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saeist · 1 year

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it's not living if it's not with you ── s. itoshi

synopsis: if it's meant to be, it will be genre: ex2lovers, arranged/fake dating, celebrity!au, pro!au, fluff, angst with happy ending, sharing a bed, 2nd chances, ... word count: 12.3k warnings: reader and sae aged up 22+, implied sex towards the end, reader has a hint of social anxiety/claustrophobia, i think sae is a little ooc in some scenes, lmk if i missed some notes: THERE YOU HAVE IT SAEISTS.. MY 1K SPECIAL!! THIS IS THE SUPER SECRET SAE FIC I'VE BEEN TEASING EVERYONE ABOUT FOR LIKE A WEEK NOW AND IT'S FINALLY IN FRUITION! <3 here's a lil sae brainrot to show my gratitude to you guys ^_^ fellow saeists who also consume an unhealthy(?) amount of sae content...... this fic is also dedicated to the loml my bae aeri @saerins for taking ur time of day to beta-read and to my angel baby sage @invsu as well <33 ilu guys extras: i made a playlist for this bc i am insane like that and without further a do.. sit back, relax and enjoy! lmk what u guys think either in the tags or comments bc i rlly worked hard on this for like a week and i jus couldn't stop writing! talk abt a sae earworm... ++ if u guys find theres a lot of the 1975 references.. its bc i was listening to their songs as i made this lawl .. tmi!

001.

you didn’t really put into consideration how awkward it actually was to be working on a modeling gig with your ex boyfriend.

the pay was obviously really good that’s why you even agreed to book it in the first place, especially since it was for a famous luxury brand and their fragrance line

so imagine your horror when you walk into set and see your ex posing for the cameras.

you silently hoped that it was just his solo shoot and not with you because your manager did mention that you would be having a partner for this photoshoot

the photographer greets you with a hug and compliments your outfit for the shoot. a white, sultry open neckline dress. the theme of the shoot was it was set on the beach with a sunset background

he instructs you to lay on the makeshift sand and tells you to start posing for your solo shots.

after a couple of clicks, the photographer compliments you on your professionalism on set and then calls your ex boyfriend.

“sae! time for the couple shots i told you about” the photographer calls out to sae who was on his makeup chair. your eyes widened in realization that he was, in fact, your partner for today’s shoot

you tried to look at your manager for some help but it was no use. your manager was busy talking to other people on set. you can feel your heart beating faster by the minute as sae walks closer to you

he was wearing something similar to what you were wearing. dress pants and a white oversized unbuttoned polo. his exposed toned abdomen was probably the main highlight of his outfit with it glistening under the studio lights.

you bit your lip and looked away. sae has always been eye candy, there was no denying that. you were surprised yourself when you managed to bag him during his rookie days, but now that he was almost, if not an A list celebrity with his elite status in the world of football, you can almost say that itoshi sae was totally out of your league

you come back to your senses when the photographer claps his hands and muses how you and sae have insane chemistry that he has ever witnessed. you let out a little huff at the comment.

‘if only he knew’ you think to yourself, avoiding sae’s gaze as much as possible

the shoot starts and the photographer instructs sae to hover over you while holding the perfume bottle. sae nods and does what he’s told, he’s a professional after all. he wouldn’t let his personal feelings interfere with his work. that was the golden rule in the industry

you locked eyes with sae for the first time in years. he still had those fiery teal eyes that gets you weak in the knees each time. your eyes slowly dart from his eyes to his lips.

“keep doing that y/n!” the photographer cheers, clicking away on his camera. did you do something in your past life that you would inevitably end up in an awkward situation like this. a situation wherein you and your ex lover, in a position where you two are posing like an actual couple

your eyes flicker back from sae’s lips to his eyes again. for a second there you thought you felt a spark, a connection, an old flame that has been rekindled at that very moment.

til it all comes back to you in a flash

you forgot you hated him. you hate itoshi sae and you could’ve sworn itoshi sae hated you too.

the bitter taste is still in your mouth after all these years. how could you forget the man who broke your little heart in two?

it was childish really. looking back at it now, where you were merely just starting out as a rookie model and sae being the same, a rookie at his profession. just two kids having a similar situation in two whole different industries. it was hard not to get entangled.

you were always known to be sae's long time lover. you were always supportive of his games. present whenever you can, sitting at the exclusive VIP section of the stadiums, wearing his number on your back; and if you weren’t able to attend due to your own schedules, you would still manage to find the time to support him. may it be posting an instagram story that you were watching him on your phone while you were getting your makeup done or wearing his jersey on the day of the game

sae was the same. he would always be seen wearing the stuff from brands you’ve modeled for. from jewelries to exclusive clothing lines, sae would always be seen wearing them, his silent way of showing support in your own craft.

you were proud of him, and he was proud of you too.

but as all things are, good things come and go. even in the most unexpected times.

there were already rumors circulating that you and sae were ready to tie the knot, some news outlets even stating that maybe you two have gone ahead and tied the knot at some island during your secret little rendezvous. (having been caught going to santorini for more than multiple occasions)

the public has always been supportive of your relationship throughout the years. even earning the title as the nation’s sweethearts with how they’ve seen your relationship blossom from puppy love to what they call as “true love”

with the news that the nation’s sweethearts have parted ways, the public was as heartbroken as you.

sae suddenly called it quits after almost five years of dating. it was after he has been taken under the wing of real madrid’s division A where his career as a midfielder really took off. to make matters even worse, he broke it off at the same place he claimed you as his.

since then, you’ve sworn to hate him. you’ve resented him. you felt like all those years that you two have built was nothing. you couldn’t even believe him at first when he spat out the words “we’re over” like it was nothing.

five years, five years worth of unforgettable firsts. five fucking years to unlearn everything.

you were absolutely crushed back then. you even took a hiatus with everything going on in your life. you were a mess. you actually can’t believe sae had no remorse over this. were the five years you were together nothing for him? all those tears you two have shed, the firsts of everything, all those precious memories, were they all nothing?

it hasn’t even been a year or so but it seemed like sae already moved on, which added more salt to your already open wound. he was flourishing with his career while all of this was going on. sae has been photographed multiple times leaving clubs with lipstick stains all over his neck.

it stung of course. seeing him move on with his life as if he didn’t just ruin yours. that very night, you swore to yourself that you will never forgive itoshi sae for what he did.

never again would you open your heart to someone like itoshi sae.

itoshi sae, the man who broke your heart into two.

“earth to y/n?” the photographer snaps his fingers in front of you, breaking your little trance.

you apologize to the photographer, your cheeks heating up at the realization that you really got lost in your thoughts the moment you’ve met eyes with sae.

“as i was saying,” the photographer eyes you and sae, “the shoot is over. well done” he bows, motioning the people behind the scenes to clap for you and sae

almost immediately you stood up from your awkward position from sae. intentionally avoiding his hand that was held out for you to take. (you hate how he was still a gentleman to you, even after all these years)

you look around for your manager and strut towards him.

“we’re leaving. now” you say with no emotion in your voice, even walking farther ahead from your now confused manager.

he takes a look around on what could’ve made you pissed off but sees no one but itoshi sae in the flesh.

“but y/n, itoshi sae is here-” your manager gets cut off when there was a loud slam of a door nearby. he winces when he realizes it was you. he turns around and bows his head at the people on set.

“i apologize for y/n’s actions”

with that, your manager runs after you.

sae could only stare at your direction with mixed feelings. a part of him was relieved that he got to see you again after all these years, yet he doesn’t understand why he was feeling off to find out that you still resented him. i mean, that was what he expected for his own actions all those years ago.

with a click of a tongue, he goes back to his own manager so they can finally go home after a long day.

you don’t even know why you were crying. tears blurring your vision as you try to find the exit out of this damned building.

you harshly wipe your tears, opening the last door to your left. you were met with the harsh, cold air of japan. you weren’t looking where you were going, barely even noticing that someone was by the door til you bumped into them.

the steel floors were making it hard to walk in your heels. so when you bumped into the said stranger, you lost your balance.

the stranger had quick reflexes. they immediately caught you by your waist and your hands flew to their chest to keep yourself steady. you looked up at the stranger to apologize only to meet eyes again with the same teal eyes that belonged to no one other than sae fucking itoshi

you don’t know how long you two have been in this position until you see a bright flash in your peripheral vision.

you have just been papped by paparazzi with your ex boyfriend and sworn enemy, itoshi sae.

002.

the headlines in both social media, news outlets and the such were exactly how you expected it.

it was crazy.

the general public going wild, thinking that the once famed couple were now back together after how many years.

your phone was blowing up with emails upon emails. calls from friends and relatives to confirm the news themselves that you’ve been seeing sae again. you look at your manager beside you apologetically as he receives another phone call from what you think is another e-news outlet asking if the rumors circulating were true.

you have been summoned by your company for an emergency meeting as the whole situation was getting out of hand.

that was when you realize how big of a name itoshi sae was after all these years of blocking his name on twitter.

your PR team is currently a mess. they are currently working their asses off to put out a good story for your sudden reunion with the famed midfielder.

“how many times do i have to tell you to be careful being papped after a shoot?” the head of your PR team, pinches the bridge of their nose. clearly this wasn’t the first time around

“i was!” you defend yourself, “i didn’t even know it was him til i looked up..” you murmured

your manager facepalms at your response. how did you not know it was sae?

“so what i’m getting here..” the head puts their glasses on the table, “you didn’t “know” that it was the itoshi sae, your partner for this specific photoshoot, the famed midfielder of real madrid, itoshi sae?” they quote, looking at you like you just grew another head

you nod in content, “exactly” you grin, putting your thumbs up. in hopes it raises the mood. (it doesn’t, unfortunately)

“y/n, i hope you know this isn’t just something we can brush under the rug. this is not the same situation with yukimiya kenyu where you two were caught being cozy in his car”

“yuki was literally just driving me home! and we’re close friends!” you defend yourself, yet again.

“exactly! yukimiya is a close friend! while itoshi sae is not. that’s why this is such a big deal!”

you slump back to your seat. okay, maybe they were right. this was a lot harder to get around with especially since the public knows about your past relationship.

“luckily for you, we have talked things out with itoshi sae’s management,” it was your manager’s turn to talk. he stands up from the seat beside you and walks over to your PR team’s head. they exchange glances before nodding.

“we have come up with a way that this whole issue will be over soon” your manager starts.

as if on cue, the doors of the meeting room suddenly open. you take a look on who could be entering this sacred room this late. surely it couldn’t be more of your PR team as they were all already present in the room.

there stood with their hand still on the doorknob is no one other than sae, with his manager right behind him.

your jaw drops as you put two and two together.

you whipped your head towards your manager and the head of your PR team in both horror and disbelief.

no, it can’t be…

“you two will now be in an arranged relationship for the meanwhile. until your situation dies down” sae’s manager finishes, taking a seat next to sae, who took the seat next to you.

you could see your manager squeeze his eyes shut, knowing where this is going. you were about to have a fit right here right now.

“WHAT?!” you let out a loud scream. the whole floor probably heard you.

sae also winces at how ear-piercing your scream was.

you abruptly stood up from your seat, snatching your purse from the table and stomped out of the meeting room. not forgetting to slam the door shut on the way out.

immediately you called up your two closest friends, reo and yukimiya to meet you at your apartment ASAP.

003.

“so you’re telling me– us,” yukimiya pauses, looking between you, who has mascara running down your cheeks and reo, who was busy rubbing circles on your back as he hands you another tissue for you to blow your nose on, “that you are going to be in an arranged relationship with your ex, itoshi sae.. am i getting that right?” yukimiya confirms, waiting for your response

you nod before blowing your nose and throwing the now used tissue on the rising pile of tissues behind you.

“this is the worst day of my fucking life” you cried out, reaching out to reo to cry on his shoulders.

“oh, y/n” reo sighs, pulling you into his embrace as you cry your eyes out.

you pull away from reo’s embrace, “i mean, why him, why now?!” you rambled, words getting choked up.

both reo and yukimiya could only frown. after all, even with their power, money and status, there was nothing they could do to help with your situation.

your doorbell suddenly rings, catching all three of you in surprise. who could be at your door right now?

yukimiya took the initiative of opening the door, only to be met with the eyes of the itoshi sae. barely noticing your manager behind him.

sae raises his eyebrow at the man in front of him. who was he and why was he at your apartment?

“yukimiya-san! i didn’t know you were over..” your manager sheepishly greets yuki, trying to break the growing tension between him and sae.

“who’s out there, yuki?” you croak out, trying to take a peek at the door from reo’s shoulders.

“it’s me, y/n” you hear your manager call out. you look at reo in confusion. what was your manager doing here?

gradually, you slowly stood up from your kitchen island and walked over to your front door.

now, you just expected a scolding from your manager from your little fit back at the company, that’s why he was at your place or so you thought. what you didn’t expect that you’d see itoshi sae again but this time, in your own space.

“have you lost your fucking mind?” you shot a look at your manager, who only winces as a response.

“y/n- i can explain-“

“i made him take me here” sae speaks up for the first time. you felt your breath hitched. it’s been so long since you last talked to him, let alone heard him speak. (you’ve done everything you can and blocked every single thing related to sae. that meant interviews, news articles, you name it, you had his name and everything blocked and muted)

sae invites himself inside your apartment with your manager following suit as you stand there at your front door, stunned.

reo is equally as shocked as you are when he sees itoshi sae casually walk to your living room as if it was his. before reo could open his mouth to say something, you come running in, fuming.

“who the fuck told you you can come inside MY house” you spat. your attitude turning a whole 180.

sae only raises an eyebrow at you. “our team” he casually says. he then looks at your manager and cocks his head towards your direction. like he was trying to get your manager to tell you something.

“what now?!” this time it was your manager’s turn to get yelled at by you. he winces again before checking for something in his ipad.

“since you um.. walked out at our meeting earlier today… both managements has come to terms that you and itoshi sae would be living together for the meantime”

silence fills the room, the entire apartment if we were being honest

your vision goes dark, the next thing you know and you black out.

as you slowly regain your consciousness, you hear some people talking. well, to you it sounded like they were slurring because you couldn’t really comprehend what they were saying. slowly, you open your eyes. the first person you see is a frantic reo who seemed to be fanning your face with yukimiya holding your hand

“where am i?” you grunt, feeling some dull ache on the back of your head and lower back.

“you fainted” sae points out. staring at you who was on the ground. you sat up and stared at sae, wide eyed. “what the hell is he still doing here?!” you ask in distraught. you thought everything prior to this was all just a fever dream, or a nightmare as you’d like to call it

your manager, who was getting you a glass of water comes running to your aid. he crouches and tells you to drink up- to which you do.

“we were discussing your current situation with itoshi sae until you fainted… ” your manager starts, you choke on your water after hearing those words but thankfully didn’t start a coughing fit. you motioned your manager to continue so that you’d finally hear the end of this dreadful moment

your manager's eyes flicker between you and sae, “we’ve come up with an agreement that until the time being, itoshi sae would be living with you and you’d market yourselves as a couple. sae has already consented and agreed with the contract and your PR team as well…” he finishes, clutching his ipad close to his chest

reo, who was listening intently, felt like it was unfair for you to be in this type of situation regardless if it was an order from your company

“isn’t unfair for y/n though? she herself didn’t consent to this contract right? doesn’t this violate her own rights of code of ethics?” reo interferes, giving your manager a look. you look at reo and smiled. maybe you’ll ask him to contact the finest lawyers of japan that he knows after this

your manager was about to speak up but sae beat him to it.

“i was the one who suggested this whole setup, not their company. so technically, this isn’t “violating y/n’s rights of code of ethics” as it’s not even printed on a contract because simply, there is no contract” sae states, mocking reo’s tone of voice, giving him a side eye before turning his attention back to you.

this time it was yukimiya who steps in. he turns to sae with his eyebrows raised. “isn’t there another way to get around this? not just by your means?” yukimiya pauses, pushing his glasses up, “i mean, why does it have to be like this where you’ll live with y/n for an issue that could be squashed with just a single article denying your relationship or involvement with y/n?”

sae sits up straight, staring yukimiya down with an icy stare. “this doesn’t concern you”

yukimiya and reo both stand up, “actually it does. y/n is our friend” reo hisses, glaring at the red head who merely just yawns and rolls his eyes.

was sae even taking this seriously?

sae sighs, a bored expression on his face. “this is matters between me and y/n only”

finally having enough of his bullshit, you got up from the ground and walked in front of sae.

“what exactly are you planning, itoshi sae?” you narrow your eyes at him. this was the first time in years you’ve looked at him. you note how appearance wise, he hasn’t changed one bit.

sae chuckles a bit, catching you by surprise. what’s so funny?

“drop the formalities, y/n. you know me better than everyone else in this room” he scoffs, eyeing you from head to toe.

sae won’t lie. he thinks you were still beautiful the day he left you. to him, you were always the prettiest in the room and from the way his heart raced after seeing you for the first time again in years, he knows himself that thought stayed the same.

he watches your eyes soften for a second before it goes back to your signature glare.

“actually, I don't,” you say dryly, crossing your arms. “so, tell me. what exactly are you gonna get out of this?”

sae sighs. he doesn’t know himself either but he wasn’t just about to say that out loud. he doesn’t know what got into him all of a sudden. was it because he was curious about how you were doing? was he intrigued? did he somehow miss you all of a sudden because he saw you again?

a part of him always longed for you even after you two have gone your own separate ways. it was hard not to, considering you have spent a chunk of your lives together. not to mention, you two grew up with each other and built blossoming careers together hand in hand.

it was only until he finally got recruited for division a of real madrid where he thought it would be best if you guys would stop what you have in order to be the best version of himself— wrong.

he realized he fucked up that maybe that wasn’t the best option when he realized he needed you more than ever. you were his best support system. you were always there with him during the hardest times holding his hand but it was already too late. the damage had been done and it was irreversible.

the day he broke up with you, or the day he fucked up everything was also the last time he ever saw or heard from you ever again.

sae tried. he tried and tried and tried to reach out to you. he tried searching for your socials, your contact information, literally everything he can get his hands on. but even with his power and money in the world, it was still not enough to find you.

the only updates he had of you was the ads that were plastered all around social media and in the busy shopping districts of the cities he’s in. it was almost like a constant reminder of what he lost.

so shocked was an understatement when you were his partner for the commercial shoot his manager had booked him for some random luxury brand.

after all those years, he found you again.

to say the stars were on his side when you two got papped by the paparazzi is a bit selfish on sae’s end. as much as he fucking despises the paparazzi as they tend to ruin things for him, he’s quite glad that for once that they did something right.

they brought you back to him.

so sae couldn’t just let this opportunity of a lifetime slide. even if this so called “scandal” could easily just be cleared out with a simple denying of such rumor. but sae couldn’t just let this end like that.

he wants to fix everything he broke. sae wants another chance.

“this is pointless” you deadpan, after waiting for sae to speak. he was just sitting there, staring right back at you for god knows how long that you begin to become conscious.

sae looked like he just snapped out of his train of thought as he shook his head before clearing his throat.

“it’s a win-win situation for both of us” sae blurts, “you get more publicity out of this–”

yukimiya and reo both looked at him like he was crazy.

“excuse you— with or without you, y/n is already famous. hell, you don’t even know how many brands are waiting for her to reach back at them!”

“do you live under a rock or something? how do you not know y/n is one of the, if not the number one top model of the country?”

you were secretly thankful that you called both yukimiya and reo beforehand. not only you got an ego boost, but it gave sae a taste of your own reality that you are where you are now because he left you

a small smirk tugs on your lips when sae frowns. you watch him chew his bottom lip, a telltale sign that he was thinking of something to save his ass

“well, if you aren’t gonna get something out of this.. i have” you say, catching everyone’s attention, including your own manager.

your manager looks at you with his head tilted to the side. mouthing “what do you mean?”

“i’ll only agree to this if after this whole scandal is over, i don’t ever want to see you again” you propose to sae. it was only fair for it to end like this as one, he was the one who suggested this idea in the first place. two, you can never be too complacent with sae who apparently has no motive regarding this. this was sae we’re talking about, he’s bound to plot something and three, you can finally find the answers you’ve been yearning for after all these years. might as well use this as an opportunity to get your well deserved closure.

there was a glint of hope in sae’s eyes.

“deal”

you hear yukimiya and reo yell a bunch of lines like “seriously y/n?” but all you can focus on is sae who’s also looking right back at you.

your manager claps his hands in joy, immediately dialing your company about your decision. sae takes this time to call his own manager to probably tell him to bring his stuff in.

did you make the right decision? you’re not too sure. only time can tell.

