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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Note

Story on Norman catching Sammy in Joey cult ?

It's been twice now that I've written Norman's demise. Y'all really like killing people uh?

Summary: Sammy was weird in many ways, but this? This was just crazy.

---

Back when Norman was still a little tot, his great nanna used to tell him and his brothers and sisters about their great poppop. How he'd been raised in some sort of cult that indoctrinated its disciples from birth. She related to them how, even though he'd managed to escape them, their constant drilling of ideals had never truly left him. Which was why nanna had gotten rid of him. Love him as she did, she knew he was a crazy dangerous man. Little five year old Norman had been very curious about those tales his mama begged nanna not to tell them. He especially found it curious when she described his eyes. Having a condition like the one he had, had made him a prime target for neighbourhood bullies that called him "Crazy-Eye". So hearing about someone who had actual insanity behind what most considered to be the windows to the soul... It had given him a sort of relief, because at least there was a spark of life behind his own unsynchronized peepers. "N'aw child, don't yous go be tellin' ya mama 'bout what ol' nanna be tellin' you 'bout ya poppop, ya hear?" "Ok nanna. Won't tell a soul." "Yous is a clever one, boy. An' don't forget ta keep an eye out... Crazy can hide in plain sight. Sure did for poppop." Insanity could hide in plain sight. That was perhaps the most valuable lesson to take from his nanna's tales. What she could never get across was how hard it was to see someone you cared for slowly be afflicted with it.

Sammy was a weird man. Had been from day one of Norman meeting him, and never quite changed even when he put a reign on his deplorable attitude. He wasn't a bad person per say. Misguided by a parent with that typical southern brand of white superiority complex. A man who thought his skin color made him better than all the other folk, and who taught his boy to think it was just as sacred an idea as the damn gospel he also tried to drill into Sammy's head. But Sammy was admittedly clever, and much more curious than his father had been. He asked questions and he tried to change when he realized his own crappy behaviour didn't please him all that much. But then things started getting unsettling in the studio. Little things popped up, and the world's own agenda got in the way of Joey Drew's plans. Turns out Joey wasn't about to fold for anything or anyone. Those who were drafted were the lucky ones. Those who were socially outcasts or liabilities in the military's eyes, were not so lucky. They stayed, so the wrongness affected them. The wrongness... Norman had felt something was not right for a long while, but now that he had to get acquainted with so many new hires and the such? He'd been preoccupied. So when the ones he knew suddenly started acting unlike themselves he'd been caught by surprise. "I don't understand how Mr. Drew has no trouble with him... He's just so..." He'd found Buddy in the bathroom, trying to clean the obvious ink stains on his clothing. "Why did I think helping him would make him less nasty?" "Sammy tends ta blow up at minor things. If it was as bad as yous say it was, then he was just freaked out from nearly drowning." He got as many paper towels as he could to help the poor kid get rid of as much of the ink as he could. "Doesn't excuse what he says to me... Or the other Jewish employees..." Buddy murmured sadly. "What did he say?" "Not important... Just makes me uneasy. It's like I'm specifically not worth anything just because of my... Mr. Polk?" Buddy blinked once the projectionist dropped everything he was doing to stalk out the door. "Yous ain't the first he's gone and played that card on. Was a long while ago but I can refresh Sammy's memory for the folks he's been barkin' at." "Oh! Uh, you don't have to! It's not going to fix anything." "Trust me, a hard knock on the noggin' works just fine ta sorte Sammy's bullshit." Norman smiled in passing at Dot who paused to watch him and then look at Buddy in concern once he peered out the bathroom door. "You two kids run along now. I'll see yous around." He tried not to laugh when he heard Buddy fretting over potentially getting fired for starting a fight. Kid still had a lot to learn about how Joey Drew Studios ran for all these years. Sometimes tough love was all it needed. But not this time.

His nanna's tales rushed back to him when he'd cornered Sammy in his office. Norman didn't like roughing people up, but he'd promised the music director that if he stepped on any toes for the wrong reasons he'd give him a whooping like the one the blond had been begging for, back when he'd first harassed the projectionist. He had half a mind to start hollering until he'd caught sight of Sammy's eyes. Nanna had described insanity in great detail. The unfeeling and unfocused darkness in poppop's eyes that consumed the man she'd loved and left nothing behind. Sammy's eyes were a soft hazel, the nice flicker of green so full of the essence that made Sammy Lawrence who he was. What Norman saw instead of those pretty peepers were dark pools, a sickly grayish brown with flecks of blackness like tar. Like ink... Norman completely forgot what he was to say. He couldn't bring himself to talk when he saw the same thing that had tormented his nanna's dreams. It just wasn't right.

Joey Drew was up to something, and Sammy was involved somehow. By his own volition, Norman wasn't too sure. The kid was acting mighty strange since Norman had noticed his eyes had inexplicably changed color, and whatever progress for positive change he'd made was completely gone. If anything, Sammy had become an incredibly volatile and aggressive husk. Very few people noticed, which was what was so concerning. "It can't be a coincidence... Joey barely showin' his face 'round the departments and Sammy actin' up like the devil bit him in the ass..." He'd paced as he watched Jack drink what was likely the 5th cup of coffee he'd in the morning. "Whatever it is, Sammy's more enthusiastic about his songs for a change..." He sounded nonchalant about it. "He complained about all the pieces Drew forced him to change... Now he's less, angry about those. Seems to love them actually." "Those little annoying jigs? He said they was garbage!" "And they are. Putting lyrics to those was dang awful but... Well if he's happy, I'm happy..." Jack gave a weak smile before coughing a rather wet sounding cough. He took another sip of his coffee to sooth his throat. "You comin' down with somethin'?" "Must be... This gross cough has been popping up a lot. And my nose is awfully stuffy. Can't smell or taste nothing, which is good considering I gotta hide away in the sewers to work..." Norman huffs. People were getting sick from being forced to do overtime with no rest. Jack getting sick wasn't entirely out of the question. But the stench of something acrid coming from his mug did give him cause for concern. Best check to see if Wally hadn't accidentally stored the coffee beans with the cleaning supplies again. A week later he forgets about it once he instead finds himself making a list of the people he stops seeing around the Studio not long after he noticed something up with Joey and Sammy.

There's Jack, who he hadn't noticed gone at first until he'd gone poking around the sewers and not caught sight of the shorter lyricist. There was Johnny Brokehart, who's organ was completely abandoned in its little corner. No one dared touch it, in case the man returned and found so much as a pipe out of place. There was Julian Whitaker, the tall gangly cellist that often sat with the resident art critic, that Vernon fellow who liked to stare at the cartoon posters like they were masterpieces on display at a museum. Susie Campbell had gone too. Wally insisted she hadn't quit, and was awfully worried about her. Allison and Thomas had also up and split after they'd made a scene at one of them fancy parties Joey used to get investors to dump money into his lap. Shawn Flynn, Grant Cohen, Bertrum Piedmont, Lacie Benton, Emma LaMonte... People were vanishing left and right and there was no say of them being fired. Norman had a theory, and he didn't like it one bit. He tried to do his best to inform the younger hires to run before something inevitably happened to them. He told Buddy and Dot it was dangerous, in as little words he could so not to let Joey catch wind of what he did know. He prayed to whatever god was out there that no bad befell those two kids. And then he'd grabbed his light and went down, where the groaning and moaning came from.

