m not saying you are.” Defensive for some reason you couldn’t quite place. Probably just his other-era-gentlemanly-ness. He did have a penchant for it.

“Then what are you saying?” Lifting a brow as you stared up at him.

He stared back, silent for a little longer than you would have liked. But, when he found words, “I’m just saying I wanna wait with you. If that’s okay.”

What more could you do? Your shoulders came up in a small shrug. “Sure. That’s okay.” And then, knowing exactly what reason he was doing it for, you offered a small, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I ordered you noodles. Just in case.” Putting the thought out into the air to keep it filled.

“...thank you? -... y’know, now that you mention it, I am kinda hungry.”

“Me too. Which begs the question, what did I pay for all that party food for?” Gentle laughter filled the lobby. Really, you couldn’t have asked for better company. Even if you’d rathered he’d spent the night with Sharon. Maybe he was just too decent for that, though…

---

Back upstairs, with bags of food in hand, the party had been cleaned out to only the bare minimum. Tony, Rhodey, Maria, Clint, Natasha, Helen, and Bruce were all lazing around on the center couches chattering away happily. As you and Steve approached, you took note of a certain hammer sitting handle-side up on the glass coffee table. “Any cause for the weaponry?” Asked as you got close enough and the cheers of hungry party people surrounded you very suddenly.

Tony looked up from his spot next to Rhodey, smiling at you. “It’s more a decorative piece than anything. Really pulls the room together.” It was almost like you were being handed off- something you didn’t really appreciate- because once Steve let go of you, Tony was on his feet helping you with the food.

Thor sat back, one arm along the couch. “It is mere decoration for those who are not worthy.”

A round of groans lit up the room and you started to understand what exactly they’d been going on about while you’d been gone. While discussion became a blended heat between people as you passed out food, once you sat down and finally had a few bites, you couldn’t help yourself. “I’ve kind of always wondered- what does that even mean?” Drawing everyone to a halt as you asked. “Worthy can mean a lot of things to a lot of different people. What does Mjölnir define as worthy?”

“A very astute question-” Thor seemed nothing if not impressed. Maybe no one had ever asked before. But Clint cut him off with a hard wave of his hand, “It’s- it’s a trick!” At least you weren’t the only one buzzed.

Thor grinned. “Oh no, it’s much more than that.”

You leaned a little forward. “So what’s the secret? What defines worth? Selflessness? Honor? Ego?” Ribbing him just a little. What differentiated Thor from your other teammates?

Clint pitched his voice low in a mocking attempt at Thor’s drawl, “Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power!” Laughing at his own attempts along with everyone in the room. He then flicked his hand. “Come on man, it’s a trick!”

In a very jovial mood it seemed, Thor gestured towards the table while chuckling still. “Please. Be my guest.”

Now this was very interesting. While you didn’t think Thor mistrusted any of you, none of you had been presented the opportunity to lift the hammer before. All eyes in the room drew its way, and Clint seemed just as eager. “Really?” Because now he was being challenged. And when Thor confirmed, Clint stood. “Alright.”

As he got up, Tony grinned at him. “Clint, you’ve had a tough week. We won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up.” Though more laughter rounded out the table, you couldn’t help but give him a little nudge.

Clint approached, standing expertly straight. “You know I’ve seen this before, right?” Also an interesting thing to say. You wondered exactly what that meant. Thor said nothing, though, and you were transfixed as he almost literally stepped up to the plate, putting his hand quickly around the handle and lifted without another word- ...at least he tried. Instead he was left standing there straining in a groan. The hammer, maybe predictably, did not move. And it only took a few seconds before embarrassment hit him, and he stepped back with a nervous chuckle. “I still don’t know how you do it.”

There was a little ripple of apprehension beside you that fed into Tony speaking, “Smell the silent judgment?” Wait- the entire room was really bubbling with the same feeling. It seemed everyone wanted a shot. Funny, that it had never come up before now.

With a gesturing arm, Clint made way. “Please, Stark. By all means.”

It was a smooth movement, but Tony was soon on his feet. And not only that, he unbuttoned his suit jacket in one smooth pull. Murmurs were moving around again, and you tried not to be too obvious in your ogling. Tony moved around the table with that sure smile of his. “Never one to shrink from an honest challenge.”

You flapped your hand a few times. “We’ve haven’t even gone over the qualifications!” Not that you didn’t want to see Tony lift it. Really, that probably would have made everyone’s night. But you were still smiley and amicable as attentions went your way. “What makes someone worthy? Or maybe it’s more about what makes them unworthy?”

Rhodey sat back, putting one leg up over the other. “Well Tony’s never been unworthy of anything- so long as you only ask him.”

“It’s neither.” Tony’s tone was rather sure. He leaned in, wrapping the leather strap around his wrist and then craned in a little bit further as he put a firm grip on the handle. “It’s physics.”

Bruce pointed a hand his way. “Physics!” Clearly agreeing with him.

Tony bent in a little more, putting one foot up on the corner of the table and putting his other hand closer to the base. “Alright, so if I lift it, I get to rule Asgard?” Brow arching as he asked.

Thor was just all smiles. “Yes, yes. Of course.”

You watched as Tony’s hands gripped the handle firmly. He cast his gaze up. “I will be a fair but firmly cruel king. With a sweet but demanding queen.” Though he didn’t visibly struggle as much as Clint had, you could tell it was a little bit of a strain- maybe more to his pride than anything else- as he tugged a few times. A low noise did escape him, something softer than a grunt. And then he took his hands off it without any warning, unwrapping the strap from his wrist. “I’ll be right back.”

That was it. He left without a word, leaving the echoes of laughter behind him until all eyes drew your way. Maria pointed vaguely in his direction with the bottle of beer she was nursing. “Where’s he going?”

“If I had to guess?” Giving a little shrug as you turned away from the elevator he’d disappeared into, looking back to the group. “Probably to get some tools.” Because if Tony couldn’t science the problem, he could fix it through other means.

Thor gave a sharper bark of a laugh. “There are no tools that will make a man worthy. It is by his own might-”

More groans hushed him as the group shamed him into silence. Maria put her bottle down on the table. “All this stuff about a man’s worth, what about a woman?”

“The same rules apply, of course.” Thor gave her his blessing.

You put a little sass on your tone. “Oh. Mjölnir doesn’t discriminate?”

“Of course not.”

Maria put her right hand around the handle. “Let’s test that theory.” And up she lifted- and quickly failed. It was almost like the hammer was glued to the table.

She said something. You missed it. The group discussion went way over your head. Something shrieked- immediately your ears started ringing, and it felt like your entire body had been bound tightly and cast into a dark sea. Left to drown. Your eyes bounced warily from person to person- trying to locate the source- trying to find-

Someone here was suddenly very panicked- Very afraid- In severe distress- Their smiles looked so foreign. Who was it? More importantly-

You only realized you’d jumped to your feet when you caught the sight of all the eyes staring up at you. Thor blinked your way. “Are you going to try, Lady?”

“Huh?” In a bit of a fog as he asked. The party came back in full. Those strange feelings died. Very quickly washed away. You took a steadying breath just as Tony returned, iron gauntlet on his hand, jacket gone and shirt sleeves rolled up. You wished you were in a better mood to appreciate just how handsome he looked. “Oh- sure I’ll get one in-”

Maybe Tony had been spooked by something in the lab… maybe he’d excused himself to take a breath and been cornered by his recent failures over Ultron. It was all something that could be discussed later. Stepping over to the fabled spot in the living room, you put your hand around the handle of the hammer. It was a little daunting, being faced with such immense pressure. Were you worthy? Whatever that meant…

You didn’t give it much force, pulling only a little. That was really all you needed. It barely even budged. You’d suspected as much. Letting go you stepped aside for Tony who was giving you a little questioning glance. You turned towards Thor, “Look as soon as you define what the worth is, I think we’ll be able to crack this.”

Tony reached out. “Step aside, honey. I’ll claim Asgard for the both of us.” Determined as ever. Yet before he actually went back to task, he looked a little closer. “...you alright?”

Observant as always when it came to you. Putting a hand on his chest, leaning a little up, you pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I just need some water. Let me know if we need to change addresses.” And then easing back. “Anyone want anything?” There was a cadence in the negative that allowed you to leave. Almost a little grateful that you did, hearing him not quite lifting that hammer yet and starting to try and rope Rhodey in…

The walk to the back kitchen didn’t take long, and it wasn’t so far away that you couldn’t hear the heated discussion still happening in the other room. Though you did crack open a fresh water bottle and down half its contents, it was leaning over the sink and splashing your face with cold water that helped to settle your nerves. Something was a little… off. And from your vast experience at this point, you knew ignoring those feelings probably served nobody’s best interests. But it made no sense.

Nobody seemed weirdly out of place. Nobody had cause for alarm- if it had been Tony upstairs somewhere that was cause for concern, sure. The two of you were in the middle of something highly unpleasant but… what you’d felt- your hands braced the edge of the sink, head dropping so you could try and dig a little deeper.

Everyone in the adjacent room was… fine. Happy. Having a good time. It hadn’t been any of them- it hadn’t even been Tony. Because if it had, he’d still be simmering just beneath the surface in that way only you knew how to read. Instead he was frustrated but that was with the silly hammer business. So what… what had it been?

Maybe you needed to do a security check. Was someone lurking around in the building that shouldn’t have been?

“JARVIS?” Your next question for him to do a top level scan was right on the tip of your tongue, so much so that you barely waited for him to answer you- ...because he usually answered within seconds of you calling him. But as you opened your eyes…

You were faced with dead air.

“...JARVIS?” It only just now occurred to you that after you’d told him to leave you alone, you had kept away from him. Over something that wasn’t even his fault. ...were you that petty? Had you been avoiding him without thinking about it? Yet you’d given Tony free forgiveness? “-JARVIS, hey- I’m sorry about before-” Was it too late to apologize now?

...was he really ignoring you? Could he even do that? The answer was obviously no right?

Very suddenly you felt your heart pick up speed. Hot shame consumed you. Had you hurt his feelings? That was absurd, right? “LUNA?”

No answer. Still. Something was very wrong. Neither program was responding to you. And worse yet, now swimming in your own anxiousness, there was a different read pinging your radar. Some slow boiling rage approaching. Closer. Closer…

Fast as you could you bolted out of the kitchen and back into the living room. Everyone was still smiling and laughing with each other. Thor was up on his feet, lifting the hammer from the table. “-you’re all not worthy.”

“Tony.” Calling to him just a few short feet away from the group. All heads drew your way.

He was concerned immediately. “What’s the-”

A different shriek hit your eardrums, so loud that instinct had you covering your ears and ducking. Was it a relief that everyone else seemed to hear it too? Or did that make it much, much worse?

Tony retrieved his phone from his pocket, squinting at the screen. Obviously trying to find the cause of the noise. But there was another one now. A slow sort of… creeping… scraping metal on hardwood floor- and with it came that rage. Shambling closer. You turned, within an arms reach of the hallway that the nightmare was crawling from.

You really weren’t sure what you were looking at at first. A destroyed suit- the faceplate you remembered. Melted. But the suit it had belonged to had not been damaged like this. It was like a machine had pulled it apart and smashed it back together haphazardly. The exoskeleton was torn open and exposed. Arms barely hanging on. Legs busted open. Wires hanging. Slick oil leaving a trail behind it.

...not only all this-

It was angry.

“...w..orth...y…” The voice was a warble. Mechanical and unrecognizable. As it came to a halt by the elevator, too close to you, it stumbled around to face the group. In your peripheral you saw everyone slowly get to their feet, but your focus was on this thing in front of you. “No…” Its voice evened out. Not one you recognized. Somewhat human. Kind of like JARVIS, but… “How could you be worthy? You’re all killers.”

“Stark.” Steve’s voice was tight. Tony’s, in contrast, was nervous. “JARVIS… reboot- Legionnaire OS… we’ve got a buggy suit...”

The suit in front of you was swaying, and starting speaking again. “Sorry… I was- ...asleep… or was I a dream?” It raised one arm up, as if to cover its face. “There was a terrible noise and I was… covered in strings…” Suddenly looking down at itself. Like it was… realizing what it was...

Not knowing what else to do, you lifted your hand, palm up. “Hey… why don’t you- why don’t we go back down to the lab, okay?” Trying your best soothing voice, hardly able to hear yourself over the pounding of your heartbeat.

It stopped its heavy-footed stumbling, putting its gaze on you. “I’m sorry- you’re not gonna like this- ...I had to kill the other guy… he was a good guy...” There was a certain weight to these words that slammed into you almost immediately. But for a moment, it looked like the suit was reaching out with the one hand it owned-

That was until Steve interrupted it. “You killed someone?”

The suit pulled away from you and you had to stow your immediate reaction. If you could grab it- it just shook its head. “Wouldn’t’ve been my first call. But down in the real world we’re faced with ugly choices.” Its speech was improving at a rapid rate. There was an air of cynicism that was starting to choke you.

Thor’s agitation was coming to a boil. “Who sent you?”

Instead of an answer, a recording of Tony’s voice played, “I see a suit of armor around the world.” Similar to what he’d said to you- a little more optimistic. No doubt in the lab. Probably idealizing to Bruce. It didn’t matter. Maybe a little too damaging, your voice came out of it next. “Do your thing. Save the world.”

That was all the evidence you needed to call his name. “Ultron?” How was this possible? Tony had said- ...he’d said they hadn’t figured it out-

The suit made a sharper turn your way. “A mother always knows.” There was something incredibly- strangely- threatening about the way it was looking at you. The way it said this. You sure as hell weren’t anybody’s mother. “I’m not ready yet…” Turning half away from you it started that weak-footed movement again. “Not this chrysalis…”

You put your hand up in an obvious symbol. “I need you to power down right now.” Putting as much steel and authority into your voice as you could manage. If this really was Ultron, he had a series of safety locks- ones you’d been tasked to give him. Your involvement in all this.

Ultron turned again, head tilting at a harsh angle. “We’re beyond that now. Well. Almost. I’m on a mission.”

Natasha spoke up carefully, “What mission?”

“Peace in our time.”

There was not enough space to react as suits came bursting through the wall. One knocked right into you, sending you flying back into a suddenly upturned table as Steve tried to shield himself from the onslaught. You weren’t sure, as you cracked into it and then fell forward, if anything was suddenly broken. You could still breathe- that was probably good. And quick as you could, as adrenaline started hitting full force, you pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees and then stood.

Your hand went to your pocket, but Tony’s grip was on your wrist. He knew what you were going for, and his direction was quick. “He could be in the suits. Don’t.”

This was bad. This was very, very bad. It meant Tony had no protection, too. But he was gone in the next moment, not one to stay idle in the midst of battle. So neither could you. The Iron Legion suits weren’t as sturdy as Tony’s or yours- they weren’t the hardest things in the world to bring down. Gunshots were going off. Glass was shattering. Everyone was shouting.

Taking off along the upper staircase, you positioned yourself into a quick flying jump to grab one down that was aiming a repulsor shot at Helen- a complete innocent in all this. A true civilian. Your weight wasn’t enough to take it down immediately, and it started resisting. Reaching back. Clawing to try and get you off of it, and then jetting off into the nearest hard surface to pin you back. Which was fine enough for you. It gave you enough leverage, wrapping your legs completely around it so that you could get your hands around its neck in a quick and efficient twist.

Electricity sparked and the power on the boots went out, sending the both of you to the floor in a heap. “Honey, heads up!” Sitting back on your knees you looked up just in time for Tony to throw you some sort of prong- caught in shaking hands. He mimicked a stab in the side of his neck so you repeated the motion blindly, jamming the tool into the side of the suit's neck. When that didn’t seem to power it down you did it again. And again. And one more time until finally you hit whatever you were looking for and it went completely slack.

As quick as the onslaught had started, it ended as Steve threw his shield and cut the last remaining suit in half. All the noise died. You were panting hard as you got up on shaky legs, and everyone’s attention drew back to Ultron who seemed to be pacing. “Well that was dramatic.” He put his arm up- as if he was scratching the back of his head, although he was missing the hand to do it. “I’m sorry… I know you mean well. You just didn’t think it through.”

He was just so enraged. And he… he couldn’t be right? He was a suit. A program- But a better program. Artificial intelligence. So breathing hard still, you took a few steps forward, hand up again to him.

You weren’t sure what to push his way. Your mind was a blur. Panic was not a good substitution. But you weren’t calm enough to infect him with anything good. In the end you felt some muddled sense of heavy responsibility dragging on your heart. Which quickly turned to sadness. “Ultron- please- listen to me-” Could you talk sense into a program?

Was he only a program?

He turned on a jagged heel, head angled to an extreme. Some sort of weird noise escaped him. Almost like a laugh. Almost. “Bleeding heart.” In the very next instant he turned away from you and started pacing again. “You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change.” He was starting to bounce into his next feeling. Something crazed and wild. You could barely breathe. “How can humanity be saved if it's not allowed to… evolve?” Leaning down he grabbed one of the powerless suits by the head. “With these? These puppets?” Squeezing the head so hard the face plate popped off, and then he threw it right back down. “There’s only one path to peace…” Finally he stopped moving, looking back at the rest of you.

Maria was the one to ask. Maybe a little too bravely. “What’s that?”

Ultron’s tone lowered into an unsettling growl. “The Avengers’ extinction.”

The sound of Thor’s hammer flying right by your head startled you. You hadn’t even heard him reel back to throw it. But it was nothing compared to the sound of the suit shattering and then collapsing to the ground. You stumbled back, almost feeling released-

And that was when you realized he was fading away- But not dying. No. Ultron was… running.

“I had strings, but now I'm free…” His voice halted and sputtered as oil spilled from the suit and the lights flickered. And then went out.

There are no strings on me…

His voice, for sure. In your ears somewhere. Maybe just… maybe if you were allowed to lie to yourself- he was just infecting the comms-

Ultron had left and yet in his place, it was almost like he’d done your job. Because the anger he’d brought with him was suddenly choking the room from nearly every participant. ...well. Except for the guilty ones. Namely you, Tony, and Bruce.

When you remembered how to walk, you turned back, feet heavy beneath you as you found your focal point. Tony was sitting on the stairs, bleeding from his temple and the corner of his mouth. You made sure to keep your hands steady as you reached out to him, helping him to his feet.

There was an odd glance of understanding that passed between the two of you. And you were very sure you didn’t like it. Before either of you could remark on it, though, Steve’s tight tone started behind you. “Is anyone gonna tell us what’s going on?” Statement entirely accusing.

A million sarcastic retorts were quick in your mind- mostly that if you knew what was going on, he’d be the first to know. But you weren’t even there yet. You needed Tony to explain this to you before you could start playing defense. And by the look and feel of him… he wasn't quite there yet, either. So, you leveled your eyes Steve’s way. “Everyone get cleaned up. We’ll have a meeting in the lab in ten minutes.”

Probably not even remotely enough time for you to get a grip. But at least Tony could put together something. Even something small was better than nothing at all. And since you didn’t want a group vote, you tugged Tony to start moving. This was a done deal. Ten minutes. No dissent.

But as the two of you arrived on the lab level- you realized immediately it was very quiet. And quickly you put a hand to your earpiece. “They took the scepter.”

You didn’t need to be in the same room as Thor to feel how upset he was as he answered. “I’m on it.”

Reaching out to put a hand on one of the tables, your other went to your forehead. You were weirdly flush. Just a little bit dizzy. Mind racing. Tony was tapping on terminals and- ...doing Tony things you supposed- which was why you sensed the immediate danger of the situation when his typing died in a quick stop and he took a full minute before speaking. Something gentle. In warning. “Honey, why don’t you sit down?”

Something hit him hard, and as you turned to look at him, you saw a broken heart clear across his face. “Why- what- what happened?” Something bad. Something terrible.

He looked guilty. And devastated. “Just- sit-”

“Tell me what’s going on.” You found yourself frightened very suddenly.

A part of you already knew. The pieces were there. You didn’t want to put them together. You didn’t want him to do it for you, either.

But when his head dropped, unable to face you as you tapped his phone into the air- you knew there was no coming back from this. What had once been a beautiful hologram of spritely orange glow- what had once been JARVIS-

“Please- no-” You had no idea who you were begging. But you were begging someone. Anyone. Anyone that would listen.

He was in torn pieces. It made no sense what you were looking at. Your brain had no sense of what it was supposed to be. But all the same you knew. It was utter destruction. Something had torn JARVIS apart from the inside out. If he could bleed, he would be.

You were staring at a corpse.

“Please-” One look at Tony confirmed it. “Can’t you- isn’t he-” Couldn’t he do something?

You were casting an irreconcilable tsunami of sadness around the room. Or maybe that was Tony. Maybe it was the both of you. There was no handbook for how to grieve for this sort of loss… “No.” You had no idea what Tony was saying no to. “Ultron shredded him. All cloud backups. All data saves. All prior versions. His last order of business was boxing LUNA so that you-...” A shudder of a wet noise escaped Tony and he had to stop short. Hold himself tight. Then he tried again. “It’s all-”

Gone. JARVIS is gone.

Not even gone- no. That wasn’t fair enough. JARVIS was dead. Murdered.

And as soon as you realized that thought for what it was, your knees gave out and you sank to the floor. There wasn’t enough strength within you to even try to stop the sobs as the hitched loose from your chest. Your hands hid your face. Maybe a little in shame. JARVIS was gone- you’d been mean to him- you’d never even apologized-

JARVIS was gone. He was gone. Forever.

And the last thing he ever did was save LUNA to protect you.

