#when i said i was digging into my queue to try and answer i was not messing with you folks!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lustbile · 3 years ago

Text

What Are The Odds?

JungwooxReader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: semi public (restroom) penetrative. some grabbing and groping @ the beginning.

Note: if you’ve never played what are the odds here’s a very brief explanation. Person A wants something from person B. Person A asks what are the odds, person B says a number, for example 25. Both person A and B say a number between one and the given number and if they both say the same number person A wins. I know some people do extra rules sometimes including numbers divisible by 2 or something idk but i don’t care. 💜

Nct Masterlists

Multi group Masterlist

“Jungwoo, get your hand out of my pants.”

It was a harsh command, your words coming out quiet but sharp as you spoke through your teeth. Your less than forceful grip wraps around his wrist, and your foggy mind weakens the way you push at his wandering hands.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” he counters, far too serious for your liking and his greedy fingers desperately trying to dig deeper into your underwear shamelessly.

“Oh so a skirt gives you permission to be a pervert,” you swat at his hands again, huffing and pinching his skin as you turn every direction in search of your friends coming back, “they’re going to be back literally any second so can you please behave?”

—

“You’re no fun,” he finally obliges, his tone completely joking as he accepts defeat but not before pinching the skin of your belly in retaliation, “if they walk over and my hand is in your underwear, I think that’s their fault for being friends with us.”

Exactly on the queue of your hand connecting with his shoulder in an annoyed wack, you see your friends returning to the food court table you two sit at, completely oblivious smiles on their faces as they balance trays of food.

——

“What are the odds?”

“Hrm?” a small sound of confusion slipping out from around the mouth full of food you’re struggling to chew.

It was a small lull in conversation and everyone started to trickle into their own side conversations that had prompted Jungwoo to lean over and breath hotly against your ear with the sudden and confusing question. He had an issue with bringing you into the middle of a conversation that he had started only in his head, luckily for him you had a tendency to find it a bit charming, but at the moment your mind was occupied on willing yourself not to choke.

“What are the odds,” he speaks slower this time, as if a change in pace adds any context in the slightest. You finally look more at him, and notice that he’s all twitchy where he sits, his hands wringing together as he seems anxious and giddy for something to happen, “that you follow me to the bathroom right now.”

“For what?” you ask with a faux ignorance, only partially hoping it’s not for the reason you’re thinking.

“What do you mean for what?” he asks a bit louder than he probably intended, pulling the attention of one of your friends momentarily, but an eye roll and a shake of the head from you perfectly portrays ‘don’t worry, Jungwoo is just being Jungwoo.’

“You know exactly for what,” he speaks in a tone that makes you feel like you’re being scolded, but after a rough swallow, you can only smile at his dramatics, “so what are the odds?”

You huff quietly, dropping your fork clattering onto your plate to add dramatics, your bottom lip becoming your own personal chew toy as you glance around the relatively empty food court and preoccupied friends.

“Fifteen,” you finally respond after a moment of him doing nothing but glaring at you in anticipation. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to follow him and cause some chaos, but you feared saying ten would look too eager, and twenty just left more of a chance of it not happening than you wanted. Yes, you wanted to leave it to fate, but there’s nothing wrong with manipulating fate just a little.

“Fifteen,” he confirms with a grin, his legs wiggling beneath the table as he turns to face you more, his shoulders slouching and his eyes widening as he waits for your completely undivided attention to lay on him before counting down.

“Three, two, one....”

“Eleven.”

It’s in their air, same word, same number, but two different voices speak it. With a sinking heart, but warming belly, you throw your head back with a sigh when you realize he’s won.

“Excuse is up to you, since you’re such shit at what are the odds,” he taunts, only one dial of annoying away from calling you a nerd and taking your lunch money, “but you better be in the single person bathroom in ten minutes or you’re in trouble.”

He stands, giving some unnecessarily detailed explanation about where he was going before tripping over his feet towards the bathroom he’s been eyeing since the idea popped into his brain. You can only sink down into your seat and glance at the time on your phone as you wait for the perfect moment.

——

It was exactly eleven minutes after Jungwoo had disappeared that you decided to stand yourself, hoping he actually found a way to follow through on his earlier threat.

You mutter something about drinking too much water this morning, and a promise to check on Jungwoo if he still wasn’t out when you were done in hopes to mask what you’re really getting up to do. The chorus of acknowledging grumbles and a few playful ‘have fun’s seemed to be reassuring enough, and with a tug at the hem of your skirt, you're scurrying towards the bathroom you saw your boyfriend disappear into not long ago.

You stand at the door for a moment, pushing it another minute past your time limit partially to make the boy on the other side of the door squirm, but also to wrap your mind around what you’ve let him convince you to do.

It’s when you hear him quietly hiss in pain from messing with something he probably shouldn’t be touching at all, that you let out an airy laugh through your nose and lean against the locked door.

You knock gently at the door, whispering a taunting ‘guess who?’ in between taps, and before you could step back, he swings the door open, and you’re stumbling in.

“I said ten minutes,” he wastes no time scolding you for your poor listening skills, his hands grabbing for your waist and pushing your chest against the wall, “ten minutes is a perfectly reasonable time to come up with an excuse and follow your boyfriend to the bathroom to fuck isn’t it? So what could have possibly taken you so long?”

“Well, Jungwoo,” you start, fully prepared to pull something incredibly stupid out of thin air to use as an excuse, but when he presses his hips against your ass and you feel just how excited he had gotten just from his wandering hands earlier, you begin to stutter over your words, “m-maybe I just umm lost track of time?”

“Lost track of time?” he asks in a sarcastic and even borderline bitchy tone, “definitely doesn’t have anything to do with a little threat I made without even thinking earlier would it? Pfffft no how could it?”

You can’t even bite back, deliver the same level of idiotic sass that had attracted you two to each other in the first place. Not with your face pressing against the cold wall and his hands moving faster than you can process down towards your thighs.

He lets out quiet grunts of appreciation when he starts to push your skirt up and around your hips, a big evil smile crawling across his face when he sees that he had guessed perfectly correct, and you were in fact wearing his favorite pair of panties. (He swears he could pick them out from millions of pairs just from the way the elastic bites into his wrist.)

You’re pressed tighter against the wall, your panting breaths almost syncing with his own when he starts to roughly grind his denim clad crotch against you. His lack of snarky comments from the ways you’ve started to whine tells you you’ve lost him, and your thighs start to shake and tremble as you squeeze them together tightly, trying to relieve the pain from your sudden neediness and impatience.

“Jungwoo come on,” you whine, swinging your arm aimlessly behind you to swat at him, “we don’t have all day, they were already getting weird about how long you were taking before I left.”

“Fuck okay,” he says with hesitation before pulling away enough to shove your underwear down to pool around your ankles while muttering to himself.

You begin debating in your head whether or not you should touch yourself, before answering yes, you absolutely should, when you hear him struggling with his belt.

The first minuscule touch of your middle and ring finger touching your clit makes you gasp and press your forehead against the wall, the circling motions falling just short compared to the way he knows how to touch you and you can only huff in frustration from the stupidity of your own hand not knowing exactly what to do.

It’s the sound of his jeans falling around his knees and a small clicking of a cap that pulls you from your inner grumbling, but it’s the cold shock of the jelly on his fingers pushing between your thighs that makes you jerk your hand away from your body to mirror the other laying flat by your head.

“Why do you have lube?” you ask in shock and even a bit of arousal from how much curveball he could be, but you’d never admit the second part willingly to his face.

“I think the better question is why don’t you?” he asks with an air of arrogance as he pulls his fingers away and begins to audibly coat himself in the substance, “looks like im the prepared one between us for once.”

“Yeah prepared for something you weren’t even sure was going to happen.”

“Yeah but you’re letting it happen aren’t you? Loser,” regardless of the name that he throws at you, he seems to have lost his patience with the back and forth you two have started. So with the last last syllable still slipping between his teeth, the hand he doesn’t have wrapped around himself grabs you around the waist and he’s shoving himself almost completely inside you.

You don’t have time to muffle the surprised moan that falls from your tongue, instead all you can do is pray no one was close enough to the bathrooms to hear it as he starts to rock his hips against yours.

“Can’t judge me for the lube now can you?” it was rhetorical, but even if it wasn’t you would have been able to answer him. With the second thrust into you, he had already been able to seat himself fully into you, the size of him still shocking you to this day and you can only clench and squirm against him.

His hands are clumsy as the trace around your body. His non dominant hand struggles to push under the hem of your shirt to grasp at your chest, while his other dips below the skirt he was so thrilled you had chosen to wear in search of the space between your thighs.

His breath is hot and quick pants when he leans his chest against your back and pushes his face into the crook of your neck. You almost feel like you’re suffocating from how much he begins to surround you and you really for the life of you cannot think of a worse placed to pass out in than a food court bathroom with your boyfriend fucking your brains out.

It’s when his own fingers dig into your clit and his warm tongue drags up the side of your neck, so you remember the existence of your own hands. You shove one up your now stretched out top to tangle tightly with the one he has kneading your chest, while the other slams tightly against your mouth to muffle the moans and squeaks that now beat against it.

“I wanna make you come so fucking hard,” he grunts in your ear with every ounce of honestly he can pull from his chest, his hips showing you exactly how truthful he is with the way they thrust roughly against you, pushing and pulling you apart in a way that makes you feel like he’s trying to take you apart at the seams, “wanted that since I saw you put on that cute little skirt on this morning. You just live to taunt me don’t you?”

You can’t answer, too afraid that taking your hand even the slightest amount away from your mouth will expose to the whole food court exactly what’s happening behind the closed door. Instead all you do is push back against him, trying hopelessly to match his thrusts and getting a sharp bite to the soft skin of your neck in retaliation.

“Better come quick before they think we got lost in here,” he says too coolly, his ability to not sound like he’s on a brink of orgasm when you know for a fact he is almost driving you up the wall. But unfortunately, his words and the fact that you're just as much, if not closer to your finish than him, has you melting back into his chest.

Even when your thighs begin to tremble, and you accidentally step back onto his foot, his fingers don’t stutter in the slightest. The arm pushing against your chest keeps you from squirming away from him, and even with your thighs trying to push him out, he keeps his fast and unrelenting pace on your hypersensitive clit.

You’re pushing up on your toes, his one foot still getting crushed under your weight, and your neck inhumanly arching to lean your head against his shoulder as you start to come. You can hear the faint growling noise you make from behind your hand, but your mind is too busy blanking out to control anything that comes from your mouth.

You feel your eyes watering as his fingers keep moving against you to carry you through your orgasm, his own finally creeping up and making him shove himself fully inside you as he starts to come.

The feeling of him spilling inside you creates borderline unbearable waves of aftershocks to wash across you, and you can feel your body fluttering around him as you try to ruin his brain just as much as he did your own. It’s almost like a small competition sparks between you to fight against your own pleasure just to simply torture the other, but eventually once your both sporting lines of sweat on your hairlines and aching shoulders and back do you silently call it a truce.

The small room suddenly feels too hot for either of you to be anywhere close to it, but you’d rather scream than let him take his hands away from your body. You’re more than glad to shove his fingers away from your buzzing clit, but you still keep it wrapped tightly in your fist the way you do to his other.

When he pulls out you feel a disappointing emptiness but an even more embarrassing rush of fear of the evidence of his orgasm leaking onto the floor, so all you can do is whine and squeeze your thighs back together again while you and him both catch your breaths.

“Come on,” he whispers, and that and the way his hands smooth over your burning skin is almost sweet, until he swats at your ass harshly before he starts to pull his jeans back onto his hips.

“Didn’t feel like I was in much trouble,” you loudly sigh in both faux disappointment but also to help even your breathing, “guess you’re all bark and no bite puppy boy.”

He glares to the best of his ability, but his still animated brows and pouting lips makes him look hilariously cute, “you think you’re getting punished in the bathroom? Absolutely not, I’m a man of class and respect.”

“Man of respect? You just fucked me in a public toilet after a game of what are the odds.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies, weirdly focused on redoing his belt and avoiding your eyes, “anyways we should probably go, they probably already think the chicken I got was bad or something.”

“You go,” you push him aside gentle before you begin a awkward trip towards the toilet in the corner, “I’m going to get rid of the mess you made and pee all you’re gross boy germs out so you go and please try to come up with an excuse that won’t make us both look like freaks okay?”

“On it captain,” he salutes to you before ducking out in a way that makes you question if you really truly let him just put his dick inside you, but with a growing need to pee you push it aside to waddle with haste.

It’s not until you shuffling back to the table in what you assumed was a discreet walk of shame do you realize he’s done the opposite of what you asked, as when you finally reach within hearing range to the table you’re immediately met with jeers and taunts about you and your boyfriend being insatiable freaks. But at least Jungwoo has the decency to look a little ashamed and maybe even a dash of apologetic.

#nct smut #jungwoo smut #nct 127 smut #nct imagine #jungwoo imagines #kpop smut #nct oneshot #jungwoo oneshot #nct fic

221 notes · View notes

thessalian · 2 years ago

Text

Thess vs Work Welcomes

You don’t want to get me started on politics today. My day-to-day is bad enough. Because today was unmitigated, unadulterated, hell on wheels.

Every morning, I check the Transport For London status page to make sure there isn’t going to be any bullshit on my commute. I checked this morning. No bullshit on my commute. ...Apparently this doesn’t take into account minor roadworks that shut bus stops, because yet again, Thames Water managed to get my regular bus stop shut. So my day started with hiking to the next stop.

Then, roadworks along all manner of roads caused some delays - I need to start adding the traffic reports to my transport status and weather checks in the morning, fuck my life. And then it turns out that, out of more or less nowhere, we had to detour around Camden High Street. Again. And apparently that one was just TfL being slow about updating their website because that’s going to be a detour all week.

So as you can imagine ... the commute wasn’t fun.

Neither was what I found when I finally got into the office (barely on time; I always leave early specifically in case of bullshit like this). Because what I found waiting for me at the office was the following:

A print-out of an email that was apparently sent to our main email address on Friday morning, containing a list of somewhere between 12-15 reports for me to dig out of the system. (Note: Scruffman insists that no, I am not the only one who he asks to send out reports like that. So why the fuck didn’t he ask one of the others do to it on Friday afternoon? Or any time on Monday? Why did he make the individuals making the request wait two working days and an entire weekend for their reports, if he wasn’t just waiting for me to get back because he didn’t want to hand it to someone else or - gods forbid - do it himself?)

A few emails from the IT people, who are apparently not sure they’ve set things up properly after all, decided to ask me questions that they’d have the answers to more than I would, and told me to contact somebody directly despite telling me the last time we had a conversation that I needed to go through the ticket system. *headdesk*

450 items of typing in the queue. FOUR. HUNDRED. AND FIFTY.

Scruffman insists that we’re not really understaffed. However, given that the elderly lady who was supposed to just be off sick has been away for months without so much as a word, and given that Sid walked out, and given that Sunshine left and there’s supposed to be a replacement for her being sought but the intranet tells a different story, and given that the woman who was supposed to be coming back from maternity leave in August still isn’t back yet, and given that we have several new trainees who are doing reports at lightning speed and no fair few people are coming in and reporting on the weekend ... YES WE ARE FUCKING UNDERSTAFFED. But they won’t tell us about what’s happening with the elderly lady on sick leave, or the other lady who hasn’t come back from maternity leave, or the vacancies left when Sid and Sunshine left and when those might be filled. They won’t let one of our part-timers take full-time hours despite her having asked for it. We should not be developing a backlog that size when someone goes away for a week. And yet.

I did bring some of my fudge and maple sugar candy to the office to share with the girls. Goblin ... I made an effort with Goblin, to actually ask if she’d like some. She looked at me warily and asked what it was, and when I told her, she recoiled like I’d offered her deep-fried cockroach and said, “Eugh; no, not having that”. I mean, a “Not my thing, but thanks” would have sufficed... At least that was outweighed a little bit by Milady, who said the fudge was wonderful, asked if I’d practiced it a lot, and looked amazed when I told her that was my first try because she’d tried it awhile ago and it just never set right.

We barely dented the backlog. We’re all going to die under that kind of weight, y’know.

And on top of all that? My first bus of the day was a half-hour late, and as a result, it was so crowded that I had to get off partway through just to breathe and stretch out a little bit, seeing as I was crammed in with a lady with no concept of personal space whatsoever. I got home an hour later than I normally do, tired and aching and really pissed off at the world.

I am trying to think of a way to handle this situation at the office. Scruffman ... I have to wonder how many people he’s lying to that things are okay at this point. I heard him telling someone, “Oh, we’re just a little bit behind” and I was looking at the 400+ queue and biting down on “A LITTLE BIT?!?” He knows, is the thing. He knows because he’s had to pitch in and type a few things himself. We. Need. Another. Typist. We can’t keep doing this. But because they won’t even talk to us about it, it’s not like we have an opening to say anything, and Scruffman gets really pissy if anyone questions his chosen course of action, so...

Why? Why do all my jobs go to hell this badly? This is not the “Welcome Back” I wanted.

#Thess has a day job #Thess has a commute

4 notes · View notes

adenei · 3 years ago

Text

Summer of Jily - Week 7

Yahoo! I'm all caught up for @efkgirldetective's summer of Jily Challenge!

This week's prompts: Ice cream and "I don't want anyone touching you like I do"

*********

Two days passed since their impromptu first date in the coziness of the cabin, and things could not be better. At least, that’s what James thought. The only snafu in the plan was that neither he nor Lily had discussed telling their friends about the relationship. Stolen moments alone were spent enjoying each other’s company while keeping an ear out for anyone who might intrude on their private time together.

They were no closer to coming up with a way of revealing their relationship, and if James was being honest, he quite liked the thrill of keeping his girlfriend, Lily, a secret from the Marauders. Sirius would probably hex him into tomorrow if he found out James was hiding something, but he would deal with that when the time came.

After two days of rain, the weather had finally cleared up, and the boys found themselves roaming up and down the main street of town while the girls were off shopping.

“Honestly, how much shopping can they possibly do?” Peter asked as he plopped down on a bench.

“With Mary and Marlene at the helm? It’s safer not to ask,” Remus thought out loud.

“It’s been two hours, and they’ve still got another half hour before they’re due to meet us for that picture show Mary’s been droning on about,” Sirius pointed out.

In an effort to avoid his friends’ complaints, James looked around the area for something to pass their time. His eyes settled on an ice cream shop across the street.

“Well, we could either sit here or go get some ice cream over there at that shop,” James suggested.

Peter perked up at the mention of ice cream while Remus gave a noncommittal shrug. Sirius was the only one to verbalize his agreement as he stood and led their way to the shop, his mood much brighter than moments ago.

“I could go for some ice cream! I prefer Muggle cotton candy ice cream to Fortescue’s strawberry peanut butter any day.”

The rest of the Marauders followed and approached the queue. They stood behind an older couple and waited. James continued to observe their surroundings, hoping that the girls might appear. He already missed Lily despite only being separated for a couple hours. As he was scanning the area, a group of girls who looked to be around their age joined the queue behind them, which Sirius was quick to point out.

“Look how hot that lot is, mate.”

James nodded, though he didn’t take the time to check them out. He was about to change the subject when one of the girls took notice of them and giggled. The sound caught his attention and distracted his attention. One of the girls was eyeing him; she was blonde with bright blue eyes and a petite frame, certainly attractive, but no longer his type. His type was Lily Evans, plain and simple.

He flashed a polite smile, then averted his gaze as the queue moved up. The boys were called up to the next window to order, and he was happy to put some distance between them and the group behind. Knowing it was easier for them all to order and have one person pay, James placed his order first and then turned to have the others follow suit. He dug out his muggle money to handle the transaction while the rest of the Marauders moved over to the pick-up window to wait for their treats.

“This is so different from Fortescue’s. Why can’t we watch them prepare it?” Peter whined.

“You mean scoop ice cream into cones and dishes and hand it to you? Beats me,” Sirius chided.

“He has a point, Pads. It’s interesting to watch sometimes,” Remus defended Peter’s observation as James chuckled.

“Yeah, beats waiting around having to make small talk with you,” he joked.

“Large cotton candy?” called the attendant from the window.

Sirius leaped up to claim his ice cream, looking like a kid in a candy store upon his return.

“Care to share a lick?” James teased as he leaned in to try and swipe a bite before Sirius had a chance to dig in.

“Not a chance!” Sirius guarded his cone as the attendant called out again.

“Crazy vanilla!”

“Ooh, that’s me!” Peter clapped his hands and went to collect his order.

Remus looked at James and Sirius. “Does he realize that that flavor is just vanilla ice cream but dyed different colors?”

“Shh, don’t ruin it for him, Moony!” Sirius waved him off. As Peter returned to the group, Sirius waved him along. “C’mon Wormtail, let’s go snag that table over there while these two wait for their more complicated orders.”

They took off while James and Remus continued to wait.

“Hot fudge sundae!”

“That’s me!” James jumped forward, approaching the window at the same time as the blonde who was checking him out earlier, and both reached for the same dish.

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back and tucking a strand of hair behind her ears.

“No, no, go ahead,” James took the dish and handed it to her. “You’ve got good taste,” he added with a polite smile.

“So do you,” she smiled back. “Are you on holiday with your mates?”

Her inquiry takes James by surprise, but he supposes a bit of small talk can’t hurt. “Er, yeah. We’re staying in a cabin on the lake.”

“Oh, us too! On the north or south side?”

“Er, north, I think?”

James wasn’t sure if he was being honest, but it wasn’t like they were going to run into the girl again, so a little white lie couldn’t hurt.

“Same for us! I’m Elaine, by the way.” She held out her hand with the introduction.

“James,” he responded, reaching out to give her hand a quick shake.

“Say, what are you doing tonight? We could get together for a fire or something?”

