#hunger pangs au
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Chapter 30 of Sugar Vladdy is now up on Ao3
To his surprise, it was Lady Margarete. She was holding a suitcase. “Hey,” he said as he opened the door, frowning with concern.
“Hello, dear.” She greeted him by leaning in to kiss the side of his cheek as she eked past him in the doorway.
“How are you, darling? Oh, the house smells nice. I’m not interrupting your dinner, am I?”
“Uh, no.” Vlad stepped out of her way, perplexed by her arrival. “Just got done. Is something wrong?”
Lady Margarete swiveled to face him, perching her signature cat-eye sunglasses atop her head. “Oh no, dear, everything is wonderful! But I am here to ask a teensy-weensy favor…” She hefted her luggage, and Vlad realized it wasn’t a suitcase but a pet carrier. “I’ve, um, run into a bit of a kenneling situation. Your father’s scheduled for treatment on Monday, and we’re supposed to be leaving tomorrow for it, but the foster home she was supposed to go to fell through, and well…”
She set the cage on the floor and opened the door. A timid pair of dark eyes peered out, followed by an unruly mop of blonde fur.
Read more...
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Enjoy some short fluff. Or do I mean floof?
#sugar vladdy au#hunger pangs au#hello darkness my old friend#I've climbed into this dumpster once again#heed tags at source
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todays progress:
something i shouldve done at the very beginning
#fucking up real bad the layout of me comics#also need to visualize spaces in which they might FUCK#ok tea time now#tessart#hunger pangs#<- lmao obvious ass au name
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Bad Habits
Soft daddy!Joel x f!Reader
masterlist ♡ soft daddy masterlist
wordcount: 1,910
summary: In a night of passion and confusion, an unexpected proposition leaves you questioning your desires and your future.
warnings: 18+, soft daddy!Joel, implied age gap, unprotected p in v
notes: I hope you enjoy the ending. 🤭 Maybe this will be its own au. Let me know what you think. A massive thank you to @joelslegalwhre for beta reading 🩷 and @saradika-graphics for the dividers.
As the night goes on, you find yourself getting lost in the music and the dance floor, moving your body to the beat and letting go of all your worries and fears. The guy you're dancing with is cute, and he seems to be into you, but something feels off. You can't shake off the feeling that you shouldn't be here tonight.
Just as you're about to leave the dance floor and go to the bathroom, you see the older man you've been seeing on and off. Joel doesn't call your name as he walks in, but you lock eyes, and he gives you a small smile before heading to the bar. You feel a pang of guilt and confusion wash over you - why is he here, and why does he seem so calm?
You make your way over to the bar and join him, accepting the drink he's already bought for you. He chuckles, "What are you doin' in a place like this, darlin?"
You raise an eyebrow at him. "I could ask you the same thing."
He grins and takes a sip of his drink. "I have my reasons. But a smart, pretty thing like you doesn't belong here. Come home with me, baby. Please." Joel's eyes twinkle with emotion as he leans in closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently graze your inner thigh. You tense up at his touch, completely unsure of where your head is at.
"Hey now, don't be like that," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "Come on, let daddy take you home," he whispers as his lips brush against your earlobe. "Let me take care of you. You don't have to be alone tonight.”
You hesitate for a moment, torn between your desire to be with Joel and your fear of losing your independence and freedom. But ultimately, you decide to go with him. You can't deny the pull you feel towards him, the sense of safety and security he offers you. And the way he's looking at you sure doesn't help, the way his voice softens when he calls you "baby" makes you feel safe and loved.
"Okay," you say softly. "I'll come with you.”
Joel's grin widens as he hears your response, and he stands up, taking your hand in his. "That's my girl," he says, leading you out of the bar. As you're walking out, Joel spots out the guy you were dancing with, and he chuckles softly. "Looks like you've got someone after you, darlin," he says, nodding in the guy's direction.
You look over and see the guy watching you with a disappointed expression on his face. You feel a pang of guilt, but before you can think too much, you're pulled away, Joel's grip on your hand tightens, and he leads you out of the bar. You can feel the excitement building up inside of you as you realize that you're about to spend the night with him. You can't believe it - just a few minutes ago, you were dancing with some random guy, feeling unsure and guilty about your attraction to Joel. But now, you're walking out of the bar with him, and you can't wait to see what the night has in store for you.
As you get into Joel's car, you can feel the tension between the two of you. You're both aware of the sexual tension that's been building, and you know that it's only a matter of time before it explodes. You glance over at him, watching as he navigates the winding roads that lead to his place. His eyes are focused on the road, but you can see the hunger and desire in them. You bite your lower lip, feeling a shiver run down your spine as you imagine what's about to happen.
When you finally arrive, you can hardly contain your excitement. You follow him inside, your heart racing as he leads you up the grand staircase and into his bedroom. The room is dimly lit, with only a few candles flickering in the corners. You can see the outline of his large oversized bed in the center of the oversized room, and you feel your heart start to race even faster.
Joel turns to face you, his eyes dark with desire. "I've been waiting for this all night, baby," he says, his voice low. He reaches out to touch your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. You lean into his touch, feeling a sense of safety and warmth spread through your body. Joel pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you as he kisses you deeply. You can feel the heat building, and you know that you're about to cross a line that you won't be able to come back from. But you don't care - you want this, you want Joel, and you're ready to give yourself to him completely.
As Joel starts to undress you, you can't help but feel a bit guilty. You know that you shouldn't be doing this - you know that you're risking your independence and freedom by giving yourself to him - a much older man. But the way he's looking at you, the way his hands feel on your body, the way his lips brush against your skin...it's all too much to resist.
And before you know it, Joel has you naked on his bed. He quickly rids himself of his clothes and gets to work, making you feel like you're in some acid induced love making trip. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment almost immediately. You're completely caught up in the pleasure that he's giving you.
Joel's thrusts are deep and powerful, filling you up completely. You can feel every inch of him, and it's driving you wild. His hands are on your hips, holding you in place as he takes control. You feel completely powerless in his grasp, and you love it.
"Mmm, yes, Joel," you moan, as he continues to thrust into you.
"You like that?"" He growls.
"Yes, daddy," you gasp, your hips buck against his.
Joel's thrusts get faster and harder, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.
"Good girl," Joel murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "You like it when I take charge, don't you?"
"Yes," you barely muster.
"That's my good girl." You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge with every word he speaks. "You like that, don't you, darlin'? You like it when I fuck you like a dirty girl."
You moan, your voice breathy and filled with desire. "I love it.”
"I'm gonna make you come so hard." Joel says, his thrusts getting faster and harder. "Come on baby, say my name. Let me know who's making you feel so good."
"Daddy," you moan out, your voice breathy. "Oh god, I'm so close," you gasp, your fingers digging into the sheets. "I'm gonna come."
"That's right," Joel growls, his hips slapping against yours. "Come for me, baby. Come for daddy."
But then, in the middle of the most intense moment, Joel says something that pulls you out of your pleasure-induced haze. "I want you to travel with me this summer," he says, his voice filled with emotion.
You pull away, your heart racing as you try to process what he's just said. "What did you say?" you ask, your voice trembling as you try to catch your breath.
Joel grabs your face in his large hands. His eyes are filled with love and desire. "I want you to travel with me this summer, darlin'," he repeats, his voice softer this time. "I know you have the time off school, and I just want to spend every moment with you, exploring new places and making new memories. I want to be exclusive, just for the summer. And if after that you wanna leave and have your freedom, you can."
You stare at him, your heart racing as you try to process what he's just said. You never expected him to say something like this - you never expected him to want something more than just a casual fling, and you never expected him to ruin your orgasm with this. "I'll think about it," you finally say, your voice soft and unsure. You're overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, and you need some time to process everything.
Joel nods, understanding your hesitation. He pulls you close, holding you in his arms as he whispers soothing words in your ear. "It's okay, darlin'," he says. "I know this is a big decision, and I'm not trying to rush you. I just want you to know how much I care about you, and how much I want to be with you." You lean into his embrace, feeling his warmth. You can feel yourself getting lost in his touch, and for a moment, you forget all about your worries and fears.
Joel's hand starts to wander, and soon he's touching your clit again. You gasp as pleasure shoots through your body. "I just want to make you feel good," he whispers. "Makin’ you feel good makes me feel good."
You moan as he continues to touch you, his fingers working magic on your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, and you know that it won't be long before you come apart in his arms.
"Joel," you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Oh god, Joel, please, I can't -"
“Yes you can. Come for me, baby. I gotcha, s'okay.”
And with that, you finally let go. You scream Joel's name as you come apart in his arms, your body trembling with the eb and flow of pleasure. He holds you close, whispering soothing words in your ear as you ride out your orgasm. When it's over, you collapse against Joel's chest, feeling completely and utterly spent.
“I'll wait for your answer, baby, take your time.” Joel whispers as his lips brush against your forehead.
You look up at him, feeling a sense of happiness and contentment spread through your body. You know that this is a big decision - a decision that could change your life forever. But as you look into Joel's eyes, you can't help but feel like this is where you belong - with him, by his side, traveling, at least for the summer.
"I'll travel with you this summer. I'll be your good girl, and I'll let you take care of me." You whisper, your voice filled with emotion.
Joel grins. "That's my girl."
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfiction#daddy!joel miller#joel miller x f!reader
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Had a good friend turn me onto the Hunger Pangs novel and lemme tell y'all, dang is it SO good👏. Had to sketch out these three (a bit also based on the modern aus that @thebibliosphere's posted as well, I just love this trio!). Super excited for more content in Joy's wonderful world, def gonna do more beats of the drama that happens cause the boys are dramatic and that's my JAM👏
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— au where you’re reaped as sejanus plinth’s tribute from district 2, and he breaks into the arena to get his final goodbyes in.
coriolanus can see the brunette’s jaw tighten in his peripheral vision when highbottom announces that he’ll be mentoring one of the district 2 tributes. that tightness is followed by a deep, deep scowl when the reapings are aired, and your sweet, lamb-like face is shown on the now, sejanus notices, glaring screen. he has half a mind to storm out, but instead swallows thickly to fool his brain into thinking he’s calm and collected.
he remembers you, as if a remnant from a previous life. sejanus knows this is a shameful way of thinking. he’s no capitolite. they can throw as much money as they want at him, keep his stomach full and plump of steak and apple pie, give him the so called luxury of attending the academy, but he knows his name will metaphorically never leave that reaping bowl. for each year the hunger games have commenced, three names were picked from district 2. a boy’s, a girl’s, and sejanus’s. he is in that arena with them, although not physically. and that is what hurts him most. his name, although not verbally chosen and spoken into a microphone, is amongst that litter, and yet he has the privilege, like every capitolite, of leaving the arena every year when the victor is announced, when his fellow district 2 tributes do not have that option.
upon first greeting you at the capitol zoo, a stinging pang shoots through his throat. he has absolutely no idea how he’ll be able to mentor you without completely destroying himself in the process. it’s eating him up inside; this hope that the academy has indirectly forced you to place in him. how that hope, crushed, would leave as you, god forbid, would have to take your final breaths in that arena, with nothing to attach to that despair but sejanus’s face.
you’re timid at first. you too, remembered this familiar face. the big brown eyes, never dull of emotion. long, fluttering eyelashes. he’s much taller now, with curly hair that looks like raw hazelnut under the sun. with the way he’s looking at you, you figured he did not outgrow his tenderness. it was no look of pity, though, but a look of understanding. of sharing your fear, instead of accepting your fate. that made you feel a comfort you haven’t felt since standing in your district’s square.
after a few minutes of silence, of examining each other wordlessly, communicating with shared gazes, sejanus decides to speak up first, albeit everyone knowing it is his heart that speaks for him.
“i am so, so sorry for—”
he begins, but you stop him. there wasn’t a point to this, you think. unless he was the one who picked out your name specifically, why would he even feel the need to apologize? that certainly won’t change anything.
“it’s fine. it’s not your fault. i know, big elephant in the room, i’m behind bars at a zoo. the odds just weren’t in my favor. i’m not sure they will decide they like me later, either.”
sejanus clenches a hand around one of the steel bars at your pessimism, but how can he blame you? he has no hope himself, how could he even possibly think you would? he wishes he could effortlessly bend the barrier separating you two with his palms, grabbing you by the hand and running off somewhere else. somewhere safe. somewhere hopeful. he knows he can’t, and that leaves a shake in his voice as he chooses his next words delicately.
“i just… if there’s any way i could help you, guarantee that you would… walk out of there unharmed…”
“well, i saw the district 12 girl with her supposed mentor in here. inside the zoo. you’re mine, i assume? do what a mentor has to do. mentor me out… and some food won’t hurt, either.”
at the mention of that, sejanus’s face slightly lights up, and he reaches into his scarlet colored blazer pocket, taking out a wrapped napkin and handing it to you. you reach through the bars to take this mysterious item from him, fingers lingering just a bit, and unwrap it to find a sandwich, diagonally cut. you smile wistfully at the simple meal before you, this being the very first act of kindness you’ve been on the receiving end of since coming to the capitol. so much for hosting etiquette.
“thank you, sejanus, really… here,” you say in an unanticipated small voice, holding out one of the pieces.
the brunette freezes. you’re still kind. all of this, and you’re still kind. perhaps that’s all you’ll ever be. perhaps that’s what will be what dooms you in that arena. you will try to speak heart to heart, not sword to sword. he loathes that he’s thinking this way. he absolutely despises that he knows you will not be able to walk away from this without staining your hands red, but what has made a home in his chest is the miserable feeling of not knowing whether you’ll be able to do that. he’s district. he will forever be district, a vow he made at birth. but here he is, standing in front of you, free. here he is, handing you food as though you truly belonged in that zoo. he is everything you wished you could be in that moment, and yet you still decide to share your meal with him, despite the rumbling coming from your stomach. he wants to take it. wants to act like this is a normal picnic that you two are having together, but he knows you need that full sandwich. he knows you should take all you can get.
and so he declines politely. you begin to talk about the changes in district 2 since he’s left, and how life continued, yet everyone was stuck. sejanus emphasizes. he listens. but the dread has not left his system. he starts to think about how he’ll see you in another life if this one wasn’t enough. there’s so much time on the other side, and here it all feels like a constant countdown. never knowing if your time will be cut short. he mentally chastises himself; he needs to be optimistic. he needs to be here for you, now. he needs to think about the life you’ll have when he gets you out, not if. soon enough, you’ll believe it too.
to say that sejanus was a complete wreck watching you enter that arena would be an understatement. the cameras capture your soft features so well that you look displaced. lost. you shouldn’t be there, he thinks. no one should be there. the tears that built up in a split second blur his vision, and when the bell rings, he is there, running as a district 2 tribute.
sejanus watches as you take his advice, as you run and hide immediately, and he is kept at bay through at least that. he can’t lose it now. not when you’ve placed your entire life bare in his hands.
but sejanus is weak, too. he feels too much too often. his thoughts are frantic, and he finds himself in that arena the following night. the thumping in his chest intensifies as the voice at the entrance pleads him to enjoy the show, and he scoffs at that. he checked the cameras before coming, so he knows exactly where you are, and he’s so overwhelmed with the thought of seeing you that it doesn’t register that he has now, momentarily, taken the path he very well could’ve lived if he had not moved to the capitol. sejanus plinth, district 2 tribute.
light footed, he makes his way across the arena, and up the stands. he saw you come out of hiding when it was safe out, when most of the tributes were either asleep or in the tunnels, gathering a weapon or two from the cornucopia then settling on high ground. he figures you were startled once you heard the automatic greeting that played when he walked in, so he whispers your name.
he whispers it again. so delicately. laced with so much sweetness, it feels wrong to say it here.
and then a third time. the syllables now come out desperate. overwrought. he can’t leave without seeing you. touching you. it will break him.
“sejanus?” his ears perk up, and he looks around, frenzied, trying to distinguish the direction your voice came from. you peek out from one of the stands, and when you find those big, brown eyes looking back at you, you pick yourself up entirely and run to hold the man before you. the man who rushed into the possibility of death head on just to wrap his arms around you. he’ll face it all, just for that. oh how he wished you knew how badly he wanted to swap your places.
“you’re… but how? why? it’s dangerous here—” sejanus wastes no time, cupping your cheeks and diving in to kiss you. his hands are holding on to you for dear life, as if his knees will give out without the support. his eyebrows are knit together, focused on the feel of your lips on his. they’re dry, chapped, and cracked, but he doesn’t care. he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip to give you some relief, making a mental note to send you some water as soon as he leaves.
he kisses you until it hurts him. until his lips are swollen and red. until the way you’re tightening your hands on his broad shoulders feels as though it’ll leave bruises. when you break the kiss to breathe, he tries to take you all in. to memorize everything. he desperately needs a pen and paper right this moment so he could draw you as accurately as he can, lest his memory fails him later.
the automatic voice sounds again, and only you turn your attention to the entrance. slowly comes coriolanus snow, the district 12 girl’s mentor, and his eyes scan the arena before they land on yours. you nudge sejanus lightly to direct his gaze to his friend, but he wants more. he can’t leave now. he can’t leave you. not like this.
“it’s okay, sejanus. i’ll be okay. help from the outside, and we’ll see each other again in no time.” you whisper, a tiny bit unconvincingly, eyes glossy. “just take care of yourself, okay?”
sejanus’s lips quiver, and he too whispers. you don’t believe it’s because of the other tributes, but because if he were to speak normally, only a sob would come out.
“you are myself. please take care of me.” you glance down and nod at that, tasting the saltwater that came rushing down your cheek. he wipes the trail that settled along your face, and begrudgingly makes his way to the blond.
sejanus is motivated by the thought, the need, to get you out of there. no matter the methods he uses. no matter the consequences he faces. he has the resources to buy you more time, and he finds himself not above exploiting them.
#this was so long omg sorry#it’s 4am and i’m thinking about sejanus plinth#the hunger games#thg#tbosbas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#sejanus plinth#sejanus plinth x reader#sejanus x reader#sejanus plinth angst#sejanus plinth fluff#sejanus plinth imagine#coriolanus snow#lucy gray baird
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Dp X Injustice AU's
So, we have seen the frankly insane about of Dp x Dc AU's that have been spawned over the years. But I never really see any Injustice AU's
And then I thought, which Dp x Dc AU would you actually use for an Injustice AU?
Let me give some examples:
Justice League Member Danny: Danny is a part of the Justice League by the time Superman goes insane. He decides to step in when Shazam is nearly killed by Superman, but gets hurt himself in the process and is thrown in jail. This causes some of Superman's supporters to doubt him, since Danny is just a 16 yr old kid and Clark nearly killed him.
Danny is sill a Solo Hero: Danny is still just a Solo Hero from Amity Park in this. When Superman takes over the world, he goes to Amity to try and recruit Phantom. Danny refuses, and they butt heads. Danny eventually promises that he will continue to just act as a small time Vigilante in return for not joining Batman's side. This changes years later, when Superman is responsible for the death of Jazz Fenton.
Danny is a "Villain": Danny is seen as a Villain because he is a Ghost. At least, that's what the outside world thinks, but the situation in Amity is different. Danny has been seen as a Hero for years now, it's just the rest of the world that doesn't want to accept that fact. So when Superman takes over the world, and tries to execute every Villain, he goes after Phantom. Only for the Entire Town to try and stop him.
@little-pondhead Everlasting Trio Villain AU: So, take Little Pondhead's Villain AU and put it in the Injustice Universe. Danny can be the insane megalomaniac Villain he always wanted to be and not feel guilty because this is a Dictatorship. (Although it does remind him of Dan before his parole). He just has fun, messing with Superman, building insane crazy inventions, messing with Superman, enacting fun Villain plots, messing with Superman, and of course messing with Superman. Meanwhile Superman is just having a horrible time because there is just this random Villain, doesn't even seem to have powers, and he Just. Can't. Catch Him! Batman is looking for Fenton to recruit, meanwhile Fenton is literally here to Not be a Hero. It gets even worse when he brings in his Friends and Ellie.
Danny is the Ghost King: Danny is the Ghost King by now, and Batman's side try to Summon Him to deal with Superman during the whole "Super Pills" event. He shows up just in time to save Green Arrow, but isn't trong enough to kill Superman. He himself gets extremely injured in the process and gets forcibly summoned back to the Ghost Zone to be healed. Now the entire Dimension is gearing up to attack the Living World as revenge for their King being so hurt.
Old Man Danny AU: My own AU. Danny is still an Old Man just living in Gotham when Superman takes over. At one of his rally's to try and garner support and stop the rebellions, Danny stands up in the middle of the crowd and calls him out on all his Bullshit. This causes the whole crowd to start yelling at Superman, which in turn causes Superman to have a Homelander Moment. He kills Danny, who just laughs as he falls to the floor, and causes a riot. What Superman doesn't know, is that Danny was slated to ascend to Godhood at the moment of his Death, so now he has a God of Death chasing him to fulfill his "need to be avenged" urges (its like hunger pangs for ghosts)
Danny as a Medium: Danny is a Traveling Ghost Speaker, like the guy you pay $5 to pretend to speak to your dead loved ones, but he can actually speak to them. Superman is patrolling the world, just making the rounds now that he had conquered the Earth, and comes across Danny's Tent. He stops by in curiosity and asks to speak to his dead Wife. Danny asks if he really wants to put himself through that, but Superman insists. So Danny, instead of just speaking for the Ghost like normal, actually Summons Lois Lanes Ghost to talk to Superman. They have a heartfelt conversation about how it wasn't his fault, and how he shouldn't blame himself, but eventually they get to the topic of Clark talking over the world. She isn't proud, but understands if this is what it takes for him to be happy. She leaves, and Superman is left finally second-guessing himself for the first time in years. Because it doesn't make him happy. (*ahem* Danny still wants to be payed, soooo......)
#Dp x dc#Dpxdc#Danny phantom#Dc#Dcu#Injustice#Injustice AU#A bunch of Injustice AU's#Villain Danny Phantom#Villain Fenton#Everlasting Trio Villain AU#Superman#Batman#Medium Danny Phantom#Ghost King Danny Phantom#Ghost King AU
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Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 7
(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)
(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)
(Masterlist)
Word count: 5k
Rating: Mature
Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Domesticity, Literal sleeping together, Bed sharing, Angst/Comfort, (Brief) Fluff, Cuddling, Love bites/Hickeys, Claiming bites, Emotional Angst/Comfort, Cliffhanger
Warnings: None
A/N: New cover as we head into the finale!
The sun dawns on the final day before the full moon.
You awaken gently, feeling the cold grip at your limbs as you snuggle deep into the covers. The motion disturbs your bed partner, who makes a small sound of protest before adjusting to drag you closer against his chest. You happily snuggle into the warmth of him with a little whine, willing yourself back into blissful dreams. The cage of his arms provides steadfast protection against the waxing moon as it hesitates beyond the horizon, counting the hours until sundown. It feels as if König senses your thoughts, for there’s a low, purring growl that vibrates his chest against your cheek. Defensive, a warning to the shadows that lurk in the woods.
There’s a heavy set to your limbs that forces you into limpness against his frame. It drags at your senses with drowsy intent, makes your head loll against his collarbone with a happy sigh. Grey, misty light washes over you both, a gentle baptism of dawn that you wish would suspend both of you in time, caught here forever in his embrace.
It’s your stomach that at last rouses you, and even as you try to ignore it the sharp pang of hunger eventually gurgles low in your belly. König answers it merely with a huff, arms caught around you a little tighter, preventing your escape. You smile at him, at last opening your eyes to see him.
He replaced his hood sometime while you were asleep, and though you mourn the chance to see his blissful, sleeping expression, you’re grateful for the simple grace of seeing his eyes closed at such a near distance. You can see his brow slightly scrunched, as if trying to ignore the pull of wakefulness, and you resist the urge to poke at it just to hear him grumble in his sleep. Instead you settle for observing what little of his sleeping expression you can discern, memorizing the way his eyes flutter in dreams.
Eventually you lean forwards, gently bestowing a kiss upon his masked mouth before delicately wriggling from his hold. It takes several attempts, and eventually you manage to avoid his grasping, heavy hands so you rise to your feet. König curls around the warm space you’ve left, murmurs something you cannot hear before he goes still. You smile fondly down at him, try to ignore the way anxiety pierces your heart as a morning lark declares the dawn.
You coax the dying embers of the fireplace back to life and set water to boil above it, tucking a loaf of bread above the hearth to warm up by the time it is done. You ignore the shake of your hands as something whispers that this could be the final day you ever live this mundane routine, that your life could be stolen from you tonight by dripping red claws and gleaming fangs.
It takes effort to shake off the thought, and instead you focus on washing yourself with water warmed by the fire. You pause as you look in the mirror above the basin, blinking in surprise at the marks painted across your skin. Love bites, gentle bruises, places where his lips descended to your skin with a scarcely contained growl. There’s an ache to your hips that remains where he split you on his cock over and over again, as if he were possessed by the feast of your flesh. You’d barely been able to crawl from bed long enough to eat and relieve yourself for the entirety of yesterday before König had decided you’d been gone for too long, had pursued you just so he could carry you back and press you into the sheets once more.
He seemed almost crazed with lust, your beloved, consumed by the act of defiling you. Growling, pressing, hauling you to him, holding a leg aloft just so he could sheath himself back inside you with a growl. He’d mouthed dragging endearments into your skin, had followed them with sucking teeth and apologetic kisses when you’d whined at him. Lost as you were in the buttery haze of lust and warmth, it still became quickly clear to you that his attempts to mark you seemed almost like a claim- an attempt to ward off others, to ensure you remained his, only ever his. Territorial, possessive, gorging himself on the sounds of your desire as you begged for more.
You trace the smattering of love bites that adorns your collarbone and chest, tilting your head to reveal the full indent of his teeth on the arch of your neck. It makes you blink in surprise, as you twist to reveal more marks along your bare back and shoulders. König had left no inch of skin untouched, it seems, and you silently shudder to think how you’ll explain this to Laswell.
Nevertheless you wash and dress yourself, once more donning your red cloak before you carefully step outside towards the well down the lane. You’re grateful that your long layers hide the marks, consciously tugging your hood up to conceal the bite on your neck. The last thing you need is more neighbors and village folk accusing you of being some type of seductress, or asking too many questions about who spent the night in your home.
As you draw water from the well you look to see the misty forms of others bustling about morning chores. There’s sounds of wood hammering against shutters, trying to barricade windows and doors for the coming darkness. Animals that would normally be escorted to pasture now kick at their stalls, safely shut away for the coming sunset. You’re scarcely noticed amidst the distractions, and you pause to watch your neighbors conduct preparations for the full moon that will rise above the forest tonight.
You wonder if the wolf watches even now from the trees. Silent. Waiting.
You make yourself scarce as you dart back towards the direction of your home, ignoring the passing stares of others as they see you pass by. The reminder of the hunter’s son, of the accusation levied against you and Laswell forces a heavy weight down onto your ribcage, an imminent danger that follows in your shadow.
"I bet you're a witch too! Just like her! You probably brought the wolf here yourselves to kill us all!!"
You need to tell her, to warn her.
A thin frown of worry presses your lips as you slip back inside, trying to plan your options. It will be difficult to slip from the village unnoticed before nightfall, especially when you’ll be trailed by a huge, scarred, hooded figure on your heels. You’ve not yet told König of your plan to retreat to Laswell’s by nightfall, and you know you’ll have to convince him of the safety she and the others provide. You’re not sure you can, not with the way Price and the other witchers are tensed, ready for battle, vigilant of threats. They may see König as a monster not unlike the one they hunt. For all you know, you could be walking him into the jaws of a greater beast than the one that lurks in these woods.
To stay here, however, to do the same as the other villagers and barricade yourself inside, knowing now that your neighbors see you as a potential source of their misfortune...
You see a vision of yourself, tied to a pillar in the center of the square under the full moon, listening to the howl of the werewolf, watching as they force König to his knees and screaming for help-
He said he’d protect you. How are you supposed to protect him, when you can’t even keep yourself safe?
The woods press in on you from all sides, arching above to tangle into a thick entanglement of branches with you trapped inside like a small, scared creature trying vainly to escape. You stare up through the brambles and thorns to the dark sky above, where the moonlight casts pale light against your eyes of despair.
You’re so caught in your thoughts you nearly miss the figure that lurches into your view right in front of you.
You startle, and in doing so the bucket of water you have sloshes lopsidedly, spilling across your boots. You hardly notice it, staring instead at one of the older village women who has suddenly seized your attention. You recognize her. She’s one of the few that often comes to Laswell in search of tonics for her weary bones, a persistent cough she’s never been cured of. You’ve arrived at her doorstep many times over to deliver remedies, and she’s always returned the favor with a soft smile, a gentle pat to your shoulder or an apple tucked into your pocket.
Now, you try to catch your breath, settle your heartbeat as she squints at you with a narrow gaze.
“You don’t belong here.”
You blink in surprise, mouth pressing into a frown. Shock, hurt blossoms in words across your tongue. Yet before you can respond she steps forward, jabs a finger against your chest insistently.
“You need to leave these woods.” She intones with a creaky voice, staring up at you with displeasure. “You’re no longer welcome here, girl.”
You can feel the other villagers pause now to observe the dispute, their wary eyes looking on as you’re harassed by someone who had once been kind to you.
“T-this is my home-” You try, taking a step back, but she only presses forward once more. You feel your heartbeat claw at your throat, and your eyes flick past her to the path up to your cottage, where familiar smoke curls from the chimney in a beacon of sanctuary.
“Not anymore it isn’t.” The old woman hisses, and you feel your face contort in a returning snarl. Yet then the woman softens, the sinister sneer from her face easing into a look of concern.
“You need to leave.” She whispers hastily, eyes wide. Suddenly her voice is once more that of a friend, one with grave worry and urgency in her words. “You and Madame Laswell. It is no longer safe for you here.”
You freeze in surprise, trying to form words past the veil of shock that colors your eyes. Cold air seizes your lungs, an uncomfortable prickle of awareness raising goosebumps on your skin as the other villagers pause to watch the fear dawn across your face.
“The others, they think you brought the wolf here.” She adds, a wrinkled hand grasping at your sleeve in a touch much harsher than her words. “I heard them. They think you and Madame Laswell are witches, that you summoned the wolf to kill us.”
She gazes up into your eyes, this unexpected ally, and even though her mouth is set in a grim frown, her eyes portray fear.
“They plan to kill you both.”
You jolt away as if scalded, ripping your arm from her grasp, heartbeat hammering wildly against the cage of your ribs. The ground under you seems to shift, and the trees that had once been your home now seem to slowly creep to your shadow, ensnare it with tangled thorns so they press into your skin and yield red warmth. In your mind's eye you see the figure of yourself bathed in moonlight, clothes ripped and hands bound to a pyre that alights the sky in a wicked red haze. You see Laswell struggling as she watches below, held by the villagers, screaming for Price and the others as they chase the wolf who howls dangerously at the moon.
and König...König...
His blood soaks the earth, a sacrificial lamb to an unknown, evil god that reigns in madness over the village you had once called home.
The bucket in your hand drops, and the water sloshes out to seep into the cold earth, just as his blood will come nightfall.
You don’t thank the woman as you run, but her voice chases after you anyways, feigning sinister intent.
“Run, girl! Leave these woods and never return!!”
Your cape flares out behind you as you sprint for the cottage, racing up your garden and to the heavy door which shuts behind you with a thundering clank of the lock. You brace on it, hands pressed to the frame, chest heaving and eyes wild. You can’t contain the shaking of your limbs, and even the warmth of the hearth at your back does little to alleviate the icy grip of terror that seizes in your chest.
They plan to kill you both.
You try to reason with yourself. Price and the others, they’d never let the villagers touch you or Laswell. They know you both, know that no matter what accusations the villagers levy against you, that you will never be what they say. You know you’ll be safe with them. If you flee now, you can make it to Laswell’s cottage by sundown, tell her all that you’ve learned. You know Price and the others will protect you from the promise of a pyre, from the misplaced wrath of those you once called neighbors.
But...König...
You shake your head. It doesn’t matter now. You cannot stay. If you stay, if the villagers come for you, they’ll no doubt find him as well, will wrestle you from his arms and restrain him like a wild beast even as he snarls, tries to fight his way to you. They’ll see him, this stranger you’ve kept hidden, take his hood and reveal the terrifying visage he keeps hidden and they will fear him. If you stay, it will be a death sentence for you both.
The woman is right. You need to leave. Now. Daylight be damned.
“König-” You breathe as you race to your bed, lay your hands on his still slumbering form and try to wake him. “König, we need to leave. We have to go-”
König stirs, but it’s with a groan that sounds almost painful. You freeze, hands stilling, before you once more try to rouse him.
“König, wake up, please wake up.” You urge him, swallowing down a gasp of fear. He seems to hear at least that much, because he rolls over only slightly, echoes your name in a groggy slur.
“Rotty?” He asks, voice cracking with something that sounds weak, almost ill. His eyes flutter open, glassy gaze turning to you as he tries to focus. The confusion softens into something fond, and you feel affection flutter in your chest at the way his eyes melt upon seeing your face. “Rotty...”
You force a smile despite your trembling hands. “Yes, love. It’s me.” You whisper, and he sighs at that, eyelashes fluttering before drowsiness claims him once more. You swallow down the growing panic in your throat, forcing yourself to not imagine the footsteps of the villagers pounding closer to your door.
“König.” You insist, shaking him now with rising franticness. “We must leave. It’s not safe here. We need to go to Laswell’s, the villagers-”
“No, no, not the witchers...” He interrupts with a groan, and you frown at that, fear tugging sharply in your stomach.
“König we need to leave.” You tell him again, leaning full over him now so your cape drapes partly across his form. Your arms bracket him on either side of his broad, bare shoulders adorned with thick, coarse hair. “The villagers-”
You pause at the abrupt whimper that bubbles up his throat, unexpected. It sounds not fearful but hurt, as if rousing him from dreams forces him to endure an affliction you cannot see. You feel your brow crease with worry, a hand tracing over the bare skin of his scarred shoulder, and he flinches.
“König...” You breathe, and with a worried urgency you begin to try and pull away the covers, at last noticing just how damp they are. It’s as if he’s sweat through them while you weren’t paying attention, and as you reveal his bare form you see a thick sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. You don’t know how you didn’t notice earlier, curled in his arms as you were. He feels too hot to the touch, shivering under your palms, eyes stubbornly scrunched shut as if he’s trying to block out a phantom pain.
A different type of terror grips you now, as you lay a palm to his damp, clammy skin, hearing him groan at the touch. He reaches up to clumsily bat at your hand, and you’re not entirely sure if he’s trying to chase you away or drag you closer.
“König.” You repeat again, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “König, what’s…”
“Rotty.” He whines, and you ignore him, reaching for his hood. Before you can touch it König arches with a wet gasp, his large hand seizing your wrist. His head lolls towards you, hazy gaze focusing on the acute worry plain on your face. He blinks, as if trying to focus, and you see his brow pinch for a moment before it relaxes.
“What lovely eyes you have, Schatz.” He sighs, head drooping once more. His hand goes lax around your wrist as he melts back into the bed. When you try to sneak it under his hood to feel for his forehead however, he tenses with a growl, the sound rumbling low and deep in his throat like some wild, feral animal.
“Shh, it’s alright.” You coax despite the tremble in your words, and your palm lays flat against his searing, damp brow.
“König, love.” You breathe, hands shaking. “You’re burning up with a fever.”
König groans at that, pulls your hand away and rolls to the other side of the bed. You try to follow him, but when your hand lands on his shoulder König growls at you again, this time deeper, almost savage. You pull away as if burned, but your missing touch prompts a whine instead, as if his body can’t figure out what to do with itself.
“König.” You try again uselessly. “Please, get up. I- I can take you to Laswell’s. She can help you. We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
“No.” He slurs again in protest, and you feel frustration and panic rise hotly in your veins as you resist the urge to bang on his broad back with your fists in your vexation. Instead you once more soothe a hand across his bare shoulder so his muscles unwind under your touch.
He relaxes then, sighing in relief before he turns part way back to you. His eyes are gentle as they regard you through his strange delirium, and you hold his gaze, unable to hide the mounting fright in your stare.
“The wolf won’ hurt you, Rotty.” He tells you, words low and jumbled. He reaches a large hand out, and you wonder for a moment if he’ll drag you back into bed. Instead he strokes your cheek with his knuckles, tilts his head wearily to regard you. “I’ll protect you. I swear it.”
You suck in a sharp breath at that, feeling the building terror, the grief, the panic and the confusion of the past few days finally overwhelm you. Hot tears flood your eyes, and you try to swallow them to no avail. A hiccup forces its way up your throat, and you clutch at his hand, holding it desperately to your face as if it’s a lifeline.
“How are you supposed to protect me when you can’t even stand?” You cry, feeling your voice crack in your throat with despair. “I-I’m supposed to protect you, I’m supposed to keep you safe from them- from the villagers, from Price and the others, from the wolf, I-“
You sob, a broken sound pouring from your chest as you’re no longer able to contain the rush of emotions wash over you. It cracks in your bones like the snap of wood in an evening hearth, a sharp sound that disturbs the peaceful silence you long to share with him. The embers alight across your skin, force a cry of hurt past your gasping lips and into his palm.
“I’m scared, König.” You confess in a raw whisper, eyes wide, staring into a vision of the pitch-black forest where the object of your nightmares awaits. “I’m trying so hard to be strong, to keep us both safe, but I’m scared.”
You swallow, but it does little to stem the words that come tumbling forth, first as a trickling stream and now as a raging river.
“I’m terrified. I wake up every morning thinking you’re not going to be here anymore, that this was all just a dream. I’m scared you’re going to disappear, that the wolf is going to hunt you alive, that the villagers will find you and hurt you, that Price and the others will refuse to protect you. I’m scared that the final thing I’m ever going to see is fire or the fangs of the monster. I’m scared of living a tomorrow where you no longer exist.”