004.

today was the first day of you officially “dating” sae again.

also the first day of living with sae, for the meantime

just a little after you’ve come to an agreement with sae with the set up of your rekindled “relationship”, both managements didn’t waste a single second on confirming the news that the nation’s sweethearts have gone back together

needless to say, both of your names are trending and is the current talk of the town

so your first agenda (from both PR teams) is that you both post strikingly similar instagram stories as if you were together the night prior. (in which, you two were.. force binded by a non-existent contract)

it was a good thing that you chose an apartment that had a spare guest room because god forbid you’d even dare to sleep in the same bed with your ex.

you didn’t give sae a warning that you were already gonna post something. just a quick snap of your window, that holds the view of shibuya, with a little sunlight peeking through. you captioned it with a little “good morning indeed” with a cheeky emoji just to spice things up.

sae, who was in the next room, was casually scrolling through instagram when he sees that you posted a new instagram story. he clicks his tongue in annoyance at the fact you didn’t even give him a heads up. quickly improvising, he took a mirror selfie from the vanity mirror that you have around in your guest bedroom.

you started your day with making your own breakfast. not even bothering to call sae. hell, he can starve for all you care. after all, he was not your responsibility. you only agreed to do this because frankly you had no other choice from your company.

while waiting for your eggs, it didn’t take you a while to also notice that sae already posted his part of the agenda. thinking of it as nothing, you innocently clicked on his profile. his story loads and wow. resonating with your caption, good morning indeed!

sae posted a shirtless mirror selfie. he was still under the covers but made sure his torso was seen on the mirror.

“take a screenshot, it’d last longer” sae says flatly, moving past you to your fridge. you jolt in surprise, almost dropping your phone in the process. “what the fuck!” you yell out, a hand over your chest.

you hear sae chuckling behind you and the fridge opening

“you got all that money stocked up somewhere and yet you don’t even have groceries?” sae comments, noting your almost empty fridge. there were only some milk boxes and some of those edible collagen jellies that help you with swelling when you have early morning shoots and the such.

sae takes the last chocolate milk box you had that was hidden away at the back of your fridge

“well, my manager does it for me and i usually eat at reo’s or yukimiya’s– is that the last of my milk?!” you pried your eyes off your phone to see sae casually sipping on the last milk box you were saving

“so?”

“that’s mine” you argued, getting up from the kitchen island to snatch it from sae. you stomp over to him and tried to swipe it off his hands. unfortunately for you, sae is an athlete and that meant he had reflexes like no other. he raises his arm high just before you were able to grab the milk box from him.

“sae, give it back” you grit your teeth, standing on your tippy toes, trying or attempting to take the milk box from sae’s hold but the height difference is just something else.

sae leans down and gets all over your face. “come on, you can do it,” he teases, eyes fixated on yours.

this feeling almost felt too familiar. almost like a wave of nostalgia just hit you in the face. the memories you’ve been trying to suppress all coming back

you snapped out of your little trance when you realized the position you two were in.

“my eggs are burning” you lie, leaving sae dumbfounded. you scurry off to your stove to finish what you were cooking while sae goes and sits on your kitchen island.

he watches you plate your breakfast and sit on the other end of the kitchen island. you actually felt him staring but chose to ignore him. the sound of his stomach grumbling breaks the awkward silence.

“where’s my breakfast?” he asks, voice small

you shrug, “i don’t know”

“you didn’t make me one?”

“why will i?” you raise a brow, happily munching on your bacon while sae could only look at you in disbelief.

later that day you two had your own schedules. he had practice and other stuff to do while you had another meeting about different commercial offers and a lunch date with reo and yukimiya just like you promised the two.

you got home later than sae. you were about to grab some water from the fridge when you notice that it was fully stocked with groceries. you can’t help but smile a little at the gesture.

you did your usual night routine before getting comfy in bed. just before you were about to hit the hay, you don’t forget to send sae a quick message, thanking him for the groceries.

[11:43] you: thanks for doing the groceries ig

[11:44] sae: i couldn’t just let myself starve here, can i?

you rolled your eyes at his reply. he’s still so sarcastic even after all these years

[11:45] you: whatever 🙄

[11:46] sae: i also restocked that milk you love so much. call it truce from earlier today

[11:46] you: who told you it was my favorite? 🤨

[11:47] sae: gut feeling, call it old habit

you raised a brow at his text. what did he mean by that? before you could type your reply, your phone notifies you that sae sent another message

[11:49] sae: jk. your manager told me

you didn’t realize you were holding in your breath. you let out a sigh of relief after reading his message. you were not gonna let him get under your skin. not anymore

you ended up not replying to him. instead, you shut your phone off to reflect on today’s events, hoping that this all ends soon. your phone suddenly dings again. it was a notification from sae.

[11:55] sae: i’m going to sleep now. goodnight, y/n

it’s officially been a week of living with sae and pretending to be a couple in front of the cameras and the public. to think you’d even last this long is an understandment on it’s own.

for this day, both managements wanted you two to be seen out and about in public doing whatever you two wished to do.

you were debating on what you two should do that won’t involve much physical contact like going out for shopping because that only meant that you two would be forced to hold hands which is something you don’t want to do for obvious reasons. you’d rather die than to be papped with sae holding hands

“what do you want to do today?” sae asks from the couch. you two were already all dressed up. intentionally matching your outits just for the sake of it. sae was wearing a maroon turtleneck with holes in them with a white long sleeve shirt underneath and some track pants? you don't question his outfit much further because why would you exert the effort to do so?

you were wearing something similar. a maroon crop top with some leggings to match the laid back outfit of your fake boyfriend.

“what can we do without much physical contact?” you pondered, a finger tapping on your chin. sae scoffs at your question, mumbling about what’s wrong with physical contact with him. you almost wanted to tell him “everything” but that would just start another argument today

“how about we get some coffee?” sae offers, unable to think of more activities to do in such short notice. you hum in agreement, coffee does sound good right now. you get up from the couch and grab the keys to your car

“what are you doing?” sae asked. you stop in your tracks and hold out your keys for him to see. “we’re taking my car” sae says, showing off his.

not putting up much of a fight, you agreed. it was getting tiring driving yourself around anyway.

you two arrive at the coffee shop sae graciously let you choose in no time (by graciously, he meant that he’s good with anything you choose) you then decide on sitting by the window where you know the paparazzi will be in front at in no time to capture this date between rekindled lovers

you sit at your chosen table by the window while you wait for sae to order something for the both of you. telling him that you’re okay with whatever since this cafe was your favorite.

it didn’t take sae that long to come back with your orders. he sets the tray down and you find an abundance of sweets and pastries. you look up at him confused but he simply shrugs. he then places your drink down. you take the receipt that was hanging off the tray to read everything he has ordered.

looks like he ordered everything on the menu with the sweets and pastries, which is not surprising really. when you read what he got you however,

“you ordered me a spanish latte?” you ask, taking the drink from the table.

sae nods, taking a sip from his own drink. “something wrong?”

you shake your head no. you just can’t wrap your head at the fact he ordered your usual go-to drink.

“nothing, it’s just i'm surprised that you still remember what i usually order in coffee shops” you shrug, finally sipping on your drink. spanish lattes does always hit the spot for you

“do you think i have forgotten?” sae raises a brow, a slight frown forming on his lips. you rolled your eyes at his comment.

“well, it’s been a while, don’t you think?” you retort, avoiding his hard stare. technically, it’s been almost two years since the breakup. one of you were bound to forget each other’s habits and the such.

there was silence again after that. an awkward one at that

“let’s take our post now so we can leave” you say, taking pictures of the food in front of you while keeping sae in the frame. sae simply nods and does the same. the photo you decided to post was mostly all the food sae ordered with him in the background. you purposely cut off his head just for the thrill of it. you do tag sae in the instagram story though with the caption “coffee run”

sae’s post was a bit different. he simply posted a candid shot of you taking pictures of the food in front of you. for captions, sae isn’t much of a caption person because he thinks they defeat the purpose of photos so instead he just adds a heart emoji with your username next to it.

it didn’t take much for the paparazzi to find your whereabouts. just like planned, they were outside the window you two were seated in taking photos after photos.

“do we go now?” sae asks, eyeing the amount of people that were outside the cafe.

“yeah..” you trail off, not really expecting a whole crowd to form outside. sae must've sensed that you were tensed with the way he stands next to you when you two were leaving the coffee shop

the moment you two step foot outside, it was an absolute frenzy. the press were everywhere on your faces. asking questions from all sorts of directions that it actually made you dizzy.

you were never one for crowded crowds. especially when they topple over each other just to take the perfect photo or get an exclusive. it was just never your cup of tea

you covered your eyes from the bright flashes that were all over your face, trying to maneuver around the paparazzi to get to sae’s car faster but the paparazzi was too much for you to handle. you instinctively leaned on sae for support as your legs start to feel wobbly. sae immediately catches on and wraps an arm around your waist securely, pushing forward against the hoarde of people in front of you guys

“get out of the fucking way!” sae barks, pushing the people in front of your faces. the group of paparazzi do make way for you guys as you finally reach sae’s car.

sae unlocks the car and opens the passenger door for you to enter first. he shields any possible camera that was trying to capture your face with his body. even going as far as pushing them away making some of the paparazzi stumble and fall on their asses.

once you were secured in your seat, he runs over to his side of the car and starts the car before speeding off. not wasting a single second for some short interview.

“you okay?” sae steals a glance at your slumped state, before turning his attention back to the road in front of him.

“... yeah, just dizzy” you say meekly, rubbing your temples. “i’m gonna rest my eyes for a bit, sae” you murmur, leaning against the window before drifting off to sleep.

sae sighs and speeds up faster so you two could get home sooner. ‘damn paparazzi’ he thinks to himself, not noticing how his knuckles have turned white with how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.

the car comes to a halt when the traffic lights beam red. sae couldn’t help but look at your state. he always knew you were bad with crowds but yet you still fulfilled your lifelong dream to be a model. he wonders who took care of you during flash mobs when you were out in the streets.

was it your manager? was it that reo guy? or was it yukimiya aka that person he doesn’t really like. sae hates how close you are with him. sae will also never forget your scandal with him. he can still remember it like it was yesterday when the news dropped that you may or may not be in a relationship with your fellow model yukimiya kenyu after being papped being cozy inside his car.

practice was hell that day for real madrid and sae may or may not have punctured a soccer ball out of pure rage.

the damned light finally turns green and thankfully you were at the last street before the turn to your apartment complex.

sae parks the car and turns to take a good look at your sleeping figure. you look too peaceful to wake up. so he gets out of the car and goes to your side to pick you up bridal style.

he gently puts one of your arms around his neck (for safe measure) and loops his under your knees to carry you. with the help of the security guards around, he presses the elevator up to your penthouse suite.

for once in his life, sae is thankful that he was an athlete as he successfully tapped in your passcode to unlock your front door with you in his arms. when he reaches your bedroom, he gently sets you down on your bed.

sae was about to leave to make some dinner just before you wake up but was stopped by your hand reaching for his.

“stay..” you mumbled, tugging his arm. sae hesitates for a bit, unsure if you were actually conscious or was just sleep talking. sae watches your eyebrows furrow when you notice he still wasn’t beside you. clicking your tongue in annoyance, you tug on sae’s arm harder so he gets the hint

“okay, okay” sae hums, slowly getting in your bed. he’s unsure himself on what he should do. should he stay still, wrap an arm around you, what?

to his surprise, you were snuggling next to him. your head nestling to his chest. sae lets out a small gasp. he definitely didn’t see this coming.

coming to a realization that no harm would be done if he wraps an arm around you, he slowly drapes his arm over your waist. sae suddenly feels like he was on top of the world, like everything suddenly made sense to sae.

sae caresses your cheek, brushing the stray hairs from your face.

“you still look beautiful the day i lost you..” sae whispers. he debates on stealing a kiss. he weighs out the pros and the cons and figures that it was more of a liability if you ever find out he stole a kiss from you, especially when you were asleep. that’s gonna have to be for another time.

sae was beginning to feel sleepy. he carefully drapes the duvet across your bodies. not even a moment later, sae is now fast asleep with you in his arms

you find yourself plush against something hard and warm. you try tossing to the other side but you were being held securely around your waist. your eyes shot up, now fully awake and aware of your surroundings.

“good morning” sae rasps, his morning voice sending shivers down your spine.

“what are you doing in my bed?” you whisper-yelled, actually genuinely surprised to see him next to you. your heart was racing, like it was about to jump out of your chest. did something happened yesterday? you couldn’t quite remember everything after leaving the coffee shop. it almost felt like a hazy dream

sae reluctantly unwraps his arm around you and scoots to the edge of the bed. you almost pout at the warmth that disappears but you internally scold yourself for thinking of such things.

“you passed out in the car and i brought you here” sae explains, now sitting up. “i’ll go make breakfast. stay put” he pats your leg before excusing himself to leave your bedroom. you lay there confused because that wasn’t enough to explain why he was quite literally sleeping next to you.

just the mere fact that you slept next to him sent you into a frenzy. you grab your phone and immediately dialed reo

“hello?” reo answers groggily, you checked your phone for the time and it was literally 8 in the morning.

“reo!” you hushed, trying not to catch the attention of sae “something happened yesterday!”

“what?”

“we slept together…?” your voice going up an octave, chewing on your lip as you await for reo’s reaction

a beat of silence passes by. you thought reo may have accidentally ended the call

“YOU DID WHAT?!” reo basically screams at your ear. you had to remove your phone from your ear from the impact of reo’s shrill scream. “DON’T TELL ME YOU GOT BACK TOGETHER WITH HIM IN JUST A WEEK’S NOTICE—”

“NOT IN THAT WAY, DIPSHIT” you say abruptly, cutting reo off. “i mean like.. we just slept in the same bed after yesterday’s turn of events…” you trail off, trying to remember every significant detail that eventually lead up to you and sae ultimately sleeping with each other.

“my guess is with the paparazzi. i just saw the photos” reo says, typing away on his keyboard. “not gonna lie y/n, you and sae do make a good couple” he adds, giggling

you huff over the phone, earning a hefty laugh from the other end.

“talk to him. clearly you need it” reo advices. it was like he knows where this was going. “ i gotta go for now, y/n. i’ll call you back later. duty calls. ciao!” reo ends the call before you could even say something.

you threw your phone on the other side of the bed, groaning as you put your head in your hands. what was happening to you

there was a faint knock on your door, probably sae was gonna tell you that breakfast was ready but to your surprise, he brought the breakfast to you.. in bed.

sae walks in with a little bed tray that you didn’t even know you owned filled with some breakfast.

“was all this necessary?” you say in disbelief. sae simply shrugs and sits by the foot of your bed.

“i contacted your manager about your state and he says he’ll be coming over to check up on you later” he notes, typing away on his phone with one hand. sae turns to you and motions for you to start digging in. “c’mon, eat up”

you feel your face heat up at his extravagant gestures. he was a man of service after all. even during your relationship, sae wasn’t the type to be vocal about his love for you. it was mostly through actions may it be subtle or not. you can feel the love with the way he does everything for you.

with a small smile, you start to eat the breakfast he made.

“sae,” you call. he looks up from his phone, a confused look on his face.

“need something?”

“come here” you motioned for him to scoot closer to you. to which he happily obliges. he is now sitting right in front of you.

he watches you cut a piece of your pancake and stabbed it with your fork before holding it up for him.

“here,” you say sheepishly, not even looking at sae in the eye. sae looked at you like you just lost your mind.

“can’t let you not eat your own cooking..” you mumbled, feeling your face burn in both embarrassment or something you can’t pinpoint. with a chuckle, he takes the fork from you. unintentionally brushing your hands together.

in an instant, you snatch your hand back as he quietly eats the pancake you’ve given him.

things are changing between you and sae and you’re not sure if you like it.

005.

it’s been a few days since the whole ordeal with you and sae in bed together. your management gave you guys a few days off just to keep things at bay with the paparazzi after the whole fiasco of you almost fainting because of the sea of paparazzi outside trying to take photos.

your manager did end up checking up on you that day just like sae has mentioned. you told him off that you were fine and just needed more resting before you can resume with your work. he reluctantly agrees and goes ahead and reports your status with your company.

reo and yukimiya also came over for the past few days. just to check things up with you after your pictures were published for the public. you had a talk with your two closest friends about your current situation with sae.

yukimiya was a bit unsure for you while reo advised that they’ll be there with you for every decision you make. he also opted that you two should have an open forum about each other’s whereabouts since the break up. clearly you still had unanswered questions.

sae was out again for his daily practice. although he did tell you that he’d be back around the afternoon.

you take this opportunity of being alone to actually think about everything for the past week.

this few weeks has been a whole rollercoaster. not only you’ve been reunited with your ex, you had to be in a “fake” relationship with him again for the media, and now it’s like you and sae were back to your old routines all those years ago.

a part of you does miss being able to call sae as yours, not just for the sake of the cameras but just because you really do love him and you want to be with him, but this time for real. yet, another part of you is scared that maybe there’s a catch to this. maybe in the end sae was just using you for his own sake.

you made a promise to yourself that you were not gonna have him play with your heart like that anymore. not again, never again.

but here you are, willing to take the same risk again. the things you are willing to do just to call him yours.

because at the end of the day, it will always be itoshi sae.

no one else has your heart the way sae has it.

you barely notice that sae has arrived back from practice til he was waving a hand in front of your face.

“y/n” he jabs a finger at the side of your head, an amused look on his face. “what are you thinking about?” sae hums, plopping down on the couch next to you.

“nothing much, just about life”you hissed, clutching the spot he just poked you. you leaned back on the couch, stealing a glance at sae but you made eye contact instead. immediately you looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up.

sae snickers next to you, a small smile on his face as he takes a good look at you.

“having a midlife crisis at your young age?” sae pokes your sides making you jump. you let out a little yelp, causing sae to smirk.

“don’t even think about it sae itoshi— AH!” you hold your hands out in defense mode. you know that devilish look on sae’s face. sae’s fingers reach your sides before you could even finish your menacing (not) threat.

your laughter fills the living room.

oh how sae missed this. how he missed coming home from practice and to have you wait for him. how sae missed you.

sae stops tickling you to let you catch your breath. barely even noticing the position you two were in. he was on top of you, hands on each side of your head. your cheeks painted red, chest rising rapidly as you try to control your breathing.

“can i kiss–”

the front door slams open to reveal reo and yukimiya in tow with some food.

“y/n! we brought you some food!” reo happily chirps, setting the food down on your kitchen counter. sae’s eyes immediately widen and rushes to get off of you. he stumbles and falls on the floor, just right in front of reo’s feet.

reo and sae make eye contact. reo awkwardly smiles at the now embarrassed sae.

but sae being sae, he brushed it off like he was in the middle of push ups.

“... and 50. 50 push ups done” sae puffs, pushing himself off the ground, pretending to wipe the non existent sweat on his forehead and ushers away to his room. not missing reo’s comment before he slams the door shut.

“i’m gonna just pretend i didn’t see you fall right in front of me” reo cackles, wiping a tear from his eye. “anyway y/n, we got you some food. i forgot that athlete was living with you sooo.. it’s up to you to give his share” reo shows you the amount of food he just got you.

yukimiya giggles behind him. he pulls reo to the side before giving you his infamous smirk

“reo, we gotta go now” yukimiya smiles slyly at you. he takes a good look at your ruffled shirt, flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“what? we just got here!” reo complains, looking back at yukimiya, who points out your current state. he then whispers something to reo that you obviously can’t hear. you stand there with your arms crossed, eyebrows raised as you wait for your two best friends to fill you in

“i’m literally right here” you rolled your eyes.

“oh!” reo gasps, eyes wide as he seems to put two and two together. he covers his mouth like he just witnessed something scandalous.

you were about to open your mouth to say protest against what allegations yukimiya has of you but both reo and yukimiya bolt out the door. yelling about how they were sorry for disturbing something while cackling.

“those bitches..” you muttered, shaking your head. you walk over to the kitchen to go through what reo just got you. of course it was his favorite steak with some side dishes.

“are they gone?” you hear sae call out from his room, his head poking out the door.

you laugh, “yeah. you can come out now”

you hear the door open and sae comes walking in the kitchen with nothing but sweatpants. you let out a squeak as your hands fly to your eyes, covering them from seeing sae’s half naked body.

sae scoffs at your reaction. “you’re acting like you aren’t used to it”

“was used to it” you correct him. sae’s mood drops a bit. you awkwardly fiddle with the hem of the plastic. taking out the plastic containers to at least lift up the now sour atmosphere.

sae looks at the meals you’ve settled down on the counter. “from reo?” he asks, going ahead and taking out some chopsticks.

he must be starving from coming home after practice.

you slid the plastic container that held reo’s favorite steak to sae. his eye widens and shakes his head. he pushes it back to you. it becomes a silent tug of war. sae ended up losing because you were starting to get upset and he can tell by the way your lips are jutted out and you were pushing harder, causing some of the sauce to spill out.

“okay, damn..” sae mutters, accepting his defeat. you let out a victory cheer by dancing a little in your seat. sae couldn’t help but smile. now here you were, watching him chomp down the food reo initially got for you.

“let’s head out somewhere” sae says, poking you with his chopsticks. you swat his hands away as you scowl at him. going out all of a sudden after he just ate?

“where are we going?”

“places”

you look up at him unsure. you didn’t really want to go anywhere this week knowing that paparazzi might be up on your asses again. you weren’t gonna risk your health again for just some dumb post

“but we’re on break with posting though” you protest. was sae really serious about heading out?

sae pouts and looks at you with pleading eyes. something he only pulls when he really wants to do something or get his way. something you couldn’t resist. you guessed old habits really die hard

“please?”

you avert your gaze elsewhere because those teal eyes are only trouble for you. you hear sae sigh beside you and you realized that was your last straw.