Unfortunately, it looked like his willing response gave the wrong impression as the girl to the opportunity to ask him out. Her smile had turned seductive and James realized a moment too late that she was flirting. Had he really lost his game so quickly since making a go of things with Lily?

Another hot fudge sundae order was called along with Remus’s chocolate milkshake. James was about to excuse himself to grab his ice cream when Remus appeared out of nowhere.

“I’ve got this, mate.”

“Oh, er, thanks.” James grimaced.

Because Remus didn’t know about Lily, he didn’t know that James needed the ice cream as an excuse to get out of this.

Of all the times Remus decided to urge me on.

“It’ll be a fun time, I promise,” Elaine winked. “Come with me to our table and I can write down our address for you to meet us later. It won’t take long.”

The blonde reached out her free hand to graze James’s forearm and lead him to the table her friends had occupied. He followed since he couldn’t think of a way out of it. At least the solution after this point was easy. He’d thank her, make a false promise to show up, and then never follow through.

He wasn’t expecting Elaine to keep hold of his arm, and the feeling sent prickles of discomfort through the rest of his body. James wasn’t even aware that the girl was still chattering away as he was still thinking of a way to get back to his friends, and hoping Lily was still on the opposite side of town so they wouldn’t get in a row over this.

And that’s when he felt another hand grasp his opposite arm.

The feeling of the second touch was much warmer, searing his bicep as it pulled him away from the blonde with a force he wasn’t used to. As his body spun around he caught a flash of red hair before the second person’s lips were on his, the kiss deep and searing, taking him by surprise.

He was familiar with the feel of Lily’s lips by now, and forgetting that they were in public, James’s body melted into the embrace even though it was far from romantic and comforting. As Lily’s arms snaked around his neck to pull him closer, James realized she was staking her claim and it was hot. He felt the immediate arousal strain against his trousers as the thought of Lily’s jealousy sent a course of desire through his body.

It barely phased him that they were in a very public place, no doubt in front of all their friends. Yet, when the thought finally registered in his lust-filled brain, clarity sobered his body, replacing the desire with a nervous excitement.

So much for keeping things quiet.

When Lily pulled away, her gaze was fierce as she narrowed her eyes and squeezed his arms a bit harder while whispering in his ear, “I don’t want anyone else touching you like I do.”

Bloody hell, would it be improper to disapparate us back to the cabin to have my way with her right now?

Yes, yes it would. Stupid statute of secrecy.

The battle to act on his instincts versus do the right thing warred in his mind.

“And you,” Lily peered over his shoulder to the blonde who was standing behind them, mouth gaping open in surprise, “keep your hands off my boyfriend.”

“Your WHAT?!”

A chorus of shouts and shrieks escaped the mouths of their friends at Lily’s over-zealous warning.

“Looks like it’s not a secret anymore,” Lily shrugged as she pulled James back to their friends.

“Hmm, I was hoping that maybe they didn’t notice the public snog assault you just attacked me with,” James laughed. “You know I wasn’t going to do anything with her, right? She cornered me and Remus of all people helped her along. I couldn’t get away.”

“Yes, yes, I trust you. I just let my temper get the best of me, I suppose,” Lily admitted, though she didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest.

“Don’t worry, I like Aggressive Lily. Maybe I’ll let other girls try and whisk me away more—”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, though the glint in her eye reassured him that she knew he was kidding.

“I suppose it’s time to face the onslaught of our friends, don’t you think?”

Lily sighed, “You’re sure we can’t just disapparate away instead?”

“I wish, but I’ve got a hot fudge sundae over there with my name on it. If you answer all the questions, though, I might be inclined to share.”

A devilish smirk crossed her lips as she dropped his hand and made a beeline for the table. “Not if I get there first!”

“Hey!”

James followed after her, knowing full well he’d share the ice cream with her regardless as they took turns answering their friends’ questions. Maybe it wasn’t the way James and Lily intended for the group to find out, but it certainly made for a good memory to look back on someday.

#summerofjily #jily #james potter #lily evans #jily fic

74 notes · View notes

aquagustd · 3 years ago

Note

hi there can I please request a yoongi fic based on the song Sorry by Halsey 🥺🖤 I feel like the song says everything so I don't need to say much and you're writing and interpretations are always so amazing I completely trust you, I look forward to reading it if you'll accept my request ☺️

atone - MYG | M

pairing: yoongi x reader

word count: ~876

genre: heavy angst, smut

warnings: dry humping, hickeys, insecurities

a/n: thank you for requesting this. This song holds a special place in my heart.

∞

I didn't mean to try you on

But I still know your birthday

And your mother's favorite song

You’re standing in line at the coffee shop, impatiently tapping your foot on the wooden floors. By the time you’re done here, you’ll only have ten minutes left of your lunch break. You curse internally, you shouldn’t have stopped to pet that stray cat on your way here, now you’re stuck in the queue.

As you scan the patrons dotting the tables, your eyes lock with a certain raven-haired man. Your breath gets caught in your throat, heart skipping a few beats.

Yoongi.

Taking a deep gulp of air, you bury your face in his neck, inhaling his heavy cologne as your tongue, teeth and lips attack the soft skin, purple blooms on his neck. Hearing him groan as he guides your hips against his crotch, his blunt nails dig into your clothed thighs as you whimper, his cock nudging your clit as he bucks his hips in tandem with yours.

Feeling your orgasm fast approaching, breath mingling with his as you capture his swollen lips, thighs quivering around him as you press him into the backrest of the couch. Your erect nipppes press into his chest as you bury your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands and earning a hiss.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grits out, fingers pressing into you, sure to bruise.

Nodding, you place your forehead on his as the hot rush of your orgasm sets all your nerve endings alight, letting out a loud cry of his name as his cock twitches against you.

“So pretty,” he rasps.

Halting your movements, his eyes flutter shut as he cums with a string of curses.

You giggle, kissing his soft cheeks as he pushes your hair out of your face.

“Fuck Y/N,” his voice gruff, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Giving him one last smooch on his pout, you’re about to get off his lap when he grabs your hips again, staring into your eyes.

“Y/N. I-I love you.”

You blink at him, feeling your heart race in your chest as he waits for your answer. Smiling despite yourself, you push his hands away from your body, moving off his lap as you shuffle to the bathroom, feeling his burning gaze on your back.

That was four months ago, the last time you’ve seen or heard from him. No, the last time he heard from you. His messages stopped a month ago, he probably realized that you weren’t going to respond. You didn’t even play the voice notes he had sent you.

You miss him, the look in his eyes tells you that he does too. If his messages didn’t remind you enough.

You wonder what plans he had for his birthday last month, you remember that he wanted to go on a camping trip to a nearby lake.

But you obviously wouldn’t know, and it’s your fault. You own up to it. It’s what you do, you push people away. And you hate the fact that he had mentioned in his messages that he’s sorry for whatever he did to push you away. It’s all on you and you can’t stop it.

Why would someone like Min Yoongi, want to be with you? Why would he sacrifice his precious time of being with his friends to be with you? Why would he want to be with you, when he could have any girl in the world?

His sweet words went in only to make you question the honesty in them. You obviously can’t be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. You know you probably look terrible when you cum, so why did he praise you. You know that he didn’t mean it when he said he loved you.

You spent hundreds of sleepless nights, wondering if his praises were true. Eventually shrugging it off because he obviously couldn’t mean it, you were his girlfriend, he had to be nice to you, he had to say those things to you. He just said it for nothing, to keep you happy.

But you weren’t, and it was all your fault.

Instead of being happy, your questions grew as time went by, your heart became weaker, your days became dull and inconsolable.

You didn’t mean for this to happen. You didn’t mean for it to go too far but it was too late. Too late to stop his feelings from growing and too late to stop your brain from drowning your thoughts with deafening questions.

You could go talk to him now, but you won’t. Because you know that would give him some hope, he would start to spill his own questions and you’re too ashamed to give him your answer. Hurt paints his features as he watches you, your bite you lip knowing that you wouldn’t want to hurt him even more.

Instead, you avert your gaze to the menu on the screen. Moving up the queue. That’s the best thing you could do for him, to not waste his time by scrutinizing everything he does and says because he deserves someone better. Someone who would love and accept everything he gives without question. Someone who would love him without restriction.

Someone who isn’t you

Masterlist

#yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #ficscafe #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #yoongi #request

74 notes · View notes

bitchkay · 2 years ago

Text

Picnic Date♡

~Knight

CW: small Knight♡, tooth rotting fluff, outdoor painting date, no description of hair color, skin color, height, body type, outfit or any distinct features, maybe little personality queues specific to me but that's it

Rating: General consumption

Word count: 1121

Note: I love Knight so much I wanna get married--

Update: I just read Knights route of the new event path(I read Tinos first) and I'm gonna start crying rn I love him sm--

"I can carry this all myself you know.."

I wanted to go out and paint in my free time, enjoy this beautiful day while creating something new, seeing as there were no lectures today and I hadn't painted in a while. My paramour, Knight, also having time to spare, offered to join me, turning this into a tranquil picnic/painting date.

"Nonsense, I shan't let you carry this all on your own," Knight said, carrying my bag full of my paints and paint brushes, and the canvas I had made for the occasion, leaving me with the picnic basket full of goods to snack on.

"Knight," I whined, dragging out his name.

Not that I don't appreciate the help, but I'm plenty capable of carrying my own things.

Arriving at our destination, a grassy field with tall trees shading the area, flowers and other plants in the surroundings, I laid out the picnic blanket next to a tree placing the basket down in the middle, Knight placing my things on the blanket as we sat down.

"I told Tino we were going on a picnic and he gave me some fresh bread for us to eat, I also made us some sandwiches, packed some fruit, biscuits, not necessarily a hardy meal but perfect for a mid day picnic," I smiled taking my paints out, seeing Knight empty the basket.

"What kind of sandwiches are these?" Knight asked, taking out a couple trying to inspect the contents without removing the plastic wrap.

"Try one, let me know what you think."

I watched him unwrap one of the sandwiches waiting for a reaction only to see him take the smallest bite known to man, basically nibbling on the crust.

"Come on, take a bigger bite than that, the good stuff's on the inside of the bread ya know," I said really to shove the thing down his throat.

"Alright! Alright! I am eating!" Knight said, leaning back away from me, taking a big bite, crunching through the sandwich. "It's full of greens!"

"Yeah, do you like it?! I know not everyone's a fan of vegetables but I use to love this sandwich when someone would get it for me, it has lettuce, cucumbers, salted avocados raw broccoli-"

"This is amazing!"

"Do you really like it?!" I said smiling, hearts in my eyes as he devoured the sandwich reaching for another. "I made plenty more so dig in! There's also fruits and baby carrots-"

"You really like eating healthy don't you?" Knight questioned opening up another sandwich.

"It's not that I like eating healthy, I just like vegetables I guess," I said, taking out my own sandwich.

Setting up my canvas, laying a piece of fabric on my lap to protect my clothes, I dipped my brush in the cup of water.

"Knight?"

"Hm?" he answered, fiddling with a vine of grapes.

"Pick a color, any color," I said, gesturing to the many jars of paint laid out.

"You want.. me to pick?"

"Of course, any color will do, pick as many or as little as you want," I said.

Knight put a finger to his chin in thought scooting closer to me for a better look. Looking at the different colors and different shades and tones of different colors, he narrowed his eyes in thought.

"Or how about I paint you?" I suggested.

"Me?!" Knight yelped.

"Yeah… you're really cute♡ and you have quite the fixed color palette, I think it'd be fun," I said, taking his cheek and turning his face my way.

Knight blushed deeply at the action, loss for words as he looked back at me. I caressed his cheek with my thumb giving him a small peck on the lips.

"Do you like that idea?♡~"

"I- um.. I mean- you- like- it's uh.." I giggled as he fumbled his words, face red to the tips of his ears.

So cute☆

"Or I can paint something else? I'll let you choose," I said without dropping my hand from his face.

Knight fumbled for a second before picking up a couple jars of paint.

"How about… you make something with these," Knight said, holding up three jars. Lavender, light green and light blue.

"Perfect," I said, stealing one of his grapes.

"Knight, can I have a biscuit please," I asked without looking at him.

"Of course, here," Knight held out the biscuit for me, looking at me oddly when I didn't take it.

"Ah," I opened my mouth.

"... you have hands."

"Knight! I have paint on my hands, please," I said, showing him my fingers.

"... um," Knight averted his gaze.

"Come on, no one's here, and I want a biscuit. Ah," I opened my mouth again waiting to be fed.

"Dragon's teeth, fine," he said, breaking a piece and putting it in my mouth, letting me chew before I opened my mouth again.

"More please☆"

"Boop."

"Boop?? What's boo- did you just put paint on me?!" Knight scrambled when I taped his nose with a blue paint covered finger.

"Calm down, you'll make a mess, it isn't toxic, nor will it take long to dry, you can peel it off," I said, peeling some dried paint off my hands.

"Still… you're the painter not I," he pouted.

"And you're the painter's paramour, I'm a package deal hehe."

"A package de-?? What?"

"Ta-da!"

"Pretty."

"So how'd I do, critique me," I said, propping the painting against the tree.

"Nice colors."

"You picked them."

"I know," Knight chuckled lightly, standing at my side. "Your work could hang in a gallery."

"You flatter me, be mean for once," I say, pushing his shoulder.

"I speak only the truth, this is beautiful.." he said looking me in the eyes.

"I was only thinking of how nice it was to be here with you today… a picnic lunch, the fresh air, painting.. you, it's perfect," I said, holding his gaze.

Knight blushed hearing the sincerity in my voice. Grabbing my hand he tugged me closer, staring at point blank range he called out my name.

"... I should like to kiss you now.." it sounded more like he was questioning himself then he probably would've liked.

"Go ahead."

Slipping his arms around my waist he pulled me in pressing his lips against mine. I held firmly at his biceps as I returned his advances with the same amount of affection.

Releasing each other's lips with a smack of the lips I smiled.

"Wanna help me hang this up in my room?"

©bitchkay.tumblr.com

I'm in love with him.

I wanna get married and like have little baby Knights running around, ion even like kids but if he wanted some I'd make him a daddy no hesitation come here baby, gimme some loving😼😼 /hj

#cod knight #court of darkness #fanfiction #otome fanfic #I love Knight so much give me more event stories🤬🤬#voltage inc #cod fanfic #court of darkness knight #court of darkness fanfiction #kay's writing

7 notes · View notes

jeon-kookie-dough · 3 years ago

Text

Caught in the Game - Chapter 01

After growing up in the midst of Toman and a rather wild time in college, you are now working for a popular fashion magazine. You were aware of your boss's gang past - Kokonoi Hajime's name having been well-known during your school time - but after you bumped into an old friend at work the other day, one coincidence follows the next and you find your past catching up to you...

pairings: Koko x reader, Chifuyu x reader genre: angst, gang!au rating: m for violence & slowburn smut word count: 2,536 next>

The subway was much stuffier than usual. Bodies pressed into each other at every curvature, the sweat mingling on the sticky handlebars. And it is only the morning, for fuck’s sake.

The way from my house, which is located kind of in the outskirts of Tokyo, to Chiyoda where my office was located, felt like a lifetime this hot morning. Between trying to avoid creeps in the subway and standing in the longest queue in front of my favorite coffee shop for what seemed like hours, I was trying to supersede immense tiredness.

As of November, of the year prior I was working for one of the bigger fashion magazines in the country and the deadline for my latest article was already scratching at the front door. More like clawing, actually.

Up until starting up this job, I was used to living a half-assed life. School came easy to me, despite having been caught up in some…situations. College was a blur of alcohol and parties and I just barely graduated. After college I held myself above water with various part-time jobs, having been kicked out from home at barely 18 and landed my current job by chance. This upcoming article was more than important to me, thus stressing myself, and crying my fucking eyes raw from frustration, since it was the first time having my work printed in an actual magazine instead of just publishing online.

The second I stepped foot into Marunouchi Park Building, I sighed of relief and thanked who ever invented ACs. I entered the elevator, pushed the button for the 23rd floor and leaned back against the cool metal wall of the cabin. Just as the doors were about to close, somebody sprinted into the otherwise empty cabin. The person was male and of average height, balancing a couple garment bags and shoe boxes in his arms. I wasn’t really surprised that he was going to exit on the same floor, as the other offices in this building were mostly financial firms.

Not minding the other person, I let him leave the elevator before me, clocked in and greeted my colleagues with a friendly nod. I took a while, but in the past eight months, people seemed to have accepted that I was far from a morning person, so they learned to appreciate my curt nods. Only because I bring coffee. At least that’s my hypothesis.

“Good morning, sunshine!”

My eyeballs immediately rolled to the back. Hearing my boss’ voice in the morning was like nails on a chalkboard. I rolled back with my chair, peaking around my cubical. The bright sunlight illuminated the office through the glass front, reflecting in the angled door to the chief editor’s single office. His figure leaned in the door, arms crossed and hand holding out expectantly.

“S’up, Koko?” I mumble. I knew exactly what he had his hand stuck out for, but I wouldn’t give him the gratification he wanted. That rich fuck, I thought. Bet he snorts his coke with 10k yen bills but can’t even get his own fucking coffee.

“Think my hand is missing an iced Americano this morning. Care to explain?” His slender frame circled around the cubicle wall, now towering above my sitting person. My office was usually occupied by five people in total. Inui always being late and the other three on vacation left me as the only victim. I rolled my eyes at him. “Dunno”, I retorted, opting for my most innocent look. “Think I might have dropped it. You can have a sip of my Cappuccino, but I’m afraid I spat in it.”

Kokonoi Hajime was a peculiar person. He stood at 5’9” and his black locks braided away from the left side of his face was his signature look. He cared a lot about his staff being dressed well, as he himself only own designer suits from Italy. Despite enjoying the power he had over his staff, he also was very liberal in the way we communicated with another at the office. I had never met him before taking the job, but I had certainly heard of Kokonoi way before.

Koko was only a year or two older than I was and back in middle and high school he had a reputation. He lived one school district away from me, but the stories about him were also told at my school. Stories of a financial prodigy that hid behind his wannabe gangster friends that, most of the time, resorted to violence.

“You have a foul mouth”, he snickered, grabbing my cup and taking a sip anyway. “Somebody ever told you that?” I hummed in response, counting my coffee lost, and turned on my laptop. “I have a meeting in five minutes, so please take my calls, will you? Inui is useless, as always.” I nod silently, still grieving the loss of my coffee. Koko’s gaze rested on Inui’s empty desk, then on me. “How’s that big article of yours coming along?”

I knew he meant no harm with that question, but my elevated stress levels along with the acid, that always seems to wing in his voice, made me snap. “Fuck off, alright? I’m working on it.”

The chief editor raised his hands in defense and backed away from my desk, a smile playing about his lips. “The meeting’s until noon. Tell Inui to take my phone when his drags his lazy ass here.”

Inui arrived at 10:30, offering a coffee and a doughnut as a peace offering. I told him to screw off and, finally, concentrated on my article. It was almost done, but I needed it to be perfect before handing it to Kokonoi for proof-reading. I couldn’t afford messing this up if I ever intended of becoming a regular in the print.

I was so emersed in my work that I never saw the visitor arrive or leave. At lunch, all that occupied my mind was my hunger. I didn’t really have a lot of money left, thanks to the fucking chief for having me dress in expensive clothes so he quote unquote didn’t have to claw his eyes out at the sight of me, so a snack from the vending machine it was.

With food just in sight, my feet may have become a little too eager and I stumbled a crashed face first into someone walking by, having them fall onto the marble floor with me. I cussed under my breath and tried to get onto my feet, when there was already a hand outstretched to help me.

“You okay?” I averted my eyes immediately, embarrassment written on my face. “Uh, yeah, I’m alright, I guess. Er, I think you dropped something.” I dove right back down, picking up the visitor laminate. It read ‘Visitor for KOKONOI Hajime. Name-‘

My gaze darted up immediately, meeting a pair of silver eyes staring right back at me. “Mitsuya fucking Takashi?” I whispered in sheer disbelief. My opposite grinned, squeezing his eyes shut doing so. “It’s been a long time, huh, (Y/N)?”

I found myself accompanying Mitsuya to a Korean restaurant down the street for lunch. His treat, he said. The sun was merciless, and he scolded me for not carrying an umbrella with me. “It’s bad for your skin, you know?” I grunted, looking up at him. “Like I care.”

My high school graduation ceremony had been the last time I had seen Mitsuya. Up until then, we had almost been inseparable, having lived in the same shitty apartment complex, visiting the same middle school and him only being one year older. Back then, a lot of things happened. We never really had a fall out, at one point things just changed.

At the restaurant, we slid into a booth and a young waitress came to our table to take our order. Her eyes revealed that she found my companion attractive, but as per usual, he was oblivious. A couple minutes passed, and we were handed our drinks.

“Alcohol at this hour?” His eyebrow shot up in worry, vanishing behind his silver hair. He changed it up a bit since then, leaving his shaved sides in his natural black hair color, his top hair raked with black strands in the otherwise light hair. “Thought you had given up on that.”

I stirred my vodka soda with the glass straw, the ice chinking against the glass. “Yeah, I had.”

Mitsuya didn’t dig any further and leaned back into the cushioned bench instead. “So, a fashion magazine, huh? I thought you always wanted to become a sugar baby, what happened?” At his question I emptied half my drink in one gulp, disregarding the straw completely. “Turns out I’m not really cut for sucking wrinkly dick.” To that, Mitsuya busted out laughing. “You achieved just what you always dreamed of. How does that feel?” I asked quietly.

He stayed silent for a while and I watched him gnawing at the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking about how to choose his next words. “A lot of time has passed, you know?” His voice was dull as he finally spoke. “And a lot happened in between. I guess it was either getting my life under control or…” His voice trailed off, but I knew exactly what he left hanging in the air. Prison. Or even worse, death. “For my sisters’ sake, I chose to get my life together.”