...how were you supposed to go on?

Tony slid to a heap beside you, and his arms coming around you gave you swift permission to bury your face against his chest. The two of you held on to each other, borrowing time you no longer owned. But how were you just supposed to move on from this? It felt impossible. So you sat. Clinging to what you had left.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Fifty Eight

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akaluan · 4 years

Note

Ooooh, for the ask meme - let's see. Erich/Kisuke, 51, 100.

(51: accidentally married, 100: accidentally saving the day)

Erich’s day starts off normally enough, except for the fact that he has to spend time sorting through the mess that his grandson has made of the Quincy supplies. He needs specific tools and books to continue his education of Uryuu and Kurosaki, but Ryuuken has thrown everything into one cramped room and locked the door behind him.

Armor and books and bows are shoved willy-nilly into a space much too small, with ginto and seelie schneider and random ancient Quincy relics scattered about without rhyme or reason. It’s a mess, and a hazard, and Erich really wants to have words with his grandson about the proper care and storage of an entire people’s worth of supplies.

Even worse, Urahara decided to tag along; Erich hadn’t thought it much of an issue at first – he’d thought it would be a quick sweep to find the things he needed – but now… now he was regretting letting Urahara into the room with him. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the relics had been stored properly, but they weren’t, and relics were notoriously finicky even when properly cared for, and these weren’t, and Urahara was a curious man at heart–

“This is certainly pretty,” Urahara announced, something jingling as he pulled it free of the clutter. “Impractical, but pretty. Hey, Rerugen-san, what’s this one?”

Erich sighed and straightened up, turning to see what Urahara had unearthed this time. “Wh–put that down!” His heart sank at the sight of the interlinked bracelets in Urahara’s hand and a sense of dread settled in his stomach.

(What were traditional marriage bracelets doing laying loose amongst everything else?!)

(He was going to have words with Ryuuken after this!)

“Maa, what’s so dangerous about a couple of bracelets?” Urahara asked as he lifted his arm higher, the movement making the bracelets chime with a high, clear sound.

“Those aren’t normal bracelets–”

“Well, no, they certainly can’t be worn, can they?” Urahara peered at the relic, running a thumb over the part in his hand, likely in an attempt to find the catch that Erich knew wouldn’t exist. “So what do they do?”

“They’re marriage bracelets.” He didn’t know the specifics, and that terrified him. The Quincy had so many marriage bracelets, each with their own purpose and rules, that it was impossible for Erich to recognize any of them on sight.

“Eh?” Urahara gave Erich a puzzled look and jingled the interlinked bracelets again. “I thought you were supposed to be able to wear anything related to marriage, and these aren’t very wearable, are they?”

Erich ignored Urahara’s question and lunged, aiming to grab Urahara’s wrist so he could force the man to let go before something unfortunate happened. But Urahara leaned back. Lifted his arm higher. Gave Erich a smug little smile and–

Erich’s hand closed over the free bracelet, and he had just long enough to stare in resignation before the relic yanked on his reiatsu and light flared out to engulf the both of them. The metal in his hand dissolved and a band settled around his left arm, its presence terrible and familiar and infuriating in all the worst ways.

(Married to a damn Shinigami of all things!)

(God damnit!)

He staggered back and rubbed the spots from his eyes, hands trembling in reaction and rage, and took a steadying breath. Another. Unbuttoned the left sleeve of his dress shirt and rolled it up–

The metal band sat against the skin of his wrist, one edge gleaming green like his own reiatsu and the other gleaming red like Urahara’s. He could feel the minor draw on his strength, feel the strange press of unfamiliar power against his soul–

He shoved at the band. Slid it effortlessly up to his elbow before it refused to move further. Grabbed it tight and slammed it back down his arm, wincing at the way it jarred against his wrist–

(He hadn’t expected otherwise but… fuck!)

(Married to a god damn Shinigami!)

“Woah, hey, I don’t think hurting yourself is warranted,” Urahara said as he caught Erich’s right wrist and pulled his hand away from the bracelet.

Erich ripped his hand free and stepped back, chin rising and scathing, vicious words crawling up his throat–

Nothing came out. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t shout his fury aloud, couldn’t even step closer or raise his hand. His body was frozen, the bracelet warming against his skin–

“Rerugen-san?” Urahara murmured, concerned-worried-troubled and the incongruity of it… hurt.

Erich took a step back, relieved that the bracelet’s control allowed him that freedom. Rage burned hot-sour-cloying in his chest but he breathed through it, tamping down his fury and turning his gaze to an open box of armor pieces.

(He’d almost– if the bracelet hadn’t–)

(He’d never been an abusive man or given to rage. For the bracelet to label his reactions violent enough to violate it’s anti-abuse clause…)

He swallowed back bile and turned away, shivering as the enforced control faded from his limbs. “Help me find the book on marriage bracelets. It should be somewhere in this damn mess.”

“Of course.”

Erich very carefully refused to look at Urahara as they dug through the boxes, even when the man paused to hand him potential books for him to flip through. It felt like an age passed before they find the book he needed, and the minute they did he gestured sharply for Urahara to follow and left the room; he’d not found what he needed for the teens, but the bracelet issue overrode that.

(He wanted it off!)

Urahara trailed after him, silent the whole way back to the Shoten except for a murmured ‘you can use my lab if you want’ that Erich barely acknowledged in favor of retreating to the room Urahara had given him. He needed to find what type of marriage bracelet they had accidentally triggered, which would tell him how to remove it and what its conditions and clauses were.

Anti-abuse was common to all Quincy marriage bracelets, but there were so many other clauses that could be applied, and so many ways for a marriage to be considered ‘permanent’…

He didn’t want to risk anything.

Erich studied the book, barely acknowledging Urahara whenever the man knocked to check in on him. He was too busy, too on edge, to exercise more than absent politeness.

(He didn’t like what he was finding. Didn’t like the suggestion that he was currently wearing a peace-marriage bracelet, only breakable by actions that neither of them could do.)

(They had no clan elders to declare the marriage dissolved, and the only other way out was for one of them to attack a member of the other’s Clan with intent to kill and that…)

(Erich refused to offer that up as a suggestion.)

Urahara’s reiatsu trickled through the bracelet and into his soul the whole while, an enforced connection that let him sense the man’s emotions more clearly than he’d ever before managed. It wasn’t an unknown sensation – he and Alexis had been married the traditional way, after all – but it was an unfamiliar one; it had been decades since his own marriage broke with death, and the presence of another person’s power tucked against his soul was disorienting.

Worse, it meant he couldn’t continue to properly hide his reactions from Urahara; with such a direct connection between them, suppressing his reiatsu was worthless, and Erich knew of no healthy way to scrub emotional impressions from his reiryoku. He didn’t know how skilled Urahara was in reading reiatsu but he suspected ‘very’ as the answer, which left his only available option being deliberate emotional focus in order to drown out responses that he didn’t want Urahara to sense.

Which only made things worse.

(It was one thing to stand before a person and connect words and deeds with emotions. It was another entirely to sense things out context.)

Part of him wanted to give in to the inevitable, to accept that there was no way out except to make peace with his fate. Part of him despised the very idea of it, despised that he would even consider it, and the tangle left him sick with nerves and self-loathing.

(Some nights he threw the book aside, drowning his helplessness with rage.)

(Some nights he dug his nails into his skin. Tried to pry the bracelet from his arm. Didn’t notice the blood until Urahara knelt before him and gently-gently-gently coaxed him down, pressing a healing kido into his wounded arm.)

(Those nights were the worst, were the times when he wanted to give in so badly that it ached like a broken bone and when he drowned that longing for comfort in the self-loathing that burned like bile at the weakness he was displaying.)

Urahara’s actions didn’t help. The man was careful and cautious and helpful at every turn. He never pushed, never teased, never touched him and–

Erich missed the casual contact more than he expected.

(He was so weak!)

The onset of war was almost a relief.

(Coward!)

Erich strode into battle with Urahara at his side, the marriage bracelet meaning the two of them couldn’t part ways like he almost wished they could. But fighting alongside Kisuke was… easy, his emotions settling for the first time in weeks and the cold chill of war-death-kill taking their place.

He felt a brief flicker of hope at seeing Quincy standing across from him; if he held back, let Urahara strike the first blow, then surely, surely the bracelet would register it as attack against his Clan, but…

Erich saw the moment when one of their foes caught sight of the bracelet on Urahara’s wrist. Saw the moment the man’s gaze swung to him with a sneer, spitting ‘traitor’ and ‘whore’ and ‘worthless’ in his face.

Ice settled in his chest.

(Peace-marriages were sacred things.)

(They didn’t know it was accidental, didn’t know that Erich was futilely searching for a way out.)

(To deny the meaning, to throw it back in his face like that–)

(These were no Quincy no matter what they proclaimed.)

He carved through the enemy army without remorse, Urahara at his side. Followed the traces of Quincy through the distorted Seireitei. Found one of the only tolerable Shinigami staring at the sky, shadows twisting across his body and–

Erich yanked at Urahara’s strength through the bracelet. Reached out and severed whatever technique Ukitake was building.

“Leave him to me,” Erich told Ukitake coldly. “Don’t throw your life away for something so meaningless.”

“He’s going to–”

“I know.”

He didn’t wait for Ukitake to respond, just turned his attention to path he could feel carved through the ether. It was closing in Yhwach’s wake, slowly but surely, but there was enough of a gap left–

“Don’t let go,” he ordered Urahara as he dragged the man closer, fingers digging into Urahara’s bicep as he latched onto Urahara’s strength again and pulled–

He launched them up-up-up, seele schneider in his hand and Urahara’s strength bolstering his own. He carved through the healing defenses. Harnessed that freed power and used it to send them higher and–

They landed in the Soul King’s Palace with a thump, and Erich immediately absorbed free reishi to replenish his stores. Sent more down the connection to replenish Urahara’s stores. Ignored the man’s curious noise and strode forward, following the traces of Yhwach on, ever on.

(This shame of the Quincy fell to him to correct.)

(He could no longer stand aside. Would no longer stand aside.)

The remains of the palace guards fell before him; he no longer had the patience or the time to deal with them diplomatically. Whether they survived or not was not his concern.

(He could feel Urahara’s twisting emotions, concern-curiosity-determination tangled into an unwavering knot.)

(He had no time to deal with that, either.)

Yhwach greeted them in the throne room, standing before the strange, idol-like figure. He turned, lips shaping a name that died before he could give it voice, and swept his gaze over the two of them, the tiniest hint of surprise visible in his expression.

“How fascinating. I’d not expected the two of you to greet me,” Yhwach mused. “But that’s neither here nor there. Dealing with you won’t be–”

Erich launched himself forward, seele schneider in one hand and revolver materializing in the other. He slashed at Yhwach’s neck and–

Froze.

His body turned towards the idol against his will, sword raising to strike.

He struggled to control his actions, struggled to reclaim his agency, clawed desperately at whatever outside force was forcing his hand. The bracelet warmed against his skin, forcing his body into stillness, and he once more yanked at Urahara’s strength. Threw everything he had behind the bracelet. Bit his lip as the metal heated and his skin burned and everything narrowed down to resist-resist-resist–

Yhwach snarled. “Paltry treasures like that won’t avert your fate. I am the source of your strength, the Father of all Quincy, and your will is mine!”

Something snapped in his mind–

A sword protruded from Yhwach’s chest.

Metal clattered against the stone floor.

Erich staggered. Spun. Drove his seele schneider through Yhwach’s head and ripped–

Yhwach howled. Clawed at reality with his powers, trying to unmake it all.

Erich dragged the seele schneider down. Tore through Yhwach’s core and ripped at the severed power. Absorbed some and scattered more and felt something in his own soul come undone–

He staggered back. Held onto his weapons by instinct alone. Fell to his knees and curled forward, left arm aching and mind reeling. He felt dirty, felt used, betrayed by a legend and almost forced to betray his friends and family.

(The bracelet’s control had been one thing, freezing him in place and enforcing peace the only way it could.)

(Yhwach’s control was another, stealing his agency and turning him into a passenger in his own body.)

A hand settled on his shoulder. Pulled him over–

Erich snarled. Twisted. Lashed out–

Urahara caught his wrist in a gentle hold. “It’s alright. He’s dead. We’re safe.”

Erich stared blankly at Urahara as the man pressed healing kido into his left arm. Felt for the man’s presence against his soul and found… nothing.

He was alone. Empty.

(Waking up in a strange place, Alexis missing from his awareness.)

(Alone for the first time in decades.)

(Alone-alone-alone…)

His eyes found the bracelet on the floor, metal darkened from heat and color fading away. Flickered over to Urahara, wondering if… but no, Urahara seemed unconcerned, unbothered by the change.

(Just like he should be.)

(This was what he’d wanted.)

(This was what he’d wanted!)

“Hey, you alright?” Urahara asked softly, pale eyes concerned as he let his kido die and cradled Erich’s hand gently in his own.

It was too much. He wanted too much. Wanted Urahara to do… something, anything, to make him forget the sour taste of fear and the terrifying helplessness of Yhwach’s control–

Erich took a breath. Shook his head. Pulled away from Urahara and stood, letting his revolver fade and sealing the seele schneider once more.

“Let’s get out of here,” Erich muttered as he scowled at the damaged bracelet and the pile of ash where Yhwach once stood. He turned away. Left it lying there.

(He didn’t need a reminder. Didn’t need the evidence of his failures.)

Urahara flickered away. Returned to Erich’s side. Smiled soft-kind-proud and said, “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go home.”

Erich swallowed against the knot in his throat. Rubbed at the smooth patch of skin where the bracelet had sat. Kept his reiatsu carefully tucked away even as he desperately wanted to reach out to Urahara to fill the cold emptiness in his soul.

(Home?)

(Was the Shoten home…?)

(He didn’t know.)

He strode from the throne room without looking back.

(He’d deal with it later.)

(For now he just wanted to be somewhere safe where he could lick his wounds in peace.)

(Everything else could come later.)

#bleach #erich/kisuke #bleach/tanya #hamelin-born whyyyyyy #but i really want to write this as a full fic now #hamelin-born #replies #holy shit this is so long #i'm so sorry #but also i'm really not #this is definitely getting a full story #because there's an entire other section after this ending #where things settle out and these two fools admit they're in Actual Love #the fools

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srprincess · 4 years

Text

Another Spookydoo AU update, just (barely) in time for Nursey’s birthday

Chapter 17, and I still haven’t given up my quest to use the fictober prompts. This one was #10. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

“Cappuccino, dry, three shots, one sugar?” the barista cheerfully recited when Will stepped up to the counter.

“Up a size from normal, please.”

“Another shot and sugar too then?”

He smiled and nodded, “You know it.” He appreciated that she remembered his usual order, but he needed a little more of a pick up than normal.

She turned to the other man, “And for your friend?”

Will bumped Nursey’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Oh sorry,” he said after he quickly put his phone back into his pocket. “What’d you get?” He asked Will, who told him. “Well, not that,” Nursey said, pulling a face.

The barista laughed and they started debating the pros and cons of the various specials and advertised drinks.

Will took a minute to step back and look around the shop while he waited. Since they seemed to be just getting warmed up in the whole decision making process, he figured he had some time before their drinks would be ready.

Not that there was all that much competition in town, but this shop was a local favorite. Even with it being later in the morning, a good number of the tables were taken. Looking around, Will felt like almost every pair of eyes were on them. He tried to tell himself not to be paranoid, but - no that one was definitely staring. And now her table mate was deliberately ’not looking’ while whispering and texting. He glanced at the next table, and a guy he recognized from the market practically gave himself whiplash trying to look away. Subtle. And while he didn't catch anyone in the act of looking, he would have sworn he could feel eyes on him from one of the people seated at the bar along the wall too.

He knew that he didn't hang around in town that much, but stopping in for a drink was a normal part of every trip in. It was hardly worth this much attention. Will thought he might have heard an unmuted camera shutter, and wondered if this was what being a cryptid felt like.

Before he could sink any deeper into thinking about that sort of nonsense, he was saved by Nursey waving a drizzled up white chocolate sugar bomb monstrosity masquerading as coffee in front his face and handing his own drink over.

“Earth to Dexy, you with us?”

“Hmm. Yeah yeah, just distracted.” Will reached for his wallet, but Nursey moved to stop him.

“Already got it. I owed you, remember?”

“Oh, right. Thanks.” Will said, slipping a bill in the tip jar. He took another look at Nursey’s drink, sauce covering the entire inside of the cup’s surface. “Sure that's sweet enough for ya’? Was the whipped cream really necessary?”

“Go big, right?” Nursey waved his phone. “So, that was Holster before. It sounds like we have some more time before everyone’s ready - Chowder got a call - Do you want to wait here, or...”

“A little tight in here, but how about out front?” Will held the door open and then led him back outside to the group of tables under an awning.

With the patio heater was on and some small potted trees that created a windbreak, the patio seating was comfortable even on a cool day. The unspoken bonus, so far as Will was concerned, was that the plants in the window boxes gave at least the illusion of privacy from the prying eyes of their fellow customers left inside. What he hadn't thought about was that sitting out there left them open for nearly every person walking by. If he didn’t know better, he’d have said half those people went out of their way just to travel that direction. When he stopped by after a supply run he usually managed to get out with two social interactions, three tops.

That day it seemed like nearly every person had to either stop and say hello, or at least greet him with ‘Will’ and a head nod.

After about a dozen people interrupted their small talk, Nursey had to ask, “Is there anyone you don't know? It’s like hanging with-” he paused to take a drink, making a sound of satisfaction, before continuing, ”I don't know. Like you’re some sort of local celebrity or whatever.”

“Just because I don’t like people much, doesn't mean they don't like me,” Will shot back, more because the comment made him feel defensive than out of a belief it was true.

Nursey raised an eyebrow, calling him out without words.

“Fine,” Will huffed. “Maybe not. But, you know, small town. Been here my whole life. Can't help but know most the locals, even if I don't leave the house often.”

“Well, it must be fairly often, if you have a regular coffee order.”

“It's my reward for venturing.”

Nursey looked confused so Will explained, “Much as I'd like to, I can't always stay off to myself. Post, supplies, groceries, bill paying and what have you. I decided that if I have to venture out and do the whole dealing with people business, a coffee on the way home is my reward. That and a muffin.”

“Oh, so like self bribery-”

“I know, it sounds-”

“No, I get it,” Nursey assured him. “Did you want one? A muffin, I mean? Because I can-”

“No. I'm good,“ Will waved off the offer. “Truth is, I think your friend Bitty might have ruined all other baked goods for me.”

“Been there. You’ll try other things but nothing will compare. So this place is your treat for peopling. I can see why you like it.” Nursery nodded his head towards the window, “I could probably tuck back in one of those corners for hours myself. Or out here. If it weren’t so cold.”

“It is hardly cold. The heaters are even on,” Will argued before they went back to their small talk. Mostly him pointing out other interesting spots within eyesight.

As he finished his drink, Will asked, “So, do you have a place like this?”

“A favorite coffee shop?”

“Yeah, or anywhere really. Someplace that’s special, that you look forward to?”

“Well there is this bookshop-” Nursey started.

“Of course it’s a bookshop, Mr. Author,” Will quipped.

“I know, cliche. But really it isn’t even about the books.”

“So your favorite place is a bookshop. A shop full of books you don't care about?”

“Are you going to let me tell you about it or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Will opened his mouth to answer-

“Don’t you dare say both, ” Nursey said, pointing in accusation. The mind reader.

Will closed his mouth, holding in a laugh.

Nursey mock scowled at him, making it even harder to hold in the laugh. Finally, Will relented, “Alright. Go on.”

“You sure? It's not a short story. Or, I should say, it won't be if you keep cutting in.”

Will mimed zipping his lips and tossing a key. He was curious about this bookstore full of uninteresting books that still had enough draw to be one of the other man's favorite places.

“It was a couple years back when I found the place. I had this deadline hanging over me, and so I was wandering around the city. Ignoring it.”

“As you do.”

Nursey allowed the interruption and continued, repeating, “So. Wandering around the city, not in a rush for once, I’m taking the time to look around. Like, for real. People watching is tricky on the move, so I'm focusing on the buildings. Making a list in my head of shops to hit on my way back, Christmas was coming, and there's always birthdays, whatever. Anyway, I ended up in this swawsome little neighborhood. I know I’d passed through it before, but I’d never even taken the time to see it until that day. It’s got all the bodegas and fruit markets, but with music and gift shops mixed in. Oh, and three shops right in a row, full of great vintage shit, you know clothes and all that.”

Nursey paused to look at Will appraisingly, ”You could do well there. If you ever decide to stop buying your shirts in bulk, that is.”

“Come on! They're good shirts!” Will protested.

“Still-”

New York City, him? On invitation, maybe. But this didn't sound quite like that. Otherwise? Portland was about the biggest city he’d ventured to on his own. It was good for a rare weekend. Very rare. And New York? That'd be...hm. Further, busier, entirely unknown. Still, Will considered. “I'll keep it in mind. Just in case my plans to never go anywhere near the city fall through,” he told him.

“Do that,” Nursey nodded and continued. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah! I saw a glimpse of what had to be the best park for blocks. You know those private gated gardens that are in all the movies, but don't exist outside the high rent areas? Except they must, because there was one there. You have no idea how badly I wanted to climb that wall. Only thing stopping me was the woman coming out with this impossibly large stroller thing. Almost ran me over, so I kept moving. Little further on there's this one pizzeria, ironically the only one not claiming to have the next pizza in the city, but it has the best slice, no contest. It’s my go to now.”