“fine”

you look back at sae who had a small smile on his face. his face screaming “i know you still can’t resist me” and quite frankly you wanted to punch the living daylights out of his smug face.

“i’m not gonna get dressed up or anything though. just a hoodie and a hat to keep our identities hidden” you say, getting up from the barstool to head over to your room to get an oversized hoodie and your hat.

“wasn’t counting on it” sae says, humming to himself that he got you to agree.

it didn’t take long for you guys to get moving. you two were now on your way to wherever sae was taking you. even if you kept asking where you two were going, sae simply shushes you and tells you to just sit back and relax

you were leaning towards the window, watching the city skies fade as you two drive aimlessly around the city. your phone connected to his aux, softly playing some tunes in the background.

your eyes peer over to sae who had one hand on the steering wheel, while the other was used to prop himself up against the window. you find yourself smiling at the memories going back to you.

the old late night drives with sae just to clear your minds.

the route sae was taking you felt awfully familiar. you sit up straight and looked outside to see that you were going up a familiar hill. you snap your head towards sae. sae catches your stare and winks at your direction.

the car eventually comes to a stop. sae silently turns off the car and gets out with you following behind him. there you realize where he took you. sae took you back to your favorite spot to get away from it all. the hilltop where you can get a whole view of the ever so busy city of shibuya.

the same place sae asked you to be his,

the same place sae broke things off with you,

“what are we doing here, sae?” you ask, sitting on top of the hood of his car. sae follows suit. he sits next to you, observing the view in front of him.

“to unwind” he says flatly, putting his hood on. you can’t help but look at him. what did he mean by that?

“you looked pretty occupied today, so i just thought i’d bring you here-”

you furrowed your brows, “then why here?”

sae stays silent. the sound of the city filling your ears. you can’t help but think that it was now or never. it was the perfect time to get things across. for your own peace of mind, and for the sake of it all.

it was silent between you and sae all of a sudden. you almost wanted to laugh at how ironic it is that you’d end up in this place again for the third time in a row with the same person.

‘how nostalgic’ you think to yourself. you get up from the hood of the car and walked towards the wooden fence. just to get a clearer view and to get some air that you so desperately needed before talking to sae.

“you know, this reminds me of the time you took me up here for the first time,” you start, kicking the rocks just by your feet. sae’s ears perk up at the sudden mention of the memory.

“i was so happy that day. to think we’d last for over five years. i was the happiest when i was with you, sae” you continued, smiling to yourself as you recalled everything.

sae can’t help but feel there’s more to what you’re saying. he can’t help but anticipate the bomb that you were about to drop.

“til one day, you brought me out here again. this time, to break up” you turn around to face sae who had an expression you can’t comprehend. his hands were stuffed inside the pockets of his hoodie

“you broke me that day, sae” you breathe out, looking up at the moon. “and to think not even two weeks later i see you with someone else” you let out a laugh. to sae it sounded forced.

“i hate you, sae itoshi” you finally look at him again, sae averts from your hard gaze.

“i hate how you took all my firsts, i hate how you talk to me with that voice, i hate how i know your morning routine better than anyone else, i hate how you always opt to cook because you know i suck at cooking, i hate how you know me like the back of your hand..” you list off, with every list you say, you take a step forward.

“i hate how even after all these years, even after you hurt me, even how you broke me to pieces, i hate how i can’t ever find myself to hate you” you finish. a teardrop running down your cheeks.

“i hate how i still love you..” your voice was shaky. your hands were trembling, here you were, confessing your heart to the guy who initially broke it.

you broke your promise to yourself.

with a deep sigh, you fixed your composure. you harshly wipe the tears that were running down your cheeks before turning your back on sae again to face the city you live in.

“i just have a question for you, sae…” you take a deep breath. finally. you were gonna get the answers to your questions. those times you’ve doubted yourself, those sleepless nights wondering where it all went wrong, nights where you ask yourself if you were ever enough for sae..

you were finally gonna get your well deserved answers.

“why? what did i do wrong? was i not enough for you?”

sae silently moves towards you. he pulls your head to his chest where you freely the tears fall.

you push him off of you, you were not gonna let yourself be fooled much longer.

“was it worth it, sae? was throwing away our years together worth it?” you seethed, tears pricking your eyes.

sae’s eyes widened, “i–”

“you know sae, even if i was in a room with all the people i love the most. i’d still choose you and you all over again. i will always choose you, sae” you cut him off, trembling. words shaking as you are basically spilling your heart to the guy who broke it into a million pieces.

sae’s heart breaks at the scene before him. it was too late for him to realize the damage he has done to you. for you to act like this.

“that’s why i agreed to be in this fake relationship with you. i wanted to find out why you did this to me, to us” you admit, tears now fully flowing. “i just..” you weren’t able to finish what you were trying to sae as you sob in front of sae.

“why sae?.. just, why?”

you barely notice sae approaching. the next thing you knew, he pulls your head to his chest.

“shh… let it out” he says, his free arm rubbing your back as you cry your heart out. finally, after all those years, it felt good to release everything. like a million bricks has been lifted off your shoulders.

sae pulls away, cupping your cheeks as he wipes the tears pouring down your cheeks with his thumb. his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips.

“don’t look at me like that, sae..” you say in a low voice, almost like a whisper. peering away from sae’s eyes.

sae slowly leans in and before he knows it his lips are just ghosting over yours. without a second, sae smashes your lips together.

your eyes widened. you wanted to push him away. you put your hands on his chest ready to push him away, but something in you is stopping you from doing so.

how you missed this. how you missed sae

how sae missed this. how sae missed you

you pull apart, catching your breath. you look up at sae to see him crying too. he cups your cheeks, caressing them with his thumb.

“i’m sorry” was all he could say. he puts his forehead against yours, teal eyes fixated on yours. you can tell with his eyes that he was sincere. sae was also shaking as he holds you, his whole body language screaming guilt.

“i was young and stupid. i thought i’d be better off without you but i realized that i wasn’t. it was too late by then.” he explains, looking down at your feet instead of meeting your eyes.

you put your hand over his, squeezing them. relishing in the moment of two ex lovers putting the past behind them.

“i tried reaching out for you, you know?” sae brings up, laughing to himself at how stupid he sounded. “but knowing you, i knew you’d probably act like you never existed. i had to find out the hard way” he scoffs at the end.

“eventually, the stars brought me to you again” sae finally looks at you in the eye. “i took that as a chance to try and redeem myself. i think it failed though,” sae admits sheepishly, “i was persistent. i wanted you back and i did everything i can just to keep you with me”

you listen to sae stumble with his words. he’s trying. he’s actually proving that he was genuinely sorry for everything.

“i never stopped loving you, y/n” sae admits with a sad smile, “i never did”

you tear up again at his confession. because frankly, you were the same.

sae opens his mouth to say something but instead, you crash your lips against his. sae doesn’t move for a second but relaxes as soon as he realizes what was going on. he instantly wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close as he can.

“i love you,”

“i love you too,”

you two find yourselves basking under the moonlight once again. fixing and treating each other’s wounds as you two try again. this time you two are sure that whatever you two have planned for each other, you two will make it right.

006.

the sound of an alarm blaring through the room wakes you up from your sleep. you feel some shuffling behind you and suddenly the room turns quiet again.

“did i wake you?” you hear sae’s morning voice ring through your ears, sending a shiver down your spine. you let out a small whine, nodding your head yes.

sae chuckles, and tightens his hold around your body under the covers. “good morning to you too, baby” he kisses your cheek.

you open one eye before twisting your body around to face him.

“morning..” you yawn, leaving a trail of kisses from his jaw to his adam’s apple.

“still didn’t get enough from last night, hm?” sae teases, rubbing circles on your hips. you feel your cheeks heat up. you slapped his chest before turning your back on him again.

“our managers will kill us if we’re late” you remind him of your schedules for the day. you sit up, slipping on his shirt that was lying on the floor, recalling last night’s events. you looked at yourself from the mirror to see some love bites all over your neck up to your chest. a gentle reminder that you were now his again.

“they can wait,” sae murmurs, slipping his hands under your (his) shirt. you let out a giggle before pushing his hands off of you.

“sae come on!” you tug on his arm as you two head out to your bathroom.

after what seems like an hour or so due to sae’s rowdy hands. you two finally arrive at the red carpet of the luxury brand you two have modeled for.

the screams of fans fills your ears as you wait in of the car and onto the red carpet where a line of reporters were waiting.

sae, being the gentleman he is and a marketing genius, he obviously makes a scene for your entrances. he gets out of the car first and holds out his hand for you to take. the audience goes crazy as you two make your entrance.

“sae, y/n! over here!” you hear a bunch of reporters yell out. lights, and flashes all around.

you and sae stop at the first reporter on the line. he greets you guys with a smile before starting his short interview. it was the usual questions about the brand and you guys feel about being the new faces of it.

“well, clearly they have a good eye for casting both y/n and i as the new faces for their brand” sae answers for the both of you, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

the interviewer gushes at how cool his answer was and proceeds to ask you another question.

“my, my, my, miss y/n. you look lovely as usual but i can’t help but wonder, what does it feel like to be back together with sae itoshi?” he asks, intrigued, his microphone on your face.

you look at sae for approval and he simply smiles and motions for you to say whatever you want to say.

“well, it still shocks me til this day that i got back together with sae” you joked, making the interviewer laugh at your response and sae who fakes being offended. you laugh at his reaction before answering seriously,

“but seriously. i guess it’s true that if it’s meant to be, it will be” you smile, showing off sae in front of the camera to which the interviewer loves.

“what an answer from, y/n! well you heard it here first folks!” the interviewer beams in front of the camera, “i wish you two never ending happiness. thank you for letting me interview you guys!” he waves off, finding another celebrity to interview.

you and sae both smile and wave him goodbye as you two continue along the red carpet.

“do you really mean that?” you hear sae ask beside you. he was busy waving for the cameras. you let out a little giggle before waving around for the paparazzi and cameras around.

“mean what?”

“what you said about if it’s meant to be, it will be” he quotes you, tucking a stray hair behind your ear sending the audience and the paparazzi in a frenzy again.

“it happened to us, didn’t it?” you smile, motioning to your current situation.

sae was yours again, and you are his.

just how it should be.

bonus!

you didn't consider how awkward it actually was to be working on another modeling gig with your boyfriend.

especially when the poses instructed by the photographer and way too intimate to be imitated in a semi-public setting for your liking.

“what are you being stiff for?” sae holds in his laugh, seeing how motionless your poses are with him. “it’s awkward when theres people around..” you say through gritted teeth, praying to the gods that this shoot will finally be over

“it’s not this awkward when we do this alone though..” sae seductively whispers, lowering his head just right at the shell of your ear.

the photographer squeals in joy at the amount of shots he got from that pose alone.

you feel your face burn up in embarrassment.

“sae!”

#blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #sae imagines #sae x reader #sae itoshi imagines #sae itoshi x reader #saeved

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dailyadventureprompts · 4 months

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Hey Dapper! As an avid follower of- and equally avid inspiration-taker from your work, first of all, thank you for the work you've put into all this. It is a treasure-trove of knowledge and inspiration that has certainly made me very happy. Can I ask for your thoughts on Tharizdun? I've been trying to form a concept of it for in my own world, but I've had little success.

Monsters Reimagined: Tharizdun, the Whisperer in Darkness

Being the default "god of madness" Tharizdun brings together two of my enduring gripes with d&d: gods that no one would actually worship and the enduring legacy of depicting people with mental illness as dangerous lunatics devoid of empathy and reason.

As he currently exists in the DM's toolbox, the whole point of including Tharizdun in your campaign is to act as the powersource behind whichever final fantasy style endboss wants to start the apocalypse before unleashing a mass of offband lovecraftian tentacles. Derivative, trite, his singular desire to inspire others to end the world is MCU levels of failing to give villains proper motivations.

We can do better

TLDR: Far In the wildest depths of the astral sea the ur-god Tharizdun is formless and thoughtless, yet dreaming. Resembling nothing so much as a cosmic nebula of oily clouds, a vast and shapeless expanse of churning primordial chaos that pulses with synapses of psychic lighting containing a consciousness older than time itself. Like a sleeper beset with sleep paralysis the chained oblivion thrashes against a reality it can only barely perceive, sending shockwaves of destruction across the cosmos.

While scholars of all worlds debate the true origins and nature of Tharizdun they can agree on two things:

It is more powerful than all the pantheons of creation, and it is terrified.

Inspiration: I wasn't originally going to do a whole monsters reimagined on Tharizdun, instead simply gesturing on what Matt Mercer has done with the deity (using the roiling chaos as a throughline for much of his Exandrian worldbuilding) and leaving it at that.

Around the same time I got this ask though I was considering doing my own take on Azathoth, the so called "blind idiot god" of the lovecraft mythos, inspiration struck and I decided to alloy the two concepts into what I think is a stronger whole. There's a lot of overlap in the two formless horrors, partly due to Tharizdun being a d&d's attempt to dip its toe into eldritch horror, without quite understanding the thematic framework involved.

Like many other things ( Minorities, the sea, decay, air conditioning) Lovecraft was terrified of objective reality. This might sound like a joke, but fundamental to his mythos is the fear that earth and the white men that lived upon it were not the centre of the universe created by a loving god. Lovecraft lived in increasingly scientific times and the science supported the idea of a universe in which humanity's existence was the meaningless product of random chance. Azathoth was this anxiety embodied in its most extreme scale: the capital G god of the universe which sat in the middle of all creation that was not only uncaring towards humanity (as many of Lovecraft's creations were) but the embodiment of ultimate unthinking chaos.

Trying to port Azathoth (and most of the other lovecrafitan pantheon) doesn't work because the conceits of the genre fundamentally clash. D&D DOES propose a moral universe, and goes out of its way to simplify morality down to such a cartoonish level that it has objective answers. In Lovecraft the horror comes from the fact that the cultists and their fucked up alien gods exist, where as the moral christian god doesn't... in d&d there's no reason for the cultists to worship the fucked up alien gods because the regular gods are both existent and quite nice.

The default d&d cosmology has multiple infinite voids of chaos including limbo, the abyss, and the far realm. I've already given my take on one of these, but I wanted an alternative for the origins of the weird that wasn't specifically focused on entropic decay.

There's a fascinating (and very depressing) history over the term hysteria and the connotations of mental crisis with feminine fragility. The word itself comes from the greek word for womb and there's something about the idea of "primal birthing chaos" that's worth playing with insofar as it makes weird rightoids Jordan Peterson deeply afraid.

Taking these thoughts as well as my earlier gripes in mind, its going to take a bit of an overhaul to make Tharizdun/Azathoth as a credible antagonistic force for a campaign. Also, this might be my own bias as an author showing through here but I don't go in for the lovecrafitan "truths too terrible to be understood". I think the universe is a fundamentally knowable place and if things exist outside our means of perceiving them then we'll just bullrush through and work out a temporary explanation on our way.

Here's my Fix/Pitch: Both Tharizdun and Azathoth are supposed to represent primordial chaos and formless madness. D&D's less than stellar history with mental health issues aside, we know that "madness" isn't evil and it isn't the antithetical opposite of order: It's flawed reason, it's an inability to comprehend, and it's deeply scary for those going through it.

THAT ended up reminding me of a famous quote from lovecraft himself; "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown".

What if we make THAT FEAR into the god? Imagine the panicked sensation of being woken from the deepest slumber by a sudden noise, the door opening or a loud bang going off somewhere on your street..... the phantom horror of something touching you, crawling over you in the middle of the night before you have any of your senses or reason or memory to tell you that it's just your partner or your pet or your own bed sheets. That's the stuff sleep paralysis is made of and it's been haunting us humans since the dawn of time. It's also the same horror of being born, of being a non-thing and then coming into existence in fits and starts without any understanding of the world that you're now

Now imagine there's something out there in the astral sea, the plane of dreams and thoughts... powerful beyond all imagining but created without the ability to ever fully wake up. It is stuck in that first moment of existence because it may well have been the first thing to ever exist and it's been trapped in the shapeless nightmare of an infant since the dawn of time

THAT is how you make a god about the horror of the unknown. A god that is antagonistic to us because it is sacred of us, and it is scared because it has no way of knowing us, knowing the reality it inhabits beyond its own fear.

Adventure Hooks:

The greatest threat Tharizdun presents to most beings in the universe is having a nightmare about them. Through the inexplicable paths of sleep an individual's mind may find themselves connected to the entity's own... receiving terrible visions as the thinking clouds of Tharizdun's body churn in a variable brainstorm. Some aspect of this communion will be twisted into something terrible, birthed into the cosmos with the same shrieking fear and confusion that inspired its creation. Some desperate few seek out this communion, thinking in their hubris that they can give shape to Tharizdun's creation, that the terror beyond time suffers collaborators or requests. (Yes, I'm yoinking the dream-spawning ability of beholders. They were already weird enough before they started getting involved with dream stuff)

Despite being a living entity, Tharizdun is also a place, a plane unto itself streaking through the multiverse like a collossal ameoba through the primordial soup. There are landscapes within the god, whole continents that form and erode through seasons of surreality as the paroxyc titan dreams them into being. One can create portals into these landscapes, even fly a jammership across them, but the act of doing so invites an even more chaotic backlash than visiting the chained oblivion in dreams, letting its terror leak out into the waking worlds.

The name "chained oblivion" dates back to an eon when forces of celestial order attempted to keep Tharizdun contained in the hopes of preventing the escape of its creations or its contact with other minds. This period of the multiverse oft refereed to as the "Time of Quiet" sadly came to an end when the entity's bindings were shattered by a collective of villains and horrors today refereed to as the "Court of Fools" or "Troupe of the Final Void". The Troupe are a motley bunch, unable to agree on a theology but all wanting to pick at the slumbering titan like it was a scab on the skin of heaven. Some serenade Tharzidun with cacophonous music, others hurl saints and sacrifices into its body, some worship or hunt the god's offspring while others stab it with cosmic pokers, just to get a reaction. They want to wake the chained oblivion and don't care how much of the multiverse they have to burn to do it.

Like a mollusc producing pearls as a means of containing an irritating bit of grit, Tharizdun's roiling cosmic body will occasionally spit out an entire world or strange demiplanes as a means of dislodging something it could not pallet. While this has been the genesis of many realms both beautiful and terrible throughout the astral timeline, of late all these worlds worth taking have been colonized by the Troupe. Woe and pity to any mortal who calls such a world home, ruled over by tyrants who care only for destruction, unaware of a cosmos not coloured by Tharizdun's wake.

Titles: The chained oblivion, the spiraling titan, sire of stars, the Paroxsmal god, Lord of all Hysterics.

Signs: Stormclouds that look oily and churn with otherworldly light, formless nightmares and pervasive sleep paralysis, mass delusion, darkness that echoes with the god's muttering and the sound of distant flutes.

Worshippers: Ad hoc worship of Tharizdun tends to congregate around those who have received unwanted visions of the chained oblivion, as the harrowing experiance often bestows those that suffer it with an otherworldy weight to their words, to say nothing of occasional psychic powers. Many abberations likewise pay heed to the chained oblivion, either for directly giving them life or for its great and insuppressable power. Among these include Grell who refer to Tharizdun as "storm mother", The nightmarish Quori follow in the wake of the god's psychic emanations and make up a large faction of the court of fools, and the Kaorti, terrifying mage-things remade by exposure to the spiralling titan's heart who claim to be heralds for the entity.

Art

#monsters reimagined #outergod #tharizdun #lovecraftian #outer spheres #astral #kaorti #quori #far realm #planescape #spelljammer

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Text

𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑳 𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑰'𝑴 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫

pairing: tommy miller x fem!reader

genre: smut, soft enemies to lovers, minors dni

word count: 3.4k

summary: when you met him the first time him and his brother was your captor, months later he becomes yours, and quickly after that he become a resident of Jackson. You've already forgiven him for his past, but he's not happy with how eager you are to excuse what he's done.

warnings: tommy having a hero complex, tommy lashing out, piv sex, time skips, oral (giving & receiving)

a/n: the format I've written this in is inspired by @littlemisspascal 's getting lost is being found joel fic, which I highly recommend by the way it was amazing, one of my favorite things ever 💜

The world went to shit, well joke on the world, your life was already shit long before outbreak day.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Nothing just seemed to work out for you. But then all hell broke loose and suddenly it felt like you were off the hook, that you could be someone else, someone you always wanted to be. Someone that you knew you were. Before all this, you were just hurt, felt broken, but still smiled and went about your day. You tried to be good. Tried to be nice. For the most part, you like to think that you succeeded.

You became a guide. Somewhat similar to Charon, if you spared yourself the thought but instead of guiding the dead to Hades, you guided the living away from it. Things went smooth for the most part, you helped people where they needed to go, killed infected, shot down those who shot first. It was the oddest type of freedom that you felt.

But life had other plans, and life loved to point its middle finger right into your face.

It’s a dad and his two kids this time, you were helping them get to the nearest QZ. You cut the fence, helped them through, you knew hunters were lurking nearby, people who survived on killing and stealing—vultures.

You feel a tight grip on your neck and you’re being violently pulled back. The kids look back at you with horror lingering in their eyes, the dad eager to pull them away. With a deep breath, you manage to force out a smile.

“Go!” you shout. “You’re almost there!”

And they run, they run as fast as they can.