You sob openly, words hiccupping desperately into his knuckles entwined between your palms. You can no longer stop it, the untamable tide of desperation that seizes your chest, your heart, your limbs. König makes a little noise of distress as he watches the tears roll down your face, land on his worn hand.
“No-” He tries again, and you see his expression pinch as he tries to find the words. “Don’t cry, Rotty. It won’t....won’t hurt you.”
“Please.” You beg him again, gasping and bowing your head into his hand. “Come with me. We can go, Laswell can help you, I can explain to the others. They’ll keep us safe. They’ll kill the wolf, and then we can leave the village like you asked me to. We can go and never have to look back, like you wanted.”
You hunch forward, eyes closing shut, sending up a prayer at the same time your words form the plea.
“Please.”
König pauses, and you feel him hesitate before he gently draws his hand away…
Only to push you so you topple backwards onto the floor instead.
“I’m sorry, Rotty.” He whispers, voice cracking with pain, clearer now. “I-I can’t come with you.”
You sit, sprawled and stunned at his words. You feel the air in your chest pause, gripping tightly to your lungs as you try to understand, trying to make sense of his sudden rejection. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, face open with confusion, distress. The world seems to suck into a silence that is unknown to you, words absent as the desolate wind howls in your thoughts.
“K-König…?” You ask in a small, fragile voice as you try to understand. It only makes König hunch further into the bed, as if your words are a slicing wound that carves into his turned back.
“Go, Rotty.” He tells you, growling low with warning. You flinch. “To the captain and the others. They’ll keep you safe.”
You stare at him with hurt, shock warming your eyes with fresh tears, trying to understand, trying to unravel the riddle of him you’ll never find the answers to. He’s retreating into secrets once more, and you watch helplessly as he walks into the dark, misty woods ahead of you, vanishing beyond your reach as the echo of a wolf howl rattles your bones.
“Don’t do this.” You tell him in a voice that’s hardly a whisper. “Don’t…don’t make me leave when I’ve already fallen in love with you.”
König tenses at that, form curling further in on himself before he goes still once more. He doesn’t speak.
You want to scream at him, to cry, to beg and plead for answers you know he won’t give you. You want to throw yourself into his arms, apologize for whatever transgression you’ve committed, for the sin of loving him if he did in fact never love you in turn. Yet you do none of those things, instead frozen on the floor, tracing the rigid rise of his spine, the way he shivers as the fever grips at him.
“Please.” You try once more, voice raw with emotion, a desperate entreaty that he stubbornly ignores.
The moon rises on the horizon. You’re running out of time.
You gather yourself, stand and scrub the tears from your face, stand over him at your bedside. Your fists curl with resolve, expression grim as you stare down at his curled, shivering form that tries to ignore the shadow of you cast by the fire.
“I’m leaving.” You tell him resolutely. “and I’m coming back. I’ll bring Laswell, and I’ll bring Price and the others to protect us. She’ll cure you, and we’ll stay here until the night passes, until the wolf is dead.”
You swallow the urge to hurl yourself onto his form, drape yourself across his chest and will time to return itself to the moments after wakefulness only a mere hour ago.
“Then. Then, once it’s over, we’ll leave these woods. Together.”
He doesn’t shift. You try not to fracture with the hurt that lays bare across your skin.
“You can’t push me away. Not when you allowed me to keep you for so long.” You finish and turn before you can stop yourself.
It takes effort to stride to the door, to lay your hand upon the iron latch. You feel your face pinch, tears once more obscuring your vision as you glance one last time at him.
“I love you.” You whisper. You’re not sure if you can hear it.
Once more, you walk into the woods, and you pray to the Gods that in the next dawn, you’ll walk them together.
----
He waits until you leave.
He waits until after the lock has shut, until your footsteps have faded, until silence settles over the cottage in your absence. He waits for the pain of betrayal in his heart to be quieted by the sickening, feverish hunger that grips his limbs.
“I’m sorry, Rotty.” König whispers in the solitude of the cottage. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep you safe.”
Soon now, he knows. Soon the sun will set, the moon will rise, and he’ll no longer be able to control the ravenous hunger, the desire to feast on flesh, the instinct to hunt, kill. The fever of bloodlust grips his limbs, and already he can feel his bones try to crack, reform, strengthen into monstrous size until he lifts his muzzle to the moon. He’s tried a hundred times to stop it, to refuse to gorge himself on the blood of beings only known as prey. He’s watched a hundred times as his victims scream, trying to flee from his outstretched claws.
He remembers each face, each final, breathless plea before his fangs snap through skin and bone.
You’re among them in his dreams. He sees your face the first time he saw you on the back of the captain’s dark mare, holding tight to his waist as your red cape fluttered behind you. He remembers seeing your eyes shining brightly in the moonlight, and thinking to himself not of prey, but of something delicate, fragile, beautiful.
Little did he know you’re a creature of the woods as well.
König had long ago resigned himself to this fate of his. It is his destiny to be cursed in the way he is, to roam the earth endlessly in search of blood to quench his wild, savage hunger. He’s long since stopped praying to the gods to free him, resigning himself to his imminent demise at the hands of humans for the sin of his existence- for being a monster that he cannot control.
He’d expected to die the night he first saw you, the strange creature cloaked in red, cradled by the trees as if they were your ally. The witchers had pursued him through the forest relentlessly, chasing him into one of their many traps. He’d barely escaped, and even now he wonders if he should have simply accepted the slash of a sword to his neck, breathed in his last as he gazed up at the beautiful autumn moon.
Yet you’d found him.
In the hollow where he’d licked his wounds, had shuddered against the cold, you’d come to rescue him from his own wretched existence.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” You’d whispered, and he had believed it, had allowed himself to deceive you just to feel the warm touch of kindness he’d forgotten. He’d allowed you to take him to this, to your home, to tend to him. He’d allowed you to burrow into his heart, into the empty hollow that had resigned itself to the terrible ending fate had divined for him.
He hadn’t intended to fall in love with you.
How could he not? How could he not be mesmerized by the captivating, beautiful strangeness of you? You with your wistful eyes, with your lonely smile, with the way you were so kind despite everything, despite the suffering, stifling solitude that he could see haunt your gaze? How could he possibly ignore this creature that was like him in so many ways, one who filled the emptiness of his aching soul?
Your smiles, your laughter, the brightness of your eyes and soft greetings, the way your bare skin was cast aglow by the fire- sights, sounds, scents that had forced him to forget who he was, the feral creature he was born to be. He’d gone willingly into your palms, had sheathed his fangs just to nuzzle against your delicate touch.
He should have left sooner. Perhaps then this fate would not be so cruel.
At least, in the end, he was loved. If only for just a while.
König waits until the ache of your final words has subsided, rises from the bed that still smells like you and gathers the clothes you’ve made for him. He drinks in the scent of you once more, remembers what it felt like to have you safe in his arms, in his den, in the place where he loved you too.
He hopes that you’ll forgive him for this someday.
König staggers from your home, down towards the edge of the forest.
And once more, he vows to keep you safe.
Safe from himself.
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you showed me colors (eddie munson x fem!reader)
"YOU SHOWED ME COLORS YOU KNOW I CAN'T SEE WITH ANYONE ELSE."
summary: the soulmate au based on "illicit affairs" by taylor swift that almost no one asked for.
warnings: ANGST, HURT/NO COMFORT, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, strategic use of pet names, allusions to sex but none described, reader is referred to as a girl a few times, no use of Y/N, canon compliant. not really edited (cause i'm not putting myself through this shit again).
wc: 15.1k+
a/n: im genuinely sorry for once. blame @abibliophobiaa and @breddiemunson for this. also, thank you @hellfire--cult for helping me with the header!!! please take all those warnings very seriously. please. (also shout out to ash who got her own divider sort of so she'd know when to stop reading because my baby doesn't like angst 😅)
The first thirteen years of your life, you only had second hand accounts to trust when it came to colors.
The sky is blue, soft and dreamy, nearly translucent until grey wisps of clouds would overrun it on stormy days (although, the clouds, you could make out). Most grass is green, verdant and rich as it sprouts from the hard dirt. Even the yellowing strands are most likely gorgeous, a sign of life and death, a sign that someone once stood atop the green and held their ground. Roses come in a rainbow of shades, but everyone seems to adore the staunch red ones the best. The plush pink of a lover’s kiss-bitten lips, the warm brown fur of the dogs you passed by on the street, the deep violet of the plums your mother proclaimed as her favorite fruit. A range of colors you had only ever heard of, never experienced yourself.
For thirteen years, all you had was stories. Nothing tangible, nothing solid in your palms. Mere crumbs of a promise of what you would have one day, when you met your soulmate.
When you met him.
It wasn’t the most pleasant of circumstances in which you two met. You’d spent a lot of your childhood fascinated with the concept and lost in daydreams about it – maybe they’d be a stranger you caught the eye of on the train, or maybe they’d be the one making your coffee at a quaint cafe in a big city someday. Whoever they would be, you wanted them to be made of all the fairytales. You wanted a meeting to challenge every romantic story you’d been fed through your youth, you wanted a love that would shake the very Earth you wandered from the first time your eyes met theirs.
Your reality seemed as far from earth-quake inducing as they could get, at the time. Looking back, though, you wish you could plead and change your youthful mind. Because the day wasn’t perfect, the situation was terrible shades of melancholy, but none of that really matters; what matters is that on that sunny Wednesday afternoon, you met him.
Scraped knees. You had scraped knees, sitting embarrassed and frazzled beneath a tree as you tried to sink into the shade surrounding its base and erase the memory of what had just transpired. You could still hear all the other kids’ taunts echoing through your mind, cruel and unnecessary words that were suited to follow you the rest of your days. Comments on your looks and teases of things you couldn’t change. Seeds of insecurity that were hard to swallow at the beginning of your teen youth.
You were still picking at the edges of your open wounds with slow drying tears still coating your cheeks when his shadow joined the tree’s.
“Are you alright?”
You looked up immediately to find a boy standing there. Your eyes had traveled slowly, taking in his baggy jeans with patchwork knees and his oversized faded t-shirt first. Even with the hand-me-down clothes, you could recognize his gangly limbs beneath it all. A frail frame and hunger-panged face. An overgrown buzz cut, no doubt prickly as the hairs stood to attention. Sunken in eyes brimming with concern for you. Whatever shade they were, they had to be dark; they were nearly black in the shades of grey your eyes could currently pick up on.
The thing about soulmates, is the colors don’t happen until you touch your soulmate.
“I’m fine,” you stubbornly replied, wrapping your arms around your shins and tucking your knees beneath your chin despite the sting.
“You don’t look fine.”
“Then stop looking.”
He threw his hands up defensively, shrugging a bony shoulder, “Sorry.”
He wasn’t sorry. Even with the wince that graced his face, he wasn’t sorry for checking in on you. You knew it the moment you caught the broken skin on his knuckles, nearly matching the cuts on your knees. You had fallen on the pavement as you’d tried to run away from the bullies, determined to not let them see you cry. The entire ordeal had been mortifying. You wished you would have just stood there and cried, let them hear your sobs and let them crown you the school’s newest crybaby.
“What happened to your hands?” you sniffled, moving to wipe at your nose. Your cheeks were drier now, the skin nearly stiff where the tears marks remained.
When you mentioned it, he suddenly shot his hands out before him, flexing each hand for emphasis as he looked down with boredom, “What? The cuts? Carver has sharp teeth, ‘s all.”
“Carver?” One of the kids who had just partaken in tormenting you.
“Yeah,” the boy nodded, suddenly plopping himself onto the ground beside you. You flinched and he grimaced in a silent apology once more, “I think he was in the middle of saying something when I punched him, but that’s not surprising. He always has his big mouth open-”
He was cut off mid-insult by a soft snort of laughter. Looking up, all of the previous annoyance at his injured knuckles melted away as he caught you fighting back your laughter.
“What? I say somethin’ funny?” he was biting back his own grin, raising an eyebrow.
You only laughed more, shoulders shaking now with entertainment rather than sobs. “I- Yeah, sorry, I just- God, you’re right. Carver does have a big mouth.”
“The absolute biggest.”
“Bigger than the Atlantic ocean.”
His chuckling joined yours, along with a face splitting grin and eyes that you swore shone between the monotonous tones. “God, bigger than the fucking Pacific ocean. Every ocean, as a matter of fact.”
You both leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, just close enough you could feel his heat through the summer air but not quite touching. Not yet. You let the back of your head thump against the trunk and tried to not think about any of the debris sure to end up in your hair.
“So…” you sighed once the two of you composed yourself from your laughing fits, “I’m assuming you punched Carver?”
He only nodded in answer.
“Can I ask why?”
Part of you wanted to assume that the two events were connected; Carver bullying you, and this boy punching him. But you didn’t want to make such a bold assumption about some stranger. Fellow peer or not.
“Because he made fun of you.”
The assumption wasn’t so bold. Your chest constricted, you remembered the sting of your knees, heard the echoes of the other students’ laughter at your fall once more.
“You punched him just because he made fun of me?” you tried to force out a joking tone, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t making your heart swell, “You don’t even know me.”
“Doesn’t matter. He made fun of you,” the boy said with concrete decisiveness. There wasn’t a quiver of doubt to be seen, as if the logic made perfect sense to him. Your heart swelled more, painfully so. He looked down at one of his hands for a moment, before suddenly shrugging and rolling his head to look at you, sticking it out towards you, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”
A certain security blanketed the moment. This kid, Eddie, had punched a guy for making fun of you. You’d never even spoken to him before that day, much less would you have considered bruising your own knuckles for him. But he had for you. Without hesitation, apparently. Just some boy with a sliver of a gap still between his front teeth, a promise of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and blood on his hands as a reminder of your honor.
Teachers were certainly going to be coming to find the two of you soon. There would be consequences, most likely more on Eddie’s part than yours, but that didn’t matter. There, in the shade of an oak tree of a middle school you’d soon be departing only to join the ranks of some awful high school with bigger and badder bullies, with larger and crueler problems than skinned knees, you had a friend.
“I’m-” you started, reaching out your hand to meet his halfways. But you stopped, because the moment your palm met his, it happened. Suddenly, quickly, unexpectedly. It nearly gave you an instantaneous migraine; the flood of color was so overwhelming.
The first color you saw was the soft, whiskey brown of his eyes. Two warm and comforting orbs, blown out to be as wide as your own, as his face echoed back the same shell-shock on your own. His eyes were brown. Not grey, not black, but something more, something russet. Brown.
Colors. You were seeing colors for the first time. You both knew what it meant.
“You,” he breathed out with a boyish grin, letting you catch the pink of the tip of his tongue as he finished your introduction for you, both of your excitement buzzing in the breeze, “are my soulmate.”
—
Fifteen was the age of awkwardness. Thirteen had been awful, sure, full of changes and growth and such, but fifteen made it seem like a cake walk.
You wouldn’t have survived it without Eddie.
Two years into the friendship, the two of you were inseparable. You had always spent your entire childhood assuming that when you found your soulmate, it would all fall into place, romantically speaking. But then Eddie happened. Eddie, your soulmate, fell right into your lap and you realized all of your childish dreams were pale in comparison.
He was your best friend first and foremost. Even if he hadn’t been revealed as your soulmate on that day, you have no doubt that the trajectory of your friendship would have stayed on this path. From the beginning, both of you decided to Hell with society’s expectations of soulmates. Sure, most people didn’t find their soulmates until later in life, when it made sense for the sparks of romance to fly instantly, but the adults still seemed to expect that when the news broke. Your parents had been concerned, Eddie’s Uncle Wayne had been weary, your teachers had been blatantly confused.
It was fun for the two of you, though. The thrill of introducing each other as, “This is my best friend. Oh, also my soulmate, but, hey. Technicalities, am I right?”
Most of the kids in your grade hadn’t met their soulmates quite yet, especially those first few years. A sense of superiority sprouted in both of you to be able to know, to experience, to lavish in a world of color. To have the weight of finding your better part lifted off your shoulders so soon in life.
You and Eddie had an entire lifetime to figure out the romantic aspect of it all. For now, he was your best friend, and you were his, and that was enough.
Once you two had entered high school, one thing did become very clear: the parading of being soulmates had to cease.
Jason Carver had been enough of a menace in middle school, but grew into a fully formed monster once he joined your ranks in high school. People were not kind to Eddie – they hadn’t been in middle school, when he first moved to Hawkins, and they weren’t going to change their tune suddenly in high school. The bullying you had endured had begun to fade, but his age of torment had just begun.
You never once left his side. It didn’t matter to you if the entire school knew you were soulmates or not. It didn’t even matter that you two were soulmates; he was your best friend, and you would be damned before you left him to battle the tides alone.
“I hate this,” he mumbled as he sat on the toilet of his shared bathroom with Wayne in their trailer, you kneeling between his legs as you blotted at his split lip with an alcohol wipe, “I should have punched the asshole back.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” you scowled, furrowing your brows even deeper in concentration, “And stop talking – you’re making it worse.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but you quieted him with a glare.
Just as you wouldn’t have survived the Age of Awkwardness without Eddie, he wouldn’t have survived it without you.
You finished cleaning off the dried blood before tossing the wipe into the overfilled trash can, sighing heavily as you fell back onto the ground and supported yourself against the wall opposite of him.
You leveled each other into a staring contest, eyes blankly boring into each other with emotionless expressions.
“You’re lucky Wayne isn’t home, y’know,” you finally broke the silence, shooting a hand out to grab his ankle and give it a squeeze, “He’d probably be driving down to the school right now and-”
“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved you off, shaking his head, “I know. Trust me, I know. I think Principal Higgins is starting to hate him more than he hates me.”
“Principal Higgins doesn’t hate you.”
“You’re right – he loathes me.”
The hand that was squeezing his ankle quickly traveled up to his knee to slap it, “Eddie.”
He raised his hands up in the air, lifting his brows for emphasis as he exclaimed, “What? You know I’m right, kid.”
Kid. The loving nickname Eddie had adorned you with the moment he found out he was a mere six months older than you. You hated it, and he loved that you hated it.
“The day you’re right is the day pigs fly, old man.”
Old man. The nickname that served as your attempt at a rebuttal. It didn’t work, not as intended.
He chuckled softly at that, as he usually does when you call him that, and only smacked his palms onto his thighs, “Well, doc, I must say – you’ve done an exquisite job. Am I free to go?”
You tried to fight your smile, tried to linger in the anger sparked from seeing Eddie hurt. Your disdain wasn’t directed at him; it was always a loaded gun pointed at whoever dared to lay a hand on your boy. You probably could have had a spotless reputation without Eddie Munson in your life, but you’d found your fists quick to fly in his defense.
Your parents hated it. Wayne secretly adored it, even when he’d still join in scolding you and Eddie alike on avoiding violence.
“Sure,” you shrugged, before grabbing his calves through denim to stop him. Dark blue denim, a deep shade of navy that you still hadn’t grown used to seeing. You hadn’t even realized jeans came in so many different shades until you met Eddie, and you’d always chastised him when he’d opt for a boring black pair, “But first, a payment is required.”
“A payment?” Eddie tilted his head, looking down at you curiously.
“A payment.”
“And what would this payment be?”
“A movie night,” you grinned wildly, finally letting your grip on him go, taking in the chestnut highlights of his curls and the red font of his t-shirt, a band shirt you’d never heard of but that he had recently gotten into, “Snacks provided by my loving host, you, of course.”
He exaggerated his pondering, bringing a hand to his chin, stroking dramatically. As if he was ever capable of saying no to you.
“Hm,” he hummed, his voice echoing through the tiny space and encasing you in warmth. As serene as that first summer day when he’d taken the leap of sitting down next to you in the grass, back to a tree, palm in your palm as colors had swarmed your vision, “I suppose that can be arranged.”
—
Movie nights were a frequent occurrence. A sanctuary from the shit show of your small town. Sometimes, they had been the illusion of a bargain like that night, and others, they were an unspoken agreement. You’d show up to Eddie’s trailer or he would end up on your doorstep, your favorite candies in hand, and the two of you would just know. No words needed as you’d situate yourself on whoever’s couch, legs intertwining and blankets shared across laps. A bowl of popcorn that usually ended up being spilled inevitably.
Movies were more fun in color. Some of your friends didn’t get it, still living in a world of black and white, but Eddie loved to listen to your rambles about how the vivid shades appeared across the screen. He loved the way your eyes would light up passionately, he loved how you still smiled so widely at special effects that were made more poignant by this gift the two of you had been given.
Time. You two had been given the time most soulmates weren’t allotted. A gift you always thanked the Universe for.
The latest Slasher film that had been released was currently displayed on the small television in Eddie’s living room, the two of you practically molded to the worn cushions of his sofa. Wayne had left within the first ten minutes for his shift, bidding the two of you a farewell with the warning of behaving. Vibrant reds splashed across the screen as one of the protagonists takes a stabbing, and while you should be shying away from the gruesome scene, you can’t help but stare in awe.
Even after years of experiencing colors, they took away your breath.
“Jesus,” you sighed wistfully, “How do they even make the fake blood? It’s so… so…”
“Red?” Eddie laughed from the other side of the couch, prodding at your thigh with his sock clad foot, “Probably food dye. Maybe some corn syrup.”
“It’s just so bright,” you eagerly leaned in closer to the TV, squinting with a wide smile, unaware of his stare.
He was quiet for a moment, simply enjoying your joy. Your awe and wonder at the world, the way it seemed as if you two had just met that day rather than years before. As if colors were still a fascinating color to you. Eddie had grown used to them, let them become a part of his daily routine, but you always seemed to shine a new light on them for him.
Around you, all the colors seemed a little bit brighter.
“How do you do that?” he whispered so softly, it nearly got lost in the noise of the movie’s climax.
You hummed in response, eyes never leaving the screen. You were watching the movie in fascination, and he was watching you in serenity.
His miracle. His gift. His soulmate.
“You just…” he trailed off, no longer caring about the movie, “You always treat them like they’re brand new.”
It caught your attention. The way his tone was so… velvety, so caring, so affectionate. You looked at him, “I treat what like they’re brand new?”
“The colors.”
“Because they are.”
The same assuredness as he used that very first day. As if it were obvious, as if it were simply a matter of fact and not such an endearing trait. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and it only made his heart clench tighter.
You were his soulmate.
“We lived without them for thirteen years, old man-”
“Thirteen years and six months, in my case,” he piped up in interruption, wearing a Cheshire grin.
You nodded and rolled your eyes, “Yes, in your case. Thirteen years, give or take. I just… I don’t know. They still… they still get to me. I don’t think I can ever get used to them. Are you?”
“What? Used to them?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t know how to explain it to you, not at that moment. How could he articulate to you that after so many years, the colors had dulled ever so slightly? The novelty had worn off, had run its course. The only time they’d ever become as vivacious as the first time was when he looked at you.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t explain it to you, so he only shrugged, “I guess.”
I guess, except when I see the color of your eyes, and I realize they’re my favorite color. Except when I notice the varied shades of your hair, and realize how lucky I am to see them in their full glory rather than shades of grey. Except when you wear that favorite mauve lipstick of yours, and I can’t get over the shape of your lips. Except when you wear that pretty red dress, and your confidence has my head spinning.
I guess, except when it’s you.
“Well, that’s just sad,” you huffed, focusing back on the movie after kicking gently at his shin. You lapsed into a comforting silence for a few more minutes, letting the movie fill the air. The same cycle; you watched the screen, he watched you, and the Universe watched both of you with a smile as it knew that the right choice had been made. The two of you were meant for each other. In this life. In the past lives. In the next lives. The two of you were the epitome of soulmates, even if the concept had never existed before.
Thank the Universe it existed. Thank the Universe that he found you that day, below an oak tree, scraped knees and all.
His voice shook as he quietly confessed, “I love you, you know that, right?”
The movie faded in a blur for you instantly. Your neck could have snapped from how quickly you turned your attention to him. “What?”
“I love you,” his voice continued its waver, not from being unsure but from pure emotion. The flood of love that pulsed through his veins currently.
You smiled, the apples of your cheeks punctuated and the chip in your tooth from your youth he hadn’t had the privilege of being apart of on showcase, “Well, yeah. Duh. I’m your soulmate. You kind of have to love me.”
“Even if we weren’t soulmates,” he rushed to clarify, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing your knee beneath blankets that smelled of home, “Even if you weren’t my soulmate, I would love you.”
Your face softened. He wished he would have kissed you in that moment.
But the vulnerability was terrifying, and all that could echo through your mind is the fact that you two had time. So instead of matching his serious tone, you joked, “Well, it’s a good thing I am your soulmate, then. It might have been awkward for your hypothetically soulmate you would have had instead in that scenario, trying to explain why you love your best friend more than them.”
“Shut up,” he laughed, squeezing your knee tighter, “I’m being serious, kid. I love you. I really, really fuckin’ love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“You’re only saying that because I’m the reason you see colors.”
“Fuck the colors,” he was quick to reply, “The Universe can take back the colors, as long as I still have you.”
There it is. The earthquake you dreamt of as a little girl. The trailer’s across the park never felt it, the kids surely getting into trouble in the forest behind Eddie’s home didn’t notice it, but you felt it. A rumble through your chest, a groundbreaking discovery, a world-ending confession. Your world began, and your world ended, and your world restarted with Eddie Munson.
“You don’t believe me,” he noted, suddenly shimmying out from beneath the blanket.
“Wait, hold on-”
“Stay here.”
You stayed frozen in your seat, wide eyes following his broad back and the army green of his t-shirt. No longer a frail frame, face filling out with puberty. He was becoming a man. No longer the young boy who took punches and threw them back twice as hard.
He was becoming a man, he was your soulmate, and he loved you. He loved you enough he would give up what everyone else considered the greatest gift, just for you.
Eddie Munson didn’t need colors to love you so ardently. And you knew, at that moment, that the same could be said for you. You would have loved him no matter what. The moment his shadow had spread over you beneath wide leaves and simmering heat, he was destined to hole up in your heart, never to leave again.
By the time he had returned to the living room, you had paused the movie, eyes locked on where he emerged from the hallway with a polaroid camera in hand and a mischievous grin gracing his features. The camera had been a joint gift from your parents and his uncle the previous Christmas.
Your eyes weren’t on the camera. They were on him. His hair had grown over the years, wild auburn curls finally surpassing his ears. The awkward style made for ridiculous bed head, something you’d been witness to many mornings after impromptu sleepovers.
You were fascinated with the way the sunlight caught each strand as they bounced with his eager steps. The trace of gold you could outline. Shades of autumn you loved to run your fingers through when he’d offer the opportunity.
He shook the camera into the air for emphasis, finally catching your eyes’ attention, before he propelled himself back down onto the couch across from you, both of you sitting up instead of being reclined now. “Let me show you something.”
“O-Okay,” you stuttered out, unsure.
He fiddled with the camera for a few moments before he brought it up to his face, resting against his cheek as his eye peered into the small peephole. You were so busy memorizing him like that, that the flash of the camera took you off guard and effectively blinded you for a few seconds.
“What the-” you started with a scowl, hands flying up to rub your knuckles into your eyes in a sorry attempt to rush away the stars blocking your vision.
“Just wait,” he insisted, snatching up the polaroid the moment it printed from the camera. When you flashed him an unconvinced look, he continued on, “Trust me.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. You always trusted him with your entire being, whether for better or for worse.
The polaroid was slow in developing. Eddie hummed to fill the silence, occasionally fanning around the small capture of you that was slowly filling out in color rather than blinding white. You spent your energy on trying to decipher what song was stuck in his head and not focus on how slow those damned photos always seemed to be in coming to fruition.
It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity when you finally gave up on figuring out the song and succumbing to your impatience with a sigh, “This is the world’s slowest magic trick ever.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, but tossed you the camera. You thanked the Heavens for fast reflexes as you were able to catch it rather than let it fall to the ground. The two of you would have never heard the end of it if you managed to break such an expensive gift.
“Hey!” you shouted as you clutched the camera tightly to your chest, “Be careful with this thing, Eddie. It’s fragile.”
His eyebrows raised from behind where he held up the polaroid he took of you to his face, “Is it? Can we really be sure that it’s that fragile if we don’t knock it around for good measure?”
“We can,” you snappily replied, glaring down at the camera and fighting amusement, “If you want to throw it around, be my guest. But you’ll explain to Wayne why you broke it – not me.”
“Of course, kid,” he grinned so wide that it spread to his cheeks peeking out either side of the photo still obnoxiously close to his face, “What else is a best friend good for? Basically signed up to be your permanent scapegoat until the end of time the moment I gave you the gift of colors.”
“And yet, I’m the one usually talking us out of trouble,” you dramatically called back, finally looking up at him and holding up the camera, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“I dunno. Break it, take a picture of me. The choice is yours, sweetheart.”
He still hadn’t put the photo of you down, so you finally reached across the sea of blankets to yank on his forearms. Once you were faced once more with those warm doe eyes rather than the blank back of a photo, you narrowed your eyes at him in indecision.
He was still smirking. Wide enough that his teeth just barely peeked out between his barely parted lips. You recalled the tales of kiss-bitten lips, the way you’d heard adults describe that deeper shade of pink, and for a second, you considered that it would look good on Eddie. Something about imagining him flushed and bruised by love and lust rather than malice made your gut twist stormily.
“Picture it is,” you muttered, “Put that stupid polaroid down and smile for the camera, pretty boy.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
The camera went off mid-teasing, his dimples on full display and eyes shining wonderfully with the flash of the camera.
“Nope,” you mumbled, “Just said it so you’d keep smiling.”
It was a lie. A horrible, pathetic, and badly-veiled lie.
The photos developed faster. Yours is finally in full color and detail by the time the two of you can make out the shape of Eddie in his, and he was quick to toss it to the side before he shoved yours into your lap.
“There, look.”
It wasn’t anything magnificent to look at. Just another photo. The same old color of your hair, baby hairs frizzing at the edges. Same old eyes fighting from crinkling in adornment at the boy before you. You weren’t anything special, not in your eyes. But Eddie’s expectant stare told you that there had to be something more there, something he was waiting for you to pick up on. You scoured the background of the photo for pops of color only to come up empty-handed. All you could find were the tired dark tones of the Munson’s furniture and living room behind yourself in the picture.
“Eddie, what am I supposed to be looking at?” you squinted, bringing the photo closer and trying to figure out the useless puzzle he had presented you with, “It’s just a picture of me-”
“Exactly,” he interrupted, “A picture of you. My soulmate. That right there,” he leaned over and plucked the photo from your hands, holding it up tauntingly just out of reach, “Is a picture of the girl I love. A picture of the one person who makes colors worth seeing, and makes colors worth losing.”
The sentiment had you choked up.
“You’re my favorite person,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he held up his hand with his knuckles facing you as he put down the polaroid in his lap, “Have been since that very first day.”
There was still a faint scar, right there, clear as day. It casted over the knuckles of his ring and middle finger as a permanent reminder of that fateful day. As if the colors weren’t enough, as if the swell of your heart inside your chest wasn’t enough reminder of the love and care you’d always felt pulsing from Eddie.
You reached out to the coffee table suddenly, picking up the photo of him, glad to see it finally developed. You didn’t even glance at it before you held it up to him, “And this is a photo of my favorite person.”
“You didn’t even look at the picture.”
“I don’t need to,” you breathed out, moving the picture out of your vision to look at him dead in the eyes, “He’s right here in front of me. In full color, treating me far kinder than I deserve.”
His touch was ginger as he pinched the corner of the photo and took it from your grasp, placing it down atop the polaroid of you, “Don’t do that. You always deserve my kindness – you deserve the entire world’s kindness. I’ll kick the ass of anyone who argues otherwise.”
A soft and shy smile ripped at your lips, made the corners and your cheeks ache as you shrugged, “Whatever you say, old man.”
He only looked at you, only wore the lovesick look of a man face-to-face with his soulmate.
The movie was long forgotten. All snacks carefully put on the table before Eddie threw the blanket off of the two of you and scooted backwards while leaving a space large enough for you between his legs.
“C’mere,” he beckoned, motioning for you to crawl forward and fit your head to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed you impossibly close to him, until your cheek was tight to his t-shirt and your ear was thundering with his racing heartbeat.
You melted into him easily, letting your own arms encase him to the best of their abilities in this position. You took a few selfish moments to just be there with him, to just let his words sink in beneath your skin and the reality of them weigh heavy on you. The heavier it weighed, the further into his embrace you pressed.
The warmth of serenity and peacefulness of the picture perfect moment nearly lulled you to sleep. But even in the drowsiness, you felt the kiss he pressed to the crown of your head.
“I love you, too,” you admitted, muffled by his chest. You hoped he felt the words and wouldn’t teasingly make you look him in his eyes as you confessed, “I love you so fucking much. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Sure you could-” he began, but was cut off but the abrupt lifting of your head, just as he fingertips had started on a path down your spine.
“I couldn’t,” you insisted, “I really, really couldn’t. I need you to stick around for a long time, Munson. I’m not in the business of losing my soulmate until we’re old and grey and gross. I want to keep you around until I lose count of all your wrinkles and weird moles.”
He chuckled, and the force vibrated against your shoulder digging into his torso.
You retrieved those two polaroids before you resettled against him, your back now pressed to his chest as you held the two snapshots side by side for both of you to look out.
He was right. You think you get it.
When you look at the photo of yourself, you see nothing extraordinary. But when you look at the photo of Eddie, everything just… the world seemingly stops, all moving parts suddenly snapping into place. A boy vibrant with color and glee, a boy who tugged on every heartstring you’d hung in your chest throughout your lifetime. It sent warmth to every crevice of you, from the top of your head where the ghost of his lips still lingered to the tips of your toes wiggling beside his within thick socks.
It’s more than an earthquake or the world stopping. Eddie doesn’t just stop or begin your world – he is your world.
A world of wild hair, charming smiles, unfiltered laughter and fierce adoration. Even the brightest shades out there that you had yet to discover were dim compared to the boy photographed in time for you.
His arms slide around your shoulders, tugging you in even closer,“Just out of curiosity, what is your cap on wrinkles you can count? Because I’ve seen Wayne, and some photos of my old man, and let me tell you – time is not kind to us Munson men.”
You rolled your head and pressed a kiss to one of his forearms before smashing your cheek into it, breathing deeply as his fingertips drew random shapes over the spot on your chest that your heart rests beneath.
“As many as it takes, old man.”
“Whatever you say, kid.”
You brought a hand up to curl around the arm, right beside when you kept your cheek nuzzled. He finally laid his palm flat against your chest, and you wonder if he can feel the way each beat of your heart called out his name. It was okay if he didn’t – he had all the time in the world to figure it out.
—
“I just don’t understand why you’re so mad!”
“I’m not mad, Eddie – I’m fucking pissed!”
“Okay, then I don’t understand why you’re so pissed!”
Seventeen is the age of being reckless and redundant. Of big feelings and reckless decisions. It is the time in your life for being an absolute idiot.
Eddie Munson was proof of it as the two of you stood outside of his van, the whistle of the winds around you two from the impending storm lost on your current screaming match.
“Figure it out,” you seethed, stomping your feet almost childishly as you began to turn away from him, “And while you do that, leave me the fuck alone.”
“I- Hey!” he reached out for you, but you’re already quickening your pace and hopping up onto the sidewalk, “Hey! Don’t fucking walk away from me!”
You didn’t reply, only widening your strides.
He called out your name, and you heard his frustrated groan before he easily caught up with you.
Damn him and his newfound height.
“Would you just listen to me?” he shouted, latching onto your bicep and spinning you around harshly to face him.
You yanked yourself out of his touch quickly, eyes blazing, “Why should I? I’ve seen what I needed to see, Eddie. Just go back inside to your preppy girlfriend. Forget about me. Pretend like she’s never stood to the side while her boyfriend bullied you like- like- like some asshole.”
His hair was longer now. Ringlets that cascaded to brush over the top of his shoulders – shoulders that had broadened impressively as he neared the end of his youth. His newest clothing staple covered them; a denim vest you’d helped him distress and sew multitudes of patches onto, a display of his favorite bands that had only painted a new target onto his back.
Satan worshiper. That’s what they called your soulmate in terrified whispers amongst the halls at school. That’s what all the PTO mothers’ eyes silently cursed when they’d see him with you at the grocery store.
He’d made quite the image for himself. And you’d stayed by his side, defending his honor at every chance. Your best friend, your soulmate.
Only to find him eating the face off of some cheerleader at that goddamned party.
Yeah, you didn’t need to listen to him. You really had seen enough.
“She’s not my girlfriend!” he waved his arms wildly, the storm roaring loader with his increased volume.
“What is she then?” you insisted with venom, crossing your arms and effectively closing yourself off from him as you took another step back, “Just some one night stand? Some fun to have before you have to accept that you’re shackled to me for the rest of your life?”
You hated the way your eyes burned. You cursed the tears gathering as you glared at him viciously, masking all the pain with as much rage as you could muster.
He wouldn’t even kiss you, his soulmate. But he would kiss her.
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” he warned lowly, tone no longer making a spectacle of the two of you, “You know that’s not how I see it.”
“You won’t even kiss me.”
He was stunned into silence. As you spat out the words, the first few tears slipped.
It was about more than the pretty blonde girl you’d found him with. It was about more than the fact he was kissing someone else.
“I… What?” he whispered, his entire body going slack with defeat.
The tears fell more rapidly now as you replayed the moment in your head. The two of you were only at the stupid party for Eddie to deal weed from some weird guy he’d met in the arcade, a way to make extra cash. Cash he claimed he was putting towards your future together. You had no idea how you’d gone from sitting on the couch together to tipsy, joining a circle of fellow peers who momentarily forgot their cruelness between shots of whiskey and pours of vodka.
You were going to hate the game of Spin the Bottle for the rest of your life. You were sure of it.