“Adding to my imaginary itinerary,” Will pretended to scribble on a nonexistent notepad in front of him. Then, because nothing was quite so fun as teasing the other man, he asked, ”Are you getting to the point anytime soon? You've ’walked’ me through blocks now, and still no bookshop-”

“I’m getting there,” Nursey insisted. “Okay, skipping forward for the impatient, I’m passing this alley and the light shoots through just right, caught my eye. About halfway down, there's this big balcony over part of it. Not a fire escape, like an actual proper balcony. Which, strange right? Who wants to look over an alleyway? It was amazing though. Okay, maybe not the thing itself. It was a huge, but kind of rusty looking, metal deal. But it was covered - covered - with plants. Climbing ones from a trellis over top and down the sides. And so many pots full. Hanging jars too, think that's what caught the light. Every surface though - greenery, flowers, looked like some vegetables too. Like a greenhouse had exploded outwards making a shell around the balcony. I knew I had to see what it looked like from the inside. I go ‘round the block to the street side, count the entries and there it is, not the florist place I half expected but a narrow little bookshop.”

If he wanted to cut in, there was no break for him to do so, as Nursey had hit the heart of his retelling and pausing for nothing. Not that it mattered. The more he went on, the more animated Nursey became. Hands waving, eyes sparkling. Why would Will want to disrupt his story? Maybe Lou’s right, and he does need to get out more. Talk to people. Not play the last of the creepy lighthouse hermit so well. Not that he’d tell her she was right, she’d be insufferable. He'd only admit to himself he was enjoying this. Unfortunately, all the watching and thinking makes him miss a part of the story, but it was easy enough to pick the thread of it back up.

“-There isn't anyone in sight. I'm thinking maybe the upstairs actually goes with one of the places to the side, but then I go round the last shelf and see a door. Office, restroom, stairway entrance, who knows. I'm turning the handle and this tiny old dude pops up from behind the counter, scared the hell out me. Asked what I thought I was doing. I tell him I wanted to check out the upstairs, and he's all ’customer areas are all right here, back rooms and upstairs are private’ blah blah blah.”

“The very nerve of him, having boundaries,” Will deadpanned.

“Right?!” Nursey agreed, disregarding the tone. “So, there I stand. Desperate to get up there, but trying to do my best impression of a non-insane person, asking for just a few minutes to see that damned balcony. Because the more he doesn't want to let me up there, the more I need to see it, you know?”

”I have a passing familiarity with your personal brand of persistence, yeah,” Will said with a smirk.

“Ooo, I like those words. Do you mind?” Nursey paused, and when Will waved him off, tapped into his phone before continuing. “Back to the store- he tells me that letting people creep around doesn't pay the bills. And, okay, the store is still empty and that's a point. I grab the first book in reach and shove some money at him. He's sighing and shaking his head, but he still opens the door and directs me up. Tells me I have 15 minutes, and that I better not mess with anything up there.”

“And was it worth it?” Will asked, knowing the answer. After all, if it hadn’t been then this wouldn't make for much of a story.

“You can't even know how much. I'm finally standing up there on it, and I was right. It's like I thought, perfect. It’s... I can’t explain. A shield of green. So close to everything, but impossibly private. I sat on the chair out there and settled in. It was like being invisible, like not existing in that space, but in a good way? Like I could have sat and watched for hours but no one’s looking back. Which now that I say it out loud I realize it sounds sort of sketch. There was this feeling though - listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

Will was thinking about all the time he’d spent sitting out on the deck of the lighthouse over the years. Even with it being open he’s far enough out he doesn’t ever feel like anyone’s eyes are actually on him, but he can still look over everything. He could, and had, spent hours doing just that. Yeah, he thought he understood the feeling. When he told him he understood, Nursey smiled.

“In no time at all, he's shooing me out. Something about closing time, and giving me linger than he agreed in the first place. The sun was almost down and, in addition to that peaceful feeling, I had a notebook full of writing, so okay he was likely right. I thanked him and left, and thought that would be that.”

“Uh-huh.” Will didn’t believe that for a second.

“Really, I did! Mystery solved and all that. Then I ended up blocked. Another deadline coming and I had nothing to turn in. I remembered all those easily filled pages from that day and, well, if he let me up once what was another time? And another. And so on. It became a habit, each trip in went about the same. I had a shelf of things I’d never read.

Will laughed, “How many books are you up to now?”

“Lost count,” Nursey admitted. “I ended up making one of those tiny library boxes for the lobby in my building. He has loosened up some though. I don't have to buy something every time anymore.”

“He give up?”

“Let’s just say I wore him down, eventually,” Nursey said with a shrug. “I might also have told him who I was and promised to do a book signing for him next time I publish. Now my mandatory purchases are sometimes things he's tracked down because he thinks I might like him and he lets me up whenever...well if he’s open. He is not receptive to a midnight wake up call.”

“Imagine that.”

“What can I say? The muse has no respect for time zones. Anyway, that's it. My favorite spot and the first place I look forward to getting back to after I've been away”

“It sounds nice,” Will said. He had finished his drink and was fiddling with the sleeve on his cup.

“Done? Sure you don’t want one of those second rate muffins?” Nurse asked.

“Shhhh don’t be mean, they'll hear you.” Will leaned forward and dropped to a whisper to add, ”But no. I’ve been ruined.”

“I’m sure they aren't up to Bitty standards, but they have to be pretty good if the coffee is anything to measure by. Wish I could get this in the bookshop,” Nursey tapped his own empty cup on the table.

“No good coffee around your place?”

“Might be, but I haven't bothered looking too hard. He’s not real flexible on the no outside food and drinks inside the store rule. Probably wouldn’t put in a machine either.”

“Probably not. I guess you’ll just have to come back here sometime.” Will hurried to add, “For the coffee.”

“And the company, ” Nursey said, seemingly, thankfully, oblivious to the blush Will could feel creeping up his neck.

“And maybe I’ll have to venture down to the city someday.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe, yeah. Check out the city. Meet this bookseller. Invite him to join my ’steamrolled by the charm of one Derek Nurse’ club,” Will teased.

“Hey, there's no such thing,” Nursey protested.

“Is so. Very exclusive, you probably haven't heard of it yet.”

“That wounds me, Poindexter. Both as the man who has just bared his soul to you, and as a self-confessed hipster.”

Will was ready to feel bad, almost. Then Nursey cracked a smile. “It's alright, whatever gets you there.”

And that? That sounded like an actual invitation. And this felt like a moment.

At least he thought so, if he could shut the doubts inside up.

It had been- a while since he’d done anything like this. Will didn't like to think how long ‘a while’ had lasted. How do people do this again? It was one thing to take a trip away - Portland, wherever. Not home being the key - knowing he was intending to hook up. But somehow he’d lost the thread of how to do this. To actually get to know and, more importantly, like someone and then make a move. He'd spent so long avoiding anything that could be considered a relationship, he worried he’d entirely forgotten how to even approach the edge of one.

As his own eyes flicked between Nursey’s lips and eyes he was grateful to see the look returned. The other man leaned forward, meaning he wouldn't have to take the leap on his own.

Lips a breath apart and then, just before connecting, Nursey’s head jerked to the side and he nearly lost his seat.

“I’m sorry! I thought-” Will stammered out, embarrassed and throwing himself back into his seat. He must have read things wrong if the other man was ready to practically throw himself out of his chair to avoid kissing him. Fuck. Anxiety pushing the fact that Nursey had actually leaned in first from his memory.

“No! NO!” Nurses protested. “Dog-Person-” he gestured wildly to the retreating figure of a person running away behind Will.

“I didn’t mean- I thought,” Will was still attempting to apologize.

“No-Me too, ” Nursey tried to explain again. ”I just- There was a dog? And someone chasing it? They hit my chair.”

Will paused his panic long enough to ask, “This is...okay then?”

“God, yes.”

Much more confident, Will slid his hand up the side of Nursey’s face and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips met with him letting out a near sigh of relief. No accidental miss this time. He could feel the answering smile in the other man’s lips, and the thought crept in that a kiss had never felt so much like coming home. His tongue skimming against a lower lip still sweet from whatever that disaster drink had contained, he didn’t notice anyone had approached them until a pair of small hands clasped both of their shoulders, startling and freezing them in place.

When a voice asked, “Hey guys- Have you seen Shits?” their foreheads bumped together and they let out twin groans.

“I have the worst friends,” moaned Nursey.

Will looked up to see Lardo waiting.

“Shitty? Did you see him go by? He was chasing Sammy.”

“Who’s Sammy?” Will asked. “I don’t remember a Sammy.”

“I’ve no idea.” Nursey looked over to Lardo for an explanation.

“Never mind, there they are.” Lardo jumped up on a chair from a nearby table and waved Shitty back. With a dog.

“Told you there was a dog,” Nursey said to Will, pointing at the scruffy furred animal dancing around Shitty’s legs as he tried to make his way back.

Will whispered back, “Does resenting something so cute make me a monster?”

“If so, I’m right there with you,” Nursey reassured him.

“Pick this up later?” Will asked hopefully.

Nursey nodded and they both plastered on smiles to greet Shitty and find out how exactly they had ended up with a dog of all things.

#omgcp #spookydoo au #nurseydex #fictober19 #because time is fake #i realize that this chapter veers off wildly into A Special Tourism Report with Nursey but I couldn't make myself cut it #i tried #and it made me sad #and i couldn't think of anything that I would have wanted more than this #so have this (entirely unnecessary to the plot) side quest #if even one person likes it as much as I did I'll be happy #if you hated it? shhhh I'll be back to plotty things next chapter

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neuxue · 5 years

Text

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm final thoughts and predictions

I’ve come to sort of hate writing these. Next time I liveblog something we’re just going from one book to the next without a break. But I have saddled myself with this task for now, because damn it I will be consistent if it kills me.

I don’t think it has ever taken me this long to finish a book.

But it was worth it, to see so many things that have been waiting in the wings for the past eleven books finally, finally play out. And those moments were hard-won; the majority of this book hurt. But it hurt exactly the way it should—the spiralling catastrophe just before…well, before the storm breaks. Before Rand, after carrying that mountain for so long, stumbling towards an ending he can barely even see any longer, finally stands atop it and finds meaning again.

And up until that point…well, up until that point I got to bask in Egwene being amazing—with the help of Verin being absolutely phenomenal, another moment that has been long-awaited, even if I didn’t know what it would actually be; Verin played her game well—and in Rand being, finally and truly, broken.

I like watching my characters suffer; what can I say?

It was so well played, watching him reach what seemed like a lowest point in Chapter 22, in The Last That Could Be Done. Touching the True Power and breaking his chains (only to shackle himself even further with chains that would not be broken for many chapters yet, chains he has wrapped steadily around himself from almost the very beginning and called them duty) and the visceral horror of it is HIM. And then watching the fallout, the aftermath. Watching him, broken but believing himself freed, stepping closer and closer to the brink. Wondering how far he would go, and what could possibly call him back.

And then, what called him back, in the end, was himself. Because that’s what so much of this story is about, isn’t it? Identity, and self, and choices. Finally, finally, Rand knows who he is, what he is, who he was, and does not fight it.

And in both parallel and counterpoint to that story of despair and horror and, finally, something almost resembling peace, we got Egwene coming at last, fully, into her own. If Rand’s was a story of self-discovery, if his climactic moment was unwitnessed and largely in his own mind, Egwene’s was finally having everyone else recognise her for who she has become. She’s had her smaller or more private victories along the way, but here she stood silhouetted in the window of a Tower she held together by force of will, throwing fire at her enemies and proving to all that she is more than they ever dreamed.

There were other characters along the way, but mostly it was these two and those who were closest to them.

Which is fine, because even just between these two, there were enough Moments in this book to take years off of my lifespan.

It was, in a way, very much a book of moments (the little-known sequel to the Book of Hours), which came as something of a change in pace from the last several books. It worked, I think, and for a few reasons. One is simply that this is the shift from mid-series to The End. We’re solidly in the endgame now, and this book signals that by pulling us forcibly out of longer and often quieter or more introspective chapters (with the notable exception of a handful of later chapters in Knife of Dreams, to be fair) during which we explored the world in the approach to the Last Battle, in the time when everything is falling apart and a few characters are desperately trying to hold it together. Now, the Last Battle is not something looming on the horizon, but something that is here.

It also made sense to accelerate Rand’s fall off the metaphorical cliff; once The Last That Could Be Done happened, everything started to pile on quickly, one thing after another after another, beat and beat and beat and no time for a breath in between, no time to recover. Which helped to signal this mindset Rand had fallen into, in which he was powerful and terrible and unfettered, willing to do anything and thus with nothing to hold him back, and so the hits just kept coming, until.

Everything is drawing closer now, speeding up at the centre of the storm. For several books there was a sense of scattering, of spreading, and the Dragon Reborn stood at the centre but the repercussions began to reach across the entire world, leaving nowhere untouched. So we followed all kinds of different characters, in far-flung locations, watching as they were all affected by what was happening. Now, it feels as if that net that’s been flung across the world is starting to be drawn in, back towards that centre, speeding up as it goes. It’s time, then, to turn the focus back inward, to bring our main characters to their final positions, and to set the last play in motion.

Speaking of pacing also brings us, of course, to the s’redit in the room: the change in authors.

Yeah, I noticed it.

But ultimately, I’m okay with it.

And really…that’s kind of all I feel like I need to say. Yes, it was noticeable. Yes, some things were different. Yes, occasionally it bothered me. But the story itself was excellent. This book had a hell of a lot of promises to deliver on, and it delivered. Of course I wish Robert Jordan could have written it. But I’m glad that Sanderson was able to in his stead, and for all its differences it was still an excellent book, and a beautiful story, and I’m looking forward to the rest.

A (Twelfth) Incomplete List of Lia’s Very Accurate and Not At All Silly Predictions

It’s too close to the end for this; I feel like I don’t have anything left because it’s time for things to pay off rather than be set up but whatever

It takes me longer than it should to finish ToM

Rand finally finds some chill

Though the damage he’s done to more or less all of his relationships and alliances is not so easily undone

This one is super super out-there and not really a prediction so much as, honestly, a fanfic prompt for future me, but…some kind of redemption, even a partial or backhanded one, for Moridin?

There’s a last battle and some people die and ultimately the Light wins but it’s bittersweet probably

Honestly this is probably the only series in which I actually feel like I can take a stab at predicting the last line(s):

‘It was not the ending. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was an ending’

Next (TOM prologue pt1) Previous (TGS epilogue)

#onwards and...upwards?#Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

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deviationdivine · 5 years

Text

A Kiss Is a Kiss (Connor|Request!)

TLDR: Confessions are sometimes the best way to say ‘I love you’

Word Count: 2,082

TW: Wholesome Fluff, Minor Language

A/N: Kiss Prompt: 67. “When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More” | I don’t mind at all! And you’re right! My main android boy needs love. Here we go! I have a couple other requests in my queue to get to but the ask box is still open for business!

“Just relax, Connor.”

“How am I supposed to, as you say, relax?” Connor’s brows rose incredulously. Listening to advice from his partner can potentially lead to unwanted probabilities. As the deviant android sees it now that is a high percentage from current assessment.

Obviously it is clear in his face how distracted with analytics. Filling up his brain, running diagnostics over personal status and somehow the thought of you makes him overheat. Continuously as a matter of factual -

“Don’t analyze shit! Be your goddamn self!”

Hank’s biting words cease the android’s internal struggle. He is still learning despite having been free for some time now. You make him question. It is not a negative thing. Being a machine while you are so human, pure and-and he feels so much.

“I can’t do it, Hank,” Connor murmurs uncharacteristically lacking in confidence.

The android formerly sent by Cyberlife who infiltrated, took down various guards to free his people in the tower warehouse is afraid to watch a movie with you.

Not just anywhere. Here in the comfort of the lieutenant’s home which Hank is attempting to leave making it much more intimate than it should be.

“Jesus. Get a grip! It’s a damn movie. Not a marriage proposal!”

Grabbing keys off counter set Hank off for his front door. The look of disgust is written on his face.

This kid jumps from buildings to moving trains and can’t even sit his ass down for a regular human activity. This pining shit he’s doing is pissing Hank off. Why else is he purposely getting out of here? “I’ll be at Jimmy’s Bar. Don’t wait up.”

“I don’t think…”

A slam of the door cuts into the android’s protest. Leaving Hank to go off drinking is not the best idea. He has cut back but it does not mean it’s become good for his health now. Mulling this longer than typical shows how strangely human this feeling of trepidation can be.

“Wait, Lieutenant!”

The minute he wrenches open front door is the single highest spike his system ever experiences. Connor’s lips part unable to process with you already on the porch; hand in the air with impending knuckles about to crack upon its surface.

An immediate stillness takes hold looking into his face. It honestly takes a minute for you to move again. Is this your body telling you that you’re breaking down? Funny, humans attain those problems albeit in an entirely different way. Oh, it’s just a very handsome kind right now.

“Connor,” you say his name with soft affection. How can you not? He’s just-

“Hi.” A smile brightens the second you study him better, standing there in a casual button down almost identical to the hue of thirium. How fitting.

Actually, it’s nice to see him out of those work uniforms. As much as you enjoy a man in a suit and tie; your breath draws slowly locking onto warm chocolate. Richer than a good mug of hot beverage you’re sure.

There is something about his eyes. Always saw how deep they can go just a faraway galaxy of cocoa. Swirls of caramel flecks shining starry and alive, you find yourself pulled into the softest black hole the universe may create. Nothing can be fuller or livelier than the eyes of this wonderful detective.

Often you think about days waking up to see them early hours of the morn. Knowing they were always going to be part of your existence.

Fantasy really. Call it an overactive taste for the romantic. He exudes your deepest dreams from long ago. It came back as an adult now ever since you saw him.

“Y/N.” Connor’s voice is stilted. He blinks before narrowing eyes towards driveway. Hank’s car is gone. Did the lieutenant pass you? Of course he must have. There is no chance you avoided each other due to the time frame in which he stepped out and you…

“Earth to Connor.” Snapping fingers up to gain his attention causes a light giggle on your breath. How cute is he? Well, that’s a rhetorical question. “Are you OK?”

Something in the tone you present makes him straighten. This time he finds himself prepared or – an equivalent of preparation. “I am fine. I was… Please,” he decides to act with proper etiquette.

Standing aside to let you inside allows the android to watch closely as you accept. Unable to stop studying the moving sway of your body sets his internal core temperature to dangerous levels. Overheating whenever you are near is a constant he comes to crave. Looking forward to those fleeting sensations, he wants to always have a reason to experience them now.

“I just saw Hank.” You confess really wondering why the man barreled out of here like a bat out of hell. Well, who cares honestly? That means the two of you are alone for once.

“Ah, yes,” Connor nods, closing door securely. “He had something important to accomplish.”

Does that include knocking back a few at the bar? Keeping it to yourself, it’s obvious that Connor’s acting a little off. He seems…nervous. Why would he-?

“So what did you have in mind? For tonight I mean.” Quickly explaining your choice of words it’s not every night you’re alone with Connor. The thought of it makes everything light. A flutter deep in your stomach ripples nervously because he’s so close. Does he know? Of course he can scan you but this is nice either way.

His smile is lopsided, light and partially dazed. The android completely snaps out of his distraction. Finally he registers your question. “Ah, I...I did not think that far ahead.”

“Oh,” a quiet huff leaves you.

Connor immediately regrets his response. “Y/N, I did not mean I forgot about tonight. I only...”

“Connor.” Hushing him with a gentle brush of fingers against his cheekbone radiates shared warmth between you two. Making him uncomfortable is never something you can live with. You thought - well, you’ve been closer. That’s all you want. “You know for having such impressive skills you’re lacking tonight in your negotiator tactics. You could probably get me to do anything.”

Anything. He hears your voice but can only focus on the lovely form of lips that spill words. How shining your eyes are as they look at him as if he were a regular man. It isn’t long before you decide to drag him into living room.

Contact from your skin to synthetic fuels his longing. This thing burning in his chest that has raged so long for you is one thing only. It is love.

Seating yourself on the couch, him following without speaking, you eye the room, searching for Sumo. Wonder where he’s lounging?

“We can always look through what movies Hank has lying around. Maybe then…” Your voice ceases abruptly, fading into the ravenous lips of your ‘date’ who cradles your face in a delicate draw. The connection is a tidal wave of feelings washing over the two of you.

Pushing his arms down to hoist up on seat cushion, you’re already snaking arms around the android’s neck. It comes quickly this need to tangle and both of you are in sync to a burning tempo unleashing every secret held since the beginning.

His arms are full of you; pulling your body flush and it forces you to sink down from the hasty kneel atop couch. Instead he catches your body down against his.

You cling to him aware of the thundering beats rapping against ribs. Can your heart even stand how much fire runs through veins? Strong hands locking onto hips holds you in place and this is the moment everything falls together. Except Connor will never let you go.

Connor pants into your mouth feeling how far this physical contact takes him. Arousal shoots through him to the point of blindness in his circuitry.

He wants to lay your body down, gently at first, worshiping every part, tasting what makes you so perfect to him. Then he wishes to show you how much he will give in his raw, human splendor that continues to make him more than machine.

Thoughts are furiously whirring. He thinks of every possibility but remembers. He is an android and you-you are worth more than the stars above. “I’m sorry,” the deviant’s whisper is full of true desire. Even as he tries to pull away from your gravity he hardly wants to end the kiss. “Are you sure you-”

Answering with a breathy kiss shuts up any doubts. Those are the same you know he still goes through but every time there’s a reminder of how deserving of this he is. That’s what happens now. Letting his lips become a beacon alighting passion and love. Never have you felt this for another being and never again will you. Only will it be him because you love this sweet android more than he knows.