Norman ran. Ran as fast as he could, trying not to look at the things trapped in those tubes. The creatures that were tall, gangly, and vaguely humanoid. Weeping faces pressed to the glass, begging to be let out. The disgusting sludge creatures, barely holding themselves together and clawing at the glass in obvious suffering. The thing that had Sammy's voice and that was rushing after him, axe in hand and Bendy mask covering its face. Screaming at him to accept the "Lord's" blessing. He ran and dodged strikes that nicked his elbows, his legs, grazed his ankle and back... He came to a full stop before what could only be described as a throne. Horrified to find something twisted that looked like a humanoid corpse-like Bendy bound in chains. And then he was knocked onto the floor, air escaping his lungs from the sudden collision. The Sammy thing was on top of him, overjoyed to have caught him. And then all around, Joey Drew's voice filled the room... The thing on the throne shook and hissed. "Excellent... You know what to do Prophet. Baptize this non-believer in the name of your lord." "Anything for you my lord. Anything!" Norman tried to fight him off, knocked that silly mask off his face even. Except there was no face. Not even eyes. Windows to the soul... If he had none, then did Sammy even have a soul anymore? The axe raised, and Norman Polk didn't even have time to scream before it plunged into his chest, destroyed his ribcage, and obliterated his heart.

#Eps Writes:#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Norman Polk #Sammy Lawrence

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chyrstis · 4 years

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I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 6/10

Meant to get this one up over here a little sooner, but the added time didn’t hurt one bit, and it let me make some more formatting tweaks. I might just keep on tweaking this whole thing forever at this rate.

Oh, and the sunglasses? Entirely unplanned in the initial draft until I caught a reference to a movie that couldn’t be further removed from this or FC5. But I owe that absurd movie so much, considering how important those darn glasses are now in hindsight.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed

Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 3.2K

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

—

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

———–

“Still went with that red, huh?”

John set the paint cans down next to him, and glanced up at the boathouse. “If you recall, I had my heart set on red. Back when it was first built I hadn't thought much of it, but…maybe I was a bit more fond of it than I remember.”

“That don't mean you couldn't have changed it.” Sharky pried open the paint can with a spare screwdriver, and handed it off. “Gone for something different, but still memorable. Like orange, or yellow.”

John’s lip curled. “Yellow?”

“Yeah. Banana yellow, or shit, bright purple.”

“I was taking your opinion on this seriously, you know. Up until the word ‘banana’ slipped out.”

“Heh, slipped.” John’s flat look only made Sharky snicker more. “But can you name five things, like well-known landmarks that are yellow?” John opened his mouth, but Sharky didn’t let him finish. “And green’s my go-to, ride-or-die color, but yellow? Two thumbs up.”

“So you say.”

“It’s just the kind of thing that’ll net you a bunch of admirers. Numbers ripe for the picking. ‘Cause it’s, you know. Oozing all of that appeal. Like peel, as in a banana.”

John let out an exasperated groan, and Sharky might’ve punched the air. Maybe harder than intended. “You did not.”

“I did. Don’t think I won’t find a way to do it again. It’s the Boshaw way,” Sharky replied with a wink.

Rolling his eyes, John huffed. “I hate you.”

The two dipped the paint rollers into his chosen red and started spreading it, painting wide red lines over the wood as they took them up the sides from top to bottom. The patches weren’t going to be done in a single coat, but each one streaked. Made Sharky’s job harder for him as he laid the paint on thick, only for John to try and correct him.

His pointed betrayal when the next five strokes didn’t come out just as perfect as he claimed they would had Sharky cracking up on the spot.

“Nobody’s perfect,” he offered, but John kept on trying over and over until he was able to make it work.

It was hot for a late-fall day, though. Or maybe it was just the combination of the sun and the work, but he was sweating. Needing some other way to cool off than the water stashed in the cooler with them, Sharky stepped back, only to catch a view of the river.

Now that was a source guaranteed to cool him off fast.

Taking his shirt off, Sharky mopped his face with it, eyeing the water. Stared at it just long enough for the internal battle in him to be fought and won, and he made his choice.

Balling his shirt up, he took a shot for the table in the distance, and missed it completely. Missed it with his hat afterwards too, but the wind threw him off there; whipped under the hat only to send it flying off elsewhere, and Sharky watched it tumble onto the grass.

John raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Going for a swim.” Undoing his belt, Sharky slid it off and tossed it to the side. “Seriously, the water at this time of year’s gotta be perfect. Just cold enough to shock the system, but not enough to send you straight to the hospital.”

That had John shaking his head at him.

“Guess we’ll agree to disagree here, compadre, but you tell me that ain’t looking the slightest bit nice.”

His pants came off right after, and to John’s credit his eyes didn’t leave his face. “It might.”

“Well, between you and me? Might’ll do just fine,” Sharky said, smirking at him.

Shedding his shoes and socks, he went right for it. Didn’t think anything at all of how cold it was looking to be, and dove into the water. The sharp temperature difference hit almost immediately, making him suck in a breath once he surfaced; the chill of it washing right over him.

But the longer he was out there, the less it bothered him - taking the edge off in just the way he hoped. It was a great feeling, and he kept paddling around close to the pier before noticing that John hadn’t made a move to follow him. Not that he’d expected him to, but that didn’t mean some friendly peer pressure was out.

Sharky reached up to snag the end of the pier and hoisted himself up. Resting on his forearms as John walked to the end to join him, he tapped a fist against the wood.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Hell yeah,” Sharky replied, grinning up at him. “Seriously. You wanna cool off quick? This does it.”

John tapped his fingers on his thigh as he stood there, and actually looked like he was considering it. He crouched down to better talk to him, still more than a few feet higher overall.

“I’ll take your word for it, but I have a feeling you’re just trying to give me a nasty shock.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because I can hear your teeth chattering from here.”

Snapping his mouth shut, Sharky rubbed at his lips and tossed a glare John’s way. Then an idea hit. One that had him trying not to grin behind his fingers, and dropped the smile before lowering it.

“Fine, it’s like ten degrees colder than I’d like, but still doable. Just not for longer than like, five minutes at a time. Got a hand for me?” He reached up to John, and he didn’t hesitate to take it. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Keeping his fingers clasped around his forearm, John tried to help him up, but he stayed put.

“What are you…?”

Shock flashed across John’s face as Sharky pulled hard, yanking him right off the dock and into the water.

The water closed over Sharky’s head. Cut him off from both sound and light, leaving him only to the sound of his breath. His thoughts too, but those never really left him. Not for long, at least.

It was hard to see with what he’d kicked up, but something glinted as it floated down. Something metal, and he snatched up the discarded set of sunglasses before they vanished from sight.

Dropping low, he pushed back up and broke the surface just as a sputtering John did. Coughing, and half-blinded by his hair, John bobbed in place dipping low only when he tried swiping his hair back, and Sharky whooped.

“Badass right? But you know what they say? Ain’t no time like-”

The sharp look in John’s eyes shut him up instantly. Swimming past him, John went straight for shore, and Sharky hesitated only long enough to realize he should’ve been following. He hit land right on John’s heels and watched as he swiped his hair back, drenched to the bone.

“Yo, John, I, um, I’m really sorry. I didn’t think it’d be anything bad or nothing. Just wanted to share a, uh…fuck.”

Turning towards him, John’s expression was perfectly schooled. Calmer than he’d been out on the water, but his eyes didn’t let up, and Sharky was frozen to the spot. He tilted his head, and the motion brought a strip of hair down, moving it out of place only for it to slap him on the nose.

John flinched. Reaching up slowly to glance down at what was held between his fingers, he examined it closely only for his mouth to split into a brilliant grin. Covering it with his hand, he started to laugh, continuing until his entire body was shaking.