When Eddie’s turn had arrived, when the neck of that dingy beer bottle casted shades of ambers in your direction, you had been so excited. Your heart had been in your throat, your head dizzy with the excitement of him finally kissing you. Your soulmate by Nature, your best friend by choice, finally would be kissing you. You had been so sure it was an affirmation from the Universe that the right choice had been made when it came to the two of you. That it was all real, and the colors weren’t a product of your delusion.
And then he said no.
“You wouldn’t kiss me,” you choked out, pulling your arms around your torso tighter to fight back any shivers or shaking, “The bottle landed on me, on your soulmate, and you wouldn’t even fucking kiss me. The one person you should have kissed. And you didn’t.”
Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, a deer caught in your headlights, as he started to stutter out a sorry excuse.
You didn’t want to hear it. You only threw your head back in bitter laughter, spinning on your heel and preparing to leave him behind once more.
“Wait,” he begged, grabbing your shoulder this time.
You shrugged it off harshly, “For what? For you to make up some bullshit excuse for it? I don’t want to hear it, Eddie. I get it. I’m so sorry that I’m your soulmate. I’m so sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m so-”
He cut you off by rounding in front of you, blocking your escape route and cradling each of your cheeks with determination as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze, “Stop putting words in my mouth! That’s not why I did it, okay? It’s not!”
Your tears fell more rapidly, so quickly that his thumbs couldn’t have kept up with swiping them away if he tried. Instead, he let them puddle against his palms, focus solely on your eyes as he bore into them and whispered, “That’s not why I said no. And it’s not why I kissed that girl, okay? You’ve got to believe me, kid.”
“Don’t-” you started, but he shook his head, determined.
“No, no. Hear me out. Please. You know I don’t see it that way. You- You’re- I’m not shackled to you. You aren’t some sort of damnation for me. Do you get that? You aren’t some life sentence or burden – you’re….” he trailed off, and you could see the tears gathering in his eyes. Constellations in his lashes to match your own. “I said no because I’m terrified. O-Okay? I said no to kissing you because… because… what if you’re the one shackled to me?”
The crack in his voice reverberated through you. Aftershocks rattled your bones at his confession.
“I- We haven’t crossed that line. And I just… if I crossed that line, and if you decided I wasn’t what you wanted…” his eyes searched yours for answers you couldn’t provide to him, not as your brows creased and your chest tightened, “If I kissed you and you decided that the Universe made a mistake, that I’m not actually your soulmate… I- Fuck, I couldn’t take that, kid. I couldn’t.”
You’re no longer poised to run, to escape him and all the emotions drowning your lungs. You felt your shoulders drop, your defenses burned to ash as you stood with two solid feet on the quivering ground below you.
There were a million reassurances on the tip of your tongue, but instead you only said, “Why did you kiss her?”
The question that had pinned you as a flight risk. Because if what he told you was true, and you did believe him, then it didn’t make sense. Nothing that had happened that night made sense if what he said was true.
“I don’t know,” he seemed even more confused than you, “And- God, I’m fucking sorry for such a shitty cop-out of an answer. But I just… I don’t know. I just did. She was there, and she kissed me, and I kissed back. I pretended she was you, like a fucking idiot.”
The honesty threatened to shatter you, but you decided it was better to hear his truth than risk being lied to. You could move past the anguish in both your eyes, the confusion and the hurt having brewed – you wouldn’t have been able to move past some half-assed lie in an attempt to save your feelings.
“I regret it,” he whispered, “The moment I kissed her back, I regretted it.”
“Why?”
An opportunity to seal a bandage over the bleeding wound. A chance for him to make it all better.
“Because she isn’t you. She isn’t my soulmate - she never could be. It’s you, and it was always going to be you, even if the Universe didn’t agree with me.”
You took a moment to try and picture a world in which the man stood before you wasn’t your soulmate. A world where your palms touched, and your world hadn’t exploded in technicolor. Another Universe where the first color you had seen hadn’t been warm, brown, honey coated eyes. A twisted timeline where you hadn’t been awarded the gift of memorizing the red of his guitar, his sweetheart, or the calm blue tint his room bathed in every early morning. A world where you don’t know the shade his skin turns in during golden hour, or can’t see the way his few tattoos he’d gathered in the past year on his skin are actually a fading shade of blue-green rather than stark black. A world where you couldn’t pick up the Fruity Pebbles stuck between his teeth as he rushed to class late and you teased him mercilessly for it. A world without color - a world without the guarantee of Eddie Munson.
A breeze roared by, and you could hear the Universe you were in whispering to stop it, to not do this. Because you weren’t living in a world without color. Your world had burst to life when your palm met his. You knew all the colors of his lifeline like the back of your hand.
“It wasn’t worth it?” You knew the answer. You still needed to hear him say it.
And say it he did, nodding in confirmation, “It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it.”
He could have left it at that and you would have offered him your forgiveness anyways. Even if the bond formed between you two didn’t feel like a shackle of chains binding you two together, you knew that there would always be an invisible string wound around your soul and connected to his. You could have spent longer being mad, you could have still walked yourself home and left him broken in the middle of that neighborhood street. But even if you did, you would have eventually found your way back to him. Whether you left in anger, whether you left in sadness, whether you left in mourning – your final destination remained the same. Him.
You may have all the time in the world with Eddie, but even a second spent upset with him felt like a second wasted.
Not even forever felt like long enough. You knew that now, glaringly obvious by the chain of events the night had followed.
And so he could have left it at that. And all would be well. Wounds would heal and time would soothe the ache that echoed. But he didn’t.
He took a step closer. Took a shaky, deep breath. And then another step. One foot after the other until he was toe-to-toe with you as he breathed out, “You’re my future. You’re everything to me. Soulmate or not, you’re all I want. I want to grow old with you until I lose count of your wrinkles, and then some.”
His chin tilted down, lips daring closer and closer to yours as your stare into his eyes refused to waver.
Deep, deep brown. Endless, molten, a kind of comforting that says you’re home, you can rest now. How fortunate you were to see the twisting of lively carob and umber rather than lifeless greys.
Your eyes tried to flutter close, but you couldn’t let them, not yet. Not until he was close enough to feel his breath on your chin before he let out a raspy, “Baby.”
You folded immediately, took the plunge as your eyes finally shut and you pressed forward with fervent.
It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t fluid and instantaneous. There was hesitancy and there was awkwardness, and your noses bumped one anothers hard enough to make both of you chuckle into the rarity of space left between your mouths as you both gasped in waves of air before returning to one another. His hand took its time before it grabbed your waist, and it trembled the entire time. Your arms shook the entire way they lifted until they wrapped around his neck and shoulders, unsure of where exactly to lay comfortably.
But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you – your soulmate was finally kissing you. And you had never kissed another soul before that night, but you knew immediately you’d never want to kiss another soul.
It wasn’t like the movies or fairy tales, but it was enough.
And you knew he felt the same way when the kiss was broken by the grin that split his lips just as the sky began to spit out the beginning of its inevitable downpour.
—
You hadn’t heard from Eddie in three days. Which, fair enough. Finals season was nearly upon you two and you knew he had been stressed. Since the night of that party nearly a year before, you two had become even more inseparable if possible. You two had finally crossed a line, had finally accepted your status of soulmates, and no one would dare to demand the two of you detach from each other’s sides once you made the announcement that you were officially together.
Wayne had worn a knowing smile. Your parents had simply warned Eddie to not hurt you (as if that was even an option for him at this point). Even Principal Higgins had offered a polite smile when he caught you two holding hands in the hallway, surprisingly not commenting on the public display of affection. You two were officially dating, officially succumbing to the status quo of what soulmates should be.
Everyone had already sort of known there was something there between you two, but making it official removed any sliver of doubt any of them may have harbored.
And so it was fine if Eddie needed space. It had been that way before your first kiss, occasionally learning how to stand as your own entities rather than solely a joint force, and it could continue to be that way after your first kiss.
But after three days, you had started to worry.
Pacing your room, you told yourself you were being ridiculous. This was fine. Space was good – space was needed.
Space didn’t help with all your what-ifs, though.
What if he was hurt? What if he was sick? What if he was mad at you? What if the longer you gave him that space, the starcher of a revelation he would have that he didn’t need you? What if the two of you had flown into all of this too fast, too quickly, too soon? It may have taken years to get there, but what if Eddie suddenly decided the last year had been too much?
You were in your car, driving recklessly down the streets that would lead to his house, before you could even think of another what if.
If it was that last thought that crossed your mind, if everything between the two of you had become simply overwhelming for him, you convinced yourself it would be okay. It would be just fine, you could handle it as long as he told you as much to your face rather than hiding behind distance put between you. It remained a mantra spinning through your storming mind the entire drive; it will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it. Anything for him.
You never considered that one of the other possibilities was more likely. Not until you had your car haphazardly parked in front of the Munson’s trailer, fist banging on their front door before Wayne threw it open with tired eyes and wrinkles bunched in concern.
“Is he here?” you breathed out in lieu of a proper greeting, breathless from your jog up to the damn porch from your car that you hadn’t even bothered with locking up.
It will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it.
Wayne understood immediately, stepping to the side as he nodded and motioned for you to come in, “He’s in his room. But listen, he got some news, and he’s not do-”
You didn’t hear the rest of Wayne’s warning, too busy storming past him and flying to Eddie’s bedroom door. You didn’t even knock, bursting through the door and already fighting tears as you geared up to hear Eddie say that he needed time and space, that he had gotten sick of you, that he wanted to experience more life before you guys really gave any of this a fighting chance.
“Eddie, can you please tell me why you’ve just up and disappeared-” you cut off your plead the moment you laid eyes on him.
He wasn’t facing the door. He was curled up in bed, back to you, clad in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You could see the stubborn knots that had built up in his hair, immediately keyed in on the way he was trying to collapse into himself. His knees were nearly buried in his chest, and if you squinted into the dark room, you’d see the outline of his spine beneath the flash of skin peaking out from where the back of his shirt had raised.
It wasn’t just the state of him; the state of the room also immediately silenced you.
Almost as if a war path had been torn through it days before, the bedroom was messier than normal. Eddie was never the most organized or pristine person, but he kept his living space well enough to… well, live. Kept the floor always within sight, tried to never let any collection of trash overflow on the tops of his dressers or desk. He even found himself emptying his ashtrays without your reminding most of the time. Usually, most of the clutter simply came from mountains of papers detailing campaigns or writing new songs, or different sets of dice being left out from planning said campaigns. A t-shirt here, a pair of ripped jeans there – sure. He was a teenage boy. It was expected.
It looked as though a level five hurricane had hit Eddie Munson’s room.
Clothes strewn everywhere, dresser drawers thrown open and never closed. Beer cans collected across each surface and both ashtrays were overfilling with cigarette butts. You even spotted two half smoked joints on his bedside table. His sweetheart had been taken off of its wall mount and laid to rest on the floor. He would never have let his prized possession be discarded like that. Ever.
Your voice came out weak as you took a step closer to the bed, “Eddie?”
You’re surprised he heard your whisper. He stirred, and your eyes followed the dust particles dancing in the single stream of sunlight that was bursting through a hole forgotten in his makeshift curtains. Navy blue sheets the two of you once used to make a pillow fort in the Munson living room, thinned to the illusion of a sky blue in some patches.
You’d always warned him they make shit curtains; he’d always shrugged and said it added to his feng shui.
“Eddie,” you whispered again, knees knocking against the edge of the mattress as you looked down at his broken form, “I… What happened? Are you… are you okay?”
You hadn’t known how to approach it. Whatever happened was even worse than the first time he’d received a phone call from his dad in prison.
He mumbled something against the pillow he has one arm curled under.
“What?” you questioned, nearly ready to climb into that damn bed and force him onto his back, force him to look at you if only so you could guarantee there were no tear tracks on his cheeks.
You don’t have to, though. Eddie finally loosened his grip on that pillow and rolls ever so slightly, just enough for you to see half his face and feel your heart break at the confirmation of tears. Translucent pink eyes, glossy wet cheeks, the tip of his nose glowing as his gaze met yours. He looked tired.
“I’m getting held back,” he croaked, “I fucking- I flunked. I’m not graduating.”
You nearly sighed in relief. For his sake, you don’t, but the weight on your shoulders lifted immediately.
“Oh, sweet boy,” you murmured, giving into the need to crawl into the bed. You folded your knees as you situated yourself on the bed behind him, and the moment you’re situated, he wasted no time twisting himself to face you and bury his face into your side, “Why didn’t you call? You had me losing my goddamn mind-“
A strangled sob rattled against your side. One of his hands gripped your thigh, fingertips holding on for dear life, “Because your soulmate is a fucking loser.”
Your chest cracked further, a valley beginning to form as a hand buried into the back of his head, holding him to you as the other hand moved to rub his back in soothing motions.
“My soulmate is not a fucking loser,” you tried to keep a gentle tone rather than scold him at the moment. He didn’t need scolding — he needed patience, he needed care, he just needed you to be there, “Keep talking about him that way, and I’ll have to get the fighting gloves.”
He wetly laughed into your t-shirt, and you were sure that there would be tear stains when he finally lifted his head, “I’m the one who taught you how to throw a punch, baby.”
“Exactly. Which means I’ll have you on your ass in ten seconds flat.”
It was a few minutes of silence that followed; just you holding him, just him clinging onto you. His life line — his single ship of hope in what had been a terribly rocky sea the last few days. An irreplaceable peace settled across all the wounds and damage that had been done in private. You had been right. He should have called you immediately. He should have known that if anyone could make the situation feel less like his world was ending, it was you.
His soulmate.
“Do you want to talk about it?” you questioned in a soft, lulling tone. The endless patterns you’d drawn on his back had nearly put him to sleep, “Maybe be a bit kinder to yourself this time?”
“I just…” he started, finally removing his face from being buried against you, “I sort of had a hunch. O’Donnel wouldn’t round my grade, you know? And I’ve skipped a lot of classes, I know. But hearing Higgins say it just… just…”
“Made it real?” you offered a weary ending to his sentence.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “Real. It made it really fucking real.”
He didn’t feel judged at that moment. He felt seen as you continued on, “It is real, and it sucks. But it’ll be okay, Eds. I mean, I was already planning on the community college for my first year, maybe even taking a year off. If you need any help with classes, you just gotta ask me. Don’t forget I was one of O'Donnell's pets, as unfortunate as it was. I know how to work that woman into rounding up some grade.”
You rambled on a little more, all the while still stroking his hair and back, offering even more solutions. The longer you spoke, the better Eddie felt. You made it all sound so easy — like this was nothing, like it was the smallest of blips in plans that had been years in the making. You weren’t upset, you weren’t disappointed. He deserved your negativity, and instead only received your optimism.
You were with him for the long haul, he realized. Truly. It wasn’t just some one off promise or chain of the Universe holding you to him. He wasn’t dragging you down.
When you finally trailed off, his lids finally heavier than his heart, he sighed, “I love you. You know that?”
“I love you,” you smiled, “That’s kind of part of the soulmate package, isn’t it?”
“Fuck the soulmate part,” he lifted out of your hold despite everything in him screaming to stay put, to let you to continue to coddle him, “I’ve seen plenty of people be shitty to their soulmates. I watched my dad-“ he cut himself off, throat tightening with memories of his parents. You don’t make him finish that sentence, only nodding in understanding, “The Universe doesn’t force you to be a good person. You choose to be that. Every single day, you choose to stand by my side. You always have. You could have made me feel shitty about this, could have let me see how bummed you really are about sticking out another year here, but…”
But you didn’t.
Your eyes softened, a stormy shade of his favorite color, “Do you remember the way you punched Carver that day, before you even knew me?”
That very first day. The day two souls destined to intertwine had come in contact. The day the Universe had sighed in relief as your palm met his.
He nodded.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, “You didn’t even know me. And yeah, whatever, maybe the Universe nudged you to do it, whatever. But there’s tons of people who know their soulmates for years and never realize it. Tons of people go to school and never interact with their soulmates. But that very first day… the first day you were at that school, the first day you saw me — we met. You defended me. And that counts for something. And I like to think it speaks more about us than it does about the grand scheme of things,” you brought a hand up, wiped away whatever tears were left on his cheeks with enough tenderness he almost started to sob again, “You didn’t know I was your soulmate. I was just some random classmate, and you defended me without even thinking about it. And I will always do the same for you. Always.”
You always had, you always will. The two of you had proven, time and time again, that you will always choose one another. It was never about that inevitable bond.
“I don’t deserve you,” he confessed, quickly moving to keep your palm there, resting on his stubbled cheek, “You deserve a soulmate who isn’t a fuck up. Someone good, someone who can give you the world and someone who… who isn’t repeating another year of fucking high school.”
“You still don’t get it,” you grinned sadly. Your fingertips press into that soft spanse right before his ear, cradling him more urgently on their own accord, “I don’t want or need someone else. You do give me the world- you are my world, you idiot.”
Idiot sounded perfectly aligned with lover as he leaned forward, burying his face in your neck. Home — he was home as you wrapped your arms back around him, pulled him a little closer in your embrace, clung to him as tightly as he clung to you.
All the colors in the world, and the only ones the two of you cared about were the ones confined to that small space for the time being, shades of you and shades of him, all overlapping perfectly in sync.
—
You stay true to your word. The first time Eddie repeats his senior year, and the second time.
Endless nights are spent studying, you forcing him to focus when he couldn’t, trying to invent new ways to learn that work for him rather than against him. He’s brilliant; you never let your boy forget that.
It’s nice for a while. Sickly sweet kisses and teasing exchanges. Enough lovesickness to make even those around you two nauseous. Nights spent out by Lover’s Lake, exchanges of promises of a future to come and discussions of whether your kids will have his eyes or your eyes. Kids. You two were discussing fucking kids. And it had scared Eddie half to death to even bring it up, but you hadn’t been phased. You’d answered terrifying question after question with ease, had even joked about what color flowers the two of you would have at your wedding and listened to Eddie describe the house he’d want to grow old in with you in excruciating detail. Sometimes the two of you even brought up what kind of dog you’d have, fantasized about the big yard which would not have a white picket fence (because, according to Eddie, that shit was too cheesy even for him in all his adoration for you). It made Eddie realize that after all these years, maybe you had become the brave one.
You’d both succumbed to the stereotypical soulmate trope. Become exactly what society had expected from the two of you since the beginning. And honestly, you couldn’t even be mad about it. You get it – you got the allure as you had laid with a head pressed to Eddie’s chest, observing all the stars again, a night sky the vision of black and white as your vision went blurry with fatigue.
“You know, that house sounds awfully expensive,” you yawned, curling a bit tighter into his side. You’re in nothing but his t-shirt, his chest still bare from the night’s activities.
Another new development. Even after all your time together, you two continued to find novelty to explore. New ways to learn each other, new ways to love each other, new ways to further tie your two souls together. An unbreakable knot. If anyone, the Universe included, tried to loosen it, you would spill blood without second thought.
“Oh, it absolutely will be,” he chuckled, vibrations echoing in your eardrum, “But that’s fine. We’re going to tap into that rockstar money, baby.”
In between talks of the future, more honest versions had arisen. Eddie and his band. You and your aspirations. Things that neither of you laughed at quite as much as the talk of children or houses with wraparound porches because they were in reach.
“Do you think you’ll have groupies?” your voice was a murmur, mouth half pressed into his skin as you lazily traced circles on his pec you aren’t using as your own personal pillow.
It made him chuckle once more, “Groupies? Sure. Don’t think any of them will be very successful, though.”
“Bold of you to assume I meant just you,” you’re able to snark back even half asleep, “Gareth deserves to be fawned over, too. Jeff is definitely a ladies killer.”
Your hand moved just fast enough out of the way for Eddie to lazily mimic stabbing himself in the exact muscle you were painting invisible imagery across, “You wound me, sweetheart.”
From this angle, you could catch the exact shade of brown that his faded freckles shone. You could see the differences in tan skin, see where he’d left a pair of sunglasses on his chest during a lake day over the summer and the tanline had remained stubborn. That had been a good day – Eddie had thrown you off the dark, wrapping his arms around you and turning the world to a blur of passing greens and blues before you’d been dunked beneath the lake’s surface. The cold water had stunned you, but him joining you seconds later hadn’t. Always by your side, even when he was being a little shit.
You’ve gone quiet on him, mind overcome with fond memories as the silence came naturally only for a few seconds before Eddie felt the need to fill it again.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, the hand that had mock-stabbed himself now curling around your forearm.
Your hand against his chest turned to a fist, pressing deeper into the skin, just to feel him closer, before you teased him, “How do you even know I’m thinking? What if my mind is just blank right now?”
“Psychic-soulmate-telepathy powers,” he answered without hesitation. When you only huffed, clearly unimpressed, he pressed a kiss to your temple before whispering in honesty, “You were smiling.”
You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. Usually, you loved memorizing all the colors of him. You loved taking in his doe brown eyes and the harsh blush of his swollen lips. You’d memorize the twinkling of pink staining his skin across his chest and up his neck. You’d pick at the vibrant cherry shade of his painted nails, a sharp contrast from the usual black or sharpie scribbles he’d wear on them instead.
That silver glint of his rings. The forest green of his plaid boxers. All shades in the palette of Eddie Munson, your soulmate.
You love him so much, your chest is ready to burst from it. And you told him as much, too.
“I’m just really glad I have you,” you said for only him and only the trees to hear, “I’m really happy you came after me that day.”
There’s no rush to memorize all his colors and all his shades. You had all the time in the entire world, and then some. The only reason anyone had ever reported losing their colors was due to the death of their soulmate, and he wasn’t in any danger at the moment. He was there, sturdy beneath you, deep breaths syncing with your own.
If you didn’t learn them in this life, you wouldn’t rest until you found him in the next to finish what you had started.
“Yeah?” you could hear his grin as he held you a bit tighter. Another deep breath, another expansion of his ribs, and you feel all that time laid out at your feet. A lifetime of learning and memorizing Eddie Munson. A life well spent, “I’m glad, too.”
“Did you have even a single moment where you…. I don’t know, hesitated coming after me?” your speech began to slur, and you knew you were one foot in unconsciousness at that point.
“Never,” that same certainty he has always held since day one laced his tone, “Never. I just- I went for it. I made Jason Carver eat his words, and I ran after you. The only thing I’ll ever regret is not throwing a second punch at the asshole.”
Your smile widened, and you knew he felt it. Imagined the comfort he felt at the feeling. Imagined the peace that was washing over him just as it encased you, “But not about coming after me?”
“I don’t regret coming after you,” he told you, not growing the slightest bit annoyed at your need for constant reassurance. His fingers and palm slowly spread across your lower back, the warmth of their weight carrying you into sleep, “I’ll always come back to you, baby.”
—
It wasn’t supposed to go this way.
Spring break was supposed to be nice. Time spent with friends, lazy mornings that you and Eddie slept through, night drives spent screaming out in relief to empty highways because he made it – you both made it. The college transfer was already put into motion, making it so you’d start the fall semester at a University in upstate Indiana. Eddie had taken a few roadtrips with you at his side, already having gotten on the good side of a boss at one of the car shops within range of where you’d be attending. You two had littered his floor with ads for apartments, the ones in your price range circled in brilliant and glaring red. Everything had been perfectly in line. Everything was set in place. Spring break was supposed to be a break to just be kids one last time – it was supposed to be nice.
But then Chrissy Cunningham happened. And Jason Carver, and an entire town of people who had always hated your soulmate. Suddenly, your own plan for the future had been scrapped, and in its spot a line of new dominos had been placed. One falling down after the other, too quick for you to keep up with.
A group of strangers had banged down on your front door. Had demanded to know where Eddie was, claimed they were friends trying to help him. You hadn’t even seen the news yet. They’d tried to fill you in, but only confused you more in the process, because the words Eddie and murderer should have never been used together in a sentence in the way they claimed the entire town was currently spewing.
You were his soulmate. They were sure you’d know where he was, but you didn’t.
That didn’t matter, though. The young boy, Dustin, had been determined. You’d heard all about him from Eddie – about the brilliant mind hidden beneath baseball caps and unruly curls, about the smart mouth you witnessed mouthing off to Steve Harrington first hand as you’d been searching for your boy.
It reminded you of Eddie. It made you ache. It made you only more voracious in your search.
And you’d found him – terrified, alone, trembling and crying. A version of him you’d never been privy to had pinned Steve fucking Harrington to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse with a broken bottle to his throat. Wild, scared eyes and hands that shook harder than the day his father had called him and he’d put a goddamn hole through his kitchen wall. More desperation on his face than the day he’d informed you he’d be repeating his senior year for the first time. Shoulders more tense than the night you’d nearly walked away from him over some silly kiss with a cheerleader.
When he saw you, he’d shattered completely.
The sight of you had him collapsing into your arms, unable to explain himself in full sentences as he gasped and panicked and clung to you. And you had held him, had forced the others to give him time. You were like a feral animal, standing between him and them, friends or not. Your claws and teeth alike had been out, ready to mar anyone who would dare to lay a hand on your soulmate.
He’d calmed down. He’d explained. And then they had explained and reassured Eddie that he wasn’t crazy. His eyes had found yours over and over, and not a single time did they hold a single doubt for him in them. You believed him; you would always believe him. The cries of the town had been nothing more than static noise. You knew the man before you, you loved the man before you. Your soul knew his intricately, intimately. It would always know him, no matter the circumstance and no matter the troubles to come. In this life and the next.
The colors were never the gift. The gift the Universe had offered you had always been him.
You stayed with him those short few days. Ran from Carver and his posse, swam in the lake and had kept a level head as you formulated a plan. Find a walkie-talkie. Call for Dustin, call for help.
When the rest of them had jumped into the lake after Steve, you’d put a selfish hand on his bicep. For a moment, the only thing you were thinking of was him. You couldn’t lose him.
When he jumped in after Robin and Nancy anyways, you’d followed, no hesitation.
A dreary, nightmarish world. You’d followed him into Hell – quite literally, it seemed. Except they didn’t call it Hell, they called it the Upside Down. A place made up of all the things children fear, of awful creatures that only served to attack, to kill, and terrible storms of flashing red lightning. A blue tint to the town you’d come to know. Shades of flesh and shades of grey – shades of death – flooded the place. And only you, Eddie, and Nancy could see them.
Nancy’s soulmate was somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. But she understood that protective stance and the way you’d stuck staunchly at Eddie’s side. She got it.
A stolen RV, shields made of trash can lids and nails rather than make believe, goddamn spears made at the hand of people all far too young to be handling these things. They were handling the end of the world, and you suddenly hadn’t felt as brave as Eddie always claimed you were. The plan was formulated, and the entire time, you had a sinking feeling in your stomach. You watched Eddie play fight with Dustin, real weapons discarded to the ground, and you listened to Robin whisper the same sentiment to Steve.
“I just have this terrible, gnawing feeling that… it might not work out for us this time.”
You agreed with Robin. You hated that you agreed with Robin.
And so you stood like a watch dog at Eddie’s side, nearly lashed out when it was suggested you might be more helpful joining everyone else going after this Vecna rather than staying with Eddie.
It was his turn to put a hesitant hand on your bicep. Brown, russet, umber eyes that flashed with the unspoken question of are you sure you want to do this?
But he was sure. And just as quickly as you’d followed him into that lake, just as quickly as you had dismissed those awful claims against him, you’d nodded. Because if he was sure, if he was going through it, you would follow him.
You should have insisted on staying with him and Dustin.
Because your group of rag tags re-entered that Hellish landscape, and you flinched with each flash of red, not even soothed by Eddie’s hand in yours. And the people around you were now friends; you’d realized in a few short days that you would do almost anything to protect all of them as well, but you knew there was nothing that you wouldn’t do to keep Eddie alive.
“Hey,” he insists once the two of you stand outside this alternate version of his trailer, somewhere that you should know all too well but that has morphed into something unfamiliar in this world.
His hand holding yours spins you to face him, a few steps off to the side from the rest of everyone.
“Hi,” you whisper back, trying to only focus on him. Not the bleak colors of the landscape around you two, but the vibrancy of his shades. You hate the weakness written all across your features, unable to offer him any reassurance in return for all that he had given you over the years. You were terrified. As Robin had said, a terrible gut feeling was gnawing at you from the inside out. You couldn’t help the tears gathering, couldn’t unravel the restriction of your throat.
“It’s going to be okay, alright?” he does the talking, nodding and lowering his chin to stare right into your eyes. His favorite color now wet with emotion, shining even in the dullest of environments, “Can’t be worse than punching Jason Carver, right?”
It could be. It could be much, much worse. Everything you two had endured together was children’s play compared to this. But you don’t say that; you nod in dishonesty, biting your lip to stop from letting a whimper escape.
“I’ll always come back to you, I promise,” he swears so vehemently, voice spitting with determination. Those brows half hidden by the bandana atop his head furrow, his forehead nearly brushing yours.
That, you at the very least, believe. Just as you would find him every time, in this life and the next, he would find you.
“You better,” you choke out, hands reaching up just to latch onto him one more time. To feel him, sturdy beneath your palms. Alive. Your gift from the Universe, the boy who let you see colors. You almost regret spending so long fascinated with the shades you’d discovered when you should have allotted more time to imprint the features of his face to memory. You should have cared more about that freckle beneath his right eye, the slight crook to his nose, the way each of his calluses feel against your bare shoulders. Shades of blue, red, green, violet, yellow – none of them matter as much as the boy before you. They only matter because they paint the picture of him for you fully. They only matter because he matters, “I still need your rockstar money to pay for that wraparound porch.”
He laughs at that. And God, he’s gorgeous – his head thrown back, eyes crinkling with genuine joy for the first time in days. No one else catches the tear that slips from one of those pinched eyes, the hidden sadness for only you to catch onto.
That gnawing feeling – the one you and Robin felt. He felt it, too.
“Of course,” he finally sighs, opening his eyes back to yours and now holding so many words that neither of you have the time to exchange. It kills you – you don’t have time. You thought you’d always have more time. “Think of this as a test run for that rockstar money. See how a crowd of bats feel about my rockstar skills.”
“Careful,” your voice cracks, a few tears slipping that he’s quick to swipe away, “I hear they’re a tough crowd.”
He smiles at your joke, but doesn’t waste his breath on laughing. His lips find yours instead, pouring out every single thought and emotion possible. You feel a tug on that knot you’d tied between you two, everything in your being protesting from pulling back from the kiss. You try to move your lips in a response, to tell him it’ll be fine, to tell him you’ll both return to each other. To tell him you’ll have more time.
When he pulls back, realizing you can’t, his hand falls from you only to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You don’t understand until suddenly, he’s thrusting a laminated square into your hand.
You know what it is before you even turn it over. Your entire body strangles down the broken sob as you look down at a polaroid of a younger Eddie. Somewhere safe and somewhere that time is still yours.
“Keep that safe for me, yeah?” his voice wavers as he produces his own polaroid – the picture of you, “I mean, I’ll have yours, obviously. But… but just… it’s gonna be worth a lot of money once I’m the next big thing in the Upside Down.”
He’s trying so hard to make you laugh just one more time. It only surges more tears to burn your vision.
“All I’ll have to show Vecna is this,” you start to joke back, letting more tears stain your cheeks, “And- and-”
You can’t finish the joke. He gets it, putting a hand over yours, forcing you both to put away those polaroids.
“I know,” he assures you, “I know. Show him my ugly mug, and he’ll go down without a fight. That’s exactly why I’m giving it to you, baby.”
Another tear, only for you, slips. You trace it all the way down his cheek, memorize the way his skin looks in the horrid blue tint and try to remember the shade it glows during golden hour instead.
“I love you,” you say. But once isn’t enough, “I love you.”
“I love you,” he takes your hands in his palms, finally presses his forehead to yours, shares his breath for a moment as he focuses on your sad eyes, “So fucking much. You always were prettier than all the colors combined. Better stay that way till I come back to you.”
He releases you. Wipes away his tears, has to give you an encouraging shove on your shoulders to force you to join Nancy and Robin’s sides.
Steve catches your eye, a look on his face telling you he’d been watching the entire interaction. Something yearning crosses his features, and then something clicks. As if this is the first time he’d ever witnessed soulmates. As if he’s the one seeing colors for the first time.
Maybe that’s why he gives his little speech. Maybe that’s why he tries to plead your case and make sure that Eddie and Dustin don’t do anything stupid.
After Eddie has made his final request to Steve, to make him pay, he looks at you one last time. A ghost of a grin, wearing his bravest mask to date as he mouths I love you.
You echo the silent sentiment. A silent prayer. For the Universe to bring him back to you. To bring you back to him.
—*ash, stop reading here*—
The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died. It’s one of the first things you learn when school first broached the sensitive topic. Your soulmate dies, they take the colors with them. They never told you how the soulmate takes the colors with them – never discussed whether it would fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate, if the colors would drain from you in real time and leave a path of chromatic grey behind, or if you’d watch them flicker from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.
You’d always wondered how it happened.
You’d been morbidly curious that day in class despite finding it all a bit dramatic. Had looked around a black and white classroom and processed your classmates' different greyscale reactions. Some were forlorn, some were snickering beneath their breath. Some just looked plain bored. It made sense; you were all kids, none of you had ever seen the blue sky or the verdant grass. Only heard about it. Only listened to adults drone on and on about it wistfully. It was never something tangible, something to have and to hold and to lose.
You wonder how younger you would have looked upon you now. As you faced down an alternate dimension’s fiercest villain, hand paused midair, prepared to launch a lit molotov cocktail with aim to kill, when you suddenly paused.
The shades of the fire burning brightly in front of you have dulled. Microscopically. The smallest of flickers in vibrancy.
“What are you doing?” Steve screams when he notices your hesitation, “Throw it! Jesus Christ, throw it before-”
Robin cut him off, being the closest to you and reaching over to snatch the ticking time bomb of a bottle, tossing it for you.
As it explodes against the mangled being before you, another flicker occurs. You swear you feel a stabbing pain in your side, as if that gnawing has taken to ripping you apart.
You swear the bright flashes of yellow amongst the flames have turned to white. The orange has gone so faded, the dullest bits have shadowed over in grey.
Nancy takes another shot, but you can’t move. You watch it all in slow motion: she doesn’t miss, her shot ricochets dead center, Vecna stumbles before crashing through the wall behind him.
The world flickers a final time, and all the air leaves your lungs.
It’s black and white.
The floorboards, all of your sudden friends beside you, the walls of the old house, the lightning flashing amongst storm clouds in the sky outside.
It’s black and white. Shades of grey monotone.
As everyone rushes to look out the hole, your knees collide with splintered wood.
The colors are gone. It’s black and white.
“Where’d he-” Steve starts to question before he turns and sees you. You’re folding into yourself, no longer breathing as you look down at your palms. Grey. Not a single sliver of flesh tone to be seen. “Are you okay?”
The colors are gone.
A cold washes over you like never before, and even if you wanted to take another breath, you couldn’t. It’s not ash burning your eyes – it’s tears, hot and vicious as your face begins to crumple in panic.
Eddie.
You don’t even hear them cross the room back to you. Can’t hone in on what’s happened, if the evil has been defeated and if you’d all won. It doesn’t matter; your colors are gone.
Your hands finally fumble without thought, patting down your person until you catch the corner of the polaroid. You yank it free, breaths finally strangling into your throat without purchase, your shoulders shaking.
It’ll be in color. It has to be in color. He has to be in color.
That familiar and well loved photo stares back at you. Your boy, curly hair wild and unruly, grin soft and fond. A twinkle captured in his eye and all that adoration that had been rolling off of him in waves somehow frozen in time.
Frozen in time, frozen in black and white.
Steve shakes your shoulders, Robin begins to pace and match your panic. They don’t understand.
Gritted sobs leave your mouth, tears blinding you as you look at the shadow of what must be Nancy.
She understands.
Even through the strangled breaths, earth-shattering sobs that make you nearly incoherent, she knows.
“Eddie,” you manage to gasp, fist curling around the photograph.
The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died.
“Eddie,” you manage a mangled sob as Steve pulls back, horror-stricken as he looks down at the polaroid, slowly piecing together what was happening.
Fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate. Draining from you in real time and leaving a path of chromatic grey behind. Flickering from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.
“Eddie!”
You’d always wondered how it happened.
You finally had your answer. You wish you didn’t.
#my writing#eddie munson#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson fanfic#gonna run and hide now sorry bye#Spotify
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Gojo Soulmate AU
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader
Synopsis: angst, soulmates, what more could you want?
A/N: none
——————————
A wave, a flower, clouds, animals, rain, a sun setting over water. Soul marks were natural, tattoo-like birth marks possessed by everyone. It was up to each owner to understand the different forms or phases of their marks and what they meant. A fox chasing a hare might run across the body to convey glee or sorrow, or the fox could slow or change color. Maybe the hare would extend its lead every time the owner became lonely or perhaps a change of direction would indicate the health of the bond. Learning the various were fun but very necessary; bonds needed to cultivated. The repercussions were unsavory, dangerous even.
A tree grew at the base of your back, with boughs spreading across your body, extending down your limbs, and weaving up your neck until the ends just barely poked out from the collar of your shirts. You'd like to call it captivating — after all, not many had a soul mark so large — much like the man who it belonged to.
The mark didn't start so big. At first it was a sapling covering little more than the column of your spine. The branches were short and the whole thing was faint until you met him. When you did, the tingle in your spine turned into a singeing burn. Gojo caught you while you writhed. . . certainly not the best introduction.
Gojo's white beta fish swam up and down his right arm in response to his mood or outside stimuli. When you touched it the first time, it nuzzled and tried to nibble your finger, much to Gojo's embarassment. It was a tender moment that got swiftly interrupted by Gojo's phone. Again.
He had to leave. Some save-the-world mission that only he could handle.
Again.
You'd been shy when you first met him. After all, Satoru was intimidating. Wealth, physical and political power, good looks; you were at first afraid to do anything the might out yourself as someone inferior. Now? Now you probably came across as any other fan, fawning over the scraps of his attention.