“Fuck!” you hear one of them say, a deep souther drawl heavy in your ear. “Shit, they got away. They had good weapons on them too.”

“At least we got the one,” the man that holds you answers. “Let’s go back, see what this one has.”

“Let me the fuck go!” you struggle, attempting to elbow him in the stomach. “You fucking assholes. They were fucking kids.”

Finally one comes into view, he’s broad—broad enough to stun you into silence. The fear of death lurks around your heart, sucking you into a black pit of realizing that this might be it. He has a glare that could kill, a hooked nose, and, most importantly, a gun. This man, you notice, this man would kill you in a heartbeat. He gives you one last once-over before tilting his head to the other holding you down.

“Knock her out, Tommy.”

ii.

It’s late. Far too late for anyone to be awake. The embers of the crackling fire had died down, only specks of golden orange shimmering between the ash. You’ve learned the names of your captors; Tommy and Joel. Brothers, you assumed, they didn’t really have to spell it out for it to be obvious.

You’re not sure why you’re still alive. You remember Joel muttering something about using you as bait, or to learn more about the routes that you seemed to know. Tommy had agreed.

In another life, another time, you would’ve deemed the men attractive. Especially Tommy. He had a boyish charm to him, longer hair compared to his brother (those poor dark locks had definitely seen better days), and mussed unkempt facial hair indicating that they’d been at this for a long time. You understand, to a degree, why someone might choose this to survive. Some people just didn’t know what else to do. Some people simply enjoyed it; the power, the freedom, the giddiness of not having a system to say no.

From what you understand, these two just had no idea what else to do. Too far off to reach a QZ, or they simply don’t trust FEDRA, whatever it is they seem to have made a life for themselves neither of them looked happy to be in.

Your eyes fall to where Joel is sleeping, Tommy’s on watch, which makes you somewhat hopeful, you don’t have the strength to piss off Joel—Tommy you can take a chance with, he seemed softer. Softer like a rose, pricking you if you’re too lax and not careful enough.

You’ve been captured before, and due to that, it doesn’t take long for you to free yourself from the hard ropes they tied you in. You hold your breath as you move away from the camp, careful not to step on any branches or rubble. You see Tommy ahead, he’s looking at you, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. You expect him to shoot, to chase after you.

He continues to stare as you disappear into the night.

ii.

You see a lot of dead bodies by the riverbed. Some infected, some not. You think about turning around, walking back to where you came from but before you can make a decision you’re surrounded. Your hands rise instantly, not wanting to cause trouble. Multiple rifles are pointed directly at you, and you notice a cute black dog but you have an inkling you won’t be feeling the same in a couple of minutes.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” you say, the cold seeping through your jacket. “Just lost. I’m not infected.”

“Naive for you to think we’ll believe you,” one of the horsemen answers. “You mind if we test that out?”

You didn’t mind, but even if you did, you doubt you have any say in the matter. The dog comes forward, ears pressed against his skull, and you instinctively reach out your hand. You can’t really feel the wetness of his nose, but you can imagine it as he presses into your gloved palm. A moment later he starts wagging his tail.

A horse, along with its rider, steps up and everyone looks nervously at the equestrian. You straighten yourself and notice that even the dog pulls away, the energy she has demands respect, and oozes power. You swallow, looking up at her with both amusement and fear.

"You can come with us," she says, and without hesitation, one of the men helps you up onto the horse they're riding. Your hands fumble nervously as you grab onto the horse's shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

You’re not dead yet so you must be doing something right.

iv.

You trudge through the biting snow, your skin prickles with cold and the relentless flakes melt as soon as they touch your skin. You shudder. The cold is almost unbearable, but everyone has to pull their weight, no exceptions. Narrowing your eyes,, you spot a lone figure struggling in the snow. The way he moves is sluggish and ungainly, like a snail inching its way along a path.

With a sharp whistle, you signal to your companions to follow. They circle around the body with hesitation; it’s a man, a man that is somewhat familiar to you. The stranger groans and turns to his back, chest heaving heavily, you notice the tremble of his lips, the redness of his nose. You even notice the build-up of snow in his hair.

You know him. You have no idea how he ended up all the way here, but you know him. Getting off the horse, you shake your head. You don't know him, not really. You only know his name and what he represents.

Ian approaches, his eyes questioning as he asks, "What should we do? Should we leave him?"

“I know him,” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice due to the irony. “Let’s take him in. I’ll talk to Maria.”

His eyes flutter open, a brief expression of confusion appearing on his features. You can’t help but lean over a bit, hands placed on your hips.

“You’re not dead yet. Don’t worry.”

But as soon as the words leave your lips, Tommy loses consciousness.

He’s alone at the bar. He’s always alone.

Initially, Maria was reluctant to let Tommy stay, but for some reason, you vouched for him. You deeply believe that everyone deserves a second chance. A slightly foolish, maybe even childish, thought on your part but you can’t help it. In his eyes you only see parts of a broken man, his belief in the world shattered and gone with the wind.

Tommy struggles with socializing. He says hi and good morning but that’s pretty much all anyone can get out of him. You’re the only one who knows he has a brother, what he’s done. He’s especially annoyed when you’re around, which you think is a little bit unfair but you digress. He does what he’s told and handy with most things—which is lucky for you, you would hear a handful if he couldn’t do anything.

You want to talk to him, you have ever since you first saw him again. Hoping that this time it’ll be different, you sit near him not next to him. There are two empty seats between you two.

“Hi,” you greet him, he doesn’t look at you. In fact, he doesn’t acknowledge you at all. “How are you?”

No answer.

“You’re not having any issues right? You know, heating, water pressure, all that jazz.”

You’re not surprised at the least when he gets up and leave, not a word uttered. He pushes past the crowd and disappears through the door, into the cold. Unlike other times, this is the first instance where anger simmers hot in your gut. You’ve been nothing but patient. But not tonight. He’s going to talk to you whether he likes it or not.

With anger in your steps, you storm out. Luckily, he’s not far. You find him staring up at the undecorated Christmas tree. Normally, you would find it a somber sight, but you’re too frustrated to think about how good he looks with snow falling around him.

“Tommy!” you yell out, and he flinches, head snapping to you with wide eyes. “What the hell is your deal?”

“My deal?” he answers, voice eerily smooth and calm. “I should be fuckin’ asking you that.”

You’re standing an inch from him, the cold biting into your skin. “My deal? I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Wouldn’t wanna play that card but may I remind you that you’re fucking alive because of me? You could at least not be an asshole.”

“Sure you wanna go that route sweetheart? Because I could easily say the same thing for you.”

That night—the night that you escaped, so he did see you. All this time you convinced yourself that it was your eyes playing tricks in the dark. You shake your head, wanting to dislodge the moment from your mind.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” you hiss. “Why are you avoiding me? I just want to talk.”

“Just leave me the fuck alone. You shouldn’t want to talk to me— someone like you… It ain’t normal. I should’ve died that night. I didn’t ask you to fuckin’ save me.”

You’re taken aback by the silent rage but refuse to show him the effect he has. The only indication that his words had any kind of result is when you take a step back, allowing him some semblance of space.

“You’re right, you didn’t,” you say softly, slowly. His gaze bores into you. “But I did. And you’re here. I didn’t save you that night to just make a point of who’s the better person. As you said, you allowed me to go that night—thank you by the way—but what are you going to do, just not talk to me? Ignore me? I don’t think that’s fair for either of us.”

You stand frozen as Tommy takes a step closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"What do you want from me?" he growls, his voice low and threatening.

You try to take a step back but he follows, closing the gap between you. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the frigid air around you. His lips curl into a slight sneer, and you can't help but feel a slight twinge of fear.

"You're always so nice, aren't you?" he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But what do you really want? You want me to be your little pet? Fixing me up like some broken toy. Well, newsflash, sweetheart, I'm not broken. I'm just fine the way I am."

"That’s not—" you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That wasn’t my intention at all. The world is shit, I just didn’t want to add to it."

Tommy scoffs, his eyes glinting with anger. "But you did by keeping me alive. I did horrible things, things you can’t even imagine. So don't pretend like you understand me, because you don't."

“I know the shit you did Tommy. I was almost one of your victims, remember?”

His eyes drop to the ground, the fire in his eyes finally fading. He takes a quick step back, shoulder slumped, he shakes his head.

“I remember. There ain’t a day I don’t remember the shit I’ve done—we’ve done with my brother.”

Tommy gives you one last look before walking away, “I don’t need your pity.”

Half an hour later, you’re still standing there under the snow, completely alone.

vi.

It’s a dance almost. You find different ways for Tommy to communicate with you. You unlock his anger, his disappointment, his need to be good—the hero, if you will. But to be fair, you can’t take all the credit. It was mostly due to him, you got too close, and he got too frustrated. It was a brief moment of lips touching, then it quickly turned into a desperate ask for submission. You were eager to give, he hated that. Hated that you could when he couldn’t.

You know that there’s a high chance of other things lingering below the surface, things that he probably hadn’t dared to address himself.

In the privacy of your bedroom, you’re on your knees for him. Sucking on the tip of his cock eagerly as he stands upright, his hands are firsts that are stuck to his sides. This isn’t the first time, it isn’t the last. By the way salty precum coats your tongue, you know he’s enjoying himself. He has to be, if he wasn’t this wouldn’t be happening.

You figure that he enjoys fighting against it until he breaks. When he surrenders himself to it, to the pleasure, to the primal need to take, he pins you down and fucks you with everything he has. All his frustration seeps into you, each stroke deeper than the next. You enjoy that he’s rough, you enjoy feeling the lingering sting on your skin long after he leaves.

Looking up, you swallow him further down. He’s not overly thick but long, the dark curls at the base trimmed but still looking untouched. Tommy thrusts forward, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. Your nostrils flare as your lungs convulse with the need to cough, he notices but doesn’t pull back. Instead, you feel two hands cradling the back of your neck, pulling you further down his length, making you take him whole.

Your eyes go wide and squeeze shut right after. You feel him throbbing in your throat and you swallow, again and again, which prompts him to drag his cock out slightly only to bury himself back into your throat. Your jaw aches, spit dripping down the corners of your lips as you flatten your tongue over the underside of his cock. A faint growl echoes from the back of his throat, you swallow again, he fucks your mouth as he would your wet cunt. Tears flood your lashline, you can barely breathe. Your throat tightens around him.

“Fuck, don’t close your eyes,” he grunts, the dark curls at the base tickling your nose. “Look at me. Look at me like you always do.”

The Look, is something that you still don’t quite understand. He says it often, telling you to look at him the way that you do, but you emphasize nothing special when you do end up looking at him. It’s just your normal gaze. He only asks for it when he’s inside you.

You slowly open your eyes, your lashes wet and stuck together. His thumb smooths over the patch of skin right under your eye, his chest stutters, muscles growing taut under your gaze.

Ironically, he closes his eyes and lifts his head as if staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t utter another word after that, your lips raw from the way he thrust forward. You feel the twitch of his cock, thick ropes sliding down your throat. You never tire of the taste of him. Not sweet, not bitter. You enjoy the brief moment he forgets where he is, that soft noise escaping his lips, the juvenile way his thighs shake—those are the things that make you ache for the taste of him. You’re an addict.

But so is he.

vii.

Your palms press into the smooth surface of the bar counter. Tommy lurks behind you, cock pressing inside, fingers making dents into your warm skin. It’s late into the night, you’re not sure of the exact time but you know it’s late. His one hand slips between your legs, he feels how wet you are, how needy you get for him. He presses a finger to your clit, the pads of the digits moving in deft circles.

A sharp moan parts your lips, back arching as he pounds into you, the sound of skin against skin loud, yet not enough to pierce the sound of the snowstorm outside. A dose of pleasure buzzes through your veins, electricity crackling across your skin as you feel his length press deep inside. His fingers grasp your throat, pulling you up until his lips tickle your ear. He heaves, his warm breath fanning your skin.

“Tell me I’m a good person,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“You’re good,” you answer slightly out of breath. You touch his neck, the position slightly straining but worth it when he holds you tighter. “Such a good man—and I mean that.”

Your eyes widen with shock when he slides his tongue into your mouth. Tommy doesn’t kiss you often, if at all, but it lights a fire under your stomach. It burns you from the inside out, the smoke of it making your mind spin. Your eyes flutter close and you take a deep breath, he grinds his hips, your insides pulsing around him.

“I don’t care even if you’re lyin’—”

He releases you and you stumble forward, hands finding purchase on the bar counter once more. But you can’t hold your position for long, not with the way he’s hammering into you, reducing you into a babbling mess. Your hands slide, your upper body completely falling over. Tommy doesn’t pause, he doesn’t even slow down. He presses you further into the surface.

“Because I know that you are.”

Tommy suddenly pulls out, a sharp gasp rips from your throat, your cunt clenching around nothing. Before you can protest, however, he turns you over and pushes you. He kneels between your legs, lips finding the tender folds of your pussy.

Your head falls back when he licks into you eagerly, tasting himself and your arousal. His groans vibrate against you, your thighs threaten to close, the meat of them pressing into both sides of his face.

His lips press against your clit, suckling and teasing it in a way that drives you wild. His tongue moves in circles as he pushes two fingers, curling them and applying pressure. Without a second thought, you fingers thread his hair, tugging him closer. Arousal pools between your legs.

Your breathing becomes labored and your body starts to shake. Your eyes roll back as your entire body shakes. Your hips buck against him as he continues to bring you over the edge, your cries of pleasure echoing off the walls of the bar.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you collapse against the bar counter, your body still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. You can feel your skin tingling, your heart pounding and your head spinning. Tommy stands, a hint of pride lingering in his dark eyes. You continue to breathe and watch as he fists himself, the tip of his cock a shade darker when he comes thick ropes over your stomach. You hiss at the heat, the feeling of having a part of him staining you.

Tommy pulls up his pants, and you notice as you get dressed, he’s avoiding your gaze. You’re too satisfied to care. He licks his lips, which you found was a nervous habit he has and offers you his arm. You hadn’t expected it, but indulge in the gesture by taking it.

“Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.”

#tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x f!reader #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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lessi-lover · 2 months

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Head cannon for Katie Mccabe🫶🏾?

katie mccabe headcanons <3

15★ ~ k.mccabe

katie loves to claim to all of your friends and family that she is as dependent as they come. the brunette pretends that everything and anything in her life is completely under control at all times. going as far to reveal a bit too much of your personal endeavors just to make herself sound all high and mighty. although you beg to differ with the way "at home katie" practically attaches herself to you like a koala at any given time. "are you alright baby?" you question, as she crashes into your arms. "m'fine. jus want cuddles." she responds, burying her face tightly into your neck. "alright, love." but the second your hand weaves its way through her hair, she completely gone. all memories of her tough exterior melt the second she hears the calming sound of your voice and in all but a few seconds she completely breaking down to tell you about her tiring day.

the irish captain will practically beg you not to take a shopping day. even going as far as to remove it from your shared calendar as soon as it comes up in her feed. although she willingly takes on the role of your personal bag carrier when you're out. she might grumble a bit about how you've managed to accumulate so many bags, but at the end of the day you'd always call her your personal assistant, the girl taking on the job of holding everything, being your judge and jury and running her way through stores to try an find the exact of anything you wanted.

katie has begged you for weeks and weeks to watch this new movie she'd heard going around on camp and hasn't stopped talking until you agreed. it wasn't that you didn't want to entertain the captain, but you had looked up the movie to find that it was a horror movie, your most hated genre of movies. "babe please!" she pleaded, poking you in the shoulder until you finally gave her the attention she was looking for. determined to prove your girlfriend wrong, you agreed to watching the film, although half of you was riddled with fear. throughout the day, katie would not stop reminding you that it was movie night, her usual banter and jokes replaced with the teasing as she belitted you endlessly. finally sitting down in your home to watch the movie, you noticed your girlfriend looking awfully tense as she moved closer to you. maybe if you had known any better, you would have said she looked nervous, but you were to worried about your own nerves to see it. as the suspense started to build in the movie, you felt her muscles tighten, her hand coming to wrap around your thigh. you watched out of the corner of her eye, as she took nervous glances towards the screen, eyes fussing around the room looking at anything other than the film. pressing pause on the remote, her head whipped back towards you. "scared already baby?" she laughed nervously, hand moving to play with the ends of her hair. "me scared? i think it's you who's scared!" you giggled, pulling the girl into you as she tried to defend herself. "nonsense! i'm the one who wanted to watch it anyway!" she protested, hands flying up into the air. "yes baby, i'm sorry." you apologise, still chuckling at how the night had turned out. "so should we keep watching?" you asked, an eyebrow raised in question, as you watcher her face turn pale. "um. i-i think we can turn it off for the night, love. don't want you having nightmares?" she said cautiously, taking the remote from your hands to turn it off.

"alright you big chicken."

only three cause i'm lazy and need to work but i needed to feed you children. bye now 🫶🏻

#katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #woso community #woso #headcanon

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chaos0pikachu · 2 months

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Filmmaking? In My BL? - The Horror Influences of Dead Friend Forever

Okay off the bat I'ma say that this isn't me definitively saying these specific films or tv series are what inspired 100% DFF. I simply do not know what stuff the screenwriters were pulling from influence wise when writing the script, nor what the director was pulling from when directing the series, with 100% flawless certainty.

Rather, this is a chance to talk more about horror, from films, comics, visuals, and sub-genres and how these various mediums are what I see in the fabric of DFF's horror makeup. Also, general point, this post will be discussing minor spoilers of: Scream, DFF, and Girl from Nowhere. So like, be aware~~

This post is partially inspired by an ask from @italianpersonwithashippersheart in which the anon had mentioned Scream.

I couldn't really respond to this in detail before cause I hadn't watched the series, but I have now and I can say that the show is very thoroughly nothing at all like Scream. I'm not confident in much - other than my inability to reach the top shelf at the market - but I am confident in saying that lol

But this got me thinking, what type of horror IS DFF? I've seen a lot of folks say it's a slasher, and I both agree and disagree.

Horror as a genre is vast with sub-genres, it's probably one of the most universal and popular genres globally, and every culture has their own horror legends, cult classics, mainstays and shlock.

So that's what I'm going to talk about in this post, the slasher genre, why I don't think DFF 100% can be boxed into that sub-genre, what type of horror I think DFF is, and the influences I see in DFF's filmmaking and thematics.

So if we start anywhere, we gotta start with Scream (1996) since that's a comparison I've seen being made a lot.

The main reason I disagree in the comparisons to Scream is that Scream is considered a work of satire first and foremost. Through the power of capitalism and franchising, it's also consider a "whodunit" series.

“Scream” is the first movie of its kind to execute a satire genre within a horror movie, which is one of the most iconic and memorable elements of the film. The original movie makes many references to other well-known horror films and mocks them, while simultaneously leading the same plot points. [...] Although the following films in the “Scream” franchise do not follow as much of the same mockery of horror films, they are still considered to be satirical because of their use of mockery toward the movie franchise. “Scream 2” mocks film sequels and “Scream 3” mocks film trilogies." (source)

[sidenote one of my favorite examples of satirical meta horror is Wes Craven's New Nightmare]

DFF isn't satirizing anything in horror, it's almost entirely self-serious. Sure there's a couple of moments of hilarity - dick biting, and scooter snatchin' - but overall the show plays things pretty straight (gay sex notwithstanding). I've seen some folks claim it's subverting horror tropes, but I don't see that either (would be interested in discussing that tho cause I'm curious).

I get why people make this comparison though, Scream is a 27 yr old franchise, and probably the most relevant slasher franchise currently. The new Halloween movies were...cute but aside from the first Halloween (2018) the rest of the reboot franchise had diminishing returns; each film made less than the previous, and received lower critical scores.

However, Scream has actually grown as a franchise in the States in terms of box office draw. That said, Scream is actually not a huge earner overseas, Scream IV (2023) earned more than 60% of it's box office revenue domestically. In Thailand, according to reports, it only earned about 300,000 (compared to other international territories like Brazil where it earned around 4,600,000).

So I don't think DFF is pulling much from Scream in terms of setting, tone, or story. I do think the show most resembles Scream in directorial style, specifically in the imagery of the Killer's design and in the slow-crawl mask reveals that have happened so far.

youtube

[very obviously spoilers for all the scream films watch at your own risk etc, gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses]

So what is a slasher film or story?

"A slasher movie is a horror sub-genre that involves the murdering of a number of people by a psychopathic killer, typically via a knife or bladed tool (such as a scythe).

In general, the horror genre is known for its fear, violence and terror. It will typically feature a menacing villain, whether it be a monster or a supernatural evil spirit, for example." (source)

Other common but not inherent secondary characteristics of a slasher story will include: young adults as central characters, sex (typically as a means of punishment "sex gets you killed"), the killer is motivated by revenge, lots of gore and/or violent kills and a "final girl".

I point out common but not inherent because the main tenants of a slasher story is the overall body count, female protagonist and a mysterious (typically masked) killer.

For example, in Scream (96) Ghostface is motivated by revenge, however in Halloween (1978), Texas Chainsaw (1974), Prom Night (2008), You're Next (2011) and Wrong Turn (2003) the killers are not.

