#but he'd try to mask the intense fluttering of his heart after that realization

[reliquiicis-a]

It'd been a while since the accidental brushing of their lips had happened. The Oni had thought about how he'd wanted to lift her up, and give her a proper kiss, but he'd managed to stop himself before doing so. Once again, the two found themselves alone. The boys were out taking care of things in the city proper, and likely doing some fishing whilst on the way back. Despite the length of time that had passed, he found himself thinking about what it would be like to actually kiss her.

More than just a brush of lips to lips, but a genuine kiss. Something he'd never thought of giving another person before. So why her? Why Shinobu, of all people? Wasn't it disrespectful to want to do such an intimate action with his best female friend? That is what she was, right?

She was the Deputy of the Arataki Gang, his right hand man, all but one of the boys, aside from being a woman. As he was thinking about what it meant, he wouldn't realize his feet were taking him closer and closer to where she was, the Gang's headquarters had taken him a while to fix up after managing to purchase the building and the property it was on, but he'd pulled it off, all without her finding out. The boys had started to help him as it grew closer to being completed. After all, they all had at least one small skill that came in handy.

Eventually, he'd place one large hand beside her head, she'd know it was him before she ever looked up from what she was doing, the spikes gave him away. The arm not resting against the wall would abruptly move to lift her, before pressing her between the wall and his chest. His breathing would remain as level as it could be given what he was planning on doing, but before he could stop himself, he'd reach out and remove her mask from her face.

While still holding the leather mask in his hand, he'd lean down and press his lips to hers. It would start off pretty gentle, especially for an Oni, but gradually the intensity would increase, and he'd press himself against her a bit more solidly, likely to ensure she wouldn't slip and fall, or escape. He knew she was incredibly intelligent, so despite his silence, she'd know what it was he was feeling.

Even though, he wasn't quite sure what it was himself just yet. What would happen from here? Only time would tell.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  Shinobu was lost in her own thoughts, trying to come up with a good gift to give back to Itto, but it was kind of hard. The things he liked - onikabuto for instance - were everywhere, but that was something he could get any time he wanted. On the other hand, she wasn't sure what would be a good enough gift to show him that she cared about him and was really proud of how far he's come even if she doesn't tell him every day.

Shinobu narrowed her eyes when Itto came up to her, blushing profusely before she could even get the words out when she was pinned. She looked up at him only briefly before averting her gaze as she took a deep breath to hopefully help calm herself down so she could get the words out. "W-What are you doing?" She asked, heart so loud in her chest that she was sure he could probably hear it if he listened close enough.

When he moved to pull her mask down and off her face, she panicked. Not only was he so close to her, but now if anyone were to find them here (which would be rare if it was anyone else outside of the gang), then they would recognize her.

When he leaned in closer and she felt his lips against hers, she relaxed. Was he aware of what he was doing?! But still... eyes fluttering close, it was hard for her to not want to kiss back, so she helped deepen the kiss, one arm moving up to rest on his shoulder while the other moved further up to grab hold of the back of his neck.

She could feel her entire body heating up. From embarrassment, who knew? Either way, she had a lot of questions, she needed answers, but right now... she didn't want to stop kissing him.

"I-Itto." She whispered against his lips, pulling away after a while as she turned away to hide her face from. "Wh-What was that for?" Her voice was soft, confused more than anything. She didn't want to scare him off or have him think she didn't want it, unless of course, there was a reason he was doing this besides reciprocating his feelings. @crimsononiarataki

[tiny-slasher]

Thomas Hewitt x Reader | Coffee Shop AU | Part 2

“Some more coffee shop AU thomas hewitt?👉👈“

“i've read that coffee shop au you wrote for thomas multiple times and i need more please!!!“

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You'd started to get strange looks from your coworkers. They never explicitly said so, but you knew why. You'd gone to Luda Mae's coffee shop every Wednesday and Thursday evening, spending more money on coffee than you had in your entire life, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was so large, barely fitting in the space between the workstation and the counter you paid at. His hair was tangled under the straps of his mask, and his clothes were always stained with coffee. The intenseness of his eyes and constant furrow of his brow should've frightened you, and yet you found yourself lured by him instead. He always seemed surprised to see you, no matter how many weeks you'd continued your pattern, as if expecting you to just disappear one day. You were hoping that eventually the shock would fade, and that he'd seem relieved instead.