Desperate? Sure, yeah, you were desperate, but it had been weeks (maybe months) since you felt normal, let alone good. A perpetual weakness had overcome you as if your blood sugar had plummeted, exhaustion plagued you yet sleep was elusive, migraines turned overhead lights into suns and basic sounds into caterwauls, and a sickly wheeze could be heard when you breathed if one listened closely enough.
Your soul mark was suffering too. The stinging on your back had become unbearable. Such painful burning — plus all the other afflictions — dulled just a little any time you could get him to look at you.
The branches that had once wound heartily around your body now shrunk to half their reach, leaving black shadows in their wake, and the vibrant blue flowers adorning the limbs all but disappeared. Watching them shrivel up or break off the limbs and fall off your body put your stomach in knots that never unwound.
Satoru didn't visit often enough or stick around long enough to pick up on your plight; so much for the Six Eyes. It was easy enough to hide your state for the sparse few minutes you got to be with each other before he teleported off someplace else. He already held up the world. . . how could you make him choose between it and your silly little needs?
Shoko's treatments were beginning to lose their affect; Nanami would have tied you to Gojo himself if Gojo would ever pick up the phone; even Yaga yelled at you to figure it out or risk getting temporarily suspended.
A subtle pang of hunger came from your stomach.
You were impressed a body as sick as yours barely felt anything.
Several seconds passed from the time you stood until the time you made it to the door. If only you knew how close you were to danger.
“Where are you going?”
Satoru. His tone cheeky as always.
You turned to see your soulmate, seemingly non the worse for wear. Had the bond become so distant that he hadn't felt any of your pain? He teleported in and now stood before you without a hint of distress or concern from what you could see of his face. Satoru held the same casual posture he always did. Without worry. Without weakness. You wished you could say the same. Right now all you could comprehend were the the dark spots floating in your eyes and the desolate cold in your core. Finally the breaking point came. Satoru only had time to sense something was wrong — his mouth went slack, his brow line tightened — before he was rushing to catch your fall.
If it were anyone else, they may have failed. You didn't simply fall. You plummeted.
You didn't feel his hands under your body nor did you see his beta fish furiously trying to swim towards you from under Satoru's shirt sleeve. It was probably a good thing — your soul mark, or what was left of it, had begun to bleed, covering Satoru's hands. What would you see in his eyes if you removed the blindfold?
“Not you too.” He whispered.
Even in your delirium the words sunk in. There was someone else. All this time you foolishly, stupidly, blindly believed he was away for work. It all made sense now. Just as scorching hatred churned your blood to fire, the effects of bond abandonment finally consumed you. Your face contorted to one of rage before going slack altogether. Satoru, for all his faults, held your chilled body close to his. Could he salvage a bond on its deathbed?
-- -- -- -- -- --
You woke to elephants on your chest and cotton in your head. Some bus had hit you repeatedly. For fun.
“Hey.” Someone said next to you. It was soft, gentle, and would have put you at ease had you not looked up and realized you were sprawled over his naked chest. “You've got some serious bedhead.” Satoru added in jest, lithe knuckles kissing along your cheek.
With what little strength you regained you grabbed the railings of the hospital bed and struggled to pull your body off and away from him. Your feet had hardly touched the ground before you collapsed, and yet still you tried to distance yourself from him. Searing pain erupted from your spine to the point where you cried out at the agony. Your body was trying everything it could to keep you there but you ignored it, crawling towards the door to escape the man you should have felt blessed to be pressed against.
Satoru — rendered immobile by the shameful fact that his own soulmate was trying to escape him — rushed you as soon as your wail reached his ears. One hand around your wrist was all he needed to stop you. You turned to him, gazing at the fingers wrapped deftly around your arm, then onto the glacial eyes opened wide with shame and worry. With a lurch you took your arm back. Satoru seemed possessed; he hardly moved, only continued to stare and gawk. He didn't seem to be looking at you. Through you was more like it.
Cool blood disturbed the hairs on your hand as it dripped freely from a hole left by the I.V. you ripped out in your haste. Both of you watched it hit the ground blip blip blip blip but neither of you moved.
Satoru blinked, coming back to the present, and reached for the wound before you yanked it out of reach. “I know there's someone else. . .”
A full second passed before he reacted. “What?!”
“I don't remember much thanks to the side effects of abandonment, but 'not you too', that I remember. So? Get it over with. Break the bond already. I'm sure you want to move on.”
“You know that's not true.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, because if there was, my mark wouldn't look like this.”
For the first time since you woke you saw his soul mark — the white beta fish with piercing blue eyes. Again and again it attempted to swim to you until it came to the edge of his arm. That's when you began to notice the condition of it, too. Pure snowy white had turned grey and dingy, fins had become tattered, and the entire animal shrunk to barely an inch in size. It seemed the poor fish, in its plight, had begun to turn on its owner: bruises and bite marks from the fish positively covered Satoru's entire arm from shoulder to hand. The untouchable had been harmed.
“I once knew someone who. . . I missed the signs when he was hurting, too. I could have helped him, if I had seen it in time. The same thing almost happened to you. If there was someone else, this damn fish wouldn't have made me bleed every time I left you.”
You froze. All the worry and pain and loneliness had been ricocheting between both ends of the bond all this time. He really had felt everything. “But you didn't react. You acted like you were fine every time. You should have been in pain—”
“The Strongest can't be in pain.” Satoru said. His eyes were powerfully bright. “Or be lonely, or show fear. The Strongest can't show weakness. My emotions would have only added to yours.”
“At least I would have known you felt something!” You yelled hoarsely.
He startled while you continued.
“Did you really think that by closing yourself off, I would have somehow felt better than if you had shared your feelings? Who told you that?”
Again Satoru could do nothing but stare. Some family member said so at some point, right? Maybe? When? Now he wasn't sure. Only your feeble attempt to lift yourself off the ground brought him to the present. The moan of pain you tried to hide made him flinch as if he experiencing it, too. Satoru reached for you but immediately recoiled — what would he do if you pulled away again?
Instead, in a rare moment of maturity, he tried to get you to come to him. How ironic: he'd been doing the opposite while you yearned for his presence and now that he was willing to give it, you might already be gone. “It's really important right now that we touch. The bond could become damaged beyond repair at this point. You could get seriously hurt.”
“I'm already seriously hurt.” You replied. He looked at the concave shape of your cheeks, the pallor in your skin, the wobble in your muscles, and knew time was running out.
“Please.”
You looked deeply into his eyes, saw them wide and glistening, and felt a twinge through what remained of the connection. Maybe it was muscle weakness (after all, you felt like you might hurl or faint) but you relented, all but falling into his arms. He quickly pulled you sideways into his lap. One of his hands rubbed your back to ease the scorching heat in your spine while the other held the bleeding hand without hesitation. Immediately the blood began to ebb. After a few seconds the wound from the I.V. began to bring itself together. His heart, which pounded in your ear, steadied and quieted.
With a conscious effort you forced your body to relax, then sighed when it gave in (gave out, more like it) and sagged against him. Based on your inhale, Satoru knew you were about to speak, and shushed you before you had the chance. “Just breathe. You'll feel better soon.”
“You don't know that,” you quietly tutted, “the bond might already be broken.”
“I have faith. I'm The Strongest, and because of that, so are you.”
-- -- -- -- -- --
Satoru wouldn't move for over an hour. The hard floor was probably killing him, yet he remained with you in his lap, coaxing your head under his every time you grew restless. Only when the pain waned did you manage to sleep. Somewhere during that time, he moved the two of you back to your bed. It must have been a struggle to wedge all of himself into the single cot with you too, but when you woke, there you were, back in bed, laying atop your soulmate like he'd fashioned himself into your personal throne.
Shoko's prodding woke you up. “Hun? Just hear to get your blood pressure.”
“Mmm,” you replied noncommittally while she slid the cuff up your arm. Satoru pulled you closer and only when you looked up at him did you realize he did while still sleeping. He looked almost odd now that his visage was so relaxed — mouth barely open, lashes laying across his sharp cheeks . The gentle rises and falls of his chest were something you hadn't seen in a long time.
“You two sure cut it close.” She added.
“Not m' fault.”
“I know. I know he's tough to love, believe me, and I'm sure you couldn't feel much after the bond degraded to this point, but I took his vitals while you were asleep. You might not want to hear this, but he does have you as his emergency contact, so I'll share it since you're bonded.”
Your head lifted. The stiff squeeze of the inflating cuff was forgotten.
“His bloodwork was atrocious and his cursed energy was pitiful. Electrolytes, red blood cells, white blood cells, plasma; I could hardly even find a vein to pull from. If I didn't know better, I'd say he had cancer.” Shoko spoke quietly.
Your face must have given you away — she smoothed out the hair on the top of your head and tapped your nose once she was done examining you.
“He should be okay now. You're recovering slower than he is.”
“How long have we been sleeping?”
“About nine hours.”
You groaned. It felt like years. “How much longer till we're back to normal?”
“Give it time. Your bond took a major beating. If you rush things, you might end up here again.”
Your head slumped against Satoru's chest. “Okay.”
You watched her leave. Only when she was half way out the door did she fix you with a mischievous smirk and a devious wink. “The closer you are, the faster the bond will heal.”
Then Shoko left, with you likely gawking at the door.
“I like the sound of that.”
You whipped over to Satoru. He'd woken up at some point and was now staring at some spot on your neck before flicking his eyes to yours. The pulsing blue peaking out from under his bangs made your spine quake.
“But Shoko said you were sick. How can you—”
“Good. Maybe then I won't be so rough with you.”
#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#soulmate au#soulmates#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#satoru x reader#io has ideas
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Chapter 29 of Sugar Vladdy is now up on Ao3
“This doesn’t seem very productive,” Vlad said as the Netflix logo flashed over their shared screen on his laptop. “I’m a terrible task buddy for enabling this.”
Ursula sighed. “Look, it’s all part of the process. It’s just background noise while I sort these clothes. I promise.”
“What are we watching, anyway?”
“You’ll see,” Ursula replied, sounding mischievous.
Forty minutes later, with potting soil strewn across the table, Vlad buried his head in his blackened hands, peering at his laptop screen through splayed fingers. “This is, beyond all doubt, the worst adaptation to have ever existed. What have I done to deserve such cruelty?"
Ursula’s laughter bubbled over his earphones. That sound still made his heart flutter. “What?” she crooned with mock sincerity. “I thought you’d like Steven Moffat’s 2020 Dracula…”
“Like a hole in the head,” Vlad muttered. Ursula gurgled with laughter again.
Read more...
Thank you for your patience as my eyes heal and I get back into the swing of writing full-time.
Funny story, while rereading this chapter the other night in preparation for posting, I was struck with the vengeful inspiration to tell @ayeforscotland he should watch Steven Moffat's 2020 Dracula as penance for all the bad rom-coms he's been making me watch.
So if you hear me making a lot of similar points to Vlad on tomorrow's @theayesphere, just know it comes from a place of absolute seething hatred, haha.
#Sugar Vladdy#Hunger Pangs AU#hello darkness my old friend#I've climbed into this dumpster once again#heed the tags at source
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༻¨*:·. atlas cried | ljn
summary | they say your soulmate is your perfect other half—whatever you lack, they have, and whatever they lack, you have. when lee jeno, your academy’s golden boy, approaches you and says you’re his soulmate, you can’t begin to understand how he—rich, gorgeous, never had to work a day in his life—could be the perfect match for you—poor, exhausted, and barely hanging onto the scholarship covering what would be a 65 million won tuition.
genre | high school au (rich boarding school style), soulmate!au, prep!jeno x fem!reader, prep! jaemin & reader (platonic), angst, slow burn, enemies-ish to lovers, kind of academic rivals but in a way that the rivalry is created by other people, im ngl y/n and jeno just don’t like each other, fake dating? au
warnings | did someone say violent academic pressure, heavy isolation, abusive parenting, malicious rumors, everybody is so unhappy, a lot of miscommunication, internalized misogyny, suicide mention (in passing), arson
wc | 24.7k
a/n: hello and welcome to my first long piece ! i hope it's up to your standards :') i'm not sure how i feel about it, as i've never written anything this long so i'm scared there's continuity issues and whatnot. nonetheless, please send me your feedback !! p.s. here is a short playlist comprised of 10 songs i listened to while i wrote this :) p.p.s im sorry for any egregious typos/poorly worded sentences in the last ~9k words, i proofread all of them while i was really tired lol
ft. a few people i made up
i. during the titan war, atlas sided with his fellow titans in battle to defeat the olympians.
THE WIND HOWLED OUTSIDE YOUR DORM BUILDING, rattling the windows of your dorm room and nearly obscuring the study music coming from your speakers. The sky and the wind told of an incoming storm, which made you want to hurry to the cafeteria and get dinner before you were trapped inside. Your homework, however, drowned out the hunger pangs in your stomach and told you that the endless bags of chips hidden under your bed would make a fine dinner.
“You know, they say your soulmate shoulders the weight of the world with you,” your roommate, Suhyeon, sighed, capturing your attention and effectively destroying the deep focus you had on your homework.
“Ok. And?”
She turned over onto her side, a bored expression taking over her face. “Doesn’t that seem scary?”
“I guess?”
“Would you want to share all your problems with someone else? Like, every single one?”
You resisted the urge to strangle her, as well as the urge to remind her that she does not have to keep a top five spot in her class in order to continue going to school. Instead, you spun your desk chair to face her bed, where she lay, staring at your plain white ceiling.
“Want to go get dinner?”
“With this wind? That sounds dreadful,” she replied, looking at you with a bored face. Then, with a sigh, she pushed herself up from the bed and swung her legs over the edge. “I’m not in the mood for another three bags of honey chips.”
To that, you’d have to agree. For the past three-and-a-half days, you and Suhyeon had eaten three bags of chips for dinner, as you were trapped with your head in your textbooks and Suhyeon refused to go to the dining hall without you (according to her, it would look weird to eat alone, and you were her only friend on campus).
“If I had to guess, we’ll be getting a day off tomorrow,” Suhyeon said, swiping her set of keys off her mostly unused desk. You stood up, cringing at the sound of your back cracking as you stretched. Your legs ached from how long you’d been sitting, as well as your back, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as the cramps you felt in your knees. Suhyeon grabbed her coat off the coat hook bolted to your door, slipping it over her uniform and zipping it up promptly.
You shuffled over and did the same, preemptively sliding the hood up so you could begin situating your hair under it. Suhyeon swung the door open and you obediently followed, emerging into the monotonous corridors of the dormitory.
“Are we due for blizzarding?”
“Yes ma’am.” Suhyeon nodded, swinging her arms back and forth as she half-skipped down the hall. “It’s not cold enough today, but, if it storms tonight, I bet we’ll wake up to a classes-have-been-canceled email.”
You sighed, wondering what that would mean for your math exam that you’d been slaving over for the past week and a half. It was the final midterm until you were granted a week off, which you and Suhyeon had excitedly planned to be spent entirely in your bedroom. If there was a snow day, you hoped your teacher would simply postpone it for Friday, rather than move it after the break altogether.
You opened the door to the stairwell, allowing Suhyeon to pass by you and get a head start on the stairs. You quickly followed, wishing you’d done your usual study-stretch schedule today. Your legs nearly gave out as you tried to stay caught up with your roommate, and you were shocked that you managed to make it to the first floor without falling down a flight of stairs.
Another strong gust of wind rattled the building, and you wondered if it was exactly a good idea to make a break for the dining hall.
Suhyeon let out a loud groan, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I hate the second year-dormitory,” she announced, slowing to a stop in front of the first pair of doors to the outside. “Why do the first years have the indoor path to the dining hall? If anything, they should be the ones in the old, rickety dorms.”
“There’s nothing happy about second year, though. If they put all the depressing stuff halfway in, it won’t be as easy to drop out,” you said, taking the chance to run outside the moment the wind let up a bit. Suhyeon followed close behind you, catching up enough to lace an arm around yours as you ran through the school courtyard.
You practically bulldozed into the dining hall as another burst of wind began, which ended up with you and Suhyeon having to push the door closed as if you were trying to move a broken-down car. The door shut with a satisfying lock, leaving you in the entryway room that consisted of four doors and absolutely nothing else.
Suhyeon sighed, pushing through the second set of doors. The moment they opened, you were hit with the strong smell of spaghetti, which made the hunger pangs worsen substantially. Despite the time, the dining hall was mostly empty, save for a few groups who’d opted to spend their after-school time in there and any third years or first years who’d decided they were hungry.
They didn’t have to make a mad dash across campus to arrive without being blown away. In fact, none of them were even wearing any sort of rain gear.
“Oh god,” Suhyeon mumbled as you approached the serving counter, picking up two trays from the stack they had at the edge.
“What?”
“Golden boys are here.”
You looked up from your tray, turning your head to scan the cafeteria. Sure enough, all six of the golden boys—as they were called—sat at a table in the corner of the room, books littered across the table alongside bowls of spaghetti and an enormous amount of garlic bread. They seemed to be having a good time, laughing and making up essentially all the noise that rattled the room. Suhyeon always told you that there were seven of them, but one had the misfortune of taking a transfer year to some “partner school” off in Shanghai this year, and last year he was still a middle schooler.
You thought the seventh boy might’ve been a ghost that you couldn’t see, though.
One of the cafeteria ladies put a hefty bowl of spaghetti on your plate, along with an oddly gourmet-looking piece of garlic bread. There was a self-serve salad bar and dessert bar further down, but you weren’t too interested in having any of it for right now.
“Awe, they’re sitting a few tables down from our usual spot,” Suhyeon mumbled, stopping to grab a bowl of salad. You waited behind her, staring at the distance between their table of madness and your quaint corner. They were sitting adjacent to the window, likely to survey the weather, and your two-person table was situated in a corner between a false wall that separated the eating area from the first-year entrance. There were about six tables, give or take, between you and them.
“We’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re right next to them,” you said, turning towards her. She was finishing up her salad, placing the bowl on her unbalanced tray, and attempting to get it stable with her now-free other hand. You took that as your chance to begin your stroll to the table, with Suhyeon nervously following behind.
For some reason, she did not like the oh-so-famous golden boys. Any time they entered the conversation, she went silent, and always ended up throwing off the momentum of the conversation with her anxiety; when you tried to ask her about it, she always got defensive, saying she has “nothing to do with them” and “doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
You allowed her to take the corner spot, frowning as she shoved herself into the corner and began picking at her food with her fork. You wondered if it was mean to do this when she so obviously had an issue with it, even if she insisted she didn’t.
“We can sit somewhere else…”
“No, you’re right,” Suhyeon cleared her throat, shaking her head. “It’s not like we’re right next to them. I’ll be fine.”
You took another look at her hidden in the corner, recognizing that she was not going to be fine, but you didn’t push any further. If you had to guess, the last thing she wanted to do was have you make a big deal about her discomfort.
You both ate quietly and quickly, hoping to finish before the oncoming storm hit. Due to the lack of conversation between you two, courtesy of the golden boys being twenty-ish feet away, it wasn’t hard to get through nearly the entire meal within a few seconds.
Your silence also made it quite easy to hear what the golden boys were talking about at their table, added to how easy it was to see them from the corner of your eye.
“I heard Nayeong say we’re getting tomorrow and Friday off,” Zhong Chenle reported, taking a long drink of his water. “They’re just waiting to make it look like it was a last-minute decision.”
“Wow, student council president certified? Must be true, then,” Na Jaemin replied, turning to Lee Donghyuck, who was dejectedly scrolling through his phone. If you had to guess, he’d struggled with the English exam that had taken place earlier that day, seeing as he was notoriously good at Japanese and nothing else. “What's gonna happen with the big math midterm tomorrow, then? I don’t want it to be after break, I’d seriously rather die.”
Donghyuck barely glanced up from his phone before answering. “Rumor has it they’re gonna proctor it in the dorm study rooms. Separate everyone into time slots and stuff. They’re doing it for the third and first years, too.”
Chenle groaned, letting his head dangle on the edge of his chair. Mark Lee, student council vice president and perhaps the second most adored student in the school, didn’t comment on their rumor-spreading. You expected him to be the one they relied on most for information, but
You raised your head slowly, looking over at their table. Mark Lee didn’t comment because he was staring straight at you.
Suhyeon noticed your staring, following your eyesight towards Mark, who was now staring lasers through your head. She dropped her chopsticks into the mostly empty bowl, standing up from her chair suddenly. The movement, along with the clattering of metal, scared you, causing you to snap your head back towards her.
“I don’t feel good.”
Her face was turning pale and her eyes began to water, which was considerably uncharacteristic for her. You looked up at her, glancing down at your half-finished spaghetti and garlic bread. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Can we go back to the dorms, now?” she asked, placing a hand on her chest. “I feel really nauseous.”
“Yeah, of course,” you said, standing up. “We can just leave the plates. Let’s go.”
You glanced over at the golden boys’ table, which had gone quiet. Mark was whispering something to Lee Jeno, who was also staring at you now, arms crossed over his chest and blonde hair (when he showed up blonde at the beginning of the year, everybody lost it) wisped over his forehead.
Gently, you wrapped a hand around her shoulder, hugging her to your side as you made a swift departure from the cafeteria. You got odd looks from other students, but, for the most part, nobody got in the way of your exit. You emerged straight into the dangerous wind, not stopping despite how much it threatened to blow you away.
Being out of sight of the golden boys took a huge weight off your shoulders, one you didn’t know was there. Sometimes you garnered looks given your well-known scholarship student title, but that was mostly from first years who were shocked that could even happen. As far as you were aware, you had nothing to do with the golden boys—not even something as simple as a group project or anything.
Had you done something wrong? Were your grades slipping? Was there something going on concerning your scholarship? The wave of questions washing out your mind was causing you to feel nauseous; you didn’t want Mark Lee looking at you like that. You didn’t want any one of them looking at you like that.
You practically threw the dormitory’s doors open, dodging past anyone who might’ve been in your way. You couldn’t get Mark Lee’s stare out of your mind, because it was unexplainable, because it was unprompted, because it could mean you’d be kicked out of the academy and sent back to your terrible parents who would berate you for forever, telling you that you’re worthless and no better than your freeloading, addict siblings.
You skid to a stop in front of the dorm’s nursing office, knocking three times and not waiting for a response. You pushed Suhyeon inside, grabbing the dorm keys from her jacket pocket and giving the resident nurse an unnerved look.
“She’s not feeling well,” you explained, giving Suhyeon no time to protest you dropping her off in the nurse’s office. Instead, you practically slammed the door shut, staring at the monotonous wood for a moment more.
Your heart was pounding. Your mind was spinning. You could barely breathe.
Quietly, you turned towards the end of the hall, where the stairwell waited for you to climb it. Suddenly, it occurred to you that there was a slim chance you could be climbing it for the last few times beginning today.
As you approached, you wondered what your siblings would do if you lost the scholarship. They’d laugh at you, sneer, and say “I thought you were supposed to be the perfect child?” They’d watch as your parents struck you, yelled at you for being worthless and nothing better than the rest of them. They’d force you to kneel on rice while they “mourned” the loss of their shot at wealth, asking you why you didn’t sleep around with the student body to try and ensure a husband.
“You’ll never be this pretty again,” they would say. “Who cares about your soulmate? Will a soulmate bring you money? Comfort? Look at what happened to your father and I when we chose each other over wealth. Do you want to be like us?”
You slammed the door of your dorm shut behind you, falling onto your knees. You realized that you’d never turned your study music off, or your lights, or anything before you’d left for the dining hall.
You looked down at your arms, letting yourself hold up your right hand. There, in the very center of your palm, was a code that you’d memorized the moment you began to comprehend it: LJN.
You picked yourself off the floor, suppressing the panic tears that threatened to spill over. Instead, you approached your desk, dropping down onto the chair and shoving your math textbook out of the way. You instead chose to focus on the human biology book, long and heavy, that sat underneath it. Weakly, you flipped through the pages, stopping on the first page of a chapter entitled “Soulmates: Biology’s Biggest Mystery.”
The first paragraph read, “the concept of soulmates has long been a pillar of human society. The existence of a ‘soulmate marking’ has purportedly been around since the beginning of time, but the earliest recordings of it come from ancient Mesopotamian tomes depicting a ‘perfect other half’ that ‘completes the human body.’"
You must’ve tattooed these words on your brain when you were studying, but, even then, you couldn’t help but feel mystified every time you read through it. You never cared too much about the whole soulmate craze, considering you were still a teenager and didn’t need to care about “forever” yet, but there was always a sort of comfort that you found in it. The existence of your soulmate confirmed that you would not be chained to your parents for the rest of your life, and, one day, you’d be able to leave them behind for a better, happier life.
You read on, tracing the words of the chapter with your index finger.
“Around 97% of the population have a set of initials written somewhere on their body, one that they’re born with. Their soulmate will have a marking on the same part of their body with the coinciding set of initials. There have been no instances of these initials changing, even upon the death of one’s soulmate, meaning the connection is entirely permanent.”
There was someone out there who would pull you out of this. You were sure of it.
And, when that happened, your life would truly begin anew.
ii. the titans lost the war, and the olympians banished the titans to tartarus.
From beginning to end, your math midterm was a mess.
Sure enough, classes were canceled, but they proceeded with finishing things up before your week-long break began and all information previously learned left your mind. You’d been placed in a 3:30 time slot to take your exam, along with about 15 of your classmates, in the dormitory study room that you’d never once step foot into.
Upon arrival at 3:10, you were faced with the sad truth that both Huang Renjun and Lee Jeno were also in your time slot. Initially, you avoided their gaze, shrinking into the corner of the lounge and hiding behind your phone and wired earbuds. But, you were learning the world would never be kind to you because, the moment Lee Donghyuck emerged from the 1:30 time slot, he had a perfect view of you.
You subconsciously tried to hide once more, hunching down and allowing for your hair to fall over your face. You increased the volume of your music, a random, synthy song you’d fallen in love with some time last week, and tried to ignore how Lee Donghyuck’s gaze made you feel like an internationally wanted criminal.
Once they took note of you, the staring did not cease. Lee Donghyuck left for his dorm while you waited for your proctor to announce things were ready (which happened about a minute and a half after Donghyuck left).
You ripped your earbud out when you saw her appear out of the corner of your eye, jerking up to look at her and wishing your heart would stop beating so fast. “There’s assigned seating, which I will call out now. When you hear your name, please sit behind the person last called. If that person is sitting in the very back, please begin the next row in the front.”
Huang Renjun was called third, which took a small weight off your shoulders. That didn’t stop Jeno from looking at you, stealing glances and sometimes blatantly staring with those terrifyingly cold eyes of his.
“[First] [Last].”
You nearly tripped over your feet getting up, leaving your small bag along with your cell phone and earbuds on the chair you sat waiting on. You held your pen and pencil so tightly in your hand that your knuckles were pale, and you must’ve looked sick to the proctor, given the look she offered you as you passed beside her.
Your eyes narrowed in on the empty seat behind the last girl that was called—the student council secretary, Yeji—and you swiftly approached, half-returning the smile Yeji gave as you walked past.
Huang Renjun was one seat behind you and two rows over, meaning he would barely be able to see you. If you were lucky, Jeno would be the first to start his row, meaning he would be in front of you and therefore it would be impossible for him to look at you.
You weren’t sure why you still relied on luck when pretty much all of it was wasted when you got into this godforsaken school on a scholarship.
The proctor called an Osaki Shotaro, who came and took the seat behind you. Then, a Kim Juyeon who began the next row. Then, a Liu Yangyang who sat next to you.
“Lee Jeno.”
You could’ve shot yourself right then and there, especially as he sauntered over to the seat, dropping into it and immediately beginning to spin his pencil around his fingers. You could practically feel his stare like lasers being shot through the back of your head, unending and unwavering as the proctor called the final girl and shut the door behind her.
“Thank you for arriving smoothly and on time.”
You wished you would have skipped. Skipping might’ve cost you your scholarship and your future, but, if you got Suhyeon on your side and claimed you’d woken up severely ill but couldn’t make it to the nurse because Suhyeon had the 10:30 time slot and you woke up at 11, you might’ve been able to make it to the makeup date.
If only God had been kind enough to warn you about this one.
The proctor began to hand out your answer sheets and tests while droning on and on about rules, her words going in and out of your ears like the pointless documentaries your history teacher enjoyed showing. As if you hadn’t taken five of these exams already, she regurgitated these rules, causing your mind to spin more and your leg to bounce harder.
“You may begin.”
You barely began at all. For the entire test, your mind wasn’t focused on derivatives or any sort of equation you’d spent weeks memorizing—no, your mind was focused on Lee Jeno, Mark Lee, all the golden boys, and why they were suddenly so focused on you. You wrote down numbers and letters, plus signs and square roots, all while thinking about what they could want from you.
With every page flip, with every boxed answer and filled-in bubble, your mind fell deeper and deeper into your panicked trance. At some point, you began writing on autopilot with no mental capacity to tell whether or not what you wrote was correct. A part of you wondered why you cared so much when you were obviously about to become the first-ever scholarship student at the academy to lose their scholarship, to be the first investment that brought a net loss instead of a net gain.
Before you knew it, the test was over, and it was 5:15 pm on the dot. You felt like throwing up, a million spiders crawling up your stomach and throat as you stared at what you wholeheartedly believed to be a failed math test. Your mind spun—math had always been your worst subject, and you’d always teetered on the edge with it. As long as you excelled in other subjects, you’d be fine, but there was an absolute need to ensure you did not fall below rank five.
As long as you were never below five, you would be fine.
The proctor snatched your test up from your desk, taking a once over with a smile. “Congratulations on finishing, Ms. [Last],” she said, a formality she’d repeated to everyone but carried a special weight when she spoke to you.
You wanted to reach for it, take it back and run away with the paper. You couldn’t remember a single question you’d answered, let alone whether or not the answers were right. This would be the first (and last) time you’d drop below rank five in your exams, and you’d be packing up your bags when the grades dropped next week. This was the end of your paradise, all thanks to a few awry looks from the academy’s beloved golden boys.
“All papers have been collected. You are free to return to your dorms,” the proctor announced, placing the stack on her desk. You lingered on for a moment, staring at your hands and focusing on the pressure that weighed your shoulders down every waking moment of the day.
Once, Suhyeon was trying to get you to go shopping with her while you were studying. You refused vehemently, citing your grades as the reason why you couldn’t watch her spend thousands upon thousands on clothes she’d never wear while you cringed at every price tag you saw.
With one of her usual, airy sighs, she collapsed onto her bed, mumbling a hollow statement that stuck in your mind: “[First] [Last], forever crushed by the weight of the world.”
Your self wallowing was cut off by Lee Jeno stopping in front of your desk, looking down at you with his terrible cold stare. You returned his focus, fighting off the urge to curl into yourself and tell him to never speak to you again.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, shoving his hands into his blazer pockets. “I’ll meet you in the library at 8.”
You gave him a look that could only be described as confusion, tilting your head at the notion.
“The library closes at 5 tonight.”
“Does that matter to me?”
He scoffed a bit, not paying you another second. Instead, he sauntered off with Huang Renjun, who gave him a steady slap on the shoulder as he walked out. Renjun followed behind, saying, “You’ve got guts now, huh?” while continuing to hammer on his shoulder and laugh at his “guts.” All you could do was slowly lift yourself from your desk chair, thinking about what you would do upon your return to Jinhae-gu. What your ex-classmates, who’d screamed and cried with you when you received your scholarship notice in the middle of the school day, would say when you walked in, a husk of your former self.
What you’d do when you saw your parents and siblings again.
“Ms. [Last], now that exams are over for second years, I suggest you stop by Miss Choi’s office as soon as possible. I know how much pressure you’re under to retain such perfect grades,” the proctor said, causing you to be torn away from your mind once again.
You smiled weakly at her, nodding. “I will, ma’am. Thank you for your concern.”
“It’s no issue, sweetheart,” she said, dropping a hand onto your shoulder. “We all want to see you succeed.”
You bowed at her as a way to get her to stop touching you, rushing out of the classroom. You’d rather die than go see Miss Choi, who picked you apart too easily in your opinion. You didn’t like the way she seemed to know how you were feeling, how she tried to teach you how to carry the world, because Miss Choi—an alma mater of the academy by paid tuition and not by scholarship—would never know what this felt like, even if she followed you around for three months straight.
With your bag retrieved, you began your march up the stairwell, a new anger brewing in your heart. When you were gone, when there was a lack of honor student to bring up in the interviews and magazine features, when you worked up the nerve to post a forum piece on how the academy destroyed any bit of happiness you had, they’d understand that this wasn’t just academic pressure.
Suhyeon was right—you were forever crushed by the weight of the world because nobody else here wanted to carry their weight and believed there was no one better suited to pick it up other than you.
iii. tartarus was a deep abyss used as a prison for the titan gods,
“You can’t go out right now, the weather is too awful,” Suhyeon insisted, scrambling to reach for your keys. You grabbed them before her, dropping them in the pocket of the jacket you’d draped over your lounge clothes. “It’s dark and the snow is barreling down, [First]. Where could you possibly go right now?”
You bit your lip, staring down at her. She was dressed in her pajamas, practically ready for bed by this point, with a matching Hello Kitty pajama set and a headband pulling her hair away from her face. A pair of glasses sat low on the bridge of her nose, sliding down further the more she tried to discourage you from leaving.
“I just want to take a walk. It stopped snowing a while ago, so there’s no barreling down happening, and I have my snow boots on. Everything should be fine,” you insisted, slipping your gloves on. Suhyeon went to stand in front of the door, blocking your exit to the outside and further delaying your meet-up with Mr. Perfect.
“Promise you’ll be back before room checks.”
You sighed. If whatever Lee Jeno needed to speak to you about was important, he must’ve put something in place to ensure you wouldn’t get in trouble for missing room checks, but you couldn’t be sure. You nodded, waving her out of the way.
“I’ll be back before room checks. Swear on it.”
Uncomfortably, Suhyeon stepped away from the door, allowing you to pass without a word. You slipped out of your room, giving her one last glance before you shut the door behind you and isolated yourself in the dorm corridor. It was cold—everything was cold—and dark, with dim LEDs illuminating the hall floors and nothing else providing any sort of light. It was akin to that of a movie theater's stairs—just lit up enough that you could make it down the stairs without plunging to your doom.
You made your way to the stairwell, cringing as your shoes clicked against the wood of the stairs. You hoped that Jeno had done anything to protect you from the wrath of the late night staff, but you wondered if getting caught meant anything when you’d be gone in a week.
The dorm’s common area (or, more simply, the first floor) was completely devoid of everyone, as aligned with the school rules, which said no students should be out of their rooms past 7:30 on a weekday to avoid issues with student health or student safety. Room checks began at 9, which essentially meant you could be out and about until then, but nobody wanted their parents finding out they were screwing around instead of studying.
You took no time in crossing the common room, weaving through tables and couches in hopes that a teacher didn’t appear and tell you to get back to your room before this “hurt your future,” as they liked to tell you. When the doors to the dorm opened, you could’ve sworn you felt your heart drop into your feet—but, the doors opening did not yield a teacher or any staff member.
It yielded Na Jaemin.
Upon seeing you, he gave you a cordial smile and a nod. Jaemin was Lee Jeno’s second-in-command, his beginning and his end. From what you’d heard from classmates, they’d grown up together, being neighbors from the day they were born and being friends from the day they could speak. You barely saw one without the other, and you couldn’t lie when you said part of you was expecting Jaemin would be in the library along with Jeno tonight.
“Good evening, [First],” he greeted. You offered him an uncomfortable nod back, accompanied by an unsure smile and your shaking hands. “Library’s unlocked.”
You blinked a couple of times, suddenly clueless as to what he was talking about. Na Jaemin was blinding, from the way he smiled at you to the way he even looked at you.
“Ah, um, thanks,” you said, coming to your senses. “Sleep well, or something.”
Jaemin chuckled, nodding. “You too. Good luck!”
He passed by you without another glance, another word, disappearing into the men’s side of the second-year dorms. You watched his figure retreat for a moment, wondering if you’d run into any other golden boys on your way to the library. You hoped Jaemin was the only one.
As you emerged into the cold, night air, stepping onto the snow and sinking in almost immediately, you now found yourself focused on your brief interaction with Na Jaemin.
A while back, you’d heard that he didn’t have a soulmate.
You were just starting out, and, given the nature of your enrollment at the school, you’d had a slight amount of popularity. People hung around you with the idea that you’d somehow trick them into good study habits and unrivaled intelligence (to be honest, people still do), and that inevitably came with you hearing whatever gossip traveled around your class at the time.
“You know Na Jaemin? The boy who started this year and immediately made it in with Mark Lee’s crowd?” a girl asked you, sliding into your study table at the library. Instantly, she’d caught the attention of the other three students who asked to study with you, drawing them away from the math worksheet you were all working on. “Ah, [First], Mark Lee and his crew have been attending the academy since elementary school, so they kinda own the place. They never let anybody in with them until Na Jaemin.”
Upon hearing that, you’d mostly been impressed that somebody could afford that many years of tuition here, let alone send their child into academic hell from the moment they’d learned to read. Suhyeon hadn’t told you that she’d also lived the same life, yet, so this was your first exposure to what most students called the “originals” of the academy.
“He doesn’t have a soulmate.”
A sort of surprise settled in around the table, given how rare it was to be born soulmate-less. There was a “no way” thrown out, along with a couple of gasps of disbelief. You’d felt bad for him, wondering what it was like to live in a world where (mostly) everybody but you had a universally-fated life partner.
Your tablemates didn’t seem to think similarly to you.
“God, my mother would be overjoyed if I was soulmateless,” one of your classmates, Chaeyeon, hummed, leaning back on her chair and resting her elbow on the back of it. You turned to her, shocked that was her first reaction upon hearing about Na Jaemin’s soulmateless-ness. “He must be the golden child of his family.”
“He’s the youngest, too, so he was inevitably going to be the kid they married off. That’s one less person they’ll need to pay off.”
