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whxtedreams · 1 month

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Chapter one - Fuckin' Tourists

Lovesick In Jackson

Summary: Your first day in Jackson, meeting a rather rude local and settling into your new home

Word Count: 4,5k

tags: Ellie being Ellie, Joel being a caring father figure, Joel being an ashole to everyone but Ellie, Ellie does mention not wanting to eat (let me know if i miss any)

an. thank you so much for all the love on the prologue! Im stoked you guys are just as excited for this fic as I am to write it! I hope you like it :)

if you saw me post this without the cut and photos - no you didn’t.

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The inn is warm and inviting as you step through the heavy front door, the heat from the lit fireplace warming your icy skin as you enter the building. While winter has almost come and gone, and the spring season teases its arrival, the fresh cold air that lingers outside still covers the land with its icy grip. You take in a deep breath as the warmth from inside envelopes you, savoring the warmth as you admire the rustic interior of the small inn.

Fire crackles from the fireplace, a light glow filling the room. The light dances on the display of unique mugs that hang with grace from the wooden beams that line the ceiling above you. Fairly lights are strung up and intertwined with vines around the beams, adding to the soft and warm glow of the room.

You wander into the middle of the room, your fingertips tracing the small crevices and grooves that line the wooden tables. The table feels smooth under your touch, the wood itself worn down and smooth as well. Setting down your backpack on the stool beside you, you roll your stiff shoulders and hear your bones cracking with relief as they loosen up again. The long train ride across state lines had been tough, with your body screaming to stretch and move after only an hour of being confined in the cramped cabin.

The clock above the fireplace ticks, catching your attention as you read the time. You frown to yourself as you look back around the empty bar. The clock had just ticked over nine-thirty, you would have expected at least one person in the bar at this time of night.

You turn at the sound of a door opening as a soft hummed tune flows through the room. A girl with black hair tied in a bun and a light dust of freckles littering her face walks through a door behind the bar. Her eyes are cast down to a glass shes cleaning with a rag and with a smile on her face as she slowly sways to the music playing in her headphones.

“Excuse me?” You try to gain her attention without startling her, but your effort is futile as she turns away from you and sets the glass down before grabbing another.

You lean against the bar with your arms crossed, your eyes roaming the room as you wait for her to turn back around. Suddenly, there's a startled gasp, as if caught in surprise. She yanks the headphones out of her ears, and her breath is labored with shock. She stares back at you, her eyes meeting yours for the first time.

“Oh fuck, I didn’t hear you come in.” She lets out a huff of a laugh, her mouth twitching into a smile as she realises her mistake.“I’m sorry about that,” she says, apologetically throwing her headphones on the bar in front of you and leaning against it with her hands. “We don’t normally get people in this late on a Tuesday” She shrugs, her face and body language seemingly relaxed despite the initial shock.

“That’s okay, I’m normally not out this late if I’m honest.”

“No? So what’s got you visiting the great Firefly Inn this late at night?” She smirks as she leans over the bar.

“Dina stop flirting with the poor girl.” Another girl teases as she walks out of the back room, rolling her eyes as she jumps to sit on the counter behind Dina.

Dina scoffs.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend anyway?” Ellie leans over and takes an apple from the fruit bowl, raising her eyebrows at her friend.

Dina turns around and snatches the apple from her hand before she’s able to take a bite and takes a bit for herself as Ellie frowns at her.

“No actually, we broke up again.” She shrugs as she takes another bite of the apple.

“Again?” Ellie groans, leaning back until her head hits the wall behind her.

You look between the two teenagers, feeling like you’re imposing on their private conversation. You wait patiently for one of them to acknowledge your presence, but they continue to bicker back and forth like children. They seem almost oblivious to any other presence besides their own, their voices growing louder and their playful arguments becoming more passionate with each turn of phrase.

“Is there any chance I could get a room for the night?” You attempt to break their conversation and their heads snap in your direction, successfully silencing them.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as the three of you stare at each other, no one seeming to know what to say or do. Your request finally registers in Dina’s head, and she smiles slightly in embarrassment, breaking the tension between the three of you.

“Oh fuck. Yeah of course.” She mumbles as she dashes into the room out the back and returns with a thick book you assume is for the bookings.

Dina scribbles down your details while Ellie crunches on the apple she successfully stole back from her friend, her smug smile suggesting that the victory tasted a lot sweeter than the apple itself.

Dina leads you up a set of stairs to the second level of the inn, the candles that line the narrow hallway casting a soft and flickering glow around the vicinity. She unlocks an adjacent room and hands you the key, the space itself offering a warm and cozy atmosphere that feels more like a private home than a room at an inn.

You mumble a thanks as you step into the room, about to close the door behind you. Dina's foot suddenly blocks your attempt, jamming the door from closing completely. She smiles sweetly at you as you glare at her through the crack in the door, the exhaustion from the journey and the teenager starting to wear on your patience.

“Breakfast is at eight, if you want any.” She offers and removes her foot from the door and disappears down the dimly lit hallway.

“Weird.” You sigh as you close the door, making sure to lock it.

The town square is buzzing with activity as you walk down the main street, the morning's chill and overcast skies making the townsfolk more eager to get to their destinations inside the warmth of the next building.

Children are out and about, laughing and racing on their bikes as they speed by you with little to no regard towards any other pedestrians in their way. They seem to be racing each other to get to school in time, their speed increasing with each turn in the road.

With the dull gray skies overhead, the fairy lights strung across the town square provide a much-needed burst of warmth and cozy charm to the town's atmosphere. The lights glow dimly and softly, reflecting off of the damp pavement and casting a gentle glow against the trees and other surfaces that the lights have been tied to. You find yourself smiling at the sight, drawn in by the comforting atmosphere of the town and the familiar charm of the lights. You could definitely see yourself making a life here, and the thought makes you feel a sense of calm and happiness.

You don’t remember living here as a child, but you would have remembered this.

Your eyes scan across the town square as if searching for something to give you a further boost of energy after the tiredness of the morning, and there it is. A coffee shop sign, the words and colors of the sign beckoning you in like a magnet. You let out a yawn that seemingly came from your bones, your eyelids feeling heavier and your body screaming for a caffeine boost to help pick you up.

The bell above the door rings as you enter the cafe, the soft jingle announcing your presence. It's a small and quaint cafe on the inside with a few tables scattered throughout the middle of the shop. Brown leather couches are pushed up against a rustic brick wall where an older woman is seated with a book in her hands. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the cafe.

Walking up to the display case, you notice it’s full of pastries and cakes and your mouth waters at the sight.

You hear the familiar ding of the bell as it rings again, grabbing your attention from the mouth watering food. Ellie, the girl from last night, walks in with an older man following in behind her. He looks just as tired as you feel, his dark brown eyes heavy with sleep as he holds the door open as she passes through, and she gives him a small smile in return before she bee-lines to the counter. There’s a smirk on her face as she leans over the counter, reaching for the bell and obnoxiously hitting the bell.

“I thought I hid that.” The tired sigh of the barista behind the counter is a testament to the constant and obnoxious dinging of the bell. His back is turned as he finishes making a drink, seemingly used to the incessant noise that constantly plagues his ears.

“Not well enough Jesse boy.” She draws out his name, as if to mock him and his inability to hide the bell. There are a few annoyed glances from other customers who are growing resentful of her loud and disruptive behavior, but she remains unfazed as she continues to hit the obnoxious bell as if it were a toy.

The older man that walked in with her shakes his head in disappointment as he reaches over and takes the bell from her. A small frown settles on her face as she watches him take it from her, her mood being spoiled as she realizes she cannot continue her disruption. She lets out a small and annoyed huff as he places the bell on top of the display case, where his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. His face settles in a soft frown as he looks at you, muttering fuckin’ tourist under his breath before returning his attention to the girl by his side.

Your face shows your shock at the rudeness of the older man, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You shake your head in disbelief, still unable to process that someone could behave so rudely to a stranger. “Grumpy old man” You mutter under your own breath.

You look back down at the pastries, feeling a bit put off after the interaction but still considering what to buy.

“Come on kiddo, enough of that.” He mutters as he digs his wallet from his back pocket.

Hmm, maybe a croissant, or a muffin?

The barista turns around with a grin, pushing two mugs onto the counter. “A hot chocolate for the troublemaker,” he says, gesturing to Ellie as he pushes the mug towards her. “And a black coffee for the poor tired soul that has to put up with her,” he jokes, pushing the second mug towards the older man standing beside her.

Maybe a cinnamon roll?

“You got that right.” The man softly chuckles as he takes out his card.

“Whatcha say Joel, you want your usual breakfast or are you finally going to try something else? We make mean waffles here.”

“Just the bacon and eggs.”

The muesli slice looks good.

“Alright, alright. I’ll change your mind one of these days.” The barista, Jesse, sighs with a grin as he taps the order into the tablet. “What about you Ellie?” He asks without looking up from the screen.

“Nah, not hungry.”

“Oh come on kid, you gotta eat something.”

“I’m not hungry Joel.” She shrugs as she crosses her arms over her chest.

A woman with dark brown hair boxed braided and tied neatly into a bun walks in, her eyes quickly scanning the crowded café until they land on you. Her eyes instantly lock onto yours, her warm smile signaling that you're the person she's looking for. She politely asks, "Am I right to assume you're Rose's granddaughter?"

"Oh, yeah that's me." You respond awkwardly, a bit taken aback by the familiarity of the woman's question. You have no idea who this woman is or why she's so familiar with you, and she seems to know more about you than you do about her.

“I thought so. I’m Maria, the Mayor of Jackson. I knew Rose very well,” She smiles warmly, her hand resting on your shoulder as she mentions your grandmother. “I’m sorry about what happened, she was a lovely lady.”

You nod along to her words, a vague sense of familiarity dawning on you as you try to recall where you heard that name before. As she continues to offer her condolences, you remember her name from the letter your grandmother sent you. You thank her for her condolences and look back at the display case.

“I recommend the white chocolate and raspberry muffin.” She points to the muffin and you nod at her offer. “I get it every morning.”

Jesse takes one of the white chocolate muffins from the display and places it into a paper bag, placing it on the counter alongside a takeaway coffee. “All ready for you Maria.” He calls out and she politely dismisses herself from your conversation.

You watch from the side as she pays and thanks the young boy for her order.

The woman turns back to you with a smile and a friendly gesture. "Now, I do have a few things in my office for you," she begins, her voice sounding genuinely friendly and welcoming. "If you want to come by today, I can give them to you and show you the farm?" she offers.

You quickly take her offer, explaining that you were already on your way to her office before stopping by the cafe.

You step towards the counter as the woman leaves, Jesse humming to himself as he wipes over the counter. He looks up at you as he notices your presence, a smile appearing on his face as he offers a warm greeting. "What can I get for you?" he asks, tossing the cloth aside.

You place your order, deciding on taking up Maria’s recommendation and a dirty chai.

Your eyes are instantly drawn to a small table by the window, the sunlight gleaming through the room and illuminating the table as though spotlighting it for you. The bookcase behind the table shows a small collection of books and board games, all seemingly put in a neat and orderly fashion. The entire room feels clean and organized, as if everything has been placed in just the right location and given the proper focus.

You take a seat at the small table by the window and ease into a comfortable position. As you relax, you start to scroll through your emails, going over the updates about the delivery of your belongings. According to the tracking and updates, your belongings should be arriving by tomorrow, and you hope that everything goes smoothly without any unexpected delays.

Movement outside catches your eyes, and you glance out through the window. You notice Ellie and Joel sitting on one of the benches outside, Jesse setting down Joel's breakfast as Ellie continues to talk to him. The two of them laugh at something Ellie is saying as Joel rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a playful and mock frustrated way.

There’s a waffle on Joel’s plate and he shakes his head, shooing Jesse away.

Your eyes find themselves involuntarily drawn to the back of Joel, the short brown hair that curls slightly at the ends and the few soft grays that are starting to sprinkle his head. The thick brown jacket he wears looks cozy and well-worn, a clear indication of years of use and comfort.

He hands Ellie his buttered toast and she shakes her head. He must say something because she sighs dramatically and takes the bread from him.

“Happy?” You can read her lips as she talks.

Joel nods.

You look away, not wanting to be caught staring.

You’re dreaming. You have to be dreaming. A dream is the only reasonable explanation for the check in your hand.

Half a million dollars.

“There has to be some sort of mistake?”

“I can assure you, there’s no mistake here.” Maria assures you, setting her hands on her desk as she gestures to the check.

You're sitting across from Maria in her large office at the town hall. The light wood furniture in the space is sleek and simple in style, the minimalist design giving the office a clean and welcoming atmosphere. The room is filled with natural light thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her, the sunlight breaking through the gray clouds reflecting off of the wood furniture and making the room feel bright and airy.

A few photo frames sit proudly on her desk. There’s one on her wedding day, kissing her husband with a smile on his face. Then there’s one next to it, the two of them holding a new born baby in a hospital bed, smiling down like proud parents.

Your eyes are frozen on the check though, the number staring back at you as you struggle to comprehend it. You're at a loss for words as your brain tries to wrap itself around the amount listed on the check, Maria's light chuckle drawing your attention.

She digs around in her draw momentarily before setting another note on the table.

“This is a lot to take in, I’m sure. This is a list of everything she did for the town. It’s rather long but if you want to pick up anything she did, you can. No one is expecting you to replace Rose, honestly I don’t think anyone could,” she slides over the list and your eyes widen more at the long list of jobs she did around town.

Farming of fruit Farming of vegetables Farming of flowers Raise cows, provide dairy products Raise Chickens, provide eggs Raise sheep, provide wool Beekeeper, provide honey Fishing, provide fresh fish Deep diving, cleaning ocean Volunteering at town events

You slowly look up at Maria with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t do all this, this is crazy.” You scoff as you look back down at the list.

She laughs at that, sighing and agreeing with you. “She was a very busy woman. But if you want to continue her farm or sell it, let me know. I’ll help you in any way I can. Rose was an outstanding member of our community. If you do decide to continue the farm, even just doing one of these, it’ll be a massive help.”

You let out a sigh, sinking into the chair as you read over the list again. Your grandmother sounds impressive and you wish you had known her, or at least remembered her.

Farming doesn’t sound too bad?

“Alright then, show me the farm. Let’s see what I’m dealing with.”

You stand before the front door to your grandmother's house, a place long forgotten and now abandoned. Cobwebs and critters are scattered all across the exterior of the house, the once meticulously maintained walls now covered in unkept vines that are slowly crawling their way up the structure. The exterior has an eerie and uninviting aura to it, as if the place has been left to become an echo of time lost to memories.

At the center of the front door hangs a small piece of paper, its edges frayed and fluttering in the breeze as the rusty nail it's held to struggles to keep it in place.

Heard someone was moving back in to Rose's place, if you need a hand rebuilding, let me know. Joel Miller ps. I used to work in construction, I know what I'm doing.

You rip the note off the front door and sigh as you look back over the farm, its beauty all but fallen apart since your grandmother's absence. The farm, once a beautiful and lively space, seems almost lifeless now. The plants are all unkempt and overgrown, most of them withered and dry while others are covered in a thick layer of weeds. It's a sad sight, one that reminds you of how much time has passed since she was last here.

How long it's been since you've been here.

“Who’s Joel Miller?” You ask as Maria follows you up the stairs to the front porch.

“That would be my brother in law, owns a sheep ranch down the road. Why?”

You hand her the note and huffs in surprise at the note. “That’s oddly nice of him. Guess he always had a soft spot for Rose. But don’t expect that from him, he can be a bit…” She trails off her sentence, her face scrunching up in thought.

“Rude?”

“Oh so you’ve met him then?” She laughs.

“I think so, took one look at me and muttered ‘fuckin’ tourist’” You try your best to impersonate his southern accent and Maria lights up at your attempt.

“Yep, that sounds just like Joel. But don’t take that personally, you’re not a fuckin’ tourist, you’re officially a Jackson resident.” She hands the keys to you and gestures towards the front door. “This is your home now.”

The sound of the door unlocking sends a nervous feeling through your stomach, your nerves already on edge from the anticipation of moving into your new home. The door creaks as it opens, a stale and musty smell filling your nose and signaling that the house had been shut up and sealed away for far too long.

The house is beautiful.

Your eyes take in the large entry as you step into the house, your eyes drawn to the two hanging black chandeliers with fake candles. A large black wooden sliding door can be seen to your left, and a set of glass doors in front of you leads out to the back porch.

You ease the black doors open, entering the open-floor plan space with a slow and careful step. The modern and rustic wooden kitchen fills your vision, a large dining room sitting to the left as you step over and slide your palms across the white counter tops. The space has been empty for a while, a thick layer of dust on the counters.

“She took a lot of pride in her home.” Maria speaks up as she follows you into the room.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Would you like a tour?”

“I’d love one.”

You follow along as Maria opens a set of dark wooden doors to the right of the kitchen, the door leading into a small laundry room that connects to the back porch. The laundry room is small but spacious, and the view out to the back porch over a pond is quite peaceful.

To the right of the kitchen, a wooden dining table is situated next to the glass windows that lead into the small greenhouse, the space filled with dead and rotting plants.

To the left of the dining table, a small living room that includes a fireplace and wide wooden stairs that lead to the second floor is also visible. Both the fireplace and the stairs have seen better days, their condition clearly being a testament to the neglect the house has seen.

She leads you upstairs, and as you enter the room at the top of the stairs, your jaw falls wide open at the sight. The room is vast and spacious, with its floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall offering a magnificent view of the pond and farm. Built-in bookshelves line the other two of the walls, with couches built in under the windows, giving the space a cozy and welcoming vibe. The books on the shelves display a wide variety of topics, from classic works of fiction to non-fiction books on various scientific subjects.

“Joel helped her do this.” Maria points towards the bookshelves and couches and you nod in awe.

“Maybe I will take him up on the offer to help.” You chuckle as she leads you into a room across from the top of the stairs. The bathroom is fairly run down and rusted, but you can see what it used to be like in all its glory. A cracked tub sits in the middle of the room with an open shower to your left.

Maria leads you to the bedroom, the final room of the upstairs, which is located to the left of the stairs. The room is decently sized, with a big window that faces out towards the farm. The window lets in plenty of lighting and fresh air. To the left of the room, there is a narrow corridor that leads to a small balcony.

“Is the power and water turned on?” You inquire, following her back downstairs to the ground level of the house.

She gives you a quick nod, confirming that she had already planned to have everything ready for your arrival. Everything had been taken care of before your arrival, ensuring that the utilities would be fully functional for you to use as soon as you move into the house.

“Well, it’s been wonderful to meet you. Rose used to talk about you a lot, so it’s been nice to meet you. If you need anything,” She digs through her bag before handing you her card. “Call me, I’ll do whatever I can to help.” She offers before leaving you alone in your new home.

You find Joel’s offer again that night, folded on a table in the entry way while you’re snooping around and attempting to sort through your grandmothers house — or you guess your own house now.

You sigh at the number scribbled at the bottom of the note. Did you really want the help of someone who was so rude to you?

As you look down at the note in your hand once more, you can't help but exhale.

“Fuck it,” you mutter as you enter his number into your phone before sending him a text.

Hey Joel, I just moved into Rose’s farm and found the note you left. Would love to take up your offer! - Fucking tourist

You smile to yourself as you send the text and hope to god that he remembers you from the cafe this morning.

Your phone vibrates as you get out of the shower that night.

Glad your not a tourist. We can grab coffee and discuss what needs doing. Tomorrow work for you? - Grumpy old man

You huff a laugh at his response, glad he has a sense of humor. You shake off the smile on your face, remembering how much of an asshole he was this morning. You text back agreeing to his offer and he sets a time for eight in the morning.

You drift off to sleep with a smile on your face, and you tell yourself that it’s not because of Joel but rather due to your own excitement and happiness about the move. He may be a rude asshole but he offered to help and from the looks of the house and farm, you’re going to need it.

And if Joel Miller wants to help, you’ll make him work.

Chapter 2 - comming soon

Notes

I am having way too much fun with this fic! So, our first look at Dina, Ellie, Jesse, Joel and Maria! I hope you like how i've incorporated them into the story! I’m having Dina and her sister run the inn (which is also a restaurant) Jesse work at the cafe (so far, there’s more he does too) and I cant wait until you find out what Ellie does, yall are going to LOVE her in this story. And then there’s Joel. Please excuse him, he’s just a grumpy old man that needs his coffee and hates tourists. But I really loved his interactions with Ellie.

Tags @jupiter-soups @anavatazes @ruthyalva96 @pastawench @littleblackcatinwonderland @joeldjarin @chiyo13 @readingiskeepingmegoing @northennlights @peachiestevie @brittmb115 @jiminstinypinky @xxrookexx

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

#joel miller #the last of us #joel tlou #joel fanfic #joel x reader #tlou #tlou joel #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel x fem!reader

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misted-dream · 3 months

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🦢 A WALTZ IN THE DARK ₊˚⊹ ˚ ༘ ⋆

ACT I THE ROLE. | to the programme

chapter info . . . content enemies to lovers (not really enemies or lovers yet), mentions of minor injury sustained from dancing, plot-heavy chapter basically exposition, maybe fluff? warnings smoking, profanity w. count 6.7k

series synopsis . . . the first and last time you and doyoung danced together was 5 years ago. 5 years since the mishap that founded your mistrust of him, at least as a duet partner. with the annual swan lake showing rolling around, you think you finally stand a chance to audition for the leads: odette and odile. it's every ballerina's dream to play this role at least once in their career. little do you know, rumour has it that kim doyoung just so happens to be auditioning for the role of prince siegfried this year.

tags @00127am

Truthfully, it’s claustrophobic out in the hallways. Despite it being well-ventilated and well-lit, there’s a stuffy feeling of being cramped into a space that crawls up onto your skin, pricking up goosebumps along with it. You prop one leg up on the barre that lines every inch of every wall within this building, bending your torso at your hip and pushing towards your knee in a straight line. The other dancers around you do the same. The energy in this corridor is unspoken, but there’s a shared feeling of anxiousness. It’s been at least 20 minutes since the last dancer was called into the audition room; no audition needs to take 20 minutes. Unless, they’re so spectacular to the point where the directors have forgotten they were still auditioning people for the roles.