If there is a western horror franchise or film that the setting of DFF more closely aligns with, it's Friday the 13th (2009). Which was a sequel/reboot to the original Friday the 13th (1980) starring Tumblr's own Jared Padalecki as one of the leads (that was an interesting year as Jensen Ackles also starred in a remake of a classic 80s horror film My Blood Valentine).

In Friday (09) the bulk of the story takes place at a mansion styled cabin in the woods near Crystal Lake owned by one of the characters rich parents. Jason eventually hunts down each of the characters, killing them in various ways, and they even find his home with a shrine to his mother there. There's also like, a lot of sex and nudity in Friday (09) none of it fun or sexy as it's pretty, unfortunately, misogynistic.

Being in an isolated area, like the cabin in the woods in DFF and Friday (09) is also not a requirement within the slasher sub-genre.

Many slasher films, especially American classics during the genres 80s peak, actually take place more often in suburbia rather than in isolated locations like the woods. Which reflected real world anxieties from predominately white communities and a turn towards more conservative politics of that era in America.

"Those same well-kept neighborhoods and quiet backyards of my childhood were also the battlegrounds of the ’80s horror movie, a radical pivot in the genre’s history. The decade’s opening years were bracketed by the kidnappings of Etan Patz (which inspired the Missing Kids on a Milk Carton program) and Adam Walsh (which inspired his father John Walsh to later create the TV show "America’s Most Wanted"). Combined with the conservative turn in crime and punishment law brought on by the Reagan administration, horror appeared to turn from the supernatural curses of the decade before ("The Exorcist," "The Omen") to a homegrown product of our own sins. Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger are psychotic loons but also human beings who come not from afar but from down the street. The possibility that one of them could be lurking just beyond the sliding back door of a sleepover birthday seems too darkly delicious to pass up, a fictional killer standing in for a warning your parents and society gave you about “stranger danger,” real-life evil lurking in the dark." (source)

Isolated settings, while can be a setting in slashers are more often found in psychological horror films: The Strangers (2008), When A Stranger Calls (1979, 2006), Hush (2016). Also the Evil Dead (1981, 1987, 2013).

[The latter has it's own interesting history of wanting to be psychological body horror, to horror comedy cult classic, back to psychological body horror. Honestly if any franchise has influenced the "horror set in a cabin in the woods" it's Evil Dead, which is paid major homage to in Cabin in the Woods (2011).]

Sooooo is DFF a slasher?

Hm, for me, yes and no. Slashers require a high body count and pretty gory deaths. So far we've only had 3 deaths, only two of which were even committed by the killer themselves and not even by their own hand (ie directly).

For me, the slasher elements of DFF exist in the directorial styling of the film, meant invoke a classic slasher film but that's not where the true horror of the story exists.

I'm a big slasher fan, so I'm not trying to discount the sub-genre at all, lots of slasher films are good, and when done well, they're truly scary. But they also tend to be straight forward in design, the fear comes from the feature of being stalked by an unseeable and unstoppable force infiltrating what should be a safe space (your home, your school, your neighborhood, your camp grounds etc).

Which is why slasher films are also the most common horror sub-genre to be parodied (Scary Movie franchise) or made into horror comedies like Freaky (2020), The Final Girls (2015), Happy Death Day (2017), and Totally Killer (2023).

[sidenote slashers have this in common with the zombie sub-genre of horror as zombie films in America have also tended in recent years to be horror comedies or horror action like: Little Monsters (2019), Cooties (2014), Zombieland (2009), Pride Prejudice and Zombies (2016)]

I'd argue that DFF is much more in line with psychological horror than slasher horror. Because it is anything but straightforward and also has a strong emphasis on relationships and isolation as does most psychological horror.

Films like: It Comes At Night (2017), Us (2019), Perfect Blue (1997), A Tale of Two Sisters (2004), The Forgotten (2017), Dark Water (2002) all have similar elements in terms of tone as DFF.

The isolated setting, the allure of the mundane normality being a veneer for the violence lurking beneath the surface, the existence of the paranormal, the use of drugs to increase fear, the unsettling paranoia, and slow burn crawl towards all the characters being unteathered from themselves, the growing distrust between them and their loved ones, the plot twists and turns, the emphasis on human relationships and the horror that comes from those.

The backstory with Non is what pushed the show past slasher horror to psychological horror for me. Because Non's "downfall" as it were, feels more akin to the slow burn psych horror rooted in a lot of Japanese, Thai films/tv shows, and modern A24 style horror films.

The horror of Midsommar (2019) doesn't come from jump scares, or violence, but in slowly watching the protagonist grow more and more unteathered, mistreated, gaslit, more and more with each passing moment, slowly inducted into a horrific cult and being able to do nothing to stop her descent.

A big influence I saw in DFF was Girl from Nowhere (2018); the school setting, the crimes committed by a group of students against a singular student, class exploration, structural violence, the exploration of retribution are all topics explored in the first season of Girl from Nowhere.

Even the series trailer for GFN and the pre-release trailer for DFF are similar in production design and tone:

youtube

Titled "BFF" the two-part finale from season 01, is about a high school reunion, where a group of now established adults come back together for a party (their reunion) only to be confronted by their past via Nanno (the shows protagonist for lack of a better term).

Through Nanno we learn about the chars past misdeeds in high school - bullying, physical assault, stealing, the works - and their current crimes as adults. As more and more layers of the truth, lies, and betrayal are revealed, the friend group begins to crack, fracture and turn against each other, growing more and more paranoid and angry.

Nanno tells the group that they've also all been drugged with poison and there's only one vial of antidote left, the "friends" all horrifically murder each other in order to get the antidote. In the end, no one survives. EXCEPT, it was all a mass hallucinate and the group wakes up, remembering everything, and quietly leave one-by-one. No longer friends, no longer not-friends, everyone forever changed by the experience.

It's an unsettling ending that leaves things open ended. This group of friends were responsible for the bullying and death of Nanno (she's fine she's like immortal or something I'm pretty sure GFN was partially influenced by Tomie by Junji Ito) and they simply refused to acknowledge what they did to her, nor talk about her, eventually forgetting she existed until forced too through a traumatic retribution by Nanno herself.

[Nanno from Girl from Nowhere, Tomie from Junji Ito's Tomie series]

DFF has a lot in common, from my perspective, with GFN in terms of tone, themes and even parts of it's story.

Nanno isn't doling out "justice" she doles out retributions, punishments, sometimes they're outright torturous. Whether the recipients "deserve" these punishments or not, is really up to the viewer. The show does a good job of showcasing a wide variety of characters who are unrepentant, sympathetic, and somewhere in between. The fears it plays upon are more slow burn, it boils the characters rather than setting them on fire like slashers do.

DFF is similar in this aspect, it boils the characters. Watching Non's story, you already know at the start it's nothing good. We know from the first flashback something bad has happened to Non, but it's not really something, it's many things - so many things - that have led to whatever tragedy the main group must pay for.

It's these compounding factors one after another that brings Non to a boil, and the same thing happens with Tan/New. The horror of DFF is more about getting under the skin, causing the characters discomfort by forcing them to confront the sins they've committed (is there anything more horrific than being seen? Especially if you ugly?).

I mentioned Junji Ito in reference to Girl from Nowhere, to say Ito has been influential on horror feels like an understatement. His series Tomie has been adapted into 7 different Japanese films, he's won 3 Eisner awards (the highest award you can win in America for comics publishing), along with a slew of awards in Japan, his series Uzumaki has been referenced in super popular anime like Jujustu Kaisen.

A big factor of Ito's work is body horror and psychological horror. His work unsettles, and is very visceral. Since Uzumaki was referenced in DFF I think rather than being influenced by specifically Uzumaki (which DFF doesn't have much in common with in regards to general story) I'd argue the show is more influenced by Ito's desire to unsettle.

[from Uzumaki], 1998]

Also potentially to take symbols of piety, faith and protection (the temple, the cross at the chars high school) and turn them into places of horror for the characters.

Like Ito did with the spiral motifs in Uzumaki, said Ito in an interview:

"The "spiral pattern" is not normally associated with horror fiction. Usually spiral patterns mark character’s cheeks in Japanese comedy cartoons, representing an effect of warmth. However, I thought it could be used in horror if I drew it a different way." (source)

[I am also begging y'all to check out Junji Ito's book Cat Diary it's hilarious, even more so b/c his style of art is so rooted in horror]

I think DFF is actually very Thai in it's exploration of what's unsettling and horrific to youth culture in Thailand currently. The feeling of haplessness, judgement, an inability to exert control over one's circumstances, mental health, consent, bullying, these were themes and topics explored in both seasons of GFN but also some of these were explored in The Whole Truth (2021) a Thai horror/mystery film.

There's a scene in The Whole Truth in which one of the protagonists school friends secretly films their younger sister getting undressed without her knowledge, and when caught, the classmate threatens to release the clip publicly and claim the sister is "a slut". One of the protagonists is also bullied at school - including by this disgusting classmate who they still consider "a friend" - but puts up with it in order to be in a friend group at all (this bullied char also has a physical disability which contributes to their mistreatment at school).

I think DFF is exploring a lot of these same topics but most of the characters are just gay this time around.

Okay I'm losing steam here a bit, this has gotten very long, but overall I'd argue that DFF is much more psychological horror than a slasher, in terms of it's tone, and story. Whilst invoking slasher imagery in it's directorial style.

That said it's much more in line with Thai and Japanese horror than American horror in regards to it's themes. If the series was going to be boiled down just to the basics, I'd quantify it as psychological horror mystery.

And those are my thoughts on DFF and horror, I guess lol I'm not 100% satisfied with this but god damn I'm tired this took forever lmao if y'all made it this far, bless and stay safe out there cause the ship wars are wildin out in these parts.

Check out other posts in the series:

Film Making? In My BL? - The Sign ep01 Edition | Aspect Ratio in Love for Love's Sake | Cinematography in My BL - Our Skyy2 vs kinnporsche, 2gether vs semantic error, 1000 Stars vs The Sign | How The Sign Uses CGI | Is BL Being Overly Influenced by Modern Western Romance Tropes? | Trends in BL (Sorta): Genre Trends

[like these posts? drop me a couple pennies on ko-fi]

#dff the series #dff spoilers #dff meta #dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #chaos pikachu metas #pikachu's bl film series #fuckin a this is long #almost ran through my entire final fantasy soundtracks playlist #and that's a lot of freaking final fantasy games

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blossom-hwa · 4 months

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Worn-Out Soles [3] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 16.8k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 2 >> Part 3

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

Chan finds himself in front of the witch’s hut with no idea how he got there.

His sides heave with the effort of taking breath. His mouth feels dry, like he hasn’t had water in days. He reaches up and finds there are still tears in his eyes, and the sun has risen and nearly set during the time it took to return.

He failed. He failed so badly—didn’t manage to get the necklace, didn’t manage to get you out. All he has is this wretched crown in a wretched case, and he doesn’t even know how to unlock it. With luck he won’t need to unlock it, he’ll be able to just burn the whole thing together, but the king still has his necklace and he still has you—

Shut up. Chan knocks on the door and tries to breathe. Panicking and crying won’t help you. He needs to think, because he’s going back. Obviously. For the ruby necklace, and for you, and then you’re going to get out of that godforsaken kingdom and never look back.

Yeah, and look how well that went last time.

The door swings open before he can try and refute that.

“Oh! Young man—” The witch sees the look on his face and cuts herself off.

Wordlessly, Chan opens his bag and extends her the case with the crown. “I have the crown,” he says, and his voice sounds terrible, rough and hoarse and his throat is dry, so dry. “It’s in here, but it’s locked. I don’t know if you can burn it outright.”

She waves him inside, taking the case. “There are many enchantments woven on this. I don’t know if it would burn in the fire in this box,” she replies, brows furrowed. She taps the dent that Chan saw in the middle. “This is where you would unlock it, if there was a key.”

Chan takes a closer look at the dent. He hadn’t tried much before; the king’s room was dark, and then there was no time. Now that he can see it in the light, it’s not really a dent—more of a carefully molded groove, the inset similar to the edges of a cut crystal…

“It’s the ruby,” he whispers, horror washing over him. He thought he failed before, but it’s even worse—the ruby is meant to unlock this box. He’s sure of it. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes terrible. He never quite got the closest look at the ruby, but the general shape and set of the jewel seems to match the box and it just fits.

The witch seems to agree. “Do you have the necklace?” she asks, indicating his clenched fist.

Huh. He hadn’t noticed he was holding something so hard. With effort, he opens his fist, his fingers protesting as blood comes rushing back into them. In his palm lies a silver key, its shape imprinted into his skin. Chan almost laughs. He didn’t even need to use it, in the end. What if he hadn’t gone for this, and tried to take the ruby first? Would he have succeeded?

But no. He needed the key, if it was yours. In case you didn’t manage to get out. The knowledge that he’s right doesn’t comfort him much, though.

“No.” Chan rips the word off his tongue, tasting all his failure on it. “He wears it at all times. I—tried to get this key first. And I did. But he woke up, and then there was no time.” He swallows hard. “And I couldn’t rescue my friend either.”

Slowly, slowly, the witch nods. “I see,” she replies, her old voice grave. “So what will you do next?”

For some reason, this is what breaks the dam of tears that he had just managed to erect.

“I don’t know,” he grits out, all the anger and self-hatred from hours of riding coming out in full force. “I don’t know. I failed. I messed everything up, and I lost Y/N—”

The old woman touches his arm. Guides him quietly to a chair. Waits until his chest stops heaving and he stops babbling nonsense, and extends him a glass of water, which he sips at first, then downs in three gulps. She refills it and then sits before him once more.

“You did not fail,” she says quietly, and the certainty in her voice finally strikes a chord in his chest, his heart beating a little more slowly. “You brought back the crown, and while we may not be able to destroy it just yet, the center of magic being pulled from the kingdom will already lend to its collapse.” She picks up the case again. “I will work at the enchantments and see if I can break any. In the meantime—”

“I have to go back,” Chan blurts out. “I have to—I need to get Y/N out, I need to bring her back.”

“And so you will,” she agrees. “But not now.”

Anger flares in his chest. “What do you mean, not now? She’s already hurt! I can’t wait—”

“You must,” she snaps, iron in her voice. “It is dark. The king’s men will be hunting you in the shadows, and once you leave the hut my protections will no longer cover you. Even with the invisibility cloak, while they may not be able to see you, you will not see them under the cover of night. And, beyond this, you are in no shape to go.” Chan starts to protest, but she raises a hand. “You have not slept in over a day. You need to rest, and so does your poor horse.” Her voice softens. “When dawn comes, you will go. You must, to save your friend. But until then, you will rest.”

She’s probably right. Chan can already feel his body slumping with exhaustion. But the thought of you, alone and hurt at the mercy of a king of hell still raises his voice. “You said the kingdom would collapse without its center of power,” Chan gets out. “Was that a literal collapse? Or just metaphorical?”

“Literal,” the old woman replies easily. “But it will take some time—the collapse would not be as quick as if I burned the crown in the fire right this instant. You have perhaps a day before the palace will literally begin to collapse. Which is enough time for you to rest.” She puts down the box and turns to a cabinet, rummaging around for a minute before coming back with a small bottle that she gives to him. “This will give you dreamless sleep,” she says, not unkindly. “Please, young man. You must rest.”

Chan stares at the small bottle. He thought he was all cried out, but tears brim at his eyes once more. “Why are you helping me so much?” he asks, voice brittle. “In fact, if you knew all this, why wouldn’t you fight the king yourself?”

She laughs kindly, putting a wrinkled hand over his. “I would, if these old bones would sustain another confrontation,” she says, chuckling a little sadly. “I am old, young man. I have seen many things, and I have fought most of my own battles. Trust me when I say that I would not survive another fight with that kingdom.”

Chan blinks. “Another?”

“Yes. I am one of those who cursed his family, after all.” She continues as if Chan wasn’t immediately reeling from that piece of information. “This was ages ago, and they hadn’t stirred much, to my knowledge, until you came by. Now I realize they must have been wreaking more havoc than I was aware of.” With a strong sigh, she shakes her head. “That royal family is evil, Chan. Their magic is the darkest of all. While I and the other witches were not strong enough on our own to fully defeat them, only curse them so that they could not bear the sunlight, I have hopes now that their power will disappear forever.”

“…But I failed.”

“On your first try.” She smiles. “But you will return, no? And you will try again. It was not on my first attempt that I managed to curse the Kereseians below the ground. You are on a tighter schedule than I was, perhaps, but I have faith in you, young man. You are pure of heart, motivated by love, and you will not give up until you succeed.” Her tone turns stern. “But to do that, you must rest. Yes?”

Chan’s throat hurts, and not just from a day of riding without stopping for water. “Yes, my lady,” he whispers around the lump constricting his voice. “Thank you.”

. . . . .

When your eyes fully open for the first time, you’re not sure how much time has passed. You recall slipping in and out of consciousness, pain blurring the edges of your vision as you gasped for air, so you wait for blackness to consume your vision again, but this time, it doesn’t.

Slowly, you try to take in your surroundings. You haven’t moved from where you were dropped on the floor, after the king broke one of your legs and had someone else snap the other. You don’t think you could even if you tried. You don’t dare try and turn to see the state of your legs, but from the pain still screaming through your bones and skin, it can’t be anything good.

You close your eyes again, letting a few tears leak out. Gods and stars above, why did you wake? Why couldn’t you just stay unconscious? At least in the darkness of your mind, you couldn’t register the pain as clearly. Now that you’re conscious it’s all just rebounded. For minutes or hours, you lie there on the ground, fully awake, unable to think or move.

At some point, the door opens. You barely register it until shoes enter your vision, and even then, the image is blurred by tears and pain.

Someone squats. Lifts up your chin. You grit your teeth and blink away tears to come face to face with the man you currently loathe most in the world.

“Hello, my queen to be,” the king croons, though now, even he can’t fully disguise the hatred lying behind his eyes. You don’t bother to hide your own—it’s the only thing keeping you up. You note with grim satisfaction that the burns on his face haven’t healed, his skin still red and raw where the dawn burned him, and he isn’t wearing his crown. “It’s time for the evening meal.”

Bizarrely, this reminds you of your first day here. “I’m not hungry,” you mutter, half a smirk curving your lips before it drops. “I don’t feel well.”

“Of course you don’t.” He laughs in your face. “You will soon, however.” From somewhere to the side, he produces a goblet. “Drink.”

You sneer. “How am I to know whether or not that’s poison?”

“I wouldn’t poison my wife to be, no matter how terribly she treated me.” Mock hurt flashes across his face and you want to slap him. “This is enchanted water from the fountain that was to be your wedding gift, Your Highness. It will heal you completely.” He leans in closer. “You will marry me, and you will bear my child. You have no choice.”

You spit in his face.

“Such unladylike behavior.” He tuts, wiping away a drop of spit with an almost careless finger. “Do you not want to be well?”

You’d give almost anything to get rid of the pain. In fact, you’re seconds away from giving in. But he doesn’t need to know that. So you say nothing.

He beckons to someone outside of your line of sight. Before you understand what’s happening your head jerks back by someone else’s hand, another hand forcing your mouth open as the king himself pours the contents of the goblet down your throat.

Choking and spluttering, swallowing in spite of yourself, the first thing you think is that this tastes like normal water. Then a warming sensation begins to filter through your body, spreading slowly through your limbs, and slowly but surely, the screaming in your legs stops and you feel them straighten without your will.

Your mouth fills with a bitter aftertaste. You’re not sure if it was the water, or just your mind trying to turn your tears into something as bitter as your loathing. The pain is gone, your thoughts are clear, and you wish they weren’t.

If you were just a little stronger, maybe they wouldn’t have been able to treat you like this.

“Still hoping for your lover to save you?” The king laughs coldly, icy fingers cupping your cheek. “He can’t come here anymore, you know. We found where he came in and we sealed the cracks. Right now, my people are combing the forest, ready to serve his heart to me on a silver platter.” He smiles like the bitterness in your mouth hasn’t turned to something rotten that tastes like blood, like your heart isn’t beating painfully fast even as you fight to keep your expression neutral. “I will save you, Your Highness. Day and night I will clip your wings, then grow them again—all so that you can stay with me.” His smile widens. “Romantic, isn’t it?”

Briefly, you weigh the merits of throwing up on him. You've already spat on him twice. But you don’t have the energy, so you do nothing, hatred for the king and yourself burning in your chest. You focus on the burns on his face, on his neck, reminding yourself that he is mortal, that for all his seeming power he can be hurt—

Wait. You almost frown before schooling your expression back into one of hatred. If he has this enchanted water, why doesn’t he use it on himself? If it could heal your two broken legs in minutes, surely it would heal him in no time? Something doesn’t seem right about that, but the king speaks before you can take the train of thought any further.

“Have her dressed,” he says, gesturing to someone else in the room. “Then take her to the banquet hall.” He takes your arms and drags you up and your first instinct is to shove him away, but then you stumble on your newly-healed legs and fall back into him anyway.

He ignores your attempt, his eyes boring into yours, his lips curving slowly. Knife blades and blood. “We can’t go without our evening entertainment, after all.”

. . .

For some reason, you’re dressed even more lavishly tonight, given a gown of the smoothest silk you've ever felt, jewelry with the largest gems you’ve ever seen. You sit quiet and miserable as silent servants do your makeup, then slip on yet another dark pair of slippers on your feet. Briefly you wonder what they did with the clothes you came here in, the white robes and Chan’s lovely shoes.