I nodded, fumbling with the glass straw, one burning question on the tip of my tongue. How are the others? Is everyone still alive? I was too afraid of the answer, so I pushed the thought way back.

“Tell me about you, though”, Mitsuya smiled and leaned forward, folding his hands and propping his chin on them. “Working for Koko now, huh? How’s that been?” I groaned quietly and let my head hang. “He’s a fucking pain in the ass. Making me buy all this expensive shit so I’ve got nothing left in the bank. If I knew beforehand who the chief editor was, I would have never taken that job.” Mitsuya chuckled and flicked my forehead. Just like he always used to.

“I know what you mean” he mused. “I never thought I’d see his face again after-“ My eyes shot up at the tone in his voice. I never knew they had met before. Back then, I would have feared for his life. Everyone was young and stupid back then; delinquents with nothing but fist fights on their minds. But the folks Koko had surrounded himself with were more on the actual criminal side.

“What? Mitsuya, you never told me!” Even I was surprised at the pure horror in my voice. “Why didn’t you say something?” Mitsuya shrugged. “Nothing bad ever happened. It was just a surprise to see him in a position like this, that’s all.”

After lunch, which was fucking delicious, dare I add, Mitsuya and I exchanged numbers before going our separate ways.

The rest of the day I couldn’t concentrate on anything anymore. Before I headed home, I met Kokonoi’s gaze through his glass door and it gave me the shivers. Like he was watching me. Like he knew something. Creep. This weird feeling followed me all the way home and I caught myself looking back at every turn, at every red light. For some reason the conversation I have had with my old friend had me nervous. Nervous for him, for me, for everyone. What if Koko’s the same old thug, but with a lot more money and influence?

At home I opened a bottle of white wine, dunked the cap in the bin and sat at my desk, ready to catch up on the time I wasted at the office being worried. With a little liquid confidence, of course. Cheers!

I had approximately gotten about three hours of sleep. My body felt like it had gotten run over by a truck, my brain felt like soup. The only silver lining was, that I had, hallelujah!, finished my article – and my favorite co-worker Natsuki returning from her vacation. She had been working at the magazine already when I had started and showed me around.

Only a few days after I had started working, Atsushi Sendo had been transferred from another internal office to ours. There had been a lot of rumors occurring around his transfer, sexual harassment among them, but in the end, he had only royally fucked up his latest pitch and, as a punishment, had been put under Koko’s supervision, since he’s known to be the meanest editor. He ended up liking to work with us so much that he just stayed. The three of us ended up becoming the bane of Koko’s existence.

I stepped one foot into the office, yawning and pulling an Inui, I can’t believe that I arrived even after him, before I heard Natsuki already picking a fight with the chief editor. I silently put her coffee next to her cup of tea, handed another one to Inui and sat down at my own desk.

“With all due respect, Kokonoi, but you can’t expect me to not freak out when I come back after three weeks and find myarticle published under your name!” I leaned back into my chair, eyes closed, and head thrown back, and listened to the bickering in the chief editor’s office. A few minutes later, Natsuki threw the door into the lock behind her, the heel of her shoes dangerously echoing in the otherwise silent room.

It only took a moment before my sleepy body jumped awake when it got hit by a paper ball. My eyes ripped open just to find her eyes lingering over the wall between our cubicles. “Thanks for the coffee”, she said, raising the cup in a silent toast. I did the same, somewhat straightening up my spine in the seat. “Glad you’re back”, I yawned. “Old scrooge was unbearable.”

“Was?”, Natsuki barked under her breath. “He’s the spawn of hell! Remind me to never take anything from him again. He’s the kind of person to always expect something in return and I don’t even want to think about what he would expect.” I grunted in my chair and sipped on my black coffee, leaving a red lip print on the paper.

“Money” Kokonoi, who unbeknownst to any of us had left his office, answered Natsuki whilst keeping his sly eyes on my. “I don’t take anything but cash. (Y/L/N), where’s your article. Deadline’s today.” Natsuki’s and my eyes met over the screen. Our boss rarely called us by our names, much less our family names - he prefers shit like darling or sweetheart. Why the fuck am I still working here?! – so we knew something was up. And maybe I have a hint.

“Check your mails. I submitted it at, like, 3.” “A.m.?” Natsuki mouthed in disbelief, but I kept my eyes fixed on Kokonoi. He beckoned me with a finger to follow me. “Come in my office for a minute, would you, sweetheart.” There he was again. The egotistical, chauvinistic asshole. The chair hit the screen behind me as I rolled back a little more forceful than intended, but I followed him, anyway.

#tokyo revengers #TR #chifuyu x y/n #koko x y/n #matsuno chifuyu #tokyo revengers x oc #tokyo revengers x you smut #hajime kokonoi #sanzu haruchiyo #mitsuya takashi #slowburn #smut #gang!au #kurokawa izana #izana #ran haitani #rindou haitani #hanma #kazutora hanemiya

31 notes · View notes

beewolfwrites · 4 years ago

Text

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter One: The Edge of a Diving Board

Hello everyone!

So I haven’t used my Tumblr account in years, but I recently binge watched Alice in Borderland not too long ago and like any sane person, I realised that it was pretty darn amazing.. and that Chishiya was hands-down one of the best characters in the show.

So while I'm still riding the AIB wave, I decided to dig out my old Tumblr and write something!

This is just the first chapter, and you can find it here on AO3 too. To be honest, it’s probably better on AO3 because the formatting is a little funny on here.

I’ve written it in first person, but avoided giving the main character a name, so it can either read as a Chishiya x OC or as a reader-insert depending on how you prefer :)

Please let me know what you think, and if you do read it, thank you!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was David Foster Wallace who put it best. The world was one big queue leading up to a diving board. You took your place in line, climbed the rankings, and once you got to the top? The end. Process over. Because that’s how life really is: breathe, work, jump off the edge. You fulfil a function and then you’re gone forever.

At least, that’s how I’d always seen it. But the Borderlands changed all of that. Suddenly I was being pushed towards the edge of the diving board when I had thought I was still in the queue.

It happened all at once. I had been in an apartment, laughing over drinks with my brother and his friends. It was our first time in Japan, and we were only visiting for a four-day summer trip. I had only been allowed to go on the premise that he was there. Looking back now, I wish we had chosen Brussels or Amsterdam.

The last time I saw my brother, he was laughing with his friends as I closed the bathroom door behind me. I had turned to the sink, taking a moment to splash cool water on my face.

And that was when the lights went out.

‘Power cut’, I muttered, fumbling around for the door handle and re-entering the living room.

The apartment was dark and cold. I was alone.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tokyo almost looked beautiful without electricity at night, like a ghost city paused in time.

‘Hey!‘ I yelled through the empty streets. ‘誰か’ Anyone?

My Japanese was limited at best, but I had to try. I had to find someone. There was no way this could’ve been a prank. A whole population doesn’t just vanish into thin air, it’s simply not possible.

‘Hey, Is anyone there?’ I tried again.

As if on cue, a light cut through the darkness. I couldn’t help but squint at the large white screen projected across a desolate building. I couldn’t read any of the kanji, but there was one word that stood out clear as day.

GAME

What is this? I asked myself.

Suddenly, the screen changed, this time sporting an arrow pointing to the right. I tried to read the hiragana, but it seemed there was no need. Another light appeared in the distance, glowing ominously over the tops of buildings.

I guess I have to go that way, I thought. Perhaps there’s some kind of big event on and everyone’s gone to watch.

I made my way to the source of the light, which turned out to be an old furniture store. In this sea of darkness, it was as if the electricity had pooled entirely into one two-storey building.

There can’t be an event in a place like this. Where is everyone?

On a wall was a smaller sign with an arrow pointing into the store.

GAME – こちらです

Hesitantly, I followed the arrow up the steps leading to the door. Inside, the hallway was fully lit. The walls were decorated with mirrors and printed canvases, their price tags and sale stickers still attached. Passing beneath an arch that led into a large room, I heard a tiny bleep. It was almost inaudible, but I knew I hadn’t imagined it.

As I peered around, looking for the source of the noise, a voice spoke.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

I jumped, turning on my heels.

Leaning inconspicuously against a wall, a man was staring at me curiously. He was wearing a sleeveless grey top and looked to be in his thirties. He didn’t look like it, but perhaps he was the shop owner?

I stepped forward, intent on asking for help. However, I must’ve moved too quickly in my excitement, as my arm wavered, knocking a tiny vase with an artificial flower off a table.

It rolled across the ground, but before I could apologise and pick it up a neon red laser cut through the vase, leaving a singed hole in the plastic soil.

‘I told you not to do that,’ the man repeated, huffing.

I stared, wordless, at the destroyed flower. Lasers? What the hell kind of game was this?

‘Newbie, hm? This’ll be easy.’

It was a new voice this time. Another man, slightly younger, was reclining back in an armchair. I hadn’t noticed him until now as his green shirt blended into the furniture fabric.

‘A foreigner, too. How lucky,’ Green Shirt said.

My mind scrambled to piece together what Japanese it could.

‘すみません… 何がこれ？皆んながどこですか’ Excuse me, what is this? Where is everyone?

Green Shirt raised a brow, whereas the first man huffed once more.

‘It’s a game. You’ve just got to follow the rules.’ He gestured his thumb to a small side table where there were a several phones lined up. ‘You need to take one before registration closes.’

On second inspection, I noticed that they were both clasping phones tightly in their hands. Maybe this was part of the game? Approaching the table, I picked up a smart phone, finding that it sprung to life immediately with a face recognition screen.

‘FACE REGISTRATION IN PROCESS.

PLEASE WAIT FOR THE GAME TO COMMENCE’

A timer on the screen began to tick down from two minutes. Around me, I could feel the two men watching my every move. They seemed to be sussing me out, although I couldn’t figure out what for. Surely, since everyone in Tokyo disappeared, we should all band together and find others.

‘REGISTRATION CLOSED. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.’

This time, the voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if through an invisible sound system. I looked around at the ceiling, trying to find the speakers, when I realised that at the back of the room all of the furniture had been moved aside to make way for a large circular table and four chairs. In the centre of the table was a stack of cards.

‘GAME – RUMMY

DIFFICULTY – FOUR OF DIAMONDS

TIME LIMIT – ONE HOUR’

Four of Diamonds?

I looked at the phone in my hand, where a picture of the aforementioned card flashed up. None of it made sense. And what did playing cards have to do with this?

The first man and Green Shirt both got up and made their way to the table at the back, leaving me no choice but to follow. They seemed to know what was going on better than I did. The three of us each took a seat, only I chose to a sit as far as possible from the other two. Judging from the deck in the middle of the table, we’d be playing a card game, and I didn’t want anybody close enough to see my hand.

The overhead voice continued.

‘RULES –

PLAYERS MUST COMPLETE A SINGLE GAME OF RUMMY.

THE OBJECTIVE IS TO CLEAR ALL CARDS FROM YOUR HAND. THE FIRST PLAYER TO CLEAR THEIR HAND IS THE WINNER.

THE DECK HAS ALREADY BEEN SHUFFLED.

PLAYERS MUST DESIGNATE ONE PERSON TO BE THE DEALER.

TURNS ARE TAKEN COUNTER-CLOCKWISE, FROM THE LEFT OF THE DEALER.

EACH PLAYER STARTS WITH SEVEN CARDS. AFTER THE CARDS HAVE BEEN DEALT, THE FIRST CARD IN THE DECK MUST BE TURNED OVER AND USED TO START A SEPARATE DISCARD PILE.

PLAYERS MUST ALWAYS DRAW ONE CARD FROM THE PILE, AND DISCARD ONE CARD PER TURN.

PLAYERS MAY PICK UP A CARD FROM THE DISCARD PILE, HOWEVER YOU CANNOT DISCARD THE SAME CARD IN THAT TURN.

PLAYERS MUST CREATE SEQUENCES OF THREE TO FOUR CARDS ARRANGED BY EITHER NUMBER OR SUITE. IF A SET OF THREE OR MORE CARDS IS CREATED, THE PLAYER MAY CHOOSE TO LAY IT DOWN IN FRONT OF THEM.

PLAYERS CAN ADD TO OTHERS’ SEQUENCES PROVIDED THEY HAVE BEEN LAID DOWN ON THE TABLE.

ACE MAY ONLY COUNT AS ONE.

JOKERS CAN BE USED IN PLACE OF ANY CARD.

CLEAR CONDITION – BE THE WINNER.’

Okay, I thought, mulling it over. Okay…

I hadn’t understood most of what the voice had said, but I could pick up enough that I figured it was just a game of standard Rummy. I had never played the game before, and I only knew of it through John Steinbeck’s characters. But I had played something similar, a card-melding game that my parents had taught me when I was a small child. I’d played it countless times, and I knew it like the back of my hand. Sure enough, these rules were slightly different, but it was still a card-melding game, all the same.

I looked up at the two men opposite me. They appeared confused, despite their attempts to hide it. Green Shirt gazed at me curiously, then smirked.

Oh…

‘A foreigner, too? How lucky.’

His previous words rang in my memory. Judging by the way the two men were looking at me, they were both counting on my inability to understand the rules. They were assuming I had no idea how to play, or even what rules were just read out. And yet, the brief glimpses of confusion in their expressions told me everything: they had never played a card-melding game before.

So they’ve already decided that they have the advantage?

I tried not to smile.

‘Do you know how to play?’ the first man asked me.

I paused, considering how I should answer. I didn’t know exactly what the stakes were, but judging by the laser I had just seen, losing the game couldn’t be good. In any case, I decided to keep my cards close to my chest.

‘このガームは知らない.’ I’ve never heard of this game before.

I was aware that my Japanese probably sounded like it came straight from a textbook, but in this situation, I couldn’t care less.

The first man nodded. He looked at Green Shirt, and said, ‘I’ll be the dealer then, if that’s okay?’

Green Shirt just shrugged and sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Hurry up then. The clock’s ticking.’

Sure enough, my phone displayed a timer which read 57 minutes. I didn’t want to find out what happened if we didn’t have a clear winner by the time it hit zero.

The first man picked up the deck, dishing out seven cards each before returning the stack to the centre. He took the first card and turned it over on the table, beginning the discard pile. Picking up a card from the deck, the first man began his turn.

I didn’t pay attention to what he was doing, as I needed to focus on the cards currently in my hand.

King of Spades

Three of Hearts

King of Diamonds

Five of Clubs

Ace of Hearts

Nine of Diamonds

Eight of Clubs

It wasn’t bad. Or at least, it could’ve been a lot worse. The two kings stuck out immediately as a potential meld. I could certainly build around them. However, another thought came to mind. If Rummy was anything like the game I had learned as a child, it meant that players could add to each other’s melds once they were on the table. In that case, I would have to avoid creating sets of consecutive numbers within the same suite, as a three-card combination in this kind of meld would leave two openings for the others to get rid of their cards, rather than just the one.

Glancing up, I noticed it was Green Shirt’s turn, promptly ended as he threw an Ace of Spades into the discard pile.

That meant it was my turn next.

I eyed the Ace he just discarded and remembered hearing the overhead voice say something about Aces. But there was no time to think about it; the other two were watching me closely and waiting for me to pick up a card.

I reached out to the deck.

Seven of Diamonds.

Technically I could’ve used it in conjunction with my nine, but it was too risky. I didn’t have time to wait around in hopes of picking up an Eight of Diamonds. Plus, I’d already decided against consecutive sets.

I tossed it into the discard pile.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The game continued for longer than I would’ve liked it to. The clock was ticking, ticking, ticking, and now read 17 minutes.

So far, my hand had started to come together.

King of Spades

King of Diamonds

King of Hearts

Nine of Diamonds

Nine of Spades

Five of Clubs

Ace of Hearts

I could’ve laid down my kings on the table. But there was only three cards in the meld, meaning one of the others could add the remaining king from their own hand. Across from me, neither of the other two had laid down any cards, and until they did, I couldn’t add anything to their melds either.

Green Shirt then took his turn and picked up a card. He glanced once at me, then threw a Nine of Diamonds onto the discard pile.

I must’ve regarded it a second too long because Green Shirt then spoke up.

‘You’re collecting Diamonds, aren’t you?’

I tried not to smile.

‘どうして知っているのですか’ I asked, playing along. How did you know that?

‘Because you always stare at the cards whenever I discard a Diamonds one.’

He must’ve gotten the wrong end of the stick, because whenever he discarded a Diamonds card, my heart sank. The last thing I needed was a Diamonds card.

‘I’ll try and keep a poker face from now on,’ I muttered.

Green Shirt frowned in response and checked the timer on his phone.

Nine minutes.

Nine minutes until game over.

That’s 540 seconds I had to land a good card.

Come on, I thought. Please be a nine. Please be a nine.

I picked up a card from the deck. It was a Two of Spades. I discarded it immediately.

In the back of my mind, I was starting to panic. Judging by this whole setup, we were playing for our lives. After all, what kind of game would have an invisible barrier that kills those who try to back out?

The first man threw away a Six of Clubs. Green Shirt stared at it and scowled. He must’ve been looking for extra cards to add to his meld on the table.

By now, the two men were starting to become antsy. The first man kept scratching his eyebrow, whereas Green Shirt kept dragging his nails on the table in impatience.

He picked up a card from the deck, then grinned from ear to ear. He proudly lay down a consecutive suite consisting of the Seven and Six of Clubs and a Joker used to represent a five.

Carelessly, he tossed down a Nine of Clubs.

My heart jumped, and adrenaline shot through me.

He still thinks I’m collecting Diamonds. That’s why he tossed it.

My hand shot out and snatched up the card from the pile before Green Shirt could figure out his mistake. And figure it out, he did, because his eyes widened slightly.

I looked at him squarely.

‘I have something to confess,’ I said in English. ‘I lied. I’m not collecting Diamonds.’

Green Shirt’s smile dropped. He didn’t understand, but he would soon enough. The thing about Jokers is that they’re always a double-edged sword.

Laying down my new trio of nines, I reached over to Green Shirt’s meld and inserted my Five of Clubs, swiping his Joker for myself.

He made a noise of protest, whereas the first man watched on with disbelief, as if hoping that his intuition was wrong.

I added the Joker to my two Kings, creating a new meld which I down on the table.

Their faces told all. They had no idea that Jokers could be swapped. Even though I hadn’t understood the rules outlined at the beginning, it was evident that this was a rule that hadn’t been mentioned.

Watching them shake their heads, wide eyed… it was like watching a penny drop.

‘ごめんなさい,’ I said.

I’m sorry.

I threw the Ace of Hearts onto the discard pile.

The two men shot out of their seats, yelling frantically. I tried to tear my eyes away, but couldn’t, as two lasers pierced through the ceiling and struck them where they stood.

The two bodies crumpled to the ground, and all was still.

‘GAME CLEAR – CONGRATULATIONS!’

I don’t know how long I remained seated in my chair, but I felt that if I moved, I would collapse too. Swallowing, I took two fingers and pressed them to my jugular, feeling for my pulse.

I had won. I was still alive.

I was still here.

The phone on the table beside me flashed with a message. According to this game, I had a four-day visa, whatever that meant.

It didn’t matter though, all I needed right now was to sleep.

Rising unsteadily, I cautiously approached the where the invisible barrier had been. For all I knew it was a one-way system, and I didn’t want to make a stupid mistake after all my effort in the Rummy game. So, as a test, I picked up a tiny vase and threw it across the entrance.

Nothing.

It was like the lasers had just disappeared altogether.

Tentatively reaching my fingers through, I deemed it safe, and made my way back down the hall to the store entrance. I didn’t know where to go, or how to live in a world like this, but if books and movies had taught me anything, I needed to make some kind of camp, perhaps even head to a food store to collect some supplies –

I stopped.

On a small side table near the entrance doors, a card lay facing up. The Four of Diamonds. The same Four of Diamonds that had flashed on the screen on my phone. The game’s difficulty.

But when did it get here? Perhaps someone had come by whilst I was still playing.

Shrugging, I pocketed it and stepped outside into the ghostly darkness of Tokyo. Behind me, the electricity in the furniture store shut off completely.

Whatever kind of games these were, I had a feeling they were only just getting started.

#alice in borderland #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland

119 notes · View notes

emilycollins00 · 3 years ago

Text

Two faces of the same coin

Pairing: Tenma x ghost-looking! reader Part 1.

Hey! I had this awesome ask from sadly ages ago which I appreciated a lot bc honestly, just the fact that someone sent such a detailed thing?? My heart.

Request: (...) Tenma finds someone who looks like they got out straight from a horror movie- They could literally pass as a ghost anytime of the day! But once he talks to them they are just an extremely chill introvert, and actually really thoughtful and considerate? (...) So yeah, imagine Tenma who once was shitting his pants whenever that person was around slowly starting to enjoy their presence and even better: fall for them.

Enjoy! 💕

Classic horror icons and other disturbing creatures share common characteristics, pale skin, dark, sunken eyes, hunched posture, sharp teeth, and the like. These images inspire fear and revulsion in many with good reason. And while Tenma would insist he was okay with them- he really was and Yuki should really just shut up- he wouldn’t go out of his way to watch or read about that specific genre. And he was okay with that.

“A ghost in the school?”

He tried to not sound as worried as he internally felt, his brain still processing what Taichi was talking about while waiting for their drinks to drop. The redhead nodded unaware, eyes fixed on the vending machine “Yeah! You haven’t heard about it before?”

“W-why should I? It’s stupid to think paranormal stuff like ghosts exists anyway.”

With a clank, both drinks finally fell. Taichi crouched down to retrieve them humming happily, handing one of them to the summer troupe leader and keeping one for himself.

“I don’t know man, it’s kind of cool!” he crossed his arms behind his head, resuming their walk and looked behind. “What about you, Juza-san? You seen anything?”