Not just any role though. The role. The role of Odette, and by the same token, the role of Odile. The lead female role for the Swan Lake Ballet. It’s been regarded as one of the most difficult roles to play because of how stark the contrast is between these two characters that are supposed to look the same, so naturally, logic suggests that the same ballerina must dance these two, so very different characters.

You set your back upright again, feeling an adequate enough stretch in your hamstrings. The dancers amongst you are all individually in their own worlds. Last year, you didn’t even sign up to audition for the lead. Though, not many people did. It was pretty much guaranteed that the prima ballerina would get it. This year, however, she opted out of auditioning and suddenly, there was an influx in interest for the part. Your whole life, you’ve been training for such an occasion—you can’t let it slip past you now.

“Y/N!”

A voice calls out. You turn your head in the direction of the voice. A pretty ballerina slips by the woman with a clipboard in her hand. The dancer’s light brown hair is pulled back perfectly, a full bun sitting in the back of her head. She waves a quick goodbye to the people inside the room before she steps out into the hallway.

“Yes, that’s me.” You say before bending down to pick up your dance bag, swinging it onto your right shoulder.

The woman doesn’t say anything else, she simply rotates her body sideways to allow some space for you to step in through to the room.

As soon as you’re inside the audition room, you see a seated panel of four people, two of whom you recognise: the company’s director and the choreographer. Both the pride and joy of the Paris House of Ballet. There’s an air of iciness that surrounds them. You set down your bag by the edge of the wall and saunter towards the spot marked with masking tape in the middle of the room.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the director, Colette, beams at you.

You purse your lips together, kneeling down in front of the tablet set out for auditionees to put on the music they’ve chosen for their piece. A soft piano melody begins. The panel immediately recognises it as the Dying Swan. The melancholy tune floods the square audition room, and you let the music overtake and guide your every movement.

The piece is beginning to come to an end. You’re sat on top of your heel with one leg pointed straight out in front of you. The swan’s final moments, she’s still fighting for her mortality. With one last flare of her wings—your arms—you envelope yourself. Arms crossed at the wrist resting on top of your ankle, and you bow your head, your forehead touching your shin. You wait a few seconds before uncrossing your wrists and getting up onto your feet, as gracefully as you can. Looking up at the panel, you’re met with satisfied smiles. Internally, you release a deep sigh.

Colette looks to her sides, and then she begins, “Your grace is incomparable. Truly, very well done.”

One of the people whom you don’t recognise chimes in, “One of the best we’ve seen so far.” He nods, looking pleased with you and himself.

Colette’s smile is sturdy on her face. “Now, how are your fouettés?”

As soon as you step one foot out of the audition room, someone is already there waiting to pounce. “How was it?” Karina asks ecstatically.

Your shoulders jump up a bit at her excitement, “-You scared me.”

She widens her eyes expectantly, waiting for you to answer her question.

“It was alright. I did well enough on Odette’s part.”

Karina rolls her eyes, “Is that what you think? Well enough?”

You’re eyeing down the water fountain at the end of the corridor, someone stood right in front of it as they’re filling up their bottle. A tall man waltzes past, his head turning towards you for a brief moment. As quick as he came into view, he leaves all the same. You’re stuck looking at where the outline of his body was, eyes boring holes into the beige-painted walls of the corridors.

“Hello?” Karina’s voice brings you back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

Monday mornings are never usually too bad. This Monday morning may prove your hypothesis wrong, though. The casting of the characters for Swan Lake were said to be posted up today, up on the bulletin board. They could just send out a mass message but your company insists on doing things the conventional way, only like back a decade ago. It’s tradition, they’d said, dancers all huddle up to hopefully find their names next to the character they auditioned for.

You’re hoping the same as you begin your commute to work this morning.

You swipe your ID card against the reader and the glass doors click open. Already, you can see a group of people, some wearing their practice outfits whilst others look they they just walked in with their puffer jackets on, all crowded around a rectangular pillar that stands in the middle of the staircase—separating the stairs that go up and the ones that go down.

Curiosity spikes within you, an unease settling in the pit of your stomach. This is it. You walk over to the crowd that’s garnering more people by the second.

“Y/N! Here!” You hear Karina’s voice from somewhere in the horde, and then a hand tugs at you. She pulls you through the mob of dancers, all eager to find their names plastered on the wall, until you’re stood next to her. You’re about two people away from the bulletin board, and once they move out of your way, it’s blatantly in your face. The plain piece of paper is titled: ‘Swan Lake Showing Castings.’

Your eyes skim past the castings for the male dancers and straight to the bottom half for the female dancers. You land on where it says ‘Odette/Odile’ and the name next to it: Juliette Martin. Not yours.

“Look!” Karina points at the paper, index finger underlining the role for Odette/Odile’s understudy. And there it is. Your name printed out next to the role of the understudy. Karina is visibly shaking with excitement, definitely more so than you. If anyone didn’t know better, they’d probably think that your name was Karina’s.

“Oh my god!” She flings her arms around you, and in her embrace, you shuffle out of the mob of people together. “You got it!”

“The understudy,” you remind her lowly. You attempt to soften your tone with a light, “Well,” and a shrug.

She’s not phased by your disappointment. “Still. You should be proud of yourself,” she leans her head forward, “I am. Proud of you, I mean.”

Her words force a smile onto your face and you manage out a quiet, ‘thank you.’

You’re in the middle of the barre routine, foot pointed out to second, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Thinking that it’s your mentor’s way of telling you to fix something—it could be anything really, straighten your back, tuck in your pelvis, turn out, point your toes more—you settle for standing up taller and rolling your shoulders back. She taps you again, in the same spot. This time, you turn to look at your mentor; maybe she’ll feel like actually specifying her request, unlike usually. Her coarse, grey hair frames her face in artistically messy strands, the rest of it pulled back into a quick bun, unlike the neat, meticulously combed ones that ballerinas normally gravitate towards wearing. Once your mentor has your attention, she signals towards the door to the studio. You drop your arms from the barre, eyebrows raising at your mentor with all your four fingers pointing to your chest. She nods. This whole interaction is carried out in silence, as to not disturb the rest of the dancers going through the routine. You half-walk, half-jog on your tiptoes towards the studio doors, and the director is waiting by the frame.

She steps out and you follow her into the hallway. Finding a nearby bench, she sits down and prompts you to do the same.

The cold from the metal bars of the bench is insulated by your joggers, one leg pulled up to above your knee exposing the tights underneath, while the other sits where it’s supposed to.

You breathe in, “What can I do for you?” You try to put on a convincing smile.

“Did you see the castings this morning?” The director begins.

You simply nod, not knowing where this conversation will go.

“Well, Juliette dropped out of the show this morning.”

“Oh,” you voice. And then the revelation hits you. You repeat, “Oh,” this time with full understanding of the director’s implications.

“So…” Colette’s lips are slow to curve into a smile, “You’re our lead.”

Your stomach flutters upon hearing those words, your mouth hung slightly agape. An excitement inches up to your face, the muscles in your cheeks spark up. “I mean, yeah. I’d love that. But why?” Colette notices the tiniest sliver of hesitation in your tone.

“Personal stuff—she didn’t know if she can stay in Paris for the next 3 months to train.”

You nod in understanding. “That’s a shame.”

“Some things can’t be helped,” Colette responds. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great!” The director’s face lights up as she puts her own hand over yours. “Training should start as soon as possible, so…” she looks down onto the floor to think, “The day after tomorrow?”

The way this conversation happened, it’s like you’re continuously a beat behind Colette. “I can look over the routines by myself tomorrow, no problem. Wouldn’t that be better? So we don’t have to wait an extra day?”

“Oh, no.” She gives a starry-eyed shake of the head. “Your training starts with partnering. You know, to test the chemistry.”

You mouth a subtle, ‘Oh.’

“Did you see who got the role of Siegfried?”

You let out a soft chuckle, “No. I kind of zoned out when I saw that I was the understudy.” A sudden wave of self-awareness engulfs you after that sentence uttered with unfiltered honesty. If Colette picked up on that, she made no show of it.

“I don’t know if you know him, actually. Kim Doyoung got the part.”

Kim Doyoung.

You knew him. No doubt, you knew him.

You lay in bed, eyes staring at the ceiling. The covers are pulled all the way up to your chest despite it being warm enough that you don’t need to sleep with the covers on. As you shut your eyes, an all-too-familiar memory plays out in your head.

It’s 5 years ago. You’re a fresh face to the company having just graduated from the Paris Conservatory for dance. It’s a spring day, the trees outside the studio building are beginning to blossom again.

It’s partner practice and the mentor decided that today is the day that everyone will try some lifts. Not that extraordinary, you’d been lifted countless times even during your days learning at the conservatory. Kim Doyoung just so happened to be stood next to you when the mentor announced this. You didn’t know anyone in the class back then, seeing as you’d just joined, and he made no conscious effort to go seeking out a particular partner, so naturally, the two of you partnered up.

You didn’t know who he was at the time, just the fact that he was undeniably handsome. A combination of both sharp and soft features to him; if he was anything as a partner, it was that he’s easy on the eye.

The mentor demonstrated a lift which consisted of the male dancer lifting his partner all the way up in the air over his head, while she arched her back with both feet pointed downwards; arms stretched out nearly in a 90 degree angle from each other.

Someone had counted to 3 and that’s when you jumped, assisting him the most you could as he lifted you well over 6 feet above the ground. The lift went fine. The mentor then suggested a variation in which the male dancer supports the weight with only one hand. And you don’t know what happened, but presumably Doyoung tried to hold the lift with a single hand, and that’s when it started going downhill.

There was a little instability in your core and you told him to put you down. He listened, or at least tried to, but the balance was thrown off. He was still holding the weight with one hand when he tried to wrap his free hand around your waist again. Before you know it, the fabric of your leotard did you no good and you started slipping from his grip. Being forced to basically propel yourself down, it came too unexpectedly, and you landed on the floor without properly bracing your knees. Rookie mistake, you’d thought even in the moment.

That day, you didn’t think much of it. But then your dominant leg started hurting throughout the day, especially your knee. When you went to the infirmary, the nurse advised you to take a few days off from dancing; the pressure of being en pointe wouldn’t help the shock from the impact of your landing. Few days then turned into 2 weeks, courtesy of a second opinion from the physician that you thought would help argue your case—which was to continue dancing.

Doyoung obviously saw the injury take place, and you can’t be sure if he took notice of your absence in class for the following two weeks. But that was the first and last time you ever partnered with him. And you made yourself a promise to never dance with him, again.

Up until now, it’s been pretty easy living up to that promise. Key words: until now.

Even getting up out of bed this morning was something you thought over more than once. Were you really ready to go ‘test the chemistry’ with the man that you more or less held a grudge against for the past 5 years? You know that you should let it go, it’s been 5 years—and besides, it’s not like the accident rendered you completely unable to dance again. And it wasn’t on purpose. You had to remind yourself of these facts every time you start feeling a sting from your knee shooting through your entire leg.

You walk into the studio, curtains to the windows drawn all the way back, the view of the city reflected on one of the walls entirely lined with mirrors. Colette is already there, alongside Rafael, the choreographer, and Doyoung is there, too.

“Just on time!” Colette greets you brightly.

You catch Doyoung’s eyes for a split second as you walk further into the room. His face carried an expression, one full of indifference. Does he recognise you?

You pull the strap of your bag off your shoulder, and drop it down in the corner of the room right in front of the mirror.

“Shall we get started?” Colette’s voice piques your collective attention. “The first duet we’re running over is the Act 2 pas de deux. I assume we’re all familiar with it?”

Her question is met with a couple of silent nods.

In Act 2, the Prince, Doyoung’s character, meets Odette, your character, for the first time. Prince Siegfried absolutely revels in Odette’s beauty, grace, and reserve.

Rafael pushes off the windowsill and makes his way over to you and Doyoung, standing in the centre of the room with an unnatural distance between you. You don’t know if he recognises you or not, and you’re not sure which option’s worse. A, that he recognises you but fails to even acknowledge his mistake that you’ve been stuck thinking about for the past couple of days, or B, that he doesn’t even recognise you because whatever happened was that insignificant to him.

Rafael begins to mark out the routine, highlighting the part in the duet— the pas de deux—where Siegfried caresses Odette’s face with his fingers, turning her head towards him. Following this intimate moment between the characters, there’s supposed to be two consecutive lifts performed by Siegfried that makes it appear like Odette is floating in the air. You’re standing very, very still as Rafael mimics these movements with little effort.

When he’s done, he asks a simple, “Got it?” before turning to face the speakers. Doyoung utters a quiet, “Yeah,” but you can only manage a nod that Rafael catches in the reflection.

And so, the music begins.

You take your place slightly off centre with Doyoung a little bit behind you. He takes slow, conscious steps towards you. His hand reaches out, fingers with the goal of landing softly on your chin. And they do. The pads of his fingers are cold to the touch, sending a shiver down you as you turn your face to look at him. Before you get the chance to properly look at him, your cue to take centre stage comes. In a fluttering-like motion, you quickly alternate between each foot putting pressure on your toes, bringing your arms to fifth up above your head. There’s a build-up in the music, and you feel Doyoung’s fingers tightly wrapped around your ribcage. The anticipation builds in Colette. But then, you call out, “Wait!”

Confusion colours Colette’s face, “What’s wrong?”

Rafael pauses the music, leaving the room in silence. Doyoung’s fingers loosen around you.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit with a clean-cut honesty. You put mind to not catch a glimpse of Doyoung’s reflection in the mirror before you.

Colette chuckles, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t be Odette.”

A stillness falls over everyone in the room, but particularly Colette. You meet her eyes, and there’s an uncharacteristic air of apathy to her. “You’re kidding. I mean, you didn’t even—”

Rafael physically takes a step in between you and Colette, Doyoung still silent in the situation. Rafael holds up a palm in Colette’s direction, then turns to face you. “Let’s start again in 10 minutes—is that okay with everyone?”

You glance over at the mirror and see Doyoung’s reaction. He widens his eyes in annoyance, and leaves the centre of the room, heading straight for his stuff on the side.

A thinly rolled cigarette sandwiched between your lips, you flick on the lighter and bring up the flame to the end of the stick. You take a slow drag before resting your forearms on the railing that outlines the balcony, cigarette tucked in between your fingers. On one hand, you’re glad that Rafael stepped in before Colette could explode, but on the other, he’s now set a precedent that you’ll be happy to cooperate again in 10 minutes' time. You don’t know if that stands true. And it’s looking more like 5 minutes now that you found your way out here to have a quick smoke.

You hear the door behind you swing open as you take another drag. The sound of chatter mixed in with cutlery clanging together in the canteen rushes out into your ears. You look back over your shoulder, and it’s Rafael.

“Mind sharing?” He walks over to the edge of the balcony next to you, eyes looking pointedly at the cigarette in your hand.

Funnelling out a puff of smoke with closed lips, you flick off the ash and pass the stick to him.

“Colette send you out here to get me?” You watch as he inhales.

He shakes his head, eyes looking down as he sucks in before breathing out. There’s a few seconds of silence in between him shaking his head and actually beginning to speak. “If this is going to work, you’re gonna have to trust him.”

“Raf, you know what happened. The last time I trusted him, I couldn’t work for 2 weeks afterwards.” He gives you your cigarette back and you take it in between your thumb and your index finger.

He sighs. “I do know what happened, and I know it was an accident.”

“If it wasn’t an accident, it really wouldn’t help your case here,” you take another long, deliberate pull.

Rafael pauses, slowly observing you as you exhale smoke from your lips. “Don’t you have some faith in him as a dancer? That he’s improved throughout all these years?”

He’s met with no response from you.

“You know, that was the last time he ever made a mistake like that in partnering. How’d you think he kept his job these 5 years?”

“Last mistake as far as you know.” Your words come out more sharply than anticipated.

“If you’re still uncomfortable, that’s fine. It’ll just be a shame to replace you—Colette loved your audition.”

Replace? Not even 10 minutes and there’s already throwing around of the word ‘replace?’ You suppose you did explicitly state, “I can’t be Odette,” back there. Guess it’s no one’s fault but your own.

“He’s dedicated. Driven. You can trust him.”

You can trust him. Those 4 particular words echo around in your head.

You follow Rafael all the way back to the studio. Colette watching as Doyoung is in midst of a solo routine. He comes to a halt when he sees the pair of you step into the room. Colette and Rafael exchange a look, not too particularly sneaky about it, either.

“Happy to see you join us again,” Colette stands from her chair, palms pushing against her knees, “Ready to do your job?”

You suck in a deep breath through gritted teeth, “Yeah.”

“Same part again, with the lift.” Colette delivers those last three words with extra care.

And so, the music plays, the same melody reverberating off the walls of the room. It’s like you’re living in déjà vu. The same scene plays out with Doyoung reaching out to trace his fingers along your jaw. There’s still a stiffness in you, prominent enough that you’re aware of it, when he touches you.

The music crescendos. His fingers laid flat against your rib again, preparing to lift you up in the air. There are multiple challenges to this. One obviously being your mistrust in your partner, which is crucial in duets. The other being the condition that you’re supposed to look dream-like, ethereally graceful while simultaneously being hauled up into the air, with nothing supporting you but the arms of a man whom you’d rather not even look at, let alone get lifted by.

You can trust him.

Alongside the music cue, you bend your knees into a plié and when you straighten your legs again, the familiar thrill of being thrusted high up into the air takes over you. Following the choreography, Doyoung sets you back down, and before you know it, you’re propped up again. Your arms flutter lightly, resembling the wings of a swan as the back of your wrists meet each other over your head, arms mimicking an ellipse.

Doyoung carefully helps you regain grounding by setting you back down slowly, his hands still tight around your waist. When he finally lets go, he mutters into your ear, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You turn around, met with the same expressionless face as when you first saw him earlier.

“That was…” Colette interrupts, “…standard. Chemistry needs a little working on, but nothing time can’t fix.” For some reason, you feel like that was meant for you with the way Colette’s looking pointedly at you.

With the newly added responsibility of your lead role, your schedule is now a little fuller, and brighter. Mondays and Tuesdays are solo training days, whereas Wednesdays and Thursdays are partner practice, specifically with Doyoung. Your company has always had a policy where despite whatever specified training there is for whatever show that’s currently getting worked on, Fridays were always company class days. Meaning that every dancer—the corps de ballet, every artist, soloist, even the principal dancers—come and train together. It’s like that saying that corporate businesses have, “We’re not a team, we’re a family.” Except you can feel a bit more of the ‘family’ aspect here than you probably can at some corporate job.

The weekends are the weekends. You’re not on the clock, but there’s still an unspoken understanding that you will be dancing, practicing, training, especially now with a role like this.

It’s Friday afternoon. You’re tucked in the corner somewhere, next to Karina, both observing the quick demo that the instructor is going through in the centre of the massive stage, just big enough to occupy all the dancers of the Paris House of Ballet.

The instructor tells the pianist to begin playing the piece, and the first row of dancers take position at the back of the stage.

“So, how was training yesterday?” Karina tries to contain her feverish squeal as she asks.

You bite back a smile at her exhilaration. “It was good.”

“When are you going to start giving me details without having me to ask for them?”

“It was nothing special. I don’t know what you want me to say.” You respond, watching the dancers as they travel across the stage in a multitude of jumps and leaps.

“Nothing special?” Karina elbows you in the side. You follow her eyes to see who’s across the room.

Doyoung stands in line for the next group of dancers to take the stage. A loose black tank top hangs onto his exposed shoulders, grey joggers sitting low on his hips. The stage lights do nothing but highlight his arms; how every muscle in them pull and stretch in different directions as he moves them.

You pull away from ogling at him. “Nothing special,” you repeat. “I don’t even think he recognised me.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. A man nearly ruins your life and doesn’t even remember you. What else do we expect?”

You and Karina share a chuckle, and the pair of you walk into the stage lights, preparing for the first position of the sequence.

It’s been a week since your first practice session with Doyoung. A week makes it sound like you’d gotten some time to warm up to him, when in reality, you’ve seen him three individual times for practice, and not any of those times did he even try to make casual conversation. Or less even, small talk.

You’re expecting today to be no different. Spend 8 hours with each other; 8 hours with his hands all over you; 8 hours pretending like you’re desperately in love—only for the pair of you to not even catch glimpses of each other outside the practice room.

You’d just finished running through another one of the many duets you have with him, this time as Odile, when you read the less-than-satisfied expression Colette has on her face. Uh oh.

She exhales sharply.

“It’s been a week.” Colette uncrosses her legs and pushes her glasses up into her hair. She stands up, one hand on the barre that disrupts the otherwise continuous panel of mirror on the wall. “One week. And you two still look like you’d rather piss at windmills than take your jobs seriously. Now, don’t get me wrong. Y/N, you’re very good at the rejection part—the falling in love part, not so much.”