“Uh, dude?” Sharky stood there, both of his hands held up in front of him and waited. Waited a beat, then two as John continued, genuinely laughing his way through this almost to the point of tears, and couldn’t keep a nervous smile from creeping in. “You doing okay over there?”

“You didn’t think that through at all, did you?”

Sharky watched him carefully, still not sure if it was safer for him to join in or run. “Think through what now?”

“You wanted to share a what with me?”

“Share a…like, share a good idea.”

Tutting him, John’s grin quickly became a smirk. “I distinctly recall hearing you say something a little more suggestive.”

“Share a good idea, not like share a…oh.”

Oh, he was not fucking serious.

“Th-that’s you thinking that!” Sharky replied, his voice strained, “I just…remember how I said you were a talker? And how I can put both feet in my mouth, and keep on running? Well, that’s what that was! Me running, ‘cept it was my mouth doing it.”

“But that may not have been the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“Uh, wait, what?" Still scrambled, Sharky wasn’t sure at all what thread they were following now.

“The swim.” John straightened his posture, all while trying to brush his hair back into place, and his smirk only grew. “Almost too refreshing in a way, and well worth the cost of doing so.”

Reaching into his pocket, John held up his phone. His very expensive, and now very dead phone, and déjà vu hit Sharky all over again.

“Don’t,” John said, interrupting the rush of thoughts early, “I needed to replace it anyway. Those, however, I’d prefer not to.”

Looking down, Sharky took in the sunglasses clenched in his hand. John’s fancy blue-lensed sunglasses, that had only survived due to a miracle alone.

John gestured towards the sunglasses, and curved a finger to guide him forward. “I’ll take them back now.”

The idea hit before he’d even taken the first step.

One for one so far, his luck was rarely good enough to gamble with repeatedly, but he was feeling good today. Pumped enough from the dive alone, he'd had a chance to see John let loose - really fucking ease off and relax for once - and he'd gladly crash and burn at the chance to have that happen twice.

Sharky held them out only to slip them on, blinking against the sudden wave of blue. “This pair’s mighty nice. Might’ve been eyeing a new pair of glasses myself.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Those are five-hundred-dollar, custom-made, specialty sunglasses.”

“Guess you want them back bad then, don’t you?” Sliding a hand behind his ear, Sharky flicked the sunglasses up and down a few times over his eyes, and didn’t bother hiding the smirk crossing his face, “‘Fraid I’ll mess ‘em up, Johnny boy?”

The nickname got the reaction he’d hoped for. John sharpened the glare until it was made of nothing but intent. That sent a thrill through him; one he was going to ride for all it was worth.

"Well?" Sharky spread his hands wide, and motioned towards himself as he stepped back. “You waiting for an invite or something?”

Then promptly turned and cheezed it towards the woods.

Running through the brush wasn’t the best choice. Doing it without his sneakers wasn't a great option either, but he’d already dedicated himself to seeing this through, and judging from the sound behind him, John was too.

Good. He’d almost be disappointed if he got away.

Ducking into spot by a nearby bush, Sharky glanced around, the shades throwing him off enough to shove them up onto his head, and knew John had the advantage here. He had shoes, could see clearly, and was too stubborn to quit.

It didn’t matter that he was though. So was he, and there was no way he’d give up now with John so close.

Sneaking, though, had never been his forte, and crashing through this, he’d left a good trail to follow. Breaking and snapping everything he could’ve collided with or trudged through along the way, had generated all sorts of noise. Shit, feeling less and less like the Predator and more like one of the guys about to be skinned by it, he settled in and barely held back from slapping dirt onto himself for any form of camo.

Though, wait. Maybe he did have the right idea there. Just grab some mud and branches, tuck in real nice and close to one of these trees with his back to it, facing out so he could see into the forest as a whole. Maybe throw some leaves into it-

Popping up behind him, John’s grin went devious in a snap. “What have we here?”

“Oh, fuck!“

He jumped up only to feel a weight slam into him, taking him down to the ground. John really wasn’t messing around, and he swore to himself as he tried to wriggle out of his hold and crawl away. John’s hands slipped due to his wet skin and his lack of clothes period, but he wasn’t budging. No, he stayed on him, and Sharky mentally upgraded him from stubborn as hell to stubborn as fuck.

He was also busy trying not to think about just how okay John was wrestling a guy in his underwear like this. John was warm up against his back, but that had nothing on the way he was practically panting into his ear. It sent a shiver straight through him, and Sharky hoped like hell this wouldn’t be the time he’d decide to pop a boner.

Because one, awkward. Two, his tighty-whiteys weren’t going to hide shit. And three, John.

John wasn’t supposed to be in the same category as those chicks from the music videos he loved watching, those two ladies that he really wished he’d sealed the deal with a couple of months back, Grace snapping off a shot during Nick’s 4th of July bash, or Mary May.

But here he was, thinking about it, and couldn’t find a solid reason to shoot it down. Well, not as solid a reason as he’d thought, apparently. ‘Cause him not being that into dudes was supposed to cover that, but not even that held as much water as it used to. Not anymore.

Fuck. Fuck his luck.

“Now, now,” John hissed. “It doesn’t do either of us any good if what we’re both seeking ends up breaking. Especially now. Don’t you agree?”

Sharky threw his hands up. “Okay, fine! Fine! Uncle, just…let me flip over so I don’t end up eating dirt while I’m at it.”

The glasses had fallen down over his eyes in the struggle, and when John backed off enough for him to turn over, he found himself staring up at him. Blue on blue, the lenses really didn’t do his eyes justice. Not one bit.

“Do you yield?”

Sharky flipped him off with both hands.

“Now Charlemagne, be reasonable. I don’t think you’re in a position to argue.”

“Look, I could find a position for any occasion.” And under you’s one of them, he thought, biting his tongue. “But uh, we gonna parley this?”

“Parley?” John laughed, “I don’t think there’s much to negotiate here, but if you simply hand them over, perhaps I could be convinced to be merciful.”

He really wished John would shut his mouth. Or say something other than what he’d usually drop, because suddenly finding that hot was becoming a problem. Fast.

Grumbling, Sharky reached for the sunglasses and held them up. “Whatever. Just take ‘em.”

John snapped them up, holding them high before sliding them back onto his head like a small crown. All while wearing every bit of the triumphant smile he expected he would. “Ah, reunited at last.”

“Yeah, yeah. You won, whatever.”

Setting his hand back down to the right of Sharky’s head, John sighed. “You, my friend, never know when to quit.”

“Hey, you’re the one that ran a half-naked dude through the woods, and tackled his ass to the ground over a pair of sunglasses. Classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, yo.”

“Please,” John rolled his eyes, but was smiling warmly, “this was encouraged. Don’t deny it.”

Sharky returned it, liking how it took the edge off of him. It always did, but John usually let it fade fast. Like he’d blink and miss it, and wouldn’t have had any clue he’d done it to begin with.

Not this time. John kept that smile, aiming it right at him, and he couldn’t look away if he tried.

“Who said I was?” Sharky replied, his voice deeper. Rougher.

Opening his mouth to respond, John paused. Let his smile curve into something different as it took on an edge he liked, and waited, watching him back just as closely now.

Sharky heard the leaves move as John shifted, leaning down. But he tuned it all out. Focused only on John as he came within a breath of him, hovering in place as he took in every last detail on his face.

“Prove me wrong then,” John whispered.

So, Sharky did exactly what his gut told him to do. No mind paid at all to the anxious voice in the back of his head running on overdrive, or how hard his heart was pounding in his chest.

Leaning up, he touched his lips to John's.

They were cool. Cool and soft as he held the kiss, not wanting to break it.