The purple-haired boy considered it lazily, but ultimately shook his head. He didn’t seem too interested in the conversation anyway, and Tenma was pretty sure the main thoughts running through his head were today’s melon bread from the cafeteria.

It had been a while since their Ouka-high group had been able to have lunch together.

“Did you see? That Sumeragi Tenma is back!”

“Gosh, he looks so handsome!”

“Wait- don’t push me!”

“I heard he’s going to be a possible cast in that famous saga-”

“Are you serious?”

Whispers and tiny squeals kept circling them as soon as they entered the boundaries of the canteen. And while Tenma barely notices it at first, he can definitely see Juza’s stance going more rigid and Taichi’s eyes glowing at the attention received.

“I’ll go get our lunch” the golden-eyed teen announces heading towards the queue, hands buried in his pockets. He motioned Tenma with his chin. “You wanted set B right, no carrots.”

“Uh? Well yeah, but I can-”

“S’okay, you two go find some seats” he shrugged, looking around. There weren’t many spaces to start with and he’d honestly prefer focus on the food rather than the stares. “It’d be difficult to keep ‘em free with just one person anyway.”

“Roger! Come on Ten-chan, let’s go!”

“Aw, man. Everyone has their eyes on you as usual!” Taichi looked around, still indulging himself with all the people that were staring at them, some more blatantly than others.

How he didn’t get bored of mentioning it every time Tenma didn’t know, though he was low-key grateful. Not many people enjoyed being part of those types of reactions from a crowd- Juza for example-. When they finally managed to find some empty seats, Taichi placed his own bento on the table visibly excited. Tenma frowned.

“Since when did you start preparing lunch by yourself?”

“Ah, this?” the redhead laughed proudly at his confused look “See, I’ve been practicing my cooking skills! Tsuzuru has been super cool teaching me how to prepare some dishes for my siblings- plus, I’m sure I’ll get the attention of girls if they see my new talent!”

“Right…”

Tenma couldn’t decide whether he should make a comment as he took a long, thoughtful sip from his own juice can. Taichi’s lunch was a side of string cheese, a broken omelet, and some semi-burnt rice and it just didn’t seem very tempting.

He ultimately chose to leave it aside. Omi would surely know soon enough.

“So, uh, Taichi.”

“Yeah?”

He coughed, leaving aside the can and resting his back on the chair nonchalantly. “N-not that I care about that rumor, but- where is that ghost supposed to be?”

“Ah, the one we talked about? Mmm…” the autumn member caressed his chin, closing his eyes in deep thought. “No one really knows. It’s been spotted in pretty much all parts of the school” Tenma’s stomach sank at that. “But I’ve heard it likes room 1001 for some reason, you know, from the old side of the school? No one really uses it anymore- guess it makes sense!”

The redhead took again the chopsticks and started digging on the rice carefree.

“R-right.”

Tenma shook his head. Cool. Great. Now he knew which side of the school he would never even try to approach at least.

“Tenma-kun!” a female voice, not familiar, made him jolt from his seat. When he looked up a girl followed by two others were are already making themselves comfortable on the chairs next to them- one of them even deciding to sit on the table. “Hi there!”

Third years.

"Hi” he repeated.

“We saw your appearance in that new series, it was unbelievable!”

“Are you going to be a recurring character there? I’d love if you could ask one of the leads to sign a shirt of mine!”

He simply showered them a practiced smile. He could already tell what type of fans they were. It wasn’t something out of the ordinary- people approaching him about his shows or to ask for favors- and honestly, it was better not entering in that dangerous territory. “Thanks. Nothing’s been said yet, that’d depend on the company. I’ll be counting on your future support.”

They instantly beamed at his reaction. “Of course!”

One of them clapped her hand together “That reminds me, when is your next performance in that theatre company you play? I so want to go see it again!”

“Ah, that will take a while. We just finished a month ago so next up is the autumn troupe” he motioned Taichi with his head, a proud, real smile featuring his face this time “These guys have been going all out, you won’t be disappointed.”

“O-of course!” the shortest Ouka high student practically jumped into the conversation. “If you all want, we could ask for a few tickets from our-!“

“But Tenma-kun is not in that troupe, right?” the girls looked at each other confused. As if it wouldn’t be something it’d cross their minds to do, had the child actor not participated before.

“W-well, no but…”

“Plus, the summer troupe is hilarious! I kinda prefer those types of performances, you know?”

“I totally get you!”

From his peripheral vision, Tenma could register Taichi’s face growing red- a strained smile before sitting back on his seat, not trying to add anything to the conversation anymore.

Smile. Remember to smile.

“…We all give our all on those performances, I don’t think it’s fair if you have just watched the summer troupe. You’ll definitely enjoy it if you give them the chance.”

“Really?”

“I mean… If Tenma-kun says so maybe we could go take a look.” one of them gave a chuckle, playing with their hair. “You think we could ask you to get us some tickets for-?”

“If you are not eatin’ you should leave.”

“Uh? Can’t you see we’re-” the sentence died in their lips as soon as they turned and encountered Juza. Not that he himself was proud of his reputation, but during these situations at the very least it paid to see they knew who he was.

“Move.”

The resulting glare was terrifying in its intensity, and the retreat took no longer than a few seconds. No one mentioned anything afterward- Juza’s calm and blank expression coming back as he sat down, handing the summer leader his lunch and squinting down at Taichi’s.

“What the hell are you eatin’.”

“Hehe it caught your attention too, right? You see…”

Tenma observed them. They were acting as if nothing had happened. Not so long ago people tended to stay away from him for those same reasons, so it still took him a few seconds to find the words again- For feeling this relieved at their reactions.

He left the chopsticks aside. “Sorry this... keeps happening."

They momentarily stopped the conversation, sharing a silent look before turning to the teen actor facing the table in awkwardness.

“I-It’s okay, Ten-chan! They would obviously be more interested in watching you than an unknown performance” Taichi laughs and scratches the back of his hair. He seemed to be fine- a bit uncomfortable, but fine. “Besides, that just means we have to work even harder to be recognized, right, Juza-san!”

“Yeah, don’t get stuck thinkin’ ‘bout it. We ain’t losin’ any time soon.”

“Anyway Juza-san, are you sure you’re okay with only melon bread and pudding for lunch? I can give you some of mine!”

Juza didn’t verbally answer Taichi’s offer, merely staring at the burnt rice being held in front of him with skepticism “…nah. I’m okay.”

Taichi frowned at his own food, tilting his head confused. A few seconds later, he gave it an ultimate shrug before going for one more bite, Juza doing the same with his own lunch. Tenma scoffed at the view, trying not to smile amusedly. The autumn troupe really was made out of beasts.

“If Sakyo-san saw what you two are eating he’d skin you alive, you know.”

“Why.”

“What do you mean why, Juza-san you can’t expect-“

"Ah, that reminds me!” Taichi suddenly rambled, mouth full of rice “We should totally go to the arcade before we head up to the dorm. I heard they have these new games that are supposed to be super exclusive!”

Tenma winced “Can’t. I have a meeting with my homeroom teacher after classes.”

The other two replied with a similar expression.

“I almost forgot you came from a big shootin’ and all. We’ve been seein' you in the dorm pretty much everyday.”

“Yeah! Geez I always say I envy you, but dealing with that after working must suck!”

“You tell me…”

Taichi shook his head, giving him both thumbs up “It’s okay, we can go another time. Good luck though!”

“You can sit here. I’ll go bring your work in a second and then we’ll talk.”

With a lazy look on his face, Tenma caught a glimpse of his own reflection from a trophy case- one of the few resting at the entrance of the teacher’s lounge. He had never paid attention to them before; Second prize in a football tournament, first prize in some races and a few diplomas regarding different competitions, nothing too special. Ouka high had never had the best score regarding academics, which is exactly why he was able to enter.

Igawa liked to insist it wasn’t entirely Tenma’s fault he had so many troubles keeping up with schoolwork though- well, not more than the usual of not being good at studying. No one actually knew how hard celebrity kids had to push themselves- at least that’s what his parent had said. On the other hand, they hadn’t really cared much more, so long the school allowed him to be flexible with his schedules.

School time was usually done while moving sets and camera changes. He and other kids and teens were at different levels of schooling most of the time, so the teacher was forced to divide their time. Honestly, one would be lucky to get 30 minutes of full tutoring.

Anyway, it was rotten work and even Tenma knew it. He also knew what his homeroom teacher thought about it, which is exactly why he couldn’t help himself raising his eyebrows concerned as he saw the pile of papers being drop over the desk.

“Is this a joke?”

“I know you’re busy, but there’s a minimum to do keep up with your classes and… general results.” the old man frowned scratching his grey four-days old beard. He clicked here and there at the computer, probably revising the latest results of the tests they had done.

He then leaned back on his chair, trying to find a comfortable position before his wrinkly eyes turned to him again. “I wish I could think of another way, but you are getting quite behind everyone, Sumeragi-kun. We’re worried.”

Well, it was not his fault he couldn’t remember all the information they gave him like a script. Was it really the solution giving him the same amount of work as his classmates with half the time?

Before he could open his mouth to complain, the man placed his hand on Tenma’s shoulder. It felt heavy. “I already talked with your manager. It seems you’ll be having a break for a month and a half just before finals and I’d like to help you. We can’t have one of the biggest faces of the school repeating a year, can we?”

Tenma’s jaw clenched. Of course, everything was always for Sumeragi Tenma the actor. Student Tenma could go drown himself.

“Here you’ll find some reinforcement materials I think will be good for you to do in school. Less time wasted while moving and I’ll be here in case you have any questions.”

His face twitched. That would mean he wouldn’t be able to ask for Tsumugi’s help or any of the adults back in Mankai. “I actually-”

“Suguro-sensei, Someone’s calling for you about tomorrow’s meeting!”

“Is it that time already... I’ll be right there in a second! In any case, I would suggest you go work on the library Sumeragi-kun.” the man got up, finishing that way their conversation. “It should be quiet enough, but if you see any students being too loud, give them a call.”

Tenma side-glanced again at his workload, groaning internally.

Just about his luck.

Twenty minutes walking.

How could such a big school not have a single sign to indicate where things were?

Squinting his eyes, Tenma looked both ways across the hall annoyed, his already short temper from before increasing. He was sure the library was two turns to the right, then left, and then up the stairs from the teachers’ lounge.

...or maybe it was a floor down now that he thought about it. Damn it. It wasn’t as if he had ever stepped inside that place, shouldn’t they make it more accessible for everyone?

“This sucks…”

It had been a while since he had seen other students or even teachers around, which also made him feel uneasy. He glanced down at the paperwork in his arms, gripping it tighter. He hoped no one would see him walking around like this.

Just where was the stupid library?

It wasn’t until Tenma decided to try entering inside any room that would allow him to work, that he found many were strangely closed. He was about to gave up when he finally saw the dusty word ‘library’ at the end of the corridor. Finally. With effort he managed to open the heavy door, immediately pinching his nose.

“Ugh, stinks.”

The person in charge of cleaning the school really did a worse job than Matsukawa- at least the man cleaned from time to time and organized stuff. The place was an absolute mess; boxes over the floor, piles of books on chairs and shelves full of documents and other various things he didn’t quite distinguish.

Leaving everything on the closest table Tenma sighed when he felt his arms relaxing without the weight. Frowning, he walked around the place, smelling a mix of dirt and old- even some shelves were full of dust. Really, how did a school like this had such a gross place to study? No wonder students didn’t try to come here.

He should have asked for permission to take his work back to Mankai. Less danger of someone noticing he was behind his studies and it becoming a gossip- or worse, finding he had been walking without an absolute clue for the last half hour.

Yeah, he had more options to pass the year with Tsumugi’s help rather than on his own. Just looking at the amount of work he had he was sure it’d-

The faint sound of walking steps brought him back from his thoughts freezing him on the spot- all his breath trapped. He hadn’t heard anyone since he entered, but it shouldn't be surprising to find others studying.

I’ve heard it likes room 1001 for some reason, you know, from the old side of the school? No one really uses it anymore- guess it makes sense!

Or it was probably the wind. The wind tends to make noises, Tenma reminded himself while swallowing with difficulty.

Was the air suddenly thick?

Crack!

He strained to hear, his heart pounding loudly. “I-Is anyone there?” the nerves made his voice come out higher than he had hoped.

More cracks and sounds of steps. He couldn't see anything yet.

His stomach turned as his breath became louder. This wasn't happening. Yup! It was his imagination. What was happening could not be real, because ghosts didn’t exist. “I-I’m not afraid, you know?!” he shouted, positioning himself on a fighting stance while carefully moving backward.

That’s right- Tenma wasn’t scared. He had just rested enough, with or without a ghost in the room, and it was about time to leave. Ignoring his sweaty palms and nodding once more to nothing in particular, he turned around at the same time a pair of eyes made contact with his.

The figure opened its mouth.

And Tenma proceeded to absolutely destroy his throat.

_________________________________________________

This took so long though I’m not even sure If they are around. If you are love, I apologize! I found a few walls writing-wise. So not entirely to say I made it longer to make up for it but on the other hand... maybe. Thank you so much for sending such a nice idea so I was able to make this, really hope you like it. 💕

I promise this is a reader insert lol thank you for reading!

Part 2 soon!

#tenma sumeragi #a3 game #a3 tenma #a3! tenma #reader x a3 #a3! x reader #tenma x reader #a3 actor training game #reader insert #a3! taichi #a3! juza

49 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 4 years ago

Text

It’s You and Me - Chapter 10

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 1758

Rating: E

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, some kinda sexual stuff (though it’s light and probably pg movie worthy), some of this is canon comic stuff - so you may have already read it.

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back. Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you. For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down. Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father. Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 10: Then

Clint ran through the circus looking for Eden. He’d been in town getting some things when he’d spotted the paper. The words ‘Art Dealer Murdered’ were splashed over the front page, with a photograph of the man Clint recognized from when he’d had the meeting with Tiboldt and a picture of some of the missing art. He knew it had to do with the circus. That someone from here had killed him when they’d tried to steal the art. After what you had said about Eden potentially being involved, he was terrified that someone was her.

“Anyone seen Eden?” He called as he ran through the carnies setting up the tents for the show tonight.

He spotted Bruto the Strong Man hammering in some of the larger poles and rushed over to him. “Bruto,” he said, slightly breathless. “You seen Eden around?”

Bruto thrust his thumb over his shoulder. “Check Tiboldt’s trailer.”

Clint nodded and ran towards the orange trailer that had the large banner advertising the circus on the side. “Eden,” he called. “Tiboldt - you guys in there?”

The door opened a crack and the thin weasley face peered around the corner. “What do you want, Barton?”

“Where’s Eden?” Clint asked.

Tiboldt narrowed his eyes. “What… do … you… want?”

Clint thrust the paper forward, right into the Ringmaster’s face so he could see the headline. “This is the guy you were talking to a few days ago!”

“Really?” Tiboldt said, playing coy. “I talk to so many people when we do our shows…”

“He was the museum guy - we were gonna do some children’s charity gig for him?” Clint questioned.

Tiboldt chuckled drily and handed the paper back to Clint. “Apparently, we won’t be now.”

Clint scowled, taking it. “Where’s Eden?”

Tiboldt pushed the door open so that Clint could see inside. Eden was sitting at the dressing table, naked except for a small towel wrapped around her waist. She turned, obviously startled that the Ringmaster would give her away. “Clint!” She yelped. “I…”

Clint fumed. He wanted to yell. To fight Tiboldt. To do something to express how angry and hurt he was right now. Tiboldt was the boss though and he was stuck. He’d been sleeping with Eden and they’d gone and murdered someone together and Clint was just some dumb sucker.

He spun on his heel and stormed off.

He’d made it halfway down the big top before Eden came chasing after him, the towel only barely wrapped around her. “Clint! Wait!” She called. “It’s not what you think!”

“Yeah?” He snapped, tossing the paper into the air. “‘Cause I’m thinkin’ you’re with him when you said you were my girl -” he loosed an arrow at it and shot past Eden’s head, pinning the paper to the wall of the trailer she was standing next to, the arrowhead piercing the picture of the murder victim through the head. “- and you helped him commit murder!”

“You…” Eden stammered. “You really think I would murder someone?”

Clint faltered. He didn’t know what he believed. He loved Eden and had loved her for a while now. But seeing her naked in that trailer only days after you had warned him about what was going on, he wasn’t sure if he could trust her. “I - no… no, I don’t…”

She approached him running her hand up into the back of his head and leaning into him. “As for Tiboldt and me - please - I was posing for a new trailer poster.” She looked into his eyes and tilted her head. “No one touches me - you know that. No one but you.”

She opened her towel, and wrapped it around him, bringing her naked body to his right out in the open in front of everyone. Heat flushed Clint’s skin and every coherent thought left his head. He kissed Eden deeply and hungrily the only thing even remotely resembling a coherent thought was the deep animalistic hunger he felt for her.

That night as you and Clint got ready for the show, he’d all but forgotten the incident from earlier and the murder of the art dealer. You were fussing with the horses as he checked his equipment.

“Five minutes ‘til showtime!” Tiboldt called. Clint flexed his bowstring and the bow snapped. “Ah, nuts!” He cursed and looked around, while Tidbolt called out the run list. “Anyone got a soldering iron?”

You shook your head while the other performers ignored him. “Hurry, Clint,” you said. “We’re first.”

“I’ll be quick,” he agreed and ran out the back of the tent. Eden was coming in from outside. She was wearing a bikini that would match her flesh if it wasn’t covered from neck to toe in intricate tattoos. “Eden, baby, I need a soldering iron,” he said.

“Oh, I got one, Clint,” she teased.

“You do?” He said, completely missing the teasing in his desperation to fix the bow before curtains up.

“You wanna know where I’m keeping it?” She smirked

Realization dawned on him. Of course, the woman who was basically naked didn’t have a soldering iron on her. “Oh,” he said.

“Try one of the storage chests, you big dope - the purple one, I think,” she said.

He rushed down to where the storage chests were but instead of one, there were three purple chests, each identical to the other. “Aw, man…” he whined. “Eden… three of them are purple!”

“Two minutes!” Tiboldt called.

“C’mon…” Clint muttered, opening one of the trunks. Sitting on top of the chest was the painting from the paper. It had been Tiboldt, just like he’d thought. Which meant it was probably Eden too.

His heart sunk. He didn’t know what to do. It was one thing when it was just stealing - but murder? How could he stay with the Circus knowing they were doing that?

“Ladies and Gentleman -” Tiboldt called, his voice amplified over the big top. Clint cursed again and began digging for the soldering iron in the other trunks.

He’d well and truly missed his queue when he reached you. Eden was out on the floor working her contortionist routine. “Where have you been?” You asked. “You missed your queue.”

“I’m sorry!” He said and came over close to you. “I was fixing my bow and I found a painting… one of the missing ones. They killed that art guy.”

You frowned. “Shit.”

“Did you have anything to do with it?” He asked.

You held up your hands. “I swear I didn’t, Clint. I thought about it, but I knew if they had that over me, then they’d have control of me.”

“You think Eden did?” Clint muttered.

You looked around and pulled Clint behind the horses more. He tried to see what had got you spooked and noticed Tiboldt watching you both. “I don’t know. Maybe,” you whispered. “You should ask her that.”

Clint’s shoulders sagged. “I might get us a motel room. Maybe if she’s away from the circus she’ll tell me.”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Hawkeye, Sugar. You already missed on queue, you better get this one,” Tiboldt snapped, appearing around the front of the horses.

“Yes, sir!” You said, getting on your horse.

Clint did the same and waited for his queue. You leaned over to him. “Clint, what are you gonna do if she did do it?”

Clint shrugged. “I dunno. I dunno if I can stay here. Would you come with me?”

“Where would we go?” You asked. “We ran away to the circus, what’s after that?”

“Welcome to the ring, the man who can’t miss, Hawkeye!” Tiboldt announced, interrupting Clint’s train of thought. He spurred his horse on through the curtains. Not that he was sure what he was going to do, but if he turned everyone in, there was no way that the answer could be this anymore.

You sat next to Clint by the payphone in the street. He’d done what he’d said. He’d taken Eden to a motel. They’d gotten dirty and then clean again, and while they showered he’d asked her about the murder. She denied the murder but not the theft and then got mad at him for not trusting her. Clint had gone to bed feeling sick to his stomach and the next morning he woke well before Eden, come back to the circus, and got you.

“You really gonna do this, Clint?” You asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. They killed someone. That guy has a family. Friends. They deserve some kind of closure.”

You nodded. “The circus will be done. What will we do?”

“Go on the road together,” Clint suggested. “The act won’t be quite as good without the horses and the clowns, but we could do a pretty good routine. Maybe some solo work too.”

“Maybe if you do it anonymously they won’t know it was you,” you suggested.

“Eden will know,” he said. “So will Tiboldt. This is gonna burn us. I already got my leg busted because I threatened to turn them in once.”

“I guess… make the call, and we go back and … pack our things?” You said. “If we can get as much of our stuff as we can, we won’t need to start from scratch.”

“You’re really going to come with me?” Clint asked.

“Clint,” you said softly, lowering your eyes. “I know you don’t know exactly what happened to me before I joined the circus, but when I joined, and Jacques said I needed to take those pictures - he said that he wouldn’t touch me. That it’d just be some naked pictures and that’d pay for my upkeep. I didn’t like it, but … it was like levels, you know? When someone keeps breaking your bones, and then a different person says, come here I’ll bruise you, but I won’t break your bones, you go because compared to the broken bones, the bruising feels like heaven. And you… you said you’d protect me from anyone hurting me at all. And you did. You kept Jacques away from me and you gave me a way to protect myself. And you’ve never expected anything from me. I kept expecting that one day you’d be like ‘well look what I did, now you owe me so open up those pretty legs of yours’ but you didn’t. So yeah, Clint. I’ll go with you because it’s you and me. You’ve always got my back, it’s only fair I have yours too.”