“Stop talking and just kiss me a little more.”

The instruction brings a full smile to the detective’s face causing the rare appearance of dimples in his happy thread of emotions. Reading your heart rate now it appears you enjoy this aesthetic. Yet, he still has questions. “Wouldn’t you prefer to be with a human man?”

Is that why he’s been so hesitant? All this time how can he even think you want anything else? Growing close, finding so much together while falling further into this human life and it fits him like a glove. He’s more than anything in the world. Does he even realize? Can he see that to you he is the whole of the universe?

You slide fingers up his chest. Making a point to place a palm dead center it’s all there is to show. “I feel your heart. It beats just like mine,” a fragile whisper speaks the truth. He may disagree but his heart is human enough for you.

“Connor, I don’t want a human man.” What does human or android matter? Love is love and this is it. “I don’t need anything at all in the world. I just want you.”

A series of simple words but they completely shatter this prototype android snapping every seam of doubt. He never should have questioned but you are far too precious for him to make a mistake.

“I-I want you too,” he confesses his deepest human desires. “Dare I say I need you to function?”

The android smiles a brief moment before his lips fall. In a line they paint his deeply rooted worry. It's been eating away for some time. “The thought of you finding another, being with someone else rips apart every one of my emotions. Emotions I am still grappling with on a daily basis but I know.” Connor reaches to scoop up your hands in his. Twining fingers through soft human digits, his gaze softens in complete adoration. He is in love with you. Of this he is more certain than anything in his continual learning. Deviancy means discovering all of those things and he wants to continue with you.

How soft he is only makes your heart flutter more. He can take out a room full of men in three seconds flat with those skills. That wouldn’t take away from his other side, the affectionately sweet side.

“Well, aren’t you a nervous goose,” a silly tease slips out.

He cocks his head in confusion. That is not one he has heard before. At least not from Lieutenant Anderson but it does not fit something he would say.

“Y/N, I am afraid that idiom does not quite make sense.”

Your eyes narrow. “Shut off that intelligent brain of yours and cuddle with me to a cheap romcom.”

Some late night cheese flick lit up the TV by the time Hank sneaks back inside. Shutting his door and locking up without losing his damn keys this time sure didn’t prepare for this saccharine bullshit.

No lights on, you soundly asleep with a head nestled underneath Connor's chin. The android’s arms wove around your sleeping form, his eyes shut as he clearly went into stasis to match your need for rest.

Hank shakes his head at the lovey dovey shit stuck to his couch. To think that plastic asshole almost turned tail and ran.

“Guess it went better than expected. Huh, Sumo?”

Drawing the dog’s attention it's pretty clear. Considering the pair of you a minute, the lieutenant ultimately switches off television and heads for bed.

Tag List: @elydith

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #dbh rk800 x reader #rk800 #kiss prompt #short drabble fic #dbh drabble #i finally get to post my android luv #needed fluff #this boi right here #connor is my main #dbh hank anderson #elydith request

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lesbianarcana · 5 years

Note

could you just... like... answer all of those questions at once? I can't pick one but I wanna know all the things

Oh God okay

[[MORE]]

1. When did you start playing?

Oh a long time ago...over a year ago I’d say? The main 3 were only up to uhhhh the Hermit book I think. I remember I stopped playing after that gross fetishy Asra CG came out.

2. What got you into the game?

The beautiful art and the tarot theme. This was before I knew what I know fdjhksd

3. Who was your first route?

Julian!

4. Who is your favourite route?

Honestly Muriel is shaping up to be my favourite so far. Before that, I loved Asra’s route.

5. Who is your least favourite?

So far, Portia’s. Don’t get me wrong - it’s nothing to do with Portia herself. It just feels a little stagnant and flat.

(I bet you expected me to say Lucio, didn’t you? Well, you’re wrong).

6. Who do you play in Heart Hunter?

Chibi Chandra!

7. Who is your favourite to chase in Heart Hunter?

Portia or Muriel!

8. Who of the not playable LIs do you wish you could romance?

The baker. Selasi route when?

9. Opinion on Asra?

Asra is often mischaracterised imo and held to an unfair standard that a lot of the other characters aren’t. I’ve seen many of these arguments and I’m tired.

Asra is not jealous, possessive, creepy, manipulative or shady. Not once does he act possessive towards the MC in any of the routes including his own (a possible exception could be made for the Reversed Ending, but what do you expect? That’s after the MC literally enables that behaviour).

Being sad or cautioning the MC against Julian is not being jealous or possessive. The way he talks about Julian it’s pretty obvious he felt more for the man than he realises, even if he doesn’t understand that himself.

Asra keeps secrets from the MC because canonically trying to remember too much too fast harms the MC. This has been established. In his route, he literally tells you that he hates keeping secrets from you. He takes you into his own personal gateway - an expression of trust and a willingness to open up to you. Does he do these things in the other routes? No, but that’s because you’re not spending that time with him.

I also see people angsting about how sad Asra is going to be when you tell him about Lucio in his route. Lucio harmed his parents and has been cruel to Asra so like idk what you expect. The MC doesn’t know this of course, but you do!

I think we also forget that Asra took a considerable amount of time and effort to rehabilitate the MC, care for them and reteach them basic tasks as well as magic.

Is Asra a perfect person? Of course not. He’s probably overly cautious, he can be a little distant and he reacts badly when in a crisis (see the deal he made with the Devil). He’s not always brave and not always strong, but why should we expect him to be? He’s a human being and he’s bound to have faults, but he has a generous nature and is remarkably well-adjusted considering the trauma of his childhood (don’t tell me that suddenly losing your parents is not traumatic).

10. Opinion on Julian?

I once said that Julian is likely hypersexual and I still maintain that. (For those of you who don’t know, being hypersexual is like..a tendency to engage in compulsive or self-harming sexual behaviour, sometimes as a result of trauma). I think Julian craves affection and associates sexual interest or sexual contact with his worth as a person. I don’t think he does it deliberately or to be manipulative, but because he has a definite self-esteem problem. I honestly see him as bipolar like me.

I think the way the fandom treats him as this dumbass uwu subby boy is kind of annoying. A lot of people I feel erase his bisexuality either by just ignoring it or by making homophobic jokes where the punchline is ‘ha ha he likes dick like you do!!!!’ like no shit, he’s BISEXUAL. But he’s also hard-working, brave, clever, pleasant and good-natured, and once he starts to really come into his own, he’s cheerful and optimistic. He has so many more good qualities than just ‘submissive and kinky’.

11. Opinion on Lucio?

This may surprise y’all but I actually don’t hate Lucio that much. I love to hate him as a villain.

I think he, like all of us, is a product of his environment. He grew up in a clan with a strong martial culture; his clan were warlike and frequently made war on his neighbours. We’re all influenced by our upbringing and I don’t think he’s an exception. I draw the line at saying he ‘just didn’t know right from wrong’ though. He’s not a baby.

But the differences between Lucio and the other LIs like Portia, Asra, Muriel etc is that Lucio’s life and his fate and the hardships he’s faced are almost entirely due to his own choices. It was he who decided on the eve of his eighteenth birthday to kill his parents. He sought out Vlagnagog with the intention of making a deal. He chose to continue to make deals. He knew he carried the plague and he chose to carry it across the continent including into Vesuvia, causing the deaths of thousands. He murdered and blackmailed his way across the continent. He wouldn’t have even needed to bargain for a new body if he hadn’t caught the plague that he brought into Vesuvia himself after making a deal etc.

Do I think he is a sort of cackling, villainous cliche or unrepentantly evil? No. I think he’s a person who has made deliberate choices that he is facing the consequences for and IMO it’s important that he face those consequences. I do think his main issue is entitlement and a profound lack of self-esteem (I don’t think he really believes any of the stuff he actually says about himself or other people; even Lucio’s not delusional).

I mean that’s about as generous and objective a take on Lucio as I can give you. I’ve made my feelings clear on him, but I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t actually understand him as a character, hopefully the above will prove I do haha.

12. Opinion on Muriel?

Out of all the LIs I think I relate most strongly to Muriel because of a few reasons: trauma, touch-starved, lonely and wants to connect but afraid of getting hurt (physically or emotionally).

Now that I’ve gotten personal, I really hate the way Muriel is treated by the fandom. He’s either called bland or boring, or he’s treated like he’s an animal, called feral and animalistic. He’s none of those things.

Muriel has a big complex about being alone. He was literally given away by his parents and left in Vesuvia on his own, to fend for himself on the streets. Being abandoned by his parents and not knowing why, not remembering is traumatic enough, but because of his size he’s often characterised as aggressive and strong when he’s always been gentle. Later in his life, Muriel was forced to fight and kill people against his will. I don’t think a lot of people get just how traumatic that is; not only being forced into doing Lucio’s bidding, but being forced to violently take someone’s life. I don’t blame him for leaving to live at his hut and resist connecting to anyone. It’s common for traumatized people to withdraw and isolate themselves, because the thought of getting hurt again is more frightening than being alone. But everyone needs human contact, and I think Muriel struggles a lot between wanting connection and contact (physical or emotional), between not wanting to get hurt again, to not feeling like he’s worth the effort. That struggle is something very close to my heart and that’s why I’m attached to him.

13. Opinion on Nadia?

Nadia has the biggest youngest sister complex and it’s almost amusing because I, too, have the same complex (even though I’m actually the older sibling!). Nadia, like me, feels like she’s always been compared unfavourably to her older sisters, and has felt like she has to work harder to prove she’s their equal.

It’s probably because she’s a Cancer like me. We have dual natures sometimes; the caretaker and the ringleader, who feel like we have to take it all on ourselves to get the job properly done, but who have moments where our self-doubt takes over.

I do find some aspects of Nadia’s route to be sort of odd, where it’s mentioned that the people of Vesuvia find her to be a tyrant. There’s literally no evidence to suggest that, so the only reasoning I can find next is she’s a woc. But race doesn’t matter in Vesuvia apparently so...what else could be the reason? Not to mention she’s been asleep for the past three years, so the people haven’t even seen the Countess in that time.

I feel like we didn’t really get to understand a lot about Nadia even from her route-why did she fall asleep? What on Earth did she see in Lucio? Why did she let him do all those bad things in Vesuvia before he died? (My initial thought was Cancers can be sloth-like and passive, so that could be why).

14. Opinion on Portia?

Of all the LIs I feel like it’s Portia I know the least about despite having probably the most appearances. Sure, she’s quirky and fun and cheerful, and that’s cute, but...what does she want? What does she fear? How does she feel about her brother being on trial?

I’m hoping we get to expand more of her personality in her route. I know her patron Arcana is the Star, so her route will likely be about learning to have faith in other people, but who knows.

15. What is your favourite Arcana card?

Justice. The Empress is a close runner-up.

16. Have you bought any of the official merch?

No, I refuse to give a single cent to Nix Hydra. (I really want those Tarot cards though hhh)

17. What is your favourite CG?

The one where Asra is sitting in the gondola. Squishy cheeks :3c

18. How many Arcana themed blogs do you have?

Three! This one, then I run an Ask Muriel blog at @ask-muriel-inanna and an Ask Asra blog at @ask-asra-and-faust

19. Do you draw any Arcana art? What is your favourite image you have drawn?

The cover I just did for my Arcana comic! I cant link but it's in #arcana comic and #my art

20. Self insert or apprentice insert?

Both are valid, but I have an apprentice OC.

21. Do you have an apprentice?

Yes I do! Their name is Daya

22. If there is one thing that could be made with the Arcana theme on it, what would it be and why?

Idk what this means I big dumb

23. What is your favourite ship?

Outside of the LI x MC ships I really do like Asriel and Portia/Nadia (but only if Portia isn’t her servant anymore).

24. What is your least favourite ship?

Muriel x Lucio, Asra x Lucio or Julian x Lucio. None of them would even consider ever touching Lucio with a ten foot pole and y’all know this.

25. On your first play through, what direction was your ending for the LIs?

Upright babey!!!!!

#the arcana game #anonymous #asks

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cyb-by-lang · 6 years

Text

Shell Game (25/?)

Obito and Kakashi get in trouble.

Obito really didn’t mind burning a day by stalking a hero. The weather was nice, big screens everywhere were happily showing the Sports Festival wherever Ingenium stopped for a second, and snacks were easy to pick up at any corner store. Kei wasn’t here, but she was keeping up a cover identity. And while Obito wasn’t necessarily happy about it, he’d gotten used to not having Kei around for missions ever since February.

Off to Obito’s left, Kakashi bit down on a sneeze as the two of them hopped across a gap between two rooftops, still following the silver-armored hero on his patrols. The local air was still weird.

If he was being honest, Obito half-expected this method of finding Stain to be as much of a bust as the scent-tracking. The Turbo Hero Ingenium was the leader of Team Idaten agency, and therefore he was one of the better-connected heroes in Hosu. If something did happen, he had a radio where Obito and Kakashi didn’t, so he’d probably be on the scene of any crime as fast as he could. Therefore, Obito and Kakashi were saving themselves a tremendous amount of trouble stalking his various sidekicks by just following the big silver team coordinator around.

It helped that Ingenium’s helmet made it difficult for him to cover his own blind spot. Someone probably ought to let him know.

…Just not until this tactic of last resort was fully explored.

Unfortunately, though they’d tracked down another police investigation, the victim was carted off to the hospital before Kakashi or Obito could Sharingan any answers out of them. The police had already trampled all over the site, making it useless for Kakashi’s tracking technique. And to add salt to their collective wounded pride, Stain had apparently departed the scene via the sewer system. There was a lot Kakashi could do, both with his dogs and on his own, but all three of them had come to the sad conclusion that scent-tracking was just not going to work for this case.

Not that Kakashi would subject his dogs to city air if he could avoid it, but Obito understood. Some situations were a bit too complicated to have an easy solution. And even besides that, summoning techniques didn’t appear to work on this side of Kamui.

Thus, stalking.

Not that Ingenium made it easy. Per Kei’s explanation, this hero had engines built into his arms that helped him run faster or something. Obito didn’t think it compared to shinobi speed, especially since he and Kakashi were some of the fastest people Konoha could throw at the problem, but he definitely took corners way faster than a normal person, and while blowing smoke everywhere. Because roof-hopping required a bit of foresight and Ingenium didn’t seem to believe in slowing down except to make calls, Obito had been leading with his Sharingan ever since this mission started.

“Slow,” Kakashi said, his gloved hand brushing against Obito’s right shoulder. Sensation was a little dull in that side, but it was definitely a tap.

Obito shook the gleam of Ingenium’s armor out of his eye before he dug his heels in properly. Rooftop gravel crunched under his feet as he skidded a bit, then turned to face Kakashi.

Kakashi jerked his masked head back and then down. Without any further words, he marched back over to the gap they’d just leapt over and dropped down with no ceremony. They’d found their Hero Killer, then, and Obito moved to follow.

At that point, the clank of light metal and rushing air met Obito’s ears. Likewise, an armored shadow passed over him and, when Obito looked up, he spotted a silver figure careening overhead.

Ingenium landed in front of him, elbow pipe things jetting smoke. While his body was angled forward, as though expecting violence, his voice came out surprised. “You—you’re a vigilante? Or a villain?”

Obito shrugged. He raised his right hand to scratch the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up under his mask. To salvage the situation, Obito almost mimicked Ingenium’s voice right back at him just to make the awkward feeling fall on someone else for a change, but then steel met steel in the alleyway below.

Obito had already Kamui-warped from the roof to the ground before he even finished his master plan. Ingenium got a glimpse of a person spiraling away into a ribbony mirage, centered on the right eye of the mask, before Obito stepped out into a dingy alleyway.

“Wolf!” he barked, landing farthest from the street.

Kakashi didn’t respond except to nod.

And from the shadow of a dumpster, the Hero Killer rose.

Taller than either Kakashi or Obito, but hunched as though his head was set a bit too far forward. His arms were bare under bandages running up to his biceps, balancing combat gear resembling cobbled ANBU gear. Obito noted the shift of shapes under his clothes and on belts, his Sharingan alerting him to dozens upon dozens of hidden knives, folding blades, and spare sharp objects. Heavy soles on already-modified shoes indicated yet more blades, perhaps spring-loaded. He was built like someone who fought for a living, complete with a damaged katana and ragged scarf to accompany the tails of his mask. His face was even flattened due to a total lack of nose, probably on purpose.

Stain looked like a jackass, was the point. It was a flexible word. Obito had picked up a few things here and there from Kei’s vocabulary.

Between him and Kakashi, the Hero Killer was bracketed in by an ANBU agent and someone who had all the training and the power to sidestep attacks. Judging by the knife embedded in the brickwork, Kakashi had already deflected an attack or two with his kunai.

…If Stain had enough knives, this would be a very short fight.

Obito slid into a combat stance as Kakashi shifted his grip on his kunai. While both of them could have carried katana into this fight, Kakashi didn’t need one and Obito could grow his own. Besides, that would have implied that either of them wanted anything to do with a fair fight with this jerk. If it was going to be a two-on-one beatdown, Obito would count it as a good day.

For a second, it was a standoff. Kakashi on one side, kunai held defensively in his left hand. Obito on Stain’s other side, right hand flexing like he was going to go for—instead of grow—a weapon. Wood Release tendrils started to snake out from under his gauntlets, crawling down his leg and toward the nearest wall.

“More wannabe vigilantes trying to bring me to ‘justice,’ I see,” Stain spat, drawing no more reaction than a cocked head from Obito. Seriously, what was this guy’s deal? “Every time I kill you maggots, more just appear. You’re not even worth dirtying my blade.”

Across from Obito, Kakashi’s Sharingan flashed noticeably, despite how he was backlit by the street. His right hand and arm lit up with white chakra lightning, running along gloved fingers like static.

Lightning Release: Stunning Flash. Obito knew that technique like the back of his hand.

Just like Kakashi knew his Wood Release moves, even if he couldn’t copy them. Wood Release: Butterfly Net.

There were benefits to sending long-standing team members on serious missions together.

“The only thing worse than you are those fake heroes you keep dogging, like their fame will wear off on you,” Stain went on, seemingly oblivious to the slowly rising tide of violence.

Then Ingenium hopped down from the rooftop, and the situation got needlessly complicated.

Now, Ingenium wasn’t a bad guy as far as Obito knew. He rescued cats from trees, too, and he walked kids across the street sometimes. He organized people to do good. He seemed like a dependable hero. But he was also big, wore armor, and there was just not enough room in this alleyway for four combatants without getting in each other’s way.

“Your reign of terror ends here, Hero Killer!” Ingenium squared his stance and raised his fists.

“No…” And Stain’s flat face turned toward Ingenium. “It’s just getting started.”

Obito held out his free hand, snapped his fingers to get Stain’s attention, and made a gesture that left little to the imagination regarding his opinion of the Hero Killer’s self-satisfied ranting.

This did not meet with approval. While Kakashi clearly rolled his eyes based on how his Sharingan light blinked out for a second, Ingenium coughed. Then Stain hissed, “You’ll die first.”

Obito said, in Stain’s voice, “Come at me, bro.” And just to make the moment complete, he added a mocking “come here” motion with his left hand.

Stain lashed out at speeds nearly comparable to a tetchy chūnin, but Obito’s Mangekyō Sharingan slowed the entire world to a crawl. While Obito grinned under his mask, Kamui shifted along with the slash of Stain’s ragged-edged katana as it seemingly sliced him open from shoulder to opposite hip with no resistance.

“No—” Ingenium began as Obito flopped forward onto the ground, only just avoiding cracking his mask on impact.

Or so the two Tokyo-natives seemed to think.

Stain lifted his blade and then stopped dead. Just as he realized the broken steel was still clean, Stain tried a follow-up attack that stabbed downward through Obito’s head.

To exactly as little effect as before.

“Nice try, asshole,” Obito said, still in Stain’s voice. He stepped back, watching the man’s eyes widen. “You’re just too slow.”

Kakashi was too professional to sigh, but it was a close thing. Instead, Obito heard him say, “Ingenium, you’re in the way.”

“As useful as his Quirk is,” Ingenium noted, not taking his attention from Stain, “arrests are Hero work. I can’t let you two handle Stain on your own, no matter what.”

“Your call,” Obito chirped. Given the funny look everyone gave him, he imagined no one quite expected to hear a cute, piping voice coming from behind his eerie white mask. He stalked behind Stain, putting his hand up against the Wood Release web he’d already started. “But you should still back up, say, fifteen meters.”

Ingenium didn’t, probably because Stain went for him next. A knife flew and struck one of the places where his armor didn’t cover his undersuit, slicing through his tricep on its way to the street.

The hero staggered two steps back with a shout of pain—

Kakashi’s arm lit up until it was nearly blinding—

Stain leapt for Ingenium’s throat, katana curved in a lethal upward arc—

Obito slammed his chakra into his right arm just as a knife whipped out of nowhere and hit him square in the right shoulder. It bit into muscle, but couldn’t touch bone even if slammed home with Tsunade’s strength—his Zetsu arm didn’t have any bones to break. And the pain was only about as bad as a sharp slap. Getting Kamui up first was more important, and his Mangekyō ached again to let him know that was a great plan.