Nothing happened at first. Above him, John stayed in place, frozen, but he didn’t withdraw. That’s when it clicked, the actual act sinking in, and John’s eyelids fluttered shut.

Angling his head, his mouth moved against his. Applied more pressure bit by bit, as Sharky breathed in through his nose. It was slow; careful as neither drew back, or wanted air between them.

Sharky reached up for him, placing a hand on his side as John let more of his weight shift onto him. Pulled him closer, focusing on how warm he felt, even through his wet clothes.

And the brush of John’s fingertips along his jaw, got the first real sound out of him. A low moan, almost lost, but not ignored. Not when he felt John’s tongue run along his lips, and opened his mouth to him right after.

“-ohn? Brother John?”

John’s sharp inhale cut through the fog. Going still, he drew back, blue eyes wide open and staring directly at him.

There was a laugh in the distance. It joined the other voices as they called out, one more familiar than the others, and all asked for one person. John.

Staring up at him, up at John, he swallowed hard.

John was off of him soon after. The sunglasses hit the leaves by him, forgotten, and Sharky sat up as John paced a short track away from him.

Scrubbing his hair back, he let out a rough breath. “I have to- Joseph needs me to…” His voice trailed off as he turned towards him. But when their eyes met, there was no mistaking it. The pained look that crossed him, holding fast. “I’m sorry.”

John turned and left, heading off.

Stunned, Sharky sat there for a good five minutes, unmoving. Grabbing the glasses, he considered them for a second, staring off in the direction John went as his stomach twisted. The feeling brewing there digging at him, both hurt and frustrated.

Because he’d known what he’d wanted to happen there. What he’d let himself hope for as John drew close enough to touch, and he’d later drink himself stupid that night by the firepit trying to drown it all out.

He’d always been full of ideas. Both good and bad, with most leaning towards the latter.

So, maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all that he’d wanted to kiss him. It was easily his worst idea yet.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #fanfiction #FC5 fanfiction #fic: I won't ask for much #fic series: we could make a home out of this

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nisaeiam · 5 years

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TIMELESS - an acotar fanfic

After spending her entire life in Cretea, Zivia finds herself in the company of the Night Court, sent as an emissary to help after the war. As she navigates her way outside her once secluded life, she develops unlikely bonds with the people around her - especially with the one wreathed in shadows.

PROLOGUE, CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, CHAPTER 4, CHAPTER 5, CHAPTER 6, CHAPTER 7, CHAPTER 8, CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

Feyre, Cassian and Rhysand were having a conversation in one of the estate's study when a loud crash followed by Elain's high-pitched scream sent them running to the garden. They stopped short at the sight that greeted them.

"What the - ?"

Azriel and Zivia were sprawled among the shrubs lining the fountain, both grunting in pain.

"What happened?" gasped Feyre as she rushed beside Zivia to help her up.

Azriel was quick in getting back on his feet but the shock from their fall made him lose his balance and slip right into the fountain basin, sending splashes of water into Cassian's face, who was extending a hand to him.

"Woah, easy brother," teased Cassian as he wiped his face with his other arm. "Are you drunk?"

The shadowsinger levelled him a look. "We winnowed straight from the Continent!"

Winnowing at great distances messes your orientation and muddles up one's senses especially if done in rapid successions and given the state of the two of them arrived, they were definitely in a rush.

"Let's get you inside," Feyre said, bracing a hand around the Seraphim's shoulder.

They settled in the parlour and she ordered Nuala and Cerridwen to get some towels.

"I'll get some tea," volunteered Elain.

"Okay, so what happened?" asked Rhysand as her sister disappeared into the hallway.

"Our cover was blown," muttered Zivia while she plucked leaves that were stuck in between the feathers of her wings.

"We were found out sneaking to be exact," amended Azriel.

Elain came back with a steaming pot of tea and set it down on the table at the center of the room. She went to Zivia and helped her in cleaning the dirt stuck on her face and wings.

"I'm not entirely to be blamed," Zivia grumbled. "How could I possibly concentrate with you squirming between my legs?"

Rhysand spewed out his drink across the room, Feyre almost dropping the pot and Cassian tried to cough up the liquid that went the other way down his throat as he threw an incredulous look at a wide-eyed Azriel.

"It's not – " He snapped his head to the Seraphim, who was now starting to look as though she would rather be somewhere else.

Cassian barked a laugh, tapping the shadowsinger on his shoulders. "I've never seen you so flustered Az, it's actually refreshing!"

Feyre had never seen the Illyrian look that uncomfortable before and it was something of Zivia to elicit such emotion from him. She suppressed a smile at whatever thought that came into her head at that.

The High Lord cleared his throat. "Uh, any reports then?"

Zivia launched into the story of how they utterly failed in the very simple task of spying without being seen, a portion of which involves having both of them sneakily peek through the mansion's window in hopes of catching whatever they could as the meeting progresses. They were not allowed inside even in the guise of two guards nor two servants nor any other particular individuals for that matter, the meeting was strictly for the lords only – no other else. It ended with Zivia recalling how they made for a quick escape after unceremoniously falling from Azriel's shoulders while trying to reach a better view but instead knocking her head in the glass window hard enough to alert everyone inside of their presence.

"The mortal queens are finally making their move huh," said Rhys after a while, casting a meaningful glance at Feyre.

"But we don't know what they're planning yet," added Cassian.

A pause.

Rhysand thoughtfully tapped his fingers on his cup before downing its contents and said, "We ought to at least be prepared." He put the cup on the table and stood. "For the meantime, we hold back on our negotiations on the Continent." Both Zivia and Azriel gave a subtle gesture of agreement. "I'll send word to Mor." He then proceeded towards the door.

"You can take a rest here if you want," offered Feyre as she too headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Zivia, already finished with removing all the debris from her wings.

"We're having a meeting with the … uh … night court citizens"

The High Lord nodded at her before disappearing out the door followed by Cassian and the High Lady. Azriel lingered for a second, debating whether to stay or join them. He gave a quick glance at Zivia then to Elain, who was standing awkwardly in the corner holding the teapot in her hands. He decided to go with the latter.

**********

"Was this a bad idea?"

Zivia have asked herself that question for the fifth time since deciding to follow Azriel and the others. There was something amiss in her gut feeling but she couldn't quite place what it was, not that going after them would surely answer that question. A pulsing wave of the High Lord's power brought her back to reality. It was coming from deep within the mountains. Veering sharply downwards, she made a quick work of concealing her presence lest the spymaster discovers her sticking her nose somewhere she clearly shouldn't be. As she neared towards the base, she noticed huge stone gates carved into the mountain itself guarded by two impassive looking guards.

So this is it, she thought.

Her parents have told her all about the Night Court as stories ever since she was a child and she could still clearly remember mentions of the City under the mountain. It was her first time seeing it but she knows what to expect.

The two sentinels know better than to think that what they felt was way more than just still silence and a gust of wind. Air drafts rarely reach this part of the mountain, but another surge of power from the inside made their suspicions inconsequential. Zivia carefully made her way past them and deeper into where the origin of the power felt.

The place was so silent she could hear her own breaths within her shield. A little further into the mountain, sounds became much more audible and distinguishable. She could hear unfamiliar voices arguing as if in protest, some kind of music playing somewhere overlapping with their shouts.

"….it's possible….another war…..lost many lives too…"

The High Lord's voice boomed shook the ground. "SILENCE!"

The others were keeping their silence but anyone could point out their extreme presence even from a distance. This wasn't the same people she talked to a few hours ago. Their powers were fully unhampered as if they were gauging for a war.