What wouldn’t you give for them over these ostentatious ornaments.

Your legs, though healed, still tremble when you put weight on them. Logically you know they must be fine, but you can’t shake the feeling that they are still injured, that bone shards aren’t still poking out of your skin, that you shouldn’t be able to move as easily as you currently do. The high-heeled dance shoes don’t help at all. But because there are guards, and because you are being watched, you force yourself to stand, to walk.

When you reach the banquet hall, it seems as though nothing has changed. You’re not even certain as to whether the court was informed of your escape attempt, because while you garner a few stares and smirks upon your entrance, it’s still no more than you had grown used to before. The king probably didn’t say anything, you conclude through the meal. Doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s lost more control over the situation than he already has, you suppose. They already know he lost his crown. He can’t make it look like you tried to escape, too.

But something does change when the meal is over, and everyone begins to enter the grand ballroom. Because while the king still leads you inside, he doesn’t accompany you to the center of the floor, as he had done before. Instead—

“Dance for us, Your Highness,” he says, smiling cruelly. “We have been deprived of your magical abilities, as you choose not to show them to us. I can only assume you are shy, hm?” He cups your cheek in his cold hand and a little laugh rises from the crowd, making your skin crawl. “I am rather curious about your magic, Your Highness. I saw it when you danced for your Moonlight Festival, and I must confess, I fell in love.”

You take his cold hand, bring it down under the thin guise of holding it gently when you want nothing more than to stab him in the throat. “You did, didn’t you.” Your voice is flat but for some reason it still amuses the court even more.

“Of course I did.” He gestures at the expanse of people around the ballroom. “As I’m sure they all will too, when they get to see the wonder of your art for the first time. So dance for us, Your Highness.” He lets go of your hand. “I will enjoy the spectacle as part of the audience.”

You fight the urge to scoff as you step into the center of the floor, legs trembling. Spectacle. You are not a spectacle, you are a human. But of course he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s forcing you to dance on legs that he snapped and healed within twenty four hours. He doesn’t care that you don’t trust your bones as you would on any other day. You’re shaking all over and phantom pains keep running up your legs in spite of the healing water, and the only saving grace of this whole terrible outfit is the long skirt of your dress, hiding the way your legs tremble.

Despite yourself, tears try to force themselves into your eyes. You swallow them down even as despair clogs your throat. He does mean to make a spectacle of you, like a ballerina in a music box—an object meant for only the entertainment of others. It hurts. It hurts so much. And it would be so easy to give up, to give in to the pain and hopelessness of it all, but—

Your mind turns back to Chan, and the last words he spoke to you. “I’m not going to leave you behind.”

He won’t leave you. He’ll be back. You swallow hard. And if you don’t want him to give up, neither can you.

The several nights you danced with the king, you forced yourself not to bring your magic into play. You feared that the overwhelming sadness would only bring more demeaning laughter to the court. But you remember the terror you were able to strike into your guards when you tried to escape, their eyes blown wide like they were truly scared.

Even if it won’t last, even if they will only laugh in the end, you would like them to feel as you have felt over the past several days. If only for a moment.

Hanging your head deliberately, you wait for the music to begin. It doesn’t matter what it is, you’ll spin it into what you need. As if the musicians have sensed how you feel, though, the melody that starts is slow, desolate, and everything you wanted.

And so you let go, injured legs be damned.

The room blurs into a tapestry of black marble and flame. The stares of the crowd become nothing more than pinpricks of light in the distance. The ominous gaze of the king falters and disappears as you whirl around the room, singing emotion through your movements, spinning everything you remember since the night you were kidnapped into a performance on the floor. Confusion, terror, desperation. Disgust, fear, anger. And when it comes time for you to retell Chan’s appearance and the relief and hope that crashed over you—

You look straight into the eyes of the Kereseian king as you spin past.

By the time it’s over, you’re panting with exhaustion, sweat dripping down your brow. The music is slowing, fading into the air, and as it finally stops, you become aware of the world again. Aware of the silence of the room, the stares of the court, the shakiness in your legs that still keeps you hesitant to put your full weight on them. There are tears in your eyes and you’re certain they’ve fallen down your face, too.

Then one person begins to clap. And another. And then another, until the ballroom echoes with quiet applause, despite the fact that you have taken no bow. Instead, you turn to look at the king, who steps forward with something unreadable in his eyes.

“A lovely performance,” he says, the cruel curve of his mouth lifting into half a smile. “Did you make that up on the spot?”

You nod mutely, trying hard not to cry.

“Your talent is great.” It sounds like it might be the first sincere thing he told you in—well, in all the week and a half that you have known each other—but you don’t bother to thank him. “I think I fell in love with you again.”

This time, you scoff out loud. “Your Majesty, don’t insult me. I don’t think you’d know love if it slapped you in the face.”

His eyes darken. “I was going to try and be kind,” he says, voice dangerous. “But you’ve made your stance clear, I see.”

You give him half a smile. “You wouldn’t know kindness if it slapped you in the face either.”

He spins you into frame, crushing your hand in his grip. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispers in your ear. “For by the end of the night, you are mine to keep and enjoy. Whether or not I show you kindness or love…it will never matter. Not to you.”

It’s true. Because you couldn’t care for him even if he had showed you kindness, even if he had showed you whatever it is he thinks is love—he took you from your home, took you from your family, took you from those who loved you most. And it’s even easier to remember that when, at the end of the night, he takes you back to your room stumbling, half-dead, and exhausted, and orders guards to snap your legs again as soon as you enter your quarters.

Everything hurts. Your body is on fire and you can’t stop the tears of pain from pooling on the floor beneath you. But though you bite your lip so hard it draws blood, you take a small, grim satisfaction in that you didn’t scream this time.

. . . . .

It takes the full length of a day or more to reach the earth under with Kereseia lies. Chan sets out at dawn, riding more carefully than his haphazard trip a day ago, and with several short breaks, he reaches the opening the witch showed him when night has already fully set, the sun sunk beneath the horizon.

He stumbles off his horse and barely remembers to picket it before giving him a pat of apology and stepping into the cave. Once inside, he searches for the metallic glow of the silver trees below, but—

The glow isn’t there anymore.

Chan squints into the darkness, anxiety rising in his throat. Keeping one hand carefully against the wall of the cave, he ventures further inside. After some trouble he finds the two rocks that had signaled the entrance before, but when he feels between them, all he touches is solid earth. As if the opening never existed.

Panic nearly shuts off his mind. He places his head in his hands and tries to think beyond the imminent mental breakdown. The king has obviously sealed off this entrance, and Chan wouldn’t put it past him to have gone through the kingdom and sealed anything that might even be the slightest opening to the earth’s surface.

Chan nearly curses out loud. Also almost punches the wall, but forces himself not to at the last second—who knows who is watching out here, where the king could have eyes in this darkness? He sinks down onto the cave floor, placing his head in his hands as he tries to breathe. Why didn’t he think that this would happen? It’s so obvious now that he thinks of it—of course the king would try to find where he came in from after he managed to get in.

Several frustrated tears roll down Chan’s cheek, but he wipes them away harshly. This opening is closed. More likely than not, any others have also been sealed. He has no way of finding another unless it’s by pure luck—and luck hasn’t been on his side for a while—and he can’t easily go around trying to find one anyway, not when it’s dark and Kereseian guards have probably been scouring the area for him—

The guards.

His eyes widen. They have to get back into the kingdom somehow. If he can find one of them and stay hidden...

He might just be able to follow one back into Kereseia.

A rush of hope warms his chest but he swallows it down. No use in hoping unless he can actually find one of them, now. But at least it’s a straw to grasp at.

For the next few hours, Chan quietly passes through the area of the woods, clutching the clasp of the cloak at his throat. He doesn’t hear a sound, though, beyond the usual murmurings of a forest at night, nor does he see anything particularly strange, even when he decides to climb a tree and watch the ground below for a while. As the hours pass, the sky lightens, and when the sky is a dusty gray Chan almost gives up. Any guards have probably already returned underground, and he’s lost his only lead—

A dark shadow rushes past the corner of his vision. Chan whirls around, clapping a hand over his mouth, to see the black uniform of the Kereseian guard disappearing into the distance.

Heart in his throat, Chan strides as quietly as he can over soft grass and dirt until he’s ten paces behind the guard. Praying, praying that the guard doesn’t notice him, he follows until they reach a small clearing in the woods. The guard mutters something under her breath and places a hand to the grass.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then a harsh, orange glow flares from the earth, the ground clearing until a small staircase appears, circling underground.

With every step, Chan thinks the guard will hear him. He doesn’t dare believe luck is on his side. But they reach the bottom of the staircase without trouble, the guard muttering expletives about damned humans and damned king, and Chan finally lets himself breathe just until they emerge from a tiny door and Chan nearly barrels headfirst into several other guards. He barely stops himself in time, but even then, one of them looks around suspiciously, like she felt something in the wind.

Chan holds himself stock still, not daring to even breathe as the three guards begin to talk, winding their way back to the palace. The dark streets of Kereseia look even more unsettling than when he first saw them, cold lamps shining overhead, the strange silver trees casting strange glows onto the ground. The people of Kereseia walk freely through the streets, and it takes all of Chan’s concentration not to bump into anyone while still keeping the three guards in his line of sight. This entrance is considerably further from the palace than the one the witch told him about, and Chan’s feet are beginning to hurt a little by the time the imposing dark gates of the palace come into view.

But something is strange. Chan squints, almost bumping into one of the guards. “What’s that?” he hears one of them ask, echoing his thoughts. It almost looks like small clouds of…black dust, or something, are rising from the palace. As they get closer, the gates opening to greet them, it only becomes more evident, and Chan hears faint crashing inside, too.

Oh. Oh, no. His heart stops.

“The center of magic being pulled away from the kingdom will already lend to its collapse.”

“Was that a literal collapse? Or just metaphorical?”

“Literal.”

The palace is collapsing. Chan looks left, right—it seems anyone with sense has left. Even the three guards he entered with are sounding cries of alarm, already beginning to run out of the gates. There is no one at the palace door. No one to let him in, not that he could even ask—

The doors groan open, and several people come running out, screaming. Chan wastes no time.

He sprints inside.

. . . . .

The second night of torture begins much the same as the first. The king comes inside and force feeds you a goblet of enchanted water. The burns still litter his face and neck, but you have barely enough time to wonder why he doesn’t drink the water himself before he’s whisking out of the room, leaving someone else to prop you up on your shaky legs and primp you for the evening festivities.

You feel sick the whole time, as usual. No one speaks to you but the king, as usual. You dance alone for the entertainment of the court. He takes you as his partner next, and you exchange barbed words as he dances with you hour after hour after hour.

But then the ground shakes beneath your feet, right as the last waltz is about to start. The ceiling seems to tremble above you. You stumble on your shaky legs, but the king’s grasp on your hand doesn’t let you fall. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, his gaze riveted on the ground trembling underneath his toes.

All around you, shrieks of confusion and surprise have begun to permeate the air. You ignore them, gaze fixed solely on the king’s face that is growing stormier and stormier by the second. “The ball is over!” he shouts above the din. “Return to your homes.”

“What is happening?” you demand as the ground gives another shake. This time, the king lets you go, and you barely manage to keep your balance. “Why is the ground shaking?”

He sneers. “Because of your little lover,” he snarls. “He’s taken my crown. The seat of Kereseia’s power is too far away, and the palace is collapsing for it. Don’t worry though, darling.” His lips curve into a wide, insane smile. “I’ll escape. But you won’t.”

In the time it takes you to understand what he means, two guards have already grabbed your arms. You writhe and screech, twisting and biting, but their grip is iron. The king laughs, catching your chin between his cruel, cold hands. “It’s such a shame, Your Highness. If you had kept your father’s side of the bargain and just been my pretty wife, instead of having your lover rescue you like some ill-fated hero, you might have lived. But no.” He sneers. “You think your lover is coming back for you now, under this heap of rubble? No. You will be buried here forever, and I will simply have to find another partner.” His expression mocks you as he tilts his head, feigning thought. “What is your second sister’s name…Yeji? I’m sure she will make a fine wife.”

“You—” Rage blinds your vision and you scream, a raw, breathless sound that echoes off the walls.

The king only laughs in your face. “Take her to her room, and snap her legs,” he says, waving a hand like he’s just asked for another glass of wine at dinner. “I think I’ll leave your wedding gift intact, hm? If only you could escape. If only you had another to dance with.” He cackles, high and loud, and turns around. “If only you could dance in the first place.”

He’s going to break your legs. He’s going to bury you here. He’s going to keep the magic of the stairs intact at least until it collapses on its own, to taunt you—because if you had your legs, if you had a partner, you could leave. But you won’t. You won’t have your legs and you’ll have no one to save you and he knows it. Relishes it.

“MONSTER!” you scream.

He doesn’t even deign to look at you in reply.

You fight the entire way. You kick, writhe, scratch, twist and bite anything you can reach. But in the end, there is nothing, only the pain of two broken legs without the bliss of unconsciousness as pieces of the ceiling begin to fall around you. Sick to your stomach, you cling to the only hope you have left.

Chan, I know you will return.

Please don’t be too late.

. . . . .

By the time Chan reaches your rooms, rubble has already covered the halls, dust rising in the air and choking him until he raises his cloak to his face. The foundations groan beneath his feet, the ground cracking as he sprints across the floor, but he keeps going even as chunks of ceiling begin to fall all around him.

He’s so close. So far. With every turn he takes, every chunk of stone he dodges, he fears he might be too late. But he is not leaving this palace without you.

He isn’t too late. He can’t be.

A chunk of marble the size of his fist crashes to the floor just as he skids to a stop at your door. He digs frantically in his bag for the key, the key he took instead of the ruby—and now he knows it was the right decision. If he’d even managed to succeed with the ruby, what would it matter if he’d failed to take you again, and he had to return with no key? His fingers close around the slim silver key and he twists it in the lock with a prayer to any god listening above.

Something clicks. Chan swings the door open, rips off his cloak, and meets your eyes.

“Y/N,” he breathes. “Gods and stars above, Y/N—”

“Chan?” You cough on the dust, and Chan immediately rushes to your side. “Chan—I—how did you get back here?" you gasp. “He said he sealed all the openings—gods, I prayed you would come but I never though—”

“I followed a guard,” Chan says, trying not to stare at the sight of your disfigured legs splayed out on the ground. “I got in but—Y/N, what happened—”

“He broke my legs.”

Chan blinks. Blinks again.

"He healed them every night he wanted me to dance.” Your words fall to the floor, brittle, cracked, broken. “And when the night was over, he would break them again. So I couldn’t run away.” Tears roll down your face but you laugh, an empty noise devoid of mirth that scares Chan more than the groaning of the floor beneath him. “When the palace began to collapse, he threw me in here and did it one last time. So I wouldn’t escape.”

Rocks have begun to thud on the ground around you two, but all Chan can hear is the roaring of blood in his ears. Fury clenches his hands into fists and it’s all can do to stop himself from punching a hole in the floor—save it, he tells himself with more restraint than he thought he had. Save it for when you meet him. “How did he heal you?” Chan asks instead, ignoring the shake in his voice.

“Enchanted water.” You have to raise your ragged voice above the sound of the palace crumbling beneath you. “The fountain outside.”

Chan blinks. The fountain outside—the one that had been at the base of the staircase where you danced the first time you tried to escape. He knows where it is. He glances between you and the door. He could leave you here and bring back the water, but what if the room collapses before he can get back? “I’m going to have to carry you,” he says grimly, feeling his heart crack with the way your lips tighten. “I’m sorry. I can’t leave you in here.”

You take a deep breath. Close your eyes, then open them once more. “Do it.”

As quickly as he dares, Chan slides one arm under your thighs and another under your back. “One, two, three—”

He lifts you up. You let out a strangled noise and latch onto his neck, holding so tight it’s a little hard to breathe, but Chan doesn’t complain, only throws himself out the door as fast as he can. He’s halfway down the hall when a crash sounds behind the two of you, coming right from the room you just abandoned.

“There.”

Your voice drags him out of his stupor and he looks to where you’re pointing, the familiar round atrium with a fountain set in the middle. Chan hurries as fast as he can, narrowly dodging a fist-sized piece of marble that hits his leg instead. “Shit.”

“My family wouldn’t approve of that language.” Your voice, though faint, still holds the slightest hint of a smile and Chan nearly cries. You’re not fully gone. Not just yet.

“We’ll worry about my language when we get out of here.” When, not if, Chan reminds himself as he lowers you to the ground. “Give me a moment.”

The fountain has stopped running, but a fair amount of water remains in the bowl. His fingers fumble with the flask in his bag but he finally manages to tug it free and fill it as full as he can. “Here,” he says, tipping the water to your lips. “Come on, Y/N.”

You empty a quarter of the flask before you push his hand away. “That’s enough,” you say, voice a little clearer. “I can’t taste that anymore.” Gripping the side of the fountain, you drag yourself up on unsteady legs that have already healed. “Let’s go.”

"Didn’t you say he sealed the openings?” Chan asks over the rumble of the palace falling around him. “Even if we leave the palace, I don’t know if I can recreate the opening where the guards came in from.”

“Here.” You stare at the fountain, then at the circle of stones surrounding it. “We’ll leave from here.”

Chan blinks. “How do you know it’ll work?”

“He said he’d keep it intact. Until it fell on its own, anyway. Because he thought it was the most amusing thing in the world, having a clear exit open for me—as long as someone healed my legs, and would dance with me. Neither of which he thought would ever happen.” You laugh once, a sound devoid of amusement, as your gaze fractures with memories of something Chan wasn’t here for. The voice that leaves your throat is brittle, cracked when you speak again. “We should go.” Despite your words, though, you don’t move.

“Y/N?” He peers into your eyes, into the fragmented expression that terrifies him more than anything he’s encountered during his time here. “Y/N, are you—”

“Chan.” Your voice breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Chan, I don’t want to dance anymore.”

His heart splits. Shatters. Falls to the floor in pieces that mix with the marble dust littering the ground. Then it resurrects itself, fused together with a flame of fury that Chan takes care not to show as he takes your hands, forcing his voice to stay steady. “One step at a time,” he soothes, even as he rages internally at the fact that the king took so much away from you, your family, your liberty, and now even your love for dance. “Just like the other times, yeah?” Never mind that they’ve danced with each other a total of two times, one of which was their last failed escape. Chan’s heart hammers in his chest but he grips your hand a little tighter, lets the other rest loosely on your shoulder so you can shrug him away whenever you need. “Just guide me,” he whispers. “I’ll follow. Always.”

“Follow,” you murmur, so softly Chan almost doesn’t hear you. “He always made me follow.” You blink once. Twice. “You want me to lead?”

“Why not?” Even as the ceiling groans, Chan smiles. “I’ll follow your lead.”

For a moment, it feels as though the world stops as the implication of his words hangs over your heads.

I’ll follow you everywhere you go, even into the depths of hell.

You take a deep breath. Look up into his eyes with a gaze still cracked, but a little less so than before. “I’ll lead,” you say, squeezing his hand. Your other hand goes to his back, resting on his shoulder blade the way you danced at the festival just days ago. “I’ll lead.”

“One step at a time,” Chan reminds you softly. His lips quirk. “And I’m sorry if I step on your toes.”

You don’t smile. Not quite. But the barest hint of a sparkle finds its way into your eyes, more of the glass cracks sealing themselves once more.

“Ready?” You take a deep breath. “One, two, three...”

And you dance.

. . . . .

Your heart leaps into your throat the second you step onto one of the circles. Rocks are flying overhead, the very stone beneath your feet unstable as all hell, but you force yourself to breathe, to guide Chan around the cracks in the marble as you begin to weave your way across the stones.

For several terrible minutes, nothing happens. The circular steps don’t rise. The ground continues to rumble. With every step you take you can feel yourself faltering, angry tears running down your face. The king lied. He had no intention of allowing you even the minutest attempt at escape. He’s taken away your life, your love for dance, all that you had in this underground hell, and now he’s going to take Chan’s life too.

But Chan keeps dancing. Keeps stepping gracefully, keeps following you, and what can you do but continue? He’s trusting you now, just as you trusted him to return. So despite the tears and the terror, you force yourself to keep moving. Keep dancing.

And, after what feels like an eternity, you begin to feel yourself rising.

A shaky gasp bursts from your lips. Between the tears you can barely see where you’re going, but as the circular stones continue to rise you force yourself to focus. It wouldn’t do to trip here and fall, not when you’re so close but so far. Chan’s arms do wonders to hold you up on your unsteady legs, made worse by the shaking of the stone beneath you. For all you’re leading him, he’s the one lending you the strength to keep going.

You're so grateful he's here. So grateful you are no longer alone.

The vaulted ceiling finally groans open, letting in the gray-pink light of the sun. You almost collapse right then and there, but you don’t. Instead, you take Chan on a last few dizzying spins onto the final stone circle before leaping onto the solid earth outside. Only then do you let yourself go, falling to the grass with Chan in one unceremonious tumble, hands still clutching each other tight.

