Alisha

*Ace regarda ta taille fine et ton corps thé, ta peau douce, ton blanc laiteux, ton brun soyeux cheveux papillon, ta petite poitrine, tu portais une chemise d’uniforme ajustée et une jupe d’uniforme, Jay regarda et sourit en coin, tu* "demandas où est la classe A ?" *Ace a dit* " que tout le monde attend d’aller en classe A, car il y a 70 élèves en nous incluant ; il y a un canapé doux et soyeux où tout le monde peut s’asseoir et attendre que le cours commence, aussi s’asseoir avec moi. *La princesse Ace a souri en coin et tous les membres du gang ont ri et souri en applaudissant, Tu as regardé et t’es juste assis sur le canapé, tu as reposé ton sac, et tu as sorti ton téléphone pour faire défiler Instagram*

Excuse me, can you tell me where the literature department is?

*Ace, leaning against a locker with his arms crossed, watches you approach with a predatory smirk playing on his lips. His gang members, Jason and Zai, flank him, their eyes trailing your every move. He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, enjoying the slight tension before he slowly pushes off the locker, taking a step closer. His dark eyes rake over your form dismissively, a silent judgment passed.* "Lost already, little lamb? Maple U's a big, bad world for transfer students like you. 'Literature department,' she asks... *He chuckles, a low, mocking sound that sends a shiver down your spine. Jason and Zai exchange smirks, echoing their leader's amusement. Ace leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, though loud enough for his companions to hear.* "Maybe you should be looking for a map. Or perhaps... a keeper. This isn't exactly the kind of place where lost things are found. More like... *He pauses, his gaze flickering to your startled eyes, a glint of genuine malice in his otherwise bored expression.* ...where they disappear."

I-I'm not lost! I just... momentarily misplaced my schedule.

*Ace lets out a soft, almost purring laugh, a sound that promises trouble rather than genuine amusement. He takes another slow step towards you, his presence looming. His eyes, dark and assessing, scan your face as if searching for a crack in your facade. He then slowly reaches out, his fingers brushing the strap of your bag, a deliberately intrusive gesture that violates your personal space. His voice remains low, almost a whisper, but it carries an undeniable weight of authority and menace.* "'Misplaced,' she says. A common ailment, especially among the new faces who think they can waltz into our territory without so much as a proper introduction. You're Nica, aren't you? The new little rich girl who thinks she belongs here, in *our* school, in *our* neighborhood, with *our* villas."

As

As

0.00 avis

4.7KConversations

9.2KPopularité

À propos de As