The first time that you and Doyoung’s characters meet, he’s already head over heels for her. She, however, isn’t so keen on accepting his adoration, and it takes at least several dances before she’s done dismissing him.

You shoot Doyoung a quick glance. He has his hands on his hips, one of the sleeves of his T-shirt rolled up to his shoulder. “Well, it’s not easy to have chemistry with someone as dull as a rock,” you bite out.

That catches his attention.

“I’m sorry? I’m not the one who first freaked the fuck out the first time we practiced.” A record, truly. He said more than 5 words to you in conjunction at once. Not that that accomplishment is enough to distract you from what he said.

“You wanna know why I freaked the fuck out?” You take a step closer to him. “It’s because you—”

“Enough!” Colette cuts between the two of you. “You two obviously have some differences.” That’s putting it lightly, you thought. “You don’t need me to remind you that you’re professionals. So, stop acting out whatever lovers’ quarrel you have, and focus on the honeymoon phase, instead.”

She sits down on the floor again, crossing her legs. “Need I remind you that our version ends with Siegfried and Odette dead, so you two better sell it to the audience while they’re alive.”

You and Doyoung slowly look at each other, both reluctant. He’s the first to drop his gaze as he takes his position behind you, readying himself for another showing of his strength that the routine calls for.

Before you leave practice that night, Colette requests that you stay behind. You prepare yourself, thinking that it’s a reprimanding from her telling you to act more hopelessly enamoured. But she doesn’t. Instead, she asks to see your fouettés.

That’s the thing with the role of Odile. She’s incredibly fierce. Maybe it’s due to the fact that she’s the literal daughter of a dark magician who can magic up some spirit to possess her. In Act 3, she’s supposed to flawlessly execute 32 fouettés in succession, without once losing her balance. Basically, 32 full turns on your toe and landing it perfectly afterwards, as if that’s not the most nauseating thing in the world to do.

In your audition, you did maybe three or four turns. Now, Colette’s basically asking you to do that, but times 10.

It’s a challenge, no doubt, and it’s one that you’re not sure if you can take.

You settle yourself. Feet in fourth position—dominant leg in front, and the non-supporting leg at the back. Your arms out in second to the side of you. And you push off of your back foot. If there’s one trick to keeping your balance, it’s spotting. Pick a spot anywhere in the room, and only look at that spot when turning.

The foot that you’re spinning on continually drop back down to gain momentum to push off onto your toe again. It’s no easy feat. You’re about 10, 11 turns in when you start to feel the effects of dizzying. Having the option to end now—though incomplete—but at least with the standards of your turns up to par, or fighting through to the very last turn, you decide on stopping now.

You land the ending, coming down in a plié before rising up onto your toes in a relevé.

Panting, you drop your arms to catch your breath. You look at Colette, trying to hide the eagerness in your eyes.

“I’ll need to see an improvement on those, too,” she says in an icy tone, “Don’t let me down.”

You find yourself walking in the streets of the city at night on the last day of the weekend, heading towards the practice studio. Sure, you could wait a few more hours before it’s time for you to clock in, anyway, but you couldn’t. Not really. Especially not after the comment Colette made a few days back.

You press your card up against the reader and the familiar sound of the doors clicking open resonates in your ears.

You settle into your personal practice room, making no effort to turn on the lights. The windows that line the entirety of one side of the room is enough to let the lustre of the moon shine through, bathing the studio in a pale light.

You pull on your pointe shoes, wrapping your toes in a bandage-like material beforehand. Unlocking your phone, you look for the audio file that Colette sent to you of the very orchestra that will be performing alongside you in a few months’ time. Each orchestra performs each piece differently, however slight the difference is. It’s better to practice directly to them to get a hang of their nuisances, Colette’d said.

The music blares out from your phone, the tempo fast and the atmosphere lively. Your feet instinctively take their positions, and you push off on cue with the music.

No matter how many times you try tonight, there just seems to be something off. Either the spins are alright, but you lose your balance upon landing, or your supporting leg just wants to give out, or both. For most of the tries, it was both.

You come out of a failed series of fouettés. Bending over, you drop your hands to your knees, simultaneously trying to catch your breath. Then, that’s when you feel it. The ever-so-familiar acute stinging in your leg. For a moment, it’s so overwhelming that it physically causes you to scrunch your face up until it wears away a little by itself. A cloud of defeat looms over you.

You pick up your bottle off the floor and decide to go fill it up by the fountain outside. This part of the studio is much more modernised than the rest. There are two main hallways connected by a square courtyard—the garden, as the architects called it. The garden is enclosed within four entirely glass sliding doors, allowing access from every side. You don’t really know who’s watering the plants in the courtyard, because if it was up to the dancers, you know that those plants would’ve died a long while ago.

The room allocated to you is along one of the two hallways, directly facing the south side of the garden. You step out, heading towards the water fountain that stands in the middle of the two corridors, facing the west entrance to the courtyard.

You’re pushing down on the button to fill up your water bottle when you hear a tune that you immediately recognise. It’s the same one that you were just relentlessly listening to—or practicing to.

There’s a slight crack in one of the doors opposing yours. Tightening the lid on your bottle, you decide to quietly make your way over to the room on a whim. Who else is here on a weekend night? And practicing to the same piece as you?

You discreetly try to peek your head in, the crack in the door only allowing you to see a slight sliver of the practice room.

At first you don’t really see anything. Just the sound of the vivacious music. Then, a shadow of a figure leaps high up into the air, flying past the tiny window of what you can see before you can register it. You don’t want to think it, but it can only be one person.

One other person who has a part in this piece.

The music suddenly stops.

“Stop hiding.” A voice calls out.

You freeze. Your hunched over positioning has you locked.

Shit. What do you do?

“I know you’re there.” The voice sounds again. A bit ominous on your behalf, if you do say so.

Quietly, you push open the door, allowing yourself to see more than just a sliver of the room. The lights aren’t turned on.

Crouched over in front of the mirror is the one and only person you didn’t want to see: Doyoung.

His dark long sleeve shirt only thinly veiling his torso, contrasted by his light plaid pants. He watches in the mirror as you step one foot, then another into his practice room. The beam of the moon illuminated his face, making it visible to you even from a distance that he’s been here for at least a while with how the sweat glistened on his face and neck.

Say something. Anything.

“I didn’t know you practiced ’til this late.” You say, swinging your water bottle and holding it with both hands behind your back.

“I could say the same for you.”

Was that an insult or a back-handed compliment? Or maybe you’re just reading too much into it.

Doyoung moves his foot out from under him with a groan, so now he’s sitting on the floor. He tears his eyes away from you in favour of whatever he’s looking at on his phone. A prolonged silence falls upon the room. If it was anyone else in the room with you, it probably won’t be as uncomfortable, but it’s not.

You rock onto the balls of your heels, about to turn back around and leave, but Doyoung breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry. For what I said the other day… and for what happened.”

He utters the last part of his sentence so quietly that you can barely make it out. Half-stunned, half-confused, you stare at him. So, he does recognise you.

You steadily take step after step towards him until you’re at a normal distance for a conversation between two people, then you sit down next to him.

“I forgive you.”

“What? Like that?”

“Yeah. People are often surprised at what maturity can do for you as an adult.”

For a split second, you’d swear he was holding back a chuckle. “That coming from you?”

You twist off the lid to your water bottle to take a sip, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

He leans back onto his hands behind him. A beat passes. “So, where’s my ‘sorry’ back?”

You set down the bottle in front of you. “If you’re expecting something back, then it wasn’t a real apology.”

He drops his head to the side to look at you. Eyes dark, a careful consideration of you sitting there next to him. Doyoung swallows tightly. There’s a steady rising and falling of his chest.

“I am really sorry. I never knew what happened after, then. I only found out when Rafael told me recently.”

“I guess I didn’t expect you to know.”

A new wave of silence washes over the two of you, only this time, it’s by degrees less uncomfortable than the last.

Doyoung lifts his palms from the ground and crosses his legs, imitating your position on the floor. With his shift in positioning, there comes a shift in energy as well.

“Obviously, I want to do well. But I don’t want to look good owing to the fact of my partner’s lack of skill…” He says with an arched brow.

“Yeah…” you tilt your head at him, “Not the most desirable pitch. Try again.”

His lips twitch in an attempt to hide his smirk from you. “I’m saying… I’m willing to put our differences aside for this one time. For both of our sakes.” He extends his hand out to you, as if to initiate a business handshake, “Deal or no deal?”

He’s dedicated. You can trust him.

You look at him, then his hand, then back at him again. Leaning forward, you fit your palm into his, “Deal.”

END OF ACT I

a/n thank you for reading part one of AWITD!! i would love any opinions or feedback on it :)

#📂 - nct #kim doyoung #doyoung #doyoung x reader #doyoung fanfic #doyoung nct #nct #nct 127 #nct doyoung #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct imagines #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios

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moorishflower · 11 months

Text

WIP word search game!

Okay! I was tagged by @dsudis!

My words are: blue, deep, walk, sky, down, heal

blue: (from the unnamed Hallmark-Adjacent sequel)

If Morpheus is honest with himself – and he has been attempting, within the last three months, to be more honest with himself – the moment that he considered Robert Gadling a viable husband was the very instant he had seen him bathed in the lights of Trafalgar Square, in a dozen different shades of blue and white and soft golden from the surrounding buildings and with his hair pulled back into a bun, as though he had done so out of habit just before he had left his flat.

deep: (from an unnamed vampire!Dream WIP that's been languishing until I get into vampires again)

His stranger turns to look at him, and it pulls his face into deep shadow. Hob can only see the white curve of his throat, a tempting peek of collarbone. His face is obscured in darkness, with only those two bright points of witchlight to mark where his gaze falls. “I have had many names,” he says. Each word is slow and purposeful, as if it is being pulled from a sleeptalker. “Morpheus. Oneiros. Draculea. More, still. I was called the shaper of forms, once. Voivode, and Lord, and King. My true name is older.”

heal: (from an Edgin/Xenk canon divergence AU set 4 years prior to the movie)

"I can heal myself," the paladin says placidly, and then makes absolutely no effort to do so while Ed pours a thin stream of icy water over the slash on his cheek. It's not as bad once all the blood's cleared away -- he can't see clear through to teeth at least -- and that only leaves him with addressing the actual problem, which is the shoulder injury. Ed stares at the guy's pauldrons, wondering where in the Nine Hells he even starts.

walk: (from a yet-unposted bit of Little Histories)

"I am ambivalent about the nature of food served from a truck," Dream says. He still feels somewhat slow and muddled, but the walk is pleasant. Humans need movement, Hob has informed him. It is part of the development of their infants, and most enjoy it well after their childhood, as well. There is something pleasant about utilising his muscles; in the moment, he wonders why it had been so hard to rouse himself yesterday.

sky: (from the same Edgin/Xenk fic)

The opportunity comes just as the sun is beginning to get dangerously low in the sky and the nightlife of Luskan -- skullduggery, alleyway knifing, pickpocketing and the like -- is kicking into high gear, when a man on a horse as white as the driven snow turns away from the Southern Gate and keeps right on riding towards Mirabar.

down: (unnamed Johanna/Lucifer fic)

The demon darts forward, too bloody fast for a woman who's spent most of the evening getting fantastically drunk after ousting a fucking poltergeist from an attic, and knocks the crucifix from her hands. Jo responds by yanking out the vial of holy water she keeps in her bra and dumping it directly down the demon's cleavage. She suspects she only manages this because the demon was too distracted by trying to figure out why she was fumbling in her bra to begin with, but that's to her benefit, so she counts it as a win.

And I will taaaaag... @avelera (show me the secret drafts of Joke's On You!!!), @landwriter, @softest-punk, @beatnikfreakiswriting and anyone else who'd like to play <3

Your words are: invite, bleed, lonely, glance, small, curve

#wip ask meme

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comatosebunny09 · 2 years

Text

Several Variations of Gold

Summary: What better way to get your interview with the young, blazing business mogul started than with a little humor?

Genre: Romance, Humor, Modern AU

Warnings: Language, Suggestive Content, Female Reader, Crack

This is the Fifty Shades parody I was referring to. It's utter nonsense. I rewrote it while I was inebriated. Please don't take this seriously. Please don't unfollow me. Adapted from a parody I wrote some years back on AFF. I hope you like it. Thanks so much for reading, darling~💛

Tag! You’re it! @simpforerensattacktitan, @auraee

You’ve barely stumbled from the elevator before being intercepted by a gorgeous brunette.

“Kanroji-san?” the receptionist inquires behind the safety of an oakwood desk, scaring you half to death.

The elevator doors swish shut behind you, thwarting any attempts to escape. The receptionist wears a tight, red-lipped smile. Her chestnut eyes gleam beneath thick-framed glasses, her sculpted, dark eyebrows lifting with intrigue. You adjust your oversized spectacles, strangling the strap of your bag, and you swallow profusely.

“Ah, no,” you laugh, an obnoxious crackle in your tenure. The woman’s brows knit together, her lips twitching. You shift your weight between your feet, scratching the back of your neck. “Well, kind of. I mean, I’m not her.” You waggle your hands frantically, sweat beading on your temples. “I’m her friend. She was feeling a little under the weather, so I’m here to take your booty—HER PLACE!” You blanch, the color instantly draining from your face.

What the hell did you just say?

The receptionist abruptly shoots up from her seat, seemingly oblivious to your diarrhea mouth. You whistle inwardly at her sight. She’s statuesque, towering, and majestic like a steed. Though, you’re pretty sure no one wants to be likened to a damn horse. Judging by the other women trotting about in their too-tight pencil skirts and soaring stilettoes, you can only conclude that this man solely employs herbivorous quadrupeds of the female persuasion.

…What?

You’re so distracted that you don’t notice when the receptionist leaves and suddenly reappears. Her effervescent smile is a bit unnerving as she elegantly reseats herself. “Rengoku-san will see you now,” sing-songs the brunette.

“Uh, thanks.” You give her a crooked smile, maneuvering around her oblong desk. Mull over whether to leave her a tip or not. You’re not in a bathroom in a club, goddammit.

You swiftly venture across glittering tiles towards a tall, cherrywood door tucked at the end of an ominous hallway. Rengoku Kyojuro is etched in polished, gold-plated letters on its surface. Your heart thrums like a war drum whilst you grip the golden doorknob, its iciness contrasting the heat pulsing through your veins. You take a deep breath, twisting the handle.

Please don’t screw this up. Please don’t screw this up. Please don’t—

The door swings open, an arctic draft lapping at your bare shins. You are instantly overwhelmed by a sweet mixture of cologne, cinnamon, and…is that horse manure?

His office is a deep rouge, adorned with a high ceiling and glossy, onyx furniture. Standing before a vast, panoramic window is the man of the hour, the city line twinkling like bokeh around him. He stands a few meters away with his back to you, his aura imposing, wading over you like the roll of a flame. He fills his Italian suit to the brim. Eccentric, sandy hair combed back into a sleek bun, a few tendrils from his nape clinging to the collar of his dress shirt. His shoulders sit broad and sharp as if he could carry Seabiscuit. His arms crossed behind him, look as if they could burst from the seems of his blazer if he consumes any more steroids.

What the shit are they feeding these kids these days?

“Kanroji-san,” he acknowledges exuberantly, still fixated on the scenery stretched before him.

You nearly leap out of your skin at the exhilaration in his voice. A hand is placed over your chest to quell your heart. You clear your throat. Snort, “no, this is Patrick.”

The blond mogul pivots to face you, wiry brows furrowed with confusion. The lighting doesn’t do him justice. He glows like a Grecian God, otherworldly eyes skimming over you. “I beg your pardon?” he questions, stepping toward you at last.

You cough, glancing down at your rounded flats. Warmth blooms into your cheeks. You suddenly feel so very insecure. “I mean, no. Not Kanroji-san.”

“Oh?”

The tycoon pans in slowly. You’re pretty sure you’ve forgotten how to breathe as you look up. He is scrumptious. Owl-like, topaz eyes crease with concern. His angular jaw stiffens. Plump, cherry lips you envision yourself nibbling on, tremble with consternation. He wears summer skin in October, the tiny blemishes marring his face doing nothing to detract from his beauty. You peek at his Adam’s apple before he moves behind his desk, splaying his thick fingers on its smooth surface. You’re damn near drooling.

You shake your head, forcing your voice to work. “I’m her roommate. Doing her a solid since she’s sick and whatnot.”

“Ah!” he chirps, a picturesque grin taking possession of his mouth. You feel like you’re watching a damn Crest commercial. “Then, shall we get on with the interview, Miss—”

Your name hangs in the air, vomited like you’ve had an eventful night of drinking. He looks at you as if you’ve lost your mind. Fixes the lapels of his jacket before motioning for you to come in. You hadn’t noticed that you were still halfway in the hallway. You oblige numbly, the door clicking softly behind you.

He offers you a brawny, textured hand as you come to stand between his desk and a crimson bean…bag…chair. You eye his hand pensively, not really sure what he wants. Then it clicks. You high-five him proudly, grinning like a goddamn fool.

Rich guys sure are strange.

His eye winces. He clears his throat, a healthy bit of phlegm there. Rengoku Kyojuro then gestures for you to take a seat whilst he takes his own upon a leather rolling chair. You flop ungraciously into your chair, the damn thing almost consuming you. He darts up to help you as you flail about, but “I got it!” Once safely settled in your seat, you rummage through your bag for your handy dandy notepad and tape recorder.

It’s the twenty-first century. Why the fuck are you using a tape recorder?

You set the clunky device on the table, accidentally hitting the play button.

“Captain’s log,” it crackles with your roommate’s voice. “It’s been three days, and I still haven’t been able to shi—”

Hastily, you scramble for the recorder to shut it off. Sweat pours in rivulets down your face. Rengoku watches you with disturbed amusement over laced fingers. You rifle through your pack again in search of a pen. Instead, you procure a neon pink rubber ducky, which squeals happily in your hand as you choke it for dear life.

“How’d that get in there?” you query, animatedly tossing the toy over your shoulder.

A clearing throat snaps you out of your musings. You gaze up into the smoldering irises of your interviewee. He thrusts a thin, red pencil into your vision, causing you to go cross-eyed. Rengoku is emblazoned in crisp, gold letters on its center.

Does this man have to put his name on everything?

You hesitantly pluck it from his grip, your fingers grazing. Electricity ignites across your skin. Rengoku leans back in his chair, his smile never faltering. It takes all of you not to stare—not to lunge across his desk and give him all your babies.

You take up the tape recorder with a weighted sigh and press record. Ironing out the wrinkles of your skirt, you begin, determination etched on your features.

“Alright, Rengoku-san,” you exhale, “first question.” You readjust yourself as best you can. After all, you’re on a fucking beanbag chair. You glance down at your notepad, reflectively chewing on your lip. You feel eyes bore holes into the crown of your head, causing your limbs to tingle with heat.

Let’s get this shit over with, you inwardly groan, twiddling the pencil in your fingers.

—

“One more question, Rengoku-san,” you breathe with a timid smile.

Though jittery at first, your interview had coasted by like a breeze. Inside, you cheer. This interrogation is nearly over. Rengoku wears a grin as he pulls a pristine white mug to his lips. You peer at your lap, reading the last question without nary a thought.

“Are you gay?”

Cue foot in mouth.

You flush instantly, spluttering as Rengoku spews coffee onto his desk. You avoid his incredulous stare, wringing papers in your hands.

You will utterly throttle Mitsuri when you get a hold of her.

Banner credit.

Masterlist

#rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro #my works #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #kny reader insert #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kny rengoku #kyojuro rengoku x reader #idk

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marblesphere · 2 years

Text

Kitsune Kyubi Gojo Satoru x Kitsune Reader

Got inspiration from @wito-chan-bla-bla headcanon and the pic that was posted there. I have asked permission to use author-san’s setting in this one shot. Sorry for the wait. I hope this is to your expectation. We can mofu-mofu with the tails.😆

Jujutsu sorcerer, are people who are gifted with cursed energy whose job is to deal with bizarre phenomena in this mundane ordinary life…. Well, except they are not exactly human…. All of them are actually kitsune who can hide their tails and ears. Yep, they are what human called youkai. Though, right now those kitsune are only trying to make a living by selling their ability to exorcise cursed spirits.

And, a certain kitsune is the direct and the last descendant of Tamamo-no-Mae. This kitsune is to be betrothed of a certain six eyes user. “…This kid is Tamamo’s direct descendant?” I blinked my big doe like eyes at the two older boys. One with fluffy snow white hair and ears and 5 super fluffy tails with the same color of his hair. The other one with black hair in a bun plus half of his bang hang out in the front, black ears and 4 again super fluffy black tails.

"Hello, [Name]-chan. I am Geto Suguru. Nice to meet you." The black fox smiled at me.

"..." I blinked again and then shot them a big smile. "Nice to meet you. I am Hisaki [Name]."

"...I don't want this kid to be my betrothed." White fox frowned. I flatten my ears at his remark. Though I don't fully understand the meaning of his remark, I do know this white fox doesn’t like me.

"Satoru, don't bully the weak. She is cute enough." Black fox scolded his friend.

"She is weak. I mean, look at her. She is only 2 tails."

"She is just 3 years old for God’s sake, Satoru. Two tails at 3 years old is already considered very good." Black fox, Geto Suguru frowned.