For a moment, you let yourself breathe, taking in the pale light of dawn in the sky, letting its rays caress your skin. Slowly, you force yourself to sit just as Chan also rises, never once letting go of your hand on the way. Then somehow you’re in his arms and he’s in yours and you’re—not sobbing, the sounds being ripped from your throats are something beyond tears and cries—but you’re crushing him close, as close as you can with your trembling arms, and trying to believe that you’re free. That you’ve escaped. Kereseia is collapsing and you won’t ever have to go back.

“Chan,” you gasp. “Chan, I—”

“Shh,” he whispers into your ear, voice shaking as much as yours. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Just then, the earth rocks a little beneath your bodies. You both freeze.

“The palace is still falling,” you say, wiping away tears. “The ground must also be unstable. We should leave.”

Chan nods. “I have a horse. Let's go.”

. . .

You don’t make it there.

As Chan leads you through the grass and trees, two pairs of feet dragging to where he remembers leaving his horse, a sharp scuffling noise sounds in a nearby grove. Warily, you look at Chan, who looks back. “Should we—” you start to ask before an unwelcome figure materializes out of the trees and sends you reeling backward into Chan, a scream cut short in your throat.

The king looks—terrible. Far worse than you last saw him, which can’t have been very long ago—only a few hours, maybe. At most. And yet every bit of his exposed skin looks raw and red, angry burns peppered along his throat and face despite him standing mostly in the shadow of the trees, out of reach of the brightest rays of dawn. Even though he wears the same clothes as when he left you to die in that palace, he looks smaller in them. More haggard.

It doesn’t diminish the hatred in his eyes, though.

On instinct you push Chan slightly behind you, stepping forward even as your heart threatens to leap out of your throat. “What are you doing here?” you hiss.

“I could ask the same of you.” The king smirks, though the expression looks more like a grimace than anything else. “I thought I’d never see you again, Your Highness.”

“I could say the same for you,” you reply, acid on your tongue. “Though I didn’t just think, I hoped.”

Behind you, Chan chokes on something that sounds almost like laughter. The sound lends you a little hope. But then it dies away just as quickly, because even though the king looks severely weakened, he still has power. He still has the ruby necklace. You don’t really know what he can do with that power—he’s never actually shown them to you, beyond when he teleported you to his kingdom—but there was a reason his family was cursed underground. It can’t have been because they were harmless.

“So your lover did come back for you.” The king shoots a hateful glance at Chan, who only steps forward to meet it. “I can’t tell if you are brave, or just plain stupid.”

“Faithful,” you correct.

“No sense of self preservation.” The king laughs.

“Not as if you have much either,” Chan says slowly. “Not when you’re standing in the sunlight.”

The king sneers, though for the first time, you don’t pay attention to it. Chan’s words made you remember something. While the king had forced you to drink the fountain’s water to heal your legs, he never took any of it for his burns, which you remember finding strange. “It’s too bad you don’t have any of that enchanted water to heal you, yes?” You force a laugh, carefully eyeing the king’s reaction.

It happens in less than a second. If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have noticed. But the king flinches, ever so slightly, before he regains his sneering composure.

An inkling of an idea begins to form in your mind. “Water,” you hiss to Chan out of the corner of your mouth, angling your hand behind you. You school your face into neutral hatred, praying that he heard you, and praying that the king didn’t. “Why are you out here in the sunlight, Your Majesty? If it hurts you so much, shouldn’t you be sheltering underground?”

“Yes,” Chan chimes in, pressing the flask into your hand. Your fingers close around it as he continues. “Your palace fell, but surely the rest of your kingdom is safe?”

“My reason is standing right before me.” A manic gleam enters the king’s eye. “You have my crown, don’t you, lover boy? The seat of my power?” He steps forward and instinctively you step back. “Or if you don’t have it here with you now, you know where it is, don't you?”

Chan scoffs, though you hear the hitch in his voice. “Even if I did, I’d die before you got it out of me.”

“Oh, you might die without issue.” A smile curves the king’s lips, sending chills up your spin. Your grip tightens around the flask. “But how long would you last if you had to see your dear princess hurt?”

It happens in a second. The king leaps. Chan yells. But strangely, your heart remains calm, even as the king’s cold fingers graze your chin—

And you throw the contents of the flask on his face.

Time seems to suspend itself. The king stares at you. You stare at him. His fingers are just barely touching your chin, like he meant to claw off your skin. Which he might have if he didn’t suddenly crumple to the forest floor, screaming in agony.

Your legs give out immediately after. If it weren’t for Chan, you’d have collapsed right next to the writhing mess of a king before you, but Chan grabs you and tugs you back, his eyes riveted on the scene before him.

You can’t look away either. The king’s face seems to be…melting. It’s the only way you can describe it. The raw redness of his skin flares angrier until it looks like he’s—being boiled, or something, you don’t know how you can even put it into words—but the screams of agony grow sharper and louder until they finally begin to die, turning into raw animal sounds of torture and pain as his mouth twists into something unrecognizable. You stand there, clutching Chan, shaking like no tomorrow, until finally the king stops screaming and goes still.

For a long moment, you and Chan just stand, frozen, unable to tear your eyes from the lump of flesh before you that used to be the Kereseian king. Eventually, though you’re able to speak.

“I didn’t think that would happen.”

Then you lean over and throw up on the grass.

Chan’s over you in a second, producing a handkerchief out of nowhere to wipe your lips, raising the remnants of the flask to your mouth to wash out the taste. He’s shaking too, his face a sick shade of green, but he successfully holds himself back from following in your footsteps.

Finally, you have enough strength to stand up on your own. On unsteady legs, you walk over to what used to be the king. The bright red ruby still rests on his chest, glinting sinisterly in the pink sunlight. Before you can second guess yourself, you pull the necklace around the melted form of his head, trying not to gag.

Chan takes the necklace from you and stuffs it into his bag. “Let’s go,” he says gently, turning you away from the body. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t object.

. . . . .

You reach the witch’s hut just as night is falling. Chan is reeling with exhaustion and you don’t look much better, nearly falling off the horse when you try to dismount. You catch yourself on him just in time, and then there’s not much time to think before the hut door swings open, washing the two of you in warm light.

“Goodness.” The witch pulls the two of you with surprising strength into the hut, shutting the door firmly behind. “Come inside, my dears. Sit down.”

Despite his exhaustion, Chan pulls out the ruby necklace from his bag and gives it to the witch before collapsing into one of the overstuffed couches with you. She takes it quickly, turning immediately to the crown case, which had been on one of the nearby tables, and presses the gem into the box’s dent. It swings open. Without a second thought, the witch tosses the crown into her fire, along with the necklace. The flames burn bright white for a moment, then die back down to their previous merry orange.

“You are the witch, aren’t you?” you ask, startling Chan. You’d closed your eyes when you sat down and he’d half expected you to have fallen asleep by now. “The one who helped Chan.”

“I am,” she says, bowing low. “I am also honored to be in your presence, princess of Terpsichani.”

You blink. “I—how did you know?”

“While I may live in a hut in the woods, that does not mean I am bereft of knowledge of the times.” The witch smiles kindly. “I am glad to see you safe in your…friend’s arms.”

Chan flushes red. A ghost of your lovely smile plays on your lips when you look at him. “Friend, Chan?”

“I…” Chan swallows, praying his ears aren’t red at least. “I did not know what else to call you, to a stranger.”

“I tease,” you say, the smile growing a little wider as you squeeze his hand. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I will admit, it wasn’t hard to see through it before,” the witch says, and you laugh as Chan buries his face in his palms. “Just as it isn’t hard to see through it now.”

You lower your head a little, as though embarrassed. When you look up, though, you look better than you have the entire day. “Thank you, my lady,” you say, taking the witch’s wrinkled hands between yours. “For all that you have done for us. For helping keep my love safe. Should you come ever come to my kingdom, you need never lift a hand for a thing. You will be most welcome anywhere.”

“The honor is mine,” she replies, her eyes crinkling with her smile. “I thank you for your kindness, but I do not insist upon reward for my actions. The knowledge that the evil of Kereseia is gone, the seat of the royal family’s power crushed, is enough.”

You frown slightly. “You sound as though you have experience with the kingdom.”

“She was the one of those who cursed the royal family in the first place,” Chan says. It still awes him that this small woman before him was so powerful.

“...I see.” You rise from your seat, and before either of them can stop you, you give the witch a low bow. “Then I must thank you for your unwavering service, my lady.”

“Do not bow to me, Your Highness.” The witch rushes to seat you again, gently pressing you back into the couch cushions. “Not to me. I only did what I had to. As did you.”

Shadows cross your face, and you look away. Chan takes your hands. Squeezes them against the memories of an evil king, his face half melted away, the dying screams in his ears…

“Enough for now.” The witch stands, gesturing to the two of you. Her eyes are sympathetic. “I will bring you two food and water, and then you must rest. I insist,” she says, though your and Chan’s mouths both open to argue. “You are in no shape to continue riding for days in this state. Rest here, for now, and I will send you on your way come morning.”

You look like you still want to disagree, but Chan remembers how his last attempt at refusing rest went so he just gives you a small smile. “You won’t convince her,” he says quietly. “And we both do need rest. You’re about to fall asleep right here.”

“You’re right,” you acquiesce as the witch bustles off to another area of the hut. “Gods above, I’m tired.”

“Sleep now,” Chan says, guiding your head to his shoulder. “I’ll wake you when there’s food.”

“Alright.” You blink once, twice, slowly. “Thank you, Chan. For everything.”

Warmth floods his chest, giving him the courage to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Of course,” he whispers. “Anything for you.”

. . . . .

It takes a day of riding to reach the outskirts of Terpsichani, and another to reach the capital. When Chan stops the horse at the palace gates, you freeze for a moment. A kingdom doesn’t change much in a week, but even so, everything still feels different.

It was only a week. You nearly laugh. How could so much have happened in so little time?

The second you dismount the horse everything turns into a frenzy. People shouting, crying, trying to lead you this way and that—noise pummeling your ears, words bouncing off your skull. Someone tries to separate you and Chan and you only pull him closer, not even thinking about what this might look like to those who don’t know of your love. In this moment, he is safety. He is peace. He is the rope you cling to in the ocean of this overwhelming return.

Then the crowd parts for someone and in the midst of it all you lock eyes with Yeji. Her expression, initially disbelieving, crumples into something beyond relief and you feel your eyes beginning to well with tears as she leaps forward, crushing you into a hug. For seconds that feel like minutes that feel like hours you stay locked in her embrace, cherishing the feeling of her arms around you, her face pressed into your shoulder.

When you pull away, the crowd has quieted at your display of affection. Yeji’s attention shifts from yours to someone behind you—Chan, you realize—and before you know it, she’s walked forward and crushed him in a hug not unlike yours.

Your heart melts as Chan glances at you over her shoulder, bewildered confusion in his eyes. It’s okay, you mouth, and slowly that confusion turns into a soft relief that allows him to put his arms around her as well.

Your other sisters come running down the hall, then, along with Chaeyoung, their cries of surprise and relief echoing in your ears moments before they bury you in their embrace too. And for a little while, especially after Yeji joins your hug and pulls Chan into it too, all is right in the world.

Too soon, though, someone clears their throat. You fight the urge to snap. You want nothing more than to scream foul words at the person who did, but it’s probably not their fault, so all you do is wipe your eyes and turn towards them.

It turns out to be your father’s chief advisor, who wears an expression of half shock, half disbelief. You don’t blame him. You still feel the same way too.

“Your Highness.” He bows low. “Please allow me to congratulate you upon your return.”

It doesn’t sound like much to congratulate you on, but you can appreciate how hard it is to politely phrase I’m glad you have escaped after being kidnapped by the ruler of the kingdom of hell, so you just try to smile. “Thank you.”

“Your father has received word of your return,” he continues, oblivious to how your heart immediately plummets to your stomach. “He would like to see you, when you are rested and refreshed.”

Your father. You swallow hard. The man who, if the Kereseian king is to be believed, made the deals that landed you in the kingdom of hell in the first place. The man who failed to warn you or do even the slightest thing to prepare you—whatever preparation means in this situation—for what would happen. Even though he could have.

With effort, you don’t clench your fists. Though you want nothing more than to refuse the invitation and retire to your rooms, he is the king. And you are a princess. Which means you must act as one, no matter how the adrenaline of your return is starting to wear off, no matter how hard exhaustion is beginning to hit instead. “Then tell him I will see him now,” you say, voice as steady as you can keep it. You gesture to Chan. “Please see to it that he is given refreshment. Rooms are to be made up for his convenience of rest. Yeji, have someone assigned to wait on him, please.”

“Y/N—Your Highness.” Chan corrects himself on your name and it almost sends you reeling. He can’t call you by your name here, you know that and he does, but gods and stars above you wish he could. “You don’t need to do all of this for me.”

You look at him steadily. “Chan, there is nothing I could do in the world that would be enough to repay you for you saving me.”

A gasp ripples through the hall. You bite back a frown, turning to Yeji. Did you say something wrong? She must know. What did I miss? you ask with your eyes.

“If I may.” Yeji looks to your father’s chief advisor. “I would like to speak with my sister before she meets our father. It will only be a minute.”

He bows shortly. “As you wish, Your Highnesses.”

The crowd slowly begins to disperse, and Yeji walks you to an empty room. Your other sisters disperse but Chaeyoung follows, beckoning a confused Chan with her. It gives you a little comfort to know that someone else is as lost as you. “Did something happen?” you ask as soon as Chaeyoung shuts the door.

“When Father was informed you were kidnapped, he issued…a challenge, of sorts, to the nobility and royalty of this kingdom and others beyond,” Yeji says carefully. “He promised great reward to the one who would bring you back alive.”

An uneasy feeling begins to spread through your chest. “What did he promise?” you ask quietly.

“Your hand in marriage,” Chaeyoung replies.

After a moment's thought, you realize this wasn't unexpected. How many fairy tales have gone the same way? But you never expected to live a fairy tale yourself so the news still hits you like a punch in the gut and you almost have to steady yourself on the wall. You look at Chan, heart in your throat. “Did you—did you know of this?” you ask, hardly daring to hear the answer.

“I did,” Chan replies, equally quiet. “Her Highness told me, when she came to ask for my aid.”

“And he would have done it without the knowledge that your hand might await his,” Yeji cuts in, her eyes sharp. “You know that, Y/N.”

You do. A deep breath escapes your lips, relief gusting out of you all at once at the reminder. You do know that, know deep within your heart that the minute Chan heard you had disappeared, he would have set out to find you, reward or none. “I do,” you say quietly, meeting Chan’s eyes. He hangs his head, looking almost ashamed, but you take his hands. “You said you would follow me anywhere,” you murmur, tangling your fingers together. “I know you would, regardless what awaited you at the end.”

He squeezes your fingers, a tiny smile on his lips. “I would,” he replies. “Until the end of time.”

“The thing is, he didn’t issue this declaration publicly,” Yeji interrupts. “He announced it to nobility and royalty. I was the one who informed Chan first, but I didn’t know that our father only meant it to be for those of magic blood until later.” Her eyes turn to yours, wide and meaningful.

In your muddled state of mind, it takes you a moment to understand. But when you do, anger begins to burn in your chest.

He meant for a noble to find you. A royal. Someone of the so-called right blood, someone who would inherit the throne with you without issue or scandal. Someone sure to have magic in their veins. Not one of the commonfolk. Certainly not a cobbler.

You almost scream. How is this any different from you being married to the king of hell?

This time, you can’t stop yourself from clenching your fists. “I will have no hand but his,” is all you manage to say. “Magical or not.”

“I know,” Yeji replies, putting a hand on your shoulder. “And I will support you, as will our sisters. But you needed to know, so that Father would not blindside you.”

Fury nearly does blind you then, angry thoughts whirling through your skull. Your father made a deal with the kingdom of hell. When he couldn’t keep the first he made a second, and doomed you to a life of agony in the cold underground. To right the second he issued a challenge to give away your hand to the first who would succeed, and in the end, the challenge was only for a select few, and not for the one who found you, who loved you, and whom you’d already given your heart to.

You swallow hard around the furious lump in your throat. “I understand,” you say. “I will speak to him accordingly.”

“Y/N.” Your name from Chan’s voice cuts through the mess of anger in your mind. You turn to him. “I won’t have you go through more trouble because of me,” he says quietly. His eyes are soft, sad, but he speaks clearly even though he can’t quite look you in the face. “This is not worth as much trouble as it is.”

“You’re wrong.” Two steps forward, and with a surprised gasp from him you’ve locked Chan in your embrace once more. “You’re wrong,” you say again in his ear. “You are worth the moon, the stars. You are worth everything I have to give in this godforsaken world, worth every battle I will have to fight for your hand. Do not even suggest that you are not.” You pull away, your eyes soft. “You fought hell to save me from its clutches. Now, please, Chan.”

His eyes, full of unshed tears, stare back into yours.

Heart in your throat, you wipe a single tear from the side of his face. “Let me fight for you.”

. . .

Just weeks ago you stood in front of your father’s door just like you do now, arm raised, about to knock. The memory curves your lips, bittersweet, as you rap your knuckles against the wood.

“Come in,” his voice sounds. You enter the room.

Immediately your father’s eyes widen, like he didn’t quite believe the news that you had returned. Relief crashes over his features and his voice, always so steady in your memory, trembles as he rounds his desk to wrap you in a hug. “Y/N,” he says. “I am glad you have returned.”

If you hadn't known about his role in the contract with Kereseia, you might have hugged him back, perhaps even shed a few tears on his shoulder. For all the coldness with which he treated you over years past, he seems truly emotional now. But even though he seems genuine, it can’t erase the knowledge the Kereseian king gave you.

It’s true that the king might have lied. If you had only heard the stories of Kereseia, you might immediately assume this was the case. But over the days you spent with him, you know that while he may have teased you in awful ways, spun little white lies about love that he knew you would never believe, he did not lie about the things that were important. Not the threats. Not the punishments. Besides, it takes two to seal a contract.

Someone had to have done it on your end.

So you don’t return your father’s hug, only stand there stiffly until he lets go. You sit down silently in front of his desk as he returns to his own seat. “I was told you wanted to see me,” you prompt.

“I did.” Your father’s eyes watch you carefully. You force your expression to remain neutral. “Though it could have waited until you were rested.” When you don’t reply, he frowns. “Why do you remain so cold, Y/N? Did I do something to merit your temper?”

In a moment, you’ve stood, fists already clenched. “That’s rich,” you spit, “considering you should know exactly what you did.”

Shock passes over his expression and then he schools it neutrally, to your fury. “Y/N, you do not understand,” he begins. “Your mother and I—”

“Don’t tell me I don’t understand,” you snarl. “I understand very well. I understand that you were the one who signed a contract with the king to sell my own mother off—I understand that you were the one who later signed another contract when the first fell through to sell one of your own daughters off—to a kingdom we all know as having risen from the depths of hell.” You take a sharp breath. “And now I also know that you used my kidnapping as a challenge, to find someone to take my hand in marriage though I never consented to it—I know all of this, and you dare ask me if something you did merits my temper?”

Your father looks slightly pale. It brings you no pleasure to see him like this, sickens you even because it means everything the Kereseian king told you must be true, but you continue. “I will have you know,” you say quietly, “that the one who found me, the one who saved me, was not one of those to whom you issued your challenge. He is not noble. He is not royal. Do you know who he is?” You laugh shortly. “He is our Chan. Our royal cobbler. Someone you probably have not spoken ten words to in your life.” Your father opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “I am going to marry him,” you say quietly. “Not because of your disgusting decree. But because he loves me, and I love him, and I refuse to have any other hand but his.”

“You are not well,” your father says, and the dismissiveness in his voice nearly slaps you backward. “You are tired, and not thinking straight. You need rest, and then we will speak again.”

You gape. You never thought that your father would accept this easily, but to just dismiss it out of hand? Just like that? “I don’t need rest!” you yell. “I need you to listen to me—”

“You are not in your right mind!” he snaps. “You know as well as I do that one without magic cannot inherit the throne. You need time to clear your thoughts—”

A laugh escapes your lips, a hysterical sound devoid of mirth. “I have never thought as clearly as I currently am,” you snarl. “You are my father! I am your daughter. You bargained me off to the vilest kingdom on earth so that you would have an heir, you failed to tell me anything that might have prepared me for it, you got both of my legs broken for three days straight for a psychopath who would do anything to keep me from escape, and then to fix that you sold off my hand to the first one who might find me and now when I tell you I want that man to marry me, you refuse!” You laugh again and the sound hurts your throat as it comes up, raw and choking. “You haven’t even apologized!”

Something flashes across your father’s expression, but he masks it too quickly for you to decipher it. “I am sorry, Y/N, for what you went through.” Rage flashes through you—what you went through, like he wasn’t the reason it all happened—“But you are not thinking straight. We will speak later, when you have had time to calm down.”

You choke on your own words, finally feeling an angry tear cascade down your face. “I will have no one but Chan,” you hiss. “Know this, Father. I will fight tooth and nail on this until the very end.” You swing the door open and step out, slamming it shut behind you.

Outside, Chaeyoung waits, pale-faced and wide-eyed. She probably heard everything. “Chaeyoung,” you say, forcing yourself to rein in your tone, “Schedule an audience with my father tomorrow. Make sure Chan is there.” You pause. “In fact, make sure the entire court is there.”