—Obito’s Wood Release vines snaked up from the ground and hardened to something akin to steel bars, blocking Stain from reaching Ingenium as though a door had just been slammed in his face—

—Stain’s tongue slipped through the bars and caught a drop of flying blood—

—Ingenium hit the ground with a thud—

—and Kakashi’s lightning arced out directly for the man carrying the most steel, engulfing the alleyway in white light. Bolts passed through Obito like nothing, making his fingertips tingle.

Obito was pretty sure, after the fact, that he saw his own retina from the flash. He would give Kakashi a thorough ribbing for that later. As he blinked the red out of his vision, he took in the scene.

Stain was upright only because Obito’s Wood Release had made a sort of Hashirama tree in the middle of the alley, and it was awful hard to pry anybody out of the wood without a much heavier weapon than Stain’s sword. They’d be chopping him out with an axe, and hopefully with a lot of heroes making sure he wouldn’t stab anybody again.

Speaking of, it’d probably be easier to be sure of that if Obito stole all his goddamn knives for the police to process. Still, Obito glanced around to be sure his two fellow fighters were all right.

Kakashi crouched over Ingenium, peeling back a layer of undersuit to check on the injury. He’d made a heavy bandage out of gauze and some medical tape, and folded it even as he kept his Sharingan trained on the wound. Then, “It’s not deep. Can you keep pressure on it?”

“I would if I could.” Ingenium’s voice was about half an octave higher than usual. “But I can’t—I can’t move. At all.”

“Huh,” said Kakashi, and then pressed the pad to the injury as he levered the hero’s arm up and above his heart. “Quirk?”

“Probably.” Ingenium groaned quietly, wincing noticeably even with his full-face helmet as Kakashi worked. “Are both of you all right?”

Kakashi nodded.

Obito idly pitched two combat knives over his shoulder. They clattered to the concrete. “Yep.”

“Good.” Kakashi helped Ingenium sit up, still clamping his hand over the wound. “My communicator is in my helmet. Any chance you could help me reach it?”

“The two of us are outta here the second your sidekicks show up,” Obito warned, kicking a multitool toward the dumpster. He jabbed a thumb at the still-unconscious Stain. “He’s going to jail on his own.”

Ingenium’s helmet canted to the left. “You think I’d try to get you arrested for vigilantism?”

“…Yes?” Obito replied, finally turning away from the Hero Killer. He’d get out of there when someone helped him, not before. “I mean, it’s in all the pamphlets.”

“If I’d tried taking him on alone, I’d probably have died,” Ingenium explained. He still couldn’t move, apparently, but Kakashi was being patient about the whole thing. “I don’t think the police would agree, but it’s a hero’s job to keep innocent people safe even if it costs us everything. Sometimes, that includes legal protection.”

“Oh.” Obito scratched the back of his head, and then remembered he was wearing a full head covering and it was than less effective. “Uh, that’s actually nice of you to say. Wolf, maybe if we make sure the paralysis wears off first…?”

Kakashi sighed. “Make your call, Ingenium. Stain isn’t any more arrested than he was a minute ago.”

Ingenium managed a pained laugh, now that his adrenaline rush was starting to wear off from lack of use. “All right, all right.”

Ingenium got his full movement back (or nearly) a little before his now-alerted sidekicks started converging for real. He was going to be mobbed by worried heroes and carted off to the hospital soon, apparently. Once they were all sure Stain’s Quirk had worn off and the guy still wouldn’t be going anywhere, Kakashi let Ingenium take over caring for his own injury before disappearing ahead of police sirens.

By that point, Obito had managed to wheedle a masked selfie out of the hapless hero—because of course he had to. Ingenium seemed more baffled than annoyed, probably by how quickly events had progressed, and obliged. With a cheery salute, Obito vanished up the wall like a spider caught in the light, leaving the police and pro heroes to deal with the serial killer. He could send photographic evidence to Kei about their successful mission, so she’d finally stop worrying.

He sent it immediately after he and Kakashi were both out of sight and away from any of the swarming heroes. So: ten blocks away.

It took until a couple minutes later, when he went to change into civilian clothes inside Kamui, that he remembered Stain’s knife was still sticking out of his shoulder.

Kakashi facepalmed hard enough to put Kei to shame.

#Shell Game #Kakashi Hatake #Obito Uchiha #hero killer stain #iida tensei

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sakuurae · 7 years

Text

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.

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perahn · 6 years

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Codex #7

… so stupid – for all the times I suspected that Harper was not entirely human, it never occurred to me to doubt Cyrilis Albinex. I saw the signs: the awe among her adherents, the glowing gems, the mist. I had the dreams: my speculations about the laughing, one-handed woman in golden scale mail seem ridiculous now. It should have been obvious. I’ve never been closer to agreeing with those who sneer at oneiric diviners.

All this, and I simply failed to realise the woman we’d been hired to kill was a dragon.

A gold dragon, the High Priestess of Tyr, in his temple and her lair: not a foe I would have suspected we could survive, let alone kill. Either my studies on the subject overestimated their strength (possible; not too many academics would seek out such a creature willingly), or my allies and I are rather more capable than I’d assessed (leaving aside the possibility of an unknown and probably non-measurable outside factor). The first conclusion is somewhat difficult to test; I shall have to work with the second.

Well. The dragon’s death summoned an apparition that closely matched the statue of Vhaeraun in his temple. The statue, however, did not exhibit hair that changed colour, nor did it laugh at us, nor set blue fire burning at the doors. I am inclined to believe it a genuine visitation – if only because he acted like the kind of deity Jarnath would worship.

Being embroiled in drow concerns was bad enough, but it seems we are truly pawns in the power-games of the gods. I know Vhaeraun, Tyr and Yurtrus are seated at the board, but who else will shove us around to their liking?

Between that and the Wall, it’s almost enough to make a self-respecting Red Wizard look for a god to stand kvaleth for her.

What nonsense am I writing? Hells, I am more drained than I thought…

… the chains dream again. It’s been quite a while since it last came to me – shortly before Khaseth’s attack, if I recall correctly. The chains embedded in my flesh stretched off in all directions, myriad in their colours and shapes. The unseen hands tugged at them until I danced to their will, although I tried to fight them. The one anchored in my throat tore free this time, and I remember choking on the blood -

But the recurring were with me. They were chained, too. The Thirsty hung quiet in hers, obedient to the faintest twitch of command; the Erratic tore a chain from her arm as I watched, and wrapped the wound with a thicker one; the Silent pulled on a blue-black chain as if he could draw the hand on the other end to him.

I saw, for the first time, the three chains I held, and where they were fastened to the recurring. They were not embedded in my hands, but neither could I let them go…

Katy was unusually ebullient this morning – apparently slaughtering a dragon feeds into some of her novel-based fantasies. It’s a more explicable reaction than other tropes she’s mentioned. Balancing that, however, was Harper, who was in a black mood again. I cannot shake the feeling there was something I should do about it – or for him in general - but experience tells me I will only make it worse. Besides, I wouldn’t appreciate being asked to explain myself, or Katy’s insistence on ‘cheering up’ when I am feeling savage. So I mostly kept out of it, although I continue to observe, to try and understand…

As expected, Jarnath was not there when we went to claim payment. I don’t think any of us were surprised – irritated, yes, but not surprised. Even Katy has better pattern-recognition than that. It did, however, leave us at somewhat of a loss. Harper successfully extorted payment from the Mandible, which appeared to shake the last of his black mood.

Adinaun and Twinkle, who we suspected might have had a hand in Jarnath’s disappearance, were not in evidence at the High Tide…

[several pages follow, of which only fragments have been deciphered as yet. One features the image of a magnificent gold dragon, reared on its hind legs and breathing fire.]

… offered to buy me!... quite obviously disturbed, and went tearing out of the house… Aunrae… Malakuth Tabuirr, a power play, given Tansia Neverember’s note… some drink shaped like a serpent… speaking to Ahmryr Yhauntyr and another drow, possibly Tabuirr… stupid hats, but probably more comfortable than wigs…

… legless on the floor, and Shay kissed her cheek. These matters are handled quite differently outside the Academy, I suspect, but some things are unmistakable. Certainly the instant epistaxis was not subtle – although its significance escaped Shay. She seemed a little confused by the whole incident, and when she said as much, I discreetly told her Katy was infatuated with her.

It’s a rather peculiar development, to my mind. Katy has consistently watched elves – I still remember the way she was hanging off that book-seller’s every word – and I assumed that was what she found attractive. There’s a great physical difference between any given elf and Shay. What I would consider the usual sort of motives seem unlikely: Katy does not think like a Red Wizard, and even if she did, I can see no particular political or tactical advantage to be gained from dalliance with Shay.

No. I am all but certain it is a genuine, if atypical, attraction.

I don’t know how the Long Death monks handle these matters, either. With no real evidence, I suspect that Shay will not unbend so far as to encourage her admirer. No doubt that’s wise. Shay can certainly handle any physical threat Katy might pose – ha, there speaks the Red Wizard again - but Katy’s control of her magic is noticeably weaker when she is distracted or emotional. I judge there’s a sizeable risk of a wild magic accident during sex.

Still, in another light, it almost seems a pity. There was a look in Katy’s eyes that reminded me of Nebastis. And the sorceress makes so many idiotic decisions that one feels she should encouraged in her first display of good taste. Shay is not, physically, an outstanding example of her brutish race, true, but that is ephemeral: her worth is clear for all with sufficient judgement to discern it. I think better of Katy that she does.

Idle musings. I am kvaleth to them both: this concerns me only if either ask me to intervene. I have meddled too much already – not by answering Shay’s question, that was perfectly within my responsibilities to her – but by prying into her mind onto the subject. She is fond of Katy, and somewhat embarrassed by the situation…

But that wasn’t what I went in to find. Shay does wish to leave the Long Death. Her reservations are because of her friend, whom she wishes to free, and because she does not want to involve or risk Harper, Katy, or myself. These scruples can be overcome, I think – in any case, it makes my path clear. I think the first step is to examine her journal, the means by which she is tracked…

… stumbling blindly through the shelves of the library, knowing by the cries that they were gaining on me. Somewhere, among all the books, was the only one that could help, but I didn’t know which one, couldn’t read the spines, couldn’t remember the layout, and the pages were crumbling into a thick, choking dust. There was no time. The Erratic and the Thirsty called my name – pleading or guiding, I couldn’t tell – and I knew the Silent was there, too, somewhere, no easier to find than the one book I sought. The roof began to fall in, and by thin, greenish starlight, I could see them all: the book, the hunters, the recurring, and I knew I had only life enough to do one thing…

… Katy demanded to know exactly how she had behaved while drinking that ridiculously potent serpent alcohol, and Harper, the ingrate, walked out and left me to conduct the conversation. As if I know anything about mediating love-affairs! Especially when Katy chose to claim her blushing was because she was “allergic to water”! I haven’t heard an excuse like that since Hathreb said his alchemy homework had undergone “a spontaneous evaporative event”.

She tried to downplay the matter and asked me not to say anything to Shay about it. I explained that I could certainly hold my tongue in future, but that I’d already answered Shay’s question: in short, that Shay knew exactly what was going on.

Katy’s response was predictably emotive. I had no business speculating on her attraction, certainly none speaking about it to its presumed object; I must have had some ulterior motive, possibly jealousy, for disrupting the balance between Shay and Katy; I had done “the worst thing in the world”, “possibly ruined [her] life” and, essentially, betrayed our alliance. It seemed strange to me, given that Katy could have assumed Shay was aware of her interest after the whole incident… but I will accept her word on it.

Again, I misjudge and fail my wastet-le.

I could rail about my own ignorance, claim that I was doing the best I could under conditions I was never trained for. I could make excuses about how even those more familiar with her believe that Katy overreacts. They might even be true, but they don’t change the outcome. I have a responsibility to her, and by her estimation, I abrogated it.

There was little I could do, except offer an apology and explain something of why I had acted as I had: that my sole experience of that nature, Nebastis had told me of her feelings and it had helped me decide how to proceed.

It was… slightly uncomfortable to speak of her, even after all this time; it was somewhat worse when Katy seized on it like Twitch on a weasel. I did not attempt to disguise the fact that I killed her, although I suppose I never said so directly; in any case, Katy appeared to think it the equivalent of one of those books she’s always going on about. There were even tears in her eyes.

Well, she promised to keep my secret, immediately assuming that it was one, and said that she just wants me to be happy, and then asked Harper (who was listening outside the door, naturally) to fetch her more bacon. That sort of emotional volatility does look as though it requires a great deal of fuel. Perhaps that’s why she hasn’t noticeably gained weight despite the massive mound of pancakes she consumes daily.

Katy was reluctant to speak to Shay about the whole matter, but Harper was most insistent. He also agreed with me when I pointed out that not doing so showed a lack of faith in Shay. I suspect his agreement springs from some perspective other than my own inclination to have all the relevant facts made clear to all relevant parties – and my belief that Shay will handle what concerns her well – but it was still a pleasant indication that perhaps I have not been hopelessly stupid with Katy. Then he bullied her into speaking to Shay. I do admire the way he handles people.

Katy returned in short order, expressing her wish to speak to Grotana and Twinkle about her fiend, having also made it clear she would prefer to do so without Shay or me in attendance. It was understandable, if somewhat undesirable. I did offer to find some makework for myself, which Katy took as some sort of passive-aggressive jibe. How am I to be a decent ally to these people when I cannot make myself clear?

[Almost immediately after complaining about the difficulty of clear communication, the writer becomes more intricate in her encryption]

…described Jarnath talking to him… Rylfein keeping discreet watch… about the time we killed the dragon… can sympathise with its admiration of the more fabulous creatures in the bestiary, particularly those thought lost, but still, Squishy?... priests to contact… magical interference of a kind I did not recognise…

… Shay appeared to have some vision of Yurtrus. She said there was no hurry to go to that temple instead, which I accepted and Harper overrode. Shay drank a bowl of disgusting gloop in the temple, then fainted. When she regained consciousness, she explained that Yurtrus had ordered her to Sundabar, in the Silver Marches. Katy and Harper had a number of questions and objections, as well they might; I ascertained whether she was going and assured her I would accompany her.

That much, at least, is clear and achievable.

The priest currently on duty at the Temple of Vhaeraun quickly identified the bond between Katy and her fiend as a potential danger, and recommended an exorcism ritual. This, he said, would take three days of preparation and a fee in gold. He also mentioned that he has conducted it only once in four hundred years, and on that occasion, it was successful. He was somewhat evasive about how its subject fared – it sounded as though he was rather more interested in the capture or study of the parasitic extra-planar in question – and Katy believes both that the subject died and that she will also.

She may be correct, but I don’t see this as a major issue; she would be in a temple whose clerics are more than happy to render service for gold, and the diamond she gave me awhile ago is of suitable size to fuel a resurrection spell. It would certainly be a fitting use for it.

Nevertheless, she was distressed. She dragged Harper outside, while I spoke further to the priest. Based on his knowledge and what I could provide him, he tentatively identified Bob as an incubus disguised as a minor demon. This would explain a great deal about its behaviour, and about the ineffectual nature of my researches into the subject. The priest has been bribed to continue his study into the matter and is preparing for the ritual; Katy may take some persuasion, I think, but that I leave in Harper’s hands.

I had a discussion with Harper after we returned to the house – in Mulhorandi, after casting tongues on him. I thought it a worthwhile precaution against Bob’s eavesdropping, as was the walk we took around the rather squalid Skullport block. I informed him of what I’d learned from the priest and the implications for Katy. It took some time, of course (how can people be so ignorant? Is that really the trade-off: you gain people skills and lose a basic understanding of the world we live in and any control of your emotions?), but again, we are in agreement as to the necessity of getting rid of Bob.

He also asked after Shay and made clear his intent to accompany her about her business in Sundabar. In turn, I asked why. It was not as disingenuous a question as he seemed to believe. I am aware he feels a responsibility for Shay, as well as some form of emotional connection… but he is a sufficiently rational creature that those are not necessarily reason enough for a long journey into the unknown on the say-so of some pestilential and plague-ridden deity.

He said that I have demonstrated emotional awareness beyond the limited understanding I profess, and that pretending to less empathy than I possess is unwise. He accused me of being frightened by emotions.

I suppose it’s encouraging to hear – as though I have come further in understanding my allies, and offering what they need, than I believed. It doesn’t feel that way, though. Sometimes things make sense, or I can extrapolate from my own experiences… but it still feels wrong. Years of training taught me to look for the rational motive, for what there is to gain, and so often it’s absent here, or… there’s a satisfaction in learning, in the exercise of logic, in facts gathered and arrayed into a coherent whole. I think they do something similar with emotion – as though emotion is its own reward. It sounds ridiculous. You might as well eat when you aren’t hungry, sleep when you aren’t tired, or… I don’t know. Kill when it’s not necessary.

Ha.

I suppose what it boils down to is that I know I understand Red Wizards. I also know these people are not my kind. Sometimes they’re similar; usually they’re very different. When they’re similar, I can contribute. But I’ve made some mistakes, both with members of the order and with outsiders, and some have carried grave consequences.

Harper asked about Nebastis.

I should have seen that coming. I knew he was listening, and that it would be the sort of detail to interest him – if not in quite the same way as it intrigued Katy. Of course, he didn’t miss that I had killed her; he just wanted to confirm it.

I do wonder what he made of it. It probably looks very callous to an outsider – which, of course, it was. He probably wouldn’t see the reasoning behind it, even if I did explain it. Unsurprising, given how often I’ve questioned the necessity myself… He also offered an apology, concerned that asking about her was overstepping. It wasn’t, although I’m not sure I conveyed that adequately. In any case, it suggests that the subject of past lovers and/or murders is one he considers out-of-bounds for our alliance. That, in turn, implies that I am unlikely to learn more from him about the person represented by the ocean-eyed serpent – since the animals in that dream were people, by Harper’s report, and given the context of other dreams, that one is almost certainly not the seas or the Navy, as I’d surmised, but a lost lover.

Endless digressions. Harper called me ‘the brains of this outfit’, with no detectable sarcasm, but I can’t imagine it’s a post I can claim to hold much longer. I can see myself losing discipline, concentration, the ability to think in connected sequence… I don’t know what’s happening to me.

Since we were speaking in Mulhorandi anyway, I took the opportunity to answer properly a question he asked a long time ago: what I meant when I referred to him as an ally. I called him ahk-veleth.

I’ve never said that word before. It was somewhat easier than I’d expected – possibly because I’ve acknowledged it for some time, and because it would be painfully obvious to any Red Wizard who watched how I usually interact with him.

Which has its own dangers, of course, ridicule being the mildest of them…

He didn’t really react, but I hope it was of use. At any rate, I’m glad to have one more snarl straightened and clarified.

After bidding him goodnight, I went in. Shay was in her customary place in front of the fire, and I scried the priest of Yurtrus at her request. He appeared to be travelling through the Underdark with other orcs, which was none too informative. I offered to cast Sending for her, but apparently all she wanted was to be sure he was well.

I also tried to scry Adinaun. What is about the drow that sends that spell awry? Is it Vhaeraun? The ambient magic of the Underdark? I could understand if the spell had simply failed – that’s a basic Nondetection - but the way it warped between Rylfein and Jarnath when I tried to scry Jarnath, and this time, well… if I had time and a handful of apprentices, I’d enjoy studying and classifying the effects. As it is, it makes my head hurt. I searched for Adinaun. I got what looked like a Skullport street and what seemed to be a first-person perspective of a drow that resembled Rylfein. Possibly I’ve been cursed by some entity whose sense of humour outweighs its malevolence, and it defaults to images of Rylfein whenever I attempt to scry on a drow. It would make as much sense as other recent events…

… I dreamed of a vast underground lake. A white, luminous fog rose from its surface, pulsing in time to a strange, wild music. I think I would know the tune if I heard it again, but the instruments or the singers were unfamiliar. There was a deathly peace about it: there was no breath to stir the mist, there had never been, there could never be. I knew I had been called there, and that I could not leave. There was something beneath the water that knew my name…

#writing #d&d #khemuret xul

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vitavitale · 3 years

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drabble IV — Nightmare (At His Core)

It took me over a year to write about V’s encounter with Nightmare and I will genuinely not understand why. In any case, I’ve finally gotten around to it. Remember that this is all headcanon-based since my V isn’t, you know, canon. Except in my heart. Beware of 13,038 words, whew. I tagged it as “coming of age” because that’s how I interpret this event even if it may not play out that way. For easier reading, find this on AO3.

Trial after trial, failure after failure were not sufficient deterrents to a man driven by a greed that was unbecoming of him. He had never been so fixated, so stubbornly determined, so mad while he dedicated almost all of his time to the study and practice of necromancy. To resurrect life from death was a risk, and a business few had the guts or the aptitude for. This was a craft better left untouched, but he trifled with tests and from each failure he learned, improved, and tried again. The cycle continued for many nights; between jobs he would make the time for study, and of time he had plenty to dedicate to his obsession. A desire for strength was born in him from his apparent lack thereof. To have tasted power, however, in the aid of his familiars was almost like poison to the mind, for he had seen within his new means a potential for invulnerability. The illusion of becoming untouchable, undaunted, and subsequently intimidating and dangerous was too powerful for him to dismiss. Rather, he indulged in fantasy. Griffon and Shadow protected him as they attacked for him, and while he loathed his reliance on others he saw the opportunities such help would yield for him, and he saw value in becoming as threatening to others as others had been to him. There was something like revenge in his fixation on power.