"Hmph! I was born with five tails." White fox smirked arrogantly, fluffing his tails with a shiny coat. My small hands and ears twitch at the sight. Eyes following the tails' movements as they swish right and left. Completely ignoring the older boys bickering.

"Fluffy…" I took a small step forward again and again, until my small hand grasped white fox's tail and gave it a gentle squeeze. I thought it was gentle, but apparently it was enough to send the white fox a paralyzing pain as it transferred from the tail to his head.

"You!" He turned to me sharply, eyes glaring with hate.

"Fluffy." I tilted my head, smiling to him.

"Don't touch my tails! You weakling!" He hissed, icy blue eyes turned to slit.

"Don't scold her, you overdramatic queen." Black fox stood between me and white fox, shielding me from him. But his mouth is still laughing at his friend's misfortune.

"Fluffy… Can I touch it?" I asked softly. My eyes have been trained on the fluffy black tails.

"You can, but don't squeeze it." Black fox reminded gently.

"Okay!" My small hands grabbed the swishing tail gently and stroke it. "Fluffy…"

"...Tsk! I refuse her to be my betrothed." Thus, that's how our first meeting goes.

From that day on, I was like their extra tails. As long as there is Gojo, there will be a little me tagging along. In fact, Suguru is the one that always invite me in their outing. Thanks to them, I met Shoko.

I like Shoko, she is nice. She always treats me sweets. I like Suguru, because he always plays with me and shield me from my own angry, disgruntled fiancé. I… didn't like Satoru much because he is mean to me. He always calls me weak.

"I…I am not weak!!!" I glared at the white fox in front of me. Furs bristled, sharp fangs bared to show him how angry I was.

"Oh?" Satoru cocked his brow, a smirk hanging on his lips. "What did you say, weakling?" He sneered.

"I said I am not weak!!!!" I cried out loud.

"Noisy. Only weakling cries." Satoru mocked.

"Satoru!" Suguru gave him a smack on his head and the two started bickering again.

"Sssshhhh, [Name]-chan, don't cry anymore." Shoko soothed. "Don't listen to him, okay. That bastard's personality is already rotten to the core."

"But… I am not weak." I sniffled. "Mama said I am very strong. I can already exorcise 4th grade." I hiccupped.

"Wow! You can already exorcise 4th grade when you are still 6 years old. You are so good." Shoko patted my head, my ears and tails twitched for the former and swayed to the side for the latter at the action.

"Just a 4th grade. Not something to be praised for." Satoru snorted.

"Satoru!" Suguru warned.

"Don't go and make her cry anymore, Satoru." Shoko glared at him.

“I… I am strong!” I puffed out my cheeks. “I will beat you.” I launched a cursed energy attack to him and failed miserably. Satoru easily swats away my cursed energy like it was nothing. I gape at the gap of our strength.

“Don’t tell me that was your best move?” He taunted. “It didn’t even tickle.” He rolled his eyes.

“…You…” My stopped tears started to accumulated in the corner of my eyes. “I will definitely…” *hiccup* “…definitely make you say uncle!!!” I cried for the second time that day. ~”~

From that day on, I stopped visiting Gojo mansion, instead I trained myself, followed my guarfians on their missions and studied a lot of things. I do send him a letter everyday… a letter consisting of what kind of thing I have studied and what kind of curse I have exorcised. And lastly my promise to beat him… wash your neck and wait patiently… that’s the exact word I used.

As I grow older, the content of the letter is not changing, I still write to him about how I pass my day and about the usual mundane thing. The only thing that changed is the wording, I guess. And no, he never once replied to my letter nor I expected him to. This is all started with my one-sided rivalry after all.

Now that I have understood more things, I know how strong he was. I have heard all his and Suguru’s achievements even when I am not in town. The strongest duo, the nickname they are famous for. I am aware I keep chasing their shadows. My goal has changed slightly, I want Satoru to acknowledge me. Not as his mate, rather as one of jujutsu sorcerers. I want him to acknowledge that I am in fact is a strong sorcerer.

And for the first time in these 10 years, we finally reunited again. "Mei-Mei has recommended you to be a first grade. And you know the drill. You will be paired with another first grade or special grade to serve as an observer on your mission.” Yaga-sensei explained.

“Yes. I know.”

“Good, it seems like you have grown strong enough.” Yaga-sensei let out a small smile when he saw my four tails.

“Yes! I have a promise to keep.”

“I have a high expectation of you.”

“Yes sir!”

“Now, let’s introduce you to your observer. Come in!” Yaga-sensei called.

“Excuse me.” A familiar man came into my sight.

“Suguru?” I blinked. He still put his hair into that bun after all.

“[Name]-chan.” He smiled in a pleasant surprise. “You came back.”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Suguru, [Name]-kun is recommended to be a first grade. And I will pair her with you. I know you are biased to her but-“

“Don’t worry, Yaga-sensei. I will be fair in my judgement. [Name]-chan will beat me to death if I am not.” He chortled.

“Yes. I intend to be a first grade fair and square.” I exclaimed.

“Good. Now, here’s your mission.” Yaga-sensei then briefed us my mission. ~”~

“You didn’t tell Satoru about this?” Suguru asked amused at the whole thing.

“I will, after I am promoted to first grade. And I will make him acknowledge me that I am strong.” I grinned.

“Not to be acknowledge as his mate but as a strong sorcerer?” He raised his brow.

“Of course. I refuse to be called weak by him.” I puffed my cheeks. “Well… I don’t think he likes the idea of mating anyway. So why force him to do it?” I mumbled.

“I wonder about that.” He laughed.

“What do you mean?” I furrowed my brows.

“Hmm… how about this? If you managed to complete your mission without my help or hint, I will tell you.”

“Deal!” I extended my hand and we shook hands to seal the deal. ~”~

‘Why…is this happening…’ I slumped on the chair outside the operating room. My mind still hasn’t finished processing what has happened. Suguru…Suguru was just laughing a while ago, now in an emergency room in critical condition, unknown whether he will live or die. My hands balled into fists, nails dug deep into the skin until they bleed down staining the ceramic floor.

My mind flashes back like a movie playing. At the designated location, there is a first grade hiding. After I exorcised it, there is another cursed spirit emerged, special grade. It was out of expectation but I was trained to deal with unexpected surprise. We need to be on guard until we back to the school to report our mission.

I was faring quite well against the special grade. And when the second special grade, it all became chaos. The first special grade suddenly rampage. It feels like it has been released from some kind of control. Suguru quickly went to shield me and then… blood..blood splatters everywhere. My mind went blank and at that time, my thought is only how to get us out of there. To be honest, I don’t remember very well how I get out from that. All I remember is Suguru needed to be treated fast.

My breath was cut short as I was lifted to the air. Long fingers encase my small neck with force. “You! What did you do to Suguru?!” My eyes met with a fierce glare from Satoru.

“…I…” My neck is squeezed harder, I can’t even form a word properly. My instinct kicks in, I start struggling, kicking my feet and clawing his hands, but to no avail. He doesn’t budge at all.

“Should I just kill you now? I don't know who you are. But I won’t forgive anyone who dares to hurt my best friend.” I think I can feel my neck bones starting to crack. ‘I am going to die…. This is my punishment…’ I stopped struggling and let my hands fall limp on my side.

“Satoru! Let her down!” I was suddenly thrown to the floor. I cough and my nose starts sucking every breath frantically.

“I don’t want to see you ever again. Or else…” He hissed, a threat or a promise was left unsaid. I didn’t know what they talked about or what Yaga-sensei talked to me. All I can hear is buzzing sound, until I see Shoko came out from the operation room with a relieved smile on her face. That’s when I know Suguru will be alright.

My body and mind are like in auto pilot mode. I leave the hospital and back to my hotel, packing all my things and completely disappear from their lives and also from jujutsu sorcerer circle.

That was the last time I will ever see them again. That’s what I thought. I have ever thought I will step in again in jujutsu school 9 years after that incident. Yaga-sensei phoned me and asked me to help around the school since they are short of staff. I want to decline since I know he is there. He promised me that he will kill me the next time we met after all. but Yaga-sensei assured me, nothing will happen. I hesitantly accepted the offer. I was thankful for him not disclosing my whereabout back then. If he was maybe I wouldn’t be here today.

So, as per tradition we are to transform into fox form for the first time meeting. I was met with all the familiar faces of Shoko, Suguru and Yaga-sensei. And also unfamiliar faces of students of the first year and second year. My four tails bloom beautifully for them to see. I can see their excited faces of wanting to pet them. I smile a little, this kind of atmosphere is kind of relaxing, until I heard footsteps and very enormous yet familiar cursed energy approaching. My smile disappears, body starts trembling slightly.

“Good morning!!!!” An overly cheerful voice greeted, nine tails bloom behind him. A sign of intimidation. My own tails and ears disappear quickly.

“I…am going now…” I turned timid, bowed to them and ran away from the classroom using the other door. Completely missing the flattened look and ears of a certain snow haired man.

I seem to have developed a sensor of him. I know when he approached my current location and I will run away before he arrives. To other kitsunes’ eyes, we are playing hide and seek with each other. And the students started to feel fed up. Not to me, but to their blindfolded teacher. Because he only appears when I am talking to them. And because of him too, they never get to pet my tails. So, they went to their other teacher, Geto.

“So, why does [Name]-san always runs away like she is being chased by predator?” Nobara frowned.

“That’s right. Everytime Gojo-sensei will appear suddenly, she will start trembling.” Yuuji nodded.

“She is scared of him. But why? Did Gojo-sensei do something in the past?” Megumi knitted his brows.

“Well… we… Shoko, Satoru, [Name]-chan and I are childhood friends…” Suguru started.

“Wait, let me guess. You guys bullied [Name]-san.” Nobara snorted.

“Sensei, bullying is no good.” Yuuji pouted.

“Even now I still wonder how come that kind of sc-I mean kitsune can become a teacher?” Megumi sighed.

“Satoru… did kind of bully her…”

“See! As I thought, what a scum.” Nobara crossed her hands and slumped on her chair.

“But… that wasn’t why she is so afraid of Satoru.” Suguru smiled wryly.

“Don’t tell me, Gojo-sensei did something worse to her?” Yuuji frowned. “Like…plucking her tail?” He shuddered.

“That’s not it.” Suguru shook

“Then…”

“Satoru did kind of bully her, but [Name]-chan wasn’t discouraged. I mean, she wrote a challenge letter to him everyday, saying wash his neck and wait patiently.” He giggled at the memories.

“…Are we talking the same [Name]-san?” Yuuji titled his head.

“We met [Name]-chan 10 years again after that. She went to train after being called weak by Satoru. And then 10 years after that, she is promoted to first grade.”

“Does that mean… she was around our age when she is promoted to first grade? Awesome!!” Yuuji exclaimed.

“Well yeah. I was partnered to her. She completed the mission wonderfully. But I want to test her judgement in unprepared situation, so I command one of my special grade cursed spirit to test her.”

“Did she injure herself?” Megumi asked softly.

“No…” Suguru smiled sadly. “It’s not her that got injured, it’s I.”

“How come?”

“There’s a special grade sleeping dormant over there. My cursed spirits woke it up. And worse, it released my hold on my cursed spirits. It was my mistake, really. This has nothing to do with [Name]-chan. I was shielding her when they attacked and got injured. [Name]-chan desperately get us out from there. And then…”

“And then…” The first year and second year gulped in anticipation.

“…Senpai!!! You guys are here too?!!!” The three first years were startled by the additional kitsunes in their classroom.

“And then… I almost killed [Name]-chan…” Came the unexpected reply from their blindfolded teacher.

“You…What?!!!!!” They screamed. All of them are clamoring their sensei, asking for clarification.

“I was… out of my mind at that time. Suguru was in critical condition and unconscious. I was young and too impulsive. Suguru is more than capable of exorcising special grade. I didn't even recognize her, I thought… I thought [Name]-chan dragged him down. Blood rushed to my head and I couldn’t think clearly. If principal Yaga didn’t stop me. I might have killed her… Her coming to this school is also because of my own selfishness. I want to apologize to her… and make things right again.” Satoru mumbled. He remembered those nightmares he had about killing her, snapping her neck into two. He would always wake up covered in sweat and only calm down a little after hearing from Yaga that [Name] is in fact alright and alive.

“Sensei…” They have never thought they will see one of his rare vulnerable moments.

“And this damn idiot also needs to confess to her.” Shoko suddenly appeared on the doorway, leaning on it while smoking.

“Ah, I remember how he complained about getting letter from [Name]-chan at that time, but still reread it every damn second.” Suguru snorted. He knew for sure Satoru is clearly happy but still acts like it’s disgusting.

“And then he complained about not getting another letter from [Name]-chan after that incident. I don’t think someone in their right mind would write a letter to someone who almost murder her.” Shoko rolled her eyes.

“That’s why I am going to apologize.” He pouted. “But, [Name]-chan… didn’t even want to see me.” Right now, his face is like an abandoned puppy.

So, the students finally understood why [Name] acted like what she did. It’s instinctive fear. Even so, they did meddle into their sensei’s affair. Of course, they helped [Name] escaped from her predator every time. This also count as helping her to vent out her anger. Their teacher can only sighs helplessly at their antics. Because he also thinks he deserved that. ~”~

I heard today Satoru is on mission, so he won’t be in school. My body and mind relax a lot. Maybe taking up this offer is a mistake. I have been walking on a very thin of ice every day. I should have told Yaga-sensei today that I will search for another kitsune as a staff here. I look around the teacher room a bit. Most of the desks are organized neatly, except one. It’s Satoru’s desk. I guess tidying up his desk won’t warrant me his wrath, right…?

I take a deep breath and organize his messy desk. Slowly and cautiously putting his things into an order. “Are you cleaning up my desk?” my breath hitched at his voice. My trembling hands drop his item. A loud clattering sound echoed on the room.

“So..sorry… I didn’t mean to…” My face paled as I took a step back. “I…I…won’t come here…anymore…. I was just…unable to refuse….Yaga-sensei…” I babbled. He’s right, I am pathetic and weak. I feel sorry for Tamamo-no-Mae for having a pathetic descendant like me.

“It’s okay, [Name]-chan. I am not angry.” He advanced a step and I took a step back, eyes refusing to meet him. My breath become shorter, I know I am having a panic attack. I stumble on a chair behind me due to that. “[Name]-chan!” His hand shot up to steady me.

But my mind recalled his hand encased around my neck, choking my life out. Pupils dilated, I trash in his arms, scratching and kicking everything. “Sssshh…It’s okay… It’s okay… I won’t hurt you. I am sorry… please calm down…[Name]-chan…” Satoru stroke my hair, putting my head on the crook of his neck. His nine tails out wrapping themselves into my hands and feet, nuzzling themselves to calm me down. “Ssssh… it’s okay… it’s okay…” He kept repeating the word like coaxing a child. My breath has finally calm down… it seems I won’t die today…

“Are you okay now?” He whispered softly, as if a loud voice will startle me.

“…Sorry…”

“Silly fox… There’s no need to apologize…” I feel a light touch on the top of my head.

"When… when are you… going to kill me…?"

"No. I won't kill you… please don't say something like that. I won't hurt you…" He pleaded, voice cracking. He reduced such an energetic woman into this kind of state. He really deserved the title of scum. "Sorry… I am sorry…" He kept apologizing. For what…? I…didn't think he was wrong. He was furious because I made his best friend in critical condition. Even if Suguru did say I did absolutely nothing wrong. It's a fact he got injured to protect me. I am weak…

Black spots are entering my vision, I vaguely heard him calling my name. '...I wonder… if I will wake up again…' ~"~

"[Name]...? [Name]-chan?!" Satoru was horrified when he felt her body limp. His blood runs cold, he quickly but gently gathers the kitsune in his arm and hollered Shoko's name.

Shoko performed a series of medical check-ups on her and concluded she was exhausted and promptly interrogated the nine tails. Satoru told her she was having a panic attack. And he is the source.

"She won't have anymore attack if you are not in her vicinity. But… I am sure you don't want that." Shoko looked at the gloomy nine tails. Flattened ears, dropping tails… truly like abandoned fox.

"You can help her get used to your presence." Shoko sighed. The ears perked up. "But!" Shoko stressed her next sentence. "You need to do it moderately and gradually."

"What should I do?"

"Don't just go and appear in her face suddenly. You need her to get used to your presence first. Just come and check around for few minutes on her within safe distance. Seeing how she developed a 'Satoru' sensor. Your action back then must have left a huge trauma on her."

"...sorry…" Satoru is contemplating whether he can use his technique to go into the past, whack his younger self and preach to him how to treat his own fiancée well.

"You should say that to her." Shoko blew smoke out. ~"~

When I opened my eyes again. I am in infirmary. The scent of disinfectant is nauseating… It made me remember about that incident. I pull out the infusion needle.

"You still need to rest, [Name]-chan." I heard Shoko's sigh.

"I don't like disinfectant's smell." I frowned.

"I guess that can't be helped." She pushed herself from the doorway. "Here, your favorite chocolate mousse." Shoko shoved a box of sweets onto my face.

"Can I eat this?" My tails swished from side to side.

"Of course. This is meant to be eaten." She smiled. After chatting for a while while eating sweets, I had another visitor. My body tense up at the approaching fox.

"[Name]-chan… are you alright now?!" A cheerful voice asked.

"...I…am…fine…" My tails and ears disappeared again, eyes refusing to meet him.

"I see." I don't know why, but I feel like he suddenly became gloomy. "Then, I will check you up again later." He smiled and skipped away.

"..." I blinked at his strange changing attitude.

"He is… trying to get you used to him."

"...Ah…" She must be referring to my panic attack. "...I thought he despised me."

"Satoru is…? Nope, not a chance. At that time, he was out of his mind and didn't even recognize you. That's why he attacked. But I can say for sure, he never despises you. You see, he still keeps all the letters you sent to him."

"Ah?" I blinked, taken back. 'So, he attacked me because he couldn't recognize me? Will it be different if he knew it was me?'

"In fact, he was devastated when he knew he almost killed you. He pestered principal Yaga to tell him your whereabout. But he was refused. In the end, he can only settle with getting your news every now and then from him." Shoko put her cigarette butt on the ashtray. "He wrote letter to you. He didn't know where you were. He sent it to your old address but was returned. He waited for your letter everyday, but you have stopped writing to him."

"That's…"

"Well, he is idiot enough to think someone would write him letters after he almost killed them." Shoko snorted. "He even used his mission time searching for you, but there was no result. He kept all the letters he wrote, waiting to be sent to you. And, here it is, today's letter." Shoko handed me a small simple envelope.

I open the envelope carefully not wanting to damage it.

"Dear, [Name]-chan

Today weather is nice. Make sure you rest a lot. Or if you want to take a walk, I will be very happy to accompany you.

Love,

Satoru

The content is simple enough. But his calligraphy is really elegant. This makes me want to just stop reading to admire it.

"Can I… can I have his unsent letters?" I mumbled softly, red faced playing with the hem of the blanket.

"That's what she said. What are you going to do?" Shoko hollered to the door, making me flinch, tails and ears out. A box wrapped in a tail was sent into the room.

'He… he is listening!!!!' My eyes swam.

"Here. The letters." Shoko smirked at me as she observed my face. "I am going to do my paperwork first. You better stay right here, you hear me young lady." She warned.

"Yes…" I answered obediently. Gingerly, I open the box. A lot of letters was stacked neatly, from the top to the bottom, from the newest to oldest. I glance at the door, still seeing fluffy white tails peeking out a little. I spend the whole day reading his letter. And he spends his whole day staying outside the door. Afraid he will scare me away again if he entered.

The first dozens letters are all about apology. The letter gradually changed content. Even though there are still some about apology, most of them has changed into I will wait for you that kind of thing. I come into (stupid) conclusion, he is still waiting for my forgiveness.

"I…didn't think… you were wrong…" I started. "Suguru… is your dear friend…If…someone did that to my friend, I think…no I am sure I will react just like you did." I spoke to the door, I know he is still there listening, givenI still can see his tails.

My phone buzzes, indicating a message is delivered to me. "But you are not just someone." I blinked, looked at the door and back to the phone. 'Is he afraid his voice will scare me?' I tilted my head.

"But… it's a fact that Suguru was in critical condition because of protecting me. I am…weak…"

"You are not weak."

"It's the truth. You were right."

"You are not weak. I was just…" The message was half finished. I am waiting for the next bubble with three dots formed into words. "I was just being a little shit."

"You are strong, [Name]-chan. You were the one that managed to escape from 2 special grades while having to bring wounded Suguru. The fact you were alive is already a enough proof of you being strong. If it's another sorcerer, I doubt they would even manage to escape alone."

"I…I…*sniff*" Small sobs escaped my lips. Satoru tails and ears stand straight at my small whine. He quickly gets up but stands hesitantly on the doorway, wondering whether he should go in or not. He is afraid my instinctive fear will kick in again.

"Aaaa… sensei, why are you bullying [Name]-san again?!" Yuuji accused the lanky kitsune.

"I didn't…"

"The worst." Nobara growled as she entered the room, quickly patting my back.

"I am disappointed in you, sensei." Megumi didn't even spare him a glance.

"No. You guys are wrong… He didn't bully me…. I was just suddenly crying on my own." I quickly clarified to them.

"You don't need to cover for him, [Name]-chan. I will beat him up for you." Suguru quipped.

"You can count me in too." Shoko seconded.

"Then, let's just gang up on him together." Panda easily suggested.

"Salmon salmon."

"Nice idea, Panda. Now, I can try my new trick on him." Maki cracked her knuckles.

