#must i be surrounded by INSANE PEOPLE????? ALL THE TIME?????

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven (Bruce Wayne x f!reader) Part 1

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. It'll be into 2 parts, except if you ask for more. <3

Warnings: no proof reading, sexual activities, language, neglecting husband and father, kinda angst/comfort

Imagine Bruce Wayne with no child, no wife (you), no friends and no more Alfred. He was all alone, making his life even harder, more cruel, more violent.

He didn’t adopt any child - not even Dick - because Alfred died quickly after Bruce became an adult. Thus, Bruce needed to take care of himself, and he didn't feel like he could look after a child. He was too tired and too depressed. He didn't want to bring any child into such a dark life.

His hands were full with Wayne Enterprises and his Batman way of life, so he also didn't make time for the Justice League. He sometimes helped them when it was about Gotham but nothing else.

And he never succeeded in getting you. He knew you. Oh yes, he knew you. He always thought that Batman would be his sole obsession, destroying him and his body. But then he met you, and he grew half insane. He needed you in his life so badly; he didn't care about anyone else. You were such a ray of sunshine in his dark existence. But you didn't want him. He was too desperate for you. You were scared of the darkness surrounding him, and you hated that rich man who wasn't trying hard enough for Gotham's poor people. He would have loved to cover you in affection and gifts, but you always escaped him.

Imagine this same Bruce Wayne being switched from places with another Bruce Wayne from another universe. This other Bruce had children, was married to you, and was friends with the Justice League. Alfred was still around. But this Bruce was neglecting everyone a little bit. This man thought he was entitled to get everything. His relationships were just alright with everyone. You more than once thought about getting a divorce actually, but you loved your life too much to let it go, even if Bruce could be a disappointment.

Imagine the lonely and desperate Bruce Wayne waking up one morning with you in the same bed as him.

At first, he believed it was all a dream, so he happily pulled you against his chest and snuggled up against you. He kissed the top of your head. When his alarm sounded out, he simply turned it off and hugged you tighter. He felt good and warm for the first time since his parents died. He completely melted in pure joy when you gently kissed his chest and neck, stroking his scarred stomach. He leaned into all your touch. He had no idea when he was going to wake up, so he wanted to enjoy this as much as possible. He didn’t want to think of the cold and empty bed that was going to greet him soon enough. He just wanted to stay there forever, cherished by you. Your scent was bringing him such comfort. He was relaxed, feeling safe and at home. This was what heaven must look like, he thought.

"Not running to work already?" You softly asked, a little bit surprised you didn't have to beg your husband for morning cuddles

"I'm good here," Bruce mumbled into your hair, his eyes closed in bliss

"What have you done to my husband?" You laughed as you straddled the man, looking down at him.

Husband? Fuck, it sounded so sweet to his ears. Bruce opened his eyes, drinking into your form. He loved how the sun was softly shining against your skin. He moved his hands on your thighs and stroked your skin. You were a goddess to him

“You’re beautiful” He whispered

You hummed and leaned to hungrily kiss him. He almost moaned against your lips. He had dreamt so many times of the feel of your mouth against his. But it was different than usual, it was better than he expected. He felt so whole. You were his soulmate. He always believed it. And feeling you like that… He promised himself that once he would be back to reality, he would find a way to seduce you. He needed you. You teasingly bit his bottom lip, and he smiled. Bruce's hands greedily moved around your body before settling on your ass. He gently squeezed it.

“Naughty” Ypu giggled, and he smiled even more

“Not my fault. You’re a goddess of love and light” He whispered

You didn’t reply. You weren’t too used to your husband talking to you like that. Your Bruce was good to you, but he never called you such things. He never watched you with such devotion in the eyes.

You sightly moved away to remove your nightgown under his watch. This Bruce had no idea how gorgeous you were naked, on top of him. He realised it was his favourite sight from now on. Gosh, what he wouldn’t do to be allowed to be greeted like that every morning of his life? He had dreamt so many times to be allowed to see you like this, to touch you like a lover and to take care of you. He was happy he was shirtless when you leaned back against him so he could feel your skin against his. He gently switched positions with you so he could get down on you. He kissed your neck, breasts, stomach, and inner thighs before settling in between your legs. He would have taken the time to kiss your legs and feet if he hadn’t been so hungry for you. It was such a vivid and nice dream. And he wanted you so badly. The way your fingers moved into his hair and tightened their hold whenever he was making you moan in pleasure became his favourite sensation. After the second orgasm he gave you this morning, he started to wonder if he truly was dreaming. You felt so real. 

He didn't have time to think more about it as you brought him closer to you. You were softly panting, as he was happily kissing and stroking your skin. You were made to be worshipped, he thought. And he would love to be your most obedient and caring servant.

A soft knock at the door startled the two of you.

"Master Bruce, do I need to cancel all the meetings you had this morning?" Alfred's voice sounded out.

Bruce froze for a few fractions of seconds before regaining his composure. Was it truly Alfred? His dream was getting nicer and nicer. However, it was hard to think when you were affectionately kissing his skin and playing with his hair, looking at him with such tenderness in your beautiful eyes. He needed all his willpower to answer Alfred back.

"I'm on my way to Wayne Enterprises, Alfred," He finally replied, and you laughed because he really didn't look like he was. 

The sound of your laughter made his chest blow with a warm feeling he didn't know. He was so deeply in love with you. He was so happy. And yet, the word “happy” didn’t feel strong enough to describe how he felt in this instant. He leaned to kiss you with pure affection before getting up, even though he would have loved to stay in bed with you.

You decided to be a good wife who cared about your husband’s work and duty, so you didn't follow in the shower, knowing Alfred would indeed need to cancel all of the meetings. You wondered what you did last night for Bruce to treat you with such passion and love this morning. You wished things would be more often like that. 

You were still lying in bed when Bruce came out of the shower. Before looking for some clothes, he went back to you, like a magnet attracted to you. He kissed your naked back before kissing your lips.

"Time for some lunch with me, hon?" you asked, clearly pushing your luck, but Bruce seemed in a very good mood today.

You were ready for him to say no, though, like he always did.

"Of course, anything you want," He whispered, smiling.

He was excited you seemed to want to spend more time with him.

You didn’t add anything, truly wondering what you did last night. He kissed you again before dressing up. You enjoyed the view from the bed. Bruce loved the warm feeling of your eyes on him. He couldn’t get enough of your attention.

He reluctantly left the room after having stolen another kiss from you. He couldn’t get enough of you.

He properly greeted Alfred and thanked him for having checked on him.

Bruce was a little bit surprised to discover so many young adults and teenagers eating breakfast in his living room, but it was giving some life to his old manor. And in a dream, you couldn’t expect everything to make sense, right? So he simply greeted everyone and asked if they all slept well, like his father did when he was a child. They all seemed stunned by the question, but they still answered. What amazed them even more was that Bruce actually listened to their answers. He waved them all goodbye, wished them a good day, and went to work.

It was time for lunch, and Bruce hadn't woken up yet. His meetings were now done, and he could take some time to think. Everything felt so real so far. Usually, in dreams, when you read something, lines are blurry or the words mean nothing or the words change all the time... But it didn't happen. Apart from the people he didn’t know in his living room, everything seemed to make sense?

He typed away his name on his Internet browser and started to read about how he was dealing with Wayne Enterprises, how he was married to you, how he adopted or took under his roof many children. Bruce Wayne seemed quite… popular. He looked for Batman's work as well. It seemed he was often with the Justice League, and he had some vigilantes under his lead. He started to think about what happened last night - before he woke up with you in his arms.

He could now remember a very bright light engulfing him while he was fighting off some criminals.

"Where are we going for lunch?" You texted him, and the notification brought him back to the present

"That Italian restaurant near Wayne Enterprises?" He offered.

He always wished he could invite you there because he quite enjoyed this place. He hoped the place existed here, but with your answer it seemed it did.

"Oh yes, it's been a while!" You quickly replied. "I'll meet you there in a few. Love you <3" You added

"Love you too, wife" Bruce sent back.

Gosh, he never thought he would be allowed to send you such words and it was making his head spin.

But Bruce was a smart man, so he started to understand that he must have taken the place of the Bruce Wayne of this world. It couldn’t be a dream because it was too detailed and realistic. It couldn’t be an illusion, because something would have felt off to him. It wouldn't have been the first time he was trapped in an illusion, he would have been able to feel it. This place... everything felt true, real.

There were only two possibilities: someone brought him to a parallel universe or he died and went to heaven. 

He hurt one of his fingers to draw blood. He couldn’t be dead if he was still bleeding, could he? So if he was going with the parallel universe, it meant… It meant that the other Bruce Wayne had this perfect little life. Fuck, he felt a deep and raw jealousy stabbing his heart: why didn't this Bruce suffer like he did? Why did this version of himself get everything he ever wished for himself? Alfred, children, you? Even Batman seemed to be doing better here. Wayne Enterprises were thriving, the biggest and most powerful firm of Gotham. 

He needed to understand what happened... So he could forever stay here. There was no way he was going back to the Hell that used to be his life. He would kill himself at the instant he would get back. How could he survive being alone again? The other Bruce was a problem because if he was alive, he would want to get back here. But fuck him. Everyone seemed so surprised by how he was acting, so he was certain that the Bruce of this world didn’t deserve their love. And he would do anything to deserve it. It was his chance to finally be happy and he wasn’t going to fuck this up.

--

Part 2

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Tim doesn’t rest, not even in Death.

It’s a heart attack that gets him, well, that and the insane amount of fear toxin flooding his system. He was dead for a full three minutes before he watches (how was he watching?) his eldest brother get his heart going again and get his unconscious body to the cave. Alfred gets him onto bat-life support and Leslie looks gravely at his family after she’s done her best to heal him. They decide to keep trying, they don’t want to believe he’s gone.

Tim watches in fury. He’s more useful than this, he’s not just going to die and let the family mourn him! Tim sets to work trying to understand what’s happened to him and he realizes he must be a ghost. Therefore, if he wants to understand ghosts he needs to go where ghosts are, and thankfully he just read a JLD doc saying to avoid Amity Park at all costs.

It’s takes him a second to get used to flying at full speed, but he finds himself surrounded by strange people in a strange town and… he notices himself becoming more visible. He’s able to interact with more and more objects, he even picked up a pencil! Poltergeist is a step forward in his plan, Tim accepts this change of pace.

Then Tim meets Danny, a normal human kid who looks like he could be brought into the manor and given a cape, who looks straight at him.

“Wait, who are you? You didn’t die in Amity did you?”

“No, I died in Gotham. I came here to understand how I’m a ghost and how I can get back to my dying body. I just need a few answers.” Tim explains, and notices that his voice isn’t his own, like it’s a different language entirely that comes out.

“Well, uh, I dunno about going back to your body but it’s not safe for you to be here. The GIW are looking for lost souls like you that people won’t notice go missing. So get back to your family and find peace. Im sorry but that’s really the best advice I have.” Danny answers.

Tim begs him for answers on the GIW. Begs him for any answers at all. Danny shrugs him off each time, tell him that he’s just a ghost and he needs to move on before he gets hurt or becomes a problem.

Tim decides if he’s a problem, he’ll probably get more answers.

Soon enough, he’s stepping into the end of a battle where Phantom is getting Skulker into a thermos, and demands answers, and if not answers help.

They brawl, and Tim’s training as Red Robin gets him farther than a lot of ghosts. And then, when he knows he’s beat and he’s about to share thermos space with the robot jackass (who he can interrogate and then build his own robot) Tim realizes something.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you? You’re Danny, black hair and blue eyes.” Tim says and suddenly Phantom is as still as the dead despite the accusation.

“How the fuck- dude. Okay, you know what? Fine. Lets go talk, you’re clearly not giving up and I need you to never say that shit out loud ever again.”

Because blackmail works in life for Tim, blackmail also apparently works in death.

He’s given all of the info they have on the GIW, he’s introduced to ghost technology and how it works with ectoplasm. He’s told about the portal (although they refuse to sneak him into the house to see it- he can handle a few lasers, ugh) and he’s told about the general sequence of events in Danny’s life/death.

And then Tim is suddenly back in his body in Gotham.

The family found a way to bring him back and he’s 100% alive, no longer ghostly, but he retained all his memories.

“We have a war against the government to start” are not the first words his family expected to hear from Tim post death.

[astridthevalkyrie]

xavier thinks you're cruel when you smile. everything about you is different, to the point where it feels like you're just a whole different person sharing the same face as the woman he knew. but then, when he met you as a lightseeker, he'd thought the same thing, that you were nothing like his best friend who didn't have any grand dreams of becoming a grandis knight, and only thought of living today to the fullest because she knew she would not see tomorrow. and then he'd fallen for the woman sacrificing her blood, sweat and tears just so that she could be claimed as his. and as predicted, he's fallen for you for the third time now, and he realizes that your personality could change a million times over a million lives, and he will love you more and more each time he meets you. because no matter what you do and no matter what you are trying to be, your smile blinds him each and every time. and that is what he finds cruel, because it must be cruel to make him fall for that smile again and again and again, and surely there is a limit to how many people one man can fall in love with. perhaps he's the exception, or perhaps it doesn't count because you are still one person. either way, it is torture, torture in its sweetest form that he could never hate you for, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"mister deepspace hunter," you sing, poking his cheek with a chicken plushie, "you can't sleep, we've only seen two movies."

"how many more are there?"

"three more in this series, and then we start the next fantasy series."

"you're insane," he says sweetly, burrowing further under your favorite blanket.

with a giggle, you lay your head down on his lap, hair splayed out on what he deems is your rightful pillow. "it's not a movie night if we don't stay up the whole night."

he's about to tell you that both of you need sleep, that it's not healthy to stay up this late or to pull all-nighters, but then he gazes down to where you're grinning up at him, and his heart stops for a second, because you are so, so, so beautiful, and he's gone.

sleep can wait another day.

zayne thinks you're cruel when you speak. you are reserved around him, and while he never thinks you should limit yourself, least of all on his behalf, maybe this is the most merciful path you can take. because once you do start speaking, once you place your hand over his across whichever table at whichever restaurant to go off on an excited ramble about your latest endeavor, everything else fades way. and it is cruel, to make him lose control all of all senses aside from sound. it is cruel to metaphorically force him on his knees to bend and dance to the sound of your voice and your voice alone. it leaves him vulnerable, to pain, to betrayal, to any and every harmful thing that could possibly be surrounding him, when he cannot observe, when he cannot fight, when he cannot be, while you are speaking. when every individual word you speak has its own unique significance, and he would not be able to kill anyone who interrupts you because he would not even realize it happened, too entranced by the spell you cast. he is not his own in those moments, he only belongs to you. and thankfully, nothing does befall him, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"what do you think?"

he pauses, hand in yours as the two of you walk, blinking at you a few times. "what do i think?"