It was not only his familiars he'd gained from, but he had conjured demons in the space of a couple of years from whom he would make further gains, draining their diabolical energies to amplify his own. Rite after rite he performed, drawing a demon to the mortal plane only to take from it before returning it to its Hell—or to slay it entirely. This really did appear to work, and every success tainted his expectations for himself. He saw his potential grow, day by day, until an idea was born—and this, he thought, would be the thing to make him more frightening than any demon alive in Red Grave City. This he sought not out of malice, but for self-esteem. Pride, worth, a need to be useful and effective when he believed himself useless and weak.

Perhaps Griffon had been at fault for the decision his master made. Indeed, it was from Griffon's mouth that V had learned of the demons dwelling in the underworld, those that lived and even those that had died. Among the deceased was one so destructive, so terrifying that even its name told of the menace it posed: Nightmare. Once in service to a devil of an emperor, the beast was slain by a man with only half the blood of demons in him. But it was this creature that haunted the warlock's mind for many a night, so it might have been only inevitable that the idea was spawned to return to it life, to conjure it for his own, and to his body bind it as he did Shadow and Griffon. V was only a child when he first heard of Nightmare, and then took only superficial interest in it. Years down the road brought it back to memory, for better or worse, and it was at the age of one-and-twenty that he'd decided to resurrect the demon. Necromancy was necessary for this, a skill not known yet enthusiastically learned while upon the idea the young man brewed.

So it was many nights, many tries and many failures later when it seemed a breakthrough was at hand.

Neither Griffon nor Shadow held very much esteem for their master's plan. His descent into obsession concerned them, but it was his decision to conjure so formidable a demon that worried them above all. While V may not have noticed, his familiars certainly had: the forces with which he surrounded himself had been detrimental to his body. He was far more human than anything, and his human body could only take so much that was well beyond its capabilities. Forces of a supernatural nature were hard on any human's body and mind, but V had gone a step further with his exposure to them. He would have more than enough on him, only now he sought to add too much to the load all too quickly. He was already frail of health, but he saw fit to weaken his bones and muscles as well. He had begun tiring as of late, and he tended to chalk it up to overwork, sleeplessness, and an almost nonexistent diet. But his demons knew better, and ultimately so did he. Or, at the very least, he had a hunch—one he didn't heed. That was his first mistake, but V insisted on making another. Griffon let him know as much, arguing that V had no need to take pointless risks, but men like him were not easily swayed. There was some kind of art to stubbornness like his.

Oh, but to be so young and foolhardy! The boy knew so little of the world, yet he'd known that it was rife with all manner of peril. Two familiars were not enough. He would head out into the desolate country under the cover of night to practice his black craft. A sigil was drawn up for the purpose of conjuring, a symbol of the demon he hoped to bring forth. Night after night, he tried. Tried and failed. But a step he'd been missing for weeks became clear to him. Infernal or otherwise, the soul was intangible. Its body had been destroyed completely, and V would not have been content to conjure a ghost. With magics old and new would he craft a body, and it would be with or without his demons' help that he would conceive of a form he hoped the soul, if in existence at all, would inhabit. Born in the mind's eye, but taken form in the flesh. V would resurrect the demon he sought, believing firmly in strength of will and the blending of techniques.

“I think I have it,�� he said when he had his next epiphany. He was all enthusiasm, eager in the eyes, jotting instructions down in a notepad in an effort to preserve what he'd learned before memory would lose it. These would be looked over and memorized. It was late into the night, and he had the audacity to wake his slumbering familiars for the news. “I've finally figured out how to reconstruct the body!”

Griffon awoke with a start, though held on to his perch on the sofa's backrest. “Huh? What?” Barely gotten his eyes open and already V strode to his side, pad in hands, noticeably excited given the tone of his voice. “The what now...?”

“Nightmare's body, for its soul.” It'd been all V would talk about the past several days. It surprised him that Griffon had forgotten so readily, but that was like him. V had left the lights on through the night for his work, and the yellow glow to the sitting room was bothersome enough for his drowsy familiar. Nevertheless, the warlock would pester him to open his eyes. “I've been going about it the wrong way, but I think I now know what I must do.” His eyes fell upon the page he'd scribbled on. “I have to create it, shape it, with my hands. You know how Jewish folklore tells of mystics imbuing golems with life? Think of it that way, only I'd be...borrowing that part of the process. Then...I should channel the soul to the new vessel during a rite of resurrection. If I'm right, the demon should accept it.”

“Never heard of that part before,” the demon mumbled.

“I'll be improvising.”

“Oh, so that's your big discovery? That you've gotta make it up as you go?” Griffon was being sarcastic with him, likely because he was chafed that he'd been woken up for no good reason.

“I'm at least one step closer.” V was resolute when he countered, frowning his disapproval at the demon who'd appeared to think so little of V's ambition. “You could be a little optimistic.”

“I don't see why I've gotta go along with this utter fuckery. You're only hurting yourself.”

V didn't want to hear that. It was fortunate that he'd stepped beside Shadow, who was not dead to them but ignored their discussion while she rested on the floor, with his back to Griffon by the time the criticism was delivered. He would not acknowledge it, not even Griffon, and it was to his detriment that he kept silent. Though he did not agree, he also did not argue, and that must have been the plainest evidence of his conscience weighing more heavily than he'd let on. But he did think of something to say, and with it stepped into his own bedroom after turning off the lights. “Good night.”

V would sleep as peacefully as his subconscious allowed, for the few hours that were left of the night. But the sun was set to rise before long, and soon he would resume his practice until night again would fall.

He'd fallen asleep fast, curled on his side as was his habit. His study had exhausted him, both physically and mentally, but that didn't stop memories from reshaping themselves, painting themselves in fresh colors, and stitching together pictures that the sleeper had no desire to see. Still, they would appear to his mind's eye and wrench his heart from its boney confinement and wring it dry. There suddenly was the face of a demon with rows of pointed teeth, a short, stout abomination snapping mad like a rabid piranha. He fled from it, the white of his hair blurring his vision as he scrambled from its wrath. He saw a broom closet, hid in it and held on to the door knob for dear life. In his panic he could not grip it firmly, and his soul quaked from the snarling and the thrashing and the clawing against the door. His whimpering barred any screams for help, but all the same he heard his mother's voice outside. A great dread sickened him but fear left him petrified. He could not understand her. The door was left alone, he heard part of his name called and the sounds of flesh tearing and a thud on the floor—and he awoke with so violent a start that his heart raced, he cried out when he shot right up, and he caught the first light of the morn peeking through his window. His chest heaved with every labored breath, and he felt his eyes wet with sorrow. Just like it'd been the first time, like it was new, like he didn't see it coming.

But with the memory he was intimately acquainted, frequently re-introduced to it, and was fast to realize that it was yet again a dream. One of several nightmares.

A nightmare.

It almost seemed a calling at this point, to obsess over a demon so appropriately named. V hated to cry, but here his psyche took advantage of his helplessness to draw the tears forth. He wiped them away, sniffled through a stuffed nose, and sat silently as sleep was as good as forgotten. No use in trying again; he preferred to set to work, do whatever he could to forget that which haunted him for seven years going. But loneliness was not his safe harbor now, for a shadow had crept into his room to observe. To find that he had suffered no physical harm, the demon took form and joined his side on the bed. Like a cat she purred her concern, her inquiry and her comfort. V was not surprised to see her, he knew this was her way. Like a pitiful child he pouted and shed his tears, looking at her with some reassurance behind a curtain of grief. Guilt was too strong for so wretched a youth, and here he was sick with it. Seven years was virtually the same as seven months. With Shadow offering her comfort like a parent, V could not help but appreciate her—and feed his misery with memories of feelings he'd had once before, before even the seven years. It was a double-edged blade but, all the same, he ran his fingers through her crown to comfort her in turn. He whimpered, “I'm fine,” sniffling still. And she knew he would be: she'd seen this too often to assume different.

V would get up after all and give himself a good wash. He didn't care for breakfast but forced himself to eat a single slice of toasted bread. Over his routine, thought of his nightmare and his mistakes diminished, and while they remained present, they'd at least lost enough intensity to allow him to get on with his work. He could think about his goal, his rite, his approach to it all and how he'd shape the demon's vessel. By noon, he was all but absorbed in his crafting of the thing. A very simple shape was drawn among his notes, which would serve as the foundation for the model he sought to shape from earth. So, he would go outside, look for mud or deliberately make it, and wear down his haunches as he crouched from his secret labor. No devil-hunting or charm-making today. As desperately as he needed income, he seemed to need a new familiar even more. But he was wise to hide himself from his neighbors and had gone a distance to where no man should eye him and peg him as an unstable eccentric. V did very well wear the look of a youth who was touched, his hands deep in wet soil and incidentally rubbing some on his face whenever he had an itch to scratch.

Now, it didn't take long to make mud. To craft from it, however, was the tricky bit. V had never played in the stuff before, he'd never known what it was like. He thought he hated it the moment his hands mixed water with soil; the sensation was cause for repulsion. He should have brought a pair of gloves with him... Alas, he wasn't the sort to think things through, though that didn't stop him from pushing on. He was quick to learn how much water to use for the softness of soil he required. Once he'd gotten the hang of it, he knelt on the grass to alleviate the aches in his joints, more or less settling to mold the form that would be his golem.

Griffon had peeled from his master's body to observe him, sat almost right beside him beneath the canopy of a thin tree. If he had any criticisms or advice, V would largely ignore them. The frown on his brow was hard and it drew clear shadows beneath the deeper wrinkles on a face too youthful for any grimace. V didn't need his notes to begin forming the soil; he'd had the image clear and ever present in his mind's eye, and guided by little else but that and his drive he pressed and pinched and rolled chunks of dampened soil, and dunked his hands into the pond he'd knelt beside to wet the earth even more. He needed it all to stick, and if it wouldn't then he'd spend the entire day, possibly even night, out on the desolate field. Fortunate that the week had been so rainy, but if showers should fall in the middle of his work he would be foiled. But, weather notwithstanding, he'd gotten his pieces to stick. Very nearly mud, the consistency, while solid enough to hold form. V's fingers would easily become difficult, caking in dirt as long as he'd work over the forming vessel. Bits would come off and others would stick where they shouldn't, and V had constantly to dip his hands in the water.

“V, why the hell are you going to all this trouble?” Griffon watched him toil away, unimpressed by the boy's wasted effort. He couldn't approve of the way that warlock was tiring himself out, testing the limits of his own patience, and running headlong toward ruin. Because that was all the good Griffon saw coming out of this wild goose chase: a pained, miserable, defeated V.

The young man on his knees saw different. He spared Griffon a sharp glance to communicate his feelings. However, when his eyes settled upon the amorphous lump in his hands, he felt his confidence shaken. He stood to relax his legs, staring at the unfinished vessel that was crumbling in places, losing form beneath the pressure of his fingers in others; and though his snowy-white hair fell to conceal one half of his face, he felt Griffon's several eyes on him anyway. He knew what that bird was thinking. Still, he stepped back and took a seat very near the trunk of the tree to shade himself beneath its leaves. Against it would his back rest as over the muddy object his eyes would rake. It was half formed, the top molded more completely than the bottom; legs were harder to build than he thought, and the arms...were not quite separate from the body yet. Frustration suddenly dawned on him as he realized this may well go nowhere. But he'd lost hope so fast, after only a few minutes at work.

He had one deep frown come upon his countenance before getting up from the grass. “This is stupid,” he relented at last, exhaling irritably as he stepped toward the pond to set aside his craft and rinse off his hands. Griffon must have believed he'd finally gotten through, because he'd begun assuaging V's concerns with useless, likely hollow words of solace. V was perhaps cruel to ignore him, but something like the devil was in him and he knew that, one way or another, he had to have the one called Nightmare.

With his hands soaked and as clean as he could get them, he shook the excess water away to grab the shapeless figure of dirt—but not before he stilled where he stood, examining the thing and thinking a little more about it. While his hands dripped, Griffon watched him, blinking his golden irises at the perplexity of man.

“Uh, V? You're awfully quiet.”

He was thinking.

“Don't tell me you're mad.”

Mad? Funny. He'd certainly felt mad, at times, and he supposed he was. A madman. But even a mind gone beyond earthly bounds had its plans to complete and successes to achieve. V was not finished here, not by any stretch. When gray began to creep beneath the sun to steal away the blue of the sky, he knew his dirt doll would turn to pure mud. He'd have no use for it if it could not keep its shape. Time was, however, still his to act upon, the heavens clear and peaceful, affording him the chance to make refinements. His own impatience would not best him. To be so young and pressed for time—an oxymoron in the flesh.

“V, come on, you're gonna get soaked out here. That lump of dirt ain't worth it. You don't even really know what you're doing.”

The warlock had picked it up after all. “I think,” he answered while rounding out the form, “it's worse if I don't try. If I fail, it should be because...this simply isn't the way. I...don't want to have put in so little and that be the reason for failure.”

“Why don't you not look for this demon? There are about a zillion others—”

“That,” he snapped to cut off his friend, “is not an option.” At least, not for now. V frowned at Griffon, but any inkling of anger was a hollow one. The boy was determined, not angry, and he'd made that plain with a wistful sort of tone and some distant, far-off pain in his eyes. Griffon had no further argument. The pair descended into silence; but nature would not leave well alone. More gray crawled overhead, eventually ushering in the first droplets of another summer shower. When they tapped on V's nape and sent a chill through his paper-thin body, he shivered instantly. The decision to retreat had come and Griffon was returned to the warlock's skin. With his prize, however misshapen and incomplete, in his hands he abandoned the little pond to hasten home. Maybe to build there.

It was only a drizzle that speckled his clothes and hair on his walk back. But upon returning to the sanctuary of his flat, a proper shower broke that kept him homebound. He had mud on his face, on the ends of his hair, stuck to the soles of his shoes, and entirely in his hands. With his familiars retiring to the small living space, V set about a thorough cleansing of his person. Before he'd known it, he spent his day at home when he should have been out in the field; but the day was gray, even with the rain having cleared, and it matched his mood. Somber, morose. He'd gotten a dish on which to place his vessel and stored it in the refrigerator to keep fresh. Meanwhile, his bedroom was where he isolated himself, well cut off from the raptor and the jaguar lazing the afternoon away. He supposed they could afford it: what else had they to do? They could be so much like pets, obligated to nothing and owing no one.

The grimoire had been opened to the last page, where the original content of the book ended and his own notes began. Several sheets and scraps of paper, that's all they were; but on each were written spells, instructions, all manner of information he would have needed on call. Among these were his latest notes, the ones on Nightmare, on necromancy, and on golems. It should have made sense, yet here was his brain revolving around things anyway. With the book laid out before him, his legs folded on the bed and his knuckles to his cheek, he thought about failure. He thought about what it would mean, since his vessel was shit, and he'd never conjured life from death, if he couldn't claim the demon he sought. It wasn't only a matter of principle—he could get over botching a rite. It had more to do with what it would entail, the fact that he'd have dashed his hopes for acquiring the power he believed he needed: the power to protect himself, to turn the tables and prove that he was not all prey but predator, too. He was easily intimidated, easy pickings, and he loathed that with a bitter passion. It was why he needed another demon. He needed the strength, he needed the confidence, even if it came from beyond himself, but he needed it. And he loathed also to be as needy as this. He loathed his weakness, his appearance to others and how he was regularly perceived by them. If he wasn't a freak for his white hair, he was effeminate for his body, childlike for his behavior, stupid—

Weak to demons. But...if he had a familiar like Nightmare, he didn't have to be any of those things anymore. Didn't he? Quarry and foe alike could no more undervalue him or judge him a creature too meek to take them on, or to take from them: because one of their own made of seemingly unstoppable force, a weapon of mass destruction itself, would be doubtlessly perceived by them; and, if necessary, would annihilate them. According to what V had heard, Nightmare was beyond any lesser demon he'd known of. Incomparable to even Griffon and Shadow, combined.

How he would ever subdue and tame such a beast was rightly beyond his imagining. The boy had gall to think that he could dare at all. Or maybe it was that he didn't think.

He still didn't, even poring over his notes and mentally constructing the outcomes on his bed, he didn't think far enough ahead. But if he did, he would only shake himself up at the size of the task, and he didn't need that. He had to enter the rite undaunted, possessed by conviction, and wrench the demon from its lifelessness with that same vigor he'd conjured Griffon and Shadow. So he mulled over other things, and briefly considered going out tonight if the weather permitted. Frankly, he wanted to. To delay was pointless. Ready or not, his vessel was finished—and so was he. To live this kind of life, in the kind of shape he was in, was not something he'd been looking forward to for however many years remained for him. Even if he would die by the conjured colossus' retaliation upon resurrection, he would at least go out in a way that would not leave him feeling unfulfilled. If lightning was to strike him squarely, in a month, it wouldn't happen until he'd had Nightmare spread across his body. It may have been more a matter of life and death than even the warlock realized. Regardless of the circumstances or the consequences, V was a man of a settled mind. Sitting as idly as he did, boring himself over the information that'd become monotonous to read so repeatedly—well, he supposed he'd made up his mind at some point.

Grays and yellows colored the sky when V bothered to peek out the window of his sitting room. He'd had a whole two of them, one by the front door and another in his bedroom; but the blinds to the latter were always kept shut. Privacy concerns, as he lived on the bottom level of his building where his neighbors and his absent landlord would walk about. Birds drawn by the rainfall called out on the rooftops, among the trees beyond the property, and on the street. While the bulk of the shower had passed, still heard was the pitter-patter of rain drops just beyond the glass. The weather was clearing, the sun shining like a hunk of polished citrine behind the scattered cloud cover, bidding its radiant goodbye to the day that closed. The moon chased it not far behind, nightfall near.

Griffon and Shadow were at as much peace as afforded by the event-free afternoon, and they appeared dead to their master's arrival. When he turned from the window to get a look at them, he could only think that they were sweet to snooze on the sofa—one taking up all the seat, the other perched atop the backrest cushions. Such a shame that they were so against his endeavor.

V had his supper early and offered to his familiars scraps of old cold cuts he didn't want. It was clear to them that he'd intended to do something, because he was all astir in his bedroom as he'd dressed himself for the night. Only, he was donning not sleeping clothes but something else entirely. On his legs were a pair of utility pants, slim, and a belt around the waistband; a wallet chain consisting of skulls of a silver tone; on his feet were gladiator sandals with straps that were thin along the length of his feet, and bore buckles at the ankles; leather cuffs adorned his left wrist, an unconventionally long, silver-plated signet ring the middle finger; a fingerless leather glove covered his right hand; and, in a daring move, he chose to garb the upper half of his body with a sleeveless, knee-length coat held together only by laces affixed to the garment's inner lining across the abdomen. No shirt, no nothing underneath all that leather: only his skin and the tattoos that adorned it. It was brave of him, to cover so little of himself—he partly regretted it already, looking himself over in the bathroom mirror—but people would change, and tastes would evolve, and V was just another one of the many young adults on the Earth who would experiment with fashion. Still, he'd never before worn anything so revealing, and his chosen outfit was quite modest in that as it stood, but it felt comfortable and that had to be the most important thing when it came to clothing. His qualms notwithstanding, he thought he liked the way he looked. His signature choker remained where he'd always worn it. His hair was the only contrast to all the black he'd dressed himself in. Every single article was black, as was the string of his choker, but his hair seemed to...set things askew, a little. So white like freshly fallen snow while all the rest of him could easily blend into shadow. Well, that wouldn't be a great issue tonight: he sought to walk out the door under the cover of darkness. He wasn't sure he'd wear such a get-up during the day.

When he emerged from the bathroom and walked into the sitting room, Griffon was the first (and, in fact, only) to voice his impression of the night-clad youth.

“Whoa-ho! What the hell is all that?” For the sake of a better look, the hellion descended from the sofa to hop right up to V, and eyed him up and down in a very rare moment of silence. “You gonna go out slumming or what? You look like hell in those rags.”

“Don't we already live in one?” V reminded, bored with his critique. He was messing with his collar, undecided whether to flatten it down or wear it upturned.

“Not only that, but don't you think you're gonna catch a cold walking around with your, uh, chest out?”

“It–it is not,” V argued bashfully, suddenly tugging on his lapels. “You can hardly see it.”

“No, I see it. Think I see your nipples too—”

“No you don't!”

“Oh! So I guess all six of my eyes are wrong. Am I wrong about that thing being too big on you, too? I think you gotta tighten those laces, kid.”

“Are you finished?” V was completely flustered when he had no need to be. Suddenly, the styling of his collar was unimportant. He had a blush he fought hard to suppress tinting his face, and he thought he would resent Griffon for the rest of his life for spoiling what little confidence he'd managed to scrounge. If Griffon could see such unflattering things, others were likely to see the same. But V wasn't about to change his clothes. Night had fallen, he had no time to waste now before the sun was up again.

Out of sheer defiance, the warlock marched to the kitchenette. His treasure of dirt had been taken from the fridge and given some water to keep from crumbling some little while ago. He hadn't needed the thing too fresh; he would water it like a plant, only with drizzles and drops intermittently. To little effect, however, as it would, as if out of spite, continually chip away regardless of his efforts. Looking at it again made his subconscious frown. He still hated it. Maybe he hated it more than he did at the start. He hated himself for being impatient enough to hasten his work on it. It could have turned out better if he'd learned, gone through trial and error, in due time; but he felt he didn't have that same time to lose. The impetuousness of youth, the desire for instant gratification—it ruined him thus far. But he needed supplies, and he at least had the wisdom to gather them beforehand. Even if Griffon had utter shit to say, V would walk all around him and dodge his bullets.