Upon arriving early at the coffee shop one Thursday afternoon, you were disappointed to see that Thomas wasn't there. You hadn't meant to show up so soon, but you'd felt so angry at your coworkers that you'd decided you couldn't stay at work for a second longer than you had to. Still fuming, you walked into the shop amidst the dwindling crowd of customers. The fact that they were all in such a hurry to leave, knowing Thomas' schedule themselves, had your blood boiling.

Your thoughts were broken by a familiar snap of fingers in your face, "Oi! What's gotten you all in a hissy fit, huh?"

The man at the register was Thomas' uncle, Charlie, who had introduced himself the third time you'd showed up in the shop. He was...not the type of person you would generally find yourself in company with, but he was nice enough when he wanted to be. Even though you hadn't breathed a word of your infatuation with Thomas, he and Luda Mae seemed to be very aware of it. You weren't sure if it made you giddy or uncomfortable when one of them was smiling at you, happy to see you in their shop again.

"What's the matter, darlin'? How bout I get'cha a cup, alright? The usual?" Luda Mae asked from behind Charlie, making her way to the coffee machine before you could respond.

You sighed and apologized, pulling out some money from your pocket. Luda Mae shook her head, "Nah, it's on the house, today. You look like ya need it."

Charlie groaned and turned to her, "Mama, ya can't be givin' out free drinks to them every time they show up!"

"It's my coffee, and I'll do as I please!"

You tiredly smiled at the two, shoving your money in the tip jar while they were looking away. Sitting down at a table nearby, you rubbed your temples in an attempt to rid yourself of a frustrated headache. You didn't realize that a cup of coffee had been set in front of you until a warm, gentle hand rested on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Luda Mae watching you in concern.

"I'm alright," you sighed. "Just had a long day at work, 's all."

She hummed, sitting down in a chair across from you. You sipped your coffee, sighing at the deep, silky, smooth flavor that hit your tastebuds. Despite your coworkers' very unkind opinions, their description of the coffee was shockingly accurate. The thought of them brought a frown to your lips.

"Oh, is the coffee no good? The machine's been a bit fussy today," Luda Mae sent a glare towards her coffee machine.

"No, no it's delicious! I was just..." You sigh and rub your eyes. "I just need to take a breather, I think."

"Well, alright. But if ya need anything, jus' holler, alright?" she patted you on the back before walking back behind the counter.

You tried to distract yourself with the coffee, but no matter how delicious it was, it wasn't strong enough to rid you of the memories in your head.

"His name is Thomas!" you'd bit out right before taking your leave for the day. "Not Leatherface!"

The disgusted glances they'd sent your way the entire morning had been bad enough, but hearing your coworker's unsavory nickname for him had been the final straw. You'd been tempted to punch each of their faces in, appalled that grown adults were even capable of such childish gossip and name calling, but settled with slamming the door on your way out. And now, your anger was growing again at the ever dwindling crowd in the coffee shop.

Now you understood why Luda Mae and Charlie had been so quick to dismiss you the first time you'd spoken to them, and it hurt to think about. How often must Thomas have been ridiculed or teased in his life for his mother and uncle to just assume that everyone automatically disliked him? That everyone had something nasty to say? The thought alone that anyone would purposely hurt Thomas, just because he was different, made you see red.

You jumped out of your skin when you felt a nudge at your shoulder, looking up to see Thomas standing over you. You were not used to him standing so close to you. He lifted his hand in a small wave, which he'd started doing after the fourth time you'd shown up to the shop, and you reciprocated.

"Hey, you're early!" you smiled at him.

He just shrugged, lifting his hands as if to try and say something with them, but then lowered them. Butterflies filled your stomach as he sat down across from you, his knees barely fitting under the table. You didn't want to seem like you were staring, but it was hard not to. He was just so handsome!

Still, you knew you were apparently in the minority of people who thought so. Everyone who talked about his looks always had to bring up his mask, and the scars on his arms. Someone had even started a rumor about what his face looked like underneath, and the descriptions only grew more and more elaborate as time went on. Even the smarter people that you knew were buying into these stories, and it frustrated you to no end.

"Hm?" you asked.

Thomas gestured if you were alright, and your cheeks heated as you realized you'd gotten lost in your thoughts again. You apologized, assuring him it was nothing, when Luda Mae walked over and placed a cup of coffee in front of Thomas.