"yeah, you, doctor," you tease, squeezing his fingers. "what do you think? i've been talking your head off for five minutes."

he is not jarred because he hadn't been paying attention, on the contrary he'd been hanging off your every word. his opinion simply does not matter as much in his eyes.

"i agree with you," he says, enjoying the way you beam at his concurrence, "but what did you think about the other article?"

predictably, you take the bait and launch into another long rant, and he wills this topic to last forever.

rafayel thinks you're cruel when you sleep. so, so soundly you sleep, sometimes in his own bed because he offers it to you like a fool. you look beautiful when you sleep, which is half the problem, and he knows that it is all sorts of wrong to find you beautiful when he's also paralyzed because of how similar your appearance is to death. from a distance, he could never tell the difference. it is only when he is next to you, holding your slack wrist in his hands, that he can breathe easier by pressing his fingers to your pulse. and he is terrified that one day he won't feel it, because it has happened before. one moment you were there, alive and well and his, and the next you were in his arms, lifeless and limp and somehow still beautiful. so there is no way for him to calm his racing heart when he sees you asleep, and the reason it's cruel is because he knows he cannot disturb you. not you, who works so hard and needs your sleep more than anyone else. he cannot ask you to sit up and breathe and laugh and show him that you're still alive. even though he knows you would should he ask, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"hmm." your eyes are bleary as they blink awake, hardly aware of where you are.

he slides his arms around you from behind, hiding his face in your neck. "you can go back to sleep, was just making sure you were still alive."

a quiet huff escapes you, clearly annoyed at being woken up for such a ludicrous reason. "don't be annoying."

he wasn't trying to be, this time. "okay," he whispers, "sorry."

you turn all of a sudden, shifting in his arms until you're facing him, with a light glare. another apology is on his lips when you crossly tell him, "i was kidding. you're not annoying."

"i can be. sometimes," he admits softly.

"no." you press a deep kiss to his lips, and he understands now why some humans would rather choose to drown under the sea instead of going back to the surface. "you're not annoying. you're never annoying. i love you. okay?"

his voice is choked the next time he speaks, with your face hidden in his neck, soft puffs of air on his neck letting him know that you're still breathing. a tear runs down his cheek.

"okay."

[misted-dream]

🦢 A WALTZ IN THE DARK ₊˚⊹ ˚ ༘ ⋆ ⟢ ballet dancer!doyoung & fem!ballerina!reader

author's note . . . this was first released as a 4.5-part series that i never finished. i finally decided to finish it and put them all together and upload it separately as a oneshot just for convenience's sake. the series info can be found here!

content&warnings . . . eventual smut, forced proximity, enemies to lovers if you squint, mentions of injury, profanity, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex, oral, slowburn (idk if it counts?)

word count . . . 28k (i'm insane abt dy)

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

ACT I THE ROLE

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Personal stuff—she didn’t know if she can stay in Paris for the next 2 months to train.”

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

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

“I’d love to.”

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

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

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

You mouth a subtle, ‘Oh.’

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

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

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

Kim Doyoung.

You knew him. No doubt, you knew him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just on time!” Colette greets you brightly.

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

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

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

Her question is met with a couple of silent nods.

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

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

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

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

And so, the music begins.

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

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

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

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

Colette chuckles, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t be Odette.”

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

Rafael physically takes a step in between you and Colette, Doyoung still silent in the situation. Rafael holds up a palm in Colette’s direction, then turns to face you. “Let’s start again in 5 minutes—is that okay with everyone?” 

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

A thinly rolled cigarette sandwiched between your lips, you flick on the lighter and bring up the flame to the end of the stick. You take a slow drag before resting your forearms on the railing that outlines the balcony, cigarette tucked in between your fingers. On one hand, you’re glad that Rafael stepped in before Colette could explode, but on the other, he’s now set a precedent that you’ll be happy to cooperate again in 5 minutes' time. You don’t know if that stands true. And it’s looking more like 2 minutes now that you found your way out here to have a quick smoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s met with no response from you.

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

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

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

Replace? Not even 5 minutes and there’s already throwing around of the word ‘replace?’ You suppose you did explicitly state, “I can’t be Odette,” back there. Guess it’s no one’s fault but your own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can trust him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re joking.”

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

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

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

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

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

She exhales sharply. 

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

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

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

That catches his attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One other person who has a part in this piece.

The music suddenly stops.

“Stop hiding.” A voice calls out.

You freeze. Your hunched over positioning has you locked. Shit. What do you do?

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

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

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

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

Say something. Anything.

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

“I could say the same for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forgive you.”

“Like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ACT II THE PAS DE DEUX

You thought that ever since you made that deal with Doyoung that things might be different. That he might start acting like a normal human being with normal human emotions. How silly of you to think that. Truth is, he hasn’t changed one bit since that night you bumped into him. Practices are still wordless. You still barely see him outside of your schedules. And even when you do, he pretends like he doesn’t see you, in the corridors, in the canteen, everywhere. That’s not to say that everything stayed the same.

It’s the week following your run-in with him. A Thursday, so your schedule dictates that you have duet practice with Doyoung.

“Good,” Colette calls out from her folding chair, “You two don’t look like you want to murder each other for once.” She doesn’t know what happened between you but she doesn’t care for it as long as you and Doyoung can look like you can at least tolerate each other.

It’s intimidating when you think about it. How he can go from looking so deeply infatuated one second, then the moment the music is over, his face drops. Eyebrows straightened. Just absolutely no emotion shown through his expression. You can’t help but wonder which version of him is genuine: The one who seemed truly apologetic in the dimmed practice room, or this one. The version of him that he parades around everywhere he goes. How do you even begin to tell what’s an act and what isn’t?

Every time his fingers touch you, you still feel a chill running down you. Though, you’ve come to learn how to hide it better.

Practice is finished for the night. The teal of the horizon begins to blend together with the darker blue of the night sky. Doyoung wastes no time in gathering his stuff the second Colette said that you were done for tonight. You try to do the same but Colette stops you. Her slender fingers wrapped tightly around your arm.

“Before you go, Y/N.”

She takes her hand off of your arm. The red frames of her glasses sit low on her nose bridge and she angles her head downwards to look at you, as if you’re a particularly difficult to read section of a newspaper. 

“I still need to see you land those fouettés. I’m giving you one— …two weeks, before I have to intervene.”

One of her eyebrows are cocked, the brightness of her eyes do nothing but emphasise the severity in her tone. Her harshness isn’t something you’re not used to, but every time she exerts this power over you, you can’t help but feel slightly humiliated. Who wouldn’t? To have someone repeatedly on your tail felt like having them pry open a wound, and before it even has time to scab, they’re back pricking and pouring salt into it. Except that wound is found on your ego.

You take a deep breath in, and try to force your lips into an understanding smile. “Yeah,” you say in a cheery enough tone.

You suppose that’s the way it is in ballet. That’s how it is in many things in life. Everyone’s after perfection, and no one is able to execute it.

This weekend, you decide to do something you haven’t done in three weeks: Stay in.

The last three weekends you’ve spent draining yourself away at the studio, but due to Karina’s request, you decide otherwise this time.

She sends you a message telling you that she’s 5 minutes away from your place. It’s no secret that the pressure of these last few weeks have been steadily building on you, especially to Karina. 

You open the wooden cupboard and pull a bottle of red wine from it, setting it onto the kitchen island in the middle of your open-plan kitchen. A soft orange paints the skyline, clouds pulling from each other like cotton candy. On one end of the island, there stood the doors leading to the balcony, enclosed by wrought iron fences. Technically speaking, it was a balcony, but in actuality, it was just a ledge—a glorified floor-to-ceiling window that you can open, really. 

You push open the balcony doors and the sound of the city fills your living space. The traffic a few stories down, people’s voices from the street or coming from the open balconies to either side of your complex. You stare off into the horizon, a flock of shadowed birds flies across your field of vision over the city.

Then, a ding sounds out.

You step back inside, walking across your kitchen to the other end of the island where the main door was. You slide open the door chain and push down on the handle. The door swings inwards, and stood outside in the hallway of your apartment complex was Karina, a bright smile on her face. “I got sushi!”

You pour the red wine into a glass that you set down on the counter, then another glass next to that. In one hand, you sit the bowl of one glass on the part of your hand that your fingers connect between, in the other hand, you wrap your fingers around the other rim and take a sip as you make your way over to the living space. Karina’s already sat down on one of the bean bags facing the TV. As you pass her, you lower one of the drinks to her and she takes the stem in between her fingers.

She hums tunefully to your offering.

You plop down on the leather couch next to her, careful enough as to not spill your wine. Throwing your head backwards onto the back of the couch, you sigh.

“What?” Karina asks with a slight smile in her eyes, taking a small sip of the wine.

You look at her through lowered eyelids, your head completely resting on the couch. “Nothing. I’m glad you came over tonight.”

She smiles. Shifting in her bean bag, she props one leg up as she leans forward to set down her glass on the wooden coffee table. “Come on,” reaching over, she puts her palm on your knee and gives you a gentle shake, “I know there’s something on your mind.”

Your lips purse together and pout to the side.

You met Karina a few months into your career as a professional dancer. It was a usual day for you, having recently returned to work from your injury. Every time you spotted Karina either on the barre or in centre, she looked so immersed into her craft. You remember being so impressed by her skill and control. Every movement of her arms looked so fluid, flowing from one position to another seamlessly. The power she held in her leaps were something else, as well. Her precision, even in the most consuming of movements, was something to be admired. Safe to say, it was to your surprise when she lined up behind you in the lunch queue and started making casual conversation. “Y/N, right?” She’d asked with a smile.

You found out that day that Karina went to the same conservatory as you. Though a grade below you, she was signed to the company as an mentee the year you graduated, so she never fully finished her course. She knew of you when you two were both enrolled at the conservatory, but your paths never crossed into more than just a polite smile and a nod territory. Since day one, she had a sort of optimism to her that you’d grown to love and appreciate especially throughout the years. In such an unforgiving and rigid industry, Karina’s softness continues to be your lantern leading you through the dark.

“So?” Leaning back into her bean bag, Karina prompts once again, glass back up to her lips.

You mirror her actions, taking a sip from the rim and disassembling the flavours in between your cheeks before swallowing. “Colette,” you mouth to her as if you two were sharing secrets you shouldn’t be.

Karina’s inquisitive expression urged you to elaborate.

You sigh, bringing your shoulders up and dropping them. “I can’t get my turns right, for Odile’s coda. And she basically told me that if I don’t get my shit together, she’s gonna have to ‘intervene.’” You arch your brow when you recall Colette’s words to you.

“Meaning…?”

“I don’t know—probably replace me.”

There’s a range of comforting words that Karina can pick from to say to you, but a small portion of them would be true. Her hand goes up to her bottom lip, tugging at them as she thinks—a habit that she’d never grown out of. 

“She won’t replace you.” Karina settles on the ‘not true’ section of the scope of her responses, her hand muffling her words. Both you and her know it. And it’s not due to the fact that Karina—or yourself, for that matter—thinks you’re not good enough for the role, it’s just how things are. It’s how Colette is: simple and straightforward. You can’t play a role? Someone else can—and they will. It’s never personal. Except it always feels like it is.

Still, you break out a weak smile at her attempt at reassuring you.

You lean your head back again, eyes now fixed on the ceiling and the base of the lamp that hung low over the coffee table.

“I think it’s my knee,” you admit for the first time out loud. You never wanted to talk about your accident because you were afraid that people might think you were making up excuses. This time, you felt like you were running out of options for explanations.

“Your knee?” At the mention, Karina leans forward in her seat.

“Yeah,” though unintentional, your words come out as a whisper. You clear your throat before continuing, “Every time after practice, my knee just starts hurting. Not insanely bad, but worse than before.”

“I didn’t know it was hurting before.” Karina has this expression on her face that’s almost like she’s interrogating you about this.

You can’t hide the sheepishness in your face and your tone, “It wasn’t serious.”

“Have you told Colette?”

You shake your head. 

“Y/N. You have to tell her.”

“And for what? To give her another reason to start looking for my replacement?”

Karina takes a deep, shaky breath in, like she’s uncertain about something. “Surely, she’d understand. Maybe it’ll at least throw her off your back for some time.”

Your eyes remain fixed on the ceiling. Maybe it’s a good idea. Maybe you should tell Colette. That’s an issue for another day, though.

There’s many different ways to approach the character of Odile, but at the core of it, she’s a seductress. Everything that she does comes back to her motive to seduce—and more specifically, the Prince. It doesn’t come as a surprise to you or your choreographer when your expressions don’t match your intent. 

To pretend to be in love is one thing. You’ve got years upon years of teenage pining experience to fall back on. But the art of seduction? No one has time for that.

‘Look more sultry. Look more alluring.’ Raf had said to you. And to your credit, you try but it’s already hard enough to have to spin and jump and twirl and leap, and now you have to look tantalising doing that? And all that’s considering the fact that you even want to try.

Your hours on the clock has finished for the night, but you find yourself starting to stay behind on most nights more often than not.

Kneeling down in front of the mirror, you rifle through your bag until your fingertips find a small, card box. You flip open the tab of the box and pull out one of the cigarettes, noting to yourself that you only have two others left. Then, you rummage through the pockets of your jacket for your lighter. With your necessities in your hands, you amble out of your room, turning the lights off as you leave. The hallways are fuller than usual, with plenty of soloists finishing at the same time as you. You weave your way through a group of dancers walking down the corridor and slide open one of the glass doors to the garden.

The hallway floors surrounding the garden is taller than the cobblestone ground of the courtyard, making it so that there’s a ledge as you step a foot inside. You sit yourself down on the step, one side of your body leaning against the opened glass door. You slot the cigarette between your lips as you bring up both your hands. One of them sparking on the lighter as the other goes to cover the flame by habit. 