She was inching closer to have a look of what was happening when a movement in the corner of her eyes caught her attention. Something just walked past the avenue opposite where she was standing. Her curiosity told her to follow it, so against her better judgment, she did.

The pathway was void of anyone else but her and that someone, leading her away from the others and deeper into the heart of the mountain. There was such stillness in the air the she could tell she's following a child by the sound of its footsteps. They were walking around a bend when the child abruptly stopped and turned on his heels. Zivia barely knocked into him and had just enough time to back away but not before tripping on her own feet and landing flat on her behind.

"Ow"

A sharp gasp as her concealment vanished and the child can finally see her. Barely three feet tall, he was staring at her with too-round eyes that were of bottomless black, two hairy antennae on his forehead stood in shock. The mothy wings on his back tucked in tight and trembled in time with his jaw.

"Hello. I uhm, I – please don't scream!"

The child has his mouth open in an unfinished cry for help. Though he appears to be visibly scared, he remained rooted on his spot possibly due to shock. Tears were already pooling on his eyes and his pale gray skin turned more ashen. Zivia pulled herself up, careful not to make any movements that could further scare the little fae.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." She reached out for him slowly but he flinched away and she had to withdraw her hand. "It's okay, don't be scared."

The child has found his voice and was able to string out words in between his silent sobs.

"Wh – h – huwaryu?"

It took her a few seconds to figure out what he said.

She crouched down so that she is in level with him. "I'm Zivia, and I'm not here to hurt you. We can be friends." She tried her best to show her good intentions with a smile. "What's your name?"

"R-Rem"

Thankfully, he was no longer trembling and his wings now droop carelessly behind him. He is studying her with large glassy eyes and pointed to her wings.

"Oh yes. They've become dirty now, haven't they?"

Rem shook his head. She looked at him in question when he opened his own wings and hovered a few inches above the ground then again pointed at her.

"Wings? yes. They're wings, I use them to fly too."

"Bird?"

"No. I mean a little like that but of course different."

The child surely had a point but being compared to a bird doesn't sit so well with her. She gave him a somewhat forced smile nonetheless.

He blinked at her, non-existent brows furrowing in thought. "Chickens?"

"Definitely not! I'm a Seraphim," she snapped. "Very much similar to Peregryns and – wait…"

The boy's face crumpled in much more confusion at the mention of the two words.

"You – you haven't heard of us?"

A slow shake of his head.

"Well," she angled her head in thought. "Has no one ever told you about us?"

Another shake.

"Don't you ever go outside this mountain?"

"Mother told me never to go out."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

He sounded just as confused as she is. Being locked inside this place and not being able to go outside, she felt pity for the little boy especially for someone given with the gift of flight. Their kind was supposed to be free to roam the skies, whenever they want for as long as they want.

"Can't you ask Lord Rhysand for permission?"

Worry flashed across Rem's face at the mention of the High Lord's name. He frantically looked around as if someone might be spying on them.

"It's alright. Nobody's around."

He looked at her, mild fear still visible on his face. There was obviously something that is keeping him from answering or he's too uncomfortable talking about it that she felt the need to change the topic.

"So where are you headed to?"

Rem perked up, suddenly remembering that he was here for a reason and that he actually has some place to go. In response, he scampered off giving Zivia a gesture to follow. He led her into more darkened alleys and past stone archways. She could hear the faint sound of running water coming from where they were apparently headed and it was getting much louder with each passing step. After squeezing through one particularly tight opening, Zivia found herself standing in a cliff within the mountain and sure enough, a waterfall gushes across from them spouting dark blue water that cascades down into the deep chasm below. There was an eerie feel to it but she couldn't deny that this place is quite beautiful.

"It's scary back there," said Rem, voice barely a whisper.

He was sitting on the far edge of the precipice, arms reaching out trying to catch some of the mist from the falls. She remembered the pulsing anger of Rhysand's power.

"Is your mother back there?"

His hands froze mid-air. "No. she is…not there." He pulled his hands back and wrung his fingers together in hesitation. "She went with the others to the war. She didn't come back."

Tears were threatening to gather on his eyes again and she inched closer to touch him. This time, he let her.

Zivia wasn't sure what to say to a young child who just lost his mother so she did what she does best and hoped it will help soothe the pain even just a little. With a flick of her finger, a butterfly the size of her palm appeared fluttering before them. Rem's building sorrow turned into juvenile fascination as he watched it float around him and mischievously landed on his nose.

"Where I'm from, there's a belief that when these creatures appear, it means that a lost loved one is making their presence felt."

He looked at her in surprise and gently scooped the butterfly into his tiny hands and bringing it close to his heart as if to embrace it. It broke her a little to know that even though it may look very real to this child, she couldn't make it any more so to let him feel it.

The butterfly floated above Rem's head, circling him and urging him to play. He was merrily chasing it around when Zivia felt his arrival and his close presence even before he showed himself.

Rem stopped short at the sight of Azriel and it was now true terror showing on his face. He stumbled and fell on his back, rapidly gasping as if completely out of breath. Zivia quickly rushed to his side.

"What are you doing here?" Azriel's voice is sharp and cold.

She turned around and faced him, placing a protective hand over Rem and looked at the spymaster appallingly. He was in his full suit armour, seven gleaming siphons on display and shadows were curling around his feet. Though he appeared slightly surprised at her presence, he was quick to mask it away and instead turned his attention to the young fae.

Rem squeaked and hid behind Zivia, squeezing himself in between her wings. At that, the Illyrian dropped the oozing viciousness around him and opted for a more toned-down ruthless demeanor, but still one that would make anyone take precautions.

Nevertheless, Zivia knew better. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you."

She threw him an accusatory glance before helping Rem onto his feet. The poor child is still shaking and he clutched her arm so hard his nails dug deep in her skin that it would surely leave prominent marks. Despite her reassurance, she could feel his doubt as much as she could feel his grip on her.

Azriel took a deep breath behind them and started walking away. She watched him disappear into the darkness, leaving nothing more than smokes of shadows in his wake.

"Let's go." She took Rem's hand in hers and squeezed it gently. "Don't be scared, I'm with you. Okay?"

He managed to give him a wobbly nod and they followed the shadowsinger towards the others, hand in hand.

They stopped infront of a large carved door which appears to be a side entrance to the throne hall. Azriel had already reverted back to his lethal bearing before walking through. As soon as the door opened, a scream cut through the air that sent chilling echoes bouncing off the cavernous ceiling of the room. The shadowsinger was unbothered and kept walking. When they were close enough, everyone's attention fell to her, watching her every step towards the dais where Cassian stood as well as Feyre and Rhysand, who were sitting on their own thrones in front of the crowd, all looking utterly surprised.

"Father!"

Rem broke free of her, shouting and ran directly towards a man lying down at the High Lady's feet. He was clutching his head and is in visible pain, traces of vomit staining his shirt and the floor around him.

The intent look of every person in the room didn't concern her as much as seeing them did. She did hear the dark stories of the real Night Court but nothing of her expectations come anything close to this.

She leaned closer to Azriel, lowering her voice to a point where only he could hear, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on Rem and his father.

"Care to explain what in the Cauldron's sake is happening in here?"

**********

Back at the House of Wind, Zivia slumped down on a settee situated at the corner of a veranda overlooking the city of Velaris. Rhysand had just left after explaining to her everything about the Hewn City. It answered some of her questions, though it didn't satisfy her curiosity as to a lot of why's about that situation.

"Don't look at me like that," she muttered to Azriel, who was lingering near the rail ready to take flight. "I already apologized and I didn't even mean to interrupt your – well, whatever you guys were doing down there."