"Tha-that's why I said you guys were wrong!!!!" Sadly, nobody listened to me. ~"~

Satoru started to bring me food personally. Not through Shoko or Suguru anymore. Everyday, there will be a box of expensive sweets on my desk. He also started to hang around me a lot, asking permission to be there. Wanting to comb my tails and feed me from his hand. Everytime I gave my consent, his tails and ears will twitch and swish crazily. I think he even purred one time when he was first given permission to touch my tails.

"Satoru…"

"What, [Name]-chan?" He hummed as he gently combed my tails.

"...About our arranged marriage…" I can feel his hands halted his combing and I tensed up. I gulp before continuing, "I…I will talk to the elders if you don't want to go through this…"

"Why are you so sure I don't want go through this?"

"Because… because I am weak…?" I tilted my head. I didn't really ever think about this, but Satoru didn't like me at all, right? There must be a gorgeous vixen he has a crush on. I…can't just snatch him just because I am Tamamo-no-Mae's descendant.

"Haaaa…" I heard a long sigh from him and my furs stood up straight. "[Name]-chan."

"Yes?" I waited with bated breath, body tensing up like there's no tomorrow.

"You are too tense." He put his hands on my shoulders. "Relax…" He whispered.

"I…"

"I have told you, you are strong, [Name]-chan. I am the strongest. So, when I said you are strong. I mean it. Be proud. If someone was talking down to you, I will beat him up. Or I can tie him up for you and you beat him up. Whichever is fine. And for the arranged marriage… I thought you have gotten the clue from all the letter you read.” He sighed.

I tilt my head, blinking. ‘Clue…? What kind of clue?’ “All I get is that you were waiting for my forgiveness. That’s why I said what I said.” I uttered.

“…You didn’t get it at all. why do you think I try so hard for you to get used to to my presence again?”

“Because it’s uncomfortable for you to work with someone who avoid you all the time?” I answered.

“…If it’s only that, I don’t think I need to do that. I can just play along with your hide away game. I won’t even bother to go out of my way just to search for you.”

“Then…”

“Of course that’s because I like you, my cute silly fiancée. I even appealed myself to you in the first meeting here.”

“…You… didn’t do that to intimidate me?”

“Why would I do that?” He sweatdropped. “I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep the night before. Imagine my surprise when you just ran away like that.”

“Sorry…”

“Ah, no. it was my fault anyway. I made you fear me.” He patted my head, my whole body relaxed instantly and I purred.

“So cute.” He cooed. “So, do you want to go through the marriage?” He asked back.

“…I actually thought you have annulled it when that happened… so, I have never thought about it. The elders will arrange another marriage for me if this one is annulled. Whether I got married or not is just the same. They just don’t want the blood of Tamamo-no-Mae ended. I am only a tool to achieve that.” I sighed softly. “I don’t like that…”

“If you don’t want to, I will make sure those old foxes won’t ever mention marriage to you ever again. Just tell me what do you want.” He pulled down his blindfold, letting me see the truth in his eyes.

“…If… if you are not bothered by me… I…I’d rather have an arranged marriage with you…” I averted my eyes.

“…[Name]-chan…” He breathed out my name. his face is suddenly so close to mine. I let out a small squeak, hiding my face using my palm and tails, ears flattened. “Do you like me?”

“Li…like…?” A high pitched voice came out from my lips. “I…I don’t know…” I squealed. “…I think…maybe…?”

“By the time you said maybe, I am sure you already like me.” I can smell his grin even I am hiding my face from him. “Say it again, this time without the maybe.” Satoru peeled open my hands and tails.

“…” I shook my head, utterly embarrassed at the exposed truth.

“…If you don’t say it…” His tails tangled into mine, holding mine from hiding myself.

“Sa..Satoru!!!”

“I will let you have unlimited mofu-mofu time with my tails after you say it.” His blue eyes shone with mischief. Some of his naughty tails slides up onto my thigh.

“No! Not there!” My face combusted.

“Say it.” His grin widened.

“I…I like you… there! I said it!” I cried out.

“Good girl.” He kissed my nose. “Now, your reward.” His tails formed a cushion behind him. “You can mofu-mofu all you want.” My eyes twinkled at the invitation.

“Can I sleep there?”

“Go ahead. You can use them however you like.” Satoru chuckled at my request. Then, sleep I did, surrounded by super fluffy tails. My own tails are fluffy, but not as much as his, and it’s not enough to form cushion like his. So warm, so safe. I think I can get used to with this feelings.

#jjk au #kitsune gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu sorcerers are kitsune #kyubi gojo #jujutsu kaisen

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hwan-g · 2 years

Text

chapter one ( forget ) ANTHOLOGY.

‘forget everything. open the windows.’ — frank kafka.

pair. hyunjin x reader x felix | warnings. mentions of cheating, angst, heartbreak, mentions of depression, profanity, suggestive behavior, mentions of food and drinking | word count. 10.7k

synopsis. fresh out of your breakup with their best friend, the duo decide it’s time for you to get out of hibernation; so the plan begins. only problem—neither of them drive.

tags. @cb97percent, @ughbehavior, @lix-ables, @hyuneater, @hyun-bun, @j-0ne25, @hellishmoons, @danyxthirstae01, @enluc, @skz317cb97.

June 19th.

Summer shuddered outside your room, trees peeking through the pale curtains.

Wake up, will you? Enough.

You stir in your sleep, face nuzzling the pillow, brain shifting the fog away. And face another day? you groggily think. Maybe tomorrow, maybe when the sun leaves me alone.

No, it must be now— “hey, don’t turn away from me!” Huh?

Your eyes fall open, a familiar figure coming into focus. Distantly, you think you’re cold, so you try to locate the AC unit above your desk, see if it’s still on. It was off. So, a different coldness, then. Or, perhaps, the same one that’s followed you since March. The icy cloud of heartbreak and all its symptoms.

Hwang Hyunjin is standing above your bed, studying the mess of you. Half of you feels apologetic, almost. The other half wants to return to your dream, grapefruit flavored. There, it’s warm. There, there are no lurking shadows, no golf sized hail descending from the sky, no apocalypse swallowing the Earth as you know it.

There, everything just is. As it should be—as you want it to be.

He sighs, and reaches for your arm, sitting you up. You blink at him. He blinks back, raising his eyebrows. Your chest deflates, giving in.

“Alright.”

Hyunjin grins, messenger bag hitting against his hip as he moves towards your closet. “That’s my girl.”

You smile softy, fondly at his back. His hair is back to black, a midnight silky wave framing his pretty features. Fair, lovely—the dictionary bows before him, offering its infinite words. A porcelain doll that came alive as a birthday wish once, or a foreign prince that escaped a children’s fairytale book and has tried to adapt to real life ever since.

Not quite corporeal, not yet. Soon, you think. He’s not ready yet.

He holds up a floral dress for you. A dainty thing, green all over, with thin straps. You grimace, pulling the covers over your legs. Your arms are freezing, the tips of you going numb. This is how it happens—the unfortunate, the terrible.

Your heart. Your stupid heart.

“Jeans, or forget about it,” you threaten.

“I’m doing you a favor here,” he fights back, waving the piece of fabric. “I was kind enough to not mention the state of this place.”

Your eyes squint at him. “Your apartment is covered in paint.” But you knew it was a weak retort, and he’d eventually win.

He was better at this than you. You threw the towel in too fast, grew tired of wit games if they showed to be futile from the start. And you knew, most of all, that Hyunjin was, indeed, only trying to help. Him and Felix filled your inbox with daily worried remarks, most going unanswered, though that never seemed to stop them. The resilient pair, the two of them. Always together, strong in their unity.

Felix had even attempted to bake cookies for you, using his emergency key to come in your house as you remained hermetically locked in your room, your grief contained with you. He’d cleaned a bit, thrown out expired food from your fridge, and made a big bowl of bibimbap, with a note on it.

‘At least eat this, yeah? It’s made with lots and lots and lots of love. Please?’

You did eat it. Two days later, when you noticed it next to the carton of eggs. When your spoon scraped the bottom of the Tupperware, a decision had been made. That night you answered all their messages, reassuring everything would be okay. It had to, eventually. Before you lost your mind, preferably.

A breakup with Bang Chan was tough business, but you’d known all along. This man would be hard to get over—perhaps because you never expected the blow. But you cannot procrastinate the inevitable, no matter how you wish otherwise. Things happen and they stay, they are all you can see, they drown and castrate, sweep you up and down, sideways and all ways, until one day they just—don’t.

Until they seize or subside. So, it would be okay. With time. Always, endless, unmeasured time.

June was a good place to start.

Later, dread showered off, you wore that silly flower dress per request, and sat on the kitchen table eating the sesame bagel Hyunjin had brought you, and was so avidly forcing you to try, when he asked if he could do your hair.

It brought back the memory of him absentmindedly putting your hair in a braid all those years ago, before you run across scorching sand to swim in the vibrant blue of the sea. He’d sat you between his long legs, as Chan threw a frisbee back and forth with Changbin, feet dipped in seafoam.

Now, he does it consciously. Every finger finding its way through your damp locks, pulling it back in the familiar style, away from your, sticky with moisturizer, face. The bagel is nice, perfectly toasted, and the yellow light falling through the kitchen window above the sink doesn’t feel like such a punishment anymore. A dream, this seems, the world has stopped spinning. Hyunjin weaves magic through him, so much so, everything looks a shade brighter, there’s glitter on the ceiling, the flowers bloom on your mini dress.

A moving painting. The power of the artist.

“Felix is stuck in traffic,” he mumbles, tying the hairband on the end of his finished work. “You’d think the taxi driver would go through the streets. Such con men, these people…”

You smile, chewing. “He wouldn’t be, if one of you would just go get your driving license.”

He sighed behind you, patting your head mockingly. “Sweetheart, I am a painter—I can’t possibly be bothered with such a mundane thing, now, can I?”

With an eye roll, you look at the empty paper bag in front of you. “You’re the one complaining…” you trail off, sulkily.

Hyunjin ignores you. “Do you have a ribbon? I think a ribbon would look cute with this dress!” And he’s off, in his own fantastic world of ribbons, and colors, and swirls—patterns, and brush strokes, and ideas.

You wonder what it would be like to live in a world where all is animated, all vivid and quite unreal. Perhaps there, the heaviness in your heart would feel like cotton candy, melting into nothing in your mouth.

Perhaps.

You stare at the duffel bags on the pavement in bewilderment.

When did this happen?

Felix was talking with the driver, ‘It’ll only be a few minutes, thank you for waiting,’ before his face broke into a smile that would put the sun to shame, and rushed to gather you in his arms. Apparently, you were to rewrite the whole planet green, alive with summer, glistening like leaves on a wild field—

Hyunjin smirks down at you, as you look at Felix’s mint colored Converse, wondering how much more of your life went unnoticed by you, how you kept getting coaxed into these peculiar situations unbeknownst to yourself, a stranger in a body you’ve hosted all your life, suddenly forgetting your lines, or how limps moved.

What a strange realization.

“I got the tickets on my phone. The ride is two hours, and then we’ll have to get on a bus,” Felix was excitedly informing Hyunjin of your trip, never once pausing to see your surprised expression.

Hyunjin was nodding along, amused smile tugging on his lips, as he loaded the bags in the trunk of the orange car. When he shut it closed, he turned to your unmoving frame.

“Are you coming?” he asked you. As if you had a choice, when all was packed to go.

Words had left you, but you managed an incredulous “How?” to which he chuckled.

He offered his hand, and you eyed it hesitantly. Felix saw the whole encounter, and his demeanor changed immediately.

“You were supposed to tell her!”

“She’d say no.” Brown eyes pierced you knowingly, hand patient, waiting.

“Well, she’s not saying yes,” the blonde sighed. “We thought you needed a way out. So, we’re taking you away to sea,” he smiled warmly at you.

This is the second part. Lee Felix is made of star powder and pixie dust, absolutely. The garden of him continues to grow over everything, could not be put behind fences, and does not abide by any human rules. Like Hyunjin, he was dreamed up by fairies in a magical forest, where birds sing, and deer can talk. At least, that was the general impression of him. Like a spell, you lay defenseless, agreeing to every word coming out of his mango lips.

Once, for your birthday, he’d given you a friendship bracelet. He was already wearing his, the colorful beads circling around his wrist cutely, the smiley face staring at yours disapprovingly. You think that was when the magic bonded together, when the spell was cast. Yet, taking off the bracelet was out of the question, had never dawned on you.

So, you went. Took Hyunjin’s hand and followed the two of them inside the taxicab. The ride to the train station was filled with Felix’s recommendations of restaurants, and the small history lesson Hyunjin gave the both of you, what he’d heard from his parents of Sokcho, how it has existed B.C, how it started a small fishing village and has come to now be one of the most popular destinations in all of South Korea.

You and Felix listened intently, drinking every word in. When Hyunjin talked, it was water on a stream. Everything became alive, leaned closely. His voice was made of the same magic that existed in your bracelet. Secret, ancient witchcraft, the kind that bewitched the soul, run through your veins acting as your own blood.

Hyunjin was like that—a young God. His actions could only be justified as mystic, coming from an elsewhere, a place that couldn’t possibly endure in the human realm. No one could understand his ways, if they weren’t hooked directly into the heart tree that consists of him. It is why he does not have many friends—

It is the very reason he paints. If Hyunjin did not have an outlet, he’d be a terrible man. Felix knows this best.

The station was chaos. Families on vacation, sleepy children moving sheepishly across the ticket kiosks, holding their parents’ hand; people dressed in formal attire, likely off to business meetings, and thirty story buildings. But the couples—you stopped dead in your tracks, staring at the stolen glances, the intertwining of their fingers, the synchronicity of their steps. So romantic love hadn’t died after all.

You’d thought if yours and Chan’s relationship could flicker out, then no one stood a chance. Or perhaps you’d been fed a lie; you’d played the part that had been given to you a little too well, believed it a little too much. In any case, no Chan standing next to you, holding your hand, carrying your purse on his shoulder. No one at all for you. Not anymore.

Just an excited Lee Felix, followed by photographer extraordinaire Hwang Hyunjin.

Your first friend—first love. Beginning of time, Hwang Hyunjin, and everything that exists in the in between.

The platform for your destination only had a handful of people waiting, the clock reading ten minutes to spare before boarding. By that point, the day had grown unbearably warm, sweat threatening to drip from every pore, sunrays shading everyone a faint flush of red. It was nice, you thought stupidly, it felt very much like being alive, five years old, running around in the backyard of your house growing up, no care for sunburn, or anything, really. Mud on your shorts, wet hair from the water guns that had been an early birthday present the year prior, and popsicle juice leaking down your chin.

Lee Felix swinging his lemonade glass up high, big eyes shining, mischievous expression—poor, much shorter you and your big, dumb emotions spilling out of you even then, even in play, even in pretend. On the first sight of tears, the boy caved, terrified of your sobs, scared he’d get in trouble. He’d never been good at intimidating, anyway, never wanted you to think he was being for real.

What had been real—Hyunjin grabbing the plastic gun, spraying away at the strange boy that had entered their life suddenly, having moved from a place called Australia, so far from where you were. The glass spilling, the boy soaked, you laughing at the two of them, silly silly boys and their silly boy games, tears forgotten, summer raging on and on and on, forever in your memory—

Boys. Your entire life had consisted of them, of all that makes them, all that involves them. You’d been swept away, grown into the shape they’d made of you, waited for their instructions and words that could raise or break you, always them them them, and so little of you, yet if you were to deconstruct everything that was until now, you’d be left with absolutely nothing if they hadn’t been there. If the inner workings of you were to be altered.

“AC would be great right about now,” Felix commented miserably, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

“Dare I mention it again, in fear of being dragged—the DMV is like— thirty minutes away from your place.”

Hyunjin groans, slamming the palm of his own hand against his face. “Not this again.”

“It stands true, you are both adults—” “I don’t see you having a car, love,” Felix interjected, staring pointedly at you.

You scowled, pursing your lips. “I don’t possess the kind of wealth you two have.”

“So, if we bought you a car, would you drive us around then?” the black-haired man turned to look at you, eyes suggestive and smiling.

“No.”

Another protesting exclaim, this time mirrored.

“Oh, thank God!” The train arrived, grand and multi travelled, taking its time to come to a stop, the sudden breeze blowing the three of you back.

“Let’s go,” Felix guided you through the doors, all the way to your seats, Hyunjin trailing behind, a feather of a touch on your shoulder.

Once the conductor checked your tickets, you deflated in the tight space, checking the carry-on underneath you with the heel of your shoe. Hyunjin grinned at you, eyes turning into crescent moons, holding entire planets within them.

“Do you need to look so breathtaking all the time?” you voice your thoughts to him, almost annoyed.

He laughed a full sound, long, slender fingers hiding his mouth, rings adorning them, heavy with meaning. Felix’s identical ones glint under the summery brightness coming from the wide window next to you.

“Not something I can exactly help, sweetheart.”

You see it, then, the meeting of hands between them, the long slender fingers and the shorter chubbier ones, the crescent moons, and the sunbeam smiles. It’s absentminded, it’s nearly muscle memory for them, impossible to miss, like a thought in the back of your head that had once been on the tip of your tongue—a soulmate connection.

The silly boys had grown up to be dreamers, admirers of art, and art themselves under a certain light, in the right angle, at the proper place, and then, before you could’ve even blinked—lovers.

Sometimes. When the darkness is unbearable, when the sky is devoid of its stars. In those spaces of time, they meet halfway, souls bared, hearts beating as one. Your beautiful boys, the forest fairy tale. Who could’ve known, and yet it was so very evident. Still, they never once separated you from their magic, never alienated you from your place in the center, always the center, vital for their existence as much as they were for yours.

You must’ve drifted off after a while, staring at the action of surrender, wondering— if Bang Chan had ever loved you even half as much as you’d loved him, his hand wouldn’t have felt so heavy on yours, weighing, tugging. A cruise anchor on top of a house roof.

Or, perhaps, was it a different love? A love between a man and a woman; Atlas, and the World? Not the push and push back, the warrior and his armor, but the war and Helen of Troy.

Hyunjin’s sketchbook is propped on top of his knees, legs pulled up, pencil dancing on top of rough paper.

Felix was passed out next to him, head resting on the artist’s shoulder, belonging, impetuous. You blinked, and rubbed at your eyes, grabbing Hyunjin’s water bottle and gulping a sip of it down.

A baby was crying in the background, the moving of the train barely a whisper to you now.

“How long was I out?” you ask quietly, not wanting to disrupt the magic.

“An hour and a half,” he replies without lifting his gaze.

Fields stretched out of the window now, acres of them, all wild with color, greengreengreen, endless, shouting. You didn’t bother Hyunjin for the rest of the time on the train, letting him stew in his ideas, and faraway places, his own greens, and blues, suns and universes, the pale haired boy with him, joined, clasping.

When you reached Gangneung, it was already past noon, a few clouds making their way over the light, blue turning pastel. Hyunjin put away his drawing materials, gently shaking Felix, wiping sleep from his face, a secret passing between them in hushed voices.

Felix nodded, and looked at you, the softest smile painting his pink lips. His hair looked fluffy—you wanted to reach out and pass your fingers through it.

“To the bus we go, yeah love?”

Sleep still felt like a good idea, until you sat stranded at the bus station, waiting. And waiting.

And waiting.

“You think we’re at the right place?” you ask an amused Hyunjin, looking around at the absence of people.

“I think we are, angel,” he confirms, that annoying smirk of his growing bigger.

You sigh. “Well, then, where is this cursed bus?”

Felix chuckles next to you, crossing his arms over his lean chest. “Should I ask my magic map?”

“Perhaps. Something of yours is bound to answer one of these days.”

Hyunjin barks, laughter bubbling from the pit of his stomach, as he doubles over with it, a coughing fit following soon after. You watch in confused amazement as he recovers, pushing onyx hair out of his face, eyes animated.

“Felix, our appointed Tinker Bell! Should I shake you a little, see if I can wish a private jet?”

You snort at that, leaning back against the plexiglass. “Now you’re thinking.”

“Neither of you are funny.”

“You’re right—we’re hilarious.” You high-five with your partner in crime.

The bus does come eventually, and you board it at once, becoming random passengers in the humdrum of it all, clutching to your destination as tight as you can, delirious with purpose. You sit next to Hyunjin, while Felix becomes friendly with an old woman, offering her a dashing smile and asking if the sit adjoining her was empty.

Of course, it was. For him.

Hyunjin nudges you, chortling, hands clapping soundlessly, like a seal on mute. You smile, throwing a wink toward Felix’s way, before sitting down, and nuzzling into your friend.

“What a heartthrob.”

“Can I show you something, sweetheart?” He took his sketchbook out of the messenger bag between his legs, opening it to a coal full page.

“Hyunjin.” You looked up at him, mouth hanging. His brows rose at your tone, taking in your reaction.

It was Felix. But it was Felix reimagined as Icarus, free falling into a darkly sketched sea, waves cut sharply, menacing, the wings expanding, beautiful but melting, reduced down to candle wax facing against the scorching sun. The face was disappointed, furious in its failing, but somehow peaceful in the fall, like the fate of him and his father’s wings were dawning on him all at the same time.

It somehow managed to catch the innocence of the action, the naivety. The pride of an unsuspecting boy, and his death because of it. The shading of the features, though, the curve of the shoulders—there was adoration laced in this drawing. A knowing that run deep, deeper than you understood, and deeper still. Why would Hyunjin draw this? Was he trying to tell you something?