"Here ya go, darlin'. Charlie and I will be leavin' in a few minutes. You might have a bit of trouble with the machine...it's been actin' a bit strangely," she told him, and then turned to you with a smile. "I suppose I'll see you next week?"

You nodded, "Hopefully."

Her smile grew wide, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. She gave you another pat on the back, kissed Thomas on the forehead, and then left into the back room. Thomas blushed at his mother's antics, and you couldn't help a smile from forming on your lips.

"You two behave!" Charlie yelled at you before walking into the back room himself.

You nearly choked on your coffee, but managed to compose yourself. The flush on Thomas' face was a lot darker than before, and he huffed in Hoyt's direction. You could feel his distaste rolling off of him in waves, and it was one of the many times you wished Thomas spoke. You always wondered what he was thinking. Was he funny? Was he smart? You got the feeling that he was sarcastic, if his eye rolls were any indication, but you never knew for sure.

Thomas sipped his coffee, alternating between looking at it and looking up at you. He always seemed like he wanted to say something to you, but of course, he never did.

"Have you ever tried to learn sign language?" you asked him.

Thomas slowly shook his head, his fingers twitching as if wanted to add on to that statement.

"Well, we could learn together, if you want!" you suggested, nervously.

Thomas blinked, his eyes burning into yours, and then he nodded. His mouth opened, and then slammed shut again, as his fingers twitched in abandoned attempts to communicate. Frustrated, Thomas stood and walked behind the counter, and then came back with a notepad and a pen. Your heart fluttered, excited and a bit nervous. You'd spent so many weeks wanted to know more about him, and now you supposed you'd get your chance.

So what if he wasn't behind the counter like he was supposed to be? It wasn't like many customers showed up anyway. You'd be surprised if he got more than two or three, and even then they'd probably leave in a hurry.

Seemingly agreeing with you, Thomas sat down and began scribbling on the notepad. Turning it towards you, you saw the phrase "I might learn slow" in very sloppy handwriting. Clearly, his penmanship wasn't the best, but it was legible...and that's all that really mattered.

"That's okay! I don't mind!" you said excitedly.

He nodded, his concern somewhat put to rest, and he clasped his hands on the table in front of him. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he clasped his hands in front of him, unsure what to do. Hearing his voice for the first time did strange things to you, especially with how gravelly and soft it was. It made you wonder what he'd sound like speaking, if he could.

The bell over the door rang, signaling the entry of a customer. You turned to see who'd entered, and saw Thomas get up from the corner of your eye. He walked behind the counter as the man who'd walked in slowly made his way forward. His stance revealed how nervous he was, but he managed to order a cup of coffee without much fuss. He glanced in your direction, giving you a look similar to the ones your coworkers had given you.

Your gaze fell to Thomas as you played with the rim of your now empty coffee cup. You tried not to ogle his backside for too long, in case he looked your way, but you couldn't help but spare a few glances. It didn't take him long to finish brewing the drink, hurriedly paid for by the man ordering it. The man was out the door when you blinked next, and you rolled your eyes.

Thomas made his way over to you, grabbing your cup before you could protest. At first, you assumed he was going to toss it in the sink, but were surprised to see him going to refill it. Of course, you ordered the same thing every time you showed up, so he didn't have to ask what you wanted.

You jumped when you heard a loud bang, and the smashing of ceramic on the tile. You turned to see Thomas recoil from the coffee machine, grunting in what you could only assume was pain. The machine rattled and hissed until Thomas punched the off button to it, holding onto his right hand as though it had been broken.

You immediately stood from your chair and ran over, uncaring of the broken ceramic on the floor, and took his hand in yours. It was bright red, scalded by the hot water of the machine. You dragged him over to the sink and turned on some cool water, making sure it ran over the worst parts of burn. It wasn't until you'd assessed his burn to be fairly minor that you realized how close you were standing to him.

You were holding his wrist in your hands.

You turned to him, noticing how heavy his breathing had gotten. His eyes were wide as he stared at you, and you were sure yours were as well. One of your hands began to travel a bit past his wrist and up his arm, trailing over the thick hair that lay there. Swallowing, you shook your head to gather yourself and looked back at his hand, turning the water off and gently drying it off with a towel.