Na Jaemin, whether the rumor was true or not, was your way of finding out that rich people often trapped their younger children in loveless marriages, and paid off their soulmates to keep them from ever forming a relationship. They’d even had a saying for it: “An accomplished father’s best child is the child who can marry for money with no regrets.”
It horrified you because that was how your parents thought. You couldn’t imagine a life where everybody, not just your parents, thought that way.
As quietly as you could, you pushed the door to the library open, finding yourself in the sprawling lobby you were so acquainted with. Despite the academy being a lower grade school, the library was the kind that you’d find articles on and the kind where people would travel just to see it.
Usually, it was locked to the high heavens when it was closed due to its extensive collection of books no high schooler needed to read, but tonight was different. You wondered if Mark stole the keys from Nayeong and gave them to Jeno.
You shuffled towards the stairs, wondering if Lee Jeno was going to make you search for him. Your heart began pounding in your chest once again, thoughts of expulsion (losing your scholarship wasn’t technical expulsion, but it might as well have been) and disappointing everyone you know with a simple 89 on a math test.
The second floor was completely dark, which was creepier than you wanted it to be. Assuming Jeno wasn’t waiting for you in a pitch-black room, you continued up the stairwell, telling yourself Jeno wasn’t going to inform you of your impending doom despite the fact that he was a student, and that he wasn’t even on the student council.
You couldn’t imagine whatever else he wanted to talk to you about, though. You weren’t in the same sphere, hell, even in the same universe as each other—he hung around the golden boys and nobody else, breaking every rule the school had to offer and using his father’s name as an excuse. You hung out with the kids who lived closer to the bottom (whatever bottom meant at this god-forsaken school), the kids whose grades had a real impact on them rather than the ones who went to school to say they did.
The third floor was also completely dark but gave way to the dim lighting that lit up the fourth floor. For some reason, Lee Jeno had decided to taint your preferred study floor with whatever he had to tell you, but you supposed he had no clue that it was your usual study spot. After all, you were in different universes.
Taking the final few steps up to the fourth floor, you noticed that, while it was illuminated, there was no sign of Jeno anywhere. The lights were on and it was dead silent, with not a single movement or noise to even hint at another person being inside; but, from the way one of the tables had its chairs sprawled about and from the light smell of coffee, you could tell people had been in here recently.
If you had to guess who, it was the rest of the golden boys, given your run-in with Jaemin in the lobby of your dorm. You wondered where the rest of them went, particularly Donghyuck and Renjun, who hadn’t ventured through the lounge of the second-year dorm—hopefully, they weren’t still here, as the emptiness was somewhat calming.
You decided to venture further into the fourth floor, walking past the proof-of-life table and entering the rows upon rows of shelves. The fourth floor was the most academic, being the quietest at any given time. Nobody liked scaling four flights of stairs with the sole purpose of studying, so the only people who did were the ones who wanted to avoid the quiet yet prominent chatter on the lower floors.
And the golden boys apparently, but only past closing.
The silence of the room made your heart slow down to a calmer rate, as well as making any panic you were previously feeling dissipate. You were sure that, the moment you found Jeno, it would resume where it left off, but you were grateful for these few moments of calm before the storm you were about to step into.
You continued walking through the shelves, scanning the book’s spines and their titles as if you hadn’t seen them nearly every day for the past two years. You allowed the tips of your fingers to brush along the many different textures and indents of the well-loved books before you. If you were truly at the end of your time here, you ought to write a love letter to this library, thanking it for the countless hours you spent reading and learning in hopes that you, one day, would be a peer of the people around you and not just a spectacle.
At the edge of the shelves, there was another small clearing of desks and then a couple of couches that most students used to take naps during finals season, and that's where Lee Jeno waited for you. The moment you appeared from the woodwork, he noticed you, staring at you from the corner of his eye.
“I was thinking you weren’t going to come,” he said offhandedly. You furrowed your brows, pulling your phone out of your pocket—it was 8:17. You hadn’t even noticed how slowly you were traveling, seeing as you left your dorm at 8:03.
As you’d expected, your heart had begun beating out of its chest, and you, once again, began to prepare for the worst. You slowly approached the couch adjacent to him, sitting down as slowly as you could. You sat like a board, stiff and nervous, waiting for him to explain himself even in the slightest.
Instead, he leaned over to the coffee table in front of you, pushing a small coffee cup towards you. You stared at it for a second, confused and a bit freaked out, but you picked it up nonetheless, thankful he’d thought to get you something warm. He continued to sit in silence, leaving you with a couple of moments to study him thoroughly.
Before today, you’d never really looked at him. Sure, you’d given him a couple of nervous glances, but there was something about Lee Jeno that made you feel inferior. He was the son of a major CEO, one of the biggest conglomerates in all of Korea (and maybe even Asia), somebody you would’ve never even dreamed of meeting three years ago. He was above the rules of the school, above the rules everywhere, dangling his parents’ name and a wad of cash above anyone who tried to tell him no.
His hair was bleached blonde, but it seemed so healthy that you could’ve mistaken it for his natural hair color if you hadn’t known any better. He’d shed all his snow-protectant layers, which were sprawled out along the remainder of the couch next to him. Despite the lack of need for it today, he was dressed in his usual uniform—a black blazer, white turtleneck, and black and green plaid pants—which was a blatant violation of the dress code due to the lack of a polo shirt, but you’d never see him get in trouble for it. He sat with an aura of regality that you could only try and imitate, with his leg lazily crossed over the other and his arm resting on the back of the couch. In his other hand was a cup of coffee like yours, but his was so hot that it was steaming from the lid’s opening.
“I didn’t know your last name until Mark told me,” he finally said, taking a sip of his burning hot coffee. You mimicked his movements, taking a sip from your own, trying to fight off any physical reaction to the bitterness of it.
“What do you mean?”
Jeno sighed, holding up his hand. You stared for a moment, narrowing your eyes in an attempt to make out the small letters on his palm. Then, all too quickly, the truth flooded your mind—the initials on your hand, LJN, and the initials on his, your very own set.
It shocked you so bad that you nearly dropped the cup of coffee. The reveal did nothing to soothe your nerves and, instead, amped up the panic a lot more. Your head spun at the thought, and, while you hated to say it, all you could think about was the negatives.
What would your parents say when they found out your soulmate was Lee Jeno, of all people? The son of a CEO-and-politician, the son of a man who drowned in money, a person who was born rich and would die rich? They’d never leave you alone once finding out, demanding check after check to ensure they never said a word about their relation to the Lees. They’d torment you for the rest of your life, and you’d forever be stuck under their reign of terror, forever their child, forever their moneybag.
On top of that, you’d never have an accomplishment that was fully tied to you again. People would see you as a connection, and they’d give you opportunities based upon that connection rather than based on your natural ability. You’d be respected because of who your soulmate was, not because of who you were, and you’d end up like the women you saw on TV—lifeless dolls with the title of “wife” and nothing else.
You thought meeting your soulmate was supposed to be this fateful encounter under the stars, the moment where you met the one person who would love you most. You expected to be mystified, sent to a world of love and comfort, sent to a world where your problems were nonexistent and the sun was shining and the birds sang tales of love and togetherness. You wanted to feel as though you were being embraced by constellations, struck by Cupid’s arrow as you stared at the person the universe decided was your fateful match.
Instead, you stared at Lee Jeno, and all you could feel was an overwhelming sense of disappointment.
“Well,” you mumbled, unsure of what you should do now. “What now?”
He didn’t seem to have a direct answer, either, simply taking another sip of his coffee. You mentally questioned how he was able to consume something that hot without burning the hell out of his tongue, but that wasn’t something you needed to dwell on.
When he didn’t respond, you took it upon yourself to ask another question and drill until you got all the answers you wanted.
“How long have you known?”
This was something he seemed to know the answer to. Without skipping a beat, he replied, “Mark told me about eight months ago after he saw your name on the award listings.”
To that, you felt your heart dry out a little bit more than it already was. Eight months was a long time to wait after knowing who your soulmate might be, especially considering that, eight months ago, he could’ve easily contacted you before the break between school years began. Wanting more out of him, you stayed silent, still trying to figure out what exactly you were feeling at that moment.
“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure of it, but Suhyeon told me your initials about three months ago. That’s when my friends found out and started hounding me to tell you.”
Suhyeon? Last you checked, she was horrified by the thought of even being near the golden boys, let alone speaking to them. In what situation would she have been around them without you, especially given that she was talking to them? It seemed Lee Jeno was the sort of person who answered a question by creating more, which was something you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.
“So why now, then? You obviously weren’t in a hurry.”
He took another slow, awkward sip of his coffee, and, if you weren’t insane, it seemed like he was nervous to you. That ignited a sense of pride in you, and you wanted to assume most people would never stress Lee Jeno out in their lives. At the same time, you wanted to hurry things up and leave so that you wouldn’t have to think about him until you needed to.
“I have a family dinner next week, and my dad…my dad wants me to start talking to Lim Nayeong because he thinks I should marry her. No offense to Nayeong, but I’d rather die than marry her right out of high school, and you’re…the only way I can convince him otherwise.”
The room went dead silent. You were unsure how to respond to a declaration like that without being mean, and, with the quirk of your lips, you couldn’t help but allow the flood gates to open.
“I’m sorry, but how in the world am I supposed to help? In what world is marriage to me more advantageous? I'm a random hick from the countryside who got lucky and struck it big. If anything, I’d make your father more inclined to marry you off.” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous this was, a hand hovering over your mouth and your eyes filling with laughter-born tears. Jeno stared at you incredulously, not even reacting to your sudden outburst in the slightest.
“I’m sorry man, but you might be better off taking literally anybody else with the same initials as me. I’m not the help you need.”
“So you wouldn't care if your soulmate married someone else?”
The undertone of anger in his voice washed away your laughter in an instant, nearly making you jump. You dropped your hand to your lap, sighing—you wondered if you’d end up pouring out your whole life story to him tonight. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet my soulmate in hopes that they’d be some knight in shining armor. After these midterms, though, I’m thinking my scholarship is going to be revoked and I’ll be back to the land in the poor and underprivileged. Sorry, Jeno, but, once again, you’d be better off picking somebody else to bring along. I'm not going to let myself fall in love with something painfully unrealistic, even if that something is my universal other-half.”
Jeno seemed to be exasperated at every word that left your mouth, and you weren’t sure how you were meant to handle the increasing hostility that was starting to emanate from your supposed soulmate. The more things went south, the more you wanted to laugh and scream at yourself for thinking your soulmate would be some prince from a foreign land. You were so childish, thinking you’d get anything out of the whole ‘soulmate’ ruse—at least you’d be paid off after Nayeong got married to Jeno. Then, you might be able to emancipate yourself with a good lawyer and blackmail the Lees into more money for a nice, Seoul apartment to rent.
“Okay. Let’s make a bet, then. If you score over me in four out of the six subjects, you’ll be in my car on the way to my parents’ house next Friday. Deal?”
Even with your continued top-five status on the class leaderboards, you don’t think you’d ever managed to score above Lee Jeno in four subjects. The only things you consistently dominated in were English, Literature, and History—you’d achieved first place in all three during every single exam season you’d had at the academy—and the rest—sciences, math, anything STEM—you barely achieved the top five rankings that were required of you.
For some reason, you were antsy to receive your test scores, now. You’d never made a bet on whether or not you’d do worse than somebody, ever. It was nearly exhilarating, and you now felt there was a reward to the end of your scholarship: at the very, very least, you wouldn’t have to attend a Lee family dinner with Lee Jeno, who you were finding to be very unpleasant.
“Yeah, sure,” you scoffed, standing up from the couch and looking down at him. “Deal.”
With that, you approached the rows of books, leaving Jeno to consider what he thought he'd accomplish by bringing you along to anything.
iv. and most of the titans would spend eternity there.
Three days into break, and you haven’t done much of anything. Suhyeon was out with her other rich friends, her “very own posse” as she liked to call it, and had spent the past couple of days staying off campus—it left you with a lot of time to think.
For the most part, you wondered what would happen in the unlikely case Jeno won your bet. You’d never had to speak to someone like that, someone who wasn’t a wealthy teacher or classmate—his parents were the real, unbridled deal. People who spent thousands every day, not blinking an eye at four-digit totals or the state of their bank account.
It scared you. A lot.
You could dish out a big word now and then, offer a cordial smile, or impress with your general knowledge of the world, but there was nothing about you that would impress a multi-billionaire. Not even a party trick or a joke you’d spent a million years formulating.
That fear, rivaling the fear of expulsion, was what brought you to your current position in the corner of the campus on a rarely-cleaned picnic table, your head in your arms and your eyes trained towards a rose bush. According to the clock on your phone, class rankings had been posted eleven minutes ago, and you had no intention of checking any time soon.
Win or lose, there was no positive for you, and you didn't like that. In any other circumstance, retaining the ability to attend classes here and gaining letters of recommendation was the best possibility for you, as it would be for anyone else. However, the world had to curse you with an old-money, top-elite soulmate rather than an honest, just-rich-enough-to-afford-tuition soulmate—you seriously had run out of luck when you procured the scholarship.
“Oh? What are you doing out here, Miss Honor Student?” Na Jaemin asked, scaring you at the suddenness of his appearance. You jerked up, looking towards him flustered and a bit embarrassed. He looked at you questioningly, his hands cupped and held near his chest.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I suppose you asking makes more sense,” he laughed, approaching one of the rose bushes you’d been staring at. “I found a bee crawling on the ground. Poor thing has a broken wing,” he hummed, reaching his hands out to a flower. You didn’t try and second guess his words, believing his alibi without needing any proof. Instead, you looked away, your stomach crawling at the thought of carrying a bee across campus like that. “Although, haven’t rankings been posted? Anyone would expect you to be first in line.”
“I’m not worked up over it or anything,” you mumbled, resisting the urge to put your head back down and block him out of your world. “Going now would just yield a bunch of crowding around a tiny bulletin board. It’s too difficult.”
“If you started walking now, I’d bet the crowd’s mostly dissipated,” he suggested, coming back around to where he could be in your line of sight. “Want to walk together?”
Feeling cornered, you stood up, brushing the dust and dirt off the bottom of your bag. Jaemin smiled satisfyingly, offering an arm for you to take. In the most non-discreet way possible, you pretended to not see the offer, brushing past him quickly. He didn’t let the act bruise his ego, though, following behind you in earnest. You wondered if, due to your relationship with his best friend, he felt the need to ensure that you had no ill feelings towards him; or, maybe, he resonated with you, as both of you started at the academy much later than most of your classmates.
“I heard the big reveal didn’t go as nicely as it could have,” he began, keeping pace with you almost perfectly. Your steps were completely in sync, and you couldn’t help but notice how he’d done it on purpose rather than coincidentally. Another thing you’d heard about Na Jaemin was that he was a robot, but most people were joking when they said that—maybe, they could’ve been right.
“Well, we’re not exactly the most chemical pair.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” Jaemin said, lightly elbowing you in the arm. “He just doesn’t know how romance works. He’s all antsy right now because he told his dad to not invite Nayeong and her family to their very rare family dinners and used you as the excuse. I told him—I said, ‘Jeno, you can’t use your soulmate to get out of marriage unless you actually know your soulmate.’ And he got all pissy at me. I tried to make him make it the least bit romantic, but it sounds like he didn’t try at all.”
“He got me coffee.”
“Coffee is bitter and unromantic, though. I’d know.” Jaemin giggled, putting his arms behind his head. You approached the entrance to a corridor, which would effectively put you on the path to the bulletin. But, Jaemin took a sharp turn, leading you through the long way to get you there.
“Are you a ladies’ man? Romance-expert, or something?” you asked jokingly, not expecting any sort of genuine response. The closer you got to the truth made you start to get nervous again, words getting stuck at the top of your throat, impossible to speak yet impossible to swallow back down.
“Maybe I am.”
Jaemin looked towards you, giving you a look that you were half sure was him reading your mind and learning everything he possibly could about you. He was incredibly good at blending into you, even if you hadn’t talked much; everything he said coaxed more out of you, and every movement created a new line of conversation.
Every rumor you’d heard about him—so good at befriending people that it’s scary, a perfect speaker, the most eloquent student at the school—was proving to be true. He was monstrous, somebody you surely wouldn’t want to have on your bad side.
“You and I are similar, you know,” he said, tearing his away from you to look towards the door to the main school building. He opened it for you, waiting for you to enter before he did himself.
“How so?”
“My family’s new to this whole ‘rich and famous’ thing,” he began. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, watching as he looked up to the ceiling. His eyes glittered like stars, reflecting everything they saw to a T. “We’re, like, the ultimate definition of new money. My dad hit it big with Jeno’s dad, got on his good side, and became the chair of a subsidiary…so I’m in a limbo of sorts.”
“God, I wish my dad hit it big with Jeno’s,” you snorted, picking at the nail polish coating your fingers. “Is that why you came in at the beginning of high school rather than earlier?”
“My dad wanted me to experience a little bit of what he did, at the very least. Both my mom and dad thought it’d be too much if they moved me from here to a normal high school, though…thus, the order.”
You nodded, feeling a pang of fear as you turned a corner and a crowd of whispering teenagers came into view. Your conversation with Jaemin ended the moment they did, instead making way for what, no matter what, would be the worst moments of your life so far.
The moment you reached the crowd, people began to stare at you, whispering under their breaths as they passed. It was like being the center exhibit at an expensive art show, being a piece made entirely for public reaction. The more you walked, the more the red sea parted, giving you a clear path to the bulletin board. Within seconds, you’d reached it, scanning from the bottom up.
Number two was Jeno, to no one’s surprise. In order, his rankings had been second for English, second for history, second for literature, first for math, second for science, and second in his elective.
One above him was you.
First in English. First in history. First in literature. Second for math. First for science. First for your elective.
At that moment, you could’ve passed out. You stared at the line of ones (and a single two) in front of you, wondering how in the world you achieve something like that. For the past two years, you’d battled against private tutors and possible instances of cheating, always barely being able to hit the mark for every single subject. You never struggled in any of the humanities, but…second in math after your catastrophe of a test and first in science—physics specifically—felt like an absolute lie to you.
It felt unreal. It felt like you’d become the kids whose parents paid for their grades, who spent hours with private tutors that cost hundreds of thousands of won per hour. It felt like, somehow, you’d hit a peak even though you were only seventeen.
Your ears seemed to open, hearing everything the students around you said. “She’s never let Lee Jeno pass her once,” someone said, whispering to their friend.
“Do you think she gave him math as a pity grade? I heard they were in the same time slot last Thursday.”
You blinked rapidly, trying to figure things out amongst the chatter. Every word that came out of your peers' mouths was a word that clouded your mind, creating new ideas that you’d never once considered.
“She’s a commoner and she’s beating Lee Jeno. That ought to hurt the Lee name, right?”
Since when have you become Jeno’s rival? For a simple stroke of luck on a few tests? You felt like you were going insane, your feet cemented to the floor and your hands shaking from the rush of adrenaline, mixed with an intense and sudden wave of relief, that came with reading your scholarship was intact.
“Protip,” Jaemin said, grabbing your attention with ease. He seemed to drag you back down to Earth, returning you to the pedestal on which you were expected to carry the world. “There’s only one thing that’ll put you above the title of student council president and daughter of a filthy rich tech couple, and that’s this.”
“Nayeong ranks first every year, too. This’ll barely help.”
“I don’t think so,” Jaemin chuckled. You looked at him, raising an accusatory brow; he mirrored your expression, looking down at you with eyes that sparkled with mischief and utter madness. “Miss Nayeong ranked seventh this time around.”
v. unlike his fellow titans, atlas had a different punishment.
There wasn’t a single word to be shared between you and Jeno, and you couldn’t ever see yourself getting to a point where there was.
After he’d sent you a text—where he got your number, you’re unsure—asking for your general clothing measurements, then dropping off a dress with a price tag you never, ever wanted to face again, you hadn’t spoken a word to each other.
Even as you climbed into the sleek, black car that waited for you about a couple of blocks away from campus, he didn’t so much as greet you, deciding that telling the driver to get going was a much better use of his time. For the man who got so upset when you showed little to no care about your soulmate status, you were quite surprised at his unwillingness to speak to you.
A part of you wanted to keep up the silence, to ignore the slight tug in your heart and the fact that you needed to know at least something about him so his parents didn’t get suspicious, but you weren’t going to embarrass yourself with him. Especially not in front of the moneybags that he called parents.
So, when you reached about ten minutes before your estimated time of arrival at a fancy hotel (rather than his house, which was the former location of this family dinner), you began to fiddle with your handbag, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper.
“This is my transcript thus far,” you said, breaking the silence between you two. He looked away from the window, staring down at the hand that carried the paper. “Someone told me your dad was big on grades. Thought it’d be useful for your argument.”
He pulled it from your fingertips, much gentler than you’d assume from Lee Jeno, and his eyes lingered on your hands. You’d painted your nails for the occasion, wiping off the half-chipped coat you previously had on in favor of a nicer, more sophisticated color. It matched the dress well, along with the makeup you’d begged Suhyeon to help you put on without telling her the occasion for it.
“Nice job on the nails,” he commented, looking away from them and putting the folded piece of paper in his pocket. “You look expensive.”
“Is that not the goal?”
“That’s precisely the goal. I need you to look like I dote on you,” Jeno mumbled, dropping his hands into his lap. “Sorry, but I’m going to really play up the scholarship student thing.”
“No worries. I understand not wanting to marry someone you don’t know.”
The more you thought about it, the more you began to pity him. Worrying about a money-based arranged marriage was a very first-world-problems-esque issue to be having, you could respect that it was something he didn’t want. You just wished he was asking you to be his scapegoat as a lie rather than as a reality—you’d feel much better if you were pretending to be his soulmate.
“I don’t think my father will be too interested in the details of our relationship, he’ll just want proof you’ll be able to measure up to Nayeong,” Jeno said, ignoring your earlier comment. “Activities, grades, I don’t care what, play up everything about yourself. He doesn’t care about in-laws, he cares about the money you can bring in.”
“Wow, sounds like a lovely man.”
Jeno cleared his throat, made uncomfortable by your short quip. “He is when he’s not talking about his paycheck.”
To you, it sounded like Jeno was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you, but you weren’t in the mood to pry. Instead, you looked out the window once again, cringing at how snowy and cold it looked outside. You were going to freeze in this dress, even when you were wearing insulated tights underneath, even when it was long-sleeved and pretty thick.
When the hotel came into view, you embarrassingly recognized it as a place many social media celebrities enjoyed coming to. In your few moments of off time, you were sure you’d seen the outside in a few lifestyle vlogs or food review videos. It was fairly trendy; you had to give Jeno’s parents props for that.
Opposite to your reaction, Jeno scoffed at the sight of the luxury inn, evidently unsatisfied with it. “Of course she’d pick here,” he murmured to himself. You wondered if his siblings—who were going to be attending as you’d learned this morning—had been in charge of picking the restaurant, which would make more sense given its online reputation. He shared that he had two younger sisters and a younger brother, all of whom weren’t in high school yet, so you’d never met them or seen them before.
The driver pulled up to the extravagant porte-cochere—the fancy driveway outside of a hotel, which Suhyeon had taught you the name of—and slowed to a stop, but neither you nor Jeno moved.
“Remember,” he said, putting on the coaching voice he used to relay this to you earlier. “My mom will be the weak spot, so focus on her more than my dad. We both need to fight when my father grows argumentative, but you need to be more tactical and logical. My siblings will be on our side so don’t try to make a case to them.”
“What are their names again?”
“In order, Yeojin, Soeun, and Sunwoo.”
You recited their names, wondering why Jeno had received such an odd name compared to the rest of them. Nevertheless, you made the first move to exit the stationary car, regretting it the moment the night air hit your skin. A deep chill cemented itself in your stomach, and you began to wonder how it managed to be so unimaginably cold at all. Jeno followed behind you, mumbling something else as he joined you outside.
You briefly considered how this was going to go, given you’d never tried to act like you were in love with someone before. You were sure Jeno was a pro at fabricating things, plastering on disingenuous smiles and acting interested in the monetary, arrogant talk of wealthy adults. The most you’d done was work at your local convenience store for a summer.
The moment he joined up next to you, he linked his arm with yours, and you were off. You were thankful for the warmth you received from him, even if it was slightly uncomfortable given your situation. You preferred being warm over being comfortable in most situations.
The doors slid open automatically, leading you into a world entirely separate from your own. You tried to suppress the urge to ogle at everything, to approach the plants that lined the lobby and check if they were real, to run for the sole purpose of hearing your heels clack against the marble floor. You kept your jaw screwed shut and your eyes forward, even if all you wanted to do was “ooh” at the chandeliers on the ceiling.
You’d never forget this moment. Being a customer at a place you’d exclusively seen through rich influencers’ and celebrities’ social media felt ridiculous.
One glance up was all you allowed yourself—a simple, lingering stare—but it put you in last place anyway. When you looked back down, there was a girl, no older than 15, sprinting towards you, a big smile on her face. Jeno dropped your arm and pulled the girl into a hug, a smile blooming on his face as he did. You’d never seen him smile so genuinely in your life.
Another girl came forward as well, but she came slower, more timidly. She was certainly younger than the other girl, maybe around 11 or 12, with her hair done much simpler and her clothes much more juvenile. She passed by Jeno and (who you assumed to be) his sister, stopping in front of you. “Um, hello,” she said. You smiled, assuming this was when your grand performance was to begin.
“Hello there,” you replied, feeling a surge of confidence run through you. “Soeun, right?”
Her eyes practically doubled in size for a moment, and you hoped that meant your leap-in-the-dark guess had been correct. “Um, yeah. You’re [First], right?”
“That would be me, yes.”
Soeun opened her mouth to speak, but Yeojin quickly cut her off by dragging you into a highly unwelcome hug. You ignored the discomfort, reaching your arms around her and giving her a few awkward pats. “It’s so fun to meet you!” Yeojin squealed, and you briefly wondered how long Jeno had been telling his family about you before he directly told you.
“Yeojin,” Jeno said, a warning-esque tone in his voice. “Lay off a bit.”
You felt her freeze and then she immediately let go of you, practically pushing her off. A hand covered her mouth—her nails were perfectly manicured, done much better than your self-painted ones—and she gasped, and now you felt a bit overwhelmed by her. Soeun, to Yeojin’s side, looked away, her eyes shiny and a bit saddened; while she certainly wasn’t living a life anything similar to yours, you could see yourself in her, a bit.
“Sorry, I forget we’ve never met. You’re, like, big news on the lower grade campus,” Yeojin said. “Among the second years, you’re like a superhero or something. First place without a tutor! Rare, one-in-a-million scholarship student! I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.”
Well, that was certainly something you didn’t want to hear. Yeojin was already the type of person you couldn’t handle well, if the past few minutes were anything to go off of, and she’d shared mildly upsetting information with you already. You didn’t want to be popular among middle schoolers at all.
“That’s nice, I suppose. Maybe a bit worrying,” you joked, and Yeojin seemed to think you were a comedian by the way she laughed. Jeno looked at you both, obviously sensing your lack of social capability. and chose that moment to switch the attention to Soeun.
“Do you want to lead us to our table, Soeun?” he asked, taking your arm into his once again. Now that you were in the warm, heated hotel, the gesture only made you feel uncomfortable rather than warmed. If you were eating outside, maybe you’d be able to handle any skinship he initiated to make your relationship seem more believable—you supposed that either way, you signed up for this.
Yeojin squealed at you two, though, which made everything about this so much less worth it. After being surrounded by high schoolers and adults for two entire years, you’d forgotten how insufferable 14-year-olds were, and, somehow, Yeojin had managed to assume the worst form of 14-year-old possible. You felt bad for her older self, who would, inevitably, look back on this period of her life with misery rather than fondness.
Soeun took the lead as she was asked to do, shuffling her feet across the marble flooring. It didn’t take long for Yeojin to take the lead, beginning to chatter on about something you managed to tune out pretty quickly. You took the time to gaze at the beauty around you, from intricate flower pots to huge pieces of art that lined the walls. This felt fake, almost, and you wondered how you’d managed to get this lucky with the game of fate. If only a future between you and Jeno felt plausible.
Soeun (more so Yeojin) led you up a set of marble stairs, and then, into a long, dimly lit corridor. It was filled with paintings and lined with the most beautifully-installed marble you’d ever seen. Then, you reached the door at the end, which was made of glass and had insanely intricate carvings on it. Along with that, it had the words “The Aviary” engraved onto the one empty spot among the carvings.
You felt faint. For a moment, you wondered how much Jeno’s parents’ bill would be for this meal, and then you decided to mentally scold yourself for even wondering that in the first place. Yeojin pushed the door open, letting both you and Soeun pass.
The Aviary was, quite possibly, the fanciest restaurant you’d ever been in. It had chandeliers everywhere and thin, walkable carpet on the floors, along with more art that lined every inch of the wall it possibly could. Every table had a pure white table cloth and velvet chairs, each one already perfectly set with a million different utensils and candles that lined the span of it. Soeun continued to lead you deeper into the restaurant. past waiters and tables and windows that showed a more elevated view of Seoul than you were expecting.
You must’ve missed scaling such a massive hill when you were on your way here, mostly due to the internal panic you were fighting off the entire time. You tried to suppress your ogling again, looking towards the floor and hoping you didn’t look like an absolute idiot.
Soeun then led you through a door and into another hallway, this one lined with several doors. She approached the one at the edge once again, and Yeojin beat her to the door again, opening it and waiting for you to enter.
You were instantly hit with the view of Lee Jeno’s father, who looked like your biggest fear. Next to him was his wife, Jeno’s mother, and a few chairs down was a boy who seemed to be about 15 as well, absorbed in his phone and dead to the world.
It kind of felt like you were about to undergo the reckoning, and your final opponents were every relevant religious figure. Every breath that escaped Jeno’s parents’ lips was revered and every blink was well documented, every lost eyelash and every slight movement was taken note of. It’d be accurate to say that Jeno’s parents were more important than the prime minister—they brought in the money and held up the economy, while all the prime minister did was sit and twiddle his fingers.
“You must be [First],” Jeno’s mother said, standing. A small smile graced her features, one that looked and felt apologetic. One glance at the man next to her told you all you needed to know about why she might’ve been apologetic.
“Yes,” you nodded, smiling back. You pulled your arm from Jeno’s, giving her a deep bow; most of the time, you’d learned those wealthier (and older) than you enjoyed the robotic, hardly-genuine signs of respect that most other adults in your life had abandoned. When you stood up straight again, you were pleased to see the impressed glint in her eyes.
“I’m Jeno’s mother,” she introduced, although you found it to be a bit redundant.
“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am. I’ve heard much about you.”
You hoped she didn’t inquire about any knowledge of their family, as, other than basic facts and events, you knew next to nothing about their personal lives. Jeno’s mother took a seat, motioning to the chairs in front of her and her husband. You allowed Jeno to pull your chair out, internally questioning whether or not anyone had ever pulled your chair out for you.
The velvet seats were more comfortable than any seat you’d ever owned, from your desk chair at school to the lousy, old couch back at your parents' house. You couldn’t imagine how much they’d cost the restaurant, given that every single table had a set of at least four. Even if Jeno’s dad stared at you like you were the grossest, most disgusting thing you’d ever seen, at least you’d get to sit in this chair and eat the restaurant’s food.
“It’s lovely to see you again too, dear,” Mrs. Lee said, giving Jeno a new type of smile. This one was much different than the one she’d offered you—everything about this one carried a mother’s warmth, a mother’s love, drenched in such intense care that nothing could shake it. Jeno could’ve entered this restaurant in his unwashed gym clothes and she would’ve offered the same smile, unchanged and unshaken.
“Mother,” Jeno greeted with a nod. Then, he turned to his father and extended a steady glare. His father glared back, and, as Yeojin and Soeun took their seats next to Sunwoo, a subtle air of war settled over the table. There would be nothing pleasant about this dinner, even if the food was perfect and the view was delightful.
You took the moment of silence to remind yourself that this was not much of a dinner, rather, it was a challenge. A test to see if you were worthy to wed to Jeno one day, and a challenge to see if you could keep up the perfect-soulmate act to void any sort of marriage contract to Nayeong.
“Mr. Lee,” you said, taking the initiative to speak to your strongest opponent. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, as well. Jeno speaks of you very highly.”
When he looked toward you, your blood ran cold. His stare, now protruding into your eyes rather than the side of your head, was icy and unwelcoming like you’d just beat him in a lawsuit or nothing. He was an unbreakable wall, and you told yourself that you only needed to find the single crack that was caused by love for his eldest son as if it would be easy.
“You’re the academy’s charity case for Jeno’s year, correct?”
Ouch. What an obvious insult, among the many he could’ve thrown at you—you were almost impressed that he didn’t even try to hide his hostility. You’d thought that, at the very least, he’d try to maintain his usual TV persona, but maybe you overestimated your worthiness of receiving that sort of respect. Before you could smile and tell him, yes, you are the charity case, Jeno flared up, ready to spit false fire at his father.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn't call my girlfriend a charity case, Father,” Jeno spat, eyes narrowed. You instinctively put a hand on his shoulder, figuring this would be a good, caring gesture given the situation. Being called somebody’s girlfriend felt foreign, but you supposed it wouldn’t be the best idea to disclose that. After all, this would likely be your one chance to impress him, if you had to guess. You were well acquainted with the idea of being a charity case, hell, you agreed.
“No, he’s right. If they didn’t have to maintain their image, they wouldn’t have the scholarship exams at all,” you said, keeping your eyes on Jeno’s father. Slowly, you dropped your hand from his shoulder, leaning back on the chair and ignoring the pounding of your heart. “Nevertheless, I am fully confident in my abilities. I deserve to be at a school like the academy. Even if I must endure a title like ‘charity case.’”
Jeno’s father turned his eyes towards Jeno and then back at you, the glare never faltering. You wondered how a single man harbored so much malice, and how Jeno saw his father in a good light. He seemed bitter and controlling, angry that his son—his next-of-kin, the boy who would one day be the king of his corporate kingdom—refused to marry a woman he did not know, right out of high school.
He did not say anything in return to your response, rather, picking up his delicately folded, fabric napkin and unraveling it to place on his lap. You mimicked his actions, remembering how Suhyeon once mentioned that you shouldn’t do something until the lead of the table has (among many other things she decided to recite to you one late night, so you could’ve been completely off the mark with that one). However, judging by the way everyone else seemed to do the same shortly after you, you assumed you guessed right.
“Jeno shared that you’re quite the prodigy, though, [First]. I mean, to be able to hold your own amongst children who have top-notch private tutors and spend all their time studying…I couldn’t imagine doing something like that,” Jeno’s mom said, trying to salvage what her husband destroyed. “If you weren’t so busy with your own schoolwork, I’d hire you to tutor the girls.”
“I’m honored you’d entrust me with furthering your children’s education,” you smiled, picking up the glass of water that was filled before you came in. You attempted to hold it as daintily as possible, taking the shortest, most sophisticated sip you could muster.
“Is that not what’s expected of her, though?” Jeno’s father was apparently determined to ruin your day, likely to destroy what little confidence you had and remove you from the academy (and Jeno’s life) completely. “It’s not impressive when she is merely fulfilling what is asked of her.”
You pondered what might’ve put his father on edge so quickly. You’d barely spoken to this man at all, let alone been in the same room as him, and he was already determined to get rid of you. Perhaps that was why he moved the dinner location from his home to here—he didn’t want this to be an official “meet-the-parents” event. He wanted it to be a family dinner without your presence at all.
You figured he would be thrilled to hear that you and his son likely had no future together.
“Is she not going above and beyond? If she was just meeting the scholarship requirements, why is she first place instead of fifth?” Jeno questioned, leaning back in his chair. You looked over, and, from the expression on his face, Jeno seemed actually upset. His ears were tinged red and his face was tight, and, with a quick once over, you could see that his fists were clenched and his shoulders were fairly tight.
To be honest, you couldn’t blame him. If you had to listen to your father reject your soulmate in favor of a random girl you barely knew, you’d be pretty pissed off too, no matter your relationship with your soulmate.
“Because she spends every second of the day with her head in a book, Jeno. Not because she has natural talent, or because she’s the prodigy your school claims she is,” he fired back. If you held any respect for Jeno’s father, you’d be utterly destroyed; luckily, you had no respect for any man that ran a company that was hinged on the work of underpaid laypeople, so you were unscathed by his words. “Nayeong is student council president, holds herself in the top five, does service whenever she can…and your little soulmate is relying on her connection to you to make anything of herself.”
You audibly snorted at that, raising an eyebrow. “I am?” you questioned, crossing your legs. A sick sense of amusement filled your chest, along with a burst of confidence. “With all due respect, sir, I did not aim for my scholarship with the intent of striking gold with my soulmate or significant other. I aimed for it because the only way I can make anything of myself is with my grades, because my mother didn’t give birth to me on a bed of cash.”
Jeno began to speak right after you, not granting any time for his father to reply to you. “Besides,” he said, slamming two pieces of paper—unfolded and crinkled—onto the table. “Nayeong got seventh this year.”
His father scanned over the papers, which you realized were both yours and Lim Nayeong’s transcripts. Yours, from where you sat, had nothing but ones, twos, and the occasional three or four, while hers had fours, fives, and even nines, without a single one in sight. Nayeong’s grades were nothing to be ashamed of given how busy she was with everything else, but next to yours, they didn’t measure up in the slightest.
It made you feel embarrassed. It made you want to say, “there is still not much of a difference between Nayeong and me, I just scored a few points more.”
“So compared to a girl with sevens, a student council position, and a respectable family,” Jeno’s father said slowly, returning to his complete ignorance of you. “You’d rather spend the rest of your life with a poor, unsightly girl who has slightly impressive grades, alcoholic parents, and a drug-addicted brother in prison?”