Clint looked at you and smiled sadly. “You and me,” he said and patted your thigh. “Okay. I’m gonna do this.”

// NEXT

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #it's you and me

69 notes · View notes

rainpuddle13 · 4 years ago

Note

19. playing with each other’s fingers

Ross&Demelza

I apologize, @veryflowerobservation, for taking so long to post this. It sorta got away from me :P I hope you enjoy!

This fic is a prequel to Tears and Sunflowers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was an ungodly hour. This having to get to the airport a minimum of four hours before an international flight was for the birds. Their flight to New York was scheduled to depart at 8:35am. Ross didn’t even know why he bothered to attempt to catch a few hours of sleep the previous night. Demelza was practically vibrating with excitement in the bed next to him. She had never flown before. So he’d done the only thing he could do in that situation -- help her work off some of that nervous energy -- and he bore the marks on his shoulders to prove it. He just felt sorry for the very nice elderly couple who were occupying the room next door to theirs at the hotel.

He checked his watch with a groan.

6:21am.

He thanked the good Lord above for exclusive traveler lounges. If he had to queue with the masses in the main terminal, he might not be responsible for his actions. That early in the morning, access to only that swill that passed for coffee at Costa, and masses of travelers with varying degrees of comportment would have him seriously contemplating murder. It would be a very poor defence if he was brought before the crown court, but surely an understandable one.

“You should eat something,” he said to her after she kept fiddling with the fingers of his hand resting on the knee if her crossed legs. They were cuddled together on a small sofa in a quiet spot where she could take in all of the hustle and bustle of the enormous lounge. There were quite a few people for that early in the morning, but there was so much space that it hardly felt crowded. He could feel her leg bouncing as she wiggled her foot. “The food is usually pretty exceptional.”

“I don’t know if I could,” she told him, weaving their fingers together and stilling her fidgeting for a moment, “too excited.”

Ross snorted softly as he was never one to be too nervous or tired to eat something. “You could get a haircut or a massage instead,” he teased, glancing over to see the expression on her face. The Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse Lounge at Heathrow was an overwhelming place with all sorts of over-the-top posh amenities. She was impressed they’d been picked up at the hotel and delivered to the airport in a private car and then were whisked through priority check-in and security in a matter of minutes.

“Really?” she asked, eyes widening with the obvious sensory overload she was experiencing.

“Yes,” he assured her, chuckling a little, and knowing her head would have exploded if she knew how much two upper class tickets had cost. “There’s a spa too and shower rooms.” Ross had wanted her first international flight to be comfortable and memorable, but he feared it might set her expectation a bit high for any future trips they might take. There was a far cry between the pampering in upper class and the indignities of the overcrowded economy class. It was just as well because he would need the extra legroom these days with his stiff knee.

She pressed a little closer to him and her fingers toyed with the heavy rose gold band he wore on his left ring finger that matched the more delicate one she wore. “You want to eat something don’t you?” she inquired.

“What I actually want is coffee,” he paused for a moment, his stomach answered her question with a low grumble, “and I probably could nosh on something.” He’d opted to keep his eyes closed for a few precious minutes while she got ready instead of sending for room service, safe in the knowledge that there would be an abundance of food and drink provided by the airline.

“I can try to nibble on something.” She pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek before standing up and holding her hand out to him and he couldn’t help but notice his beautiful wife attracting the attention of several of the men around them. Demelza was comfortably dressed in jeans that showed off her long legs to perfection and a deep gold turtleneck topped off with a rich brown leather jacket, and her glorious crown of red hair was barely contained by a loose braid.

Within a matter of minutes, he was attempting not to guzzle a cup of expertly brewed Sumatran coffee while waiting for his fry up to be brought to him. Demelza carefully sipped her steaming cup of tea, but left her plate of assorted breads and pastries untouched. He reached across the cozy dining table to snag a flaky and buttery croissant off the plate.

“You’re going to eat everything off my plate aren’t you?” he asked when she raised an eyebrow at his thievery.

“Noooo,” she swore, her eyes following the heavily laden plate an attendant placed before him followed by another to replace his near empty coffee cup with a fresh one.

He picked up the knife and fork to start in on the perfectly poached eggs after a liberal dousing of pepper. “You too can have your own plate. All you have to do is ask.”

“I don’t think I could!” she insisted, stabbing a bit of roast potato and grilled mushroom with own fork.

“Likely story,” he snorted, pushing his plate to the middle of the table so she could graze more easily. This was a common occurrence with her -- insisting she couldn’t possibly then proceed to demolish his plate in fairly short order. It always happened when he ordered something that was absolutely terrible for him, but so very good for that exact reason. Anyone else and Ross would find the behavior less than endearing.

“Are you going to tell me why we’re going to New York?” she queried while attacking the fried bread to smear in the runny eggs he had somehow managed to get a few bites of before she could turn her sights on them. “Not that I’m complaining mind; I’ve always wanted to go, but it’s a long way for a few days.”

It took everything in him not to blurt out the reason for what seemed like a sudden weekend jaunt across the pond, but actually had been in the works for months. She loved Van Gogh. The Met was having a once-in-a-lifetime exhibit. How could he not take her? “I told you I really wanted good pizza.”

“Oh, Ross,” she sighed in frustration, then changed her tactic. “You’ve been to New York before then?”

“Loads of times,” he answered, slathering strawberry jam on his croissant since it was becoming abundantly clear he wasn’t going to get to eat the breakfast he’d ordered himself, “though it’s been a few years now. Father used to go fairly regularly for business and would drag me along.”

“What did you do when you were there?”

“I used to spend a lot of time at the natural history museum and the New York Public Library.”

“Of course you did,” she smiled fondly as she spoke. She was well aware of his love of doing research and learning.

“I like dinosaurs,” he said matter-a-factly, "and the museum has an amazing exhibit.” It was true. He did like dinosaurs, even now, and he’d wanted to dig for them up until the point he discovered girls were infinitely more interesting, and alive. Demelza didn’t need to know that bit though.

“You are such a boy,” she said with a shake of her head. “What else did you two men do on the town?”

“Sometimes we take in a show or go to dinner at fancy restaurants. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was trying to teach me a bit of culture. One time we went because Papa wanted to see Van Morrison at Radio City Music Hall.”

“Really?”

He chuckled, surprised that little piece of information had taken her by surprise. She did know his father pretty well at this point. “He is a fan.”

“I’d say so. He can be so impulsive!”

“You have no idea,” Ross drawled, tamping down some very unpleasant memories from his youth that she need not be burdened with, “you didn’t know him in his heyday.”

She smiled fondly, and it warmed Ross’ heart that his wife and his father got on like a house on fire, but he could not help the occasional flare of jealousy it caused. “I bet he was quite the charmer back then,” Demelza giggled.

“You’d probably be married to him instead of me,” he said with a fair dash of bitterness. There were still a few things he just could not let go of and he knew it as childish to hold on to them for as long as he had, but then logic and his father were often mutually exclusive.

“I dunno about that.” Demelza reached across to take his hand with hers, twining their fingers and giving them a little squeeze, her eyes going soft as she looked at him. “I sorta kinda love you.”

“Only sorta kinda?” he teased, pulling her hand up to place a playful kiss to her knuckles.

“From the first time I saw you in the library,” she confessed, her cheeks suddenly blooming pink.

“Is that so, Mrs Poldark?” That was news to him and he was most definitely intrigued. Ross had known he was a goner for Demelza the first time he laid eyes upon her, even if it took him months to actually admit to himself, and then even longer to let her in on his feelings. He’d had no inkling she’d felt the same. So much wasted time.

“Saved by the boarding call,” she crowed when the announcement of their flight interrupted their playful banter, and quickly began gathering up her things. The head of the cute little calico stuffed animal cat he’d surprised her with that morning was peeking out of the top of her purse. The airplane charm that had been on the ribbon about its neck had quickly been added to her bracelet.

He grabbed up his laptop bag to sling over his shoulder and his cane. “Don’t think for one second that this conversation is over.”

“Not if I can make you forget about it,” she said with what could only be described as a diabolical grin.

He eyed her with great suspicion. It wasn’t in her nature to be scheming that much he did know, but she was definitely up to something. The question was going to be whether or not he’d survive whatever it was. “And just how do you plan to do that?” he challenged.

“Oh, I dunno,” she purred, taking his hand before pressing in close to him to place a very sweet and demure kiss to his cheek. “Have you ever heard of the Mile High Club?”

#poldark fan fic #poldark modern au #ross/demelza #romelza #pud fic #pud's ex libris #veryflowerobservation

37 notes · View notes

fierypen37 · 3 years ago

Text

Victory is in Your Veins

Chapter 9

Day Two Hundred and Nine: The Dragon Queen

The bone-white spires of Vaes Drivi in the distance were a boon to her sore eyes. After her sons slew the riders in the Painted Hills, those that remained swore to follow Daenerys’ khalasar. Even thus bolstered by horses, travel was slow on the plains, waylaid by prowling shadowcats. Three horses had died from snakebites and the weak streams were not enough to water horse and man alike. Yet more time was eaten away by their Lhazareen guide departing to seek her own people. The shepherdess would tell her tale to the chieftain and tiger-eyed godswife who would travel to meet them at Vaes Drivi.

A headache throbbed at her temples. The sun was a hot yellow eye bearing down on them. She longed for water, for shade, for rest. Still, she had not survived two journeys through the Red Waste and learned nothing. Daenerys kept her spine straight and her grip on the reins easy. Khal Lanno had fallen before her sons, and the second best mount the khalasar had to offer was the dun she now rode. A strong, hard-mouthed stallion. It took a great deal of her concentration to maintain her seat. It was a tacit test on the part of the newest Dothraki. A khal must ride, after all. The dun too, was worn out from the long march with little water. His proud head drooped, ears lax and pointed outward.

“Khaleesi?” Kovarro said, offering his waterskin. Daenerys sipped. It tasted more like mud than water, but she was grateful for it all the same. A plume of dust rose. Daenerys rose in the stirrups and spied her own dragon banner gleaming in the harsh sunlight. Relief sluiced through her. Respite before they travel south through the Bone Mountains to Slavers’ Bay. There they would find soldiers. Soldiers to win back her true home.

Day Two Hundred and Nine: The White Wolf

Facing death as many times as he had, Jon’s sleep that night was deep and restful. There was no help in fretting. He would live or die. Gamemakers were notoriously cruel and unpredictable. She did not visit him, but Jon was grateful for that too. Dreams of her stirred longings he would rather keep buried.

“Valar morghulis,” Jon said under his breath. Not today. I have business to finish. Morrgys will die by my hand.

The routine was familiar. Jon woke to the screech of the key in the lock. A Twin fastened his chains, led him to baths. No costumes or varied weapons this time. Jon was given a tunic of unbleached linen, belted at the waist, leather sandals strapped up to the knee. Weapons too, would be easy to find and keen as pain. It was blood the crowd wanted. As an added spice to this elimination games, the slaves would be shackled in pairs. Morbo was chosen as Jon’s partner. The Twin snapped the manacle shut to Jon’s wrist with a thin grin. Their mutual dislike for one another was no secret. Jon eyed Morbo narrowly. He looked fit. Lean and strong. Lightning quick as most Dothraki were. Time would tell if he Dothraki would try to knife him rather than fight together.

Like everything else in Volantis, the arena was old and lavish—slaves labored day and night to maintain it. Towers of gleaming white marble, every thoroughfare line with painted statues of past champions, even the torch sconces were chased in gold. Fused black dragon road paved the horseracing track. Tiered seating towered over the white sand of the arena floor. The most lavish boxes overlooked the arena, closest to the action. Triarchs and princes often sat there cosseted by their slaves. To Morrgys’ disdain, Volentenes could even flood the arena to stage mock naval battles. In his master’s opinion, this was frivolous nonsense that mocked the true meaning of the fighting pits: to achieve eternal glory by conquering one’s opponent. Jon’s loathing for slavers did not negate his awe at the architecture. Westeros’s marvel the Wall would have dwarfed the building, but Jon couldn’t help but remember the sorry state of Castle Black. Even Bran the Builder would have marveled the grandeur.

From Morrgys’ telling, the arena seated ten thousand, the same as the famed Daznak’s Pit in Meereen. ‘The best games are in the world are seen in the three sister cities of Slaver’s Bay,’ the native Astapori said. Still, Jon could see the master was nervous. He paced as the slave cart waited for their turn down the avenue to the arena. Slave masters were said to draw lots to determine their arrival time, but Jon heard grumblings from the Twins that the lots were fixed and bribes were rife. Tycho’s master Azmeher zo Queknak was a third-generation slaver, and Meereenese. He also had three more of the most prestigious champions and thus, Morrgys loathed him.

Crowds were thick. All were quivering with the promise of entertainment. Hawkers threaded through the throngs with skewers of meat, loaves of bread, cold water or flagons on wine. The fame of experienced slave fighters lit a madness in some of the spectators. They painted banners, shouted chants, shrieked and tore at themselves when they fell. Tycho, as a prestigious champion, was some ways ahead. The din of the crowd shred at Jon’s ears. So many people. The people of the entire North could fit into this building. The stink and the noise . . . Jon lowered his gaze, seeking an inward calm. With each step, he was reminded of Morbo. The taller man took long, brisk strides, forcing Jon to speed his pace lest he be dragged.

From the upper tiers, wealthy children sprinkled flower petals down on the arriving fighters. Crushed petals released a faint waft of perfume as they walked. The chant for Tycho died down. Morrgys’ slaves began down the queue. There were a couple shouts for Morbo, or Drazhen, Morrgys’ Ghiscari spearman. Then a woman caught Jon’s eye. Free and Volantene by her dress.

“Zokla timpa! Zokla timpa!” The chant caught, echoing into the entrance of the cavernous arena. It sounded as if a thousand voices shouted the name Morrgys gave him.

White Wolf. White Wolf! WHITE WOLF!

From his palanquin, Morrgys grinned and laughed, as if the adulation was his own. Had it been for himself, Jon would have heaped abuse on their heads, cursed their mothers, spat at them. But the mob was often the deciding factor in a match. More than once, Morbo had been saved from a slit throat by the crowd chanting: Life! Life! Life! So Jon waved and grinned at the crowd, loathing himself with each step. As his eyes cast over the crowd, Jon noted the slaves. Some were cheering, some were silent. One, a girl in a leather collar standing closest to rope cordoning off the crowds, watched him with solemn black eyes. Jon watched and she held up one tiny fist and held it tight. Jon let the false smile fall and he gave her a grave nod. Missandei had held up her end of the bargain. Now Jon had to find a way to speak to the crowd. And also not die, he thought ruefully.

Horse races and other lesser matches filled the morning. Mostly criminals thrown in with animals. A couple matches with starving children. In the bowels of the arena, Morrgys’ four pairs of slaves were plied with food and water, guided through gentle exercise with trainers to loosen their muscles. Morbo kept the chain between them taut, hampering both of them. Jon cursed under his breath in frustration.

“Listen, rider,” Jon began in mangled Dothraki, “if we want to live, we--”

“Speak Common, krol. You sound like a simpleton in the horselord tongue,” Morbo said sharply. Jon lapsed gratefully into Common, allowing the dig to slide.

“Listen. I don’t know why we’re rivals. I don’t know and I don’t care. Do you want to live?” he said sharply, yanking the chain between them for emphasis. Morbo’s thick black brows snapped together.

“Yes.”

“So do I. We need to learn to work together. And fast.”

The threat of death was a potent motivator, Jon thought dryly. The next hour, Jon and Morbo tested the movements the chains allowed. While he could fight with either hand, Jon was thankful the manacle tethering him to Morbo was on his left wrist. Morbo would have to fight off-handed, but he was skilled with either. Jon nodded, anticipation drawing his belly taut. Soon. Soon.

“It would be easy to cut off your hand and slip free--” Morbo suggested, after their arms tangled trying to move.

“Cut off my hand? Why not your hand?” Jon asked. It might have been a trick of torchlight, but Jon could have sworn the rider was smiling. Jon snorted. Morbo shrugged.

“I have use of it,” he said.

“I have use of mine as well,” Jon shot back, “now just focus on using your godsdamned speed and we should make it out alive.”

Any trace of humor left Morbo’s expression.

“Elimination games are meant to keep slaves in line. Champion grows too popular; masters begin to sweat. Tycho has forty-one kills to his credit. Too many.”

Jon remained impassive. There was no way Morbo could know about what he and Missandei planned. A savage excitement kindled. Let the masters sweat. Sweat and begin to know the fear of who they beat and raped and abused for their comfort and enjoyment.

“Then I’ll kill him. Solve their problem for them,” Jon said bitterly. Morbo spit into the sticky yellow mud.

“Kill too many and you will be next, Ver.”

“Ilon vīlība se morghūljas syt aōha jaqiarzir, O Jaqiarzus Mēre!” {We fight and die for your glory, O Glorious One!} Jon uncrossed his free arm from his chest. He tried not to gawp at the sheer breadth of the arena. Yards and yards of perfect white sand, marred here and there by drying pools of blood. Wild beasts could be loosed from hatches in the flooring, he knew. The match before had been a pack of jackals against three women. The jackals won. And the noise. Gods, outside there had been some relief from the din, but hemmed in by arena walls, the cacophony of so many voices was like thunder, harsh in his ears. His heart thundered along with it, his palms slick with sweat. A glance darted left down the line of paired slaves. Where was Tycho?

The triarch of Volantis answered, though his voice was lost in the crowd’s enthusiasm. An orator scaled the stair near the triarch’s box, garbed in a ridiculous green tokar.

“Begin!” he boomed.

The slaves scattered. Looping the excess chain around his arm, Jon loped back alongside Morbo. Not many pairs had made the same accord as Jon and the Dothraki. By Jon’s estimation, half began fighting each other. Of Azmeher zo Queknak’s three pairs, one was arguing where to run. Another pair had one slave snapping his partner’s neck and yanking the chain off the corpse. The third ran in tandem—Jon couldn’t see the distinctive green flash of Tycho’s dyed hair. Where in the seven hells was he?

“Sword, Ver!” Morbo hissed in his ear. Jon followed Morbo’s gaze and saw the gamemakers had dropped pairs of swords at regular intervals.

“Go!” Jon shouted.

The two of them sprinted across the sand. Longswords in the Westerosi style, whetted to a keen edge. Yes! We have a fighting chance. Tycho was famed for his skill with a bravo’s blade, a water dancer. The heavier Westerosi sword would slow him. He and Morbo each took one and ran for a strategic position near the arena’s edge. Jon measured his breathing, his senses sharp. Jon tested the sword with a couple singing swings. It felt good in his hand.

“There! Go!” Jon said, pointing to a pair of slaves attacking another. It easy to knife them both through the back. He and Morbo struck as one. The crowd howled and jeered as the blows hit home. The ever-thirsty sand drank down the red blood. A grim pleasure kindled. He and Morbo had sparred more in the past seven months than Jon ever had with anyone else, save perhaps Robb. They knew each other’s fighting styles and spacing as well as their own. Of the attacked pair, one was on his knees, bleeding from a wound to the belly. A thickset slave slashed out at Jon. He parried. Once, twice. On the third swing, he was too slow. Jon opened his throat with an almost casual flick. Easy.

Something was off. A shift in shadow.

“Ver!” Morbo’s shout. Jon ducked and shifted right. The sword whistled through the air. Another pair of slaves. A burly one, Lyseni by the looks of his shorn silver hair. The other was Dothraki. From his knee, Jon parried a blow. The shock rattled up his arms, singing through him. Morbo moved to slash at his attacker. The chain dragged Jon left, mistiming his parry. The Lyseni’s sword caught him, a grazing slash along the ribs. Jon grunted, the pain sharpening his focus. He dodged a heavy overhand, then cut. Deep, along the groin. Jon finished the swing with an artful flourish. Gouts of black-red blood poured from the wound. The Lyeseni’s life measured in heartbeats. Jon left him to die and rounded on Morbo’s attacker, in time to see the Dothraki run him through. The cheers were deafening, hooting as blood gushed on the sand. The Dothraki bent and cut the other’s braid in victory.

A slight tremor moved through him. The thrill of a fight. Sweat stung in his eyes. Jon tugged the chain to get Morbo’s attention. Across the arena, several pairs were locked in battle. Where the fuck was Tycho? A flutter of movement distracted him. Above the arena in the stands, spectators waved banners. Several showed a green profile and crossed bravo’s blades for Tycho, a couple gold Dothraki horses, one with a manticore, and a couple white wolves.

“Come, Ver!” Morbo said, pointing with his bloodied sword to a knot of battling slaves. Jon pried the Lyseni’s sword from his dead hand. Another sword in his off hand would help his parries. He and Morbo struck in much the same manner, slaying another two pairs in rapid succession.

Another muscled slave, a minor champion from Pentos, was using the chain with the severed hand of his partner as a flail, killing one attacker. Several pairs danced around the periphery, unable to get close. One hacked at champion’s leg, opening a shallow cut. Jon checked the blow with his off hand sword. The chain wrapped around the sword, useless. The manacle thudded painfully against Jon’s wrist. He dropped the sword and followed Morbo as he traded blows with the champion. Morbo spilled his entrails on the sand, and Jon finished him with a blow through the throat.

By now, the two of them sucked in air greedily. Jon licked his dry lips, trying to ignore the sticky blood dampening his tunic, his burning legs and aching arms. Blood dripped down the blade of his sword to slick the hilt. He discarded the sword and took up a fresh one. Jon hefted the chain, an idea blooming.

“Let’s go!” Jon shouted. He and Morbo ran as another pair squared off against them. Stretching the chain taut, he ducked low. With a curse, both the slaves landed on their faces.