"It doesn't look too bad...might hurt for a couple of days," you said, frowning at it.

You looked back up at Thomas, still holding his hand in yours. All the air in your lungs vanished at the look he was giving you, one of disbelief, shock, and...something else. You trembled, frozen in place. His chest heaved, as if having to remind himself how to breathe.

He yanked his hand away when the backdoor opened up to reveal Charlie.

"Sorry, forgot my wallet-" he paused, looking at the two of you with a raised eyebrow. "Weeeell, what've we got here? I thought I told you two ta behave!"

Thomas sighed and grabbed a broom to clean up the mess on the floor. You tried to move out of his way, picking a piece of ceramic out of your shoe that had wedged itself there in your haste to help Thomas.

You cleared your throat, "The machine burned Thomas' hand, so I was just helping..."

"Damn thing! Knew we should've just kept the ol' one!" Charlie whacked the machine with a glare, shaking his head. "I told Mama not to get all dazzle-eyed at how shiny it was, but did she listen? Nah."

He grumbled as he walked over to grab his wallet from under the counter, shoving it in his pocket as he shook his head at the machine. Thomas dumped some of the broken cup pieces in the trash, not even wincing when he accidentally brushed his burnt hand on his apron.

"Guess we'll have to pull out the old one, the way the good lord intended," Charlie huffed before turning to Thomas. "Don't even bother making coffee with this piece of shit, we'll just close for the night."

Thomas stopped sweeping and glanced in your direction, his hesitation catching his uncle's attention. Charlie gave him a long look, eyebrow raised, and then followed his gaze to you. Recognition filled his gaze, and your cheeks grew even warmer than they already were.

"Well, if ya wanna stay open all night, be my guest," he drawled, making his way back out. "But I don't wanna be cleanin' no suspicious stains tomorrow, ya hear me?"

Thomas stomped over and ushered him out the door, and you heard Charlie laugh obnoxiously. Thomas spared a glance at you, clearly embarrassed, and then went back to sweeping. You decided it might be best to give him a bit of space, so you began to walk out from behind the counter.

Your heart rate increased exponentially when Thomas' arm wrapped around your stomach from the front, stopping you in your tracks. His grip on you was strong, and your hands instinctively grabbed his arm, feeling the unevenness of his skin where all his scars were. You wanted to ask him about it, but didn't want to drag up any bad memories.

You turned to him, surprised, and he let go to point down at the floor. A few inches from your foot lay a rather jagged piece of ceramic. The odds of it making its way through your shoe and into your foot were extremely unlikely, but clearly Thomas thought otherwise. His brows were furrowed in concern, searching you for any signs of pain.

"O-oh, thank you Thomas," you laughed awkwardly. "I guess I should probably just stand still then."

He nodded, huffing out a breath that resembled a laugh. You backed away a bit and stayed put, letting him finish his work. You definitely did not ogle his backside again when he crouched down to gather everything up. Once finished, he turned back to you as if to say something, but then shook his head and walked back over to the table. You followed him, surprised when he picked up the coffee his mother had made him, and offered it to you. Your heart swelled and a strange sort of a feeling settled in your stomach when you realized he was trying to make up for the refill he wasn't able to give you.

"No, that's alright, if I have any more coffee I'll be up all night," you smiled at him, gently pushing his cup back towards him. "I guess I'll just have to come back when you guys get the coffee machine working again."

Thomas nodded, satisfied with your reply, before reaching down to the notepad on the table. Scribbling something down really quickly, he tore the paper out and handed it to you. You laughed at loud when you read what it said, covering your mouth with your hand.

"IOU 1 coffee - Thomas"

"I'll put this to good use, don't worry," you thought for a moment. "You work in the back the rest of the week, right?"

Thomas nodded, curious as to why you were asking.

"If I come tomorrow," you hypothesized. "Would you come out and make me a coffee?"

Thomas' cheeks reddened, and he played with the strings of his apron. He looked away for a second, and then around at the empty tables, and then finally back to you. Seeing your hopeful expression, he nodded.

You beamed at him, throwing your arms around him in a hug before you could think of doing otherwise. He jumped, his arms hovering out as if they didn't know what to do. Realizing what you'd done, you began to pull away, only to have two large, and warm hands tentatively settle on your upper back. He was so warm, and his embrace was so gentle.