You go to pocket your lighter—again, habit—only to realise that you’re not wearing your jacket, so your second best option was to just put it on the ground next to where you’re sitting. Just as you’re about to pull the dampened filter tip away from your lips, a voice appears out of nowhere behind you.

“You should really quit that. It’s not good for you.”

The surprise of it nearly chokes you, coughing out quietly again and again as the smoke escapes your lips. You look behind you but you didn’t need to see to know who it was.

You manage out one final cough. And towering over you stood Doyoung. Eyes lowered, posture upright, as if he’s literally and figuratively looking down on you.

“Yeah? When did you start caring about what’s good for me?” You put your cigarette back in between your lips right as you finish your sentence, a clear edge of hostility in your voice. Doyoung watches your cigarette between your fingers as you take a deliberately long drag. You’re not even finished when he answers you back.

“When you became my partner.”

What a liar, you thought. That explains why he’s been ignoring you everywhere.

The conclusion that Kim Doyoung is nothing but a liar quickly turns into the fact that he’s a narcissist when you put together the ideas that he’s only talking to you now because you’re doing something—smoking—that he personally frowns upon. And he can’t be having his ‘partner’ tarnishing his reputation.

“Don’t you love when someone expresses how much they care about you with their show of apathy towards you?” You remark, almost with an impatience in your tone, but a playful sarcasm on your face instead. Smoke pours out of your lips with every word that you speak, and you blow the rest of it to the side. The heat spreading from your chest comes as a shock to you. Before this, you hadn’t known truly how much it annoyed you that your existence went by unnoticed by Doyoung, although you knew it had to be an act.

Doyoung squats down so that he’s near enough eye level with you, elbows resting on his knees. He tilts his head to the side, eyes scanning your face quickly, then the stick sat in your fingers, burning itself away slowly. “Don’t tell me you’re stressed because of me,” he mutters lowly.

You lean forward an inch or two. “Believe me when I say you’re the root of most of my problems nowadays.” 

Doyoung holds back a subtle smirk on his lips, but not enough that you can’t completely pick up on it. He eyes your cigarette again, “Then, I guess you better stock up on those.”

He stands up and walks across the hallways into his practice room.

You turn your body, facing the inside of the garden. Glancing to the side, you see that the stick has burned down to nearly the filter. You quickly stub it out against the cobblestone before it gets to burning your fingers.

Days feel more like dreams to you. The repetition of what you do everyday is starting to blur the arbitrary line that separates every 24 hours from each other. And when you step foot into the shared studio between you and Doyoung, this very feeling engulfs you. 

Colette is sat in her folding chair, fingers typing away in a fit on her screen, and Doyoung is rummaging through his bag in the corner.

The conversation that you had with Karina crawls into your mind. Is today the day? You’ve been contemplating telling Colette ever since that night, but you haven’t been confronted with a chance, yet. You take cautious step after another into the room. The soles of your shoes making a light smacking noise as it lifts the linoleum flooring along with it with every step you take. You try to subtly keep an eye on Colette as you walk past her—making an effort to gauge her mood before you decide if you should tell her or not. She looks happy enough today.

You slump your bag down in front of the mirror, mind preoccupied with weighing the pros and cons of the decision that’s kept you up several nights in a row now. You’re so out of it that you didn’t even notice you set your things down right next to Doyoung, when you had to option to do so literally anywhere else.

He doesn’t say anything, simply looking up at you with a slightly inquisitive look. Then, he quirks his eyebrows when you meet his gaze. Though normally, you probably would’ve made some sarcastic remark about this, you didn’t today—or couldn’t.

You leave your things where they are, and step towards where Colette is—her attention still solely fixed on her phone.

“Colette, I have something I need to tell you.”

Your hands are brought up to your stomach, fingers interlocking with each other and then unclasping, and then locking again. She looks lost into her own world, not even a slight hum or a nod of the head to acknowledge you standing right in front of her.

“Colette?”

“Hold that thought,” she finally replies, holding out one finger towards you, head still angled down.

“It’s—”

“I have something exciting planned for you guys today!”

She jumps up out of her seat, catching you off-guard as you stumble one step behind you. Your lips mouth into an ‘Um’ shape, reluctant to ask her about what’s so exciting about today. Lucky for you, Doyoung took the pleasure in asking.

“What is it?”

“Costumes!” Colette exclaims, excitement practically bursting out of her. “They’re coming now!”

And right on cue, a metal clothing rack rolls in through the practice doors. The designer and her assistant both pushing the costumes in behind it. Right away, you spot your two distinct tutus and a couple of blouses for Doyoung.

The rack comes to a halt right in front of you. Colette instantly goes to grab a hanger with the Odette costume hung up on it. It’s both traditional, and beautiful.

The bodice of the costume fashions a plunging neckline, of which is lined with white feathers. There are crystals decorating the bodice, scattered all over the corset but primarily concentrated at the neckline. The tutu itself is showy, for sure. Bigger than any other tutu you’ve ever worn. There are multiple layers to it, and you’re surprised that it can even fan out by itself due to how heavy it looks. The bottom layers are made out of tulle, the surface of it outlined by embroideries in golden thread resembling those of feathers. On top of that, actual feathers are finely sewn into the waistband of the tutu, blending the bodice in. The whole costume, instead of being white, has the slightest hint of blue to it, making it so that it’s more of a bright white. It looks like the pure embodiment of heaven.

“Go on!” Colette urges, “Try it on!” She pushes the hanger into your chest, making you grab ahold of your costume. Then, she grabs multiple blouses off the rack and hands them to Doyoung, urging him the same.

The two of you listen to Colette, pulling your costumes on in front of the mirror. Your bodice is absolutely tailor-made to fit you. Colette can’t stop shaking her head and mumbling out words of awe and wonderment when she looks at you.

You glance over at Doyoung all the way across the room from you. His blouse the manifestation of royalty. His costume, like yours, consists of a white blouse with a deep neckline, with a fancy looking jacket layered atop of it. The jacket has the same matching gold embroidery all along the hems, the sleeves and the closures. The buckle in the front and the puffed-up shoulder pads adds to the regality of it all.

You study him in his costume. Looking him up and down, and back up again. He doesn’t notice this, or at least you don’t think so; he’s too busy ogling at himself in the mirror. His chest is slightly exposed by the depth of the blouse’s neckline, making it so that you can see the contours of his collarbones and his pecs. 

As much as you’d hate to admit it, he looks exactly like the part he’s playing—a Prince. 

The designer walks around you, holding up the waistband of your tutu. She clips the excess elastic together and she looks over to her assistant, mumbling something you can’t hear too well. “Nearly perfect,” she points at the black tutu still on the hanger, “Now try this one.”

After the designer finished marking down any adjustments the either of you needed, practice continued on as usual. During the midst of it, you’d forgotten all about the beginning of the session when you first walked in, that is until Colette of all people reminds you.

“Oh—you wanted to talk to me, Y/N?”

Your arms are held up above your head, hands trying to pull back loose strands of hair that’d flown free from the hours you’ve just spent exerting yourself. “Uh, yeah,” you quietly respond, a bobby pin clenched between your teeth.

You eye Doyoung, only to see that he’s doing the same. As soon as you meet his gaze, he looks away, back down onto his bag that he’s holding open to stuff his water bottle into.

Colette glances down at the watch on her wrist, “Well, come on, then. I have places to be.”

You take the pin out from between your lips and slide it somewhere into the back of your hair. “Um,” you mumble as you walk on closer to Colette. The same nervousness that had burned within you earlier returns, but this time, it’s even more amplified with the presence of Doyoung, for whatever reason.

Suddenly, you don’t feel like telling Colette anymore, and it’s not even because of her.

You try to speak as lowly as possible, almost muttering under your breath. Colette, however, doesn’t pick up on this too well, prompting you to speak a bit clearer.

You breathe in. “My knee. I know I’ve been causing you some trouble lately, but just give me some time. I’ll sort it out.” You don’t know if that was quiet enough so that Doyoung doesn’t hear and you don’t want to look in the reflection to see his reaction in case he did. “I promise,” you whisper.

Colette hears you this time, though, and her expression instantly softens. Her lips open, mouthing an ‘O’ shape, and her brows furrow in understanding. Colette lays a gentle palm on your shoulder, lips pursing together as she takes a deep breath in. Then, she sharply exhales. 

“If you really can’t do it, tell me.” She continues with a subtle shaking of the head, “We still have time now, but when it’s further down the road…”

You give her a firm, eager nod.

On the surface, you want to—need to—seem understanding. It was the reasonable thing to do. But deep down, all of what she’s saying just serves as a reminder of how replaceable everyone and anyone is. If you were to change how you viewed the situation, you can’t say that that’s a bad motivator, but it’s not the greatest one either. 

When you turn back around, Doyoung isn’t at his spot anymore. You’re looking at an empty room with the contents of your bag spilling out onto the floor in one corner.

Colette left moments after your conversation hurriedly to some meeting. You slump down onto the floor, knees tucked up to your chest and arms wrapping around them—not caring for your posture. The silence of the room rings in your ears, and that’s when you notice the sprinkling of raindrops against the window of the practice room.

The view outside is monochrome—all varying shades of grey. The sky was a light grey with pockets of white poking through, the buildings looked duller than usual under the gloom, and the streets were a dark grey, the rain further darkening the concrete. You watch one tiny bead of rain slowly run down the glass pane, rolling into other beads as they tumble down together.

“Is that true?”

Jesus Christ. Your shoulders jump up and your head turns to the door.

Someone sure has a habit of sneaking up on you unannounced. 

Doyoung’s hair is unstyled, the front parts of it covering his eyebrows and nearly touching the rims of his glasses. A white long-sleeve hangs loosely on his frame, with the fabric on his shoulder bunching up under the strap of his bag.

This is the first time that he’s shown up to practice looking like he’s actually showing up to practice. Usually, he’d make more of an effort to present himself—not that he even looks that much different. You hadn’t noticed this subtle change in his appearance until now, as he’s sneaking up on you, once again.

He approaches you gradually, a steadiness in his pacing.

“What?” You mumble with your eyelids fluttering as if you’re blinking back your consciousness, not even truly registering what he’d said—you’d been too caught off-guard with his sudden appearance.

“What you told Colette—is it true?”

He’s now a step or two away from you. This scene feels familiar, too.

For a split second, you truly have no idea what he’s referencing, but then it comes to you.

“About me sorting myself out? Yeah, I hope it’s true,” You respond in an attempt to hopefully deflect the conversation. A sarcastic expression draws on your face with your brows raised. You look away from Doyoung and into the mirror where you can see the two of you in the practice room as if you were a third person observer.

You were expecting a snarky remark coming from him but you don’t get one. Instead, you can see him just watching you intently in the reflection, as if he’s at a lost for words.

“About your leg,” he bluntly states. No audible emotion, no wavering in tone, just three plain, simple words.

It’s as if your eyes are drawn to Doyoung like how opposite poles of a magnet are drawn to each other. When you look at his face, there’s a solemnity to his features that’s teetering on the verge of unease.

There’s only one train of thought running through your mind. It’s that version of him again from that first night in the practice rooms. You can’t quite decide whether you like this Doyoung more, or the normal Doyoung more, but in this moment, you know you much prefer the unaffected version of him. 

You’ve never been one prone to sharing your vulnerabilities, especially not with someone like him. You’re not intending on starting now. “What are you asking me?”

“I think it’s pretty clear what I’m asking.” He says this in such a matter-of-fact manner, it’s hard to assess what his motive here is. Does he care? What is the goal here?

You’re trying to analyse the situation, but to Doyoung, he just wants to know. All the mental gymnastics you’re doing in your head—Doyoung does none of that.

“To you—probably.” Still, you continue to try to diffuse this weird tension between the two of you. You get up on your feet, clapping your hands together to get rid of any dust on them. You mutter out a quiet, “Well,” under your breath as you walk towards your things in the corner. Doyoung watches you in silence as you pack your things up; unlacing your pointe shoes, pulling them off and shoving them inside the bag.

You slide the strap onto your shoulders and get up to leave. As you walk by Doyoung, you feel the familiar touch of his fingers wrap around your wrist. The cold of his hands raise goosebumps all along your arm, and simultaneously freezes you in place. 

“Let me fix this.”

His voice is soft, and gentle, unlike his grasp on your wrist. 

Your eyes dart downwards towards his hand on you. You try to squirm free of his hold but he doesn’t let you. “Let me go.”

“Let me fix it,” he repeats.

“Fix what? There’s nothing you can do,” Your voice trails off.

Doyoung looks into your eyes, gaze unfaltering. The window to the side of him reflects in his irises, making his eyes appear glassier than normal. Without taking his eyes off you, he slowly starts to loosen his fingers around you.

“It’s my fault,” Doyoung says this in a way that’s as if he’s exhaling his words. The syllables following each other as he breathes out.

You look at him, and he doesn’t shy away and avoid your gaze. You’re looking at him and he’s there, fully. Just a few months back, you’re thinking of what you would give to have this very moment. To have him acknowledge his mistake, and to fully take responsibility like he’s doing now. Just a few weeks ago, you accepted that you would never get this—that Doyoung isn’t the type of person to bring you this kind of closure. And yet, here you are, with him standing right in front of you in a confrontation that you thought was impossible.

It’s not an apology, like that first night. It’s recognition. And now that you have both from him, you can’t help but wonder: why doesn’t it feel as relieving as you thought it would be?

“It was an accident,” you correct him. You speak those words aloud and they echo inside of your head. Those same words that you had to tell yourself over and over, the same thing that you had to convince yourself of through the years, now you’re here using them again.

“An accident that I caused.”

There’s an eerie feeling inside of you. This conversation isn’t productive, and it’d do more harm than good if you continue letting Doyoung play the blame game.

“It’s not your fault. And I’m fine now, aren’t I?” You lift your foot and stick your leg out slightly, turning it from side to side.

Doyoung watches for a brief moment before he begins again, “Just… Let me make it up to you.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?”

His eyes are back on yours and you notice the slight dip of his Adam’s apple as he swallows subtly. He sucks his lips in, lightly wetting them.

“Whatever you need me to do to make this right.”