Your blood ran cold. Jeno’s jaw clenched, and his mother gasped, turning towards her husband and slapping his shoulder. “You promised me you wouldn’t bring that up—” she began but was quickly cut off by Jeno standing so suddenly that his chair fell over, banging against the ground and causing everybody to flinch. You looked up at him, an emptiness spreading through your chest.
“Talk to my girlfriend like that again,” he began, clenching his fists so hard that his hands began to shake. “And I will end you.”
He didn’t waste a moment turning towards the door, throwing it open, and marching out. You stood up quickly, albeit much more gracefully, draping the fabric napkin over the back of your chair and racing out of the room without another word. You didn’t look back, keeping your eyes on Jeno’s shrinking figure and walking as fast as you could without speeding up to a run. You sped through the restaurant, out into the lobby and past all the glitz and glamor of the hotel. By the time you caught up to him, Jeno was standing outside in the empty entry area, typing furiously on his phone.
“You—you didn’t have to blow up like that. I mean, we were just acting, and I can’t say I wasn’t expecting him to know.”
Jeno turned towards you, scoffing. “I just don’t get it.”
“Huh?” You tilted your head, wondering why he sounded so…mean. Angry, even.
“You’re perfect,” he said, looking up at the darkened sky. The lighting from the hotel entrance lit up his face, every feature and every imperfection (although scarce) perfectly on display, but you could’ve sworn the stars were what lit up his eyes. They sparkled like fireworks, the kind that was loud and Earth-shaking. “Everything about you. You’re pretty, you’re perfectly intelligent, you know how to speak to people and you know how to get your point across. You know when to smile and when to not. You know how to meet new people and try new things.”
You were confused. He launched compliment after compliment at you, but he sounded almost…bitter about it. Like he was unhappy you were all those things.
‘Um…” you mumbled, but couldn’t find the words to respond. You just stared, waiting for him to say anything, feeling the cold dive deeper into your skin—under your skin—and each shiver become more intense.
“There’s not a single thing you don’t beat me in but money. So what if you have terrible parents and an awful family, because you’re the picture-perfect poster girl—hell, you’re more than that. You have the perfect underdog story too, and he still hates you. He still prefers that—that witch,” he rambled, looking down and kicking a pebble that was next to his feet. “What does that mean for me? If you’re so terrible, so average despite your grades and your reputation, does that not mean I’m a failure of a son?”
“What? Jeno, I think you’re overreacting—”
“Oh, am I?” he turned, shoving his hands into his blazer pockets. “You’ve been ahead of me from the moment you stepped onto that god-forsaken campus, and you’ve given me, what, math as reparations? Every year, I have to use the excuse that I have the scholarship student to compete with, and that’s why I’m not the perfect top of the class, but he views you as obsolete. Doesn’t that mean I’m worse than obsolete? Huh?”
“Well, other than the fact that you’re agreeing with him,” you said, crossing your arms. “What does it matter what he thinks? Even if he gives his business to one of your siblings, you’ll still be drowning in cash. So what if you get married to Nayeong? Just cheat on her, or something, because, if she’s such a witch,” you paused, emphasizing your distaste with his nickname for her, “won’t she do the same?”
“How are you so okay with this?” he asked, raising his voice in the slightest. “You found out I was your soulmate and you didn’t even try to make a connection. You were okay with me using you to sidestep my father’s plans for me, you were okay with him relentlessly insulting you until it had something to do with your private life—why?”
“Why? Would you like it if a man you’d never met brought up your terrible at-home life and decided to equate it to you being terrible? I know my strengths, I know who I am, but it’s not very nice to be compared to 4 siblings who didn’t even attempt university and parents who barely work,” you replied, wondering why he was getting so upset. Minutes ago, he was spewing lines straight out of a drama, but now he was mobilizing against you, too. The worst part was that you couldn’t match his energy at all—maybe it was reactionary to the fact that you no longer had to sit through a dinner with his parents, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel angry.
You were realizing that Jeno viewed you as a rival, while you never had. Before the past week, he was just another golden boy, one of the boys Suhyeon hated, one of the fancy popular boys you’d never talk to. It seemed as though he’d viewed you as an opponent from your first round of exams.
You felt bad, for some reason—guilty even. As if this was something you were meant to feel guilty for. You couldn’t imagine Jeno had been exactly thrilled when he found out you were his soulmate—judging by how long it took him to tell you, he wasn’t thrilled at all—and yet he was acting like you’d ruined his life.
You didn’t get it.
“You’re ridiculous.” Jeno laughed breathily, pacing around a bit. All you could do was watch, even when a car pulled up in front of you, likely for him to make his grand escape. “Jaemin was wrong. This was never going to work.”
“Did you ever think it was?” you rose a brow, suppressing a shiver that was beginning to creep down your back. “Sorry, Jeno, but we were destined for destruction. Even if we tried to foster something, that wouldn’t stop my parents from approaching the tabloids, and it wouldn’t stop the tabloids from painting me as a money-grabbing asshole. Count your blessings, okay? You’ll have everything and more. A loveless marriage is the least you need to deal with.”
He spun towards you, narrowing his eyes. “Just because I have money or a fancy house does not mean my life will be easy.”
You widened your eyes, nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”
“Just—just get in the car. Leave, please.”
You turned towards the sleek, black car that was parked beside you. Without another word, you walked towards it, throwing the door open and basking in the heat that emanated out of it. You got in, slamming the door behind you, and watched Jeno get smaller and smaller as the driver drove you farther and farther away.
vi. instead of being banished to tartarus,
Suhyeon knows.
You can tell by the way she interacts with you, by the way she avoids you in the halls and stays out of the dorm until she absolutely can’t anymore. You can tell by the way she doesn’t interrupt your incessant studying, reignited by the end of break and the beginning of a new term, with mindless hypotheticals and useless facts. You can tell by the way she slips into her fight-or-flight persona when she speaks to you, the same person when she’s near the golden boys.
Reasonably, you’ve also begun to believe she’s not telling you something. Maybe you’ve always believed that, but it’s to a much larger extent now; there’s something important she’s not telling you. You’ve also concluded she was aware Jeno was your soulmate, but, for whatever reason, she chose not to tell you.
You can’t bring yourself to feel angry, no matter what you do, no matter how much you think about it. It stresses you out, how numb you feel in regards to your situation, how numb you’ve felt for the past two years or so. All your energy, and, by extension, all your emotions, have been poured into your grades and your social standing among professors and academic greats. There’s nothing left over to feel something for your own misgivings, unless it’s about school or your future.
It’s miserable here. Everything is miserable. But, if you give up, if you stop going, you’ll be trapped under the thumb of your parents forever, and you cannot live like that. No matter what, you cannot live like that.
“I see what you’re saying, [First],” Dr. Choi hummed, writing a few things down on her clipboard. “If you want me to be entirely honest with you, there’s not a single student on this campus that’s gone through anything as tough as you’re going through. Even if they’re being forced into an arranged marriage, even if they’re underestimated and outcasted by their parents. At the end of the day, unless they’re kicked out—which they won’t be—nobody here will ever know ‘struggle’ like you do.”
You want to feel vindicated by Dr. Choi’s words, but you simply can’t. You feel tired, overworked and underappreciated, and want nothing more than to return to your dorm room and go to bed.
“But, this ‘numbness’ you’re feeling…you say you’ve felt like this for a while?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m not one to deny things—it’s not my job to deny things—but I can safely say that’s likely not the case. Before last week, you had a good work-life balance…mostly…and you were happy. You never came to my office because you didn’t need to,” Dr. Choi said, causing you to look up at her from the coffee table between you. Her gaze was distressing, halfway implying she knew something you didn’t.
“What do you mean?”
“It feels similar, sure, because the only thing stressing you out then was school. Now, there’s two things, but only one is stressing you out…and you say you can’t feel anything else. It’s because you’re rejecting your soulmate.”
“Excuse me?”
“As far-fetched as it sounds, it’s true. Biologists like to say the concept of soulmates is nigh useless, and that the only thing denoting it is the little marking on your body, but…cognitive science says otherwise. Think of Jeno as half of your brain—the feeling part of your brain—and you’re the functioning part. He’s feeling too many emotions right now, and you’re feeling none, while he’s likely having trouble finding the motivation to do much of anything,” she explained. “It’s certainly not impossible to live without your soulmate, but rejecting them is a bit different. You’ll get over it one day, or you won’t, but for now it’ll be awful.”
You stayed silent, looking back down at the coffee table. You supposed it made sense, and she was right, you hadn’t worried about much other than your grades for the past two years. Your parents and family were always buzzing in the background, heightening your school stress by proxy, especially right now.
You didn’t like seeing Dr. Choi because it felt like she could never understand you, but perhaps she was making a solid point right now.
“So I just have to wait?”
“Yes. But, if you want my honest opinion, I don’t think anyone should attempt to reject their soulmate at 17,” she sighed, writing something else down on her clipboard. “You don’t know what love is, or what this is supposed to feel like. You feel like the world is ending because you’re not having the ‘love at first sight’ situation the TV tells you about. Try to form a relationship with him, even if it’s just a friendship, and don’t cut him out entirely. You’ll probably regret it later on.”
You doubted that, but you nodded like you were agreeing with her. She put her clipboard down on the table, allowing you to see your printed name and then tons of incomprehensible scribbles that only Dr. Choi could read. “Time’s up for today, unfortunately, as I have another student coming in. Don’t tell her I said she doesn’t know what struggle is, okay?”
You smiled hollowly, nodding. You stood up from the couch, picking up a hard candy from the bowl she kept on the table, considering that to be your reward for coming into the counselor’s office in the first place.
It was too bad you’d disregard all of her advice. At the end of the day, you were a teenager, and anything an adult said felt like an utter lie. You approached the office door, sliding it open and emerging into the hall. You wished the counselor’s office hadn’t been so far across campus, because now you had a far walk through the cold courtyard back to the dorm.
If they’d just put it in one of the class buildings rather than in the faculty building, your life would be much easier.
“Oh, [First]?”
You froze, turning your head to see the one-and-only Na Jaemin behind you. He sped up a bit, stopping as he reached your side. “Long time no see, genius. How are you?”
“Fine.”
You proceeded walking, as did he, keeping himself in step next to you. “Out of the counselor’s office? I heard once that they require you to go at least once a month for, y’know, academic stress. Rumor has it a scholarship student once offed himself because everything got too difficult.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumor. It’s not required but every teacher encourages it more than I’d like them to,” you explained, unwrapping the pink hard candy and popping it in your mouth. Behind you, you heard the telling squeak of the counselor’s office door, and, out of curiosity, you turned to see who was going in after you.
Lim Nayeong. The coincidence could’ve made you laugh.
“It’s required for the student council, though. I guess being the quasi-leaders of the school is a bit harder than being the public reputation,” you joked, feeling the slightest bit relieved hearing Jaemin laugh in response.
“I guess so,” he replied, stopping you both at the elevator rather than the stairs. You sighed, suppressing the urge to say the stairs were always faster as he’d already pressed the shiny ‘down’ button. You could’ve walked off without him, but you weren’t an asshole, and if he wanted to walk with you, he could. The doors opened quickly, letting off a monotonous ‘ding’ as a result. Jaemin held his arm out, waiting for you to step inside before he did.
He was very gentlemanly, and you briefly considered that he was showing you his TV persona as an apology for not getting to receive Jeno’s father’s. Or, maybe, he was extending an apology from his own father, who somehow heard about how terribly you were treated.
“Look, Jeno didn’t mean it. He’s stressed about the thought of being tied down the moment he graduates, and he’s looking for every single way out. He thought you were a fool-proof plan, but he underestimated how far his father could go, and…well…”
It was more reasonable for Jaemin to be apologizing for Jeno. You weren’t very surprised that this was his main reason for talking to you, but you’d wished it would’ve been something more fulfilling than a secondary apology from Jeno.
“I don’t care. He can do what he wants, I’m not going to tell him how he can and can’t feel.”
“Okay, I’m gonna cut straight to the point,” Jaemin said, turning so that his whole body could face you. You gave him a judgmental look, wholly uninterested in whatever he was going to say to you. “Don’t reject Jeno now, all right? Wait until summer or something. For you, you just feel a little off, or, rather, you feel nothing at all, but this is practically overhauling everything in Jeno’s life. He nearly unfriended Donghyuck earlier because of a simple quip, and he can barely do anything without getting upset over it.”
“Do you think I can just…stop? I don’t feel any connection to him,” you said, hoping the elevator would hurry up. You cursed it for being so slow and old. “I don’t know what to tell you. I…I just don’t know.”
The lights on the elevator went off, and it jerked to a stop. You looked up, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re kidding me. Holy shit. You’re kidding me.”
You pressed your back to the wall of the elevator, sliding down to the floor. Jaemin didn’t say anything, but he pulled his phone out pretty quickly, typing frantically. You slid yours out as well, shocked to see a couple of texts from Suhyeon.
“hey where are you rn? we were just called down into the lounge,” read the first text. “god are you at the counselor’s office still? they’re not telling us what’s going on.”
You typed a quick response, saying you were still in the faculty building but the power went out as you were in the elevator. You hoped she didn’t question your elevator usage, putting your phone back into your pocket and ignoring the buzzing that ensued.
Jaemin was typing furiously from what you could see, the light from his phone being the only thing illuminating the elevator. He furrowed his brows, turning to look down at you. “Have you heard anything about what’s happening from anyone? None of my friends know, but they’ve all been gathered together for a while.”
“All I heard was that nobody was saying what’s happening.”
The moment you stopped talking, the lights flicked on, and the elevator began moving. You stood up, furrowing your brows as the floor counter turned from a “2” to a “1.”
When the doors opened, you were hit with a wave of heat and pure, black smoke. You began choking on the air, but Jaemin was fast acting and began to jam the “close door” button, along with the third floor button—where you’d just come from. The doors didn’t close fast enough, and the smoke began to spread into the elevator, making your eyes water and your lungs hurt. By the time the doors finally closed, there was enough smoke to keep you coughing, even if your shirt was haphazardly thrown over your mouth and nose.
The elevator began moving up, and a wave of panic blew through you. It broke through whatever invisible filter that had been causing you to feel numb for the past week or so, and a self-composed prayer fell past your lips, between coughs, over and over again: “please, go up, please, go up.”
The elevator seemed to move at a snail’s pace, but, as long as it was moving, you didn't care. Given how you’d just been up on the third floor, there was absolutely no way the fire had spread that far—the only issue was that there wasn’t exactly a staircase leading from the third floor down to the ground of the snowy outdoors.
“Someone’s setting the school on fire,” Jaemin said between coughs. “Some guy. Most everybody’s evacuated, but they apparently forgot us.”
“Maybe because they couldn’t get inside?” you shot back, feeling a wave of relief—not nearly strong enough to overpower the panic—when the “4” appeared on the screen. “Why the fuck didn’t the fire alarm go off?”
“Because this building is ancient and they’ve never thought to replace it,” Jaemin half-hissed. The doors opened to reveal a smokeless third floor, but, upon walking out, you learned the heat had reached the floor along with the scent of smoke.
“The counselor’s door is still closed,” you pointed out, not wasting a moment to begin walking that way. “They’re either still in there, or they found a way out.”
You refused to consider that they’d left and closed the door behind them, not wanting to believe you were stuck in a burning building with no way out. Suddenly, Jaemin slipped in a way that he slid, falling straight onto his back. You looked down at the floor, realizing it had been completely doused in what you could only assume was oil.
“No time to wait!” you exclaimed, bending down and grabbing Jaemin’s arm. You practically yanked him up from the floor, dragging him along with you while he stumbled trying to keep his footing. You made it to the counselor room’s door, throwing it open and rejoicing to the heavens that there was an open window.
You rushed towards it, letting go of Jaemin, who went back and slammed the door shut. You looked out of it, noticing Dr. Choi on the roof below it, helping Lim Nayeong get down to the ground. “Doctor!” you screeched, grabbing her attention. She looked up the moment Nayeong had made it to the ground, standing and turning towards you.
“Come on!” she yelled, waving her hands at you. Jaemin came up behind you, beginning to help you shove yourself through the small window in front of you. You mentally thanked him for lifting you up, allowing for you to go feet first rather than head first. You let yourself fall down to the rooftop, cringing at the pain in your ankle as you landed. You
Dr. Choi rushed towards you, looking up at Jaemin, who began to extract himself from the building as well.
“What’s going on?” you asked, coughing out more of the smoke you inhaled earlier.
“Someone’s trying to burn down the school and they started with the faculty building first,” she said, a little too calm for the situation at hand. Jaemin landed in front of her, also wincing at the pressure it put on his legs. “We need to keep going. Come on.”
Nayeong was waiting at the bottom, standing next to a teacher you’d never seen before. The ground seemed far, too far for you to be happy about it, but you were assuming the way Nayeong made it down was thanks to the bushes that would’ve cushioned her fall.
“You’re just coming down from the second story!” Nayeong yelled, reaching up at you. Dr. Choi gave you a slight push on the shoulder, to which you looked back at her like she was crazy. Jaemin didn’t wait, lowering himself to the roof. You watched as he, facing towards you, slid himself off, hanging onto the edge for a second. Nayeong rushed over, reaching up to help him safely get down to the ground.
“Kill me,” you mumbled, walking over to the edge. Slowly, you repeated Jaemin’s steps, feeling like you could barely move.
“You can do it, [First]!” Nayeong yelled, and you hoped she was holding her hands up like she had been before. You pushed yourself off, feeling the edge of the roof dig into your fingers as you began to hang off the edge. As fast as you’d begun hanging, though, two hands were on your calves, beckoning for you to let go.
So, you did. You hit the ground with a quiet crunch thanks to the snow, but an unexpected shooting pain traveled up your ankle and calf, causing you to nearly fall over into the snow. Jaemin caught you, but Nayeong looked at you, furrowing her brows.
“Are you okay?”
“I think my ankle is sprained,” you mumbled hoarsely, steadying yourself and pushing yourself away from Jaemin. You took your phone out of your pocket, staring at a wave of texts you’d received from Suhyeon, begging you to tell her you were okay and that you’d made it out. You shakily typed a short “I’m fine” before shoving your phone back into your coat.
Dr. Choi made it down from the roof, and both her and the teacher began walking in the direction of the parking lot. “Come on!” Dr. Choi yelled, leading you all away from the building that was still going up in flames. Your legs shook as the panic began to subside, and a mere glance back held an aura of complete death. The first two floors of the faculty building were covered in flames, likely not an ounce left of what once was in there.
The three students—you, Nayeong, and Jaemin—were led into Dr. Choi’s car, while the other teacher went and found his own. Jaemin sat in the front while you awkwardly sat next to Nayeong, trying to process what you had just gone through.
“I cannot believe,” Dr. Choi began, starting her car and wasting no time in flooring it out of the parking lot. As you drove out onto the street next to the school, you caught sight of a fire truck in the distance, speeding towards the school. “They didn’t even try to tell us. I thought you were gone for good, [First]. Oh my god.”
Nayeong didn’t say anything, keeping her hands in her lap and her eyes out the window. You wondered what would happen to your belongings, but you weren’t nervous about it reaching the second year building when it was on the farthest edge of campus.
Dr. Choi asked Jaemin to dial a number on her phone, to which he politely obliged. You took your phone out again, which yielded several texts from Suhyeon once again and a single text from someone else.
The moment the recipient of Dr. Choi’s call picked up, she began to scream at them, but you were easily able to drown out the yelling with your focus on the text on your phone.
“Are you okay?”
You wondered, briefly, where Jeno got your number.
“I’m fine.”
vii. zeus enslaved atlas
It took a total of two hours to arrive at the hotel in which the school evacuated all the students too, and you wondered why they had to pick a fancy hotel rather than one of the respectable ones that were actually near campus. You were met with a personal greeting from the principal, who was trying to save his ass after essentially leaving the four of you (and more, most likely) for dead.
Dr. Choi didn’t waste a second to begin screaming at him some more, but you blew past her with Nayeong, who still hadn’t spoken to you but was sticking to your side practically. There was a sort of trauma-bonding between you two now, apparently, which was a bit ironic given both of your situations.
You’d been placed in a hotel room with Suhyeon, as according to your current rooming arrangements, and were told to wait in your rooms until there was more information to be distributed amongst the students. Nayeong parted from you when this happened, taking her key and disappearing off into a corridor. You chose to take the other one, walking past several students who had disregarded the plea to stay in the rooms and were now gossiping in the halls.
“I heard they might have to close the school down for a year,” somebody whispered, causing you to pause and nearly stop walking. Instead of stopping in the middle of the hall, you slipped your phone from your pocket, leaning against a wall and scrolling through random apps.
“Seriously? I guess that won’t be an issue, most of us can just transfer to another private school, but what about international and scholarship students?”
“I’m sure international students will be fine, but rumor has it the school might drop scholarship students—partial and entire. They’re scrambling to make sure their library is still intact, and, if it isn’t, they’ll need hundreds of thousands of won to restore it. They’ll never keep some upper middle class loser if it means they can keep their pride and joy safe and sound.”
There was a certain ache in your heart at that, but you were tired, and you felt like collapsing. It was funny how, just a couple weeks ago, you were panicking over your finals and doing anything to hang onto your 65-million scholarship, but, now, you didn’t feel anything. At least if you got dropped, it wouldn’t be a quasi-expulsion. You’d still have kept your pride, and your parents could complain to the school about how they had to actually pay for you, now.
You continued through the corridor, skipping the elevator for the stairs. You’d halfway forgotten what floor you were on—you’d either been told room 314 or room 414—but you weren’t too opposed to simply checking both. Holding your key up to the scanner would be enough to know, and it was unlikely the occupants of the other room would even know you tried.
Upon your ascent up the stairs, you were forced to remember the slight pain in your ankle, which had subsided greatly over the past few hours, and part of you wished you had used the elevator. The other part of you said you’d never take an elevator again, even if a gun was to your head. Each step was a testament to what you’d experienced over the past couple of years, culminating in these fleeting moments in which you had nothing left.
In a week, you supposed your dorm would be cleaned out, and you’d be hugging Suhyeon goodbye for the last time. Maybe a reporter would approach you, ask why the closing seemed so sudden, and you would tell them you almost burnt to death because they were too lazy to fix their smoke alarms. You’d tell them that the conditions to meet your scholarship were ridiculous, not because their students were too smart, but because their student’s parents had a million personal tutors at their beck and call.
You emerged onto the third floor, hit in the face with a strong scent of detergent and cleaning supplies, and began trudging through the halls. Given the couple of familiar faces—classmates you’d never spoken to before—standing next to a decorative table, you hoped the 300s were the second year floor and you didn’t have to walk up another flight.
The space between rooms was insane, and you couldn’t imagine what might be inside. A kitchen, a couch, and an entire fireplace, anything that a rich person required in their hotel room. They were much bigger than the dorms that people paid millions to live in, and this was all paid for by the school. For a brief moment, you considered your fancy, rich-person academy to be a scam—it was, you always knew it was—and wondered why they couldn’t build dorms like this. As you walked through the corridor, you realized how you barely had made it past five rooms, and wished they had picked a normal hotel for you to temporarily live in as they figured out how to break the news of your removal from the school.
You turned a corner, admiring a pretty bouquet in a terrible intricate vase that brought a smile to your face. You stopped, reaching your hands out to feel whether or not they were real and letting out a gasp of surprise when they actually were. The flowers were vibrant, yellows and purples and pinks all tied together with a wisp of baby’s breath, and perfectly taken care of; they couldn’t have been cut more than a day ago. The hotel must’ve had some sort of private gardens, as there was no way these were bought from a random flower shop down the street.
“[First]?”
The flowers lost their color, all at once. You stood up straight, looking towards Lee Jeno, who’d just so happened to find you right now.
“Jeno.”
He stared at you for a moment, his hair messy and his roots just beginning to show. He was dressed in lounge clothes, a t-shirt and black, baggy pants that looked about three sizes too big. If he didn’t say anything soon, you’d continue your trek to room 314, brushing past him and leaving him to stare at the blank wall behind you.
“Can we talk?”
“Okay.”
You turned towards him completely, crossing your arms over your chest. He cleared his throat, looking down at the floor for a moment. “Like, not in the hallway. My room…is just down the hall.”
“All right then.”
He stared at you for a moment more, halfway shocked you agreed. Maybe it was a side effect of the events of today—for a brief moment, you realized you didn’t know what time it was—from your counseling to the hours-long car ride you endured after what was likely the most traumatic moment of your life. You wanted to disappear, fall into a rabbit hole and wake up in Wonderland, where nobody would know who you were.
When he began to walk down the hall, turning his back to you, you followed, bidding your pretty bouquet goodbye. You walked deeper into the corridor, stopping at a room labeled “309.” It was at the edge of the corridor, with another hall connecting to it. You assumed 314 was down there, so it would at least be a short trip to your assumed hotel room.
Jeno tapped his keycard on the lock, a loud click accompanied by a green light resounding through your ears. He pushed the door open, heading inside and holding it open for you. As you walked in, you noticed an unfamiliar presence on the couch—Lee Donghyuck, the only golden boy you’d met before. During your first year, you’d done a group project together, you’d let him off for not doing any of his work, and you ended up vouching for him in front of the teacher; as a result, he’d gifted you a couple of candy bars and a swift thank you. “I’ll return the favor at some point,” he’d said, walking off without another word.
“Out,” Jeno said, keeping eye contact with Donghyuck. He stared up at his friend, eyebrow raised, before glancing at you.
“‘Sup, fire girl,” he said, standing from the couch. Donghyuck turned his attention to Jeno, giving him a stern, very-unlike-him glare. “You promised me.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
“Do you?”
With that, Donghyuck brushed past Jeno and you, emerging out into the corridor. The door slammed behind him, causing you to flinch somewhat. Jeno took a seat on the couch, right where Donghyuck was sitting, and motioned to the seat next to him. You obliged, sitting as far away from him as you possibly could and staring at him until he spoke.
“Are you doing okay?”
“No.”
“I’m…sorry you got left behind. I won’t lie, Suhyeon started crying so hard she needed to take her own car, and that worried me. A lot. I thought about things.”
“And?”
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, looking down at his hands. “I wasn’t nice. I overreacted and was overly jealous. It’s my fault, so I apologize.”
“I understand,” you nodded. “If it’s any consolation, I’m jealous of you too.”
You leaned back into the couch, sighing. “Your family is so…picture perfect,” you began, trying to find the words to articulate your thoughts. “Sure, you have altercations, peculiar ones at that, but I could tell you were close. From the way you hugged Yeojin, to the way your mother looked at you…you’re living a dream I could only hope to have one day.”
He stayed silent, letting you talk. You figured you deserved as much, given how your day has been. “My parents are awful. I was the kid they didn’t want, and all my siblings are a lot older than me. As your dad said, one of them ended up in jail. I depend on this school to keep me away from them, so I can have a better life now rather than when I move out. Even then, I know they’ll harass me forever if I end up with a nice job with good money. You’ll never experience that.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, but you shook your head, rejecting it.
“No reason to be. I can’t change who my family is, but I can change the direction my life goes. That’s all that matters.”
You felt Jeno’s eyes on you, and, when you looked over, you found him looking at you. He was pretty, as he’d always been, even when he was dressed for bed. His hair fell into his eyes, and you mentally visualized him with black hair—he looked nice no matter what.
“You’re a very beautiful person, [First].” The comment brought heat to your cheeks and caused your heart to skip a beat, and you contemplated whether or not this was what Dr. Choi meant by not rejecting him. “If…if there’s any way, I’d like to make this work. I’d like to make us work.”
You sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. “I suppose that would be nice. I was unreasonable before, mostly because I don’t want people lessening my achievements because of who my soulmate is. Sorry.”
“I get it. My mom always told me that would happen if my soulmate ended up to be somebody ‘fiery,’ but I guess you aren’t really that,” he hummed. “You’re nice. Warm. I see why people speak so kindly about you.”
“Well…thanks. I guess.”
You looked forward, and a thought crossed your mind. Your heart dropped slightly as you deliberated whether or not it would be smart to tell him what you heard in the halls. Realizing that you’d likely be very far away from him if it ended up to be true, you knew that you absolutely had to if you wanted to create a relationship with your soulmate.
“Rumor has it the school’s gonna be canceling scholarships to bring more money in for repairs and reconstruction.”
“What? They wouldn’t cancel yours, right? I mean, you’re the only full-scholarship on campus—they can’t just kick you, can they?” he asked, scooting a bit closer to you unconsciously.
“Rumor says they’re going to cancel everybody’s scholarships,” you whispered, suddenly realizing the weight of that statement. “I’ll probably try to move in with my aunt in Seoul, go to fancy-yet-free prep school…if they do cancel it. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around.”
Jeno went quiet, and you desperately held back the tears that were now pooling in your eyes. “I worked so hard for this, and it’ll all go to waste. Every bit of it.”
You hated how choked up you got at the thought of it, how pathetic you felt. But, Jeno didn’t seem to mind, as he hesitantly pulled you into a hug. For a moment, you both stayed there, basking in the fulfillment that came with being with your soulmate. You wondered if this is how your parents were before they grew into the monsters they were today—a couple of teenagers in love, happy with just being with one another.
“It’s okay,” he said, rubbing your back softly. “We’ll get through it together. I’ll spend any amount of money to see you frequently, I’ll get out of class, whatever we need to build. I’d pay for your tuition, but…I don’t think you’d like that.”
“Not really, no,” you mumbled, shoving your head into the crook of his neck. “I just want to feel stable, for once in my life.”
“And you will, one day. I promise you will.”
You pulled away from him, staring at him for a moment. With a heavy sigh, you stood up, with him following close behind you. “I need to go see Suhyeon,” you said. The moment you said that, there was a sudden change in the air of the room—Jeno looked nervous, almost, as if you’d caught him in the act of something. “Go do that. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you.”
You walked towards the door, giving Jeno one last look before emerging into the hall. You made sure to stop the door from slamming behind you, cushioning it with your hands. As you did, though, Lee Donghyuck appeared back in the hall, stopping when he saw you. The door clicked closed, and you both stared at each other, waiting for someone to speak.
He was wearing his uniform, but it was half taken apart, with a couple of his buttons unbuttoned and his tie loosened around his neck. His shirt was untucked and his blazer was nowhere to be found, and you assumed he’d done it pretty recently, given the lack of wrinkling. He held a bag of M&Ms that he likely got from a vending machine somewhere in the hotel.
“Did he tell you?”
“You mean apologize? Yeah.”
Donghyuck sighed, popping a couple M&Ms in his mouth. “Okay, don’t get mad at me for being the bearer of bad news. Jaemin was convinced Jeno shouldn’t tell you, but this might be the one time Jaemin is in the wrong. I know you’ve had the worst day of all worst days, but you cannot go any farther without knowing this. ‘Kay?”
You furrowed your brows, a sudden feeling of anxiety overtaking you. “What? What are you talking about?”
Even Donghyuck looked nervous, from how he fiddled with the hem of his shirt with his open hand to the way he shifted his weight between his feet.
“Until about six months ago, Suhyeon and Jeno were a thing.”
All the air was sucked out of your lungs at once, and your brain shut down immediately.
“She found out you two were soulmates about a year ago, but didn’t back down until Jeno’s dad shut it down because of his new deal with Nayeong’s family.”
You didn’t say anything. You just stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “They still talked until a month-and-a-half ago, when Jeno decided to shut it down himself. Chenle knocked some sense into him, and Suhyeon was essentially taken out of our circle. She did everything in her power to not let you know about her friendship with us, and avoided the shit out of us whenever you were around. When pale in the face and all that shit.”
You stayed quiet. A feeling of betrayal began to bubble in your stomach.
“Don’t…blame her or anything, though. Even if she was being an asshole, even if what she did was the worst possible thing she could’ve done, she and Jeno had been fostering it for nearly three years. Love—if you could even call it that—makes people stupid. She wasn’t thinking, and neither was Jeno, until Chenle snapped at him.”
Were you a rebound, or a way for him to stay close to Suhyeon without his dad knowing? Were you his way of getting over what you had stolen from him? How could Suhyeon do this to you, after forcing her fixation with soulmates on you for so long?
You turned away from the corner that you assume led to yours and Suhyeon’s room, walking past Donghyuck with a newfound speed. You wracked your mind for her room number, assuming that she must’ve been in 414 given the likely year-separation of the floors.
You heard Donghyuck’s voice echo through the halls, a quiet “what the fuck is wrong with you, man?” and the loud slamming of his hotel door. You followed it up by yanking the door to the stairs open, letting it fly shut behind you as you began a rapid ascent. You ignored the pain in your ankle, the way your legs wanted to shut down, and practically burst onto the fourth floor.
You followed the same path you had before, and, sure enough, the corridors followed the same pattern. You took turn after turn, saw identical-bouquet after identical-bouquet, before stopping in front of room 414.
Three swift knocks, and a step back.
The door opened.
“[First]?” Nayeong said, furrowing her brows. Traces of crying were left on her face, from mascara-lined tear stains to red cheeks and puffy eyes. Seeing her ignited something in you, an intense sort of emotion that you hadn’t felt in so, so long.
And, as you burst out into tears, Nayeong dragged you into a hug and began sobbing with you.
viii. to hold up the earth on his shoulders for all eternity.
The dress you were wearing was absolutely, irrevocably uncomfortable.
Several hidden wires dug into your torso, a product of the bodice of the thing, and you swore you were bleeding in an area where the fabric rubbed against you wrong. Nevertheless, you wore it proudly, hair done up and makeup perfectly complimenting your features. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to attend the wedding of your soulmate—to someone other than you, that is.
Lee Donghyuck sat next to you, dressed in a matching suit to your dress and his leg crossed over the other. A toothpick hung out of his mouth, and he anxiously chewed on it, tapping his fingers against his knee as he waited. You’d both come in support of the couple and to try and masquerade as a couple to Jeno’s father, who was apparently very displeased when he saw your name on the invite list.
“Nayeong told me she’s considering eloping with her girlfriend,” you hummed, once again adjusting your sitting position so that your dress stopped trying to kill you. “Disappearing into a small, European country. Changing her name and getting married. Apparently, her girlfriend has the tickets bought and everything.”
“And why doesn’t she?”
“She doesn’t want to force the marriage-of-convenience role onto her sister,” you sighed, shaking your head. “What a superhero she is.”
“You know, if you’d had another year at the academy, you probably would be the bride here,” Donghyuck suggested, turning towards you. You received a glare from the woman sitting a couple seats to your left, who then whispered something to her husband.
“Not so loud. We’re gonna get kicked out.”
“I’m not lying, though. Since Jaemin nearly beat me up, I’ve never been yelled at more in my life—I had to help Jeno with his comeback plan. We got it done and then we went to Suhyeon’s room and you weren’t there and she looked at Jeno like he was satan’s incarnate.”
“Suhyeon and I weren’t going to last as friends anyway. Too different. We clung to each other too much, too. Recipe for disaster.”
“Right? Anyway, if the school hadn’t been so quick to decide to cut you off, you’d be the bride. Hundred percent.”
“Where is Jaemin, anyway?” you asked, cutting the conversation topic short. According to Nayeong’s perfectly curated seating chart, he was meant to be sitting next to you right now, blabbing away about how Donghyuck ruined Jeno’s one chance at happiness by telling you about Suhyeon rather than letting Jeno do it.
“Jaemin is right here,” he said, taking the seat next to you. You and Donghyuck looked over at him, instantly picking up on the panickedness he seemed to be exuding. “And nobody can find the bride and groom. Jeno’s dad is on a warpath right now, along with Nayeong’s mother.”
“Ooh, Europe worked out,” you joked, holding up your fist. Donghyuck bumped yours against his, chuckling as well.
“Made me call him a million times, and he didn’t pick up. I suggested getting you to call Nayeong, but they looked so appalled at the suggestion that I could’ve told them I was in love with Jeno and we got married in Vegas last night.”
“That was descriptive. Did you?”
Jaemin scoffed, not getting a straight answer. Instead, he tucked his phone in his blazer pocket, focusing on you. “Nayeong’s probably on the plane by now, but we don’t know where Jeno is.”
“Okay. And?”
“He’s suggesting you should go find him, dumbshit,” Donghyuck clarified, flicking your shoulder. You put your hand on it, pretending like he’d just stabbed you in the arm, but Jaemin quickly slapped your shoulder to avoid you causing a bit of a scene.
“I don’t even know his number. Deleted it from my phone about twenty minutes after Donghyuck broke the Jesu news to me.”
Donghyuck snorted, leaning back into his chair. In passing, he said, “No way you gave them a ship name,” but Jaemin ignored his comment pretty readily.
“Good news! I have it memorized. Give me your phone.”
Jaemin didn’t wait for you to hand it to him, simply snatching it up off your lap and unlocking it (you weren’t sure where he got the password, but you wouldn’t question it). He began typing what you assumed to be his phone number without even thinking about it.
“You sure you didn’t get married in Vegas?”
“Positive,” Jaemin said, handing the phone back to you. He scooped up your purse from the ground, shoving it into your arms and proceeding to point towards a set of doors off to the side of the banquet hall. “Go out there and down the hall. Door at the end goes to the back parking lot, where Jeno parked earlier. He’s either out there or waiting for someone worth it to call him, and someone worth it would be you.”
“And what am I gonna say?”
“I don’t know,” Jaemin said, acting like you’d asked him the most insane question in the world. “Figure it out yourself. Update me. Hyuck and I will hold down the fort until we hear from you.”
You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to focus on you for a moment. A part of you wished you’d faded into oblivion after high school; being who you were, your merit reached about every end of the world. You lived in an academic spotlight, gaining the attention of universities both near and far. Jeno never came to visit you at your aunt’s house like he had shallowly promised, right before he missed his one chance to tell you the truth.
You stood up, and began your power walk to the door. Now that his fiancé was on her way to a small, European country and likely had all the assets she needed to become untraceable, Jeno would have to deal with the wrath of his father, who would feed him the same “I’m not mad, just disappointed” spiel.