How could anyone think he was a monster?

You smiled up at him, and he let go of a breath he'd been holding a bit too long. You knew you should leave, since you would need to get up early the next day, and there was no reason for Thomas to have to keep the shop open when he couldn't make coffee. Yet, you found yourself hesitating, comfortable in his arms. He seemed to return the sentiment, his grip on you tightening in a barely noticeable way. The two of you stood there for much longer than you probably should have, reluctant to pull away from each other.

Eventually, you made your way over to the exit, with the door held open by Thomas.

"You take care of that hand, alright?" you stressed. "When I come back tomorrow, it better be on the road to recovery."

Thomas rolled his eyes, but smiled at you with such fondness, you found yourself burning. You told him goodbye, parting ways for the evening, relishing in the way he watched you leave.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Well, back so soon?" Charlie teased. "You know it'd be against company policy for me to let'cha out back where Tommy is."

"I actually came to redeem this," you replied, holding up the piece of paper Thomas had given you. "To go, please."

Charlie's grumbled as he pulled out a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. Snatching the paper out of your hand, he read what was written, and his eyebrows raised. Snorting in amusement, he folded his glasses back up and gave you a once over.

Without a word, he walked over to the back door and slammed it open, yelling out into the other room, "TOMMY! GET OUT HERE! AND QUIT GIVIN' OUT COUPONS!"

If you tried to hide the joy you felt upon seeing Thomas, you failed miserably. The smile on your face seemed to be contagious, since Thomas returned it twofold. Neither of you paid any mind to the whispers of the other customers, too wrapped up in your own thoughts.

Luda Mae invited you to dinner while you waited, earning a grumble from Charlie about 'being a freeloader'. You'd agreed, earning an excited and nervous glance from Thomas, who gently placed your coffee in your hands. You smiled at him, confirming that you'd see him later. Waving goodbye to the three of them, you exited the shop to head to work for the day.

It wasn't until you were about to toss the now empty to-go cup in the trash that you noticed a hastily written note on the side.

"Have a good day ♥"

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

PART 1

[dreamiesdotcom]

smile (slow spin-off) | p.js, l.mk

Summary: Jisung looks at the camera and smiles, the kind of smile you show when the person you're in love with is looking — and maybe it's the smile you flash when you're silently hoping that said person falls as hard for you as you fell for them.

Word Count: 1.4k

Jisung remembers the first time it happened. He was in a Ferris Wheel, holding onto his notebook for dear life, eyes closed. In front of him was a longtime friend, and said friend was reaching out to hold his hand. When he opened his eyes, they're at the highest point and they're stuck because the ride has broken down.

Panic bubbled in his gut, but then quickly he realizes there's a hand wrapped tightly around his, that the sun is setting and he's got the perfect view. Peach skies around him, safe breeze. Jaemin was smiling.

Jisung remembers how he spent the night writing about the way he told him that everything will be okay — "I'm here, Jisungie. Sorry for asking you to go even if you're scared. It'll be alright, yeah?" — and he loses sleep.

Of course, he was scared. Hell, he was terrified. Even more when it doesn't go away the day after — or the next week, or the next months, then some more. He didn't want to get his heartbroken. In fact, he didn't want it so much that he would've never even thought of catching these kinds of feelings but oh, it was an easy fall. It was everything predictable.

His first love was way too charming to resist, laid down like an open book that held adventures only for those who looked and actually saw. Sentimental. Charismatic. Affectionate. How was Jisung supposed to resist that?

And if Jaemin so openly held his hands out to him, why would Jisung even try?

"But you know what, you really look good dancing with Jisung. I didn't know you could dance like that..." Jaemin drawls out one of the many times they held sleepovers at Renjun's place. He keens at the mention of his name, but he makes the mistake of looking at your direction — Jaemin smiled at you then. And he was shifting closer.

You only sighed and told him off, warning him "Stop moving or I'll fall!"

And that was normal, just another typical day — Jaemin's taking pictures of everyone but mostly you. He's smiling fondly, just like all the other times he spent with his friends.

Jisung doesn't know why, but it haunts him, Jaemin's reply to your warning — "Promise? You'll fall?"

It feels like if we stayed the way we are, just the two of us... we could've been way more, Jisung roughly scribbled in his notebook. He recalls how flashbacks flooded his mind as he writes the next line — If you knew, would you try?