He gave her a look as if to say it wasn't what he was referring to. Huffing, she stood and walked towards the railing too, stopping close beside him, the tips of their wings almost touching.

"I won't go back there," she assented. "At least without permission."

The shadowsinger didn't say anything. They both stood there in silence, watching dark clouds bear down all around the city, a shifting sea of rust-colored sand.

"I just couldn't quite understand," Zivia said after some time. "It's just that . . . " She looked sideways at him. "Aren't they a citizen of this court too?"

A bobbing of his throat was the only reply she got. He didn't even look at her and instead continued looking faraway, his face of perfect solemnity.

"The Hewn City is a very brutal place full of wicked people that would give no second thought on doing all the worst things imaginable."

"There are children down there, Azriel."

The anger exuding out of him faltered. He tore his gaze away from the city and looked down at his scarred hands.

"Rhysand has his reasons."

"Don't you think that the High Lord, of all people, should know that goodness can come even in a place as dark as that?"

He finally faced her, eyes gleaming in the setting sun. His thoughts seem to be at war inside his head, skeptical as to what he should feel and he looked away.

"Why do you sympathize with people you barely know?"

Zivia thought for a while, staring at the shadowsinger's profile before looking back at the distant landscape.

"Hmm." She opened her palm and out bloomed a beautiful butterfly atop it. "Maybe because it's what I'm good at."

She extended her hand over the ledge and turned it over and together, they watched the creature fly deep down into the ravines below. As she looked at it disappearing beyond the darkened nooks of stone walls and cliffs, she remembered the words Elain said to her in the garden.

When there is darkness, light will always find its way

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #rhysand #feyre #Cassian #Nesta #Azriel #acotar seraphim #Miryam #Drakon #prythian #cretea

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lovelyfictional-imagines · 6 years

Text

Coffee. (Twelfth Doctor x Reader)

I may or may not have based this solely off of how I make my coffee in the morning. You can’t prove it.

I wrote this a few days ago, my fingers were just off and I’m quite happy with it. I’ll probably end up editing it hundreds of times before I’m remotely content with it. Part of what inspired me is Move Together by James Bay, despite it not having anything to do with it.

I like the idea of Twelve being soft on the human. I also have another in my drafts describing her flat, and it hits home. Twelve is definitely my top favorite Doctor, I’m sorry about the spam, I hope my Four and Bill fics broke the monotony.

Not much to really say about this one. Another Four will be coming soon, though! As always, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcome!

Until next fic,

- Ashley

Word Count: 1231

The Doctor had actually slept, spent a bit longer than his usual cat nap on his companion’s couch. It was more comfortable than it looked, as he felt properly refreshed. At least more refreshed than before. Looking around the small living room, he watched the sun begin to slip into the room, barely seen.

Normally resolute eyes seemed to melt into something more affectionate upon seeing his companion. (Y/N) was balled into her large, pea green armchair, (S/C) legs draped over the arm, covered entirely by a large quilt. Black fabric was balled up and tucked tightly into her arms. Recalling her saying she was going to bed and then vanishing into her bedroom, he was confused as to why she was there of all places.

“Must’ve been a result of a night terror, or something of the like.” He mumbled beneath his breath, careful not to wake her. Up he went as he observed more light make its way into the room. Pale yellow walls met white countertops, basic in design but optimal in practicality in her rarely used kitchen. Beneath the counters, tucked away in cabinets were barely used utilities that he rummaged through, looking for one particular piece of kitchenware.

“Mr. Coffee? Sounds about right.”

Emerging from the cabinet, miniature black coffee maker in hand, he placed it on the counter with a grimace. He set to work, grabbing filters and coffee grounds and sugar jars. Quickly the pot was filled with water, grounds carefully measured, and the maker was started. At least, to the best of his abilities it was.

The Doctor leaned against the counter, watching London below begin to stir. Cars were being started, cabs were being hailed, and people began to file out of their respective apartment complexes and onto the sidewalk, briefcases in hand. A certain feeling of contentment filled him as he knew he’d never be a part of it. Another feeling of wonder followed for the same reason.

How simple humans could be. Many had quite obvious aspirations, like to build a home or family, or to seek monetary fulfillment. Others he found were more like his dear (Y/N), who wasn’t completely content with the humdrum of day-to-day life. She took pleasure in small domestic activities, such as brewing coffee or sitting in to read, instead of joining boisterous colleagues at a pub. But she found gratification in these undemanding tasks in the TARDIS, off in another time and away from her Earth.

The Doctor took great pride in all of his companions, especially those similar to her. Wanderlust seemingly thrummed in her veins, she always wanted more, to see more, hear more, experience more. Homey habits were cast aside to run alongside him, to never slow down. Until they had to.

Just like now, as he stood in her kitchen preparing a massive cup of coffee for her, is a time they had to stop. Small flats with just enough space for the TARDIS seemed to be ideal for her when she needed time to recuperate from never ending adventures. Not that the Doctor minded much. Much.

A bit of him enjoyed the domesticated portions of their time together, feeling as if the universe has removed her prying eyes for a moment to allow them respite. Seeing his companion—friend, he should call her—resting, comfortable, and most importantly safe, brought him more peace and genuine happiness than saving entire worlds’ worth of people.

The telltale thumping of coffee spewing from the maker had stopped, signaling its end. He poured the steaming liquid into her enormous mug, and began spooning in large lumps of sugar. Scoops of cream followed until the color had gone from one shade to the next, from as black as night to ivory-colored silk. Shaking his head, he released a dramatic sigh.

“I’m getting soft, too soft on this girl, too soft for this... this human..”

Despite his monologue, he carefully took the mug in hand and walked it into the living room. Positions of the hands on the clock indicated it was nearing dawn, and he knew she’d be up soon. She never rested enough, even with his constant “harping”, as she’d lovingly deemed it, for her to sleep more, but he couldn’t change it. Couldn’t speak out too much against her insomniac tendencies, when he slept for an hour or two at a time himself, even if it was all he needed.

Hushed yawns erupted from the lump on the armchair, and the Doctor couldn’t resist the tranquil smile that spread across his features. Small hands extended out, quiet pops indicated her stretching. Making his way round to see her, he held the porcelain cup carefully. Heavy circles still remained beneath her (light/dark) eyes, though alleviated somewhat. A sleepy smile stretched her lips, though.

“Good morning sleeping beauty! Time to get up and going, today’s bad decisions aren’t going to make themselves!” The Doctor knelt down to be level with her own face. A groan tumbled from her mouth, and she twisted to face the back of the chair.

“It’s too early.”

“I am quite aware, but we both know you’re not going back to sleep now.”

“I might.”

“(Y/N).”

“Alright, alright. You enjoy being right at all times, even this early, huh?”

“It’s never too early to be right, now come on.”

With that, she maneuvered into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes as the black fabric she’d previously been clutching fell to the floor. The Doctor replaced it with the cup, and received a grateful smile in return. Remaining in his crouched position, he watched her throat as she drank. Hypnotizing, almost, the way it rose and fell with each gulp.

“Ready to go? I’ve already got our next journey planned, we can pop right over into the—“

“Doctor! Wait! What’s the rush? Late for the early bird special? Bingo already started?”

The Doctor fixed her with an intense glare, causing her to snort and put her glass down onto the end table in front of her.

“I’m teasing, I’m teasing! Don’t get your unders in a twist. I’m just saying, I’ve some laundry to do, I need a bit of time. Then we can go. Okay?”

Hmmphing in mock contempt, he crossed his arms. “Fine. But don’t take too long.”