Your stomach emits a faint grumble, but clear enough in the otherwise silent practice room that you’re sure both you and Doyoung heard it. You try to hold back a chuckle.

“Pay me back with dinner. That’s what you can do.”

Doyoung and you first agreed on dinner at some restaurant close to the both of you. However, those plans were quickly replaced not long after they were made. Simply due to the reason that Doyoung usually cooks his own meals, and he didn’t want to smear his perfect record.

Originally, he was supposed to treat you to dinner the night he asked, but something came up, so it got moved to tonight. It’s been a week since you agreed to let him cook dinner for you and it hasn’t really crossed your mind until now. 

You’re standing right in front of your mirror, contemplating what to wear. Maybe you could’ve—or should’ve—given more thought to this. And it’s right now that you’re just beginning to question what tonight is.

It’s just a casual dinner between friends, you tell yourself. But, you’re not friends. At least you didn’t think you were to him. Or maybe it’s just what you said it was—something he can do to ‘make up’ for his mistake.

All of this is running through your head as you’re holding up outfit after outfit up to your reflection. Your bed is littered with shirts, jeans, skirts, dresses; anything that you’ve ever owned. You’re not sure what kind of message you want to send with what you’re wearing, and you didn’t know if it really mattered, anyway.

Eventually, you narrow down your options to two dresses. One of them being a fitting black dress; sleeveless. The other is also black, slightly more appropriate for a club setting with the way the neckline is cut. You settle on the more modest of the options.

Pulling it on over your head, you can feel a slight tinge of embarrassment colouring your cheeks. You look into the mirror, suddenly becoming increasingly aware of what you look like. Self-awareness isn’t something you’d lacked, especially as a dancer, but tonight… it was different. You felt aware of yourself in a different way for better or worse.

You attempt to shake this feeling off, reminding yourself that tonight is just another regular night—nothing special to it. It’s just dinner.

After making yourself feel a little less on edge, you grab a nearby matching purse and throw on a jacket, then, you head out. You make your way to Doyoung’s apartment not too far from yours. It’s about 15 minutes away by walking, even less if you’re taking the subway. Considering how small the city really is, it’s not a surprise that he lives so close to you.

You take a second glance at your phone to make sure you got the right address before knocking on the apartment door. Your fist raps firmly against the wooden surface. For the first time tonight, your head is blank. Don’t get it twisted, the nervousness is still in you like it’s seeped into your bones, but any thoughts—doubtful or not—are nowhere to be found; only the echo of your knocking ricocheting off the walls of your mind.

The wait in between you making yourself known and Doyoung opening the door to his apartment is painful. Excruciating anticipation waltzing in every muscle of yours. You consider turning back around, walking away before Doyoung sees you, but before you even have a chance to move, the door swings open.

And there he stood. Head a little bit below the door frame, eyes widened, and an open stance. His black button-up is undone at the collar, exposing just enough of his collarbones that you know he left them undone for that very purpose. One side of his shirt is loosely tucked into his jeans, which had a leather belt wrapped around it. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see steam rising from behind him. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

You greet him first, waiting for any indication to be let in. Instead, Doyoung stands in the way of the doorway, eyes fixed on you.

“Uh—You’re not burning anything, are you?” You ask lightheartedly, a finger pointing over his shoulder to where the steam is.

It’s like Doyoung snaps awake with a shake of his head. “Oh!” He looks over his shoulder at the pot on the stove. “No,” he reassures you as he turns back to you. Simultaneously, his body moves out of the way to let you into his place, “Sorry—Come in.”

You step through the doorway into his apartment. It’s similar to yours; an open-plan kitchen with two other rooms and a balcony. Except, his balcony can actually be considered one. Through the glass doors leading outside, you see a small square table with a white tablecloth over it, two chairs set up on either side. There’s two empty wine glasses placed on top.

“You have a nice place,” the hesitation that you can hear in your own voice made you want to crawl up and fall through the floor. Small talk has never been your forte. 

Doyoung shuts his door quietly and he turns back around to face you. “Thanks,” he takes a shallow breath in. He drops his arms from behind his back to his sides, straightening his posture subtly. “You look nice.”

And there it was again. His change in demeanour. You’re so focused on the sudden flash of indifference on his face that you don’t even pay attention to his words. It’s not like tonight wasn’t already confusing for you, he had to go and add to that confusion himself.

You mumble out a quiet, “Thanks,” not knowing what to think of his compliment. You’re grateful for the tiny hum of classical music in the background as you and Doyoung both stand somewhat awkwardly away from each other. You divert your eyes away from him and spot where the music is playing from—the vinyl record player tucked away in the corner of the open room.

It doesn’t surprise you that Doyoung is playing classical music as he cooks—he seems the type.

“If you want, you can sit down,” he speaks up. Doyoung extends a palm towards the balcony, “Dinner’s nearly ready. I’ll bring it out.”

You pull your lips into a tiny smile as you walk past him towards the glass doors. Sliding them open, you feel a gentle evening breeze brush against your skin.

Not only is his balcony better than yours, his view is also better. The platform looks over the main street, and you can’t help but wonder how the hell did he manage to rent a place like this. Directly across the wide open road are other apartment complexes, but on the ground, there are countless cafés, bars, restaurants, flower shops—everything. The warm glow from the lights within these establishments light up the street in a mellow manner.

You pull out one of the patio chairs and sit yourself down, a gentle wind blowing past again and getting caught in your hair. The faintest whisper of the symphony from inside travels all the way to you. You take in a lungful of fresh air—as fresh as city air can be—and lean forward on your palms placed on the edge of the seat.

It’s not long before Doyoung comes out with two plates in his hands. He sets one down in front of you first, then the other in his place.

“Do you want a drink?” He offers softly.

“Yeah, sure.” You get the feeling that you might’ve answered him a little too eagerly.

He disappears inside and shortly comes back out with a tall tinted bottle in his hand. Doyoung takes a seat across from you, his attention fixated on the things set out in front of him. He takes your glass into his hands, pouring a red wine into it carefully. Then, he does the same with his own. Once he’s done, he sets the bottle down onto a little trolley to the side of the table which you hadn’t noticed before.

He takes his glass, tipping its rim towards you. You take that as a signal and mirror him.

“Cheers.” You clink your glasses together, a clear ring sounding out as a result. Doyoung notices that when you go to drink your wine, you are most certainly not pacing yourself the way you should. One gulp, and the cup is a quarter-full, having only been half-empty when he poured it out.

One drink then turned into two, which quickly turned into another. The evening had gone better than you’d expected, better than you’d hoped. You thought that it might as well be you and him eating in detention for how conversation-less it usually is between the two of you, but tonight proved you wrong. Frankly, you knew it had to be due to the alcohol.

The pair of you explored many different topics: the weather; if aliens are real; whether or not you believe in astrology; your biggest dreams; cereal or milk first; et cetera, et cetera. But the topic of the reason for this whole night never came up, or the two of you were just extremely skilled in avoiding talking about it.

“After I graduated from the conservatory in Seoul, I wasn’t set on what I wanted to do,” Doyoung’s words had a slight slur to them, barely noticeable if you’re not paying attention. He picks up his glass from the table, this being his third of the night. “I was 18 at the time. I took a year off to travel and by the time I turned 19, I found myself here in Paris,” he continues, an easy flow in his voice. He takes a sip of the wine, “And I fell in love with it.”

You’re leaning back into your chair, swirling around the glass in your hand. Before you can even think of what to say back to him, Doyoung speaks again.

“What about you? How did you end up here?”

He downs the entirety of the contents in his glass, face turned away from you. You lean forward onto the table as Doyoung sets the goblet down lightly. Tilting your head away from him, you watch as the red liquid swirls and ripple over in the bowl with the movement of your hand, creating a vortex.

You return your gaze back onto Doyoung. His cheeks are lightly blushed; the tip of his nose, too. You exhale sharply.

“I’ve always been here. Guess I knew what I wanted to be since I was little and… I stuck with it.”

“That’s impressive,” Doyoung comments. You can tell he’s half there and half not.

“I suppose,” you mutter under your breath. You’re confident that Doyoung couldn’t hear you.

There’s a beat of silence, with the music in the background finishing right at this moment. Then, it starts up again. You hadn’t been paying particular attention to Doyoung’s choice in music for the earlier part of the night, but this particular piece catches your attention. And it looks like it catches his, too.

The familiar introduction passage travels all the way to the balcony fadedly, despite it’s lively nature. You recognise it as the accompaniment to the Black Swan pas de deux that you have practiced with Doyoung numerous times now.

The two of you share a glance before Doyoung gives in.

“Shall we?”

You hesitate at first. This is silly, you thought. Doyoung extends a hand towards you. 

“I don’t have my shoes,” you counter.

“So, what? It’s just for fun,” he urges you playfully, hand now closer to you.

Then, you give in. You place your palm into his as he leads you back inside of his apartment. There’s enough space inside for you to move around comfortably, but not to perform a whole duet. The two of you half-heartedly dance along to the music, mainly relying on muscle memory for the piece. For the second time tonight, your mind is blank. You’re only tuning into the music and letting your body move the way it wants, no thoughts dictating your actions at all.

A part of the choreography calls for Doyoung to place his hands on your arms from behind you, and wrap them around yourself, which is then followed by Odile rejecting this show of affection. Doyoung’s touch on your forearms is delicate, like a feather brushing past you. Yet, there seems to be a moment in which he holds on and lingers in his position for a little longer than expected. In that same very moment, you didn’t want to move on with the choreography, sending him away with a firm denial of his fondness. The Prince’s fondness.

The first parts of the music comes close to finishing. The last vibrato of the violin sounds out as you spin into Doyoung’s arms, flesh out an arabesque, shift into fifth position, and lean your torso forward. Doyoung slides onto one of his knees, hands catching your waist as you tilt into him with one leg up in the air and arms behind you.

Your wrists flick downwards right along with the last notes of the melody.

Your faces are close to one another. You feel that if you were to lean forward even just an inch more, the tips of your noses would touch.

The music comes to a halt. That’s when the sound of your breathing alongside Doyoung’s becomes noticeable. You can feel your chest burn with every rise and fall. Doyoung looks deeply into your eyes in a way that he’s never done before in all the times you’ve finished this piece with him. It’s like he’s watching himself in the reflection of your irises.

“And this… is where you’re irrevocably in love with me,” you whisper, not being able to hold back a tug at your lips as you did so.

Doyoung chuckles. His hands are still gripping onto the sides of your waist firmly.

Your arms begin to feel heavier by the second, so you set them down, putting both your hands onto Doyoung’s shoulders. Your leg goes down as well, meeting the other on tip-toes against the floor.

Doyoung doesn’t look away for one moment, and neither do you. You’re still catching your breath when you feel a pull on your hips.

You stop breathing.

Doyoung’s face is now even closer to yours. You can see every minute detail of his features; the way his eyelids folded, the individual hairs of his brows, and his defined cupid’s bow. That was something that you never noticed about him, and now you can’t pull your eyes away from it.

He watches you observe him, and he does the same.

Without even knowing, you inch your face closer and closer to Doyoung’s. Until finally, your lips meet his. 

INTERVAL

As the weeks went on, you and Doyoung found yourselves spending more nights at the studio than not. Nights would bleed into days, and hours would pass by where you either forgot or didn’t have time to break away to do practically anything, including finding time for dinner. To your surprise, someone took notice of this and decided to do something about it. 

You’d passed by Doyoung countless times in the hallways during these late hours where you’re both pouring heart and soul into your craft. Neither of you ever stopped to make conversation, with the both of you not knowing what to say.  And so, you didn’t.

Doyoung wouldn’t talk to you, but more so communicate through written words. The first time you found a note from him, it was stuck on top of a takeaway box. His penmanship small and neat, words that simply stated: “I ordered extra by accident.” You broke out a small smile as you picked the box off of the floor in front of the door to your room, believing in this accident.

The second time, a similar note on top of a thermos. Inside, a homemade soup that warmed you up in the cool hours of the night.

On another occasion, his note read something a little different. Alongside it was a lunchbox—not a takeaway this time. The note this time basically reprimanding you for smoking after he presumedly caught you on another night, and you couldn’t help but read it in his nagging voice. In the corner of the square piece of paper was a doodle of an angry-looking stickman.

You kept all of the post-it notes, stacking them on top of one another every time you receive a new one.

As you’re lining up the sides of the latest note against the pile you’ve been collecting, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the studio mirror. A smile that you didn’t even know you’d been wearing appears on your face. Some part of you cursing yourself for feeling like a high schooler receiving love letters. Some part of you cursing him for making you feel this way. 

You tuck the notes into a pocket of your bag and return to practice. Maybe you should return the favour, you wonder. Despite trying as hard as you can, you can’t get the fact that Doyoung is just a hallway across from you the rest of the night.

ACT III THE CURTAINS FALL

If you were to describe your relationship with Kim Doyoung… it’d be a difficult task. If the saying, ‘opposites attract’ were true, then you and Doyoung would be the same pole on a bar magnet. It felt like with every pull comes a stronger push. But all those speculations and theorisations come to a halt as an elbow nudges you in the stomach.

“Hello?” Karina pushes you slightly with her shoulder, knocking you a couple of steps back. “You’ve got to quit staring at him like that.”

“I wasn’t—”

With one raise of her eyebrows, Karina shuts you up. You take a few steps to close the slight distance between you and Karina again, your shoulders pressed up against each other’s. “I was just… zoning out.”

“Sure,” Karina replies brightly, “Zoning out just fantasising about our Prince over there, I bet,” her head nods towards Doyoung across the room.

Now, it’s your turn to give your friend a nudge in the side, wanting desperately for her to stop speaking before anyone else hears you. She can barely hold back her chuckle and all you can do is hope that everyone else is too preoccupied with trying to memorise the sequence to pay attention to your personal gossip. 

You were starting to dread these Fridays. With everyone in the company being in the same room at once, you felt like there were too many eyes on you. And Doyoung as well, but they don’t seem to be watching him for every mistake he makes like they do with you. Karina makes you forget about all that for a little bit, though, with her merciless teasing.

“Sorry! Sorry. I just never thought that you two would—y’know,” Karina leans into your ear, about to whisper the next part of her sentence before you stop her.