Jaemin calls his name and snaps a picture. He smiles.

Jisung clearly remembers how he spent his first love wondering when Jaemin would realize that he's in love with someone else.

###

"Sometimes I get worried about Jaemin hyung. The two of them, they never seem to get the right timing," Chenle sighs the next day as they walk home together, peeking from behind the cracks of Jisung's mask.

The other boy stops on his tracks and looks at him dead in the eye, "Then I remember you. How many times are you gonna go break your heart?"

"I don't know," he quickly replies, voice brittle and already cracking. He sees no use in lying to one of his best friends, so he tilts his head and smiles, "How many times can your heart break for the person you love?"

Chenle snickers and spreads his arms out for a hug. Only then does Jisung break down.

The fall to his best friend's arms seemed like a slow motion, but then as he catches him and his tears, everything seemed to speed up and crash. They stay like that for several minutes, then Jisung decides to take the other way home; the one that leads him to the studio.

The only reason Jisung's first love isn't counted in the times he fell in love was because he never fell; it felt like a connection, immediate and instantaneous. He adored dancing without much fuss — there was no struggle. There was no fight. He loved this thing entirely with his whole being from the moment he was born, and then he lived for it. He breathed it like air, loved it like he'd break for it — because he will, heaven knows that. He didn't fall in love with dancing — he ran to it and let it wrap him in its hold.

And that's what he does right now. He lets his heart drop and break and he dances, he dances until his feet burn and hurts so much that it makes him forget the ache in his chest. It works.

A little.

He convinces himself that it does but then —

Flashes of Na Jaemin's hopeless smile. His giggles. His antics. His eyes.

It doesn't work.

###

He's moved on, at least he thinks, but someway somehow, it seems like first love really does hit different than all the others. There are some days when Jaemin still disturbs his memory, and he thinks of what could've been and what they could've had.

Those times don't come as frequent these days, but it only takes Jisung two months to realize that it's because he's been thinking of another person. The one that creates beats for Jisung to dance to, and then watches him with intense admiration and a smile that has become the subject of most of his dreams.

Jisung met Mark on a busy day, his stress level high up, his heart ravaged. It's for some kind of showcase he was a part of — if he knew he'd have to work with strangers, he really wouldn't have participated — and the snowball begins from there. They knew each other. They became friends. They grew pretty close, and that was fine.

That would've been fine.

Only that Jisung tends to take more than he should've and even more than what he can handle.

Now, that was not fine.

But right now Mark looks real pretty stargazing beside him. He looks like something straight out of a dream, the kind of trance that would make you smile. He'd be the heart-fluttering kind, one of the feelings Jisung's always been scared of, but he'd be the sensation he'd chase.

The way he grins is damning, "You did well. Up that stage, you looked like you're competing with literal stars."

Right now, Jisung thinks, nothing this good could be that bad. If it was, he knew that it's the kind that he won't regret.

It's extremely out of character and his cheeks flush crimson as he stumbles over his words, but he dares try — "Well, did I win, hyung?"

Mark stiffens at that, never expecting such daring words from the younger who just laughed sheepishly. His heart does this dumb thing where it beats loudly against his chest, his hands setting down his guitar and opting to reach for his camera. Mark opens it and stares at random photos as a diversion, nervously chuckling.

Jisung understands that feeling well. Although he only fell in love twice in this life, having those two be the most heart-fluttering people he knew just really tends to drive him a little incomprehensible, gives him a preview of how weird the things you can feel when you fall. He doesn't tease him for a similar blush on his cheeks, or the way he keeps on snapping the same picture of the grass. Truth is, his heart is also weakly thumping against his chest. He knew that it was never a good sign, but he can't even deny it now. He knew where it would go.

"The stars stood no chance against you," he drawls out, the sound of a shutter at the end. Jisung turns to his direction, and then holds his breath. That laugh. That damned laugh — the things Jisung does just to hear that.

Mark counts down from three to one, "Jisung-ah, pose for me?"

So Jisung looks at the camera and smiles, the kind of smile you show when the person you're in love with is looking — and maybe it's the smile you flash when you're silently hoping that said person falls as hard for you as you fell for them.

He hears again a count down to three, Mark's lovely peal of laughter, and then bright light strikes. Jisung blindly remembers that they lost themselves to giggles after that picture, and that they were happy, and then everything was unclear.