Victorious again, (Y/N) broke into a grin. “Thank you, Doctor. I won’t be long, I swear.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And thank you for the coffee, you’ve somehow made it better than I would have.” Another kiss pressed to his other cheek, leaving a dumbfound Time Lord crouching in front of her chair as she hopped up, moving off in direction of her room, caffeinated beverage in hand.

As he recovered from the bewildering effect that her lips had caused, he allowed his fingers to ghost over his cheek. Before standing the Doctor realized she’d left the black garment on the floor at his feet. Taking it in hand, he realized what it was. He smiled, an actual toothy grin, as he recognized his coat he’d worn there.

In an instant he resumed his usual dissatisfied expression. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his outer layer, he slipped it on over his hoodie. “Too soft indeed, very much so.”

But still he simpered to himself, hoping to be thanked in such a manner again very soon.

#twelfth doctor #12th doctor x reader #doctor who #whovian #fanfiction #fandom #doctor who imagine #fandom imagines #the doctor x reader #doctor who fanfiction #coffee #reader insert #domestic #kind of #sorry for the spam

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ewutai · 7 years

Note

50;mark please!♡♡

prompt: 50. “I’m starting an idiot jar. Any time you do or say anything idiotic, you have to put at least a dollar in it—more depending on how stupid the thing that you said or did was.”

Off guard | MARK

⇢summary: even the coolest NYC hero gets to fall in love with a pretty smile.

⇢genre: spider man!au | slightly florist!reader | super super fluff (like 1000%)

⇢pairing: mark lee / reader

⇢word count: 2.7k

a/n: this is a draft i wrote for another writing blog (i’ll be posting there too anyway) but i really thought you’d like it :)) i really hope you do!!! ((though i’ve started another spider man au with mark and i intend to dedicate it to you because this prompt inspired me ^^)) ah!! lowkey inspired by spider-man homecoming i love tom holland so i hope this is at least good ^~^

First encounters arenot always very magical, neither are they like we dreamt.

When Mark Lee first landed his eyes on the hysterical form of you, therewere paper sheets flying over the wind and a very frustrated body running fromone side to other of the street, aimlessly trying to gather as much documentsas your hands could hold—and to be at least honest, you could not pick eventhree of them. You wheezed, annoyed by the fact that your chemistry essay wasvanishing from your vision and traveling to a place very far away from whereyou were.

That, you thought, was my only salvation. Without that piece of work you wouldprobably fail the subject—considering that the essay was a component for thelast test you’d to take (to be exact: 40% of your mark depended on that stupid assignment). You sighed; you’dhave to manage the entire night for that, making the whole thing again.

Mark shifted the weight of his body and gulped—Haechan (his friend)rolled his eyes, completely aware of his friend’s new-born platonic love—he peekeda paper close to where he was standing, and with all courage he had ever hadinside his physique Mark took his way to you. To Haechan’s eyes his actionswere clumsy and his words sounded like whisper and made no sense at all. Heremembered how Mark had been when Liz was still around and how he had hearteyes over her—it was annoying.

Haechan called Mark once, warning him to just let the thing go, after allthey still had to go to class, but the brunette boy simply ignored his friend’scries.

Mark touched your shoulder. “Hum, excuse me.”

You turned your body to face the him. “Ah, yes?”

“I guess,” he said, stuttering “I guess this belongs to you” Mark handedyou the paper.

“Thank you” you gave him the sweetest smile you could.

You didn’t know, but Mark Lee melted under you gaze, completely amusedby the beautiful sight of you and your smile. He had never seen you before thatday, but he’s utterly sure you were the most gorgeous girl in the universe; notonly because your eyes were almost closed when you smiled, neither because yourperfume was a mixture of lilies and mint—which made Mark feel a little dizzydue to the dulcet scent—but yet because you showed him the purest reaction hehad ever expected.

It didn’t take much, though, for you to perceive some hesitancy comingfrom him. The boy in front of you had locked his eyes with yours for a moment,and then the silent had paired. After that, he’d coughed and gulped repeatedly;he’d rubbed his hands and slid them inside his pockets, then had taken them outand massaged the back of his neck. He’s so embarrassed, you noticed, but therewas no reason to be. Now, with the funny scene before you, the only thing youcould possibly do was chuckle.

The brunette widened his eyes and watched you laughing at his posture.He turned his head to his friend, whom was starting to giggle too.

You took a deep breath. “What’s your name?”

He blinked once and then twice, not believing you really asked that question.

The boy cleared his throat. “It’s Lee,” he coughed “I mean, Mark Lee.”

“Well Mark Lee,” you winked “nice to meet you.”

Mark nervously grinned; his words were stuck on his gullet, willing toslip out of his mouth and yell to the world that love at first sight was indeedreal, but all he did was keep his lips glued. To your eyes, he was completelyuncomfortable with the entire situation—maybe he just wasn’t very good withconversations, or when it comes to girlshe was always unprepared—so you slightly shrugged your shoulders and

“So,” you said “I better get going.”

He really wanted to hold your wrist and stop you from leaving, but all hedid was follow you with his eyes, watching you go away and then vanish in thecrowd of people. He foolishly smiled, already memorizing all your features andyour delicate gestures. Haechan stepped closer and called Mark’s name, finallybringing him back to reality.

“She was pretty,” he said.

“I know right” Mark agreed.

“Yeah,” Haechan touched his friend’s shoulder and “but you didn’t askfor her name, dumbass.”

“Oh, man”

And that was enough to darken Mark’s entire day. He kept running theprevious encounter inside his mind, trying the best he could to remember everysingle thing from the place he met you—the coffee shop, the floristry, all thebuildings and some houses. Haechan told him to stop, because it’d be so much in vain doing all that effort tofind just a girl, but Mark ignoredhis friend once again.

It’s not just a girl; it was a girl who made his heart almost burst outof his chest.

He sat down on his chair inside the classroom—the next subject wasgeography so he was pretty comfortable with just driving his attention toanything else but the class. Mark rested his head in one of his hands andtapped his fingers on top of the table; the noise following the pace of histhoughts.

It was so odd. He had never felt that way before; so desperate. He swallowed his saliva likeit was poison, the liquid burning his throat all the way down—Mark Lee feltimpotent. Not even his powers would bring you back to his vision; not even hispowers would make you appear in front of him. From once he wished he could goback and time and just make a question as simple as ‘what’s your name’, and then maybe he would not be feeling soregretful.

Truth to be said, he should not feel regretful at all. You did not knowhim, he did not know you.

Regardless, he still felt the necessity of having you around.

Haechan tried his best to light Mark’s mood up, saying all sort ofnonsenses to make his friend chuckle or at least smile; though it was in vain,he kept doing whatever he could to transform the disappointed expression in Mark’sface into something more…joyful.

Worthless.

The school day became a burden (it’s already, but especially that day itfelt like ton on Mark’s shoulders), and when the bell finally ringed Mark sensedthe easiness filling his chest. He lazily walked home, not as excited to reachhis room as he’d always be. All the way he had his earphones immersed in hisears, fulfilling his audition with his favourite songs and beats; he tapped hishands on his thighs within the music’s rhythm. He didn’t even bothered throwingweb on the buildings and flying back home—no, he was too exhausted for that—butfor once, he forgot how stupid he had been earlier on the day.

However, when he finally laid down on his bed all he could think aboutwas you.

“Mark,” Haechan whispered “I said I’d be your guy in the chair, not yourguy who spends the night awake watchingan empty street”

Mark sighed. “I know, Haechan,” he said; the blame completely visible inhis voice tone “I know.”