“Wai--!” one started to say, his blue eyes wide. Jon rolled the sword point down and thrust quick. It took strength the pierce the muscle and bone caging the heart, but strength Jon had. Morbo cursed. He swiveled, saw his partner clutching his sword arm. Blood wept between his fingers. Jon ducked an incoming blow. No time to pull the sword free. Jon caught the opponent’s sword arm in a loop of chain. He yanked up and out. The skinny Essosi’s arm snapped. A wet sort of snap. He shrieked and the crowd jeered. Jon smiled grimly. Gods, there was such relief in shedding blood, even if it wasn’t the masters. The slave fell to his knees. There was no fear in his face, only grim acceptance. He lifted his chin to accept Jon’s death blow. He was young, closer to Bran’s age than Jon’s.

“Find peace, brother,” Jon said in bastard Valyrian.

“Konīr āeksia morghon issi daor,” he said. {There are no masters in death.} Jon gave him the relief he wanted in a quick clean blow. The boy sank into a heap on the hot sand with a sigh. In another life, the boy would have been an artist, a potter. Then some master had beaten him into a killer and he died alone on the sand by Jon’s hand. Jon pulled the blade free, panting. Weariness lay heavy on him. A part of Jon longed for the peace of oblivion. But the red thing in his chest snarled. Rage and vengeance remained unquenched. Gods, had it been hours, years since that blustering fool shouted at them to fight? Somewhere in the seething sea of the spectators, master and slave alike watched. If they won, if he and Morbo were declared victors, what would he say to them?

Jon cast a glance around the arena. There were only a few pairs left. Not many left now.

“That scratch won’t slow you, hmm?” Jon said, nodding to the blood running in sluggish drops down Morbo’s left arm. He shrugged. The banter was pointed, but surprisingly light. Removed from the opposition of rivals in the training yard, Jon could see Morbo being something of friend.

“The bite of a fly.”

The monotony of it began to settle on him. Raising his arm to bring the sword down and through another enemy. The resistance of flesh and bone as he hacked. The heat. The sweat streaming down his face. His dry, sticky tongue. The ever-present head-rattling roar of the crowd.

“They pulled Tycho from the games,” Morbo shouted over the din of the crowd.

“Aye. They’ll save his death for another day,” Jon said.

“We sho--” Morbo began. A wet tearing sound. The red point of a blade emerging from Morbo’s lower chest. Jon’s cry of rage was lost in the cheers of the crowd. Jon lost himself in the red, hacking down the one who had knifed Morbo. He and his partner both fell. Jon decapitated one in a double handed blow, the other he sliced down the arm, the thigh and let the thirsty sand drink its fill. The savagery was unnecessary, wasted too much precious energy. But Morbo was dying.

“Ver,”Morbo wheezed, blood reddening his teeth and trickling in sticky threads from the corners of his mouth. The wound was a red hole, making a horrible wet sucking sound as he tried to breathe.

“Get up, Morbo. There’s more to do,” Jon said gruffly, taking the proffered hand. He cast a wild glance around. There were no more slaves near them. In fact, only two pairs remained from Jon’s count. Two more and they would win!

“My strength is gone,” Morbo coughed. His black eyes shone fiercely.

“Make them pay, Ver. Make them pay!” Be it the other slaves, the masters, or something else, Jon didn’t know, but he promised just the same.

“Look up. Look at the sky. The stars are waiting,” Jon whispered. The gate to the Nightlands and the god of his fathers. Morbo’s eyes looked up and he breathed his last. Despite his weariness, the diffuse ache of his muscles and his wounds, Jon stood.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sawing off Morbo’s hand to free himself. He coiled the chain and set off at a sprint, plucking up a fresh sword as he went. A hand-and-a-half sword, a bastard sword. Perfect for me. Jon and the red thing within were in perfect accord. Blood they would have. Buckets and oceans of it until they choked and drowned in it. He was intent incarnate. A savage wild thing. The crowd saw him, the noise tipping up to a fever-pitch as he slew one. And another. And the last with horrific ease.

“Zolka timpa! ZOK-LA TIMPA! ZOKLA TIMPA! ZOKLA TIMPA!”

The words beat in his head like the multitude voice of a god. He had won. He lived—but only after so much meaningless death. Jon’s eyes scanned the sea of humanity. Slave and master alike. He said only what they would understand.

“Death!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, raising his bloodied fist in the air

“Death! Deeeaaaathh!” The word was a harsh drawn-out scream from his dry throat. The cheering mellowed in confusion. Then somewhere in the throng, he heard it.

“To masters!” someone answered.

“Death!” Jon screamed again.

“TO MASTERS!”

The chant took on a life of its own, catching like a wildfire: “Death to masters! Death to masters!”

Fighting erupted in the stands. Foremen with crossbows ringed the lowest tier of the arena, aimed at Jon. He waited, standing stock-still, waiting for the blow that would kill him. It never came. Instead, Morrgys emerged from the shadows of the Gate of Life, with the Twins and a dozen bodyguards in tow. One Twin struck out, snagging Jon around the throat with his whip. Jon choked and clutched at the leather as red stars burst along the edges of his vision. Morrgys drew Longclaw. From the tremor in his wrist, he was unused to the weight. Weakling. His face was impassive, but Jon could see something cold grow in his piggish black eyes. Fear. Morrgys set the Valyrian steel edge of Longclaw beneath Jon’s chin and waited.

“Master, I didn’t—I---” air was precious. The black began to creep closer. All he heard as the black closed over him was Morrgys’ cold voice: “You’re lucky you won. All you’ve earned is The Pit. A month, if I feel charitable.”

#jonerys fanfiction #fp37fic #victory is in your veins #Queen!Daenerys #Gladiator!Jon #tw violence

14 notes · View notes

angryschnauzer · 4 years ago

Text

Superior Specimen - Chapter 8

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Drama, Theft, Amateur Heroics, Hospital Visit, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Blow Job, Fingering, Lavish lifestyle, Henry is loaded, The Shard, Expensive Gifts, Sixty nine, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Angst, Argument, Jealousy, Talk of car crashes, heroics, rough sex, use of safe words, Anal play,

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Chapter 8

On the tube an old woman had offered you a tissue and had whispered quietly;

“He’s not worth crying over my dear”

You swallowed and smiled weakly at her;

“Unfortunately he was… he was just an idiot too”

“They all are my dear, they all are”

She got off at the next stop, giving you a pat on the arm before leaving the carriage, leaving you ride the rest of the way to Fulham Broadway on your own.

You were on autopilot when you arrived, walking through the small shopping mall that had grown around the tube station, grabbing a pair of overpriced knock-off designer sunglasses from the concession stand to hide your puffy and red eyes, swollen from crying. As you stood in the crowd at the lights to cross the road, a stream of Ambulances and Police cars screamed past, lights and sirens blasting, but it was London, every day there was a crisis or accident and you were used to them.

The walk to your flat was quick, just a few roads from the tube, and you were thankful you’d brought your small clutch bag from the hotel room that had your phone, wallet, and keys in. Once inside you pulled off your clothing, everything Henry had bought for you, tossing it into a heap on the floor before you climbed into bed and curled into a ball, sobbing into the pillow.

You woke to the sound of a metal on plastic crunch from the street outside, familiar with the sound and you knew it was vehicle vs wheelie bin, an all too familiar occurrence when collection day was on a Friday and people went out that night, so the street would still be littered with bins the following day. Staring up at the ceiling you heard the doorbell ring, glaring at the ceiling but refusing to move. You didn’t care if your bin that had ended up a casualty of a car not looking where it was going, so when the bell finally timed out you closed your eyes… only to be rudely disturbed by a loud knocking on the door a minute later, a muffled voice from the other side;

“Princess… it’s me; Henry… please, just tell me you’re ok… I’ve got to know you’re ok…”

You could feel your emotions rising within you; a heat, an anger, and as the knocking continued you grabbed the dressing gown hanging on the back of the door and was still tying it as you pulled the door open, but surprised to see state of Henry, his clothes a mess and his face blotchy;

“What the hell happe…”

Your words were cut short as he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight;

“You’re alright… my god, you’re ok…”

“Henry, what is going on?”

He let you go and started pacing;

“I was an ass, I didn’t follow you, I was stupid… I tried calling you but you never picked up…”

“I had it on silent… I didn’t want anyone to disturb our date”

“And then the accident, I’d gone back to the hotel, I knew it was the closest tube to where we were...”

“Accident?”

“There was an accident, on the road outside the London Bridge Tube, a bus and council truck collided and ran into the queue… I stayed and helped the emergency services; I was trying to find you… but you weren’t there…”

Your hand was over your mouth, tears pooling on your lashes as you looked at him, and realised he cared so much for you that he had literally pulled people out of the wreckage of an major accident because he thought he had lost you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you cradled the back of his head as he slumped to the floor, sobbing into your shoulder and the softness of your dressing gown.

Finally he pulled his head back, a weak smile on his face as he looked into your eyes, and you saw a different Henry, one that was fragile, one that needed you as much as you needed him.

“C’mon, let me put the kettle on”

Sipping on sweet tea as you both sat at the kitchen table, dunking Digestive biscuits in the deep brown steaming mugs, you looked him up and down;

“You are a mess”

He glanced down and realised his shirt and jeans were covered in dirt, grime, and in some places blood;

“You’re right” he paused before looking back to you; “Look, I’ve got a suggestion… pack a bag. Comfy clothing, overnight things. We’ll head back to the hotel and collect our things, then head back to my place. I’ll cook dinner and we can talk… ask all those things we’ve both wanted to ask since we met, yeah?”

He looked at you like a hopeful puppy, his deep blue eyes watery where he feared you would say no, but as you nodded he let out the breath he had been holding, and a genuine smile spread over his face.

Henry opened the door to his place and stepped aside, letting you enter and look around as he shut the door, resting all the bags from the hotel room on the shiny white tiles that covered the floor.

“This is your place?”

“It’s home for the next few months” he shut the door and wrapped his arm around you; “I gave up on having a permanent place about five years ago. I would always come back to a dust filled nightmare and a fridge that was a biohazard. I keep a PO box for any mail and a storage unit for my things that I don’t need when I’m away”

You looked at him;

“It sounds very… lonely…”

He paused, considering your words;

“I’ve never thought about it that way… but, you’re right” he wrapped his arms around you, his gaze intense; “I’m sorry I over-reacted earlier… about your flatmate. I was just… I don’t know, so focused I guess on this amazing thing we have now, and what we were talking about last night… how those I fall for push me away when I have to leave… I could only think ‘this guy will be around when I’m not’...”

You reached up and cupped his cheek with your hand, realising in that moment that for all the bravado and confidence, beneath that Henry was just like you, like anyone else, and feared losing those he cared for;

“I would wait… I will wait…”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, and the pair of you just held each other for the longest time, before he pulled away;

“What kind of host am I? I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea!”

Laughing you followed him into the kitchen, looking around at the sparse worktops, all the cupboards pristine white. Even the appliances were just plain brushed aluminium. As the kettle bubbled away you pushed yourself up onto the central island, sitting on the marble countertop as you watched Henry move around the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the carton of milk, sniffing it and cringing;

“Okay, tea may be off the menu… the milk’s off”

Pausing he opened the cupboard, shoulders slumping when he saw the empty tea caddy;

“No tea either…”

Leaning back you pulled your phone from your pocket and opened google maps;

“This is Warwick Square, right?”

“Yes”

You pinched the screen and zoomed out, jumping off the counter;

“C’mon, there’s a Tesco Express just around the corner”

Walking hand in hand around Pimlico with Henry, it dawned on you that you had never visited this part of London, the sights and sounds much like most of the city, but where each little borough had its own character. Once you reached the supermarket he grabbed a basket and picked up the few things he needed, before his hand hovered over the selection of biscuits;

“Ok, make or break time to find out if we are truly compatible” his voice had an element of mischief in it as he spoke; “Milk or Dark Chocolate Digestives?”

You looked at the selection before you set your hand down on the bright blue packet;

“Trick question, we both know the true answer is Milk Chocolate Hobnobs”

He laughed as you dropped the packet into the basket, wrapping his massive arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest;

“I knew there was a reason I loved you” he turned to the row of refrigerators on the other side of the isle, unaware of what he’d said, and how your eyes were a little wider as you took in his admission; “Shall I make some burnt offerings for you tonight? I have somewhat limited culinary skills, but I can rustle up something with meat or fish…”

Nodding you were still a little stunned, finally finding your voice;

“Yeah, I’ll eat anything”

He cocked an eyebrow and you playfully batted at his arm;

“Oh shut up” you laughed

Dinner had been nice. An easy dish of roasted pork, Henry had thrown in some potatoes and had let them roast with alongside, and a simple salad. The one thing he did have readily stocked in his place was alcohol, and between the two of you an entire bottle of vintage Pinot Noir had been sunk over the course of dinner, and as you watched him stack the dishwasher you spread out on the massive white sofa that dominated the open plan space. You couldn’t help yourself but you popped the button of your jeans, letting out a sigh of relief.

Checking your phone you reopened your roommates’ email and read it again, before hitting reply. You knew deep down you wouldn’t be able to get a mortgage, but asked that you be kept in the loop and would start looking for another place come Monday. Having hit send you saw another email, this time from your Manager, requesting that you attend a review on Monday morning;

“Huh, so much for giving me a week off” you muttered to yourself, before looking up and seeing Henry approaching you, two full glasses of red wind in hand.

“Everything ok?”

Taking the glass you smiled;

“Yeah, work want me to go in for a review on Monday morning”

“Did they say what it was about?”

“No, but I’m guessing ‘playing heroics and injuring yourself on the job isn’t in your job description, please don’t sue us’ is probably on the agenda”

Settling next to you he rested a hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze;

“I’m sure you’re right” he sipped at the wine before setting it on the small table at the side; “Hey I meant to ask, does your roommate have an Instagram account or Facebook page?”

“Yeah, I’ll pull it up. Its where he’s trying to do more serious photography”

He nodded and tapped at his phone for a few seconds before setting it aside, raising his glass again and clinking it against yours;

“Cheers”

By the time the last dregs of the 2nd bottle of wine were drained from your glasses you were drunk as skunks and just an amorous. You were draped over Henry’s lap, his hand was attempting to sneak under your t-shirt as you curled one hand in his hair, wrapping a deep brown strand around your finger as you kissed him lazily. When his hand finally found your breast you moaned at his touch, his lips brushing against your neck;

“I think we should take this to the bedroom”

You giggled;

“With the amount of wine we’ve had? Can you still get it up?”

He pushed his crotch up against you;

“Princess I’m already ‘up’, now I need to be in, and I don’t care which hole, I just want to feel you around my dick as we have some nasty drunk sex”

You attempted to slide off his lap and land on your feet, but what really happened was you tumbled into a heap on the soft white rug, one leg still on the sofa as the other hit the coffee table and your ass in the air;

“Help!” you cried out, giggling as Henry stood and swayed, before wrapping his arm around your waist and carrying you under his arm to the bedroom like a misbehaving poodle in Harrods.

He dropped you onto the bed and in the light from the lounge you watched as he yanked his t-shirt over his head, and started to unfasten his jeans, letting out a sigh of relief when the massive bulge in his boxers was allowed more room to grow. With a growl be bent over you and pulled your jeans down your legs, your panties following suit, before flipping you over so you were on your front. He went to reach for your ass but had forgotten his jeans were still around his thighs, and he proceeded to trip-tumble onto the bed beside you. You couldn’t help but to giggle into the soft duvet, and it earned you a single spank on your ass that make you squeal.

Rolling onto your back you looked at Henry as he huffed and puffed to take his jeans and boxers off, and you spread your legs as your hands strayed to your pussy;

“Are you doing to fuck me, or shall I just get myself started?” you said with more sass than needed, but it earned you a low groan and you could have sworn you heard seams ripping as he finally rid himself of his clothes.

“Cheeky wench!” Henry pounced on you, pulling your top over your head before fumbling with your bra, finally getting you out of it as he flung it across the room and you heard it hit something in the darkness; “I’ll show you, gonna fuck you so good you’ll have to sit on a cushion when you go into work on Monday”

He flipped you over and pulled your ass up, and you instinctively arched your back and bared yourself to him, prone and ready, begging for attention. You felt his hands smooth over your ass before dipping between your legs;

“Already so wet for me, you need me to fuck this cunt Princess? Fill you up with my cum? Or should I cum over your beautiful tits, so you can watch me as I spray my load on you, huh?”

He slid two fingers into your soaked hole, stretching you as his thumb found your clit and he rubbed harshly at it, the wine making him lose his finesse but up his pressure. When he pulled his fingers out you let out a needy whine, only to feel him press his dick against you, rutting into your crease and smearing your juices over himself.

The friction was delicious, and you found yourself pressing back and eager for more, earning a low chuckle to rumble up from Henry’s chest;

“You like that Princess? Like me rubbing my dick against your asshole?”

“Oh fuck… fuck… more…”

You felt him spit on your ass as he lowered his dick and slowly but firmly filled your pussy. As you were getting used to be filled so deep you felt his thumb press against your asshole;

“NERD!”

Suddenly Henry stopped;

“Princess?”

You turned, looking over your shoulder;

“Look Hen, I may be up for some anal play, but lube… you gotta use lube…”

You saw him look back and forth between your ass and his bedside drawers, as if trying to work out whether to forget the ass play and just fuck your pussy, or to give up your pussy for just a few seconds and get the lube. In the end the lube won, and he quickly slid out of you, leaning across the bed and yanking the drawer open, before pulling out a small bottle of Durex Lube. You saw it and grinned;

“Ooh nice one. Make sure there’s enough for a tit-wank in the morning”

Henry paused and looked at you, and you could almost see his brain short circuiting at what you’d said as it fought through the wine haze;

“Fuck, if I didn’t want to fuck you doggy style quite so much I’d say let’s do that now…”

He settled behind you and rammed his dick straight back into you, making you squeal as he filled you. You heard the quiet squeeze of the pump on the bottle before the cool gel fell on the crease of your ass and his fingers started to massage against your back door. He ran his finger around and around your brown rose, and you could feel yourself relaxing and trying to push back to get him to go further, making you whine;

“Please Hen… do something…”

He ran his thumb over your asshole and rested it on it before finally pushing in, holding the digit inside just up to the first knuckle, and that’s when he started to move in your pussy.

“So. Fucking. Good. My dirty little Princess…”

You whined for more, for him to go harder, deeper, and he did so with glee;

“You want more? Fuck yes, take my dick, can feel your insides parting for me, you like my thumb in your ass? Like being double stuffed?”

“Fuck…” your head was swimming, your chest resting against the bed as you snuck your hand between your legs and started to strum at your clit, urging your orgasm on as Henry turned into a feral beast behind you, fucking you raw and dirty, you pushing back for each thrust to feel him deeper and split you wider.

Your orgasm happened without warning, screaming out his name as you came so hard he was sure if he hadn’t pulled his thumb out your muscles would have broken the bones in it. Your knees gave way and you slumped down onto the bed, Henry still deep inside you, fucking you as you lay spent on the bed;

“So close… almost there…

“Cum on my ass Hen…” you muttered as he railed into you, and you heard a groan as he pulled out of you, seconds later the splash of his hot seed landing on your naked ass, back and thighs.

For a moment everything went quiet before you felt him wiping his cum from you, and he moved you in the bed until you were curled up in his arms, the little spoon to his big;

“You’re fucking amazing Princess, I fucking love you so much” he slurred, before the two of you feel asleep in drunken stupors.

Chapter 9 >>>

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #henry cavill au

182 notes · View notes

hyucks-archive · 4 years ago

Text

perhaps; maybe.

word count: 9,765

genre: romance, angst

member(s): mark, featuring donghyuck, jeno, and the other dreamies

warning(s): none!

author’s note: this actually started out as a fluff fic but i guess i haven’t gotten over angst yet

Mark watches the students stroll into the lecture hall one by one, the conversation that his friends are having slowly dwindling into background noise. Mark props an arm on the table, resting his chin in his palm, noticing how majority of the students have their earbuds plugged in, a coffee or tea in hand. He too, grew up hearing the anecdotes of how college life is always lonely and independent, and that most would hang around campus without friends. It’s different for Mark, though. He’s lucky enough to be taking the same degree as some of his friends. He’s even luckier that all of his friend group belong to this university.

When the twelfth student walks in, he notices how the aura that surrounds this person is significantly different from the rest. Cladded in a full black outfit, Mark notices how unlike the others, you don’t have music playing in your ears, neither do you have a cup of beverage in hand. In fact, it doesn’t even look like you have anything in the tote you have slung on your shoulder. Mark watches as you take a seat by the left aisle, two rows in front of the row he’s situated in.

“What are you staring at?” Jeno interrupts, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder with Mark. He follows in the direction Mark’s eyes are looking in, to be greeted by your unwelcoming back. “Why are you staring at that kid?” Jeno questions. Mark shrugs. Mark remembers seeing you around campus numerous times, even more frequently in lectures, and consistently in that one tutorial class the two of you have in common. He has always noticed something different about you; maybe it’s your aura, or maybe it’s just Mark being the curious boy he is. The common baseline is that you intrigue him, and you somehow always manage to catch his attention, whether you know it or not.

“Are you guys staring at 06?” Donghyuck chimes in, resting his arm on Jeno’s shoulder. The three boys are now collectively staring at the big ‘0’ and ‘6’ printed on the back of your letterman jacket, that clearly does not categorise you into any athletic club, neither is it merchandise from the university. “Do you guys know 06?” Mark questions, turning to face his two friends. Jeno shakes his head, while Donghyuck is more than eager to share. “I hear 06’s really chill. Doesn’t ‘do’ friends,” he says, using his fingers to make inverted commas at the word ‘do’, “Doesn’t really care for school either. 06 kind of just,” Donghyuck takes a pause, trying to think of the right word. He settles for, “Exists.”

Mark and Jeno nod their heads in understanding. Mark resettles his gaze on the back of your head. Jeno nudges him, “You interested in 06 or something?”