And maybe he remembers that after everything, later that night when he talked about dreams and the stars, between those hazy moments and the tune of the other's guitar, he hoped that Mark would finally realize that he loved Jisung.

[blackarmyslave]

Masquerade [IkeRev]

Pairing: Ray Blackwell x Alice

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution

Notes: really trashy writing oof

Pshh dont act so suprised its another ray thing

Alice hated masquerade balls.

She hated them with a passion. There was just something irritating about them... how those disgustings pigs, commonly referred to as men, often tried to lure her into bed; or how, every time she talked to women, their conversations would almost always end up in gossips about her family's riches that were acquired with bloody hands, and how they killed countless people under a single man's orders, not knowing the person they were talking to about it is part of said family. Yet despite her loathing for occasions like these, Alice would still have to attend, for it was the only way she could fraternize with others. Her family was shunned by society for being such a hideous and brutal one. But here, in masquerade balls, she can wear a mask and pretend to be someone else and mingle to her heart's content. Nobody would know it was a girl from a bloody household.

Once or twice, Alice had danced with a few nobilities she considered decent enough for her. Those who weren't pedophiles, she conversed with. Those who were purely sober, she'd bonded with. But it was way past midnight now and she had gotten bored of the ball. A woman can only take so much soulless dancing and meaningless political talks. Not to mention the rough mask that hid her face from bashers, was starting to irritate her sensitive porcelain skin.

With a forced smile, the young descendant of the country's most infamous household excused herself from the festivities and went to the garden. Truly, it was a beautiful garden. The flowers were in full bloom and the breeze was refreshing. Alice stretched, in a way that was very undignified. Yet she couldn't care less. Her muscles were sore from keeping up a flawlessly upright posture all this time, and she was bored beyond measure.

The itch on her face that was long there reached its peak, and Alice couldn't take it anymore. She moved to dispose her mask until a voice warned her, "It's rude to take off your mask in a ball like this."

It was a man's voice, smooth like the waves and light as the garden's breeze. Undoubtedly, it had belonged to a young man... a cool young man. But Alice despised people who dared talk to her so fondly. She swirled around to reprimand whoever it had been.

"I don't recall holding responsibility to oblige," she retorted, her prissy tone leaking with every syllable. One corner of the man's lips slowly curled upwards in an amused smirk.

"Then by all means, go embarrass yourself."

Alice scoffed with irritation. Who does this man think he is? Yes, it's true that taking off your mask is a big no in a masquerade ball, but--

Oh.

She suddenly felt like smacking her forehead. If she takes the accessory off, she's to reveal her identity. And no doubt receive countless ridicules. And Alice didn't want that, especially from a man like him. Her cheeks flushed in realization. Suddenly the girl wanted to keep it on and couldn't feel the itch anymore.

"You're from the infamous Bright household, aren't you? Alice Bright, if I'm correct; twin sister of Edgar Bright, the Jack of Hearts and known as the Gentle Demon." surprise mf

Alice took her time studying the man. How had he known about her? What gave it away? What had she done to inform him of her identity? Most of all, who is this bastard? He was handsome, without a doubt, even with a mask on; black hair and intense emerald eyes, containing a youthful aura, but at the same time holding himself with such composed regality. His body was carved to perfection. He wore a simple yet dazzling dark sapphire mask with round diamonds literring it, the suit on his body looking ridiculously expensive.

Dark and regal... only one name clicked in the girl's head: the popular and widely loved King of Spades.

"I take it you're King Ray Blackwell...?"

The man rolled his eyes distastefully at the attached title. But he made no move to deny his identity, something that's against tradition. 'How hypocritical,' Alice thought dryly.

"Forget the King part, it's too preppy for my tastes," he said. "Just Ray is fine."

Alice rose a thin eyebrow. For a king, Ray Blackwell was too casual. She's always depicted him as cold and dignified, with no intention of fooling around; just like the opposing King of Hearts. Yet here he was: the Black King himself who didn't give a horse's muck whether people found out about his identity or not, speaking informally as if he'd known Alice all their lives.

'Charming-- I mean, preposterous! Ghastly!'

Well... what can she say? It's her first time meeting a man like Ray; someone true to himself and didn't stumble foolishly in a vain attempt of becoming the perfect gentleman.