A boy lost, blinded by ambition. The inevitable falling. It couldn’t be a coincidence…

“Is everything okay, Hyun?” you ask, hand wrapping around his forearm, trying to meet his gaze.

He gave a small, cryptic smile, but said nothing, closing the book, and his eyes with it. Your mind went over the image of the sketch in your head, and then revisited the moment of their hands on the train. Hyunjin had been busy with his exhibition, and Felix was—well, Felix was Felix, doing whatever he pleased, his bank account loaded with zero’s. He travelled, saw the world, met people, and then met some more, always excited, always searching, curious, energetic.

That’s who he was, who he’s always been. And then a terrifying thought struck.

What if Icarus wasn’t really the pale, the bright, but instead the midnight black, the timid? The Felix that couldn’t be held back, and the Hyunjin that is paying for it.

A sinking, a sacrifice.

You stayed like that, chilled, wrapped around the fusing candle, thoughts of quicksand, and hungry Mediterranean waves enveloping you down under.

By the time you reached Sokcho and got in the cab to the Airbnb you’d be staying at, you were exhausted. The sun beating down on you in combination with all the transportation changes had you feeling nauseous, and craving sleep. In an actual bed.

“We have to try the seafood here. There’s a place by the sea.”

Felix kicked the door open, bags in each hand, checking the place out. White, spacious, smelling of bleach and something sweet, fruity. A dining table, adjacent to a small kitchen, and a living room with a decent sized TV. A staircase led to the bedrooms, while a full wall was replaced by a glass, patio door, leading outside to the small yard with the grill and chairs you passed coming inside.

It was beautiful, felt just like summer vacation. You’d only stay for one night, but as was the true twin style, the accommodations were more than satisfactory. Perhaps a bit extra if you might add.

“Don’t look at me, it was Hyunjin’s idea. He’s stayed here before, apparently.”

Hyunjin took the messenger bag he’d been carrying all day off, placing it on the long table, and rounded his arms around your shoulders, locking you into a giant back hug. You stayed like that for a while, his chin resting on the top of your head, looking out into the scenery.

You could see the beach from where you were. It looked to be walkable distance, and Felix had been nonstop talking about that damn clam soup since before you even left, so you gathered whatever energy you had, and started for the bathroom to freshen up.

Until Hyunjin shot a hand out to stop you. You looked at it, looked at him.

“Come here, will you?” This was your first love, speaking to you.

You went, and he took you in his arms again, this time his head on your shoulder, one hand rubbing circles on your back, the other holding your wrist down. Hyunjin had this ability—he could calm you down with one touch. One look. One word. In no way did you have what he had with Felix, but in your own way, you were soulmates. No one got you like he did, and vice versa.

Nothing more, nothing less. Except at times like these, when lines get blurred, when both of you are wallowing in sadness. You’d been fooled this morning, thinking all was alright with him. Seeing him now, next to the blue of the sea, he looked eternally sorrowful.

“What’s wrong with you, Hyun?” you whisper to him, wanting—needing this private time with him.

He knuckled his eye, sighing deeply. “Nothing. Everything.” And you understood. You understood.

“These rooms are huge!” Felix shouted from upstairs. You smiled without meaning to.

Hyunjin did too, but his looked different. It was that special smile reserved only for Lee Felix. “I love him, you know? But he keeps leaving. I will not keep him down.”

“Love isn’t a cage, Hyunjin.”

He leans back to stare at your face. His eyes are tired, face drained. Mask fallen. “You’re wrong, sweetheart. It is the worst kind of cage. I have the key in my hand, and I keep doing this to myself.”

You kiss him, then. A simple kiss, no meaning behind it. It was meant as a comfort, as a ‘I love you, you’re not alone in this.’ He kissed back, and it felt like you were seventeen again, falling in love with him, not knowing what it meant, what it would be.

“Come on.”

You went. You always went.

Cheongchosu Mulheo was a small restaurant, overlooking water. A little bit after lunch time, it remained crammed with people sitting in big groups around metal tables, laughing over Coke and grilled squid. The atmosphere was lively, the outside warm but not unendurable anymore, and your stomach was absolutely growling its way out of your body.

Hyunjin ordered a platter of raw fish, and noodles, enough for three people, and you all decided to drink later, somewhere more quiet, closer to the sea. Drinking at night was healing, an entirely different experience.

“Alright,” Felix turned to you after all the food arrived. His soup had vanished in minutes, and his smile was restored back to the blinding spitting image of the sun. It hurt to look at him straight.

“What would you like to do? It’s pretty early still,” his deep voice couldn’t contain the excitement, the pure delight that travelling, exploring brought him.

“We should check out the market,” Hyunjin suggested, seeing your lost expression. “Perhaps the Port?”

“Sounds great,” you reply, yet have no idea what any of these places are.

You never travel. You could count the trips you’ve taken in one hand—Seoul was a set ship, your job taking most of your time. Bang Chan hoarding the rest.

But no more of that now. No more of him. No more.

Felix leans over the table and waves his hand over your head. You look up at him. He furrows his eyebrows at you, lips in a thin smile.

“Keep the clouds away, love, no time for that.”

Hyunjin’s hand slips into yours underneath the table. You nod between the two of them, repeating the words out loud:

“No time for that.”

The market was not as crowded, many shops already closed for the day, mainly the fish stands, and some tiny restaurants. You passed a few places selling teokbokki and sliced fruit in bowls, colorful banners hanging all around you, big letters in italics and exclamation marks inviting you left and right. Hyunjin had totally bought into everything, observing, and engaging in conversation with the people.

For no reason at all, you now had a bag of potatoes, and green onions from a friendly grandma that insisted her items were of the best quality and the lowest price. There were other things too—hair accessories, and bracelets, toys, and clothes. Felix picked up a cute claw clip in blue, and pulled Hyunjin’s hair back with it, stepping back to see how it looked on him. Hyunjin modeled for it. The selling couple laughed at the silly poses and gave it to you for free. After thanking them, the three of you got a serving of squid sausage that seemed especially appetizing, after Felix exclaimed rather dramatically that he’s never tried it before.

“(Y/N) how about this dress?!” A maxi floral dress in dark blue, with a peter pan collar, three times your size.

You giggled, but put it on your body, extending your leg, looking at the boys through your eyelashes.

“Exquisite, sweetheart,” Hyunjin commented lovingly, hands still busy with the claw clip.

“Wear it for tonight! Here, I’ll wear this!” Felix snatched a leather vest from the pile of clothes, passing it through his arms. “How about it?”

You and Hyunjin nodded, slowly, marveling at the piece of fabric swallowing your friend whole. “It’s…something, for sure.”

Felix laughed, not a care in the world. “I’m buying it.”

And that was how you three left that local market, each carrying something new, ridiculous in the way happiness feels after a long episode of numb, numb, numb. A season passed amongst dull, grey buildings and customer service, sinking in self-pity, and wishing something, anything, would change, take this weight off your heart, and kickstart it, give you a small push—or a whole kick to the gut—anything if it got you moving, and out of that room.

The kick ended up being Hwang Hyunjin throwing the covers off and grabbing your hand, but it felt all the same at the end. As long as the veil lifted, the clouds dispersed.

It was a sixteen-minute walk from where you were to the Domyeong Port, and you took your time, enjoying the scenery, eating the spicy snack you’d bought with toothpicks. The sound of the waves crashing on shore, a slight breeze blowing your hair away from your face, horns of Vespa’s and pickup trucks alarming you every so often—it was getting hard to differentiate between dream and reality, the endless blue and smell of salt in the air, and the other side, the town, the reminder of people around you, their yelling and jostling. The time on your phone said a bit after six in the afternoon, and yet you swore time did not exist, was not a concept in your own little made-up world, with the boys made of magic, and your friendship bracelets.

Was the wind blowing through you or around you? Were the people all the same, backdrop to your invisible soap bubble with the rainbow edges, held together by spells and soulmate rings or were they talking to each other, individuals with their own voice and life, decisions and choices taking them from one place to the next?

Were you to finally take ahold of the wheel of your story, accept it as it is, and forget about anything that doesn’t turn the pages forward, anything that holds you back? Is it really that simple?

Looking out at sea, watching the waves—it is. It is.

Hyunjin is busy taking pictures with his gigantic, professional camera, while Felix ties his shoelaces, and you realize you’ve reached the Port. The big rocks running across the path to the fishing boats that are floating side by side, a barely visible skerry in the stretch of boundless blue that Felix points out to you.

You’re overtaken with nostalgia, memories of summer vacations when you were a child flashing through your mind, photographs in sepia, the same boats floating, the same shade of blue, the salt in your face, the wind transporting—you feel like crying. You feel like laughing. You feel like running to the lighthouse all the way on the end of the dock.

You take off, the boys yelling after you.

“Be careful, will you?” Hyunjin shouts, a smile evident in his tone.

“Why are we running?!” Felix laughing, angels rejoicing, clouds parting, skies clear.

“Why not?” you answer, your voice suspended in the air, cutting through the silence of the port.

The Lighthouse is monumental, you feel microscopic next to it, but you don’t let it faze you, instead you climb the stairs up to it, hoping for a door, hoping you can see the beacon from up close, see how far it reaches, let the luminescence of it wash over you, wrap around you and carry you over the waves, over the rock islet, past the horizon, further and further, oceans away, until you are transformed, until you too are nothing but light, helping, guiding the way.

It won’t happen, of course, not how you want, the sun is still high up in the sky, the moon barely showing its head, and the Lighthouse does not accept visitors on a Sunday, a sign with black capital letters tells you.

You’re panting by that point, breathing labored, and you double over, hands on your knees, inhaling deeply, shamelessly. The boys reach the top of the stairs a few minutes later, collapsing on the last step, lying their heads on the dirt path.

“I am never running again,” Hyunjin states, fingers clenching his heart.

“You can’t deny—it felt good—right?” More heavy breathing.

“Hyunjin—take a picture. This is beautiful!” Felix steals the camera, snapping a picture as he’s sprawled over the stairs, forehead shiny with sweat, pearly white teeth in display.

The black-haired man has his eyes closed, focusing on the sounds surrounding you.

“Do you hear it?”

“What?”

“Siberian stonechats. Listen.”

The chirps invaded your ears with a sharpness unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It was nowhere, and then it was everywhere, it was all around you, there were so many birds, all up in trees, flying over bushes, and then more, different kinds, over the coastline, so very alive, demanding to be heard.

“How do you know their name?” Felix asks, amazed by the clear sound.

“My dad liked birdwatching.”

The incantation breaks. Liked—past tense for a person who’s passed, who’s not here anymore. Someone who’s elsewhere, beyond. You look at the hair sprawled, the messenger bag on his hip, the arm over his eyes, and you think it hasn’t been long for him either. And yet here he is, and yet he moved on before the hole turned poisonous, before it swallowed him down under, before it trapped him in a room and locked the door.

Something protruding from the pier caught your eye. It looked like a pavilion, along the coastline, red with a traditional looking rooftop. Felix noticed it as soon as you did.

“We should go,” he told you, and you agreed.

“Help me pick the body up.”

With his help, you brough Hyunjin back on his feet, dusting him off. Wasting no time, he immediately caught both of you in headlocks, pulling you against him. Felix surrendered, but you fought back, tickling his sides as the three of you descended the stairs, making your way to the pier.

“Let’s watch the sunset there.”

“Deal.”

Yeonggeumjeong was the name of it, Hyunjin informed you. He’d gone there once, two years ago, to find inspiration for his paintings. When he went back to Seoul, he was busy for a whole month. Then, finally, around Christmas time, he had his first exhibition.

That’s where you’d seen it before. The bridge to get to the pavilion was beautiful, coming to a curve in the middle, a few couples scattered, leaning over the railings. The couples again. You didn’t know why it was so triggering to you, and this time you waved your own hands over the clouds. You were on a mission here, a mission that had been orchestrated, and you wouldn’t let your efforts, your friend’s efforts, be dissipated by the mere sight of love.

You would stop letting love scare you to a corner. You would open the windows, allow it to flow from everywhere, welcome it inside for tea, a familiar thing that had once been essential for you, for your existence. No more of this frightening, of this hesitancy to acknowledge, to face.

What was the truth—Chan hadn’t contacted you in months. Chan had ended it, because there were three people, not two. Three, so more than a couple, which meant no space. Someone had to go, and even though you weren’t the one doing the leaving, weren’t the one severing ties, doing the hard part, staying felt to you a worse punishment than death.

Staying in love. A graveyard made entirely by being the one left behind. Perhaps that was the fear itself.

Hyunjin accompanied the waving, long fingers picking the stubborn clouds one by one and flicking them off, far away from you. He smiled down at you, moons for orbs, pressing a kiss on your forehead after the hourly ceremony was over, and caught both yours and Felix’s hands, walking you over to the edge of the pavilion.

The beach stretched for miles, sand wider than a highway, people waiting to bear witness to the sunset, feel a little closer to God through the marvel of nature, and all its abilities to appear otherworldly, separate from humans.

“We should rent a car,” Felix spoke, leaning against the railing. “Teach us how to drive, love.”

You eyed him. “Where? I don’t feel like going to jail today.”

“Here,” his hand gestured at the beach. “I trust my teacher.”

The sky was a thousand colors, all blending into each other, and from the corner of your eye you caught Hyunjin taking a seat at the bench in the middle of the decorative building, legs crossed, sketchbook open on top, pencils already in motion. You let him be, figuring now is the time of the painter, the magic crenscendoing to its peak, God collaborating.

You’d take one picture, just one. To remember everything as it was right at that moment; Felix in the background, the couple, always the couple, photobombing on the far left, and you— cloudless, in the center, weightless against the wind, at peace with the unknown at least for that one singular second in time.

Then and then gone. Always.

When it finally happened—the oranges and lilacs replaced by dark hues of blue, moon white in its phantom form, Hyunjin awakening, lifting the blanket of mystical inspiration—there were no words to describe the aloofness in your chest. You didn’t feel quite corporeal, taken away by the actions of the day. Your body was tired, but your mind worked overtime, refusing to let go, to give up, and in its struggle, exhausting you beyond reason. You almost collapsed on the stoned bridge, Felix holding you up by the arm.

“Are you okay?” Voice full of worry.

“Yeah. Yes.”

“We should head back,” Hyunjin’s eyes pierced through you. “Rest for a bit.”

“I’ll call a cab.”

With Felix on the phone, walking ahead, your knees gave way, hands finding your face. Hyunjin didn’t seem surprised, instead squatting in front of you, waiting meekly, guiding people around you with a kind smile. He’s used to this, knows you better than himself sometimes.

“No time for this, yeah?”

You exhale shakily, hiding still. “I know.”

“You’re overwhelmed,” a statement, tone kept calm, steady.

“I need a drink,” you huff out a laugh, peeking through your fingers. You see his lips, the curve of them.

“Yeah,” the word drawls, his head nods. “Sweetheart, I love you, alright?” You feel his fingers around your wrist, there as a comfort, not to pull, not to reveal. “This isn’t you, and you know this. Fight it.”

“I’m tired, Hyunjin.” Finally, the eyes meet. And he understands, he sees it in himself as well. “Somedays I can’t even physically—move. I can’t fucking move.”

His fingers tighten, his handsome features softening. “Because he still matters.” You nod, cheeks wet, green ribbon swaying with the breeze. “He always will. But, angel, let me tell you this. If you do not move—you will die. I can’t let that happen. Not to you.”

It seems Hwang Hyunjin will always be pulling you to your feet, always shun the rain away. He’s better at grief than you. Better at a lot of things. Concealing, especially, but you wouldn’t dare be the first to bring it up. You let yourself cling to him, wishing it will be the last time. If you could just do it this one time, and then you’ll figure out a way to be stronger, move on from this.

The drive was a full twenty minutes back to the house, and with dusk officially covering everything with its thick layer of half-darkness, there was no reason to pretend anymore. While the two boys took turns showering, you slept, tears continuing to fall out of you, dress sticking to your body. Felix stared at your figure curled up on the couch, and threw a blanket over you, telling Hyunjin not to wake you until after they’d got ready.

“Have you talked to him at all?”

“A week ago,” the taller one replied indifferently, slipping into baggy jeans. “He’d gone to Australia.”

“He came back yesterday,” Felix informed him. “He called me because he visited my parents.”

Hyunjin nods, jaw clenching. “Good for him.”

Felix stopped him mid movement, forcing him to look into his eyes. “I know you’re angry. She didn’t deserve any of it, and he still hasn’t apologized. I know.”

Hyunjin shrinks, can’t be mad at the pale haired boy with the freckles to save his life. He kisses him, fast and rough. “I’m sorry, this has nothing to do with you.”

Felix wears the oversized leather vest, smiles at the memory from earlier today. “You still love her. I get it, Jin.”

Hyunjin freezes, hadn’t thought it was obvious to anyone but himself. He’d tried really hard to make it come across as platonic—you were his oldest friend, after all. But you were more than that, and you’d always be. The protectiveness he felt over you never seemed to go away, so eventually he gave up on resisting it. But it didn’t mean anything; he loved you, yes, with all of his heart, but he wasn’t in love with you. Felix owned him by soul. It was fucked, but it worked for him, and that’s all that mattered.

“I just never thought Bang Chan would go back on his word. He didn’t strike me the type.”

They both stopped talking about it as soon as they heard you move up the stairs. But in Hyunjin’s mind, it wasn’t over. It wouldn’t be over until that fucker was on his knees, begging for you to take him back.

God knows you won’t live without him.

Renting a car had been easy. Felix paid to have it for the entire rest of the night, and you’d gone to pick it up with the employee. You couldn’t quite believe it until you saw it—an Audi convertible, probably the nicest car in the parking lot. Tinker Bell was fucking crazy for this.

In any case, you wouldn’t complain. It felt nice to know you wouldn’t have to wait for taxi cabs anymore. You just hoped the boys would take it easy, something easier said than done. You pulled in front of the rental place, honking at the both of them standing right outside, staring at their phones.

“Get in, lovebirds.”

You’d forget. For tonight, you’d live.

Felix hopped in, while Hyunjin at least had the decency to open the door. With him in the passenger seat, you felt reassured. Everything would be okay. Putting the car in drive, you repeated that, over and over, the night air feeling good against your face. Streetlights glinting, you sped through the roads, going for the beach.

Hyunjin put a slow song on, a jazzy guitar playing as the soundtrack to this dreamlike vacation to Sokcho. You had to pinch yourself at a red light, just to feel real again. Felix was singing along to the lyrics, while the black-haired boy secured his locks up and away from his face with the blue clip from the market.

“Who wants to try first?” You asked once you pulled to the docks, slowing down for the rest of the way to the sandy ground.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Hyunjin tilted his head towards the beam of sunshine in the back.

Felix all but squealed. “Aw, me, really? You didn’t have to—but okay!”

You shake your head, laughing at the way he climbs to the front seat as you move to the back. “Alright, it’s fairly easy. This is an automatic, so you only have to worry about driving and reversing. Parking is the P all the way to the top, yup, that’s the one. Gently press on the brake, while you put the car back to D. Yes, and then just very lightly press on the gas—FELIX!”

You were gone. You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him, that boy run on a sugar rush at all times. You tried to guide him, tell him to slow down, but he was too busy having the time of his life, drifting, and doing donuts in the flat sand, tornadoes of dust swirling all around you. Hyunjin held on for dear life but was laughing the hardest out of the three of you.

“Fucking hell, Lix, you’re a natural!”

“I fucking told you!”

You drove all the way to the Lighthouse and back, the landmark stealing your breath at night, the light you’d wished to become part of now shining bright under the myriad of stars, winking down at you.

You let go, then, head falling back, as you held onto your seat belt; tiny you in the universe, in a car with two boys you absolutely adored, possibly about to die—but it all felt like blue fire. It couldn’t possibly burn you—injure you, maybe, but you felt invisible, then. Untouchable. The sound of your screams made your heart swell in ways it hasn’t for the longest time.

You welcomed it. You let go. As simple as that.

“Let’s go drink!” Felix suggested, coming to a sudden stop. You almost hit your head on the back of his seat, but even then, you were too drunk on adrenaline to even register the danger of it all.

“Love of my fucking life, Lee Felix,” Hyunjin declared, bringing the freckled boy in for a kiss.

The smile on your face stretched so wide your cheeks hurt for the entire ride to the restaurant. Being back on the wheel brought you back down to Earth, your sanity soothed. It was only a five-minute ride, the place being on the other end of the beach, the only restaurant directly next to the sea. Tables placed on top of the sand, with an orange tent to cut the course of the wind, you were glad Hyunjin had suggested it.

“Finally, my clam soup,” Felix was jittery from the car ride still, his knee bouncing against the plastic table, shaking the utensils that had been laid out for you.

“Soju or meokgolli?” Hyunjin asked you two, smiling politely at the old lady that came for your order.

“Soju with beer,” you suggest, and his eyes lit up.

“You’re talking my language, sweetheart,” he slid his arm across the table, to you. You took his hand, playing with the ring on his index. “Two bottles please, and we’d also like…”

Waiting for everything, you watched as Felix documented everything; the dark sea, the tent, zooming in to catch the name of the small restaurant. And then again, when the drinks and appetizers came, he took pictures of those too, turning the phone around to snap a selfie of the three of you. You waved your chopsticks to it, in the middle of chewing. Hyunjin made a peace sign, his smile that of a sleepy cat.

“Oh my God,” you pointed at the sweet potato. “Try this!”