She blanches. “Your Highness, are you sure this is wise?”

“Was my father’s hare-brained decision to send me to that kingdom of hell wise?” You ignore her stifled gasp and continue. “Chan is to be well cared for until then. If he desires to return home, he may. I only ask that he be part of the audience tomorrow. Ensure that he is in proper attire, and tell him that I will speak to him before we enter the chamber, so that he knows what might happen.”

Chaeyoung nods quickly. “If I may, Your Highness…what do you plan to do?”

You smile a little then, though it surely does not reach your eyes. “My father likes to break contracts, it seems,” you say. “I’m just going to break another for him.”

. . . . .

Chan stands in the throne room, fighting the urge to fidget. It’s not just because of the strange looks being cast upon him the longer he stands here, nor the strange clothes a servant gave him to wear when he came to the palace. That, he can somewhat ignore.

He can’t ignore the king’s baleful stare on him across the room, though.

Chan takes a deep breath, remembering what you said to him before you entered the room. “My father refused to hear that I wanted to wed you,” you told him first. “He said that I was not in my right mind. But I know I was.” Your gaze, so fiery then, had softened. “Allow me to fight for us, Chan. I will win, or fall trying.”

What could he do in the face of your determination but agree?

Still, though, he can’t help but feel out of place as the court comes to order. The king’s advisor announces you, and you walk forward. “Your Majesty,” you say, bowing low.

“Your Highness, and my heir.” The king’s eyes don’t waver as you rise. “Announce your intention for this audience.”

You turn to address the crowd. For a moment, your eyes meet his, and Chan feels himself relax slightly as your lips curve into just barely a smile. “I have come before my father’s court, escaped from the kingdom of hell, to announce my intention to marry.”

A gasp rises from the audience. Your father’s eyebrows furrow. “The one I wish to marry is not of magic blood,” you announce, and the whispers grow louder. “But he is the one who saved me from Kereseian clutches. And he is the one to whom I have given my heart.”

The king seems to grit his teeth. “Daughter, you know that one with no magic in their blood cannot join the royal family.”

“And yet you issued a decree, Father.” Your low voice trembles with rage, so much grief and betrayal as you stare at the man who was supposed to love you, to protect you as his daughter, but failed in the end and lost you to the depths of fire and hell. “A decree that the one who found me and brought me back would have my hand in marriage in return.”

The king stares back, impassive. “The decree was not meant for the common folk,” he says, slow, clear. “I don’t know how your cobbler heard of it, but he should have known it was not meant for him.”

Knife blades scratch the walls as your sharp laugh echoes through the room. Chan winces as the sound scrapes through his ears, joining the resounding clack of your heels clicking cold on the marble floor. “Let us not consider right now the fact that you sought to sell my hand in marriage away to the first one who would find me,” you spit, acid in your voice. “I wonder if you made your stipulations evident enough, even to those who heard your decree, considering the only one who found me is of no magic blood.”

It’s the king’s turn for a mirthless laugh to suffocate the air. “If he loves you as much as you say, your poor cobbler boy would have snatched any opportunity at life with you, no matter how absurd.”

All eyes turn to him. Chan stares resolutely ahead at the white marble walls though his shoulders ache to curl in out of embarrassment and shame, red-eared, red-faced shame at the publicity of his love—but there is nothing to be ashamed of, he reminds himself, no shame in loving someone as wonderful and beautiful as you. No shame at having succeeded in a task where all others failed.

There is still that sharp sting of being used as a pawn in the king’s desperate attempt to right a terrible mistake, however.

“And I suppose you would now take advantage of that.” You shake your head. “Take advantage of that cobbler’s loyalty, his love, his life—”

“It would have been foolish for him to hope at a chance with you,” the king interrupts. “Cobblers don’t marry princesses.”

Chan’s shoulders finally slump. The red creeps across his cheeks, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. The king is right, here—cobblers don’t marry princesses. Especially not cobblers without magic.

The silence that follows the king’s declaration is deafening. Every pair of eyes fixed on him weighs heavy on Chan’s shoulders, dragging him down, down, down. He doesn’t want to be here. Shouldn’t be here in the first place. He swallows hard, ready to slip out of the crowd and make his retreat before he hears anything more.

But then you turn your head. Meet his eyes.

And between all the grief and fury dancing in your pupils, Chan sees a smile, then silent words playing on your lips.

I’m not going to leave you behind.

An echo of the promise he once made you in a castle set in the depths of hell, your hand desperately gripping his.

“You think he came for me in an attempt at marriage?” And here your laugh cackles vindictive between the marble walls, so sharp and cold but with a touch of fiery warmth that soothes the lash of shame crawling up Chan’s spine as you look back at your father. “You truly think so?”

Only the sound of soft breaths interrupts the silence in the hall.

“My cobbler would have come for me whether or not you had issued the decree,” you declare, and in your step forward Chan feels terror, uncertainty, crushing relief—emotions, he realizes, all of the emotions you felt before and when he arrived. “Because he loves me. Cares for me.”

Every eye in the room follows the sharp snap of your arm forward, one finger extended toward the man sitting on the throne. Every spine shudders at the vindictive anger you threw into the air with that one movement.

“More than you,” you whisper, voice a terrifying contrast to your blazing eyes. “More than my own father.”

Gasps sound around the court at your audacity but Chan can only watch as you take another step forward, staring your father full in the face. “You made one promise to a mad king of hell and almost doomed my mother to death in flames,” you snarl. “You made another promise to right the first and got my legs snapped in two every night for three nights just so the mad king’s son could have his entertainment. You made a third promise to right the second and now you tell me it was one you never intended to keep. The one promise that would truly have righted some of the wrongs, and you shirk from this one, too.” The peal of laughter that falls from your lips chills the air with the same icy fire Chan remembers from the hell-castle. “Tell me, Father. How many promises would you break so easily?”

“I—”

“No matter.” Your voice carries over the king’s as you take the last step forward, right to base of the throne. The guards make as though to block you but Chan watches as you flash them a look, a single look and a gesture of your fingers like knives in the air that sends them reeling, horror in their eyes. You ascend the steps until you tower over your sitting father, stone-faced. “When I was born, you made a promise to our goddess. Our deity. Our sacred Mother, the giver of the magic that runs through my veins and yours.”

Your arms rise. Fingers grip the jeweled crown that rests on your head. A gasp begins to run through the crowd again and Chan finds himself stepping forward, a hand reaching out to stop you as he begins to understand just what you mean to do—

You look at him, and in that single second, Chan sees the smirk twitch your lips so very slightly.

He stops.

“You promised I, as your first-born, would be the next heir to the throne of our kingdom.” You lift the circlet from your head and hold it out, letting firelight glitter on the jewels, throwing their shine onto your skin. With your face still as it is, the room completely silent, Chan would have believed it if someone had told him you were the goddess herself. “You made an oath to our goddess that unless an untimely death became me, I would be your heir.”

For the first time, the king’s eyes tremble. Slightly, slightly, but it is more than enough for Chan’s heart to feel that slight vindication, that sharp satisfaction that he’s been craving ever since the king opened his bitter mouth and began speaking.

“Since you seem to enjoy breaking promises so much, I will break this one for you, Father.” You place the crown on his lap with delicate precision. “In the face of this betrayal—that the king of this blessed land would trade his wife to a king and then his daughter to that king's son, would gamble with their lives and those of so many others—I refuse to claim this tainted crown. I can be no blessed heir for such a cursed throne.” Jewel light sparks off your face and the smile painted across your lips. “I am sure the goddess hears this, and I am sure she understands.”

A clatter and a clang sound on the marble as the crown falls and a flinch carries through the crowd as the king stands, fire blazing in his eyes. “You—”

The voice ripples through the hall, silencing every whisper.

She what, exactly?

Chan’s breath lodges in his throat. He nearly chokes on it.

The Goddess Mother. Terpsichore. She who breathes magic into this land of dance, who gives the kingdom, Terpsichani, its name.

At the front of the throne room, the king has gone still, all the color drained from his face. Your own eyes have left those of your father, turned wide to the crowd as you try understand what is happening. Both of you compose yourselves, though, far more quickly than Chan manages. As you and your father drop to your knees, so does the rest of the room.

You speak first. “My lady.”

My chosen.

Your shoulders seem to stiffen under the weight of the goddess’s greeting, but you don’t say a word.

So, too, does your father speak. “My lady.”

Your…Majesty.

From where he kneels, Chan allows his eyes to sweep around the room, catching several other glances as well. No one, it seems, missed the pause before the goddess deigned to call the king by his title.

Your father’s face tightens.

I heard the princess’s declaration. I heard the reasoning she put forth to lay her crown, your promise, at your feet. The goddess’s voice echoes off the marble walls, directed at the king. But while I am all-knowing within the borders of our country, my sight in foreign lands is…limited.

Princess.

You look up, ever so slightly.

You called upon me.

A pause. You square your shoulders. “I did, my lady.”

I ask you now to show me what you experienced, and from there I will render my judgment.

Silence falls over the hall once more, though it takes on a puzzled note this time. Though from the moment the goddess used the word show, not tell, Chan understood. And so did you.

The blood seems to have drained from your face, leaving a sick pallor to your skin as you rise to your feet. You hide it well, but Chan notices the trembling in your legs, the legs you still don’t fully trust after having had them broken several times on purpose—legs still riddled with phantom pains and tremors that you have tried to hide but couldn’t fully.

Chan, I don’t want to dance anymore.

But the goddess said show. And the deities of this world understand nothing more than the magic woven into their own art.

As heads remain bowed around him, Chan dares to raise his own. Meet your eyes.

And smile.

You don’t smile. Not really. But as Chan holds your gaze, he watches as the fear in your eyes hardens, then mellows slightly into something a little warmer, a little softer. Your teeth that had been worrying the inside of your lip disengage, and your shoulders fall back as you step forward. The crowds of nobles scurry backward, heads rising in curiosity, but Chan remains where he is, his eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.

Slowly, you raise one graceful arm, painting sadness, despair, and resolution into the air.

“As you wish, my lady.”

. . .

Years later, Chan is sure someone—a friend, a child, a grandchild—will ask him what he saw that day, the day the princess danced her story, the story upon which every Moonlight Festival dance would be based upon in the years after. But even as they ask, he knows that he will never be able to answer, because he could never put the sight before him into spoken word.

There is no music in the room, save for the hushed breath of those who still kneel, and the alternate patter and thud of your footsteps against the floor. There is no pomp, no cheer, no festival at hand for which you dance. But as you spin and leap and whirl across marble tiles, weaving emotion into the air, Chan understands, truly, what art means. How it is transcends the word spoken by the lips, how it brings new meaning to life.

Fear, when you first found yourself in the palace of hell. Despair, as you danced night after night with the king to whom your father had promised you away, unable to find a plan of escape. Desperation as days passed and no one came to find you.

You lock eyes with Chan as you whirl to a stop in front of him, just for a moment, your hand outstretched to brush his cheek. As you turn away, the spot burns with the hope he gave you, smothered when the king nearly caught him before he could escape, but still burning, still there, even as you collapse to the floor with the pain of the king snapping your legs, one by one.

A gasp ripples through the room as you rise, unsteady, face drawn tight and pained. With jerky movements you tell of your despair, dancing around the room almost mechanically as you would have with the king every night he healed your pain only for his entertainment. But finally, after three nights of such torture, you turn back to Chan and before anyone can say a word, you pull him forward—squeeze his hands—

Tears brim in your eyes and his as you begin to lead him in the figures you danced to leave the kingdom of hell.

Clasped in your arms, Chan follows your footsteps, guided by your trembling arms that grow steadier, stronger, as you lead him across the floor. And when you emerge from the darkness, trembling and exhausted but that hope still growing stronger and stronger in your heart—

Abject terror as you confront the man who had hurt you so badly, and then disgust and relief as you watched him die.

Your eyes and his are not the only ones filled with tears by the time you stop, panting, one arm held out to the open windows and the sky. And as you lower it slowly, slowly, to intertwine your fingers with his once more, he looks at you, and you look at him, and no one says a word when you fold into each other, two hearts trembling, beating as one.

One clap breaks the silence in the room. Then two. But even as the marble hall erupts into muted applause, you and Chan don’t move. Only when the goddess’s voice again echoes off the walls do you finally step apart.

I have seen, my chosen. I thank you for your bravery.

You bow, eyes cast down to the floor.

I render my judgment.

Chan’s stomach seizes with anxiety. Your hand finds his and you grip each other tightly.

The princess, my chosen, has suffered beyond compare. Terpischore’s words pound through the hall, cold and furious. She suffered for one man’s folly and arrogance. Her own father’s.

Every eye in the room turns to the king, who still stands, red-faced, at the front of the room.

I am fair in my judgment. I understand he…attempted to act in the best interests of the kingdom. However abominable his plan was. Chan can almost see the invisible goddess’s lips twist in the air. But the reason does not excuse the action. And for that, I accept the princess’s decision to leave behind the throne, in the face of this injustice.

Your grip on his hand tightens.

But as you are my chosen, I give you a chance to reconsider your choice. I will accept the decision you make, but hear my hand first.

Bang Chan.

Chan freezes. Tries to swallow. Tries to breathe. Steps forward. “Yes, my lady.”

Commoner. Cobbler.

He swallows. “Yes.”

Bravest of all those who stand here today, save for the princess who stands by your side.

Perhaps he’s hallucinating, but Chan thinks—maybe—that if the goddess wished to show her face, she might be smiling.

I bestow upon you the gift you have earned in helping save the life of one of my chosen.

Chan blinks. Blinks again. The gift.

Something settles on his forehead—cool, icy, then warm, so warm. It melts down, down, his body trembling with warmth that runs through his skin and into his veins, traveling through his blood until it tickles the tips of his toes—

It is true that one who does not have the gift cannot sit on the throne. The goddess’s voice, edged with disdain, once again addresses the king. But the one you tried to bar from the seat now has it. A stronger gift than even you.

If Chan weren’t trying to wrap his mind around what just happened, he might laugh at the king’s expression. But it—it doesn’t make sense—this gift, what gift does the goddess speak of—

What just happened?

“You have our gift now.” Suddenly warm hands have taken his again, turned him around to face a pair of eyes that sparkle and shine with the shimmer of a thousand jewels. “Chan, you have our gift.”

Our gift. Our gift.

And suddenly, he understands.

He has your gift. A gift bestowed by the goddess, the mother of the kingdom’s magic—he has been blessed by her hand, and now—

He has the same gift of magic as you.

My chosen.

You look up. “My lady.”

Will you still accept your position upon the throne with your favored by your side?

Chan almost cries when you squeeze his hands just before letting go. “A thousand times, yes.”

Then come forward and reclaim your crown.

An invisible force lifts the circlet of jewels, diamonds and gold glittering in the sunlight as you kneel, head bowing forward. The crown comes to rest upon your head once more, and the hall takes a collective breath.

Do not disappoint me.

You look up, a light smile playing on your lips. “I won’t.”

The force of the goddess falls from the hall, leaving behind a curious emptiness in its wake. Chan blinks—it all feels like a dream—but there you are, kneeling on the floor with the crown on your brow, and he can still feel magic curling warm in his veins.

He glances at the king, who looks ready to explode. But where the vision once might have made him tremble, Chan finds himself beginning to fight off a laugh.

You meet his gaze. Glance briefly at your father, a smile tugging at your lips as you stand once more, shoes clicking on the ground. Your hand finds his and the smile grows and grows, splitting your face as joy sparkles in your eyes—

“You once promised that you wouldn’t leave me behind,” you say. Your voice echoes in the hall but for all Chan cares the world only consists of the two of you right now, you and your smile and the way he can’t tear his eyes from your face.

The smile widens.

“I promise you now that I won’t either.”

. . . . .

Compared to other royal weddings, yours is a simple one, just a quiet ceremony conducted in the palace gardens under the setting sun. Some nobility and foreign royalty fill a couple requisite rows of seats, but occupying the placements up front are your and Chan’s families and friends. Unfortunately, this does include your father, but you pay him little heed from where you stand at the altar, waiting for Chan to arrive.

The rose gold sunset seems to glow around Chan’s face when he appears at the end of the garden, dressed in all the silks and satins befitting a soon to be prince consort. But you don’t process his finery so much as you process the expression on his face—a certain softness in his eyes that you’ve learned, over the past few months, is reserved only for you.

Truth be told, you don’t remember much of the ceremony. It’s mostly a blur—the officiant’s voice, the garden’s greenery, the wind tousling Chan’s hair and the love in his eyes that makes you feel so safe, so warm. The only part you’re really aware of comes towards the end of the wedding, when the two parties spin each other once under the flowered archway. Hands joined, you raise your arm to let Chan spin once under the peonies and roses. After that, it’s his turn to spin you, but he pauses.

You haven’t danced much since you returned from Kereseia. It’s caused some gossip in the court, but when you and Yeji began to further spread the truthful rumor that the Kereseian king had broken both of your legs to keep you from escaping, only to heal you every night he wanted entertainment, the whispers died a bit. That’s not the full reason, though. You don’t quite understand it yourself. Yes, sometimes tremors travel up your legs and you still find yourself stepping gingerly as though your bones haven’t quite healed, but it's also that every time you think of some nameless, faceless person taking your hand and leading you into the figures of a dance, you feel sick. Terrified.

You hate it. Because it feels like the Kereseian king has won even though he’s dead, taken away your love and passion for something that was and has always been part of your blood. But you can’t help it, and so it just keeps hurting.

Chan knows. You’ve told him about it more than once, cried to him about it, even. He was there when you broke down before your escape. He was there when you told him, point blank, you didn’t want to dance anymore. He’s also the only one whose arms you feel comfortable staying in for the duration of a dance, though it’s still harder for you to follow than it is to lead.

When Chan pauses before he honors the wedding tradition, you’re confused, for a moment. The officiant looks between the two of you with a furrowed brow. But Chan only looks at you, and in his eyes, he asks a question.

Is this okay?

You almost start to cry right then and there. For during a wedding that you broke tradition to have, Chan is willing to break tradition just so that you can feel safe.

Holding back tears, you nod. And as you turn once under the canopy of flowers overhead, you feel something melt out of your chest, some icy block of fear dissipating into the air.

The vows come after, spoken softly just as the sun touches the horizon, pink and purple light streaking into the sky. “I promise I will never leave you behind,” you say, voice unsteady with tears, and Chan echoes the sentiment, his own words choked. The officiant pronounces you married and amidst the applause of the small audience you kiss, his lips warm and soft and gentle like the sunset.

Afterward, in the grand ballroom, you do dance a little. Not much, and never with anyone but Chan or your sisters, but it’s fun in a way you haven’t felt dancing to be in a long time and by the end of the night, while you’re certainly tired, you feel content. Happy. Enough that you can smile wide and true as you bow out of the ballroom, even as your father’s sullen stare attempts to pierce your body as you turn away.

The silent bedroom provides a welcome contrast to the noise of the ballroom, where you’re certain people are still dancing even though you and Chan have retired for the night. You sit on the bed, soaking in the quiet while Chan washes his face in the bathroom.

He emerges quietly, like he doesn't want to disturb your peace. “Hi,” he says shyly as he sits down next to you. A small smile of your own crosses your lips and you have to fight the urge to giggle. After so many years of yearning in quiet, it still seems surreal that you’re allowed to love each other openly, without issue, but you're sure he feels the same way. Emboldened by this, you lean into him, pressing your face into his shoulder, and just breathe for a moment. “Hi, yourself,” you mumble, voice muffled into his skin.

Outside, the moon has risen, full and bright and glowing in the dark sky. When you pull your face out of Chan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, you seem to see the stars reflected in them, and the words slip out of your lips suddenly, softly, hanging in the air.

“Dance with me, Chan?”

His eyes flicker from startled to confused to concerned all in a second. “Of course,” he replies, “but are you sure?”

Are you? You search yourself for the answer. True, you haven’t danced much in a while. True, you haven’t wanted to dance with a partner that you didn’t know since you returned from the underground. But it is also true that this all stems from an issue of trust—an inability to trust your legs, an inability to trust your faceless partner, an inability to trust that the scars from Kereseia have fully healed.

And it is true that you trust Chan, enough to give yourself to him.

A smile flutters over your expression. “I am,” you say, taking his hands. “Dance with me.”

You haven’t changed yet, haven’t even slipped off your shoes. Which means that, as you let Chan lead you into the slow figures of a waltz, you are still wearing the dancing slippers he made for you as a wedding gift, the most beautiful pair you have ever owned. Today is the first time you’ve worn them, and even after the dances you took on the ballroom floor, they are so comfortable that your feet still don’t hurt.

Every night, in the kingdom of Kereseia, you wore out one pair of slippers during the Midnight Ball. You don’t plan to do much of the same here. But privately, you think, you wouldn’t mind dancing the night away with Chan, if it was just you and him under a blanket of stars. Because you trust him, and he trusts you, and you would never hesitate in his hold, knowing that he will never bring you harm.

“I love you, Y/N,” Chan murmurs, and his voice sounds like music in the air. A melody upon which you could and will dance to for as long as you live.

You sway in his hold, a smile growing on your face. “I love you too, Chan.”

Always, and forevermore.

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