Mark recalls the one time he’s ever heard you speak. It was during a tutorial, where you were pinpointed to answer. He had never thought much of you before that, simply falling into the assumption that you are one of the introverted kids who prefers to keep to themselves. But the way you stood up confidently, and the way your booming voice captured the entire class, painted you in a completely different light compared to what Mark had imagined. He had always thought that you’d have a soft, timid voice, afraid to make a mistake, like most of the other quiet kids. But when he saw the way you answered the professor’s question without any doubt or fear of being wrong, he realised you were different.

He takes a moment to ponder upon Jeno’s question. “06 is,” Mark pauses, pursing his lips, “Interesting.”

Donghyuck scans the café, finally spotting Renjun, Jaemin, Chenle, and Jisung by the large glass panel. “Over there,” he says, leading the way. Mark and Jeno follow behind, exchanging smiles and small waves with their friends. “You guys already ordered?” Donghyuck says, reaching for Renjun’s fork. Renjun slaps the boy’s hand away, “Get your own cake,” he chimes. Donghyuck mimics him in an annoyingly high tone, switching targets. He’s now going for Chenle’s cake. Chenle lets him eat it.

“I’ll order,” Mark offers, “What do you guys want?” he asks, directing his question at Donghyuck and Jeno. “I’ll have my usual,” Jeno says, to which Mark nods his head. Donghyuck looks past Mark’s shoulders, trying to get a view of the menu, but something else catches his eye instead. It’s the very familiar back view with the big ‘06’ printed on that he had discussed with his friends about earlier. “Hey, it’s 06 again,” Donghyuck comments, gesturing in your direction with his chin.

“06?” Renjun murmurs, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks in the direction where Donghyuck had guided towards. He squints his eyes, finding the face of the owner of the letterman jacket to be fairly familiar. When he realises it’s you, he snaps his fingers, “Ah, I know 06,” Renjun exclaims. Mark’s interest is immediately piqued. He turns to look at Renjun, “You know 06?”

“Yeah, 06’s in my ethics class,” he says.

“Is it true? 06 is really chill and doesn’t have any friends?” Jeno asks.

“06 is probably the most carefree person I’ve ever met,” Renjun describes, “Doesn’t care what people think. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve even seen 06 smile.” Renjun thinks back to the many times he has seen you in class. You always donned the same blank expression, even when the class would erupt in laughter at the lecturer’s or the students’ jokes. He had wondered for a brief moment if you simply weren’t paying attention, but when you had shared your opinion that made everyone cackle in their seats, you remained neutral with your poker face.

The topic is dropped when Chenle begins to talk about an incident that happened in class today. Mark heads to join the queue to order. He happens to be standing behind you.

Though there is a good amount of distance between the two of you, Mark is still able to pick up the subtle scent of clean linen that diffuses from you. It’s extremely pleasant and welcoming, a contrast from your cold and unamiable aura. Mark watches as you reach into your tote bag, aggressively digging around for something. He isn’t able to see your expression, for your back is still turned against him. He however, manages to catch the, “Shit,” that escapes from your mouth.

You furrow your eyebrows, flipping the minimal items you have in your tote bag around, desperate to find your card or some loose change. In your rush this morning, you had forgotten your wallet on the dining table back home. You groan, running a frustrated hand through your hair. You sigh, about to leave the line, when a low voice speaks from behind, “Do you need help?” You jump at the suddenness, turning around to look up to be greeted by a black-haired boy who has on an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. You notice how defined his cheekbones are, how his cheeks sink in slightly with his smile. You aren’t sure if you’re just seeing things, but you swear you noticed for a second that his eyes were twinkling.

Realising that you’ve been staring for a tad bit too long, you immediately avoid eye contact, snapping back to your senses. You shake your head. “It’s fine,” you say, taking the first step to move out of the line. The boy stops you, “You’re not ordering anymore?” he asks. This time, you notice how his brows are raised, a tiny mole on his left cheek, his lips seemingly forming a ‘o’. Usually, you’d just walk away murmuring your answer, but this boy seemed genuinely too nice for you to just ignore.

“I uh,” you bite down on your lower lip, “Forgot my wallet.”

You were expecting the conversation to end, but the boy only giggles at your issue. He tilts his head to the side a little, “I’ll pay,” he says. From the sincere smile that he’s giving you, you can tell that he means what he said. But, you still shake your head, refusing to be indebted to some stranger you happened to meet on campus. You’d have no way of repaying him, aside from deliberately meeting up with him; another thing you didn’t want, the risk of becoming personally acquainted to someone.

“Too late,” he says, giving you a light shove, “It’s your turn to order.”

You’re unable to register the situation fully, the barista greeting you with a polite smile. “What would you like?” he asks, ready to key in your order. “Oh,” you manage out, only collecting your thoughts now. “I’ll just get a chai tea to-go, please,” you say. The boy behind you takes a step forward, his shoulder brushing against yours, beginning to place his order. You take a few steps to the side due to the physical contact. Luckily, you’re able to just disguise it as moving aside to wait for your order, since there was no need for you to remain at the cashier.

When he has completed the payment, he walks over to join you.

“I’ll pay you back,” you say. “Sure,” his smile still plastered on his face, “You can just look for me in class.”

You stop for a moment, eyes shifting about as you try to dig into the deep depths of your memory. You don’t remember having seen him before. Granted, you honestly don’t even remember a single face of anyone in any of your classes.

“We take the same class?” you ask. Mark thinks you’re joking, so he laughs. But when he sees the slightly raised brow, genuine confusion in your face, he realises you’re being serious, that you’ve never noticed him before. It leaves a slightly sour taste in his mouth, but he manages to maintain a smile. “You’re in all of my lectures,” he says, “And one tutorial.”

You nod your head. That makes things a lot less of a headache for you. “I’ll pay you tomorrow, then,” you say. Mark nods his head in acknowledgement, reaching a hand out, “I’m Mark,” he introduces. You stare at his extended hand for a moment – you’ve never encountered a situation where you’re basically forced to return the introduction. You know it would come off as rude if you choose to not shake his hand, but you’re not one to care for others’ opinions. Life wouldn’t be fun if you wasted it worrying about how your every little action would frame the opinion of someone else. Not that life is fun for you, anyway.

That is why you simply look away from Mark’s hand, towards the collection counter. Mark stares at your side profile, unsure of what your actions mean. Usually, the other party would get the message that you don’t want to exchange names, but this boy, Mark, is different. He’s persistent, tilting his body in the direction of your line of vision, “Um, hello?” he says.

You turn to look at him. “I don’t do friends,” you state.

Mark recalls the conversation with Jeno and Donghyuck pre-lecture, where Donghyuck had shared about how you don’t ‘do’ friends. He had assumed it meant something different, but he realises now that it means you don’t make friends with people. He huffs out a smile at the thought; his interest in you seems to only grow as the interaction goes on. You’re different, just as he expected.

Before he’s able to say anything more, the buzzer in his hand lights up, vibrating as an indication that his order is ready. He walks towards the collection counter, and you follow behind. Because of the amount of drinks and plates of food he had ordered, his order was separated into two trays. You look at the trays for a moment – are you feeling nice enough to offer a helping hand? Technically, he can just make two trips.

“Here,” Mark says, holding out your cup of tea that he had already slipped on the sleeve for. Maybe it’s because you realised, he isn’t even going to ask you for your help, or it’s because Mark’s smile makes you want to do something nice, so you offered. “I’ll help you with that,” you say, taking the drink from him, placing it back down on the tray. You lift the tray up, “Where’s your table?”

Mark picks up the other tray, leading the way to the boys. Chenle is the first to notice Mark approaching, and he’s quick to notify the rest of the person following behind Mark. By the time you had arrived at the table, their stares are boring into you. Mark coughs awkwardly, trying to signal at them to stop staring, but his friends don’t seem to get it.

“Hey, 06,” one of them calls. ‘06’; the nickname you somehow go by on campus, just because of the jacket you always have on. You look in the direction of the voice, to be greeted by a somewhat familiar face. You remember him, only because he’s one of the only students from your ethics class who dares to have an opinion on things. You liked his gusto. “Hi,” you say.

You hold up your cup of chai tea by its sleeve, giving a slight tilt of the head at Mark, before turning around to take your leave.

“Damn, Mark, you work fast,” Jeno teases, taking his plate of food over to his side of the table. Mark rolls his eyes, explaining briefly that he simply paid for your drink because you forgot to bring your wallet. Luckily for him, his friends lose interest in topics as quickly as they get interested in them. Everyone is now listening to Jaemin rambling on about how the lecturer in his class is the most unreasonable man he’s ever met in his “many” years of living.

Mark is half-focused on the conversation, but the other half of his mind is occupied by the image of you.

Perhaps it’s the way that you managed to maintain a blank expression without smiling even once, during the entire interaction, or it’s the way you didn’t hesitate to leave without looking back. It could even be the way you’re so nonchalant about everything. Either way, Mark has come to realise one thing.

He can’t keep his eyes off of you.

You run a hand through your hair, exiting the lift. You reach into your bag, pulling out the exact amount of change for the chai tea from yesterday. Entering the lecture hall, you skim through the vicinity, spotting Mark by the middle row. He’s staring up at his purple-haired friend in awe, laughing while hitting the brown-haired boy next to him. Despite the round-frame glasses he has on today, you’re sure that this time, you definitely saw the sparkle in his eyes.

You make your way up to Mark, standing a distance away, behind the purple-haired boy who stands in the way in getting to Mark. You lean to the left a little, waiting for Mark to catch your eye. He doesn’t, but his brown-haired friend notices you, and he’s quick to gesture the black-haired boy towards you. Mark’s smile widens when he makes eye contact with you. He stands up, brushing past the purple-haired boy, towards you. You can’t help but be conscious of the slight tugging at the ends of your lips. You manage to supress it, but it’s undeniable that you just felt the minor urge to smile.

“Hey,” he greets. You hold out the money, “Thanks,” you say. Mark’s fingertips brushes against your palm as he takes the money from you. You turn, about to walk to a different row, but you’re stopped by the slight tugging at your sleeve. You look down, to see two fingers pinching at the end of your sleeve. Your eyes travel up the arm, past the neck, to the eyes of Mark, who is holding on to your sleeve.

“Sit with us,” he says. Mark isn’t sure if the reason he’s offering is because you’re always sitting alone during lectures, or it’s because he wants to be able to prolong the time he’s able to spend with you, without looking like some creep. Either way, he’s anticipating your answer.

Your eyes travel back down to Mark’s two fingers that are still holding on to your sleeve. Mark is lucky he didn’t grab your wrist, because you would’ve shrugged it off so harshly, that it’d probably ruin any chances of him ever wanting to reconcile with you. You’re not sure if Mark grabbed your sleeve with the knowledge of how much you hate physical contact, or if Mark is just so considerate to the point where he won’t lay a finger on someone he doesn’t really know. But the fact that he’s respectful enough to not touch you is the only factor that makes you say, “Okay.”

Mark shifts his things over to the seat next to you. “By the way,” he says, waiting for you to look up. “This is Donghyuck and Jeno,” he introduces, gesturing towards the purple-haired boy then the brown-haired boy. Jeno smiles sweetly, while Donghyuck simply gives a nonchalant bow, before sliding into his seat. They don’t ask for your name. You wonder if Mark had told them not to; maybe your encounter with Mark yesterday had sparked an entire discussion about you. You’re usually not one to care for these things, but you aren’t able to stop the constant thought about the fact that if they did indeed discuss about you, what did Mark have to say?

“Where’s your laptop?” Mark asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. “I don’t bring one,” you reply. You expect his next question, so you explain before he even asks, “I don’t see a need for it.” Mark nods his head, but you’re positive he doesn’t understand why you feel that there’s no need for a laptop.

The lecturer begins at that point, so the two of you turn to focus your attention on the lecture.

“Alright, remember that we’ll be needing your textbook for the next lecture,” the lecturer announces, disconnecting his laptop from the visualiser. The lecture hall is filled with groans and yawns, some students who are quick to leave, while others stay behind to exchange small talk with their peers.

You sling your tote bag over your shoulder, standing up from your seat. Mark notices this, but he’s quick to react. “Hey,” he calls. You turn your head, looking down at the boy. You want to know the reason behind how Mark is always able to keep that same bright smile on his face. Come to think of it, you don’t remember seeing him with a serious expression at all. You continue to stare, waiting for Mark to continue his sentence.

“Do you want to join us for lunch?”

You don’t even spare a moment to hesitate. “No,” you reply.

“You should join us for lunch, 06. We don’t bite,” Jeno adds on. His eyes form pretty crescents when he smiles. You’re about to reject their offer, but Donghyuck cuts in, “I’ll bite. Why should we have lunch with 06?” He doesn’t spare you a glance, but you can tell from his expression, that he’s not your biggest fan. You see Jeno nudging the boy with his elbow, and Mark shooting a look of disapproval. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to let this Donghyuck kid have his way, but you find yourself agreeing to their offer before you’re even able to think twice. “I’m down for lunch,” you say. You’re too busy eyeing Donghyuck’s expression of displeasure to notice Mark’s perked up smile at your agreement.

Jeno and Donghyuck lead the way, while Mark follows your pace as you stroll along behind them. Mark is trying to dig through his brain for a topic to talk to you about. He sneaks a glance at you, your blank expression unreadable.

“Does having lunch with us make you feel uncomfortable?” Mark finally speaks up, turning his head to look at you. You’re quiet for a moment. Usually, the answer ‘yes’ would roll of your tongue without any conscious effort required. “A little,” is what you settle for. Mark nods his head, “I assure you my friends are all nice people,” he says, a small laugh decorating the end of his sentence. You nod your head, biting down on your bottom lip.

Soon enough, Jeno spots the other half of the group already seated in the café. You drag your feet behind the three boys, the stares from the rest evident.

“06 is joining us for lunch,” Jeno informs. Mark gestures you to take a seat by the far left of the table. Donghyuck claims the seat opposite to yours. “We can take turns?” Mark suggests, to which you give a nod of acknowledgement. Mark, Jeno, and two of the other boys head to get their food first. In the meantime, you’re left sitting in an extremely awkward silence. Donghyuck, who had his arms folded, back leaned against his chair, shifts his body to rest his folded arms on the table instead. He looks at you, stare cold and unpleasant. You furrow your brows. “What?” you say.

“Stay away from Mark.”

Your expression hardens further. “What are you talking about?”

“Mark isn’t like you. Stay away,” Donghyuck has a brow raised, his glare menacing. You’re unsure of what you could’ve possibly done to offend the boy to this extent, but you’re not interested enough to ask. You’re robbed of the chance to anyway, when Renjun decides to add himself to the conversation. He throws an arm around Donghyuck, a smile on his lips as he asks, “What’s got the two of you so serious?” Donghyuck shrugs, not forgetting to give you one more glare, almost as though it were a form of warning. You scoff, rolling your eyes as you look away from the two boys who are sitting opposite to you.

You can feel the familiar discomfort in your abdomen. Your hand instinctively finds its way to place pressure on the hurting area, the beads of cold sweat beginning to form. You can already feel your lips becoming drier with every passing second.

You decide there’s nothing worth staying for. If you’re not welcome, you’re not going to force your presence unto people. So you grab your bag, stand up, and begin to walk away from the table. You ignore Renjun’s call for you.

“What the heck did you say to 06?” Renjun hisses, shoving Donghyuck by the arm. “I only said what I needed to say,” the purple-haired boy murmurs in reply. Mark arrives back at the table first, placing his tray of food down. “Where’s 06?” he asks, looking at the empty chair that you once occupied. “Donghyuck said something that probably pissed 06 off,” Renjun tattles, shooting a glare in said boy’s direction. Mark looks to Donghyuck for an explanation, a brow raised questioningly.

Donghyuck shrugs the attention off, “Not my fault 06 can’t take honesty.”

You drop the bottle of painkillers into your bag. You comb your fingers through your hair, the perspiration from earlier causing the strands to cling together. You let out a small breath; at least the torment is over, for now.

You fixate your eyes on the floor, watching as your feet take turns to invade the little space your eyes can capture. You shove your free hand into the pocket of your letterman jacket, a cup of chai tea in your other hand. You replay the words Donghyuck had said to you earlier. Stay away from Mark, he said. Why? You never approached Mark to begin with. Yeah, you’re unfriendly and borderline rude but you’ve never done anything that would warrant an outright warning to keep away from someone. Mark isn’t like you, he said. What’s that supposed to mean? That Mark is the personification of rainbows and galaxies but you’re the personification of dirt and dark alleys?

You don’t understand what Donghyuck has against you. You scoff at the thought of the whole situation – good golly, you didn’t even know of Mark’s existence until he approached you in the café a day ago. Yet suddenly, you’re the biggest threat to Mark, in Donghyuck’s narrative.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you jump at the sudden tap on your shoulder, whipping your entire body around so fast that you collide with the being behind you, your chai tea staining his shirt. “I’m so sorry,” you gasp, tugging on the sleeve of your jacket to grab it in your palm, using the cloth to dab at the stains your tea has caused. The being giggles. Your brows furrow instantly; it’s a giggle you’re somewhat familiar with.

You look up to meet eyes with the owner of the giggle, Mark. He stares down at you, noticing the remnants of the ordeal you had been through – the greasy hair, the pale, almost chapped lips, the tired look in your eyes. He doesn’t think much of it, his smile maintaining its charm. “What are you doing here?” you question. Mark points at the building behind you, “I’m running some errands. What are you doing here? You left without saying anything earlier I didn’t expect to still see you around campus,” he beams. Your eyes travel back down, realising now that you still held the hem of his shirt in your hand. You let go, standing upright.

“I just didn’t feel like staying there,” you say. Mark doesn’t probe any further; he has an inkling that Donghyuck must’ve said something offensive. “Do you live on campus?” you ask, eyeing the very obvious chai tea stain on Mark’s shirt. “I don’t. Why?”

“If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll run back to the dorms to get a shirt for you.”

Mark’s smile widens. “That’ll be nice.”

After a short ten-minute walk, you push open the door to your single-room dormitory, also known as your safe space. In your time living here, you’ve never had anyone over. You don’t consider Mark the first, because you never really intended for him to enter your room. He just followed behind and stepped in himself, no invite whatsoever. You’re not really affected by it, retrieving an oversized t-shirt from your wardrobe the only concern in mind.

Mark looks around the small studio apartment, taking in how minimalistic the entire setting is. He realises you don’t even have any photos, memories, or decorations hanging on the wall. Everything is clean and neatly placed, your belongings categorised into the practical and the necessities. He looks over towards you, your head buried under the shirts and jackets you have hanging on the rod. His eyebrows raise in interest when he notices that by the left corner of the wardrobe, hangs another two letterman jackets identical to the one you have on. They all have the big ‘06’ imprinted on the back.

“Here,” you say, holding out a plain black oversized shirt. Mark takes it from you, commenting, “I didn’t know you had three of those,” he gestures to the letterman jacket that you’re semi-drowning in. You slide the door of your wardrobe close, “I have to have a replacement when one of them is in the wash.”

“Is there some meaning behind 6?”

You look into Mark’s eyes. The two of you share a moment. It’s the first time someone has asked about the meaning behind ‘06’. Maybe it’s because nobody else ever had the chance to, but even if they did, they’d probably just be asking for the fun of it. Every time Mark asks you something, you can tell from his gaze that he genuinely wants to know the answer. He genuinely listens to your replies, regardless of how insignificant or dismissive they may be. Maybe it’s because Mark is the first person in a long time that has ever showed even a minute sign of interest in you, but you find yourself satisfying his curiosity.

“There are many meanings to the number 6. The meaning I relate it to is the need to find ways to move past feelings of fear and anxiety, to manifest what I want.”

It’s Mark’s turn to be silent. He looks at you, your expression as blank as it has always been, your eyes shifting around from the awkwardness of the prolonged eye contact. He didn’t expect that answer. People usually either used their birthdates or their favourite number as their ‘representative’ number. You’re the first person to give him an actual meaning behind the decision you made.

“You’re really different,” Mark says, voice almost coming out as a whisper.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’ve never been complimented like that before. Heck, you don’t even know if it’s a compliment. But you’re unable to deny the heat that rushes to your face, the warmth that spreads throughout your body. You don’t know if Mark notices. You don’t know if Mark can tell. But when you see his eyes flicker to level with your cheeks, the heat that overwhelms you only intensifies.

Mark’s never been this bold before. He has never been this straightforward with anyone. When you don’t answer, he panics a little, but then he notices the rose pink that decorates your cheeks. Did he, perhaps, make you blush? Is this his first time witnessing something different from your signature blank expression?

“You should go change,” you blurt, averting the topic. You point towards the bathroom, “Over there.”

Mark nods his head, turning around, closing the bathroom door after he enters. You let out a huge breath, pursing your lips. First, he’s the cause of the urge to smile. Second, his words make you blush. Third – you place a hand against your chest, feeling for your heartbeat. Mark makes your heart thump.

You want to be around Mark.

Mark comes out of the bathroom, your oversized shirt decently fitting on him. He smiles, “Thank you,” he says. “I’m really sorry about that,” you say, pointing towards his chai tea-stained shirt. Mark shakes his head, “No big deal. I’ll see you around?”

You nod your head.

“See you around.”

It’s been four days since you’ve last seen Mark. The interval made you realise that your once empty mind is now filled with hints of Mark. His endearing smile would pop up in your mind every once in a while, and his childlike giggles would ring in your ears from time to time. Mark is the warm presence in your otherwise cold world.