Thankfully, the raptor did not moan for long. He was left to loiter in the center of the room, watching V dart in and out. Shadow couldn't have cared one way or another; or, perhaps, she was wiser to simply let the boy be. Lounging on the sofa suited her. Ruby-red eyes blinked every so often. V had made a little pile of materials by the front door: a lantern, a canister of salt, five wax candles, a matchbox, a vial of ritual oil, an athame, and of course the grimoire.

Oh, and the vessel in its dish. It was the final item V had retrieved, and with it collected he was prepared to head out. Ultimately, he didn't give a damn about the state he was in, his appearance to demons either allies or foes. It was not his dress that would determine his success but himself: spirit, drive, skill, smarts. All materials minus the dish were placed in a rucksack. V slung it over his shoulder and carried the dish in both hands the minute he'd locked the door to his flat, familiars dissolving into soot-like particles and attaching to the warlock's body as if ink. He wore his coat's collar upturned after all.

A terribly long walk would see him to his destination. It was the same spot he'd been going to for the past fortnight, every night he wanted to try to conjure Nightmare. He'd memorized the path by now, and he would always go in shadow, at night. The poor, unfit thing would have to trek from beyond property grounds to a hilly area backed by a meager woodland out onto the fringes of town. The border, as it were, between named places. Red Grave City was one, to which V lived closest, but the means to move cities were not his. It was always a long walk anywhere for him. Tonight, he would benefit from clear skies and quiet townsfolk. While midnight had not yet struck, the residents around here were generally of mild manner and disinterested in goings on. They would be in their homes, doing as country families do. If they should spy a lanky young man traversing beyond their overgrown yards and vacant lots, they wouldn't give it a second thought. V realized he went through a lot of trouble for a whim, but what was one more night to try?

It might not have been midnight when he set off, but once he'd arrived at the designated spot he was certain that it could not have been earlier than eleven. The exertion tired him out, so all he took was a short breather with his eyes full on the patch of dirt and grass on which he'd made his previous attempts at summoning. He could certainly recognize it under the cover of night; but of course he'd been here countless times already. He remembered where, upon the hill, he would stand, and where the forested wall opened to the east. He remembered the trampled grass underfoot made by his coming and going, and the placement of lit windows in the town in the far distance.

Surrounded by such perfect seclusion, Griffon and Shadow could emerge from their hideaway. Of Griffon this was expected, but not so of Shadow: she was not in the habit of being present during her master's rites, and for her to suddenly sit beside her infernal comrade was a genuine surprise to the young warlock. Her reason was understood, however, and it filled him with some palpable regret. Shadow may not have been as vehement in opposition as Griffon was toward his goal, but her feelings were the same, and still she would let him know with scarcity and subtlety. As evidenced by his being here, he was not swayed by their shared concerns. For her, more so than for Griffon, V had a look of nigh-unreadable apology. In the darkness, her eyes were almost luminous rubies. A contrast to his dimmed peridots.

The dish was placed on the ground by his own trodden path. He fetched the lantern from the sack and switched it on—nothing quite so archaic as an oil lamp, but battery-powered for ease. The rest of his materials were laid out before him; and taking the dagger and lantern, he stepped carefully about the area to find the precise spot where he'd cast his prior circles. They were not hard to find, the etching in the soil still visible even after days of rainfall. V cleared away any debris that'd fallen during the day before setting the lantern between both the circle of summons and the circle of protection. He didn't want to think about the potential pitfalls he'd encounter once the rite would begin, but he would call himself a liar if he'd ever claim he wasn't nervous. He had never before practiced necromancy and there were about a dozen ways his inexperience—along with his deliberate improvisations—would foil him. This was not merely a game of chance he was playing, but one that involved real risk to his flesh and soul. He may not have anticipated failure, but he did fear from it nevertheless.

All those other instances when he'd failed to conjure the demon were failures only because the demon was deceased, and had no physical form with which to manifest. But now V would provide one for the spirit to inhabit, and that was entirely new to him. What's more, he hadn't bothered to practice at any point prior to tonight. His first shot at necromancy would also come as the real thing.

He didn't think about much, as a matter of fact, apart from the steps he was to take and the outcome he so desired. It was his intent that he should, and would, focus on, with nothing more to distract him. So, he cast his circle with salt before casting that of the demon, using his athame to carve the circle in the soil, its blade lightly coated with the necessary oil. It also carved an inverse pentagram within the circle, and the five candles were then arranged to sit on each point of the pentagram. The wax was dabbed with oil as well, and the candles were thus lit. Before the young sorcerer would enter his circle, he set what he'd need within it, and his familiars were wise to sit by the rest that was unnecessary so as not to interfere with the rite and its air. A strange stillness came upon the three, the wind dead and not one of them uttering a sound. Perhaps they knew it: what was about to take place would either ruin him or free him from his obsession.

It was also possible that such freedom could ruin him. Maybe he didn't consider that, but the raptor and the shapeshifter did. They watched their master outfit his circle, blade and oil left of center, grimoire and dish right. The vessel he'd prepared was taken into his hands, its dish abandoned beyond the circles as he had every intention of needing the molded dirt no longer after tonight. If the rite didn't work, he'd try another way. He was already decided on that.

Before V would step into his circle, he gave the lump of soil his final attentions. It wasn't like mud anymore, and it hadn't ever been since he'd brought it home; he knew that was the first mistake, remembering that golems took life from mud or clay—but both came of the Earth, were earth, and V would believe that plain soil would serve its intended purpose. So, he was satisfied before long with what little he'd managed to do with it and gently placed it in the middle of the inverted pentagram. Hands were wiped off, he took in a long breath, and entered his own circle at last.

“V.” Griffon.

“What?”

“Just... Watch yourself with all that, all right? We're right here if shit goes to shit.”

Gratitude needn't come across verbally. V felt it, his familiars knew it without knowing it, and nothing else was said between them. Eyes closed and incantation in mind, palms turned upward at his sides, he steeled himself and spoke words which were new. The candle flames did not waver, and neither did V. “To the lords of Hell and its kings and masters, I ask that a soul stripped of form and life hear my voice, and I implore unto thee, most fair and wise and powerful, with all of my humility, to send unto me thy lost and lifeless kin: that which is singularly named and so bears the name of Nightmare, once brought into being and commanded also by thine banished emperor-kin Mundus; and to this soul I offer life from death, death to rebirth, all powers and wisdom restored, and a vessel for its material form, and every liberty to refuse my supplication.”

His voice was loud and clear, firm and mature; he thought he felt electricity round his fingers. The young man did not yet open his eyes as he honed on the name, the image of the demon in his mind's eye, and the essence of the very thing he wished to will into being. His body was numb to the world around him, his mind ignorant of all things in existence apart from himself and the vessel, and the demon to inhabit it. Not a draft caused the grass to stir or the trees to wave their limbs, not a part of his body seemed alive but the easy rise and fall of his chest. But something had changed, something between the circles, and V felt it like a great oppressive eye, watchful from above. He did not lose his nerve to it but remained focused, knowing and feeling the adjudicators who had come to assess the sorcerer. From the very outset he sought permission to restore one of their fallen. He'd come to learn that it was sound practice to offer every respect to the forces he'd bargained with, and to resurrect an infernal spirit was no different. If V should open his eyes, he would find the flames twitching in the deadened night. But with his body so faintly tingling now, shoulders to waist, he knew it right, only then, to put into sweet, soothing words more of his modest, magic, flattering intent; and for this, he spoke gently as a poet recites to one who is beloved.

“How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.

“For he hears the lamb's innocent call, And he hears the ewe's tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.”

He meant himself the shepherd, the demon he sought his flock—or a member of it, and while he was aware of the religious symbolism loaded into Blake's poem, he hadn't a fear of dashing his hopes as he had used these very words to summon in his presence a score of other, lesser demons. He needn't his grimoire to check his memory: he remembered every line, every foot, syllable for syllable. In this, V was experienced. He had come to learn that infernal creatures quite enjoyed poetry, often as much as he.

If the demons were decided in his favor, the spirit of the deceased should find its way to the proposed vessel. But V need only open his eyes if he wished to spy weird, dark miasma twist and dance about the earthen offering; and if he had, he'd have disrupted the flow of things and his concentration would break. That which went unseen was surely felt, however. In the subconscious were sensations translated into images before the mind's eye, sufficient communication that informed the sorcerer of what went on around him. He could feel the darkness, the infernal curiosity and diabolical greed filling the space within the summoning circle. While it was all aware of him, he'd protected himself expertly to allow no evil thing any passage through his barrier. The anticipation was beginning to find room in his mind, and that was a flaw to be entirely avoided. But while he tamed his own spirit, focusing on his intent and his breathing, the energies swirling above the dirt vessel were joined by another. A faintly thing to V's tuned senses, and when left alone it was far weaker than anything he'd sensed before. Lifelessness!

“The demon, Nightmare,” he acknowledged politely, “I bid thee come.” Truthfully, he couldn't have known what it was. The boy clearly was not beyond taking such liberties; but if he should be welcoming, peaceable, and respectful, the spirit should take to his voice—his vessel most importantly. His will remained strong, his intent clear, and with both combined he visualized with all of his psychic prowess the soul pouring into the desired golem. This, too, was new to him, but he sensed it came without challenge. Through mental murmurs he invited the soul to find its comfort and refuge within the earthen form. His hands had begun to move toward one another, palm to face palm but never joining when they hovered before the warlock's center. Calm as he could manage to be, now was when he opened his eyes. To his surprise, a diluted mist hovered above the crafted soil, black like smog but flecked as if with glitter of a violet hue. That was his own magic at work. A heartening sign.

His power, small as it was, had a color to it.

There was more to V's work than will. The closing of his hands was not plain pantomime. Envisioned between them was the soul and its designated vessel, and by drawing his palms closer together he suggested he'd been helping merge the two. The power of suggestion, backed by the power of will, could have been an unstoppable force if executed correctly. If V were any master sorcerer, he'd have doubtlessly infused the vessel with all of the demon's soul in less time than this. He could be patient when it mattered, however, and in this instance he was collected and determined not to fail. The oppressive air that'd permeated the environment amplified the nearer V's hands drew to one another, and there came a point when wind began to stir and blow against the warlock, pushing his hair from his face and disturbing his garments. This tipped him off against pushing any further: he remembered he had to be respectful, to allow the soul a chance to refuse him. He'd never forced his will upon the demons he wished for familiars, never felt it right, and he would not make that mistake now. Griffon and Shadow were his by choice, by mutual agreement, and they'd become friends, even like family for it. V remembered this, knew said friends' eyes were on him all through the rite, and he was prompt to correct himself—and thus the pressure was eased off the miserable spirit, as yet undecided about the offering of renewed life. Perhaps it wasn't impressed with its gifts, with him. That...had to be all right, to the conjurer. He'd have to accept that and let the spirit return to its plane, free.

With the slow separation of his hands, a curious shift in air tickled at his consciousness. He hadn't realized he'd been frowning, but the moment he did he softened immediately. The phantasmal wisps before his eyes, along with their violet glow, had begun to bleed into the misshapen vessel.

So...it had accepted! But of course, the allure of life was irresistible. V did not think for a moment, instead focused entirely on his work. He was absorbed by the sight of the soul feeding into the lump of earth, to fatten it up with life and grant it the gift of sentience. V's hands would come together only when the last of the entity entered the vessel, and this he did to signify the finalization of the first phase. He'd eased off on his psychic influence only for this step so that it would be Nightmare's decision to enter the vessel, not his. Once that was done, however, V would wait. To observe the outcome, to see what would go wrong. His hands rejoined his sides as he watched with, now, apprehension, the vessel illuminated only by the dancing candle light. As he understood it, he was not to engage yet, not until the demon was fully formed and in control of itself. Only then could he attempt to tame the beast, and then bind it to him through the awaited rite of bondage. His heart was as strong as he could have made it, but it still alarmed him to watch movement within the inverted pentagram. The soil once lifeless stirred and shifted, and before his very eyes began to deform itself. It was abrupt, violent, and it had stricken V with genuine nervousness with every motion across the ground, fidgeting left and jerking right, and sometimes nearly flipping itself over—and all the while changing shape, gaining mass, growing. The flames snapped wickedly in the air, and even V could feel it, a sudden explosion of demonic energy that flooded the circles and the area surrounding. It was smothering, but V held fast. He fought it like an ocean, as if wave after wave crashed down. If he'd lose his footing, he'd be pulled into the sea of darkness and potential malevolence, and forced to suffer the torment of a likely vengeful spirit. How was he to know that it was not already at peace, and that he'd come only to disturb its eternal slumber?

Uselessly, he put his arms up like a shield in front of his face as if that would have any effect over the whipping winds. Griffon and Shadow could only watch while on pins and needles, but they were in agreement that the second things turned south, they would charge in to his aid. That young man could get himself into such messes, but he hadn't quite learned to learn from that. One could call him stupid for it, but he preferred to think of it as drive. The grit to stand firm and unflinching was necessary in the face of adversity, and it was proven to him now that such a necessity came twice as strongly when dealing with a demon of so much size and power. Based on what he knew, Nightmare was built like a tank and commanded like one, an annihilating force V should have been wiser not to play with. And when he saw just how large it'd grown, taking on an amorphous form that exceeded even that of the vessel it claimed and turned inside-out to make it unlike any useless heap of anything he'd seen before—and when he realized it hadn't stopped expanding—he understood, finally, that he'd bitten off more than he could chew. And he paled a little at the sight of it now, beyond the obfuscation of his arms, stretching to a height far beyond his own and eclipsing the circle it should have fit into.

Large and bulbous, glossy and flowing as if wet, black as tar, no more resembling the dirt in which it was reborn. It claimed a human shape, as much of one as V could have crafted out of earth, but appeared to re-imagine itself of its own accord. Parts of it were not as V had built, but he didn't have a care for the shape. He supposed he never really did. He simply needed the thing alive, and here he'd achieved it. His golem, his golem, alive! And in the center, toward the top of its...whatever V would think was a head, glowed an orb like a great violet eye, and like an eye it darted in all directions as if it saw for the very first time. Like a human it stood upright on two legs, two disproportionately large arms hanging at its sides. No digits, but broad, round ends like clubs for “hands.” By the candle light, he could note several hooked claws protruding from the thing's arms. Parts of its body looked craggy, almost unnatural, as if shrapnel or rocks had wedged into its hide. This was the demon he'd brought to life from eternal death. This titan called Nightmare, a thing of destruction. It towered above the sorcerer, a dark and hulking thing that could easily snuff him out with its weight alone. His heart was fast in his chest.

It jumped at the sight of the demon's sudden movement and V felt he'd almost folded to the instinct to step back. Ungainly on its smaller legs, slow and heavy, the beast lumbered with every dragging step forward it took. Forward, unto the protective circle!

With its restless eye it perceived him, his body language and the demons not far from him. All things were new to it, like it had the whole of life to relearn. When V's arms came down and his eyes pierced the dark, it was perceived that there was no defense, no offense, and full attention. Ah, but here it seemed to remember—some memories had not gone, and with them had also come the memory of mercy. If Nightmare had remembered any more, it would have likely tried to kill him for his intent. But the demon was almost like a newborn: it knew too little of others, and itself, and regarded the black-clad warlock beneath it just as an infant would fix its indeterminable gaze on a thing of interest.

If V had had the opportunity to savor the success of his first resurrection, he might have. He might have patted himself on the back for once, admired the golem as a thing of beauty, but as he was uncertain and on high alert, he could not think of anything but the very real chance that the demon might retaliate after all—or go berserk. But he remained in the circle, watched the demon hesitate before the uppermost grains of salt on the ground, and felt his heart skip a beat. The demon stalled, right outside the protective circle, and stood motionless as its eye looked in all directions. Perhaps it wondered what stood in its way. V needed to find his nerve or he'd lose the demon to its untamed instincts: he could not afford complacency now that he'd gotten so close, with work still needing to be done in order to claim the demon for his own. So, he would appeal to it, with a voice that came across more meekly than he'd intended. “Nightmare...?”

His voice surely caught its attention. If only he knew it was perceived as only noise.

“Do you understand me?” he probed. “You are alive. You've come back from death.” That stirred nothing. “It was my voice you heard that guided you here. To me.” He was gentle with his words, cautious as he assessed how they'd affected the golem—but no indication of its awareness, of its comprehension, gave him next to no encouragement. He wondered if Nightmare had ever understood spoken language. But, if that hadn't gotten through to the demon, then he supposed something physical might. Much to the horror of his watchful familiars, V pushed himself forward to extend an arm, to reach out his bare hand, to...touch.

“V, what're you doin'?!” The raptor could not have left well enough alone.

Violet pulsated.

The small warlock had stepped beyond the perimeter of salt. He broke his protection and exposed his vulnerable soul to infernal powers for the sake of connection. And he sensed it. At the back of his mind, a tingle; at his fingertips, something sentient and...perceiving, at least, cool to the feather-light touch but so very warm with devil's blood at its core. The silence might have unnerved him, but to know that he was not dismissed gave him heart. “You can feel me?” he wondered with his eyes cast up, searching that deep and indecipherable purple for his answer. Whether or not it was a product of psychic communication, a sense of calm ran through his fingers, and comfort grazed at the very door to his mind. That dark and obsessive demon within him smothered itself the instant man touched demon, demon touched man, and in its place was born a tender affection. His hand was soft over Nightmare's arm and free from its claws.

Now...he admired it, just a little.

But if he could get inside that titan's mind, he'd know what he looked like to it. And to be acknowledged by the thing that gave it new life was new, also, in this way: because it was novel to feel warmth, respect, and to sense that no subjugation would come from the pale little hand that seemed also to lay claim. And it was a strange contradiction. Nightmare seemed to remember something familiar, something like dominion and disregard that came with a claim of its own over the newborn. But these impressions were faint and centuries distant, and Nightmare was not roused to belligerence by a perceived wrong but remained placid and curious before the human boy it almost, almost could have known as a father. It felt, it understood, in its own innocent way, and therefore it sought. But why, why did the black-and-white figure that so kindly welcomed it suddenly peel away in retreat? The demon only wanted to know him, experience him, and mimic his gesture with an arm of its own. It tried to graze him with the claws on its arm, but the human stepped back with a change in his demeanor. Was this rejection? Was this human false?

V's circle was breached by inhuman hands and feet, its protectiveness nullified when V had broken it. He found that his salt did not burn when the demon walked through it. He was swift in collecting his grimoire and scrambled out of the circle entirely, ignoring one familiar's calls to cease and desist as he still so stubbornly held his ground to win favor he didn't know he already had. “Nightmare!” he called with firmness, attempting to command its attention. He was so sure he'd angered it. The grimoire was opened to the page he needed and he, in utter darkness, recited more from memory than from print. “How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! / From the morn to the evening he strays; / He shall follow his sheep all the day, / And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.” He glanced to find Nightmare had stilled before him, within his broken circle. That's good. He inhaled a breath to steady himself, to soften, to finish. “For he hears the lamb's innocent call, / And he hears the ewe's tender reply; / He is watchful while they are in peace, / For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.” In a maddening mix of apprehension and anticipation, V watched the violet orb spin: the demon was thinking. Even if such a creature could not understand the human, artful tongue, he knew that a creature could still sense emotion, and from within words so delicately crafted and sweetly delivered, emotion was the only intent he'd meant to convey. Like music soothed savage beasts, poetry soothed soured demons.

Nightmare appeared to like the sound of those words. Its confusion was dashed for a moment, and now only watched V with its same curiosity. When a fleeting moment of broad silence passed, Nightmare wanted to inch closer to him—and was again stilled when another string of pretty words touched its consciousness. Was it meant to stand still when the human talked so affectionately? It decided not to move again.

And this, V determined, was a sign of domestication. He thought he'd tamed the beast, at least halfway, so quickly!

“V,” the raptor persisted, “I don't like this! That thing's an accident waiting to happen!”

“Quiet! I know...it knows.”

“It knows you're a chump—!”

“Shhh!” V pressed a finger to his lips when he'd turned to Griffon but donned a friendly, inviting air when again he faced the colossal golem. He smiled, his eyes glimmered, and he approached it with calm. “Nightmare,” he said quietly, intimately, “will you...be my demon? Will you bind to me?” Predictably, no response, so V reached his hand out again to connect—and tried again, focusing on intent rather than speech with a harder, genuine look over his countenance. “I need you, and I...hope...you need me, too. Will you be my familiar?” His palm was firmer on the demon's flesh this time, but not at all merciless or pressuring.

V never believed he was telepathic, but with Nightmare on the other end of the communication, he could have sworn his feelings had been answered. The demon stood still, as did he, and here he would perform the rite of bondage. His technique evolved, every time, and he'd come upon the simplest form of claiming a familiar to date. If magic was all about intent, then for ceremony there was little need. Through incantation and intent, and mutual agreement, the warlock would bind the demon to himself as effectively as he'd ever done. Griffon swallowed every last complaint to let his master be; Shadow had been wise from the start to observe.

Nightmare was still as it watched the little creature who'd given it life. His words it understood vaguely, but his touch was the easiest language it'd ever known. The golem it came to be was nothing at all like the machine of chaos in its previous life. Whether or not that had something to do with the man who'd willed it into being would ever be a mystery. But it, like him, was calm and patient, and listened to a language it largely heard as noise. He uttered words on and on, and some were pretty while others were fair, and some were soft while others were hard; and when he would speak the same word, “Nightmare,” he was warm with his intonation. And the demon, within, felt a warmth as well that had come upon it quite suddenly. A whole change in the air confused it. But so long as the giver of life held his touch and gave it comfort, the golem would be peaceful in its trust.