“Look,” Haechan wheezed “we’d never seen that girl before, I am prettysure it’s pure coincidence. There’s no need for us to be here the entire night—likewe were psychos—guarding this dark and terrifying street.”

“Haechan, I—”

“Mark, shouldn’t you be, like, webbing people or something?” Haechanasked and it’s pretty much clear that he was already annoyed. “I mean, did you forget you’re Spider-Man?”

“Shit, Haechan, no!” Mark shouts “I mean,” now he whispers “can you belouder? It’s just—”

“Shush” Haechan said “I’m starting an idiot jar. Any time you do or sayanything idiotic, you have to put at least a dollar in it—more depending on howstupid the thing that you said or did was. Because” he wheezed “you must bereally really idiot to fall in loveso easily.”

“You have no words,” Haechan sighed, shook his head and continued “I amdoing this for once because I know how bothered you’ve been. But after this youshould give up, it’s not like she’s the only girl in the world.”

Mark knew; he was fully conscious of that assumption. You were not the only girl in the world—butstill, he couldn’t take you out of his mind not even for a second. He yawnedand blinked his eyes for ninth times; he and Haechan had been there since thebeginning of the evening, the sleepiness reaching out for him like a positivepolo of a magnet reaches out for the negative one. The worst part of it all: heknew he wouldn’t endure much longer.

The best part: Haechan would probably wake him up. Or he thought so.

They both rested their bodies on a bench; Haechan’s head leaning on Mark’sshoulders, and Mark’s head leaning on Haechan’s. The cold air was freezing andit could snow in any moment, but Mark found it very refreshing—a new differentfeeling.

He’d been searching for you for dear life; jumping from building tobuilding peeking girls with the same body shape, same hair colour and same anything he could find. Similaritiescould bring you back to his sight, he’d say, so Mark kept his hopes highbringing his stamina to nearly 0% every single day. And a week passed by, thentwo weeks passed by—and soon a month since he had met you and Mark had nothingbut your image in his mind. He hissed and hissed about it, not believing youcould simply disappear.

So the last drop of belief he had was patrol the night. Exactly whereyou met him. Exactly in front of the flower shop.

Haechan endlessly protested about it—and he would forever do it—becausehe was sure Mark would forget you soon, but for his despair it hadn’t happened.In the end, reluctantly, Haechan stood by his friend’s side, immersing hishands inside his warm pockets and shrinking his neck as much as he could,causing it to be completely englobed by his scarf. He felt his eyelids heavyand before he could blink, Haechan was already in deep sleep.

Mark only knew his friend had fallen asleep when he snored. He had neverpaid much attention on it, but now the sound of Haechan’s growls caused him togiggle—and then the giggle became a snore, and then Mark knew he was reachinghis limit.

And, for his happiness, it’s already Sunday—at that meant I don’t need to worry with neither waking upearly nor school. With the last drop of energy left, Mark straightened uphis body, giving Haechan as much comfort as he could, and then he fell asleephimself.

You, on the other hand, were completely worried with time. Sundays werenot the correct synonym for restingand at 6AM you had your sneakers on and a very comfy hoodie covering up yourtorso. Slowly, you stepped out of home and walked your way to the floristrywhere you worked—you had this part-time job there, and once in a while theyasked you to work on Sundays too—listening to your favourite playlist. You’ddance a bit following the song’s rhythm, but soon stop because it’s too weirdto be so happy in a Sunday morning.

When you reached your workplace your pace slowed down and you held thefront door’s key in your hand; you were excited—and that was so uncommon—thatyou didn’t even notice two sleepy bodies on a bench just feet away from theflower shop.

It’s around eleven o’clock when your boss touched your shoulder and gaveyou an odd look.

“What?” You tilted your head.

“Those two,” he pointed a finger to two boys, outside the floristry,sleeping “they’ve been here since—I don’t know since when to be exact.”

“Do you want me to call the police?”

“No,” your boss violently shook his head “maybe they’re homeless, theymust eat.”

“So,” you began “you want me to buy them some coffee?”

“Yes, yes. Here, take this,” he handed you some money “and buy themwhatever they like.”

You took the money, not so uncomfortable with the idea as much as youthought you’d be. With fast steps, you walked all the way to the two tiredbodies on the bench and cleared your throat, aiming to wake them up with asound. None of them moved an inch; you sighed and prepared yourself to yell a ‘hey, sup? Wanna eat something?’ but youstopped right after you recognised a face. Mark

“Lee?” You said; your voice sounding much louder than you wanted it tobe.

“No, Mr. Stark, please don’t leave me without my sui—” Mark shouted, butshut his mouth when his eyes met yours “Oh, hey! Hi! Hey, hum, hi” he stuttered.

It’s cute, you admitted to yourself, when he stutters while talking toyou; his nervousness showing.

“Hey, Mark.” You smiled—and once again, the brunette boy felt theadrenalin being lunched on his veins and increasing his heartbeat. “So, did youtwo sleep here?”

Mark looked down, only now noticing that Haechan had fallen down and hishead was resting on the bench’s cold material. He took off his own scarf andput under Haechan’s head, transforming it into a pillow.

“Ah, no, no” he denied, vigorously shaking his head—and not convincingyou at all “we were just walking andwe were so so tired because you knowwe’ve been exercising every morning and then Haechan is not completely on shapeso we just decided we should rest and we fell asleep and—”

You cut him off. “Mark, please talk slowly.”

He nervously laughed. “Ah, sorry.”

“Anyway,” you looked down to Haechan and then moved your gaze to Mark“are you hungry? My boss gave me money because he thought you guys werehomeless and asked me to buy you something.”

“No, no!” Mark stood up abruptly. “No, no.”

“Well, if you don’t want to grab a meal with me is completely fine,don’t overreact.”

He widened his eyes. “No! I really reallywant to grab a meal with you. I mean I’ve been looking for you since thatday you were trying to gather your—” he stopped as soon as he realised he was talking too much “I mean, it’s not that.I just don’t want your boss to buy us anything.”

You giggled. “You’re very cute, MarkLee.”

He gulped, completely amused by your words. Mark thought it was a dream,so he roughly rubbed his eyelids and shook his head once and twice. He didn’tbelieve you were actually in front ofhim, smiling and calling him cute; Markhad a smile drawn on his face from cheek to cheek—and it looked so charming to you that you couldn’thold the small laugh leaving your mouth.

Mark gathered as much air as his lungs could and “You know my name, butI don’t know yours.”

You shifted the weight on your body from foot to foot. “Oh, that’scorrect Mark Lee.”

“So,” he began “what’s your name?”

“I’ll tell you, someday,” you said smirking at him “maybe after you askme out.”

Mark nearly chocked with his own saliva, totally flustered with yourwords. Before he could say anything else you added

“Now you know, Mark Lee” your voice sounded like melody to his ears “Iwork at the flower shop, every day from 3pm to 7pm. Just pick the date andtime.”

You turned on your hills and took your way in the floristry. Because youhad your back to Mark, you didn’t see how he celebrated this event—neither didyou see when Haechan woke up startled by Mark’s loud whispers and when both ofthem said low ‘yeses’ throughout theair, truly happy because now Mark Lee had a chance with you.

#if there's any 'peter'/'parker'/'ned' left is bc this is was originally a peter parker fic :)))#mark #mark lee #mark lee scenarios #lee minhyung #nct scenarios #minhyung scenarios #mark scenarios #nct mark scenarios #nct x reader #nct fluff #spider man au #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct stories #mark lee fluff #minhyung fluff #less than 5k #drabble

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