“Shh! What if someone hears?” You scan the massive stage as dancers line up row by row at the back.

Karina expels a shallow sigh, “Who cares! You two are grown adults, and it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong by kissing him.” She shrugs nonchalantly, watching as another lineup of ballerinas dance across the platform.

You try your best to ignore the acceleration in your chest at the mention of that. You’re not one to regret many things, but you do regret telling Karina about that night; she won’t stop questioning you like she’s some PI. 

You run a hand up your opposite arm, giving yourself a slight squeeze on the shoulder. “We still haven’t talked about it,” you mumble.

Karina turns her head towards you and narrows her eyes. You flash a quick glance at her, then another, somewhat uncomfortable with how closely she’s studying you. 

After a few moments of what felt more like hours of Karina intently just staring at you, it seems she has come to a conclusion.

She gasps a small breath, “Do you have feelings for him? God, you’re getting into character.”

“What?” You give her a light smack on the arm, “No! I don’t— I’m just bothered that we haven’t spoken in weeks. That’s all.” The words come out of you slowly and articulately, trying your best not to fall into the hole you’ve dug for yourself. One look at Karina’s face tells you that it’s not working as well as you’d hoped it would, though.

She turns her gaze back onto the stage in front of the two of you. Her eyes never leave Doyoung, now in centre stage, as she tilts her head sideways towards yours. “I believe you’ve fallen to what the professionals call, ‘method acting.’”

It was at this moment, that you knew you should never open your mouth about how your night-time practices are going nowadays to Karina if you still want to maintain some shred of dignity.

It’s another one of your customary late nights again. Thanks to this role, you’ve gotten a lot more familiar with each and every crevice of this practice room in the past month than you have in all your years working here.

Dejection seems to be a recurring theme during your OT hours lately. Not that you can help it. Colette’s still on you for not making your turns, though she has toned it down several notches, which is more than you can ask of her. And confronting failure face-to-face continually doesn’t necessarily boost the morale, especially when it’s 10pm and you’ve spent the last few hours by yourself, in silence. Just occasionally cussing yourself; your pointe shoes for giving out; or the wall that you spin into, out.

You sigh as you sit with your legs out in front of you in the middle of the studio, fingers squeezing the tops of your knees. For the first time tonight, you felt tired. You hadn’t paused to even breathe during this session, and now that you have, the weariness you’d built up is catching up to you. Still, there’s a tiny spark of determination within you that refuses to be extinguished—the only thing that’s stopping you from ending it here tonight and going home.

As a last-ditch effort, you pull your knees up to your chest and push yourself off the ground. One last try, for tonight at least, or you’ll end up causing more damage to your feet than you care to admit.

You don’t bother with the music, you haven’t bothered for a while now. Hearing the same build-up over and over again started to feel passionless. And something about it stirs a visceral reaction within you that you really wanted to avoid as much as you possibly can.

So, you position yourself in the very centre of the room. Eyes fixed on the ones staring back at you in the mirror. You spread your weight evenly between your two feet, one in front of you and the other behind. One of your arms round out in a semi-circle out in front parallel to your chest as the other stretches out to the side. You lean your weight slightly onto your back foot.

The room echoes with silence. A deep breath fills your lungs. Your eyes burn holes into the mirror, paying no mind to the stray strands of hair that splay out messily. You roll your shoulders back and straighten your spine. With one last breath, you sink into the heel of your back foot, and with all the remaining strength you can muster up, you push off into the starting turn.

You manage a double on the starting turn before coming back down on your heel to propel yourself up again. Your eyes never leave the spot you’ve marked on the mirror as you make your rounds. Mostly singles, some doubles, and some rare triples. In your head, you’re trying to keep count, but it’s not the easiest when you have multiple other things requiring your full attention.

12, 13, 14. Your heel lands again as you whip your other leg out to the side of you, forcing momentum when you draw it through into passé.

You’re nearly halfway there, and that’s when you remind yourself to not lose the strength in your core. You straighten back up as much as you can between turns, and you keep counting.

You’re starting to feel the inevitable stabbing of your nail against your own toe as you’re making your way through the 20’s. Your breathing is also getting heavier and heavier.

Expectations were low. You often get to this point, but fall short of just the 32 fouettés you need.

26, 27, 28. 

You have to admit, there is a certain adrenaline that runs through you whenever you get this close. However, that’s the trap. You get excited, lose focus, and you don’t make it. So, as you catch a glimpse of your reflection, you try to steel the excitement threatening to boil over inside you. 29. 

This time, as you come down, you push off again onto your toes with more force than ever, your other leg providing as much assistance as possible.

You spin once, meeting your eyes in the mirror. But you have enough momentum to not have to come down again. 30.

And again. Your gaze lingers as long as it possibly can before you have to whip your head around. 31.

The last, final turn you need. Friction is stretching your force thin. You’re on the finishing turn, and with the last bit of exertion from you, you manage to make a full spin. 32. 

You land on your back foot, exhilarated at this small triumph that you shared with yourself tonight. Breath after breath, your chest rises and falls rapidly as you’re trying to blink away the dizziness.

Your arms fall to your sides, planting themselves onto your hips. An overwhelming sense of relief crashes over you as you watch your own reflection. A gentle smile starts to break onto your lips.

Then, something in the corner catches your attention.

Your eye darts over to the door. And what do you know—if this was any other setting, the very thought of being watched would be unsettling, but you should be used to it by now, you suppose.

“That was good.”

You hear it before you can clearly see anything. Perhaps your habit of not turning the lights on late on night does have its cons. But you don’t have to see for yourself to picture who it was in your head: Him and his devilishly handsome face.

On any other given night, you’d put up more of a rejection to his simple compliment and argue that you deserved a rating better than ‘good.’ But tonight, the urge just wasn’t there. 

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

He walks in through the doorframe, more of him coming into light as he draws closer to you. With every step that he takes, it’s like your heart threatens more and more to jump out of your chest. Why am I feeling like this? It is the first time you’ve spoken in person since you kissed, yes, but that doesn’t change anything, right?

As he walks closer and closer towards you, the urge to have that sturdy wall of sarcasm you normally put up around you returns. 

He stops a few steps short of being in reach of you. The planes of his cheeks highlighted by the glow of city lights outside. The man you’ve tolerated for as long as you can remember, Kim Doyoung, now standing in front of you, and it’s your knees that feel weak.

The thumping of your heart resonates in your ears—it’s so loud that you’re afraid even he can hear it. Trying to push all that down and stuff it into some locked up part of you, you try to think about how to navigate this conversation. Just two colleagues talking after ignoring each other after kissing each other; nothing to worry about.

“So. No lunchbox for me tonight?” You’re hoping that the cheek in your tone distracts from your undoubtedly rosying cheeks. But maybe acknowledging that was the wrong move—too late now.

“Actually, I was just about to leave it outside. But I saw you, instead.” He lifts his hand up and that’s the first time you spot the small, rectangular box in his grip.

You drag your eyes from the box back up to meet Doyoung’s. A beat passes.

Then, you muster up the courage. “Why… are you doing that for me?” You’ve asked yourself this question more times than you can count. Why is he being nice to you? That is strictly out of character for him, if you were to judge.

Doyoung crinkles his eyebrows, as if he’s offended that you’d asked him that question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you bringing me…? Every night we’re here. I haven’t asked you to.” You speak slowly, as if you’re carefully treading through a minefield that is Kim Doyoung’s mind and reasoning.

“Skipping dinner’s bad,” he extends his arm out with the box in his hand, signalling for you to take it off of him. You’re reluctant, but he persists. “What? I’m… taking care of my costars.”

Your eyebrows quirk up at his choice of words. He holds it out a few more seconds before his patience wears thin. 

“My arm is getting tired.”

And as his last push is met with nothing from you, he drops his hand to his side. Without a word, he scoffs and makes his way over back to where the door is.

“Fine, I’ll just put it in your bag.”

Subconsciously, you follow him as he walks over to the edge of the room, a bit dazed at the man in front of you.

He kneels down, shoving the box through the opening of your bag. When he stands up again, he seems a bit surprised that you’re literally right there behind him. Serves him right for all those other times he’s snuck up on you.

You stare at him and he stares back at you, his eyes widening at your silence, as if to say, “What?” in his typical bratty, condescending way. 

“You’re overcompensating.” You shoot out.

“What?” His slight annoyance is replaced by confusion.

“Don’t worry,” your cadence loosens up as does your posture. In a more lax manner, you take a few steps towards the barre on the wall, next to Doyoung. “I’m not some charity case you’re condemned to because you feel bad for whatever.” You place your palms behind you on the barre, feeling somewhat pleased with yourself for having figured out Doyoung’s motivations.

Doyoung himself is slightly amused at your deduction. He leans backwards with his elbows on the barre, his legs stretching out in front of him. He turns his head, eyes looking down at you. “Believe it or not, I don’t see you as ‘charity work.’”

You take a second to still your heartbeat that seems dead set on betraying you with how you felt his breath fan faintly against your shoulder as he spoke. You turn to look him in the eyes, either to prove something to yourself, or to him—you couldn’t be sure.

“Then, why all this?”

Doyoung returns your gaze intently. You hadn’t planned for it, and now there’s no way you’re letting yourself back down. The way he looks at you—into you—hitches your breath. The last time he looked at you like this… You’re not sure you can stop history from repeating itself if he doesn’t stop now.

For a moment, you can swear his irises swirled like liquid pools of obsidian, the sheen in them barely visible under the dimness. 

Before Doyoung even tries to come up with a way to talk his way out of this, he gives in. Into you.

In an instant, his lips envelopes yours. You wish you could say you were surprised, but deep down you were screaming at him to kiss you first. 

You melt into the softness of his lips. The depth at which he takes you in makes the peck from last time seem like child’s play. 

As both of you ease into each other’s touch, Doyoung’s eagerness becomes more and more apparent. One hand cups your jaw and the other settles on your nape, pulling you in as much as he can. Your lips fitted together like they were sculpted for each other. The way his mouth moved over yours as if they were connected to one mind.

Doyoung steps in between your legs, positioning himself in front of you with your back pressed against the wall. He never breaks his lips from yours, not even to take a breath. The hand that he previously had on your neck runs itself down to your waist, grabbing hold of it like he has so many times before. He pulls your torso closer to his, your chests pressed up together, your back slightly arched.

In all honesty, you would’ve expected Doyoung to be more the passive type, but you were gladly proven wrong. The way he presses his lips onto yours is with a force so strong that you’re sure it’s bound to leave your lips swollen and bruised. You don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but a groan rumbles in Doyoung’s throat, and you can feel it with a slight vibration. Your lips can’t help but draw themselves into a small smirk that he assuredly has to have felt.

It is only now that Doyoung pulls himself away from you, or more so pry himself away. In a way, you’re grateful because you don’t know how much longer you could’ve lasted before you completely lose yourself to his touch. 

His face parts from yours with both of you trying to catch your breaths as quietly as you can. 

With those eyes of his again, he switches between looking at your (only slightly swollen) lips and your eyes. He gently brushes the side of his thumb up your cheek, sliding under the hair that framed that part of your face. 

His eyes follow the movement of his thumb, before glancing back at you. Breathily, he whispers, “Does that answer your question?”

It’s your lucky day. Karina had plans for lunch hour today, leaving you sitting alone in the middle of the canteen poking and prodding at your food. At first, you didn’t consider it entirely ‘lucky,’  but the more and more you thought about it, maybe it truly is. After all, if you tell Karina what happened two nights ago, she will no doubt hold it over you ’til the day you die. And not telling her isn’t exactly an option if she asks—she always has a way of getting inside your brain. And even if she doesn’t ask, she could definitely tell something’s up especially with how you’re having to bite back your own smile at random given moments of the day. So all in all, maybe you are lucky, at least for today.

That very sliver of luck lasted only moments, though.

Your eyes are down, staring somewhat blankly at your phone screen in an attempt to seem preoccupied. However, someone sees through your act—or maybe he just doesn’t care for it.

Doyoung slides his tray onto your table, swiftly taking a seat opposite you. You look up at him, watching his very nonchalant actions as if this happens every day.

“What are you doing?” You mutter, perhaps involuntarily. Some part of you is taken aback, another part is confused. Every single time—every one of your encounters with Kim Doyoung felt like a chess game. When you think you’ve seen through his tactics, he reveals that he already has several other countermoves calculated.

Doyoung does what he does best: ignore you. He places his hands on the table, eyes scanning over your tray and his briefly. Then, he lifts his gaze up onto you. “Are you free this weekend?” He asks with an expression on his face that’s a little hard to read. It’s a strange combination of politeness and formality that you’re not used to from him, at least not when directed at you.

“What?” Your response almost comes out as a chuckle. What is he up to? 

“Well, if you are, I have two tickets to a show.” He ends his sentence with a small smile on the corner of his lips.

Is he…? Now, you’re almost certain that today is your lucky day because thank God, Karina isn’t here to witness this.

Back to the situation at hand… what are you supposed to make of this? Is this a date? Or maybe you’re jumping to conclusions for even assuming he’s asking you out on a date. Yes, you two kissed, twice. But does that equal a date now?

God.

Does he like you?—Why does that matter? 

Stop thinking.

You open your mouth to start saying something, and Doyoung looks at you expectantly. You suck in a quick breath, then your lips purse together. But you have to say something.

“If this is because of the other night, you don’t have to—” You cut yourself off as Doyoung raises his brows, prompting you to go on. “What are you up to?”

Doyoung leans in closer, planting both elbows on the tabletop. He tilts his head slowly to the side, gaze fixed pointedly at you, “You keep thinking I have ulterior motives.”

The urge to push his head back with your finger entertains you for a second, before you shoo it away. “Because this is unlike you. 5 years, and I’ve never seen you speak to someone if you’re not forced to.” You lean back into your chair, folding your arms across your stomach. “You’ve always had a kinda cold, and mysterious aura to you,” you mumble, maybe more to yourself than to him.

That seems to pique his intrigue. “You think I’m mysterious?” His eyebrows lift, exposing his amusement.

“That’s not what I meant,” you refute bluntly. “I just thought you were keeping up an image. The whole, ‘I have no friends, but I’m still cool’ thing, you know?”

If this whole encounter was a chess game, then you just found checkmate. Doyoung looks at you a bit in disbelief, and maybe slightly insulted.