You’re preoccupied with your thoughts when there’s a knock on the door. You glance at the clock – 5PM on a Sunday afternoon, and you’re not expecting any guests. You sigh, slipping on an oversized hoodie to cover up your worn-out t-shirt. Running your sleeved-palm over your face, you reach for the door handle, pushing it downwards,

Mark waits patiently for you to answer the door, the t-shirt you had lent him neatly folded in his hands. When you pull the door open, the wind from the swift motion causes your baby hairs to dance along with the wind, tickling the sides of your face. Mark feels his heart skip a beat, the moment playing out in half the time of its actual speed. He swallows.

You look up to meet eyes with Mark. Your brows raise momentarily,

“Sorry,” he begins, “For showing up unexpectedly. I just came by to return this,” he holds out your shirt. You look down at the article of clothing, taking it from his hands, nodding your head in understanding. “Thanks,” you say, reaching to lay the shirt on the table. You look towards Mark once more. “Anything else?” you question, seeing that he’s still standing in the corridor.

Mark looks down at his converse. He contemplates if he should do what he actually came here for. Jeno’s voice replays in his head – just man up and ask 06 to join us. Donghyuck needs to apologise for saying things he shouldn’t have said the other day anyway. Though Mark and the rest of the boys are still unaware of what exactly Donghyuck had said, he agrees with Jeno’s sentiments.

“Actually,” he pauses, biting down on his lower lip. There it is again; the feeling of the two ends of your lips being tugged upwards. You blink multiple times – did you just think Mark is… cute? You almost miss his next sentence, “Do you want to go to the roller rink with the guys?” he ends with a shy smile, his fingers automatically clasping together due to the nerves. He looks at you, patiently waiting for your answer.

Usually, the answer ‘no’ would have escaped your lips before you can even think twice. But at this very moment, you’re standing opposite Mark, looking into his eyes, hesitating. It feels as though you’re beginning to lose the composure you’ve spent your entire life building. The rational ways you’d utilise to stay away from people, they’re starting to become blurry, just because of the boy who stands before you.

The fine line you’ve drawn to divide yourself from the rest of the world has become blurry ever since Mark’s appearance.

To move past the fear and anxiety that comes with building a relationship, in order to manifest the friendship that you seek.

You nod your head. “Sounds cool.”

So you find yourself trailing behind Mark at 5:37PM in the afternoon, eyes roaming around the vicinity in curiosity, taking in the very unfamiliar, loud, neon-filled surrounding. You’ve never been to any place of entertainment before, let alone a roller rink that majority of the population have never even been near. In some way, you guys are lucky enough to be schooling in this area – the roller rink is a ’90s themed hangout spot, with a jukebox that’s unique to every table, in comparison to the central speaker system used in all other modern buildings. A small smile creeps its way up your lips; you’re in a trance from the vibes of the place.

If there’s anything you love in this world, it’s nostalgia. Every movie you’ve ever liked, every series you’ve ever binged, they all screamed the ’90s. You’re extra sold by the fact that the different jukeboxes are rolling tunes from Destiny’s Child, Backstreet Boys, Guns N’ Roses, instead of the 21st century pop or rap that would be blasting in any other joint. Your smile widens, but you don’t even realise it. You’re finding more joy in this dated roller rink than you’ve ever felt anywhere else.

Mark turns around to tell you something. Instead, he stops in his tracks, the smile that spreads across your lips stunning him. The way your eyes light up, complementing your smile, and the way the apples of your cheeks are dabbed in a light scarlet; you’ve never looked more ravishing than you do in this very moment. Mark isn’t sure what’s the reason behind your smile, but he’s glad he managed to capture the moment first-hand.

You’re too busy basking in the glory of the vibes of the place that you don’t realise Mark has stopped walking. You almost bump into him, but you managed to stop in time. You’re now standing a small distance in front of Mark, who’s just staring at you. You don’t realise why, until your cheek muscles provide you with the answer. You let out a small gasp, your smile vanishing instantly. You cough, pursing your lips.

“What?” you say, shamelessly.

Mark doesn’t push for anything. He simply widens his smile, “They’re over there,” he says, pointing to the booth that’s hidden in the corner. You nod your head, gesturing for Mark to continue leading the way, while you followed behind. You mentally slap yourself – you’ve revealed way too many sides of yourself to Mark, that’s telling of who you truly are as a person, and not who you want people to think you are. You shake your head; maybe Mark hasn’t caught on. Maybe Mark just thinks you’re a looney ball. There’s a high possibility of that.

“06!” the blue-haired boy calls, a bright smile accompanying his greeting. “I’m Jaemin,” he says, “Didn’t get to introduce myself the other time, before you left.” You nod your head in acknowledgement.

“I’m Chenle,” the other black-haired, fair skinned one waves. “Jisung,” the brown-haired, coupled with lighter brown highlights, introduces. You nod your head at both of them; you can tell those two can’t be bothered about you. They’re too engrossed in whatever game they’re playing on their handphones.

“Hey, 06,” Jeno greets, as you claim the seat beside him. Donghyuck just shoots you a look, before averting his attention back to the conversation he was having with Renjun. “I’m glad you came,” Jeno continues. “Why’d you leave so quick the other day?”

“No reason,” you reply.

Jeno simply purses his lips, nodding his head. You can tell he doesn’t believe you, but you’re appreciative that he doesn’t probe. Instead, Jeno calls over the table, “Let’s go rollerblade,” to the rest of the boys. Jisung and Chenle are practically dragged away from their phones by Jaemin, while Donghyuck is forced to remain in his seat by Renjun, who runs after the rest. Mark sends you a small smile, “You can just find us later,” he says, before following after the rest of the boys, leaving you and Donghyuck at the booth. You’re only catching on now that you were invited with a motive.

“They’re expecting me to apologise,” Donghyuck states, breaking the silence. You look towards him, his stare still as unwelcoming as it was four days ago. “But I’m not going to.”

You let out a breath of disbelief, furrowing one brow. “I don’t think I’ve ever offended you,” you say.

“You haven’t. But I can see through you,” he says, leaning his body forward tauntingly. He raises a brow, the side of his lip twitching, “You’re not serious about Mark.”

You roll your eyes. You mirror his position, resting your folded arms atop the table. “I’m not even interested in Mark.”

“You’re already starting to be interested,” he says, hitting the exact spot. He isn’t wrong. “And it’s only going to go downhill from here. Leave while you still can.” You can’t tell if Donghyuck is just being a protective friend, or if he just hates you for no apparent reason. You just want to know why he’s so adamant about the fact that your relationship with Mark will never work out. As though he’s able to read your mind, he answers that very question.

“Commitment doesn’t exist in your dictionary,” he states.

He’s right. Commitment doesn’t and cannot exist in your world. Your mouth is left open, but you’re not able to say anything in return. You bite down on your lower lip; Donghyuck is right. It hadn’t occurred to you before, but it’s clearly evident now. If you were to continue letting whatever you have with Mark develop, and for some reason, Mark sees things in a romantic light, he’s going to end up hurt. You’ve never really considered it from Mark’s perspective. While you’re trying to take everything as a platonic somewhat friendship, he might not hold the same viewpoint. For goodness sake, you’ve already began to see Mark romantically. You don’t know what’s on his mind.

“I’m going to go rollerblade,” you murmur, sliding yourself off the seat, out of the booth. You walk towards the rental booth, retrieving a pair of rollerblades. As you remove your sneakers to change into the rollerblades, Donghyuck’s words keep ringing in your head. It’s only going to go downhill from here, he said. You let out a hesitant breath – how would he know, right…?

You tighten the lace of the rollerblade, getting up, heading into the rink through the small opening. With your eyes fixed on the floor, you lunge yourself forward, Donghyuck’s words still replaying in your mind like a mantra. It’s only going to go downhill from here, he said.

The pain is here again. It’s intense. You furrow your brows and purse your lips, letting out a restrained gasp, your hand clutching onto your abdomen. You’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice the human-sized advertisement board that’s stationed in the middle of the rink. You’re not sure what happened, but the last thing you remember, is Jeno’s loud call for you, and Donghyuck’s words that keep haunting you – it’s only going to go downhill from here. You’ve blacked out.

Renjun is the first to arrive by your side, holding you up by your head. “What are we going to do?” Jisung panics, eyes fixated on the large cut on your forehead. “Go get the first aid kit,” Renjun calmly instructs. Jisung hurries to the front desk, while Mark removes his rollerblades in a hurry. “We have to get 06 out of here.” Mark lifts your body up bridal style, the rest of the boys surrounding him to ensure that the other people in the rink are kept at a distance.

Jeno holds the door open, while Mark enters, making his way to your bed. He waits as Jeno rushes over, pulling the comforter off the bed. Mark lays you down. “I’m going to go make sure we don’t get a ticket for the illegal parking,” Jeno says, handing Mark the key card to your dorm. Mark nods his head, “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Mark walks over to the bathroom, in search for a face towel. He finds one, turns on the tap, drenches it with water, turns off the tap, and wrings it, before making his way back to your sleeping figure. He folds the towel into a quarter, lightly dabbing at your face to get rid of the oils. When he’s done, he washes the towel out, hanging it by the drying rack. Mark notices you don’t have a humidifier in your room. He looks over at the kitchen. He pulls out the first drawer, hoping to find a glass, but instead, he finds a stash of photos you had chucked into the drawer.

He remembers how the first thing he noticed when he first came, was the fact that you didn’t have anything of sentimental value on display. He had thought you just simply didn’t care for it, but he realises now you do own things of sentimental value. You just didn’t have them on show. He skims through the stash – he realises how much you’ve changed physically; your body has significantly shrunk in comparison to before. He also realises you’ve done many things in your life. Your life seems even more carefree than you let on. He smiles.

Mark lays the glass of water he had filled by your bedside table. Grabbing the ends of the comforter, he brings it over your body, beginning to tuck you in. He notices your left hand peeking out of the comforter, so he holds it gently, placing it under the comforter. When he tries to pull away, he notices the sudden grip on his hand. He looks at your face; you’re still knocked out from the accident. Your slightly scrunched up facial features seem to indicate that you’re in discomfort.

“Are you awake?” he whispers. There’s no reply. He loosens up – he thinks he’s just misinterpreting your expression.

Mark takes the opportunity to stare at you a little longer. The soft breaths you let out the cutest thing he’s ever witnessed. The image of your smile flashes in Mark’s mind; he doesn’t understand why you don’t allow yourself to smile more often. Slowly, your grip on his hand loosens. Mark will remember your warm touch, even if you don’t remember his.

“Goodnight, 06,” he says, taking in your entirety one last time, before taking his leave.

You turn your head to the right, vision still blurry from both the fall and the excruciating pain in your abdomen. The tension in your body relaxes ever so slightly when you note that Mark only opened the first drawer. If he had gone on to the next, he would’ve discovered the one thing you’d never want him to know.

You wanted to finally be able to muster up the courage to ask Mark to stay. Maybe if he were by your side, things would be easier. But Mark doesn’t deserve such torment.

That night, as Mark tosses and turns in bed, he just can’t seem to rid the image of your smile off his head. He smiles, stuffing his face into his pillow. He can’t believe he’s fussing over something as simple as your smile. Perhaps Mark has delved deeper into your charms than he’s conscious of.

He’s just glad he has the next excuse to meet you again – the injury on your head.

Another three days have gone by since the roller rink incident. It’s to your luck that there weren’t any classes for the past three days, because the episodes were getting more frequent. It also gave you some time to heal the big fat scar on your forehead. You decide that it looks safe enough to just be left bare without a band-aid to cover it. You honestly can’t be bothered if the sight of the red cut freaks other students out. The wound needs to breathe to leave.

You enter the lecture hall, already catching some unwanted attention. You ignore the stares, heading for your usual seat by the left aisle, away from the crowd. Three boys are already sitting there when you arrive. You raise a brow.

“Feeling better?” Jeno asks, eyes flickering to the cut on your forehead, before looking back down into your eyes. You nod your head. “Sorry. If we knew this would happen, we wouldn’t have asked you to the roller rink,” he says. You shrug, “I chose to rollerblade on my own,” you say. It isn’t anybody’s fault this happened. In fact, you’re kind of glad it happened. At least it meant that you didn’t have to go back to the booth to face Donghyuck’s scrutiny. Speaking of, the boy is just sitting there, staring at the front of the hall, completely disinterested in you.

“I’m going to sit elsewhere,” you say, taking the first ascending step. Mark wraps his fingers around your wrist, a loose hold keeping you in place. It’s not even surprising anymore that you don’t immediately shrug his grip off. Maybe a part of you is slowly getting used to Mark. Maybe a part of you is slowly coming to accept Mark as somebody that you want in your life. Maybe, just maybe, you think it’s worth risking the hurt that comes with relationships, if it means you can dwell in Mark’s presence for a little longer.

You turn to meet eyes with him. From his gaze, you already know he’s telling you to sit with them. Your eyes shift to glance at Donghyuck, who is glaring at you at this point. His glare is telling of how he wants you to reject Mark, to go sit somewhere else, to get off Mark’s case. You’re conflicted.

“I’ll see you later,” you say. Mark pauses for a moment, eventually letting go of your wrist.

You walk up, to a seat a few rows above them.

You remain in your seat as you watch the other students scurry out of the lecture theatre upon dismissal. Your eyes find its way to the back of a certain slightly curly, black-haired boy’s head. Your eyes shift to rest on the white bottle that has basically become your lifeline at this point. A bitter scoff escapes your lips as the words ring in your mind – things are not looking optimistic.

Maybe that is the only reason why you find yourself getting off your seat, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder, descending a few steps to arrive at Mark’s row. You wait by the aisle for him to notice you. He does this time, without Jeno’s help. He looks at you, smile immediately stretching across his lips. “I said I’d see you later,” you say. Mark’s smile widens a little at that. You ignore the dirty look from Donghyuck, and you’re no longer foreign to the soft stare from Jeno.

“Are you free right now?” you ask.

There’s a light bulb that’s suddenly illuminating in Mark’s heart. Perhaps it should be the other way around. Perhaps he should’ve been the one to ask, but he’d only have a 20 percent chance of being graced with the answer he longs for. But here you are, standing before him, the question rolling off your tongue so easily, with a 100 percent chance of being graced with the answer you want to hear. Mark doesn’t even need to think twice. He’s been waiting for this, and he’s excited. He’s getting the feeling of warmth spreading throughout his body. His smile only gets bigger as he replies, “What do you have in mind?”

In 15 minutes, the two of you are still within the vicinity of the campus, but in land that is foreign to Mark, yet it’s as close as a second home to you. Mark looks over the horizon, the view simply striking to him. He never knew that such a place, let alone such a view, was in reach in a matter of minutes. It’s probably because it’s in restricted premises, but you don’t tell him that. His goody-two-shoes nature would freak out. But that’s a part of Mark’s charm.

“Damn,” he gasps, taking in a breath, “This is amazing.”

For the first time ever, in front of someone that’s not your reflection in the mirror, you smile, willingly. The way the gentle breeze tickles your skin, the way the rustling of the leaves creates a pleasant melody, the way the view serves as the perfect panoramic shot in a romance movie. It’s all fantasy, and it’s all your imagination. But at least you’re sharing it with the one person you’ve somehow created a bond with. People might think it’s ridiculous, you’ve barely interacted with the boy for more than two weeks. But those people are the same people who don’t believe that feelings of attachment and liking comes quickly, and they’ll always get to you. You can’t stop falling. That’s the fatal part of attraction.

You turn to look at Mark. You openly stare at his side profile, taking in his entirety, memorising the sound of his giggles, the little nose scrunch when he laughs, and the way his eyes light up when he smiles. Who knows? This might be the last.

Mark turns to look at you. He gazes into your eyes. It’s so heart-stopping you feel your breath hitch in your throat. Your heart is fluttering at the eye contact. He’s smiling, and he’s smiling for you. Maybe he has been all this while. But now, you’re smiling, and you’re smiling for him. You wonder what he’s thinking about.

Mark stares at you. Mark watches your eyes light up with joy, but he doesn’t know what sparks it. Mark notices how you are finally able to freely give in to the urge of allowing the two ends of your lips to be tugged upwards; Mark takes note of the way your eyes form crescents, the way the pink in your cheeks become prominent under the sunlight. It is as though the entire scene is unravelling in front of him in slow motion. The scene that stars only you.

The both of you feel it – the attraction. You’re fully aware of the reality of the situation in this moment. Mark is the warmth you don’t deserve. You’re the cold that’s toxic to him. Maybe not now, but you’ll eventually be.

Mark isn’t sure what’s got him so confident. Perhaps it’s the way your smile seems to be giving him the consent he seeks, and perhaps it’s the fact that he’s only realising now how hard he has fallen for you. You’re like the soil; regardless of how much he has dug, he still has so much more to dig. He doesn’t know you fully yet, and he isn’t confident that he ever will. He knows he wants to.

You notice when Mark’s eyes drop to your lips. Your body tenses as he inches forward, bit by bit. You want him to close the gap. You want his lips to come into contact with yours. You want to feel Mark’s warmth. But you know it all too well – warm and cold don’t mix well. They’re not meant for each other. You’re not Mark’s fate.

You place your hand on his chest; he stops immediately, eyes snapping up to meet yours. Embarrassed, he immediately takes a step back, avoiding eye contact, tugging at the hem of his shirt, letting out an awkward cough. “I’m so sorry,” he says. He mentally berates himself. You reach out, interlocking your fingers with his. He looks back at you, eyebrows raised, mouth forming an ‘o’. You remember that face. You let out a chuckle. That might just be the most beautiful thing Mark has ever heard. He doesn’t tell you, though.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say. Mark lets out a sigh of relief, “Good, otherwise it will be really awkward.” You chuckle once more – gosh, he’s really cute.

You reach into your pocket, pulling out the film you had prepared with the intention of giving it to Mark. You hold it out, and he takes it, analysing the photo. “What’s this?” he mutters, taking a closer look. He realises it’s a photo of your letterman jacket, the iconic ‘06’ that everyone has learned to associate you with, in full view. He looks up to meet eyes with you, awaiting your explanation. You smile, averting your attention to the beautiful view.

“Just because,” you say. Mark doesn’t understand.

“Mark?” you call.

“Yeah?”

“We have the whole of next week off, right?” Mark hums in response.

“Let’s meet here in exactly one week,” you turn to look him in the eyes. Maybe then, we can have our first kiss.

Mark smiles.

“Okay.”

Mark taps his fingers on the grass. He’s been waiting for an hour, but there’s still no sight of you. He checks the time – 4PM. He decides that you’re probably held back by something, so he continues to wait, biting on the insides of his lips as he counts down the minutes.

Another two hours go by. Mark is now laying on the grass, staring up at the sun that is beginning to set. He’s not sure why you still haven’t shown. Mark wonders if you have forgotten your promise to meet here today. It’s been a week of absolutely no contact, after all. He decides that it’s unlikely that you’ve forgotten. He believes you’ll show, so he continues to wait.

Another hour goes by. The sky is almost dark now. Mark sighs. Did you change your mind? Mark stands up. Usually, he’s not one to confront. But Mark treasures this connection. Mark wants to make things work, even if it means having to take multiple steps forward, whenever you take one step backwards. Mark begins the trail to the campus dormitories. Even if you’ve changed your mind, he deserves to know.

Mark knocks on your door. He waits. There’s no reply.

Mark knocks again. Silence.

’06?” he calls, knocking once more.

Your neighbour peeks her head out. “Are you looking for the tenant?” she asks. Mark nods his head. “The tenant already moved out,” she says. “What?” was all that Mark manages out.

Mark’s heart begins to pick pace, but not in a good way. He rushes down to the front desk.

“Did the student who lives in room 612 move out?” he asks, panting to catch his breath. The front desk lady looks stunned for a moment, but doesn’t question Mark’s intentions. She types at her desktop, clicks a few times, before replying with, “Oh, this student,” she says, distinctly recalling the haste in your exit. “Moved out a few days ago. It was so sudden, didn’t even bother about the overpaid rent,” she comments. Mark’s brows knit at the revelation. “06 left?” he breathes.

While the rest of the boys were busily engaged in their small clusters of conversation, Donghyuck has his eyes fixed on Mark. He knew this would happen. Donghyuck’s eyes rests upon the film that Mark holds with his fingers, as though it’s the most precious object he has ever laid his hands on. Donghyuck sighs. Mark looks up at Donghyuck briefly, a faint smile forming on his lips. Donghyuck clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval.

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck questions, even though he knows what the exact answer is. Mark shrugs, affirming Donghyuck’s assumption. “Seriously, when are you going to stop thinking about that person? It’s been months, close to a year, and you’re still holding onto the futile hope that something will change? Because it won’t.”

Mark lowers his gaze. He scoffs bitterly, “Maybe you’re right.”

“There’s no maybe, I’m always right.”

Mark doesn’t respond. Donghyuck looks at him, taking note of the genuine sorrow in his eyes. Mark has changed a lot within the span of the past few months. The Mark that was once overflowing with joy, bursting out in giggles and laughter over the smallest things; that Mark is gone. The Mark before him right now, is a Mark that hasn’t shown any signs of genuine happiness in forever. The Mark before him, is a Mark that has long forgotten how to feel the different emotions. That is, except one emotion – longing.

Donghyuck lets out another sigh.

Mark turns the film around. Hidden in the corner of the black coating, were the letters that forms your name, inked in black marker. It can only be seen when the light directly reflects upon the letters. Mark smiles a bittersweet smile. He remembers how carefree you were as a person. He remembers drawing up a mental metaphor to compare the way you lived life, to dancing. You lived everyday like you were dancing. Even more than he’d ever know.

Mark wonders where, with whom, and to what music you’d be dancing to now.

Without leaving a span of a shadow, where did you disappear to?

Hidden in the corner, amongst the very many slabs with semi-circular tops, sits one lonely slab, that is patiently waiting for the visitor who’ll never show up.

#nct scenarios #mark scenarios #mark angst #mark fluff #mark #nct angst #nct fluff #nct imagines #mark imagines #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct mark #fic #fic: perhaps; maybe

318 notes · View notes