Magic leaked into the air from his lips, every syllable of incantation imbuing the forces of life and nature, Earth and Hell, those that were human and diabolical—all, combined, alive with the distinctive violet hue of his art, would grant the warlock that which he sought in all fairness of practice. There was power in the atmosphere, a presence of miasma that was inherent in all demonic dealings, but V was no stranger to the forces whirling about his body or the sensations bouncing and dancing all across his skin. This was a power only he could wield, which only he understood in the way that was so personal and individual, his and his alone. His eyes had been closed for concentration; and as he felt the demon's spirit closer to his own, he bridged the gap by granting the demon knowledge of his sacred name. “My name is Vitale.”

Vitale, not V, who he really was, whom he would always be. All his familiars knew it, and now, too, did Nightmare. He'd forbidden anyone else the privilege—to such an extent that he would forget a moniker was only a moniker.

And maybe, with the bond formed and the final pledges made, he could be less of V, more of Vitale.

“Come, on wings of joy we’ll fly To where my bower hangs on high; Come, and make thy calm retreat, Among green leaves and blossoms sweet.”

It shot through him—power, life, trust, a connection. All of Nightmare, all at once, vanishing from sight as the finest black particles to join with its master on his body, new markings alongside those previous, fitting snugly between each one to fill more of his skin, claiming him for itself in so doing. But this demon took more than the warlock had counted on. It cloaked hair so white in its embrace and painted it black, a deep, true ebony that could have contested even the darkest of shadows. It startled him when his eyes opened, and he grabbed at the strands and his scalp as if to make sense of what had just happened. With the demon finally bound to him, the air fell flat. Magic, left; power, absorbed; spirits, gone. Only V now, and his familiars.

The changes in him were not only skin-deep. Somehow, in some way, he felt Nightmare's weight on him. He felt its strength, too, albeit faintly in his psyche; and he felt his strength, greater than it had been minutes ago, spiritually, but still quite subtle materially, in presence. It was like Griffon's or Shadow's, but Nightmare was a demon on an entirely elevated level. And it must have been for that sole reason that V could feel his body suddenly so tired—and this to such a degree that he slouched a little as a result. His two familiars neared him, relieved to see that he'd survived his experiment.

That's right... He'd succeeded. He hadn't even remembered what hell he'd put himself through for the past several weeks. It all paid off. But he didn't think of it. He used his foot to clear away the casting on the ground, the salt spread in all directions as it was rendered ineffective anyway. When he took one solitary step forward to pet his doting shapeshifter, he felt a weakness in the knees that nearly downed him. It was a stumble, that was all...! No one pointed it out to him, and he was thankful for that.

He'd never felt that before, not even when he'd run himself ragged.

“I gotta hand it to you, kid,” Griffon praised, “you stuck to your idiot guns and got what you wanted. You've gotta be feeling so good about yourself.”

V couldn't help answering distractedly. “Yeah.” He ran his hands through Shadow's fur all the while she circled him, offering fond nudges as though to comfort him. “It's...kind of strange.” He did not eye Griffon.

“What? Too much power for you?”

Was that it?

The answer had to wait as V spent a moment collecting the candles, pouring salt over the area, and defacing the inverted pentagram. This circle, too, was cleared away. But his silence often spoken volumes, so he did not doubt that his demons were already forming conclusions in their dark minds. Their eyes were certainly fixed on him as he had his back turned. When he should have been feeling joyous and fulfilled, he found that, instead, he was...undecided with his feelings, ultimately.

“What about your hair, anyway? I've never seen that happen before.”

“It's strange. I don't know if I'll get used to it,” the warlock admitted, knitting his brows as he caught sight of a strand of black hair falling in front of his eye. What a change—and now he was as if a perfect shadow, black on the bottom and black on top. God, that must have screamed something about him.

“It's not that bad on you, actually,” the chatty demon observed, his tone impressed. But he wanted to know about Nightmare, and he wanted to know that V was satisfied and had finally gotten over his obsession with it. “But we're avoiding the subject, aren't we? Tell us how you feel. I mean, after everything you went through, was it worth it after all? Sure, the big lummox agreed to entering the rite and all—and I'm still shocked it didn't go berserk on us—but it didn't exactly strike me as the intelligent kind. I'm not saying you gotta talk to be smart, but—”

“Sometimes talking less masks stupidity.” V flashed a fleeting smirk. “I guess...I feel all right. Exhausted, but...all right. I think the pressure's just finally catching up to me.” A soft breeze rustled the canopies some feet away. What time had it been? He packed up his materials as Griffon continued to talk his ear off. V blocked him out for the most part, concerned by the strange sensation in his legs. It wasn't tiredness, it wasn't pain. He knew the difference. Lacking a better idea, all he could compare it to was weakness; and all he could figure was that it was his fault in the end, because he'd been so desperate and power-starved that he threw all caution to the four winds for the sake of summoning a demon that was potentially out of his league. Maybe what Griffon had said, about “too much power,” was right. Maybe it had been too much for V, but he'd never given that the kind of thought it deserved. All he wanted was some semblance of self-reliance, the knowledge that he could really hold his own and fold in fear to no one, not man nor demon. It was all he wanted and he'd found it. He had it. Nightmare was his. A demon once under the command of an emperor was now in V's bony hands, and it should have gratified him more.

If anything, he came to realize that he was in error for believing that he could just take from demons as much as he'd wanted, without repercussions. The essence that was Nightmare's which he'd felt through his touch was felt in the back of his mind, only now it was perpetual, and he thought that demon might read what he was thinking, might even influence him if he was not careful.

Because he did, he did feel different. Physically and psychologically. He felt the weight on and the weakness in his body. He felt an intangible strength, and with it an unusual sway to his psyche. While his thoughts remained his own, and he felt himself his own man, he too sensed that there was suddenly more to him. In heart and mind where his inner demon dwelt, he felt it with more clarity than ever. All that was demonic in him, purely of him and from which he was born, seemed more alive now, so suddenly, after Nightmare joined with him to serve him as intended. But it was not Nightmare's doing: V knew, with every familiar claimed, that the demonic blood in him which was so diluted had gained some amplification; and after every demon bound to his skin, more and more of the devil liked to play. It was no wonder that he'd gotten so much more impertinent and stubborn and dark-humored, and that he more and more enjoyed slaying the infernal interlopers who had no place upon the Earth so long as they posed as threats to it. It was no wonder that V was more and more a devil in his own right. Puberty had brought that on, but surrounding himself with demons helped it along. And even that was no such concern for him, because he still believed he could stand a change in character. He hated his meekness.

Maybe there was something more to it all. A change in character would suit the change in his fashion—he'd forgotten he'd been wearing something new, and only when he slung his filled rucksack over his shoulder had he remembered that he'd not worn sleeves. He felt good in what he wore, and comfortable, and he liked that the loneliness of the field afforded him a peace of mind with which to walk freely. No one around to judge him, watch him, or try to break the ice with him. And even if there had been, he liked to believe that the devil inside shouldn't have to care anymore. When he used to be a boy who'd been too frightened to make decisions and take first steps, tonight he'd proven that he was dauntless and relentless, and impossible to sway when he'd had his mind set; and though he showed recklessness, he often paired that with a quick resourcefulness and the ability to rebound. In his teenage years he was too shy to function, but the coming of age brought about a kind of daring that was, more than anything, born from his own distaste toward himself and a desire to mature, evolve, improve. And he had. Every year that passed, he grew up a little more, learned better of the adult world, and adapted more nimbly to things that were outside of his control. And though he had still a ways to go, he was getting there. He was only twenty-one, still too naive and fresh-faced, inept and awkward with people, and continually healed where his trauma was concerned. Emotional scars ran deeply, and they hadn't quite closed. They didn't. That's why the young man, though still a boy for all intents and purposes, bled from his hidden wounds to the present day.

Perhaps there was something more to be gained from Nightmare than simply its alliance. V had finally realized that he'd met his goal—probably his hardest one to reach yet. He'd resurrected a demon from death! He formed a vessel for the spirit to inhabit, to use as its own body and reshape it as it pleased. He tamed the demon with the art of the spoken word, nothing more, and successfully bound it to him, himself to it. Things that he had not even practiced before had all worked on his very first attempt, and if that in itself was not a sign of growth and experience, then nothing else could be. Before his own eyes he improved upon his craft, gained a new skill while mastering older ones, and granted a second chance to a soul which, in its previous life, had been used as a tool only to be slain by its master's foe. That couldn't have been any kind of life to live and it certainly wasn't any kind of afterlife. Here, V showed he was merciful, too; and it may have been by sheer coincidence that things had turned out that way, his intent originally to bind the most powerful demon he could host on his body, but ever since he'd laid eyes on the thing—touched it with heart and soul—he felt differently. He wanted more than what he bargained for, and in several ways he'd gotten it. Nightmare was to be as much a friend to him as Griffon and Shadow, as much a part of their small family unit as anyone else in it. More than power and bravado, he wanted connection, and comfort, and someone more to trust, and someone to trust in him, to need him, to value him as he'd value them. And he found it in Nightmare. He found a lot in Nightmare. When the demon joined with his body and the cloud of maddened obsession lifted from his psyche, the warlock could finally see it all: his mistake, mistakes, his flaws and talents, his honest needs, what he was and who he thought he wanted to be, should be, and how he ought to be it. There was a truth revealed to him in bonding with Nightmare and in everything he'd done to get there in the first place. Everything from his devotion to his dress, from his guts to his tenderness.

V thought he'd found himself, through this. He'd found at least a part of Vitale—and he'd chip away at himself to find even more until he was all out in the open. Still so young, he had so much time for it.

As he walked back the path he'd taken, Shadow had melted to darken his form along with Griffon shortly after. There was no conversation to be had between man and devil; and V got away with leaving many of Griffons' questions unanswered. Fatigue, he'd explained. Partly true. Already was he tiring himself out, pushing more than he was used to just to keep on the path. If he expected to stand on his own two feet with his head held high, confidence on his brow and the steadfast backing of his infernal friends, he wouldn't do it looking and feeling so tuckered out. But he'd done wrong to reflect on it now. V had inevitably seen himself home.

Griffon and Shadow were freed to sleep where they pleased the moment V locked the door. Sleep was not often something that he looked forward to. Given the frequency of his nightmares, he would start in the middle of the night with his traumas and insecurities brought to the forefront of his mind as if he'd lived through every painful experience all over again. But he was too tired to care when he flung himself on his bed, and he likewise did not fight the fading of his consciousness when he slipped right off to sleep. He always would, and horror would reliably wake him. Only, tonight, it didn't. He didn't wake. He'd slept in unintentionally when dawn broke. It was strange to him that he'd felt mildly rested in the morning, when he would oft feel sleepy. He didn't remember any disturbance in his sleep. But the black of his hair made him wonder; and, still, the tiredness in his body hadn't left him. He would go to the same field that night in an attempt to call Nightmare from its hideaway for the first time, but the demon did not come. Try as he did, driven to worry and exasperation, thinking even that he'd betrayed his new friend in some irreversible manner, the familiar would not emerge. Griffon suggested a thousand things to try, and those that were sensible resulted in failure.

But...V did think of one thing before quitting for the night. He thought to be playful, as if coaxing a child from its hiding place, when he poured his will and his warmth into a snap of his fingers. From the sky came crashing down a meteorite, V's hair suddenly white.

Ah, so that's how it is.

#drabble ;#// I post this here because it's all a part of V's character development.#// I can't expect anyone to read it directly on my blog because. I mean really. 19 pages.#// After seven days I show signs of life on Tumblr omfg

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henrik-mikaelson · 6 years

Text

mother of mine / self para

Location: New Orleans Mentions: Esther Mikaelson, The Mikaelson’s, Hazel Prince, NPC witches Warnings: blood, mental distortion, hexed, murder Summary: once upon a time a mother cast a spell on her son so he would suffer hellish nightmares of his past whenever he falls asleep, they did not live happily ever after, the end

Having chosen to stay behind after Hazel had acquired her object, his intentions were as wavering as the wind. See, on the one hand, he just wanted to explore but on the other, there was something he felt in the cemetery that urged him to stay and check it out. The sense of familiarity, the feeling of unfiltered dread, it only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough for Henrik to grow a new shadow of paranoia. He only ever felt the way he did when he was on the other side and Esther was drawing close, always alerting him to run the opposite way. The only difference now was that he wasn’t running, he wasn’t dead - he didn’t have to fear her... So why was he walking around stiffened by the thought? After three days of nothing but his growing tension, Henrik chose to try another path to draw out a possible threat. He’d had himself cloaked so he could scope things out himself but now, he decided to walk around without such protection. If someone wanted his attention, they only needed to make an appearance. Henrik sat outside of a bar, feet up on the opposite chair, drink in hand. He began to think he had just overthought the entire thing - that day in the cemetery messed with all their minds, he didn’t think himself an exception. A couple hours passed and as the sun was setting, the warlock was about to call it a day.

He stood up, placing his bill down on the table when he stilled, hand on top of the money, eyes catching the approaching figures strategically closing in on him from all angles of escape. Henrik lifted his eyes up and took an almost nonchalant glance around, sensing instantly they were witches. “Ladies,” a hint of a smile crossed his lips as he stood up straight and was almost pleased that his paranoia was seemingly about to show him that he was right to feel that way. The faces void of any emotion, albeit some obvious dislike, would unsettle the lesser man but despite their number, there was only one witch that would ever unnerve him. “If you’re wanting a drink I’m afraid I’m just about to call it an evening.” Henrik could have done something to escape but he was far too curious to know what they wanted. After all, the best way to get to the plot of a plan was sometimes allowing yourself to be captured. “You’ll walk with us, your presence has been requested.” One of them spoke, bringing a lift onto Henrik’s brows. “By who?” The obvious question, he thought - lucky he hadn’t expected an answer, it made the attack that rendered him unconscious much less surprising.

Henrik awoke with a miserable groan, taking a few seconds to really come around he sparked back to his senses when his hand pressed against a cold floor that caused the chains on his wrists to clatter. Rolling onto his side, he blinked his eyes and inspected the binds before looking at the dank den lit up by candles that he’d been forcibly dragged to. “Fractos.“ Henrik watched the chains snap from his wrists and sat up. That was far too easy, these witches had to know he could do that. “Henrik.” A voice sounded from the side of him, a voice firing a chill that practically launched him to his feet to turn in the direction of it. Eyes widened, he lost his balance at the sight before him and when he stepped back, a ring of fire blazed around him, prompting his quick return to the center of it until the flames dulled down. There was a quiver in his fingers and to his surprise, it was more anger than it was fear. Too long had passed, too many events had happened, he’d come so far, he wasn’t about to let her best him now, not when he had everything he wanted. “Been a while, mother.” Henrik cast his eyes up to her his expression one of clear distaste as his hands curled into tight fists. Taking a glance around, he noticed the witches from his assault stood around, yet, Esther, was sat down a mere two meters away from him. Something was off. “I have to say, I’m a little underwhelmed,” Henrik stretched his hand out towards the edge of the ring, watching the spark blaze back up, only confirming there wasn’t an escape without meeting a fiery end. “This is a little basic for your talents, isn’t it? I know the counterspell...” It was more of a statement made in an attempt to egg her on and get to whatever point this held. Henrik wasn’t yet convinced this was her, he had his doubts, his suspicions that the witches surrounding him were cloaking a witch to just look like her. Hence, why he remained inside the circle.

“I wished to speak with you. Letting you see me as you recall... I thought I would earn a keener ear.” Esther’s eyes bore into his and she allowed him some time to join together the dots. “You’re still dead.” The relief in his voice was apparent. Gesturing to the surrounding witches, he sighed quietly. “But you can communicate with the witches, use them to appear as yourself, use one to speak... How?” His eyes narrowed, even now - still skeptical. For all he knew, the witches had this planned from the start. What if they only had to make Henrik believe he was speaking to Esther? “You recall our meeting on the other side. Our agreement.” She spoke. Oh, she was smart, given that agreement was only between the two of them, Henrik quickly realized she was giving him proof. “You broke your word, Henrik. You were not to chase your siblings.” Henrik hummed in the back of his throat. “I was a frightened child who would have agreed to anything just to be alive.” That was his defense, it was true after all. “But as you well know, I never made it to shore.” He, along with his love, died on the ship to England where his siblings were rumored to have been residing. “And then you ran from me for a thousand years after.” Her tone was empty, bitter, one might say. “Nothing personal, it’s just- Mm, no, actually it was completely personal.” Henrik curled his lips into a smirk that was quickly removed by the use of magic that brought him to his knees. “You dare speak to me with such distaste. Look at me, boy.” Rising from her chair, Henrik lifted up his head, a growl under his breath and an expression that matched her own. “You defied my order. You defied nature a third time to return from the other side and now you choose to surround yourself with a family that will only see to your destruction.” Esther would sound concerned to an untrained ear, but all Henrik heard was an attempt at manipulation. “You want to talk to me about defying nature? Joke of the millennia that is. They’re my siblings. A life is not worth living if it is not spent with those who love you.” Henrik stood back up and pinned his shoulders back.

“And you’re certain they have accepted you back into the fold, Henrik? Has Niklaus accepted you?” Esther started to step around the outside of the ring and Henrik closed his eyes, breathing out a sigh as he rolled his shoulders. “He will in time. After centuries of betrayal and torment, I’m not holding his resistance against him. Enough with the mind games. Why am I here? What are you trying to do, turn me against them?” Turning around to face her when she paused behind him. “You have angered a lot of spirits Henrik. With your return, with your reckless visit to free Hazel from her ancestors, with her resurrection and now, by stepping into their grounds and taking what does not belong to you.” She referred to the object Hazel needed. “They demand justice.” That made the warlock laugh. “Justice? It’s not the word I would use. You’re bitter, twisted, out for payback. Bloody loopy if you ask me, time was certainly not kind to your mental state.” Henrik narrowed his eyes, a vicious twang to his tone. “Nor was it kind to yours, son. You used to hold such light in your eyes, now all I see is pain, grief... You never did recover from the loss of Amelia, did you?” Esther took a step back and the witches stepped forward. “What do you know about her?” Henrik snapped. Amelia had remained by his side for five hundred years until one night she was pulled from him by something he still couldn’t explain. “You.” His voice came out quiet, a furious shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe the realization. “You did well elude me, Henrik. A pity your girlfriend was such a sacrificial lamb. I knew if I couldn’t get to you...” she paused, knowing Henrik would finish off. “... You would do something to ensure she paid the price.” Henrik bowed his head and closed his eyes. His hands came up to cover his face, needing a moment to let that sink in.

“You took away the one person I had. The one person who saved me from being alone.” He sighed out, looking back towards her. It was much more than that, of course - they both knew it. Amelia was the first person he connected with after Esther brought him back to life. Just a boy, a lost boy in a sea of abandonment, Amelia shone like a light in his eternal darkness. He loved her, breathed for her, adoration would never be a strong enough word. As the seconds passed, the thought sank and rage quickly bubbled to the surface. If he didn’t hate his mother before, he certainly did now. “Lihednat Dolchitni.” His sour face became more of a curious one, until it registered which spell she was using against him. The air in his lungs started to leave, though he tried not to panic and make it worse... It was difficult when he was literally fighting against his own airways closing in. Knowing he had only a few seconds to think fast, his eyes landed on the chair behind her. “Motus.” Henrik choked out, sending the chair into the back of her. Throwing her off her focus, he took a deep breath and used his magic to throw the circle of witches off the walls. “Vatos!” Henrik yelled, ducking for cover as the windows and various objects surrounding them shattered and made a B line straight for his targets. The fire surrounding him died out and he took a few seconds to catch his breath, slumping onto the back of his legs and glancing around.

All but one witch seemed to have perished or was at least unconscious. The remaining witch looked to be the one who appeared as his mother, now in her true form since the spell was broken. “Who am I speaking with now?” He asked, wondering if it was the witch, or if Esther was still using her as a gateway. The witch began to laugh, in spite of the many glass shards cutting into her flesh. “Your mother was right about you, you are tenacious. Pity, it won’t save your soul.” She smiled, manically towards him and funnily enough, the elder felt no need to retaliate - she’d be dead from blood loss in a matter of minutes. “You’re aware this hasn’t achieved anything?” At least that’s what Henrik thought. He and Hazel knew they were linked now and what it meant. Esther was still dead, any loyal followers she had would surely meet the same fate these ones did. What he couldn’t figure out was why she went to so much trouble to speak to him herself. “What did you gain out of this?” Henrik frowned, bringing forth another choked laugh from the brunette. “Retribution. You defy everything that is natural, your mother granted us a gift in exchange for the chance to speak with you, it was a small price.” With her breathing growing shallow, Henrik found himself asking a whole new set of questions, but the biggest. “What did she do to me?” It seemed like the logical one to ask - he was unconscious for who knows how long, he’d be a fool to think they hadn’t used that to an advantage. So what was it? A hex? A spell? What? “Go home, Mikaelson,” she spat, blood trickling out her mouth, but with her dying breath, a smile crossed her lips and a bone-chilling comment passed. “Oh, and sweet dreams.” The way in which she said that, said a lot and yet at the same time, nothing at all. The light left her eyes and Henrik slammed his fists against the concrete. The warlock already had trouble sleeping, now it would seem a new literal nightmare was going to be waiting for him whenever he shut his eyes to rest.

#self para #this got long but i'm quite proud #considering i made it up as i went #for those who cba to read it all the juice is in the last 3 paragraths #paragraphs*

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