“You think I—Okay, no,” he shuts you down firmly. He places his hands onto the table again, “Now, the tickets.”

Truth be told, you’ve been thinking about him ever since that night, but you would probably die before ever admitting that.

“I mean, sure. But you’re not denying that you have an image problem.”

At the first sound of your acceptance, Doyoung slides his fingers underneath his tray and is preparing to get up out of his seat. He stands up and tucks his chair in with his free hand. Once again, doing what he does best, he ignores the latter half of your sentence, “Saturday night, 7pm.”

With that, he’s set off in some direction to wherever he’s going. He’s just taken a few steps away and before he’s out of earshot, you follow up, “And what if people talk?”

He doesn’t stop walking away from you with his back turned, countering, “Sounds like you’re the one with an image problem.”

Saturday night, 6:55pm.

Shit.

Apparently, the entire population of Paris decided to get on this very subway all at the same time. The doors slide open but you’re having to budge and shove through row after row of people just to get off the car and onto the platform.

It’s a 10 minute walk and you have 5 minutes. If you don’t run to the theatre, Doyoung will inevitably be complaining about how you’re late for the whole night.

Running is a bit difficult though (and not to mention embarrassing) especially in the heels that you’re in.

You walk as fast as you possibly can out of the station and onto the city streets. The sun is just barely peeking out from the horizon and the lampposts begin to turn on as you weave your way through the avenues.

You’re just a crossing away from the theatre when you spot a particular silhouette. Their back is turned towards you, but you recognise that person as Doyoung. It’s in the way he stands, and the positioning of his feet. It’s undoubtedly him.

His head is down, presumably on his phone. The light turns green and you begin to cross. Just as you’re about to reach the other side of the street, you feel a buzz in your hand. You face the screen towards you. 7:02pm. And as you predicted, Doyoung is already starting his carping. A message pops up on the bottom of your screen, “Are you here yet?”

For whatever reason unbeknownst to you, your lips curve into a tiny smile that you have to force away, ignoring his message at the same time. You walk the couple of steps that separate you and Doyoung.

His back is still turned towards you, completely unaware of your being there behind him. He dons a long, black wool coat that amplifies his already broad shoulders, making him look and feel larger than life. To your surprise, the outfit you’re wearing coincidentally somewhat matches his—a long black dress with a coat over top. If people didn’t know better, they’d probably assume the two of you matched on purpose.

You hesitate before tapping his shoulder lightly with two fingers. His head turns around swiftly. And before you even get the chance to say anything—

“You’re late.”

You can’t resist the urge to roll your eyes and sigh. “By 2 minutes! And look,” You glance downwards at your shoes, Doyoung following your gaze. “You should be grateful I even made it here with two intact ankles.”

Doyoung eyes your heels, chuckling lightly to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he looks at you with a satisfied smile on his face. “We should go in before we’re too late,” he suggests with a dip of his head towards the entrance of the theatre.

You mumble a quiet, “Whatever,” under your breath before you start heading towards the theatre ingress, Doyoung closely following behind you.

The theatre stands majestically. Every single element of it meticulously ornate, as is the rest of the architecture in the city, but this truly was something else. Its facade is adorned with intricate columns and statues sculpted to perfection. The golden lights illuminate the archways between the sculptures, leading to the interior. Every detail of the design echoed a timeless charm and glamour.

You’ve passed by this theatre more than a handful of times, but it’s your first time actually going inside. 

“What are we watching, anyway?” You turn your head around to voice, being cautious as you climb the steps leading to the open doors.

“You’ll see,” is all Doyoung responds back with.

It’s your turn to follow behind Doyoung as he hands the tickets to the man standing next to the entrance doors. You glance down at the tickets as the doorman studies them briefly before welcoming the both of you inside.

You give him a polite smile as you pass by, still following Doyoung. You make up the couple of steps between you and Doyoung so that you’re walking parallel to him.

“Swan Lake? Really?”

Doyoung smiles at you gently, “It’s a classic for a reason.”

Three beautifully devastating hours later, the ballet finishes. And Doyoung was right, it is a classic for a reason. No matter how many times you watch Swan Lake, it still manages to completely beguile you. The ballerina they casted for the main role was incredible, undeniably so. It’s then that you begin to question if you should’ve came here tonight.  All that it seemed to do was make you doubt whether or not you can give a performance half as enchanting as hers.

You and Doyoung are walking silently next to each other in streets illuminated by nothing but the warm glow of the lampposts. He insisted on walking you home, though he lives in the other direction.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Doyoung utters after a prolonged silence. He steps under the gleam of one of the lamps, highlighting the sharpness of his features as he looks back at you.

The mellow breeze of the night blows softly against you. “They were good.”

“We can do better,” he follows, resulting in you cracking a small smile.

“Cocky.”

“No—Just confident.”

“Fine, overconfident then.” 

He takes a big step ahead, balancing on one foot as he tilts his head to catch a glimpse of your face, forcing you to look at him. “And what’s wrong with that? I believe in us.”

Soon enough, the two of you arrive in front of your apartment complex. The chill in the night lingers in the air between the two of you. You mumble a quiet, “So,” under your breath, disguised as a sigh.

Stuffing your hands inside the pockets of your jacket, you rock forwards onto your toes. You suck in a long breath. “Thanks for the date,” you make it a point to highlight the sarcasm in your tone, but really, you were just trying to see his reaction.

Doyoung, however, doesn’t buy your facade. His eyebrows tick up and his eyes glisten with a hint of amusement. “A date, huh?”

“That was a little something called a joke,” you quickly follow.

“Well,” he leans forward an inch or so closer to your face. “Joking or not, we can’t end the perfect date without a kiss,” he mutters lowly as he looks into your eyes. 

You stare back at him, frozen. Your heart beats faster and faster with every second that he has his eyes on you. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sign from you.

Inching ever so slowly towards him, you drop your gaze onto his lips. Softly, you press a gentle peck onto him. When you lean back and open your eyes again, he’s wearing the faintest trace of a smile on his face that you’re sure has already burned its image into your mind.

“You should really find funnier things to joke about,” Doyoung utters. “Good night,” he whispers as he’s about to take a step back from you.

“Wait,” you reach out and grab ahold of his wrist. There’s an eagerness in your voice that you regret as soon as you spoke aloud. Doyoung looks at your hand wrapped around him, then up at you, causing you to loosen your grip. You know you’re probably going to regret this but—“It’s still early. Do you want to stay for a drink?” Your head and your heart has never worked against each other like this. You regretted it as soon as you made the offer, but your heart was just a beat faster than your mind tonight. 

There’s a brief moment of quiet where you’re sure he would say ‘no.’ But instead, he looks down at the ground, biting back his bottom lip before nodding along. “Sure,” Doyoung agrees with an easy shrug.

You lead him into the lobby of your complex silently. The air only seems to thicken with every second that you spend with him by your side, and it doesn’t help that the lift takes forever to arrive. You step inside, your heels clicking against the marble floor, and Doyoung follows along. 

He watches your every movement, from your pressing of the elevator buttons to you leaning back against the banister along the walls. You catch his eyes, and he doesn’t even try to hide his observing you.

A chuckle catches in your throat, “What?”

“What?” He echoes you with a certain smugness in his expression.

The lift stops right in time and the doors slide open. You let your eyes linger on Doyoung’s as you walk past him to exit into the hallway. Pulling out your keys from your pockets, you instinctually unlock your door in one swift motion and let yourself and Doyoung in.

Your arm reaches out to the side to flick the kitchen lights on. Stepping out of your heels, you slip off your jacket at the same time, throwing it onto the chair by the door. “Red or white?” You ask Doyoung, who’s slowly taking his own jacket off and setting it down on top of yours. 

You open the cupboard to where you store all your wines, scanning through your options. Doyoung sidles up to you, looking up at the cupboard himself. Then, you make the mistake of turning your head. 

He reaches his hand onto the handle of the cabinet, boxing you in between him and the wall. His gaze is fixed on the bottles, as if he’s really studying through each of them right now. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, the collar slightly crooked. A hum sounds from him, reverberating in the close distance between your bodies. His neck catches a sheen from the city lights filtering through your balcony doors behind you. And it’s only then you realise you’d just about made the biggest mistake of your life.

He angles his head downwards to look at you, an oh-so-innocent expression scrawled all over his face. “What do you think?” He asks with a feigned cluelessness in the lift of his brows.

You catch a subtle hint of his cologne—which was probably more effective than any other bottle that you had up in that cupboard in making you drunk. “What do I think?” you breathe out. Doyoung tilts his head towards the cabinet, but the look in his eyes told you he had no intention of opening up any of the bottles.

Doyoung drops his hand from the handle onto the edge of the countertop as he takes a step closer towards you. One step. And he’s cornered you between himself and the glass doors to the balcony.

“That’s what I asked, wasn’t it?” His voice is low and sultry as his eyes study each and every detail of your face.

For the last time tonight, you try to still the pounding in your chest, but it was clear that your attempts proved futile. “I think…” you start slowly, lightly tracing the tips of your fingers from up his hips to his collarbone. “Fuck the wine.”

Your fingers grab onto the silky fabric of his collar, pulling him close. His lips crash onto yours in an instant. Once you’ve given him the green light, there’s nothing holding him back. 

Doyoung’s hands roams every inch of your body as he kisses you as if you are the very air he needs to breathe. One of his hands grip tightly onto the flesh of your thigh, fingertips digging into the sides of it.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding and keeping him close to you. For a moment, it felt like deja vu with the way he’s kissing you. So deeply and fervently. You throw your head back to catch a quick breath, but Doyoung doesn’t let even the tiniest fraction of a second slip away from him. 

He attaches his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of his kisses down onto your collarbones. His hand covers the small of your back, arching it into him as he sucks on your skin. 

You move your arms down behind your back, hands searching blindly for something. Then, a noise clicks in between your panting and the sound of Doyoung leaving desperate kisses on your skin. Doyoung pulls back slightly with a darkness in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what you just did. A smirk overtakes his lips, quickly taking yours into his again.

“You want everyone to know what we’re doing up here?” He mutters breathily in between quick kisses. God. You can feel his smirk against your lips when he envelopes you, twisting your stomach in ways you never thought possible. “I don’t mind.”

The click was the sound of you unlocking the handles. He takes a step backwards, pulling you along with him as he swings both doors to your balcony open. Immediately, a breeze brushes against your skin that only adds to the butterflies in your stomach. 

Doyoung presses you up against the cold, iron railing of the balcony, prompting a quiet ‘shit’ from you. The contrast of his warm palms on your thighs and the icy metal on your back sends chills down your spine.

His hands inch higher and higher up your legs, slipping under the chiffon of your dress. Meanwhile, his lips are never parted from you for more than a few seconds at a time. You open your arms, hands each gripping the top rail of the banister so tightly that your knuckles are beginning to change colours.

Doyoung moves your leg up, wrapping it around his waist. He trails his lips again over the delicate skin of your neck and chest. When the neckline of your dress gets in the way, he simply had no choice but to move onto the next part of you that’s uncovered by fabric.

Doyoung kneels down onto his knees. As he does so, his grip on your leg remained steady as he lapped it over his shoulder. He presses gentle pecks onto your inner thigh as he continues to lift the hem of your dress up, unveiling more of you bit by bit at a time.

Patience was never your strong suit. Doyoung, however, seemed to be the complete opposite. He takes his time peppering kisses all over the skin of your thigh as anticipation builds up within you. For a moment, you forget that you’re out on the balcony, but you’re reeled back into the present as another subtle gust of wind catches itself in your hair.

You bite down on your lip as Doyoung’s mouth inches closer and closer to the hem of your underwear. The anticipation practically pooling in between your legs. He lifts the dress up slightly above your waist, holding it in place as he grabs onto your hips with his big palms.

He leans in closer, moving excruciatingly slowly. You can feel the warmth of his breath so, so painfully close to you. He traces a finger along the lace trim, then softly presses his lips onto it—half of it touching fabric, the other half touching your bare skin. You wrap the leg you have thrown over his shoulder tighter around him at the sensation, or the lack thereof. 

Doyoung slides two fingers under the hem. He’s a tease. He runs the tips of his fingers downwards along the edge. Doyoung looks up at you watching him expectantly, smirking at the sight of you, breathing so heavily. He bunches the fabric together, pushing it to the side, and immediately, the chill in the night jolts you.

This is remedied by the presence of Doyoung’s lips on your clit. He first plants a gentle kiss, then, doing what he did on your neck and your chest, he swirls his tongue over it. His humming adding to the pressure building steadily within you.

You purse your lips together, desperate to not make a noise, and your leg tries to clamp itself shut.

Doyoung pulls away, licking his lips before tutting his tongue. “You wanted everyone to hear, didn’t you? That’s why you opened these doors?” He presses the tip of his middle finger up onto your folds, drawing ovals as he spreads the wetness all over your cunt. “Don’t get shy now.”

He latches his lips onto your clit again, and without notice, pushes that very finger up into you. The surprise of his movements forces a moan out of you, one that you couldn’t suppress.

Steadily, he slides in another finger, continuing to go deeper and deeper, —threatening more and more noises from you.

You let go of the rail with one of your hands, unable to hold back from the aching neediness you feel between you. Your fingers find themselves entangled in Doyoung’s hair, drawing him closer to you as you begin to move your hips against the friction of his touch.

He mumbles contently against you, “That’s it, princess.” Humming approvingly as you continue to grind yourself down into him. The entire length of his fingers disappear inside you and gradually, he pulls them out before picking up his pace.

Still, you’re straining your whines and whimpers, as if you’re embarrassed for him to hear them. You throw your head back as he begins to slide his fingers in and out of you at an increasing pace, a strangled moan catching in your breath.

He mumbles again, “Don’t hold back for me.”

The next morning, you wake up in your bed. Pillows scattered over the floor, sheets sprawled out on top of you. You turn, facing the other side of the bed only to find it empty. A haze covers your memory of the night before, as if the events have been frosted over, sealing last night to the you in those moments only. 

A sudden pounding plagues your head and you begin to feel the ache all over your body. You shut your eyelids tightly, trying to will away the pain searing through your muscles, but it doesn’t work.