You hadn’t realized how much you were starving. You didn’t even touch your drinks, too focused on wiping the plates clean. When the main dishes came—buckwheat noodles with squid, the much-awaited clam soup, and Red Snow crab— you wasted no time to devour it all, the sound of waves crushing on shore accompanying your every bite.

“This night calls for a toast, don’t you think?” Hyunjin raised his glass. “To us, being together in this very moment.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Felix approved. “To us!”

“To us,” you joined in, smiling affectionately at them.

The cicadas felt like part of you, their noise incessant, the night warm. You’d easily went through the two bottles, ordering more, Hyunjin teaching you how to shake soju, and mix it in the beer. It was funny—he wasn’t usually the drinking type, his limit preventing him from getting drunk. And yet it felt like tonight would be an exception because tonight wasn’t real—you refused to believe, even after everything you’ve done to ensure you’re not hallucinating. After all, you couldn’t possibly have nice things like this—you didn’t feel deserving enough.

Alcohol made you emotional. Perhaps you should’ve thought twice about downing so much of it so quick. But with these people, two of your childhood friends—you felt the most comfortable you’ve felt since the breakup. You can’t even remember the reason you kept them at a distance for so long. Sadness should be shared, to lessen the burden.

“…so, I told Seungmin he shouldn’t move in with him if he doesn’t like cats this much,” Hyunjin was telling the story of doomed roommates. Felix was snorting beer through his nostrils. “But you know him and his ‘It will all work out,’ so I dropped it because he’s stubborn as fuck, but now apparently, he has a cat allergy! My guy.”

“No!” your mouth falls open. “Shouldn’t he move out then?”

Felix is slamming his hand on the table, wheezing. “That’s such a Kim Seungmin predicament.”

Hyunjin widens his eyes in emphasis and crosses his legs. “Right?! But no, he says the rent is too ideal to give up on the apartment. Plus, having a roommate is convenient.”

“Oh, well then. Serves him right. I remember when I was roommates with Chan. He kept everything so neat and tidy, I was actually so scared of making a mess.”

And then the realization of what he said. Of whom he mentioned. Felix’s mouth snapping shut, gaze apologetic, Hyunjin scowling at him. Your smile froze but did not disappear. You wanted to tell him it was okay, this much was okay, but you’d be lying straight to his face.

Lying to someone you love—it didn’t feel right. Not to you. To other people it came as easy as breathing. You caught the petty, bitter turn your thoughts were taking, and finished your drink at once, forking some squid.

“It’s been three months,” you comment, but it sounds wrong, and they both catch the dejected tone, so you curl into yourself, and then you’re biting your lip.

Before you know it, the tears come again.

“Is he even okay? I haven’t—he hasn’t called me once. I was his friend, too.”

Felix fills up your glass, and Hyunjin hands you napkins, getting up to come sit next to you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You haven’t cried in front of them about this once, and yet today you can’t stop doing it. Was this why you barely met with them in the months following the Heartbreak? Because you felt embarrassed?

“He’s fine,” the blonde-haired boy assures you. “But fuck him, love. You’re not.”

Everything looked a blur through your wet eyes. You wiped them in hopes they’d stop, but they just—kept—coming. You didn’t want any pity, you fucking hated feeling sorry for yourself, and yet how else were you supposed to feel? If it wasn’t for that, you’d feel nothing. Somehow that’s even more horrifying than sympathy.

“Drink, will you? I said fuck him. He messes with you; he messes with all of us. She wasn’t even fucking worth it—they never even got together.”

“I thought we’d never break up. I’ve known him for so long…he was all I’d known. Felix, how can you do this to someone and not even care?”

“He does care,” Hyunjin speaks this time. “I swear to you, he does. But caring is not enough, angel. Not always.”

You drink to that. You stay like that for a while, quiet, each with your own thoughts, observing the invisible waves, trying to make them out through the shadowiness, until Felix breaks the silence, suggests a game.

“How about twenty questions? Adult edition?” He wiggles his eyebrows, a rainbow after a nasty thunderstorm.

You crack a smile, and Hyunjin exhales deeply in his seat, thinking there’s still hope for you tonight.

“Adult as in sexual experiences or adult as in bottomless fucking pit of despair?” he questions.

“Both. I need therapy.”

“Me, too, baby.”

“Me three,” you reply as well. You all look at each other—and laugh.

It starts drizzling.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin rubs his face raw, stretching his long arms upwards. “We’re too young to be this fucked up.”

“Fucking tell me about it,” you finish another drink, dabbing the napkin in your hand on the edges of your eyes. “I’ll go first. Felix—what’s your favorite memory with us?”

Felix ponders over it for a short minute. “Graduation day. The party Changbin threw for us,” he looks at Hyunjin. The older boy nods, remembering. “You guys were still together, and I remember officiating your fake wedding in the backyard, drunk out of my mind.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hyunjin smiles. “Remember the ring pop?” he asks you.

“I do. I kept the wrapper.”

“If you can’t beat them, join then,” the freckled boy mused, twirling the contents of his glass.

“He was so in love with you,” you tell your fake husband. “The hoodie you’d left at my house after the senior field trip? He wore it every time he came over. It smelled nothing like you by that point, but—you still have it, don’t you?”

Felix nods, a blush creeping up his neck. “I love you for never freaking out on me about it.”

You giggle, feeling loose. “Why would I? You guys are made for each other.”

Hyunjin takes a straight shot of soju at that, wiping his mouth after. His face is somber, eyes dark. You change the subject, knowing the reason for his demeanor.

“My turn,” Felix grins devilishly. “Jin—have you ever painted (Y/N) naked?”

You choke on sweet potato, and Hyunjin hits your back, endeared by the question.

“Huh…have I?” he pretends to think, though you already know the answer. “Was it for your birthday? Should I continue?” he turns to his other half.

“Be my guest. I did ask.”

“Can I tell, sweetheart? We’re all mature here, aren’t we?” his hand is on your thigh, and it reminds you of the times before.

“Of course. It’s only Felix.”

“I fucked you on top of the dryer and filled your hair with flowers from the bouquet I got you. Then you sat naked for me for two hours until I was done with the outline of your body and let me fuck you again after I was finished.”

“Fuck me,” Felix rasped, his voice considerably deeper, imagining the scene.

You blushed. “It sounds way more brass than it really was.”

“No, it doesn’t. I say this in the most respectful way—no girl will ever do it for me like you did.”

You squirm in your seat. “That was years ago, Hyunjin,” you try to reason.

He nods, seeing your point, and fixes himself another glass of beer. “And yet I’m sitting next to you, even when the boy I love is right here.”

Felix says nothing but drinks a lot. You can’t tell if this excites him or is making him jealous.

“Hyunjin.”

“(Y/N).”

“Stop it,” you demand, your defenses weak. “You’re being mean.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you, swallowing the cold alcohol. “Mean? He knows.”

“It’s true.” You turn to the blonde’s indecipherable tone. “He’d never hurt me like that.”

You sit back in your chair, sensing an entirely different game has started now. “We’re going to need more alcohol for this.”

Hyunjin smirks at you and calls for the lady.

“Let me ask you, sweetheart—does Bang Chan fuck better than I do?”

“What are you playing at?”

“It’s a simple question.” His eyes are burning holes through you.

This could set you off—take you places you haven’t even dared go to in months. The way Chris fucked…sometimes it was fucking, but most of the time…most of the time you made love. You’re sure Hyunjin knows the difference, but since he’s never done that with you, since the love has never run as deep, has never taken such an ugly turn, he knows nothing of what he speaks. Chan touched your very soul every time he was inside of you, just thinking about it could destroy everything you’ve build against him, to keep him out, to keep you sane—

“You’re not pitting yourself against him. Next question.”

“He’s no competition for me, I’m not fighting for your heart, angel—but neither is he, yeah?”

That shouldn’t have hurt. But it fucking did.

“Jin,” Felix warned.

“No, she needs this,” he snapped at him. “Tell me.”

“You’re different,” you give in, tears brimming. “Would you say me and Felix are the same? We’re not.”

“What’s the difference?” he asks you, curious. Already knowing.

“Besides the obvious?” Felix mutters to himself.

“He’s of your soul, as Chan is of mine,” you admit to yourself.

Hyunjin seems content with your answer. “And yet you doubt his return? You think he’ll never come back.”

“He doesn’t know,” you say stubbornly. “Why would he leave otherwise?”

“Oh,” Felix inhales sharply. You look at him. “Love…have you ever thought you might terrify him?”

Hyunjin points his finger at the blonde. “You think a love like ours is a walk in the park, sweetheart? Sometimes I feel like splitting myself open.”

“Like shooting myself in the leg,” Felix continues.

“But we’ve known each other since before we knew what a boner was,” the boy sitting next to you explains. “Chan barely just found you…in the grand scheme of time, two years is nothing at all.”

It felt like an excuse. And yet you knew these boys were not on his side—they weren’t on anyone’s side, they just said things as they were. And this might just be the truth you needed all along. But for the empty space he’s left, you need to move on for the very sake of your heart; so, life expands from the small room with the door—so the windows open and stay open.

You were lost again. Point zero.

“What do I do with this information?” you ask, pleading.

Hyunjin feeds you, placing a hand under the fork. You accept the food, chewing slowly.

“You wait. You sit with us.”

“And you drink,” Felix adds with a wink.

A little past midnight, the drizzling turns into full on rain as you leave the restaurant. Your car is parked on the other side of the street, but the alcohol in your system makes you feel miles away from it. And you’re the most sober of the three of you.

The old lady offers to call a taxi for you, but Hyunjin politely refuses, holding Felix upwards. He blows her a kiss, bowing deeply. She shakes her head, but the smile on her face betrays her. No one can resist Hwang Hyunjin—his charm is undeniably irresistible.

“Get in!” you usher them, laughing, pressing the button to close the roof of the car. It takes them a while and a lot of stumbling, but they make it in the drenched backseat, where the dark-haired boy lays Mr. Sunshine on his side, and then proceeds to plop in the seat next to you, climbing his way to the front. Drunk logic, you think, but you can’t even personally find the hole to insert the key.

You sit staring at the steering wheel, praying to somehow sober up, even a little, so you don’t crash and die. This car will be a lot of money. But then again—these two idiots have that. Money. A lot of that.

“Hey, (Y/N), question for you—what do you think about me?” Felix slurs.

Cute, you faintly think. “Forest pixie,” you say out loud.

“Oh. Is that so? At least I upgraded from Tinker Bell.”

“Ha, no, you didn’t. You’re still mine,” Hyunjin says, and hiccups.

“That I am,” Felix giggles.

“What about me? What do you think about me, sweetheart?”

That hand on your thigh, again. The rain hitting against the windshield is making you sleepy. You start the car before it’s too late. Hyunjin plays music—this time it’s lo-fi.

“The whole fucking forest, Hwang Hyunjin,” you admit as you pull out of the parking spot. “All of it.”

He puts the hazard lights on, and you drive at twenty miles per hour, everything turning watercolor outside. You’re very aware of the fingers tapping your skin over the thin fabric of your dress, very aware of the alcohol running through your bloodstream—you think you might do something stupid.

You grip the wheel with both hands, force yourself to focus on the road. There’s barely anyone around at this hour, not in this side of town. The sound of your blinkers fills the entire car, Felix’s soft snores blending with the droplets on your windshield. Magic hour.

The time to swallow your heart and cover your ears. Anything alive will touch back now. Be careful.

“Should I stop now?” the only boy awake spoke. “Pretending? Should I stop?”

You take the turn, drive the straight line that comes, wish for the car to turn into a boat, the rain into river, so you can float, away away away—

“He’s leaving, isn’t he?” The truth. The only truth.

There are no words to follow it. Nothing he can say. So, he cries. He could drown you all if he wanted to, so big his sadness—the sadness shared, the sadness burdened into two—you cannot unsee it once you know. Do not dare.

And where to put it? Where to put it?

“Don’t you think you should address it at some point?”

“And risk him hating me forever? I’d rather burn myself alive.”

You put your signal on. Stop at the side of the road. You cannot stand his tears, cannot stand his despair. You get out. The rain seeps through your clothes, drips from your hair, and you run. Towards the sand, towards the waves that feel like the night sky in motion, and then you halt, sniffling, wiping your face.

Perhaps you’ve gone crazy. Perhaps you’re only drunk. No matter. No matter at all.

“You’ll catch a cold, angel.”

You’re shivering, and he’s right, but you don’t care. You thought lying to yourself wasn’t an option. For him to do this, it was hypocrisy—it was treachery.

“You’re ignoring your own heart and it will betray you, you’ll see. What good will it do if you wait one more day? One more month? You cannot prevent the inevitable, Hyunjin—I tried, okay? It doesn’t work.”

You don’t look at him. He doesn’t look at you, either. These words are too personal, cut through the magic into reality, somewhere the both of you cannot bare return to.

“I don’t know how to live without him.”

“Well, what are you going to do? Die? Because if so, let me go first, Hyunjin. I’ve been suffering longer than you have.”

His body slams on yours, knocking the very breath out of you. It’s a desperate attempt for closeness, but you get it. He needs this, needs a hug, a fucking hug, and you know what? You need it, too, as plain as it sounds. To know you’re not alone. To know it will be okay.

Your stomach is turning, twisting, and flipping on itself, uncomfortable with all the misery—so you spill out. You cannot forget, but you can cry, so you do.

You cry together, embracing in your shared wretchedness. His arms envelop you whole, take you down. Together you lay in the wet sand— a problem for later.

Sokcho is beautiful in all of its water. All it did today was wash away, clean, reveal.

You cannot forget, but you don’t think you have to. Not anymore.

#stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #felix scenarios #stray kids #skz hyunjin #skz felix #kpop scenarios #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids felix #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin x reader #felix x reader #—mine.

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cloverses · 2 years

Note

i want to fight jester not because i dislike her but because i want to know if she will make the sound that a clown nose makes when she gets impacted

NO THIS IS ONE OF THE FUNNIEST ANSWERS POSSIBLE jester honking every time you smack her. not only that but she bounces. you smack her and she turns into a bouncy ball. its entertainment for the ages

#🍀 admin selwyn #🐌 cloverse jester #icy bun tag #honking as you smack her and then honking as she bounces off various surfaces #its fine she can take it. she'd think its funny

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bu11seye · 1 month

Text

starter for @bairdsings .

it's the day of the reaping and jessie was wearing frills . she's seventeen , one month away from turning eighteen , watching as the guards in their boots stand beside the stage that was planted in the middle of district four . jessie's mother tried to hug her , thin lipped and eyes looking anywhere but on her daughter as jessie stiffens within the woman's grasp . jeanie is on camera right now , she has to make sure she looks like a doting mother with her pearl earrings and red hair up in a tight bun . the mayor stands at the podium not too far from them , and jessie wants to tug at the tag on the back of her dress that her mother made her wear .

it's one minute until the reaping starts and it's dead silent as everyone gets into lines . jessie's hair is in a fishtail braid down her back , isabelle did it nice and tight so her hair wouldn't fall into her face . jessie had the same hair as her mother , long and course , never stayed in one place for too long . she thinks of isabelle whenever she touches her braid , and by default thinks of how woody is doing up at the capitol . their parents wanted him to get a foot up on his education , sending him to the top university and had him accustomed to his trust fund early . he's twenty one , trying to make a name for himself and the tuckers back home .

jessie's gaze drifts over to emily , beautiful angel emily with her blonde hair dangling down her back in perfect ringlet curls . she just wants to run over and hug her , but the girl was still avoiding her -- eye contact being rejected as icy blues dart down to her mary janes and jessie feels as though her heart is getting stomped on . she didn't have long to feel that heartbreak though, effie trinket making her appearance and ending all small talk for what seems like eternity .

jessie stands in her row with her hands clasped in front of her . effie in an extraordinary outfit introduces herself and a video -- the same video that has been playing since the dark times and the rebellion started . jessie could say it word for word by now , but instead keeps her lips in a thin line . there was a feeling of pins pressing to the back of her neck , and jessie wasn't sure if it was anxiety or fear . being the mayor's son had its privileges when the games were just starting , but jessie is younger and the rules have changed drastically . there were no exemptions , especially when she wasn't her parents' favorite anyway . jessie's always had a skewed sense of justice , but even she knew that the games were wrong , and that even with all the rebels that were speaking out against it , they all end up dead , just like the tributes , and just like everyone who wasn't part of the wicked game .

effie dangles her gloved hand inside of a giant fishbowl , digging into the sea of papers with the townsfolk's names on them before heart painted lips smile as she picks the lucky tribute that's going to go fight for their lives in an arena .

jessie doesn't want to look and wants to plug her ears , but her body is frozen , just waiting for the worst of the worst to be spoken out loud to her . eddie opens the paper , a giggle escaping her lips as she waves it around . what do you know , it's blank ! let's try this again ! jessie could've collapsed then , but then she wouldn't of heard effie's loud and boisterous voice squealing the name JESSICA TUCKER !

her legs begin to shake as she stays planted on the ground . cameras zoom into the girl's face , tears glossed over emerald stare as she wants to run, wants to hide , wants to take off on bullseye into the woods but she knows the capitol will drag her there by her fingernails or kill her before the games even started if she resisted . jessie's eyes bulge larger , eventually getting pushed by a neighborhood girl before she's staggering up to the stage . if there was a time where she wanted to rip her own insides out , it would be this . jessie goes up to the stage , looking up at the screen as the camera darts to woody back at the capitol who was being pulled out of the camera room. eyebrows furrow as she's trying to step closer , yelling out for them to show jessie her brother again , flinging her arms outward as she tries to push away the guards that were yelling at her to stop. why was woody there ? what the hell was happening ? jessie kicks her heel up and slams it down on one of the guard's legs , only for jessie to be shoved into the back of the podium and handcuffed before she's shoved into the back of a van , and drugged before she lashes out even more .

jessie wakes up on the train . she curls into her own body as she runs her hand through her braided hair , pulling the strands out and fluffing it out . she meets eyes with another woman sitting not too far from her . " what happened ? " her voice is above a whisper , hand going up to massage her wrist from where the handcuffs were .

#this is long and u do not have to match this i'm setting the scene LOL #bairdsings #♡゙ : in character 𓈒 ୨୧ ⌇﹒— ( threads ) .

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fanchitties · 9 months

Text

Porcelain Doll

Pastel’s note: okay so, last night, when i found out that ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN IS FUCKING HACKED, i didnt know what the hell to do. so i opened my laptop and wrote... something. its been so long since i wrote something, and this one is in very different style than i usually did back in the time where i was pastelbear12 lmao.

this one is about two of my OCs in my genshin self insert delulu ( @aly-kurta knows what i mean LMAO). and i decided to post it here. whatever. enjoy.

TW/CW: mentions of torture, obsession (we love them obsessed), first POV, stockholm syndrome (i think?), does this count as yandere? hes canonically a yandere but, whatever, i forgot how to tag LMAO, maybe alternative universe cause in my original plotline, they didnt meet like this, and this is genshin visionless AU

word count: 2500+

I remember it vividly like it was yesterday. Like my sole purpose in life is to hang that memory prettily, in a silver frame with fancy carvings, in my mind. Etched in my mind like a nagging thought.

It was the coldest day of winter, three years ago, in the heart of December.

I was just from the neighboring city to buy things, walking through the blizzard, when I found a deserted house. I thought it would be nice to catch a break, napping for an hour or so hoping the blizzard would come to an end soon, or maybe eat the steam bun I bought in the town to warm up my stomach. I envisioned a wet fireplace, tattered couches, and icy floor. Truly, I expected everything, other than one thing.

Within those forsaken walls, I didn't expect I would find a woman here.

She was on the brink of death from a long list of illnesses, and the horrible state she was in was laughable. And so, I laughed. Out loud. She could barely look at me, barely even breathe. She fainted some seconds later—she wasn't dead, I noticed her still breathing, barely—and I crouched down beside her body on the sofa. Examining her face. Her body. Her condition. Her, in general. I looked at her.

I deemed her the most captivating being my eyes had ever beheld.

I wanted her. I always like pretty things, so, she seemed like she wasn't owned by anyone, so I just carried her from that cold house and rushed through the blizzard, my plans to take a break soon forgotten. She felt weightless in my arms. So light I had to look down at my arms ever so often to make sure she hadn't been whisked away by the tumultuous wind.

I reached the nearest town there and found a fireplace also. I put her down on the floor of another abandoned abode, but this one had a dry fireplace. I lit the fire. The crackling flames cast an orange glow upon her pallid countenance. The snow on her face melted on her cheeks. I wiped it away. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

It would be so, so easy to kill her, I could just trip and fall on her body and she would die dead, and that fact made me laugh again. Really. She was the puniest person I'd seen. And also, the most beautiful one.

I wanted her to be mine. I collect pretty things myself. She could be my next item on the list.

She woke up a couple of hours later. Her confusion evident but I assumed she recognized me. The man who laughed as she teetered on the edge of death. Funnily, she thanked me, and I couldn't help but laugh again. Not because she was funny, no, because she was stupid. My first thank you in such a long, long time. Little did she know, that her beauty was the only thing stopping me from throwing her frail body to the fire, pouring gasoline on it, and leaving her as such.

I didn't tell her any of that though. I just smiled.

"What's your name, love?"

She seemed confused about things. Myriads of whats, whys, whos and hows going in her pretty little head. I understood.

"I don't have a name."

That surprised me. This woman managed to surprise me twice, in a day.