You pushed the door open, hanging your bag off your shoulder and wishing your dress wasn’t so uncomfortable. Sure enough, a text came in from Nayeong—a selfie of her and her girlfriend, whom you had never met, in a plane. She was still fully prepared for marriage, only missing the wedding dress; her hair was perfectly done, the tiara was still there, and her makeup was untouched. Her girlfriend looked much more relaxed, makeupless and hair spread about.
They looked happy. So, as a result, you were happy, and could only hope she would tell you which small, European country she was living in so you could visit. Another text came in, this one from your mother, but you ignored it and continued out into the parking lot.
There was only one car that was running, and it was parked in a corner. It was black and the windows were tinted to high heaven, and you could only assume that would be where the missing groom was. You marched through the parking lot, repeating a mantra of self-support in your mind. This was one of those situations where you should’ve been anxious, but you couldn’t feel a thing; you’d grown used to not feeling anything over the years, but, in situations like these, it always felt uncomfortable.
You stopped a little bit before the car, making sure you were out of sight. You stared for a moment, blinking a couple of times and trying to muster up any sort of anxiety, but you could only manage a small kick in the bottom of your stomach. With a sigh, you approached.
You opened the car door, which was shockingly unlocked, and got into the passenger’s seat. Jeno didn’t turn to look at you, just drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and staring forward. “Can you take me to my apartment? If the wedding isn’t happening, I don’t want to sit in this dress any longer.”
He didn’t waste a moment to put the car in reverse, backing out of the spot with ease. He put a hand on the back of your seat, turning his whole body to look out of the back window even though he had one of those backup cameras. You wondered if he was trying to impress you, but found it unlikely given how unhappy he seemed.
When he managed to back out completely and was forced to turn his focus to the road, you took the chance to give him a once-over. You hadn’t seen Jeno since a banquet two years ago, where you’d been invited after one of your professors insisted you had to share your paper. You’d mingled with people in much higher places than you, smiling and discussing things you didn't care about, barely speaking about your academic ventures. Jeno had been there, too, hanging off Nayeong’s arm like he’d once done to you.
They spent the whole night gossiping, sitting together and whispering about things you couldn’t imagine. Back then, when he was 20 years old, his hair had still been blonde and he had still carried that gold boy demeanor he loved so much. Now, his hair was pitch black, and he gave off the energy of someone who was completely and utterly in control of his life.
Judging by the way he blatantly ignored the people who’d begun running after his car, you assumed the energy mirrored the truth. He turned out onto the street, speeding away from the banquet hall that had a million cars around it. “Lots of presents oughta be returned tonight, huh,” you mused, adjusting your sit once again. “I bet it’s annoying and relieving all at once.”
“My dad’s gonna blame this all on me,” he sighed, continuing to drum his fingers on the steering wheel. “Where do you live?”
“Trimage Towers. Anyway, he can’t blame it all on you if Nayeong’s a lesbian. I mean, it’s not like you had any jurisdiction over that.”
Jeno hesitated for a moment, slowing down for a red light. Thanks to the location of the fancy banquet hall, the towers were already in sight, and you could practically feel the relief of taking this awful dress off.
“You really can’t feel anything, huh.”
“I can feel things, just not a lot. I’d be able to feel things if you would’ve gotten over me,” you hummed, looking out the passenger window. “I’m serious, Jeno. Find a new girl. Pick her over me. We will both be happier that way.”
“So you’re rejecting me over a relationship that started when I was in middle school?” he asked, and, at that moment, you understood it was a bit ridiculous. You were sure you’d see it in a more intuitive way had you retained your emotions, but such was the price of rejecting one’s other half.
“I don’t know. I haven’t felt anything since then. I’m content with it now, so I don’t really feel like I can love anyone. Make a decision based on love. Who knows,” you replied, feeling your phone buzz. You picked it up—another text from your mom. This time, though, she called you a couple of names for ignoring her texts and not sending her any money.
Jeno suddenly took a sharp turn, pulling into an empty parking lot next to an office building, which you assumed to be empty because it was Saturday. He pulled around to the back, parking in a spot next to a few trees. It was well hidden, likely a tactic for avoiding anyone chasing him.
“What can I do to fix it?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I’m serious. I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”
The slightest bit of sympathy graced your heart, but not enough to change anything. You sighed, looking up at the ceiling of the car. “Not sure.”
“What, should I confess my love to you?” he asked, which caught your attention. You looked over, biting the edge of your lip. “I barely know you, [First], yet I am deeply in love with you. Every time I hear something about you from Nayeong, or from Donghyuck, or from Jaemin, I feel the most intense regret that I decided to ignore Donghyuck’s advice and trust Jaemin more. All I could tell you about yourself are things everyone else knows and whatever my friends have told me, yet I’d still pick you over anybody else.”
Your heart sped up, but you still felt numb to the world. Maybe Dr. Choi had been right—maybe it wasn’t worth it to lose all feeling when you were 17. Maybe, if things had gone better, you would have been the bride today.
“Okay.”
“Is there any way? Any way at all that we could try? I know I’ve asked before, and I was disingenuous then, but I’m not a kid anymore. Neither are you. Things could be different.”
“Could they?” you finally bit into the conversation, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “I just—I can’t comprehend it. I’m a work machine. I walk into the office and stay for hours, reviewing my coworker’s pieces and writing my own based on what I’m given. I’m told that one day, I’ll be one of the greats of journalism thanks to my ability to work until I give out. Will that go away if I let this happen? Will I lose opportunity if I let myself love? I’m not really sure.”
“What makes you think that?” Jeno shot back. “What makes you think a little emotion would destroy your career?”
“Most, if not all of my superiors are soulmate-less or have purposefully gone out of their way to reject their soulmates. It’s standard.”
“You can break the standard, then.”
A bit of anger began to bubble in your stomach. “Could I? I already have it worse by having absolutely no nepotism to back me up, and I’ve got a world of expectation on me based on how I graduated at the top of everything, in every year of schooling I’ve ever had. I have a bad family to keep under wraps, and I have to pay them off to keep them quiet. I can’t afford to be pushing any stereotypes when I’ve got a million other things to work through.”
“I can be your credible, important connection, then. How easy is that?”
“I’d rather die than be a nepotism baby.”
“Then what are you looking for?”
“Nothing, Jeno! I’m looking for nothing!” you finally exclaimed, the anger bubbling over the top. “I’m looking to leave this behind us and separate ourselves from each other! I’d rather die than keep living a life that orbits around you! I just—I just want to be myself.”
“Then I’ll orbit around you. I’ll stay out of it and I’ll treat your every beck and call—”
“Shut up, Jeno.”
“I’ll be the one who’s connected to you. I won’t be Lee Jeno, son of that one guy who got to live easy because of his grandfather’s work—”
“Jeno, please.”
“And I’ll dedicate my everything to you, master journalist, the most goddamn successful person in the world, all thanks to herself—”
You’re unsure what came over you at that moment. In your fit of anger, wanting Jeno to just shut up, you grabbed the sides of his face, and you kissed him. There was a moment where you couldn’t believe yourself, where you truly thought you’d open your eyes and be back in the banquet hall, discussing where Jaemin was with Donghyuck. In that moment, Jeno would walk out, make his way to the altar, and Nayeong would follow.
They would look miserable. You would know they were miserable. You would know you could’ve prevented their misery. You’d feel nothing. You’d go home, Donghyuck driving you, and you’d go to bed, ready to go into work the next day.
One opening of your eyes revealed to you that you were, in fact, kissing Lee Jeno. He didn’t seem to mind the suddenness of it—obviously—reaching over the center console to lace his fingers into your perfectly wavy hair. He smiled into the kiss, as if he was the most satisfied man in the world, as if he was the only man in the world.
You closed them again, and felt fireworks burst within you. Although they hadn’t returned like you thought they would, you felt a mixture of very mellow emotions pooling in your stomach, and you realized maybe Jeno, Jaemin, and Donghyuck had a plot.
You pulled away from him, dropping your hands from his face. He did not try to separate himself from you, though, waiting for you to recite the words he’d be wanting you to recite. “An academic article by psychologist Kim Sowol. The best way to incite emotion in someone who’s rejected their soulmate is to anger them.”
He dropped his hands now, too, laying them on top of yours. “Nayeong sent it to me.”
You stayed quiet, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate you. Never speak to me again.”
Jeno put his hands back on the wheel, reversing the car once more and taking you back out onto the road. “Yeah, okay. Next stop, your apartment. Text Jaemin that it worked for me, would you?”
You scoffed. “No. Shut up.”
“Your wish is my command, my dear.”
thank you for reading!
tags:
@dziewoja07 @pewpewpwe00 @mings-cafe @yutensoul @iioyous @shepeelsoranges @loeycity @misakiise @000rpheus @eunbi4eva @jenonoon @travelleratheart101 @hesbambi @minchoco @swagzombiefart @eunbi4eva @wonluvrbot
#cinna.nct#nct dream x reader#nct dream au#nct dream imagines#nct dream oneshots#jeno x reader#lee jeno x reader#jeno x you#jeno x y/n#nct dream angst#soulmate au#jeno imagines#jeno angst#jeno scenarios#nct x reader#nct x you#nct x y/n#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct dream fluff#nct fluff
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﹆₊ 画家‧₊˚ THE BLOOD PAINTER, KAMO CHOSO
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ art; it comes in many forms. even clothing. wc, 4.39K. dark mode recommended.
␥ note. i’m backkk. i got so caught up in writing one-shots that i almost forgot to do the series. so i’m here. hope ya enjoyyy. reblog to support meeee.
␥ tags. artist!choso, college AU, possible nsfw, female anatomy, smoking, reader has a motorcycle, etc. lmk if i missed anything
␥ misc. masterlist AO3 PART FIVE
finally, the much-anticipated friday had arrived, as the clock struck 12:15, choso let out a heavy sigh and pushed away from his cluttered desk. the familiar sound of the bell signaling the end of class echoed through the room, soon followed by the lively chatter of students as they filed out into the hallway. as he stepped out, the distinct smell of freshly cleaned carpets mixed with the mouth-watering aroma of takoyaki and ramen wafted towards him. his stomach grumbled in response, and he rolled his eyes at his hunger pangs.
as the male strolled gracefully down the hall, his footsteps echoing against the tiled floor, kashimo slung his arm over choso's broad shoulders. his face was lit up with a beaming grin that seemed to radiate energy. choso couldn't help but suppress a groan at the touch.
"what's with the frown?" kashimo asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity. "aren't you excited for tonight?" he continued; excitement evident in his tone as they made their way towards the bustling cafeteria.
"what day is it again?" choso rubbed his bleary eyes, his tiredness evident in the way he slumped in his chair. he had spent all night tending to his digital artwork and finishing up homework. kashimo nearly choked on his drink when he heard choso's question. the bags under his friend's eyes were deep and dark, a clear sign of exhaustion.
kashimo leaned in close, speaking in hushed tones. "you know it's friday, right?" he reminded choso with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "your date with you-know-who is tonight." he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing choso's eyes to widen with shock and surprise. suddenly, all traces of exhaustion seemed to vanish from choso's expression.
choso let out a frustrated sigh, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "damn it, i almost forgot," he muttered to himself. "i need to find something nice to wear and freshen myself up. i probably look like death right now." his thoughts drifted to his upcoming date and he suddenly felt self-conscious about his appearance. kashimo waved a dismissive hand, trying to calm choso’s nerves.
"relax, you have plenty of time. your date isn't until seven and its only noon now. take a nap, get dressed, and do whatever else you gotta to do. maybe even pick up some flowers for the lovely lady." choso only rolled his eyes at kashimo's teasing words but was grateful for his reassurance.
after a satisfying lunch, the two boys retreated to choso's dorm room, where they spent their time sifting through an impressive collection of clothing. like pages in a newspaper, choso pulled each hanger from the rack and tossed the garments onto his bed.
"wow, you must come from money," remarked kashimo, studying the designer labels and high-end fabrics of the clothing strewn across the bed. the beige sweater with a brown collar and sleeves underneath that caught his eye looked like it belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. it was clear that choso had an eye for style and a wallet to match.
"i wouldn't say i'm wealthy in the traditional sense," choso replied with a hint of modesty, as he effortlessly pulled out a few pairs of designer boots. kashimo's expression shifted to one of disbelief as his eyes took in the luxurious footwear. he couldn't tell if choso was being humble or simply showcasing his affluent lifestyle.
"what’re you talking about? you have the largest room on campus, your wardrobe is filled with high-end fashion that could pay for my textbooks ten times over, you're top of the class, and you have an incredible talent for painting," kashimo exclaimed.
"you have everything. you don’t have to want for anything." the words tumbled out with a mix of admiration and envy, as kashimo couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy towards the male beside him.
choso chuckled humbly as he moved the pairs of boots closer to the bed, each one a work of art in its own right. they were made by the most prestigious fashion house in the world, a symbol of his wealth and status.
"the biggest room in the school? that's just because i got lucky with housing arrangements," choso replied nonchalantly, brushing off kashimo's words. "and these clothes and shoes? it's all just material possessions. it’s not like they define who i am." but even as he said this, a part of him couldn't help but feel proud of what he had achieved and acquired through hard work and determination.
a thoughtful look crossed kashimo's face as he sized up his friend. "you've got it all, man, i’m telling you. looks, brains, talent…what don't you have?" he couldn't help but feel envious of choso's seemingly perfect life. little did he know, beneath the surface, there were struggles and insecurities that even wealth and success couldn't erase.
choso simply shrugged, a slight smile playing on his lips. "my wealth is of no concern to me, and it shouldn't be to you either. you are just as worthy as i am, if not more so. i refuse to be lumped in with those spoiled assholes who strut around this place as if they own it." he gestured towards the crowd of students milling about the school grounds outside his window.
“i’d rather not be labeled as an entitled individual that kicks another down because of their casual way of life." choso's eyes glinted with determination and a hint of defiance. he refused to let his family's fortune define him or dictate how he treated others.
kashimo let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. but then, as if on cue, a smile lit up his face. "let's forget all that," he chirped. "we have more important things to focus on, like finding the perfect outfit for you." his gaze fell upon a rack of clothes. he strode towards it with purpose.
"i think i already have an idea," he added, gesturing towards a sleek and stylish collared shirt on display. it caught the light just right, highlighting its delicate details and flattering cut. kashimo's keen sense of fashion was always reliable, and he knew this would be the ideal choice for his new friend.
choso inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "you have an idea?" he repeated dryly, his dark eyes following kashimo's outstretched finger as it pointed towards the shirt.
with a flick of his wrist and a wide, toothy grin that always made choso roll his eyes and groan, kashimo declared confidently, "yeah, yeah, we'll have you looking like a vogue model by the time we're done." his hands moved deftly, as if conducting an orchestra, as he waved them around in front of choso's face.
the sunlight glinted off the sharp planes of his cheekbones and highlighted the smattering of his blood mark across his nose. choso couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance mixed with fondness for his friend's over-the-top antics. but he knew deep down that kashimo was just trying to help him look his best for his upcoming date.
after a few moments, choso found himself meticulously adjusting the crisp collar and sleeves of his tailored top, the fabric hugging his figure perfectly. he paired it with formal pants in a deep coffee shade, complementing the beige sweater he wore underneath. the overall effect created a polished and put-together appearance.
kashimo's lips curled into a mischievous smirk as he lightly nudged choso. "well, you could pass for a model," he teased, his eyes flickering over choso's outfit. the male blushed, not expecting to be dressed in such a fashion so soon. "you're quite the handsome devil, choso." his words were laced with admiration and playfulness. choso's cheeks flushed deeply at the compliment.
"please don't say things like that," he murmured, trying to hide his bashful smile. "but thank you…i think." the soft breeze flowing through the window tousled his hair, adding an extra touch of dishevelment to his already dashing appearance.
placing his hands behind his head, kashimo's snicker broke through the quiet of the bedroom. choso shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest as he felt the tips of his ears grow warm with embarrassment. fidgeting with his fingers, he tried to push away the teasing.
"aw come on, choso. your lady friend would definitely approve," kashimo taunted, his laughter now booming in the open space around them.
choso's cheeks grew even redder as he found himself growing more uncomfortable. "can we please stop talking about this?" he pleaded, desperately wishing he could escape this conversation and the teasing that came with it. "and shouldn’t you be saving these comments for hakari, not me?"
kashimo's smirk faltered slightly at choso's words, hints of embarrassment creeping into his expression. "hey, it’s not like he's not my boyfriend or anything," he muttered, trying to brush off the earlier comment.
choso couldn't help but roll his eyes at kashimo's attempt to downplay their relationship. as much as kashimo denied it, everyone knew there was something more between them than just friends. but for now, choso was content with keeping their dynamic as it was - friends who teased each other mercilessly.
"right," choso muttered, his dark eyes flickering with curiosity. "so, what happened the other night with you and hakari, if i may ask? did you two have fun?"
kashimo exhaled slowly, his cheeks flushing as he thought back to that unforgettable evening. "i mean…yes, we did have fun, but a couple things happened that i didn't expect."
choso could see the telltale sign of embarrassment in kashimo's blush. He could only imagine what had transpired between the two of them, causing such a reaction in kashimo. a small smile curled at the corners of his lips, wondering just how wild their night together must have been.
kashimo shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the words to explain his feelings about that night. but they eluded him, leaving him with a tangle of emotions that he couldn't quite put into words. nevertheless, one thing was for sure - it was a night he would never forget.
choso raised a skeptical brow at kashimo's wistful expression. "well, aren't you gonna tell me what happened?" he prodded with curiosity. "you seem like you're reminiscing about it."
kashimo was abruptly pulled from his reverie, caught off guard by choso's inquisitive tone. his lips pursed as he carefully considered how to explain the night's events. "i guess i could tell you," he began slowly. "it was a pretty nice night all around. we ate and drank a little, but then out of the blue, he asked me to give him my hand." a faint smile tugged at the corners of kashimo's mouth at the memory.
"i was confused as to why he wanted my hand, but i gave in anyway. we held hands for a while, just enjoying each other's company. and he had this silly grin on his face…" kashimo trailed off with a fond chuckle.
choso couldn't help but tease, "you didn't kiss, did you?" though his words were nonchalant, there was a hint of playful curiosity in his tone.
"stop," kashimo protested, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "it's not like that. we just held hands and…okay, we almost did but i got nervous." his words tumbled out in a rush, his eyes darting away from his teasing gaze. "but we're going to hang out again tonight," he continued, determined to prove that there was nothing more than friendship between them. "and i was thinking of having a double date soon since our situations are pretty similar."
choso chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "damn, you're really soiling my plans," he joked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"well excuse me, mr. kamo," kashimo chuckled jovially, his eyes glinting mischievously. "i should've considered that you might've wanted some alone time with the pretty lady… hey, let's head out and get some flowers. that'd be a nice touch, right?"
"i suppose," choso exhaled, rubbing his temples wearily. "would you mind passing me my wallet? it's on the desk." he pointed over to the umber wood desk that held his notebooks and other school supplies. kashimo retrieved the wallet and couldn't resist taking a quick peek inside. among choso's id, dorm room keycard, and a small polaroid of him and his brothers, was a thick wad of cash.
"holy shit, man," kashimo exclaimed before choso could snatch the wallet from his hands. "you could literally buy the whole planet with this amount of money."
"i said give me the wallet, not snoop around," choso narrowed his eyes, an edge of annoyance in his tone. the stack of bills represented years of hard work and sacrifice for him and his siblings. he didn't want anyone else getting their hands on it, let alone stare at it.
as the clock struck seven, you carefully chose your outfit - a sleek black leather jacket and fitted jeans paired with a simple yet elegant blouse. your trusted harley davidson roared as you rode into the parking lot of the upscale restaurant that choso had chosen for your meeting. you removed your helmet and placed it on the bike seat before walking confidently into the building.
inside, the restaurant was bathed in a warm, dim light that enhanced the romantic atmosphere. the scent of scented candles and sizzling food filled the air as you made your way to the table that had been reserved for you and choso. when you spotted him, your heart skipped a beat at his appearance.
instead of his usual intimidating demeanor, choso looked more like a regular academia student with metal adorning his face. he wore a cozy-looking sweater and a purple scarf wrapped around his neck, giving off a sense of vulnerability. a bandage on the corner of his lip suggested that he may have been injured recently. an expensive-looking watch around his wrist. and instead of his signature ponytails, his hair fell freely around his face, some strands neatly tied into a ponytail.
you sat down on the opposite side of the table, unable to contain the soft smile that spread across your face. "hey, choso," you greeted him warmly. the sound of your voice made him look up at you, seemingly surprised that you had actually shown up regardless of whether it was planned or not.
choso's voice was gentle and hesitant as he spoke, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. "um…hi," he said, returning your smile with one of his own. he held something behind his back, and as he brought it forward, you saw that it was a bouquet of flowers. your heart skipped a beat at the sight of them.
"i brought you something," choso said, presenting the bouquet to you. each stem was carefully chosen and arranged, bursting with vibrant colors and delicate petals. you were not typically one to accept flowers as a gift, but these were too beautiful to resist.
you took the bouquet into your arms, feeling the softness of the petals against your skin. "wow," you chuckled in disbelief, admiring the intricate details of each flower. "these are really pretty…thank you." your eyes met choso's and you could see the sincerity and thoughtfulness in his expression. it made your heart swell with appreciation for this unexpected gesture of kindness.
choso nodded, a delicate pink hue blooming across his cheeks. "i'm…glad you like them," he stammered, his hand unconsciously smoothing out the creases in his scarf. "i was seriously struggling to decide which flowers would be best for you. i wasn't sure if i made the right choice."
you smiled warmly at him, taking the bouquet from his hands and inhaling the sweet scent of the blossoms. "no, it's okay," you reassured softly. "i love these flowers. no one has ever given me a bouquet before - let alone such beautiful ones like these. i can tell you put a lot of thought into this."
as always, your kind words had choso's heart fluttering and his chest feeling light as air. "well, i'm happy to be the first to give you such a gift," he replied, unable to contain the shy smile that spread across his face. "though now I'm starting to wonder if i should have just given you one of my paintings instead."
you shook your head gently. "whatever gift you came up with, i would’ve loved it," you assured him. "as long as it came from your heart and had some thought put into it, that's all that matters to me."
choso smiled softly, feeling a sense of confidence wash over him. after your simple conversation, the two of you finally sat down to order some delicious food and refreshing drinks. your conversations ranged from how your days had been to school-related topics like class projects and even delved into personal matters.
as the waiter placed your plates in front of you, choso couldn't resist taking a quick photo with his camera, capturing not only the mouth-watering food but also the charming interior of the restaurant.
"smile," choso said with a slight twitch at the corners of his lips. your eyebrows raised in surprise, but you quickly posed for the photo, revealing a flawless smile that made choso's heart skip a beat as he gazed at you through his camera lens.
the vibrant colors and warm atmosphere of the restaurant seemed to enhance your beauty, and choso couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment shared between the two of you.
with a contented smile on your face, you playfully plunged your fork into the steaming bowl of ramen, eagerly slurping up the tender noodles. across from you, choso calmly ate from his plate of shrimp tempura, occasionally watching you with an amused glint in his eyes.
"hey, let's do that thing they always do in the movies with the noodles," you suggested, holding up your fork and wiggling it playfully. a faint blush colored choso's cheeks as he caught on to what you were referring to, and he couldn't help but internally sigh at the thought. it wasn't that he didn't want to do anything romantic with you, but he was wary of how things might change between the two of you afterward.
"i suppose there's no harm in trying," choso said with a small smile, taking the other end of the noodle between his lips. you mirrored his actions, using the thin noodle as a playful tool to bring each other closer. as your lips were only a breath away from touching, you both paused for a moment, your hearts racing in anticipation.
finally, unable to resist any longer, you closed the distance between your lips and shared a brief but sweet kiss. the remaining noodle was quickly swallowed as your lips met, causing choso's eyes to widen in shock and surprise. his cheeks flushed a deep red, almost matching the crimson liquid slowly seeping out from his blood mark and onto the table.
feeling slightly embarrassed by his unusual reaction, choso hastily pulled away and chuckled nervously. "that's part of why i always keep it covered up," he admitted, trying to make light of the situation. but before he could apologize or explain further, he felt your gentle touch as you began wiping away the traces of blood on his cheeks with a napkin.
"it's okay," you reassured him softly, carefully folding the napkin to a cleaner side and continuing to clean his face. "does this happen often?" you asked, genuinely curious about choso's sudden bleeding.
choso nodded, his expression slightly sheepish. "usually when i'm….overstimulated," he admitted with a small smile. it wasn't a common occurrence, but it did happen from time to time, especially in moments like this when he was caught off guard by unexpected yet welcomed intimacy with someone he cared for deeply. "but i can also make it bleed at will."
the sound of your laughter filled the room as choso's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at your observation. "that explains why there isn't any red paint in your room. you use your own blood for art…i think that's so cool. but doesn't it hurt?" you asked, genuinely curious about his unique artistic process.
choso shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "no, not in the slightest." his mind seemed to go momentarily blank before he quickly changed the subject. "um…we should finish eating before the food gets cold."
you nodded, returning to your meal but unable to shake off your curiosity about choso's blood mark and how it worked. after dinner, the two of you left the restaurant and made your way back to your motorcycle. you eagerly held onto the bouquet of flowers as you mounted the vehicle and placed your helmet in your lap.
"well, i guess this is where we part ways for the night," choso said, his hand nervously fiddling with his scarf. you looked up at him and checked the time on his watch. despite the sun having set and the moon beginning to rise, the night was still young.
"come on, it's too early to call it a night. let's take a bike ride around shibuya for a bit," you pleaded, hoping to spend more time with choso. just as he was about to politely decline and suggest rescheduling for another day, he felt something stopping him from saying no.
"alright, but please don't drive too fast…i've never been on a motorcycle before," choso reluctantly agreed, surprising himself with his sudden change of heart.
you squealed in excitement and patted the padded seat before putting on your helmet. "you'll have to hold onto me unless you want to fly off," you advised quickly as choso settled himself onto the seat behind you.
"fly off?" choso repeated before you unexpectedly accelerated out of the parking lot, your harley roaring into the night. he inhaled sharply, feeling slightly scared as he instinctively wrapped his strong arms around your body and buried his face into your back. you couldn't help but smirk at your daring actions.
"please…slow down," choso's muffled and shaken voice pleaded from behind you, making you giggle mischievously.
·.⌇ bonus..
under the moonlit sky, you and choso sat on a wooden bench in front of a serene lake. the gentle breeze caused both of you to shiver, but the beauty of the setting made it worth it. as you watched the ripples of the water sway back and forth, you turned to look at choso beside you.
"i wanted to ask you something," you said softly. choso's head snapped over to face you, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.
"about?" he asked.
"you mentioned that you always keep your mark covered up. you said it was because of people's fear and judgment towards what you really are…but why does it worry you so much?" your question forced choso into a moment of silence as he pondered his response.
"i'm…" he let out a heavy sigh before continuing. "i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i'm not like other sorcerers or curses. i’m half curse, half human. my brother yuji is a sorcerer, while the other two are also curses. normally, humans can’t see curses, but because i am in this body, you can see me."
he glanced at you to confirm that you were still listening before revealing more. "i…um…i keep my blood mark covered because when i get overwhelmed or stressed, my face starts bleeding like i told you before. i'm just embarrassed about it. if people knew what i really was, they would probably be too scared to even look in my direction. people think curses are disgusting and unworthy of life; they are afraid of them. it's better that part of myself hidden and live as a human."
you placed a comforting hand on choso's thigh, gently rubbing it with your thumb. "but choso, i'm not scared of you at all. curse or not, i think you're one of the kindest and most genuine people i've ever met. i honestly thought your unique display of techniques was just your sorcery, but now i know the truth. my opinion of you will never change, i promise."
choso's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "really?" he asked incredulously. "i'm not disgusting or horrible to you?" you shook your head, a small smile quirking at the corners of your lips.
"not even close," you reassured him. "the most people will say about you is how annoyingly smart you are." you playfully teased him, making him chuckle.
"but in all seriousness, you're a genuinely good person, choso." with a tender gesture, you reached up and cupped his cheek, causing his cheeks to flush a light shade of red. as you leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, choso couldn't help but place his hand where your lips had just been.
"my face is going to start bleeding again," he muttered with a shy smile, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment.
with excitement bubbling in your chest, you quickly pulled choso's camera out of his bag and slung an arm over his shoulder, positioning the lens perfectly in front of you both. "smile, choso," you chimed with a grin, capturing the moment forever.
choso's eyebrows shot up in surprise at your quick movements, but he obliged and gave the camera his best smile as a bright flash illuminated the area and the sound of the photo printing echoed through the air.
as soon as the picture was fully developed, you eagerly removed it from the slot and examined it with satisfaction. "we look pretty damn good, don't we?" you commented, admiring how the lighting fell perfectly on both of you and the beautiful scenery around you.
"yeah, not bad at all," choso agreed as he gently took the photo from your hands and stowed it away with his camera in his bag. "that was actually the final picture i needed for my project."
"right, your scrapbook thing," you remembered with a smile as you rose from the bench. "shall we head back? i can help you put it together if you'd like."
choso's smile widened at your offer and he nodded eagerly. "i would love that."
⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.
#𝐾𝑂𝑇𝐴 𝑊𝑅𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑆 書く#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#anime#choso kamo#jujutsu kaisen choso#jjk x reader#jjk choso#choso x reader#choso x black!reader#choso fluff#choso headcanons#jujutsu choso#choso#choso x y/n#choso my beloved#choso x you#choso x female reader#jujutsu hakari#jujutsu geto#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu itadori#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writing#jjk nanami#jjk fluff#jjk geto#jjk gojo
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In 18 years of his life, Coriolanus never meets his soulmate, unlike Tigris and her sweetheart, Festus and Persephone, or even Pluribus and Cyrus. He doesn't mind it, though. Soulmates would just distract him from what matters the most.
That changes when he sees Lucy Gray Baird getting slapped on screen and he feels the sting on his cheek.
or
Soulmate AU of Snowbaird
Yes, so, can someone please write this? lololol
My friends and I talked about this and I can't hold it back any longer.
We think that the connected pain kind of soulmate system would be the most interesting in a world with Hunger Games.
We also think that all this time, with the classism this world has, the Capitol taught the children that soulmates only run with blood/heritage/class whatever so Capitols will only have Capitol soulmates; and District with District soulmates, but it's not rare to not have one.
But no, actually Capitols can have their soulmate somewhere out there in the Districts. They never find out because, well, Capitols never really meet/see District people. (Propaganda: the Capitol desperately wants to hide this because it will break the "balance". They need to divide the Capitol and Districts, you see.)
Coryo has the pleasure of meeting his "District/Covey" soulmate via Hunger Games and it will bend his mind and turn his beliefs/mindset upside down. It will challenge his worldview of the Capitol and District and what is safe and not.
He has the pleasure of feeling all the pain Lucy Gray gets from the Games. The hunger pangs double and somewhere in his teenage mind, he thinks that starving together is romantic. Eating comforts him, though, because then her hunger will lessen a bit. Lucy Gray feels his pain too, from the bombing burn (the moment when she realises he's her soulmate) and, depending on where you derive the source, from the stitches he pulls out to save her.
He has the pleasure of thoughts (terror, horror, dread) assaulting his mind of what will happen to him if Lucy Gray dies in the arena and he watches helplessly as that happens. Cheating suddenly has a stronger basis for Coryo, because she needs to live or he dies, figuratively.
And for the same reason, Lucy Gray has one more reason to fear death. His pain will comfort Lucy Gray ironically, because feeling his pain will feel like he's there with her in the arena. It keeps her going.
And so he cheats and what you know happens. Coryo is banished to the Districts. But the sweetness will start there.
(Coryo's "his girl"ism will be official (officially written in the stars, I mean they are literally soulmates) and he will "HIS GIRL" so hard in this AU.)
The ending? Well...it can be a happy ending. Sweet, happy, sugary. It takes a soulmate system for him to sort out his priorities, it looks like.
Or Coriolanus can fight against the stars. And what happens in the woods happens.
He kills his own soulmate. Dead. Gone. Silence. And nothing happens, it seems, this soulmate thing is such a joke. He feels stupid for worrying about it in the past, because it turns out it has no effect on him.
(When actually his heart dies.)
But in the decades and decades after, he still feels pain from invisible wounds. Phantom pain, tactile hallucination, hauntings, or real? Is this a mental thing, is this punishment from the stars, or is she alive and well?
If she's still alive, when he harms himself (poison, dying, mouth sores), does she feel it too? (Does he haunt her too?) Should he tear up the woods, to cut the loose ends and to stop the madness of this uncertainty?
Well.
We will never know.
#snowbaird#tbosas#coriolanus snow#lucy gray baird#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#soulmate au#sorry i have no time and writing coryo frightens me
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The Library of Illusion - Prologue
Yandere AU - Based off of This Event hosted by @cultofdionysusnet
Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Slight Humour
Pairing: Ateez X Reader - (Focus on Seonghwa to start)
Words: 4,362
Warnings: Mention of losing consciousness, dehydration, and starvation. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.
A/n: Huge thank you to the network for allowing me to participate in this event!! I'm super excited for everyone to see what I have planned, there's a lot of stories heading your way!! I really hope you all enjoy, and please do let me know your theories and what you think so far!! As always, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~
Gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.
Mini Masterlist
The heat is unbearable.
With every step you take, exhaustion creeps closer and closer. Your entire body feels heavy, your eyelids drooping further with every blink. Long since has your blood flowing through your ears drowned out any other sounds of the desert around you, the sun bearing down on you like an iron cross. Each breath is a pain filled dagger into your burning lungs, but still, you carry on.
It has to be around here somewhere.
For four days and four nights, you have been trekking through the red, unforgiving sands of the desert in search of a library. Not just any library. A hidden library that is said to house an indescribable knowledge, and a hidden treasure.
You’ve never been one to care for material treasures, nor seek vast riches in life. In fact, you had been perfectly content with the way your life had been going.
Until the accident.
Now, you desperately seek this Library of Illusion and it’s treasure, for it is foretold that it can grant any wish, and right now, you only have one. You will only ever have one.
The constant drag of your feet through the sand grounds you. Your mouth, which has gone as dry and barren as the desert around you, desperately longs for water. A luxury you ran out of twelve hours ago. Already, you can feel the effects of severe dehydration, your vision blurring at the corners as your body feels as hot as the scorched sands of the earth you traverse.
Only yesterday, you ran out of food, and you can feel those familiar pangs of hunger twisting at your stomach. Yet, nausea builds steadily in your chest. Bile rises in your throat, and each attempt to swallow down the acidity rising within has your chest constricting from the pain.
You should have packed more. You should have been more prepared.
The map you had been following fluttered away in a sudden sandstorm early on, of which delayed you by a whole day. You had managed to find an outcropping of rocks to hide yourself in as the storm passed, but the only thing you had to gather your bearings and reorient yourself with afterwards was the sun. You’re running on pure adrenaline and hope right now, but you don’t know how much longer either will last.
Already, you can feel your movements slowing down, chest feeling heavier and heavier with each inhale you take. You would have called for help some time ago, were it not for the fact that your phone died, and so did the multiple spare wireless charges you brought along with you. Even so, there’s no service in this particular section of the desert, so you’re stranded regardless of if you had been able to garner communication with the outside world or not.
With each blink, your eyes sting from the sand beginning to swirl around you. Dread weighs heavy on your heart, which begins to slow with each languid step forward. Already, you are close to collapsing.
An ominous feeling from behind you has you turning your head to see a looming cloud of smoke approaching from the distance, and you realize with a horrid sense of dread that another sandstorm is on its way. Only this time, there is no shelter you can seek.
You are doomed, and probably have been from the very start. There probably isn’t an actual library out here to begin with, and you’ve just thrown away your life for a chance at something that seemed impossible to begin with.
Rumours are just that. Rumours.
Your feet give out beneath you.
Sand clouds your vision, stinging at your tired eyes as your body refuses to move. So much as coughing to clear your throat feels as if someone has taken sandpaper to your lungs, scraping the tissue raw from the inside out.
You begin to choke on dust, no tears able to form in your dry eyes.
This is it. This is how you die: lost in the desert, alone and starved, dehydrated and exhausted to the point of delirium. All for the hopes of some sacred treasure that may or may not actually be able to grant your wish. A desire so deep, you had been more than eager to throw away your life for, even if it did not actually exist.
Even now, on the bring of death, you cling onto that wish. A flickering flame of hope continues to burn so deeply in your soul, you swear that you can see the embers lighting up behind your very eyelids as they finally fall shut. The only thought in your mind as you succumb to your exhaustion is a desperate plea to whatever is out there in the universe to let you see him one last time.
~~~
It’s dark.
Dark and cool, despite the feeling of something draped over your body. A body of which feels the lightest it has been in days, that aching feeling no longer buried deep within your bones.
Dark, and cool, and quiet.
A low groan escapes you, turning onto your side form your back as you begin to regain consciousness. Raising your one arm, you bring a hand to your head, wiping at your face lethargically.
A deep chuckle sounds from beside you, “Are you finally awake?”
Immediately, your eyes are flinging open as you tear the covers off of your body. You appear to be in a bed of some sort, dark red curtains, almost maroon, hanging from each of the grand posts rising high from each corner. The sheets are light in material, but dark in colour as your head darts everywhere around the room.
“Where am I?” Your frantic voice, sounding much better than you thought it would after days of no use, echoes around the area.
You seem to be inside of an old building of some sort, the walls the same dusty red as the sands of the desert. It appears as if this chamber has been carved out of stone, a wooden antique desk resting off to the side while shelves upon shelves of books line the walls. The ceiling is high and arched, chandeliers hanging every three rows or so to illuminate the space.
At least this place has electricity… and air conditioning, it seems.
“I think you already know the answer to that.” The same voice replies.