Sliding on your slippers, you shuffle your way out of your bedroom only to find your entire apartment empty. There’s a sinking feeling in your chest for a brief moment before your eye catches something on your kitchen countertop. A note.

You sidle over, and immediately you can recognise the paper that the note’s written on. The neat handwriting on it read, “I’m off to practice. I made some breakfast for you with what you had, hope that’s alright,” with a small smiley face on the bottom corner.

You glance back at where the note was, and sure enough, there’s a plate of pancakes sitting on your countertop.

Taking a deep breath, you put the note back down. The sudden need to decipher and ascertain what last night means overtakes you, and you know just what you need to do.

You head back into your bedroom, throwing sheets and pillows all over the place to look for your phone. After scouring around for 5 solid minutes, you find it tucked into your bed frame.

Somewhat half-awake, you scroll through your contacts to find Karina’s name. The tone dials three times before she picks up.

There was no way that you wouldn’t tell her what happened between you and Doyoung—you could only keep things from her for so long. After Doyoung had left you that day in the canteen, it took you a little over 24 hours to spill everything to Karina. She was neither surprised or impressed.

“How’d it go?” She answers the phone, no greetings or anything.

You take in a deep breath, certain that Karina can probably hear you. “I don’t know,” you blurt out truthfully.

“Good-you-don’t-know, or bad-you-don’t-know?”

“Good? I guess? Karina…” You sigh, for probably the dozenth time since you’ve woken up this morning.

Karina waits a few seconds before she speaks again, “Tell me everything.”

You recap how the night went, leaving some details out when it got to the later part of things. Though you can’t see her, you can visualise her reactions just from her squealing over the phone.

“This method acting thing is really working, huh?” She chuckles to herself.

“No!” You rub your palm over your forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he likes me or if I like him. It’s… weird.”

“Be so serious right now,” Karina says bluntly, “You’re kidding me.”

“What if it’s just physical?”

“Is it just physical for you?

“No,” you’re quick to answer that, “I don’t think so.” Karina stays silent for a moment or two, and you can picture her eyebrows shooting up in that familiar way when she’s trying to prove you wrong.

“Listen,” Karina sighs, “Friends who fuck for fun don’t cook each other breakfast. And go out on dates. I’m sure it’s a thrill to have anyone’s hands on you,” The sarcasm heavily blanketed her last sentence.

“It wasn’t a date,” you weakly try to object while thinking over her words.

“Yeah, just two people hanging out casually ending in a hook-up. Not a date. Just saying, that’s never happened to us before.”

Karina spends some more time trying to open your eyes to the truth that you were so repellent to, to no avail. 

By the end of the phone call, you let yourself fall onto your bed, mind more muddled up than before. Not exactly what you hoped for in this situation.

It’s been exactly 4 days since that fateful night. The date, as Karina kept referring to it as. You haven’t had the opportunity to see Doyoung this week, yet, which, thanks to partner practice, will change today. As soon as you step through the door to the studio, to be specific.

The moment you do, you hear a voice squealing out your name. Jerking your head upwards, you catch the eyes of Colette who’s making a beeline towards you.

“So, how was it?” She asks excitedly, catching you off guard for multiple reasons. 1, she’s never that cheery in the mornings. 2, you have no idea what ‘it’ is.

“How was…?” You trail off, letting her fill in the blanks of her query.

“The date!” Colette exclaims. And in the corner of your eye, you can see a head snap sharply in the direction of the two of you in the front of the room. You look over, and Doyoung’s standing there, in the middle of rolling up his long sleeves. Your gaze locks with his for a second or two, and a sudden embarrassment burns within your eyes that you’re not sure if you need to hide from him. You look back at Colette, her anticipation evident in her features.

“It was delightful,” Doyoung answers from across the room, rolling up the other sleeve. “Is that enough gossip for you today?” He says pointedly.

Colette widens her eyes at you. She leans in to your right side, putting her hand on your elbow as she mutters quietly into your ear, “I asked him earlier before you got here and he wouldn’t say anything.” She pulls away from you, “Did you have a nice time?”

You give her a polite nod with a small smile and she seems satisfied enough with that answer, mirroring your grin. Colette drops her hand from your elbow, letting you settle your stuff down.

Doyoung makes his way up to the centre, where Colette stands facing him. You shoot a quick glance back at them, a slight nervousness bubbling up inside you as they mumble among themselves, too quiet for you to make out anything they’re saying. As you’re pulling your pointe shoes out of your bag, Colette suddenly remarks again, “And to think you wanted to drop the role because you didn’t think you’d have chemistry with him, Y/N.”

You look back again at the two of them. Doyoung is facing away from you, stretching his ankles on the floor. You flash a tight-lipped smile at Colette before standing up and joining them.

Practice ended earlier than usual today—you’re not complaining about it though. Despite you never going home until later into the night, you’re still thankful that at least you have a slightly longer break today before you start your individual sessions again.

You dig through your bag for your purse, wanting to maybe get a snack or two at the canteen. You’re fishing around, and instead of your purse, you find your box of cigarettes. Your arms freeze momentarily. Flipping over the tab, you see that there’s only one left, having not touched them since the last time Doyoung caught you smoking and being his usual irritating self, chided you for it.

A small curve forcibly tugs on the corners of your mouth. You fold the tab back over, burying the box into a pocket inside the bag.

That evening, Doyoung freely waltzes into your practice room whilst you’re in the middle of practicing your turns. You haven’t been able to execute them as well as you had that one time, and you’re determined to perfect it.

Leisurely, as if he owned the place, Doyoung coasts through the door. He leans against the barre in front of the mirror as he takes a sip of his water from his bottle, eyes fixed on you in midst of a set of pirouettes. 

“I thought you got those down last time,” Doyoung speaks right as you land, appearing to be perfectly balanced despite the blur over your vision. He continues, “You can’t work yourself to the bone.”

“Once is a fluke,” you take a deep breath in.

“You’re plenty skilled.” He treads lightly towards you.

You look up at him coming closer, leaning your torso over to even your breathing again. “What? You’re done with practice so you’re here to distract me?”

Doyoung joins you in the middle of the room, taking a swig of his water. “I mean, nothing better to do.”

You plant your hands on the sides of your hips, eyes still locked on his. A beat passes by.

You drop your eyes from him, “Thanks for breakfast the other day, by the way.” You lift your foot from the ground slightly, pretending to be stretching it just so you don’t have to look at him.

“You’re welcome,” his tone is indecipherable.

The silence between the two of you quickly becomes awkward for you, desperate for some way to escape it.

“About the other night…” Doyoung’s voice softly begins as he sets the bottle in his hand on the floor.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you reply trying to sound as nonchalant as you can, leaning your back into the wall of the pillar in the middle of the room. Truth be told, you were the furthest thing from nonchalant, but you couldn’t afford for him to know that.

Doyoung closes the gap between the two of you. He looks down at you, a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it,” he repeats. He turns around so that his back is up against the pillar as well. “But we should do something about it.”

You glance over at him looking into the reflections of the two of you. In that moment, you’re not entirely sure what he’s hinting at. Then, you catch a glimpse of his hand, and suddenly your breath hitches. Without him even needing to say another word, your chest begins to burn, thanks to your sudden recollection that kicks in right at this moment. “Something like…?”

Doyoung pulls his eyes away from the mirror and onto you, watching as you take step and step closer, until you’re positioned directly in front of him. His gaze grows more intense as he continues to watch you, his smirk too. “That’s not quite what I meant, but I’m not complaining.” He finds himself putting his hand onto your hips without even thinking about it, as if it comes naturally to him. To be fair, he has already done so multiple times earlier in the day during your session, and it took all the will in you to focus on the choreography instead of his hands on you.

Your palms travel up against his chest, fingers clasping together at the back of his neck. You tilt your head slightly, “Really? This wasn’t what you had in mind?”

He purses his lips together briefly, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he gulped. “You’re right. Let’s not talk.”

In a split second, your lips were pressed against each others. By now, the feeling of his lips on yours felt familiar enough that you’re sure your features have been moulded to fit his own. The softness of his lips contrasted by the pure desire driving his eagerness is a deadly combination. 

Your fingers inch their way into his hair, and his pulling on your waist. His palms slide downwards, and effortlessly, Doyoung hoists you up into his arms with your legs wrapping tight around him. 

The sudden movement catches you by surprise, making your lips part as you gasped gently. Doyoung settles his hands in the nook of your knees, and with you around him, he walks the two of you to the wall nearby, setting you down on top of the wooden barre.

His fingers push the strands of your hair back as he slides them up along your jawline. Your entire body pressed firmly against the wall, Doyoung buries himself in the crook of your neck. His hand caresses your cheek as he laid down kiss after kiss on your skin.

The whole time, you’re letting stifled hums and whines out, and every time you did, you can feel Doyoung smirking against you. You can’t help but to pull his hips closer to you with every second that goes by, desperate to have something. Your fingertips work their way around to the front of his waistband, hooking a thumb inside. If he didn’t sense your agitation before, he certainly did now. 

Doyoung pulls himself away from your neck. The visual of the low lighting combined with his disheveled hair, courtesy to you, was enough to drive you insane.

“You’re not very patient, are you?” He mutters as he runs a hand up and down your thigh tauntingly.

Can he blame you? Your mind has been driven to a place where you can’t even think straight anymore, only wanting to have your way in that instant. You bite down on your bottom lip, and slowly, with your eyes locked, you pull back the waistband of Doyoung’s sweatpants.

His eyes are filled with a deep carnal desire. Placed under his astute observation, you unhook your thumb from his sweats and instead, begin to peel off your leotard one strap at a time. He follows the movement of your hand as it slides the thin straps off of your shoulders, revealing your chest to him.

He hangs his head back, eyes closed, almost like he’s trying to not look at you. A quiet ‘fuck’ slips out from under his breath. You continue to strip off the rest of your leotard along with the thin, chiffon skirt that you had wrapped tightly around your waist.

Doyoung brings himself to look at you again, now with your entire torso bare. “Fuck, okay.” He sucks in the hollows of his cheeks as he brusquely pulls on the bunched up fabric and slides them off of you entirely.

You shoot him a quick look and he immediately pulls his shirt off with one of his hands. He takes your lips into his fervently as the tip of his thumb grazes against the underside of your breast.

Your hand travel down to the front of his trousers and not as discreetly as you’d thought. Doyoung groans lightly as you palm his bulge, even biting down on your lip when you apply more pressure.

“Okay, okay,” he whispers breathily, grabbing your wrist to direct it away before pushing down his sweats.

You try to keep your eyes on him but even in the bottom of your eyeline, you can see it spring up, hard and red. Doyoung wraps his long fingers around his cock, giving it a quick couple of strokes as he grunts lowly. 

The aching desire within you increases tenfold. And you couldn’t resist looking down, watching his hand travelling all the way up and down his length. A spark of frustration ignites within you, wanting desperately for him to just be inside of you right this second. 

Doyoung watches you watching him. He tries to stifle a chuckle, which catches your attention. “If you’re just going to jerk off, don’t waste my time here.” The movement of his arm slows down slightly, but his smirk grows wider.

“I would never want to waste your time,” he mutters tantalisingly.

Doyoung holds a firm grip around the base of his length. He looks down, having to stop himself drooling from the sight in front of him. He taps the head of his cock on your cunt, catching you by surprise and making you clench your thighs around him harder, which does nothing but elicit a chuckle from him.

Doyoung tightens the grip he has around himself, trying to still his shaking hand. And not being able to hold himself back any longer, he gently pushes himself into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your nails find themselves dug into the skin of his back as he drives further and further in. 

Your lips are parted, but you’re holding your breath. Doyoung’s gaze falls upon your face, watching every slight movement in your features as he pushes the last of himself into you. And though he hasn’t even done anything, yet, just the sheer size of him inside exhausts you. You rest your forehead against his bare shoulder, needing him to hold you steady with his arms. 

He plants a gentle kiss on the back of your head, “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

And when you think your body couldn’t feel any weaker, your thighs tense up at the sound of his words. 

Doyoung lays his fingers on the nape of your neck, gently lifting your head and forcing you to look at him just inches away from your face. “You okay?” he mouths, earning an eager nod from you. You’re met with a small, pleasant smile from him at your response. 

He slowly drags himself against the tightness of your walls, groans catching in his throat. 

Doyoung begins to thrust his hips forwards and back, filling you up with his cock again and again. You let yourself wholly collapse into his chest standing up tall against you. The friction very quickly proves to be not enough for you, causing you to move your hips in unison with his.

A string of curses and moans falls from Doyoung’s lips as he picks up the pace. His hands also tighten around you, to steady himself or to steady you, it’s hard to say. He, once again, buries himself into your neck, panting into your skin and leaving subtle bite marks on it.

You snake a hand around to your clit, rubbing in synchrony to the rhythm of his hips. The stimulation overwhelms you, your mind solely focused on the desire to cum. Your head is propped up on Doyoung’s shoulder, and every time you moan into his ears, his heart skips a beat and he thrusts harder into you.

He mumbles your name over and over again, followed by a series of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s. His breathing, as well as yours, become rugged and uneven.

You can feel the pressure steadily building up within you, the circling of your fingertips becoming more violent by the second.

The bubbling of anticipation inside of you brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your body threatens to tremble even when propped up by the strength of Doyoung’s arms.

“I’m so close,” you manage to whimper next to Doyoung’s ear. And unbeknownst to you, that completely unravels him. Desperation taking over, he plunges himself deeper and harder into you.

The sudden change in tempo almost urges you to sink your teeth down into his shoulder. Your fingers are beginning to cramp but you’re so close to your orgasm, it’s practically within reach.

You lean your forehead onto Doyoung’s shoulder as weariness begins to take over your muscles. You just needed a little bit more to push you over the edge, and the sight of him ramming his cock inside of you made you fall apart.

Your walls clench so tightly around Doyoung that it’s physically hard for him to continue thrusting into you. Even if you tried to quiet yourself down, the overwhelming pleasure takes over any logical mind and you’re screaming out his name. Preoccupied with your own pleasure, you hardly noticed the stiffening of Doyoung’s arms around you, until you felt the warm ropes of his cum threatening to spill out.

For a moment, the whole world seemed to go quiet. Time stopped for a minute or two as your body slowly comes down from such a high. Your chests rise and fall in unison, both desperately panting to collect your breaths again.