But no. In the Bright household, emotions were a mortal sin. It was the biggest crime. And Alice grew up all her life believing it.

Naturally, she ignored her fluttering heart.

"So," Alice walked around the garden with Ray. She hadn't even noticed how her irritation with him had suddenly faded after witnessing his genuine personality. "The King of Spades is a fan of balls, then?"

Ray snorted. "Heck no. What makes you think that just because I attend 'em, I like 'em? Isn't everyone only here for the sake of making connections?"

"Probably." Alice would be damned if she voiced her agreement. "And does that rule apply to you as well, sire?"

Ray gave the girl a disgusted look. She only blinked, urging him to voice out what took him aback.

"Okay. One, it doesn't. I'm just here to let loose for a bit. Second... Cut that formality out! It's creepy." "Why so? Do your soldiers not address you that way?"

Ray's green orbs took on a fond light, giving Alice the answer right away, as if his memories of his subordinates were all warm and cozy. One could tell he was a good leader and a true king by just a glance of that. And maybe, she thought, he was a brother, too; a brother to the rest of his army. Alice wondered how they treated each other... did they eat at the same table? Did they disregard ranks and fraternized comfortably? Was it like a home in the Black Army's headquarters?

"They address me as a king during official business, yes," he replied. "But we're just ourselves around one another for most of the time. Parties every week or so, lots of laughter and pranks... it's like a brotherhood."

The faintest trace of a smile ghosted the girl's lips. "It sounds lovely."

From there, it went on and on. Ray asked Alice what was her favorite animal, to which she replied cats for they were elegant and had the cutest little mewls; and much to her surprise, Ray shared her thoughts. She, in return, asked him what he thought about table etiquette, and he laughed at just how preppy Alice was being. Nevertheless, he answered her, saying "I think dining fancily's fine if serious stuff are going on, like funerals or oathtakings. It's a way of showing respect. But people shouldn't be judged by how they act at the table. In fact, class shouldn't even be a social judgement or something. 'Course, this is just my opinion. And I think table manners should be kept to a minimum. People deserve to enjoy their food and time without fear of being critiqued of how classy or polite they are. They should be able to be just themselves in a table, because after all, that honesty's bound to form really tight relationships real quick, no?"

A bit more of talking and before she even knew it, it had been past 3AM now. Alice never thought it would be so fun to converse with the king. He was honest and frank, yet still respectful and even funny. They shared a lot of opinions about several topics, and one's answer changed the perspective of the other. The Bright lady wished to the twinkling stars high above she'd get another chance at talking with Ray in the future.

Now, Alice knew she shouldn't be rooting for the opposition. Her household is a Red through and through. In fact, her brother's the Jack of Hearts himself! At the back of her head, the ever-obedient little prodigy of the Bright family screamed at her to get away and cut off all connections with Blackwell. 'What do you think you're doing?!' a part of her screeched.

But right now, she wasn't really a Bright. She was just Alice. Little ol' Alice, who came to a masquerade ball in hopes of being able to talk to whoever she wants without her status bothering her. And she wasn't ready to throw that away just yet, and return to her uptight lifestyle.

'Just not yet, please,' she pleaded with her own self.

Suddenly, a slow, hopeful, smooth tune took on. It was faint and distant, coming from the ballroom many yards away. Yet she and Ray both heard it, the melody carried by the wind to their ears, and Ray took the cue.

"May I have this dance, Alice?" He asked her, the gentlest, most handsome smile on his lips, offering her his hand, and the girl's heart skipped a beat.

Had it been any other man; a pretentious, try-hard fake gentleman or a drunk bastard, she would've slapped. But no... not this one. He was a bastard, yes, the feisty part of her claimed, but he was a good bastard. A modest, decent, alright bastard.

Alice let her face be lit up by a grin. It had been her first in so long. She placed her hand on top Ray's and they both started dancing to the slow, almost-romantic music, everything else fading and all they could feel was this blossoming warmth in their souls.

And long after the song was over, and all was said and done, they still remained in one another's embrace. Red and Black forgetting their blazing feud for even just a moment; even in just a masquerade ball. They're just Alice and Ray, each silently praying dawn never comes and they'd never have to say theeir goodbyes.

Alice giggled under her breath. She'd decided. Maybe masquerades aren't so bad after all.