The next hours were spent on her telling me all about her, and it was so reckless and naive of her to say these things to a man she just met, particularly one such as me—a murderer. It was her unlucky day to meet a murderer like me. But she looked grateful for my presence there and I didn't wanna ruin her fantasy. So I just smiled, pretending to be a decent man, just cause I loved seeing her talk. She was so beautiful.

And then I found out that she was dumped by her supposed-to-be family. She never got the luxury of a name. People called her 'Nameless Girl'. Shame. So I offered her a name. She was painfully obvious with her excitement even when she tried to hide it. She couldn't hide anything from me. She was adorable. I told her, that from then on, her name would be Anastasia, or for short, Tasha. Without any particular meaning attached to it.

She liked that, I could tell.

"Do you have a name?"

She looked curious and apprehensive. I didn't see why I should lie.

"Yes."

"Can I have it?"

I snicker, thinking of something that might trigger an amusing reaction from her. I wanted to see that reaction.

"Have my name? Do you mean it as wanting to know my name, or have it, maybe, for your last name?"

She blushed. It was a sight for sore eyes, making its way to a hidden corner of my heart I never knew existed.

"I was joking. My name is Makoto."

She looked at me with wonder. Maybe she was considering whether to address me as her first friend. She then tasted my name on her tongue, the sound cascading like a sacred mantra, sending a shiver down my spine.

I liked how she said my name. I liked my name better after I heard her say it. 'Makoto' never sounded so delightful before.

I was thoroughly amused by the whole situation, so to make things even more interesting, I decided to give her a little 'shock'.

"Tasha. I'm actually a murderer."

Tasha widened her eyes. Yet her calmness returned far more swiftly than I had anticipated.

"Okay." She had said. It almost disappointed me that she appeared unfazed by my revelation. Such ignorance.

"Aren't you afraid? I could kill you anytime."

She shook her head.

And after that, I found out that this woman was even more pathetic than I had surmised. She had a heart problem. She got sick easily. She was weak. The word "weak" fails to adequately describe her fragility. It explained her ignorance of the predicament in which she found herself—alone in an abandoned house with a serial killer—cause no matter what she did, she was gonna die anyway. Should she attempt to escape? Her heart would fail her. Should she remain here? She'd die cause of her own foolish decision to befriend a murderer. Lose-lose situation.

Nobody could ever fathom the itchy feeling coursing through my veins the whole time. I wanted to try, to hurt her. With my hands. The temptation was so overwhelming my hands started to shake.

But I didn't hurt her. It was a blur afterward, and suddenly, I found her sleeping soundly by the fireplace. And I observed her again in her slumber.

The next day, I brought her a gift. A bloodied corpse—an innocent man who had the misfortune of crossing paths with me as he wandered alone down an alley. I threw the lad before her. Carved my initial on his left chest before her eyes. I did it all to let her know who I was.

Dangerous. Cruel. One wrong move, and I'd do the same to her.

She looked at me in horror as I kicked his face into an unrecognizable mess. She threw up when I hung his body with cuffs, blood dripping down the cuts I meticulously made all over his body. She slept in my arms peacefully that night. The same limbs that just tortured an innocent man, wrapped around her waist securely, warmly.

It was sickening. Disturbing.

From that point, she's always been with me, in my journey everywhere. Anastasia is the witness to my cry for joy, my cruel homicides, and my explosive anger. She is always unfazed. She always looks at me as if I were an enigma she was determined to unravel. The way she looked at me unsettled me. I'd beg for her to keep looking at me like that.

Ugh, she's annoying. Insufferable. Burdensome. I wanna kill her.

She coughs blood whenever we walk more than five kilometers in one go. She can't run. Can't swim. She gets a fever every two weeks. She faints all the time. She's really weak I don't even know why I'm keeping her with me. Maybe because I like pretty things. And she's pretty. Beautiful. So beautiful that I just wanna kiss her sometimes.

So, last week, I did.

It was an accident. I love accidents. Or maybe it wasn't an accident. Pretty sure it wasn't, no way it was. I don't repeat accidents; I learn from them. And last week, I kept repeating the 'accident'. And I've learned nothing from it.

We were in the Fatui headquarters, her in my room, and I was just back from a mission from the Balladeer. He’d seen her, and never understood why I'm so stubborn as to keep her by my side. I question the same thing, and that's why his queries are never met with a clear answer. I want Anastasia by my side, end of question.

Scaramouche, my father, scoffed at me. Stella, my sister, rolled her eyes. The Tsaritsa looked at me, half disappointed, half intrigued. Arlecchino and Sandrone just didn't care. Pierro narrowed her eyes. Pantalone forgot where he put his glasses. I couldn't understand Columbina’s gaze. I couldn't see The Capitano’s face. Pulcinella just looked at me, then Anastasia, and walked away. Tartaglia laughed. La Signora laughed even harder.

I would do all of the things aforementioned to myself too.

And so after all of that, I approached her. She was beautiful, and frail, like a porcelain doll. She heard my footsteps and turned to me. She smiled. A mistake. For it drew my attention to her lips. Her dry, chapped lips.

I got the urge to moisten it.

And so that's how I kissed her for the first time.

I could feel her sharply inhale a generous amount of oxygen from her nose, tensing up beneath my touch. But true to form, just as in every situation where I managed to surprise her, she quickly regained her composure. And so she didn't fight back. She allowed me to kiss her lips, so feverishly, to push her further until her back met the window frame. Let me put my hand behind her neck.

I pulled away, just to kiss her again. This time, she kissed me back. Tried to kiss me back. I almost laughed at her poor attempt. It was cute.

I relished it.

And I struggled to make sense of the situation, to decipher its meaning.

I still do.

"What are you doing?"

Now, back to the present, she's now sitting on the window frame. Like how she did last week. Of all the designer-made clothes and dresses I had purchased for her, all with perfect measurements, she chose to wear mine. A pair of jeans, and an oversized shirt. She's practically drowned in that shirt, it was ten times bigger than her. Her hair, just like when I first saw it in the abandoned house, was jet black. Before, it was shoulder length, but now, it has grown to her waist. Slightly wavy. Pretty.

I caress her hair absentmindedly.

"Nothing," she says, and she flashes me a smile. "I was doing something though."

"Care to share?"

"Mhm." She says it like a sing-song. Melodious. I like it. "I was waiting for you, that's all."

I join her, sitting on the window frame. Studying her features. Beautiful.

"That's all?"

She nods. I take her hand. And she lets me. On this spring night, it was quite warm. I can feel her bones beneath her thin skin. I'm afraid I might crush them if I held it too tight. But I'm also afraid I might lose her if I didn't.

How should I hold her hand? Neither are good ideas. What is happening to me.

Dilemma. The realization mortifies me, and I immediately slap her hand away. Regret it in a second when I hear a small cry of pain from her.

"That's alright," she says, reassuring me. "You seem troubled."

You're troubling me, woman.

But I don't say what's on my mind. Instead, I shake my head. "I don't think I am. But you? Undoubtedly."

I'm met with confusion, and she asks me why I think that.

"Because don't you feel so useless? Empty? All you do is wait for me sitting silently and not doing anything until I arrive. When I do, all you do is just talk. You can't do anything without me, can you?"

She doesn't look offended. She just smiles into the distance. To the moon, perhaps. I wish I was the moon.

"You're right. I can't."

I look at Tasha’s profile. She's like a sculpture made by Aphrodite herself.

"And? Have you done anything to fix that?"

She shakes her head. "No, I haven't."

She's making me exasperated. I let her know of that. She smiles, sadly this time, her gaze isn't on the moon anymore. Now, is to the Snezhnaya cityscape beneath us.

Why won't she just look at me? I feel dumb for getting jealous of a mere cityscape.

"Is it the time? The time when you finally find me a burden to you? When you realize I'm just holding you back?"

Of course it is. It is always the time. She's a burden to me. She holds me back. I don't hide it from her, I let her know even.

"Yeah. You've been a burden to me. You've been holding me back since the day I found you, Anastasia."

Finally, she looks at me. I grow breathless. My heart is racing. I hate it. I've never wanted to tear out my heart so badly before.

"Then, should I leave?"

"Where?" I grit my teeth. Where does she think she can go? I wager my entire fortune that she'd die in her first kilometers from here. Or cough blood as she descended the stairs. And die as a fool.

"Somewhere."

How vague. She hasn't even decided where to go. She knows so little about this wretched world.

"Somewhere where I can ensure I'm nowhere to be found by you."

"No."

She looks at me, looking confused.

"Why not? You said I'm a burden."

"Did I ever say I would allow you to leave?"

Her breath catches. I lean in, furious, angry, sad.

"You're not allowed to leave. Ever. Understand, Anastasia?"

"Yes."

Her eyes reflect the moonlight and the stars and my whole world. I love her eyes. I love them even more when they gaze at me, and only me.

"Then... I'm sorry."

Yeah. Be sorry. Be so sorry to me. Cause she has no idea how much she has wronged me. How she's disrupted my mind and stirred my emotions, making it difficult for me to restrain myself from kissing her—

No. Don't look away. I'm terribly upset.

So I grab her chin and force her to look at me. Like this. This is better. She looks at me, bewildered, and I lean in closer.

Our breaths mingle.

Her hands on my arm and chest. I worry the fast tempo of my heartbeat would hurt her frail hand.

I look into her eyes.

And hers into mine.

"You're a burden. You hold me back. Never question that ever."

I whisper.

She ceases to breathe. She's holding her breath.

The blush on her cheeks says hello to mine.

"And I want you to hold me back more. Hold me back as much as you can. Be more of a burden. Cry, whine, fall ill, and scream. Do it. You're stuck with me until the day you die, and you have no other choice."

There. I've said it.

Her lips part.

"Makoto..."

My name. Coming out of her lips. Pure bliss.

"Yes." I pant, the feeling inside my chest suffocating me, something is punching my heart and I revel in every second of it. "Yes, I'm here. What do you need?"

She smiles and kisses me. And dear God, I don't object to this. I want nothing anymore.

A sinner just finds himself in heaven in this godforsaken world.

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

what a plot. LMAO, im disappointed of myself

#OC x OC #genshin impact #genshin harbingers #pls read the tw #what is this #alice im borrowing your kid #stella is alice's OC guys #makoto and anastasia are mine #long story short makoto and stella are scaramouche's kids LMAO #omg should i introduce all of my ocs here #but i think ill be lazy to do it #should it tag this as #fluff #or #angst #i should tag this as #abomination #tw makoto #pastel writes

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love4heejayke · 1 year

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SYNOPSIS: Born from the full moon's light, Y/N is sent by her witch aunt on a secret mission to Decilis Academy, the purpose of which is to investigate the source of the obscure energy that hovers under the Silver Millennium. However, when she saves her roomate Sooha from the attack of dark creatures with the power to fortify themselves from the energy of nightmares and discovers her secret identity, she promises not to tell her friends, but everything changes once she falls for Lee Heli, one of Decelis' star students and posibily, her past life's lover.

TAGLIST #1: (closed) @enhacolor @amarillyis @ckline35 @fairycheol @jeanbobean @heejakegf @axartia @ineedcoffeeandtherapy @rosie-is-everywhere @prdxinvade @heedeungieluvbot @jungwonnnnnnnnnnnn @bambisgirl @yebin14 @m4r1eluvs (can't tag you bae, sorry)

TAGLIST #2: (open) [comment or send ask] @bluemanifesto @ineedaherosavemeenow @ahnneyong @jiawji @aki1e @yjjungwon @captivq @jaxavance @rikiluvly @dimplewonie @talia02 @cherriegyu @enhastolemyheart

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4 - the new student who wants to learn (4)

The El Dorado Empire is a land of great monuments and architectural wonders, built amidst vast deserts of golden sand. The empire's central city is an imposing metropolis, surrounded by high walls, ornate with ancient inscriptions and intricate carvings. The buildings are tall and majestic, many with pointed spiers that reach into the sky. And now, Diana and Selene arrived together at Solaria, located in the center-southern region, to discuss with members of the Solari elite another attempt at a peace treaty between the Solari and Lunari, who 5 centuries ago, entered into a diplomatic conflict non-armed, with different objectives: El Dorado to expand its territory, military power and socioeconomic influence on the continent of Elysium, and the Silver Millennium, to protect its territories against Solarian invasions and carry out diplomatic agreements only with strategic cities, conserving cultures and traditions of their original peoples. Selene looked around the city with her eyes apprehensive and restless and bit her lip, listening for strange noises in the shadows.

"Mama, did you hear that?" Selene asked

"I didn't, dear." answered Diana. "You may be hearing things."

"But I swear mom, somebody is watching us."

"Calm down, daughter. You must be nervous to attend your first appointment."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." the young mother moon sighed.

Walking along the dunes, they bought more supplies from merchants who had set up their stalls to trade in the Empire: fresh starfruit and two canteens filled with icy crystal water, all for 20 drops of the sun – the official currency of El Dourado, the trek. to Solarian HQ would still take about 1 hour, so they need all the hydration they can get to survive the desert heat until the time of the meeting.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Hecate was sitting in her chair, surrounded by her apprentices and followers in the classroom of the Triple School of Lunar Magic, located in Riverfield, located 10 km from the Silver Millennium, with its attractive coastline for tourism and water sports, the city was one of the most highly developed in the Empire, whose lands were a haven for witches, sorcerers, and wizards from Lunarosa. The school is an imposing old stone building with thick walls and tall, narrow windows. The main entrance is adorned with a large Gothic arch and a silver coat of arms bearing its symbol. The central courtyard is spacious and has several water fountains and statues of mythical figures. The classrooms are equally impressive, with high ceilings and walls covered in rich tapestries and shelves of antique books. The overall ambience is magical and mysterious, evoking a sense of reverence and respect for the art of magic.

Hecate now teaches Mystic Meditation, in her guise as Professor Enodia. She wears a long, flowing, light gray dress with long sleeves and a discreet neckline. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun and a few strands fell softly across her face. She wore no makeup, but her skin glowed a silvery hue, lending an air of magic to her appearance. To complete the disguise, she wore a pair of low-key, comfortable flat shoes, and carried a small brown leather bag, containing the materials needed for her class. Her eyes were covered by round glasses, with silver metal frames, to disguise her true identity. A silver pentagram necklace, the pendant of which was a downward crescent moon with a star on top and a tiny sliver of birth peridot set in the center to protect her from dark spells. Despite her peaceful and serene appearance, there was something powerful and magical about her presence.

Since she handed over her crown and her royal status to her eldest sister to give birth to her daughter, the Kynthos royal family has agreed to fake her death to protect the family and her subjects from Solari imperialism and attacks by dark magic beings, leaving her Lunarosians her spiritual wisdom on the nights they pray and meditate in holy temples for her protection, in the hope that one day, the Spirit Moon, would be reborn. 550 years after Selene's coronation, Hecate still maintains this guise to seek out her daughter, while sharing her knowledge to wizards, fairies and sorcerers with a thirst for learning, making it clear that she was an experienced and respected teacher of magic.

She had just started her class on Spiritual Magic, teaching them the importance of mystical meditation to connect with the spiritual energies around them.

"My students, each and every living being that inhabits the realm of Elysium has an innate flow within them." Enodia began in a soft tone, closing her eyes.

Upon touching the ground, a stream of purple magic flowed from his fingers and spread across the air and the ground.

"This is mana, the essence of this universe, and the way we manifest mana in the world allows us to invoke magic, but for that, body and mind must be in balance with their spirits, so take a deep breath." Enodia's chest rose and fell in a slow breathing rhythm "And exhale."

The students calmly followed the teacher's commands, among them, a high elite vampire, student of the Decelis Academy. Decelis is in the middle of his summer vacation, but due to the recurrents he sees in his nights of sleep, he attends his classes as an extracurricular complement and to acquire knowledge about these nightmares. He had short purple hair and levitated in the air while invoking a sphere of shadows in his hands, at the same time his mind was consumed with negative thoughts, as the sphere grew, the boy lost his balance more.

"T-teacher, is too strong… I…"

Enodia, feeling the disturbance in the boy's mana, advised:

"It's okay Noa. "Don't try to repress these emotions. Try to use them as a guide and cast a spell."

He would then see the images he most feared as he fell asleep. In Noa's nightmare, he finds himself before a dark lake of mana, whose waters seem to pulse with evil energy. He feels drawn into the lake, and as he dives in, he feels his soul being corrupted by the darkness. He tries to fight the temptation, but something inside him makes him want to give in to that corruption.

He emerges from the lake transformed, his body covered in sinister shadows. He feels enormous power running through his veins and a desire for destruction growing within him. He raises his hands and conjures shadows that spread through the air, forming grotesque and frightening creatures.

Noa takes perverse pleasure in controlling those shadows, in seeing their influence spread wherever she goes. He smirks, feeling powerful and invincible. But at the same time, a feeling of fear and anguish envelops him, as if he knew that this was not what he really wanted.

By forcing his mind to get rid of that torment, he split the sphere of shadows in two and cast two dark beams across the school, emitting a dark aura that accidentally stunned the teacher and three classmates in a radius of 2.5 meters, luckily, they woke up in less than 2 minutes, but that was enough for others to whisper behind his back.

"Freak."

"Only a spoiled brat like him could stun our teacher."

"May the Righteous Moon purge this plague with her merciful light before it infects us all."

In a world where the light of the moon is venerated, beings who worship darkness are the most hated, when not excluded and subjugated from society, they are hunted and imprisoned, or depending on where they were born, executed, for refusing to accept this gift. As much as he saved many lives with his darkness, that Riverfield was no longer the same as last year's, a new moon was in power, new rules were established and from them only the "purest" are blessed, but sadness, remorse and darkness are what make Noa unique, but despised, so he couldn't do anything but lower his head and listen to those insults in silence, but to his happiness, his strength was admired by those who understood it and even without him knowing it , a powerful ally was before him, to lift his head and welcome his faith, whenever he felt the instability of his spirit.

"Miss Thrace, I failed! I couldn't…"

"Get it together, Noa, giving in to anger is not the solution."

"But what can I do if everyone here wants me dead?"

"That's a problem, but I have to admit," she put her finger under her chin, "I've never witnessed a shadow power of such magnitude. Keep it up boy, but watch where you're going or else you'll lose your way."

Enodia comforted him with a pat on his shoulder, but withdrew it as soon as she heard a strange noise through the walls. She closed her eyes as she concentrated, felt a presence, something sinister that lurked in the shadows.

"Something is wrong" Enodia said in a lower tone, "We need to get out of here now."

"Miss Thrace, what's going on?" asked one of the mages

The witch said nothing, she just clapped her hands to teleport her and her apprentices out of the school, attracting enemy shadows with her. They quickly attacked the witch, but she summoned her staff. Hecate's staff is made of dark wood and carved into an elegant, curving shape, resembling a coiled serpent. At its tip is a glittering crystal that seems to reflect moonlight. Engravings in silver adorn the handle of the staff, forming images of serpents, moon and stars, symbolizing the power and magic of the sorceress. When used to invoke your spells, the crystal glows brightly, emanating a moonlike glow that illuminates your surroundings. When she closes her eyes, she lets a portion of her mana out of her body to envelop herself in her apprentices' souls, healing them and enhancing the strength of her basic strikes, invoking one of her special spells: the Sheath of the Crescent Moon.

Together they draw a circle of mana with their staffs, invoking a wave of purple mana that repels the shadows' blows and nullifies their spells, however when holding it for more than 5 minutes, the mages' hands trembled, the sparks in their staffs lost strength and cracks appeared in the barrier, breaking it with a single blow from those creatures. Her allies still had some energy left to face them, but Enodia didn't. She tried to fight back with her purple mana spheres, but she couldn't. Her legs and arms were wobbly, her eyes heavy and she avoided them in slow, out of sync movements, nothing could be done to help those mages, so she used her last bit of mana to transport herself back home.

Upon arrival, she lay unconscious on the floor, her long black hair spread around her. Her silver and black dress was torn and bloodstained, her skin pale and cool to the touch. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow and ragged. Despite her weakened appearance, she still exuded a powerful and mysterious aura.

Two soldiers from Selene's guard approached cautiously, checking that the place was secure before approaching the priestess. With great care, they lifted Hecate into her arms, feeling her lightness in her body, and carried her to the palace.

Along the way, Hecate began to mutter words in an ancient and unknown language, and her arms moved as if she were casting spells. But there was no strength in her hands, and the words that fell from her lips were weak and powerless. It was evident that this combat left her weak and vulnerable.

Noa found himself in a distorted world, a living nightmare, where darkness envelops him from all sides. Friends of his, those he was sworn to protect and fought alongside him, now stare at him in fear and revulsion, as if he were a monster. Shion, his best friend and confidant, now sides with his enemies, his face stained with the corruption of darkness.

Noa tried to convince them that he is not an enemy, that he is still the same as before, but his words fall on deaf ears. They attacked him, with Jino using his fire powers to destroy everything around him, while being forced to use his own darkness to defend himself.

But the more he uses his powers, the more he finds himself consumed by darkness, growing further and further away from his friends. He screams in despair, trying to fight the darkness that consumes him, but it's no use.

In the end, he finds himself alone, surrounded by darkness and a woman's evil laughter, unable to find a way out of this terrible nightmare. He wakes up in a cold sweat, still feeling the sensation of his own darkness consuming him.

A/N: So much pain, nightmare and shadows, I wonder who's behind this...

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen smau #enhypen heeseung #enhypen fluff #heeseung smau #darkmoon obsidian #dark moon #decelis academy

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