Turning your head, your vision is drawn to a man now leaning against the wooden desk. His arms are crossed over his chest, yet despite his closed off stance, his shoulders appear relaxed. He has somewhat medium length black hair that falls in light waves, parted over his forehead, and wide, dark brown eyes. They appear almost black in colour, for you can see what is supposed to be the whites of his eyes have faded to a sort of aged yellow, almost reminiscent of the few pieces of worn yellow parchment you can see littering the top of the desk.
His clothes are fair. A low collared black shirt adorns his torso, while black pants rest over his legs, reminiscent of jeans. You can even see a silver chain dangling on his hip, attached to the one loop on his waist while the other end disappears around him and into his back pocket. Another chain rests around his neck, thick and just as silver as the other.
How he doesn’t overheat is a mystery to you.
Amusement dances lightly in his eyes as he watches you from across the room. His lips tug upwards in a friendly grin, but the more you stare, the more unnerved your become.
Softly, you place your feet upon the floor, standing cautiously from the bed. Your eyes lock on your personal items - your backpack, canteens, and holster - all sitting beside him on the floor. They seem to be resting against the desk, untouched and in perfect condition.
Inhaling sharply, your one hand rushes to your back.
“Looking for this?” With a quirked brow, the man pulls out your hunting knife from under his arm. “I will say, not as many come as prepared as you do. Desperate, yes, but with weapons?”
A loud clanging echoes throughout the chamber as he tosses the knife onto the top of the desk behind him.
You eye him carefully, guard still high as you prepare to defend yourself using any means necessary. You’re not much of a fighter, but you won’t go down so easily.
“I’m dead, aren’t I?” You voice lowly. “This is the afterlife.”
The man begins to laugh, quite boisterously at that.
“No. You’re not dead.”
“I should be.” You counter. “Even I know that there’s no way in hell I could have been rescued from the middle of the desert when there was a sandstorm approaching. I was already suffering from heat stroke, and dehydration. I should be dead.”
“Is it that surprising to learn that you are not?” He tilts his head curiously at you.
“Did you save me, then?” You counter, mirroring his stance by crossing your arms over your chest.
“I did.” Comes his blunt reply. “It was quite easy, too.”
“Then, if your earlier implication is to be believed, this is the library I’ve been looking for.” You state, somewhat skeptically.
“The one and only.” He confirms with a slight grin.
You blink, disbelief painting your features. “Why… is there a bed in the middle of the library?”
“The bookkeeper needs some place to sleep, no?” He chuckles.
“You’re the bookkeeper of the Library of Illusion?” Your head tilts forward slightly, looking at him with a clearly raised brow.
“Well, I am the Keeper of Keys. Bookkeeping is just my hobby.” He shrugs casually, as if this is a conversation he has often.
“So, then, I’m also correct in assuming you know everything there is to know about this library?” You continue.
“That would be correct.” He nods his head once.
“Great.” You mirror his nod. “Where’s the treasure?”
His eyes widen in amused disbelief. “Not even going to ask for the name of your saviour first?”
“Fine.” You heave a tremendous sigh. “What’s your name?”
He smiles, as if he’s been waiting for this opportunity all along, “My name is Seonghwa.”
A firm nod in response in all he receives from you as you begin to look around the space once more.
His smile falls.
“You know, it’s common curtesy to introduce yourself after someone has identified themselves to you.” He states, rather pointedly.
Your brow furrows as you choose to ignore him for now. There doesn’t seem to be any visible entrances or exits in the immediate vicinity, and the entire chamber doesn’t look that grand to begin with.
“How did you manage to save me?” You turn your attention back to him.
“You were passed out, so I brought you inside.” Comes his simple reply.
You hum, clearly not convinced. Only, you decide to leave it at that for now. Instead, you opt to introduce yourself just as he said. It’s better not to get on his bad side, anyways. He may be the only one who knows the ways in and out of this place. Besides, he did save your life.
��So, bookkeep,” you straighten in your spot, “the treasure?”
“And here I was thinking you’d be different,” he sighs.
“Different?” You nose scrunches, dissatisfied with his tone.
Purposely, he ignores your statement. “What is it that you were told the treasure was this time?”
“I was led to believe the treasure is said to fulfill your deepest desire.” You eye him warily, lowing your hands to your sides for the moment. “A wish, if you will.”
“Let me guess? Fame? Fortune? Beauty?” His gaze narrows slightly, disinterest painting his features. “Love?”
You inhale sharply.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” You reply darkly, tone low and ominous.
“I am the Keeper of Keys, it is my duty to ask questions,” he pushes himself off of the desk. “Especially when the treasure is involved.”
“It’s real, then?” You watch as he begins walking down the open hallway a ways.
“As real as you and me.” He sighs, not even bothering to look back at you.
“Great!” You begin to follow him, that familiar blossom of hope swelling inside of your chest. “Where can I find it?”
Suddenly, Seonghwa makes a sharp right, stopping right before an iron gate. A plaque above the intricately shaped bars of metal reads ‘Restricted Section’ in big, bold letters.
Wordlessly, he points at the gate.
“Behind there?” You question.
“If you can get to it.” He hums, shifting to lean against the shelf closest to him.
You go to take a step forward before stopping yourself. “What’s the catch?”
“What do you mean?” There’s a certain giddiness shining behind his eyes as he meets your own.
“I’m not stupid enough to believe you would lead me straight to the treasure without there being some kind of test.” Your answer is quite firm, irritation lining your voice. “So, what’s the catch?”
“You’re not even going to try the doors?” His tone is nothing short of mocking as he continues to stare at you.
“You didn’t unlock them.” You reply bluntly.
“Smart girl.” He hums. “You see, I cannot unlock them.”
Your brow quirks. “Can’t or won’t?”
“I cannot unlock them.” He repeats, emphasizing his every word. “I don’t have the keys.”
“Some Keeper of Keys you are.” You exhale a disappointed sigh. “Doesn’t even have the key to the restricted section. Bookkeeping must get so boring for you, not having any of the fun books to go through.”
“It has its moments.” He nods, actually contemplating your words. The way he notices you shooting him a blank look has him chuckling. “No, only you can unlock this door.”
“Me?” Incredulous doesn’t even begin to describe you, your eyes going wide as you look from him to the iron gate.
“If you’re serious about wanting this ‘wish’,” he stands back to his full height, “Then, you are going to have to earn it.”
“Earn it?” You shoot him another incredulous look. “How the hell do you expect me to do that? I can’t knock down a locked iron gate!”
“How do you even know it’s locked in the first place?” Seonghwa replies smartly.
“You just said you can’t unlock them!” You raise your hands exasperatedly in the air in front of yourself.
“Oh, I suppose I did.” He chuckles.
“Spend too much time in the desert you have dust for brains or something?” You mutter, shaking your head.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone you just met.” He pouts.
A moment passes where you consider his words before your entire body is deflating.
“You’re right.” You take a deep breath as you look towards the ground. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long past few months.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “You’ve been looking for this library for the past few months?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” You shake your head once more.
“Then, what did you mean?” He blinks at you curiously.
“Never mind.” You wave him off. “Forget I said anything.”
“Normally, when people seek out the treasure’s wish, they tend to be down on their luck.” He comments. “Even fewer still who make it inside.”
“Well, I have you to thank for that, don’t I?” You attempt a faint smile, but it does not reach your eyes. “How do I even get into this restricted section, anyways?”
“You need to find the keys.”
“I think we’ve already established that.” You sigh.
“Not just one key. Keys.” He purposely emphasizes his final word, motioning for you to look closer at the door.
Sure enough, glancing intently at the iron gate reveals six different sets of locks, all weaving together intricately to keep the door tightly shut.
You swallow thickly.
“Where do you suppose I start looking for those? You already said you don’t have the key.” You turn back to face him. “Or well, keys.”
Again, Seonghwa motions across the way, and you follow the movement. A moment later, and he’s stepped to the opposite side of the hall where five plaques seem to be placed directly beside five doors. Each plaque is bronze, title corresponding the the name engraved onto the front of the section it resides beside.
“Each of these doors lead to a different section of the library.” He explains.
“I thought everything would be in one place.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest.
Looking closer at the wall that houses the doors, you notice each door to be different. One is a steel door with a circular handle that looks quite familiar to you. A few are thick wooden doors. One is intricately carved with what appears to be mini statues of kings. The other simply looks like an old wooden door, the types castles are sure to have. Another door is more modern in shape, but still not up to today’s standards, while the other is a mix between iron and wood with a porthole type window frosted over in the centre of it.
Scanning your head around the area, something to the left draws your attention. There seems to be a metal grate on the floor, the area beneath glowing faintly as if there are burning embers far beneath the surface.
That’s when you realize, that must be the sixth door.
“You will need to find the keys in each of these sections before you can attempt to open the main gate of the restricted section.” Seonghwa continues. “But beware, each of these keys are guarded. These guardians will not be easy to convince to give up their keys, if you can even manage that.”
“We’re talking regular old keys here, right? I don’t want this to be some kind of riddle where the key is, I don’t know, a sacred orb, or something that will only transform into a key when I get back here.” You say, somewhat skeptically.
“No, no,” Seonghwa assures you. “They’re all physical keys.”
“Little concerning that the Keeper of Keys doesn’t have the ones we need.” You shoot him a look out of the corner of your eyes.
“It’s not like I wanted them to have these keys. It’s just the way things are.” Seonghwa shrugs.
“Alright, so, these… sections house individual keys kept safe by these guardians.” You repeat back to him, noticing how he nods along to your words. “Anything I should know before I attempt to look for them?”
“Once you enter a section, you will no longer be able to reach the main chamber, or me, for help.” He adds. “Not until the task is complete.”
“If I’m being honest here, Bookkeep, you haven’t been much of a help to begin with.”
“Need I remind you that I saved your life?” He quirks an amused brow.
“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off. “Details, smetails.”
“That’s not a word.”
“Neither is ‘irregardless’, but people still use it, irregardless.” You quirk a small grin, glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes.
“You certainly are very interesting.” He hums.
“I’m going to take that as a complement.” You say, moving closer to each door to inspect the plaques beside them. “Is there a time limit for each section?”
“Not that I am aware of. You can spend as little, or as much time in each section as you desire.” He responds, watching you carefully. “The only way you can come back is if you’ve successfully retrieved the key.”
“So, I could spend years searching for the key inside each section, and still come up empty handed.” You exhale a large sigh. “Great.”
“Not necessarily, but that possibility is not zero.” He replies. “There is no time limit. At all.”
Your brow furrows in thought. “Is there a specific order I have to do this in?”
“No. It is completely up to you to decide the order.”
“Can I take breaks between these so called ‘trials’?” You inquire, tilting your head slightly to the side.
“Yes.” He confirms. “You may stay in the main chamber with me for as long as you desire.”
“Are you allowed to come with me?” You turn to meet his gaze.
“Unfortunately not.” He shakes his head. “This is something you will have to do on your own.”
You purse your lips in response, opting to turn back to the first plaque closest to you. It just so happens to be beside the door which says ‘Adventure’ on the front of it. Stepping in front of it, you begin to read:
“The sea calls us home; a heart to yearn.
Hoist the colours high; never shall we die.”
Inside your chest, you can feel your own heart pang, eyebrow twitching in tandem as you recognize the saying. No wonder there’s a porthole on the door.
Shifting over to the next door, the one with the carvings of kings, an audible gasp escapes your throat as you read the plaque. You’d recognize that inscription anywhere, the lines of the script as familiar to you as breathing. Subconsciously, you clutch at the necklace that you wear in your hand of a golden ring with the same inscription found on its sides.
How fitting for it to be for the ‘Fantasy’ section.
The next door you look over says ‘Mystery’ in those big, bold letters. It really reminds you heavily of a castle, and once you read the plaque, you find out why.
“Deep within the stone walls, terror lurks. A monstrous creature thirsting for blood. Some call it a beast, while others never get a chance as it steals their last breath. Can you uncover the monster lurking in these walls? Can you survive the cold, dreaded night?”
Your eyebrows raise in contemplation as you move onto the next door. It’s the steel one with the circular handle.
Glancing at the plaque, your heart skips a beat in your chest. Lines of code seem to be engraved upon the bronze to serve as the description. Lines of code which you recognize, especially considering the door proudly reads ‘Sci-fi’ as you walk passed.
The final door in the row reads ‘History’, and it is the only one you actively reach out and touch. It’s cool against the skin of your hand, but you find yourself recoiling quickly at the rumble you feel shake the door. Reading the description, you find out why.
“War-torn and forlorn, a husband desperately longs to see his wife instead of the gruesome sight of the dead and injured littering the battlefield. Never has there been such bloodshed since The Great War, and five years in, the world just longs for it to end. However, Europe isn’t the only battlefield this soldier has to brave, but does he have the courage to fight for and defend what is his?”
A slight hum escapes you as you finish reading the plaque, nodding to yourself as you move over towards the grate to your left. Crouching down, you read the final plaque for ‘Horror’.
“Mother is god in the eyes of a child.”
You seemingly breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.”
Standing back to your full height, you notice Seonghwa standing a little tense off to the side.
“What?” His inquiry is somewhat short, but curious none-the-less.
“I’m assuming these plaques tell of what each section has in store?” You ask.
“You would be correct.” He confirms. “I still don’t see-“
“I’ve figured out a majority of what resides in each sections.”
Seonghwa frowns. “How?”
“Simple.” You shrug. “My husband and I-“
Immediately, your voice gets caught in your throat. You blink, fresh tears immediately springing to your eyes as you turn away from Seonghwa for the moment.
“I read a lot.” Your voice is strained as you attempt to clear your throat, wiping subtly at the few tears that manage to escape and roll down your cheeks.
Subconsciously, you grasp that ring hanging around your neck tighter. Another, thinner band of the same golden metal glints off of your own finger on your left hand.
“You’re married.” Not a question, but a statement from Seonghwa.
You glance at him from over your shoulder, unable to get a read on his expression. “I was.”
“Divorced?” Seonghwa’s brow furrows. “Many seek the wish to make the one they still love fall back in love with them-“
“He died.”
A brief silence settles over the both of you.
This time, it’s Seonghwa who clears his throat. “My condolences.”
“I appreciate that.” You reply roughly, tightening your grip on that ring once more.
“I understand your motivations, now.” He replies, beginning to walk back towards where you first woke up. “You may start whenever you’re ready, but I highly recommend eating something first. Take as much time as you need.”
You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat, nodding your head along with his words despite the fact that he’s no longer looking in your direction.
Slowly, you begin to follow him back to the main area, your steps almost as silent as his.
“This wish…” you begin, voice much smaller than before. “Can you guarantee I’ll be able to obtain it if I do this?”
Seonghwa turns around once he reaches his desk, leaning against the front of it as he meets your eyes. “Your greatest desires at the time when you obtain the treasure will be fulfilled.”
Your own gaze narrows ever so slightly, “How do I know that I can trust you?”
“You don’t.” He hums in understanding. “But it’s either that,” his eyes flash to some point in the library off to the side, “or go back.”
“I can’t go back.” You shake your head. “Not now. Not ever. Not without him.”
Seonghwa takes a moment to observe you carefully, before seemingly nodding to himself.
“Then, My Dear,” he grins widely, and you swear his teeth suddenly look a lot more sharper than they should be, “Welcome, to the Library of Illusion.”
#cultofdionysusnet#library of illusion event#yandere ateez#ateez scenarios#yandere kpop#kpop scenario#ateez x y/n#ateez x you#ateez x reader#kpop au#yandere au#seonghwa scenario#yandere seonghwa
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Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLIX
Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student.
But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use.
People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you.
Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance.
Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible.
Rated Explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter also posted on AO3; accessible to registered users only.
Rare were the moments when your hand reached out beneath the sheets and comforters and found not only warmth but the source of it. Sunlight began to bleed through the cracks in the drapes, dawn grazing the mountainside like a forlorn lover. You rolled over and, in the dim light, found dilated crimson eyes already watching you.
You slipped your hand out of the sanctuary of the covers and traced the lines of Zandik’s jaw and neck. He shifted slightly under your touch and, as if on instinct, your feet and legs tangled with his. Half-awake, your breath hitched when you moved even closer, acutely aware of the precarious position of his thigh between yours and how little your nightwear did when your breasts pressed against his chest.
“Usually you’re up by now,” you murmured.
Zandik’s voice was laced with sleep, his chuckle more like a low rumble in his chest as his hand found your hair and played idly with a stray lock.
“I am discovering these moments are not to be taken for granted,” he replied.
“Perfect for observation, you mean.”
He turned his head and pressed his lips to the inside of your wrist as your fingers grazed the hairline of his temple. You felt the twitch of the corner of his mouth and soft breath against your skin.
“Observation implies a lack of practical application. One of which happens to be that, for once, my thoughts are sharper, full of clarity when I’m around you. They were loud before, intrusive; the Segments and Omega muddled everything and for so long, I could not understand how or even if you were meant to find a place with me.”
The revelation was not entirely new. You were already aware of the deep-rooted sentiments and bias he held against the very fabric that kept you two together. Nonetheless, to hear it spoken tugged at your essence and warmth flooded through your chest. Your fingers reached and grazed at teal curls, as if you could hold this moment in your hands, keep it safe.
"This is different for you," you said softly. "Borderline romantic."
"I've been known to be charming from time to time."
You gave a skeptical hum, answered only by the careful graze of lips against yours and an arm ensnaring your waist. Heat flooded through you, running from your cheeks to your stomach, curling lower as your heart skipped. One kiss gave way to another, and then another, a hunger long buried awakening as you brushed your tongue against Zandik’s, deepening the kiss and unwilling to part.
This was so much better than the exploratory fragments of dreams before you saw his eyes. Better than the languid brushes of fingers and mingled breaths, long discussions that made you dizzy and left an ache behind when you woke.
An ache that accompanied a growing eagerness you wished wasn’t accompanied by a pang of shame and mingled with so many other memories impossible to tell apart.
More, more, more. You craved more. You craved him. Agency was yours, all you had to do was—
Leveraging your heel behind Zandik’s calf, you closed the remaining distance, pressing yourself against his thigh. You shuddered at the pressure against the clothed apex of your thighs, your wet heat searing despite the layers between you; his pants were tight and it was impossible to ignore that he too was eager. For a moment Zandik tensed, one of his hands beneath you on your waist as the other splayed across your lower back.
“I have been exceedingly curious about how else we fit together,” he whispered before he kissed you again, sucking slightly on your lower lip. “I have not found accurate accounts that do not devolve into poetic nonsense.”
It was your turn to smirk when you shifted your hips and pressed yourself further against him, friction sending a jolt through your aching core. The hand on your back exerted pressure and you bucked at the sweet jolt that ran through you. His member twitched.
You would be lying if you said you, too, were not intrigued. The mechanics were well-known, understood. But the sensations that arose in his presence, at his touch, were unconventional and akin to nothing describable except a grounding bliss. To experience what laid beyond that, to reclaim it, sang like a siren’s song.
Lips captured yours again, the kiss full of fervor, before they traveled along your jaw and the column of your neck. You gasped and bucked as he found the sensitive spot beneath your ear and in the curve near your shoulder.
“But I am not so eager that I would overlook the notion that patience is well-rewarded. For both of us.”
You swallowed a moan and pushed it to the back of your throat as the hand on your waist ghosted over your stomach and the curve of your breast, stopping to trace a circle around your nipple. His hand hovered, cupping the soft flesh only once before continuing up to dip beneath the neckline of your sleepwear. Your skin tingled as Zandik grazed the other side of your neck and collarbone, the area sensitive, untouched by most. Instinctively, you arched your back as you rolled your hips against his thigh; you were rewarded with the beginnings of a familiar low heat curling, tightening, and a soft cry escaped your lips in recognition.
No, no, you couldn’t...not without…
Reaching between you, your hand searched and found his hardness, his pants tight. You angled your hand to touch him through the fabric, palm against his length, but your muscles twitched with hesitation. Zandik’s hand left your collarbone and covered yours as he guided your hand down his member and back up through his pants.
“I don’t want to...not if you don’t…” you gasped. “Not fair…”
“You and your sense of fairness, rooh 'albi,” Zandik teased. He smirked before he kissed you again. “Not everything is so direct. Try again. Consider this akin to sight-reading.”
You nodded and Zandik let go of your hand. Slowly your fingers danced along his waistband and traced the hard planes of his abdomen. Further up, his chest, just as solid. Neither were incredibly defined but instead were the kind of muscle that came from use, not vanity exercises. In the dreams, when either of you attempted this, you never truly touched one another; you were only left with the vague sensation of being touched, like an echo of a shout in a cavern.
The goal of sight-reading was to feel the notes, get a sense of the rhythm and how one movement flowed into the next. You tried to sense the slight muscle twitch when your touch delved too far to the side or the sharp intake of breath when you grazed Zandik’s tricep, tracing the lines of muscle and earning a soft groan. He fought back a shudder when you went lower, brushing what you could reach of his forearm.
He was quiet as you continued your exploration, save the occasional change in his breathing that told you to try to recreate both the sound and the sensation.
Your fingers found their way across the expanse of his shoulders and upper back, feather-light as they ran up the back of his neck and traced his hairline. He shifted, rolling his head slightly, almost like a cat. Curious, you ran your fingers through his hair and he inhaled stiffly before he gave a soft exhale through his nose, as if working to keep himself quiet. You tried again, fingers seeking and this time keeping a slightly firmer hold as you gently tugged.
Zandik’s lips parted in a breathy gasp as the hand on your back pressed you back against his thigh, your desirous ache returning full force. Your knee, the one tucked between his legs, was precariously pressed against his member, his hips rolling twice in search of friction.
The sun had long since slipped through the seam in the drapes in full-force, bathing the room in a muted sea of golden light. It was well past when either of you usually awoke. Your head snapped towards the bedroom rooms closing the space off from the rest of the suite. Just beyond, you could hear breakfast being arranged by the dedicated staff member who always brought the food straight from the kitchen.
“To be continued another time,” Zandik whispered against your lips.
You untangled yourselves slowly, against either of your wishes, the chill in the room doing nothing for your burning desire. As you attempted to smooth your hair and wrapped yourself in a dressing gown, you couldn’t help but wonder what might have occurred had your morning routine not continued on its usual schedule.
Would your mind have cooperated? Or would your body have reacted on instinct, vision glazing over as you recognized the ceiling, knew the number of tiny motifs carved into the plaster high above? Would you have struggled to breathe as you willed your mind to separate Zandik from Omega from…
Something warm touched you and you flinched, coming to your senses as you recognized Zandik, half-dressed in front of you. Amusement as your still-recovering form barely masked the concern creasing his brow.
“ ...are you truly that dazed, my dear?”
“What if we can never...?”
The words left your lips before you fully formed the thought, the fear gripping you as you gestured to your head. What if you could never give neither of you that experience, that closure, that bliss? If you took the false memories out of the equation, who was to say you would fare any differently?
You tried, once or twice, although never with fellow musicians; it was never successful, never satisfying. Never like the teasing licks of fire that you felt with Zandik.
He stepped closer and tilted his head. His hand fixed the strand of hair tickling your face before resting against your cheek. You hardly ever felt his touch without his gloves and this would be the last time, at least for today.
“Omega pursued what he wanted regardless of boundaries. I have my faults but even I’m not capable of such acts,” he said. “We don’t have to until you’re ready, if you ever are. There are plenty of alternatives and I am never without the means nor drive to find more.”
“Thank you,” you said , the words caught in your throat.
You closed your eyes as a beat passed. Zandik wavered for a moment and then leaned forward to press a parting kiss to your forehead.
“As I said before, patience is something I have in abundance. It is never conducive to be fatalistic.”
Warmth blossomed between the syllables and sat in your chest to replace his lingering touch before the morning chill could snatch it away again.
#dottore#il dottore#il dottore x reader#dottore x reader#dottore/female reader#il dottore/female reader#dottore x female reader#il dottore x female reader#genshin impact reader insert#soulmate au#mdni#minors dni#minors look away#this is the chapter that jumps the rating to cover my bases later on#Idk how to tag this tbh#Heavy petting?????#thigh riding?????#they want to but don’t???#There’s nothing in here that’s actually The Act but damn do they want to
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Pairing: Feysand
Word Count: ~2.8k
Tags: AU - No Amarantha, Human Feyre Archeron x Fae Rhysand, Attempted Kidnapping, Dubious Consent - Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares
Summary: Five times the High Lord of the Night Court tries to lure his human mate across the wall and the one time she hunts him instead.
(Based on this prompt from deepwaterwritingprompts: Sometimes in the dead of night on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water, I see an extra door in the hallway, black and imposing.)
Read this fic on AO3!
It was hunger that woke her.
She became aware of it slowly—the low, rumbling growl of her belly, the dryness at the back of her throat, the acute emptiness that radiated upward from her gut until every limb ached with it. It was as if some ravenous beast had taken shelter in the vast pit of her belly and, unsatisfied with its sparse accommodations, took to shredding her insides in retaliation.
Brushing off the cobwebs of sleep from her mind, Feyre Archeron pushed back the threadbare quilt she huddled beneath and stood. She flinched away from the icy floorboards beneath her feet, stretching and yawning as she shuffled to the dresser at the foot of the bed for an extra pair of socks.
Still, even as she straightened, rubbing a bit of warmth into her arms, the grogginess lingered.
She pressed a hand to her aching stomach and swallowed hard.
The haze of hunger clouding her mind wasn’t a good sign. The pickled vegetables had run out weeks ago, and last night, her family had eaten the last of their bread and dried meat for dinner. The portions were pitiful, just a handful of bites each, and when Feyre went to count the coppers she kept tucked in her drawer to see if they might be able to afford another crust of bread from the village baker for breakfast, there had been none left.
A glance over her shoulder told her that both of her sisters slept undisturbed in the bed the three of them shared. Nesta’s puckered brow and the hand clutching the quilt over her stomach spoke to her own hunger, but sweet-tempered Elain simply sighed, curling deeper into the small pocket of warmth Feyre left behind.
Feyre meant to hunt in the morning. She needed to hunt, if they were to have any more meat for the table or hides to sell in the marketplace. Otherwise, they would starve. There were too many beggars in the village to compete for the rare coin thrown into their cups, and the other methods of earning some cash…
Well. Feyre wasn’t yet so desperate, and the men who could afford such a thing at this time of year were few and far between. She doubted they would take her up on it, anyway. Food may be scarce, but there were still plenty of women in the village whose ragged dresses strained at the bust and whose ribs couldn’t be counted as easily as hers.
But venturing into the frostbitten forest beyond their cottage would be too risky if she couldn’t fight back her hunger. If she didn’t fall asleep and lose fingers to the cold, then she would end up satisfying the appetite of the rangy pack of wolves she’d spotted stalking through her usual hunting grounds a week earlier.
There would be no outrunning them, even if the bone-deep chill didn’t lull her to sleep and make her easy prey; they were just as hungry as she, just as desperate, and far, far more vicious now that the deer and rabbits they both hunted had pulled back into the heart of the forest for the winter.
She took a deep breath, shuffling out of the small bedroom on a hunter’s silent feet.
Water. That’s what she needed. A glass of water would dull the worst of the hunger pangs, and then she could get a few more hours of sleep, at the very least.
She moved on nimble feet, dodging a crumbling floorboard and slipping through the door. After eight years, she could navigate the Archerons’ small, two-room cottage with her eyes closed—and so she did, pinching the bridge of her nose as the hunger pains migrated to her skull like claws scraping against the boundaries of her mind.
In the hearth to her left, the low embers of a fire crackled. Her father would be on a small cot in front of it; his breathing was just as steady as her sisters’. To her right, the painted dining table and dented, rusting iron range that served as their kitchen. There would be a pail of water at the opposite end beneath the small window, hauled from the well a half-mile away.
Feyre stretched out a hand, blindly seeking the edge of the table. As she made contact with it, following the familiar grooves and contours to the opposite end, the scent of the dried meat and stale bread wafted up to greet her.
Agonizing hope pounded against her breast.
She blinked her eyes open, squinting against the dim light searing into them.
Had she missed a bite? Was there something left to fill her belly—a molded crust or too-tough strip of jerky that made her sisters turn up their noses?
Anything. She would take anything.
But even before she saw the empty table and the barren shelves above it, she knew that hope was futile. No, if there had been even a single morsel left, she and Nesta would have fought over it viciously at dinnertime. There was never any food left after meals like this, not even a single crumb.
The scent seemed to grow even stronger in the wake of that thought, but it wasn’t salted venison or watery rabbit stew perfuming the air.
Feyre took a deep, ravenous breath.
Hot, fresh bread—that’s what it was.
She could picture it clearly. Warm and sweet and yeasty, still steaming, its crust a shining, golden dome. So unlike the flat, heavy loaves she was used to, made with more sawdust and chalk than grain.
Woven into ribbons of sweetness wafting off of the bread was the savory scent of roast chicken stuffed with fragrant herbs and fresh, summery vegetables swimming in melted butter, creamy and smooth.
And there, beneath it all—clean, zesty citrus.
Feyre breathed and breathed and breathed in the scent of that phantom meal.
Simple, elegant fare. Luxurious, but only to those who knew the true worth of each component of the meal.
She would have to sell a half-dozen hides to afford so much butter. Two dozen of her father’s whittled animals might equate to a small sack of flour for the bread. And how long would Nesta have to haggle down the price of a chicken in the marketplace before Elain swept in, blushing and batting her lashes, to all but steal it from beneath the butcher’s nose?
Feyre’s mouth watered, her tongue seeming to sting with the desire to eat.
When was the last time she had chicken? Two summers ago, perhaps, when her attempt to raise a hen for the eggs ended abruptly as it started when an intrepid fox took a bite out of the squawking bird.
She had gotten good money for that fox. She’d shot an arrow right through its eye, and one of the wealthier ladies in town had exclaimed over its orange fur and purchased it right there in the street when she went to sell it at the market. After feasting on what was left of the chicken, it felt indulgent to spend a bit of that money on a piece of tart penny candy, but she had anyway.
And the citrus she could smell now…
Lemon, perhaps.
Feyre remembered it well. How many afternoons had she spent in her father’s office before the world she knew crumbled, examining crates of exotic fruits from the continent? How many lemons had she held to her nose, greedily breathing in their sweet, sharp scent and wondering where they came from—and what it must be like to be surrounded by a grove of lemon trees full of that scent?
And how many times had her father caught her snooping and sliced open one of those lemons for her with a wink using the elegant penknife he always carried in his breast pocket, so she could dip one of the peppermint sticks he hid in the bottom drawer of his desk into it? How many sweltering afternoons were spent leaning out of a window of that seaside manor, savoring that cool, refreshing treat while her hair flew free in the salt wind?
Sea salt and citrus, forever the scent of perfect contentment.
She closed her eyes, breathing it in again as her heart stumbled. Sea salt and citrus and a fresh, warm meal…
It was a dream, all of it. It must be. She hadn’t felt such unblemished happiness since—
She couldn’t remember. That final summer before her mother died must have been ten years ago, maybe twelve.
Still, her stomach rumbled dangerously. If she were dreaming, and the food was real enough in her mind…
She looked at the table.
Empty, save for the fading flowers she had painted on its surface. The last of her hope gave way, crumbling.
But… Feyre bit her lip. Somehow, some way, chicken and vegetables and bread still scented the air, hanging heavy and delectable around her.
She turned, searching for its source.
And there, behind her: a door on an otherwise empty stretch of wall.
A door that, in her waking hours, did not exist.
It was made of heavy, polished oak, carved simply enough. Warm. Inviting. The wood was golden, practically glowing, welcoming her inside. The brass knob glimmered in the dying firelight, and buttery sunshine spilled out from the crack beneath the door.
It was such a beautiful door that, for a moment, she hesitated.
She ought to be wary. Traveling peddlers brought stories—more and more, lately—of other border towns reduced to smoking rubble by the uncautious village girls who invited handsome, bloodthirsty faeries into their homes. Strange folk, tall and graceful and shrouded in mist and shadow, searching for something they would not find below the wall that separated the human world from their own and driven into devastating rages when they were left wanting.
But her dream beckoned as a fresh wave of pain clenched her empty stomach in its fist.
She reached for the knob.
And strong, warm fingers wrapped around her wrist.
Feyre couldn’t stop the shriek that tore from her throat. Not a dream, not a dream!
That invisible hand pulled, dragging her to the threshold as the door swung open.
Feyre barely caught a glimpse of red stone and a long table as she skittered back, wrenching her wrist out of the shadows—shadows!—gripping it. They let go, disappearing as if they were nothing more than a wisp of steam curling off the platters she saw glistening beyond the doorway, and her hips clashed against the edge of her own table as she fell back with the full force of her panic.
Not a dream, not a dream, oh gods!
Her father’s soft snores cut off, replaced by grumbling. “What in the seven…” His cot creaked dangerously, “Elain?”
Feyre was dimly aware that she was shaking, her face buried in her hands, having collapsed to the floor after hitting the table. And though humans no longer had gods to pray to, her thoughts were reduced to a desperate litany.
Oh, gods. Oh, gods. Please no. No, no, no.
“Feyre?” Her father’s voice was louder, slurred with sleep.
“What?” In her ears, her own voice was shrill, terrified. Quavering.
She glanced back at the wall and found—
A hysterical sound bubbled up from her chest.
A wall.
Just a wall.
“Feyre?” Her father’s cane dragged against the floorboards, and the cot creaked again, louder this time. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing!” She scrambled to her feet, her attention locked on the wall. Not real, not real, please gods, no. She turned her head toward the hearth, but didn’t dare look away from the spot where the door had been. “Just a bad dream. I was getting a glass of water and tripped. Don’t get up.”
“Hmph.”
She listened to her father’s cane return to the floor beside the cot with a quiet clatter. His bedclothes shifted, and a low, pained groan rent the air as several stiff joints cracked and popped.
“You should be more careful in the dark, Feyre. These floors’re uneven.” His words were muffled, distant, muttered by a man already half-asleep beneath his blankets. “...shouldn’t stay so late. Twilight’s not good for maidens.”
Feyre’s head whipped to him—already sound asleep, wholly undisturbed. “What did you say?”
A soft snore answered her.
It didn’t matter. She knew the answer already, that fractured bit of verse dredged up from the tired mind of a tired man.
It was the sort of thing he might have said once with a conspiratorial grin. There had been so many nights when he’d caught Feyre up past her bedtime, slipping and sliding across the smooth, marble floors of their estate in her stocking feet in the pale moonlight.
Some small part of her still expected him to rise from the cot and sneak up on her from behind, to pinch her side and chase her back to her room, singing that hair-raising chant until she shrieked with laughter and woke her sisters. For a long moment, she waited, watching, as if he might wake and do just that…
But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. The warning was a rote thing, nothing more than a playful bedtime chant turned to habit sometime during the too-short years of her childhood.
Her shoulders slumped, and she turned back to the wall. To her relief, it was still an empty stretch of wall.
“Nevermind,” she murmured to herself. The word was bitter on her tongue. “Goodnight.”
She lifted a hand, testing the patchy wattle and daub wall beneath her fingers. Utterly normal, if one considered walls that crumbled under the slightest bit of pressure normal.
She heaved a sigh, squaring her shoulders. Her stomach protested against the movement with such force that Feyre ended up hunched in on herself for a moment, pressing a fist hard into the worst of the cramping in her middle.
Fear—real fear, deeper and more persistent than a split-second nightmare—clutched her, even as cool relief loosened her terror-stiff limbs. That’s all the door was. A hallucination brought on by hunger and exhaustion.
No. Not hunger.
Starvation.
The final, desperate act of the frenzied beast in her gut.
Heavy lead filled the pit of her belly. She had watched as other villagers succumbed to hunger before—at least a handful every winter. It was always the same, and the village was always a pitiless, starved audience forced to witness it.
First came the crying and begging brought on by the sheer pain and panic of that first, gut-shredding wave of hunger. Day by day, as she entered the marketplace to hawk her hides, Feyre noticed that the pleading slowed, melting into molasses-thick lethargy as round cheeks sunk and limbs withered.
By that point, most tended to lay down anywhere they could without being trampled at that point. Most never got up.
But a fair few did. They rose, calling out to forgotten gods and long-dead mothers for mercy, and then, without fail, a hunter—one of the older ones, a grizzled old man with dull, brown eyes—was called to put them down.
It wasn’t safe, the rag-tag council of old men who made up the village’s leaders said. Who could know what foul, bloodthirsty manner of faerie might hear them beckoning from death’s threshold and descend on them all, if they were allowed to live?
A chill dragged insidious fingers up Feyre’s spine.
She hastened to get a glass of water, blindly grabbing one of the dented pewter cups from their place on the window’s ledge. She needed something, anything, to stave off the worst of the pain. More sleep, too, and perhaps she would wake refreshed for once, and the door and the hand and the food would be nothing more than a distant nightmare.
The draft seeping through the window’s crooked sashing slammed into her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, conserving what little heat she could in her thin shift. The cheap panes were cloudy, so scratched that only a few small slivers of the world peered back at Feyre as she sipped from her glass.
Snow had fallen while she was asleep. A great, white blanket of it covered the barren earth of the small clearing beyond the cottage. The trees had long since shed their leaves, and they reached up into the sky like desperate penitents seeking mercy from the harsh cold that was bound to kill off several of their kin in the coming months. If not the cold, then the sheer weight of the snow would strangle and break them.
Feyre followed the line of those branches up and up and up, and there, high above her in the midnight sky, past that sparse canopy, two round clusters of stars twinkled down at her, looking for all the world like a pair of great, laughing eyes.
She stuck her tongue out at them.
Thanks for reading! I have several chapters of this fic fully written and the rest is thoroughly outlined, so I’m planning to post ~once per week. 💕
#feysand#feyre archeron#rhysand#a court of thorns and roses#acotar#a court of thorns and roses fic#my fics#atwfd#as the world falls down#please read the tags for content warnings!
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