You lean your head back against the wall, your half-lidded eyes meeting Doyoung’s. Your lips hang slightly ajar as the thumping of your chest increasingly gets louder and louder in your ears. You rest your forearms on his shoulders, weakly interlocking your fingers together.

You pant. “Do you fuck all your costars like that?” Lazily teasing with half of a smirk.

Doyoung leans in, still inside of you, unthinkingly pecking the side of your lips. He whispers into your ear, “Just the one I like.”

ACT IV THE CODA

The stage of the theatre you’ll be performing at a week from now isn’t much vastly different from all the ones you’ve previously performed at. However, the role that you’re playing this time is leagues away from your prior roles. This self-applied pressure weighs down on you up on this very stage. The bright, hot stage light shining on you doesn’t help with the feeling of unease either.

“One last run-through, everybody!” You hear a distant voice call out—from where, there’s no way to tell. Except from where you are stood on stage, everything else surrounding you is shrouded by utter darkness.

You take your position, prepared to act out the last scene of the ballet one more time. What’s one more to the couple dozen times you’ve done this today?

The symphony begins brightly, instruments layered on top of each other in harmony. You make your way across the stage, running in the ballerina way to run on your tiptoes. A huge cardboard cutout of a cliff faces the audience, and behind it are steps leading to a platform about 10 feet high. Following the buildup of the music, you climb gracefully up the steps, or the cliff, and the violin cue prompts you to jump off the platform and onto a soft landing mat about halfway down.

You land on your feet, nearly unstable enough to topple over but you don’t. Quickly, you scramble to get off of the mat so that when Doyoung jumps after you, he doesn’t completely crush your body upon impact.

Karina stands in the wings of the stage, waiting for you to come over to her. When you do, she places an arm around your shoulders. “Feeling better?”

You give her a shake of the head, “That jump never gets better, no matter how many times I do it.”

She shakes your shoulder gently with her hand, “Well, you have the whole of tonight to recover.”

A thud sounds from behind you and as you turn, you see Doyoung already stepping off of the landing mat, as if jumping from 10 feet up in the high has zero effect on him.

Not long after he gets on the ground, the music stops abruptly. Then, a familiar voice follows, one belonging to your director.

“Alright, that’s enough everyone!” You hear Colette’s disembodied voice booming out of a speaker from somewhere in the auditorium. “Get some rest, you are all coming to tonight’s company dinner. No excuses.”

Excited murmurs and mumblings surround you and Karina from the other dancers. With your head turned, you catch Doyoung’s eyes for a moment. He locks onto you, before breaking away with an uncharacteristically bashful grin on his face. One that speeds up the beating in your chest.

Karina laces her arm through yours, the contact causing you to come back to. “Come on, you’re helping me figure out what to wear for tonight.”

You share a chuckle with Karina as the elevator takes you up to the penthouse where your company dinner is hosted. The lift dings and its doors slide open, revealing the modern furnishments accompanied with the dark oak and golden accents of the wall panelling. You and Karina step out into the penthouse, every inch of it screaming luxury. You wonder how much money your company splurged to rent this place out—though you probably won’t want to find out. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows line one of the walls, the view of the city underneath breathtaking. “This is insane,” Karina mutters lowly beside you. She turns to you, a wide smile on her lips that shows her teeth. 

Taking in a deep breath, you simply nod, still bathing in the air of glamour all around you.

Off to the side is a long table piled with entrées and small desserts, a few people lining up around it. You nudge Karina with your shoulder and point a finger towards the table. Without exchanging a word, the pair of you make your way over to the food bar.

About an hour into the event, most everyone has arrived. Not that you kept paying attention after you spotted a certain someone stepping off the elevator.

Colette stands at the end of a glass dining table, carefully climbing up onto one of the chairs. A champagne glass in her hand, she raises it high and clinks a butter knife against it. The ring sending the room into silence.

As every one of your colleagues turn their heads towards her, you all instinctively gather around the dining table, waiting for the beginning of a speech that is guaranteed to follow.

“Thank you all for making time for tonight,” Colette wears a pleasant smile as she speaks, “I know you’re all very busy with the show next week.” It doesn’t take long before you’re zoning out onto some vase with a meticulously curated bouquet placed within it.

“And especially thank you to our principal dancers, Y/N and Doyoung,” at the mention of your name, your attention reverts back to Colette, hoping you reacted quick enough that she didn’t catch you looking off. “For taking this tale and giving it the passion to make it our own.” She lands her eyes on you, stretching her lips wide into an adoring smile.

You reflect her expression, raising your glass in acknowledgement before she turns to Doyoung on the opposite side of the circle you’ve formed.

Your eyes dart towards the sign signalling where the bathroom is. “Hey,” you whisper to Karina standing next to you, “Can you hold this for a sec?” Handing over your glass to her as she takes it in her hand.

Discreetly, you weave your way through the mob of people towards the bathroom by the elevator. “And of course, thank you to our corps de ballet,” you hear Colette’s voice trail off and get shut out by the heavy wooden door as it closes behind you.

The bathroom is lined with elegant, black tiles with gold carvings alongside the edges. Three stalls stand on the left side of the room, with a singular, large, modern sink on the opposing wall. 

You make your way over to the edge of the sink, your reflection meeting you in the mirror. Suddenly, sounds of cheer fill the room and you catch a movement to your right. The door is slightly ajar with a figure pressed up against it having already made their way in. 

“What are you doing here?” You blurt out.

Doyoung leans back, completely shutting the door and the noise out, “It’s a public bathroom.”

You turn your body entirely to face him. “It’s a women’s bathroom,” you correct.

“I know,” he shrugs as he walks over to you.

Your eyebrows furrow themselves and your chin tucks inwards slightly as you regard him with some judgement visible on your face. “Oh, great, make yourself comfortable, then.” You quickly check the stalls for anyone else in here by pushing on the doors with the tips of your fingers. Thank God no one is in here.

Doyoung looks down at you, seemingly amused at your reaction.

“What?” You utter with a slight edge of agitation.

“What?” He repeats, though much more relaxed.

You fold your arms, giving him a look.

“Can’t I pay my favourite costar a visit?” He tilts his head, tiny strands of his hair falling out of place.

“Not in a bathroom with everyone else we work with outside—No. Did anyone see you?”

Doyoung dismisses your question with a shake of the head, but you’re not sure how confident you should be in his answer. “They’re all excited about the bonuses that Colette just announced the company’s paying out.”

His elaboration gives you a little more reassurance.

Still, cautiousness rings in your bones. “What do you want?” 

Doyoung stays silent for a second, studying your features before responding, “Why do you look pissed at me?”

“I’m not,” you counter.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Doyoung doesn’t give another rebuttal, but instead looks at you knowing that you yourself know you’re full of shit.

He holds your gaze until you finally speak up. “I’m just nervous,” you confess.

“About?” He strokes his hand up and down your arm, then giving you a squeeze right above your elbow.

“I don’t know,” You allow your body to lean into his touch. “I don’t want to mess things up by people finding out that…” Even without finishing your sentence, Doyoung knows what you were going to say.

He places both hands on your arms, pulling you closer to him until he can plant a kiss on your forehead. “Even if they find out, it won’t change anything.”

Hearing this, you know he’s right. There’s nothing for you to be nervous about regarding your secret rendezvous with Doyoung, but the things we are nervous about often has no rational rooting.

You manage out a faint smile before Doyoung envelopes you in his arms.

“I know a way to destress, now that I think about it,” he murmurs in your ear.

You pull your head from resting on his shoulder, looking at him with an expression on his face you know too well.

“And what is that?”

His smile reaches the bottom of his eyes, curving upwards and carving into his irises. Using the side of his finger, Doyoung tilts your head up at him, lining your lips up with his as if he’s done so thousands of times before.

He gently presses a kiss onto your lips, soft and delicate like you’re a fragile paper crane that will crumble under too much pressure.

“Mh, tired today?” You tease, not used to this display of tenderness from him.

“And what if I am?” Doyoung leans back, taking in your visage fully. “It’s hard being the centre of attention all the time—”

“Shut up,” you sternly spit, taking his lips into yours again. “I have a hard time believing you don’t like the attention,” you mumble against him.

“Well, that depends who it’s from,” Doyoung’s hand runs the entirety of your back, tugging lightly when he reaches your waist.

“And coming from me?” Shameless. Absolutely shameless in your attempt to pry some sort of accolade from him.

Doyoung brushes his thumb along the ridge of your lip, “You know the answer to that,” eliciting a smirk from you.

You peel your torso off of him, hands pushing on his chest. “Let me give you some attention then.” Even without looking down, you skilfully undo the button of his dress pants, sliding them down just enough that you can slip a hand inside.

Pressed up against his body again, your fingers slide down along his v-line inside his briefs.

As Doyoung mutters a breathy, “Fuck,” your attention is turned back to the door.

“Shit, what if someone walks in?” You pull your hand back, as if someone actually did.

Doyoung offers with a roguish charm, “I locked the door.”  

You slap a hand onto his chest, not too hard. “You planned this,” you say, more like an accusation than a question.

He shrugs idly, looking pleased with himself.

“Motherfucker,” you mumble under your breath but you’re so close to Doyoung that he hears you loud and clear, only chuckling at you in response.

Your hand slips back down, fingertips feeling the base of his dick, half-hard. You snake your fingers around the contour of his shaft, wrapping your thumb around the other half of it.

Doyoung watches your hand writhe around, curses slipping from his tongue. 

There’s not much quite satisfying as watching Doyoung fall apart at your mercy. Your hand strokes what you can of his cock, slowly as you begin to feel more and more of his blood rush to it.

Doyoung has his head tilted back, exposing his neck wholly. Every dip of his Adam’s apple as he groans made visible to you.

“Fuck,” You hear him whisper next to you.

You pumping your hand up and down has made him fully hard, the tip of his cock pressing right up against his pants.

At the sight of this, you decide to stop.

The sudden absence of your hand snapped Doyoung out of his trance. “What?” He exhales.

You pull his trousers back to where it sat on his hips, “We’re in public,” zipping it up again. “You want to walk around after coming in your pants?” You raise your brows at him.

He scoffs, hands supporting himself on the edge of the sink, “So, your solution to that is making me walk around rock hard instead?”

You push yourself up to peck him on his cheek, “I’m saving you tonight’s laundry.”

The water turns on as you run your hands under it, washing them quickly before shaking them dry.

Doyoung watches you in disbelief, and still half-dazed.

Seeing his disheveled hair, you push some of the strands back—flashing him an innocent smile before unlocking the door and heading back out to the dinner.

There’s less than 24 hours before the premiere of the show you’ve spent the last 2 months working yourself tirelessly for. Logic would dictate that you should probably get whatever rest you can while you can. But you’re not a big fan of logic, and neither is your body judging by the fact that you cannot fall asleep despite it being 2am.

Unsurprisingly, you find yourself in the practice room that you’ve more or less confined yourself to. But tonight, you haven’t been doing anything in here. If alternating between staring in the mirror and staring out the window counted as anything, then you’ve been productive tonight, but otherwise, not so much.

Your mind’s been racing nonstop. This is your first show as a principal dancer. Every other show you’ve done previously, you’ve had a minor role in. It’s only natural that you’re nervous, you keep telling yourself.

More and more of the city lights are turning off one by one. The city sleeps, and it feels like you’re the only one awake to watch.

About an hour ago, you sent a message saying goodnight to Doyoung. For some reason, your mind keeps coming back to him. 

You continue to sit in silence, with the only thing occupying your mind being your thoughts.

15 minutes pass, and you’re still not feeling the effects of tiredness.

“Y/N?” You hear a voice disrupting your train of thought. Snapping your head around, you see the outline of the person who’s been inhabiting your mind continually.

He walks through the empty studio, the lights off once again, over to you sat by the windows. 

“Why are you here?” You mutter faintly as Doyoung sits down on the ground next to you.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

You look at him in the darkness, your arms folded around your knees, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“I know,” He says gently, letting the silence hover over the two of you.

He doesn’t begin to say anything else. 

A minute passes. Then, two. Then, five.

It’s somewhat weird to think that just a couple months ago, there’s no way that you could sit in silence with the man beside you and not pick a fight with whatever minute thing you could think of—like how he breathes too loud, or sits too strange. But now, it feels like the most natural thing that you can do.

“Are you scared?” You finally break the quiet.

“Scared?” Doyoung turns his head towards you, “No.” He contemplates for a moment before continuing, “Anxious, yes.”

“Why?” You meet his gaze, “You have nothing to be anxious about.”

“That’s what I keep telling you,” he eases with a grin.

You turn over his words in your mind.

Before giving you too much time to dwell on what he said, he begins again, “After tomorrow, you’d have thousands of admirers. Thousands.”

That puts a small smile on your face, “You’re saying that as if it doesn’t apply to you as well.”

“I wouldn’t care for them,” he follows without missing a beat, “The only admirer I need would be up on that stage with me.”

Mock aversion visible on your face, “Who? Because I’m definitely not one of your fangirls.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that,” he rolls his eyes away from you.

Once again, the pair of you let the solitude linger around. A shift in mood rolling into the room with it.

“You know what I admire the most about you?” Doyoung’s sudden edge of sincerity rendering you somewhat taken aback.

“No, and don’t tell me,” you struggle to hold back an awkward smile, turning your face to the window.

Doyoung nudges you with his fist against your arm. “I’m trying to be an honest, heartfelt person here.”

“Don’t.”

He looks at you, evidently annoyed by your dismissals. “Fine, you want to know what I hate about you?”

You pause for a second, “Give it to me.”

“I hate that you won’t believe me when I try to tell you how good you are.”

You say nothing. It’s less that you’re choosing to say nothing, but more so that you don’t know how to respond to that.

“I hate that you won’t believe yourself.”

There’s an unseen vulnerability that meets back at you when you turn to look at Doyoung. The feeling that bubbles in the pit of your stomach isn’t one unfamiliar to you. In fact, you find yourself feeling like this more and more as time as pushes you towards this moment in your life. The feeling that Doyoung wholly and entirely understands you. The feeling that you can bare your soul to him, and he wouldn’t shift his ground.

“That’s not true,” you quietly manage.

Doyoung breathes a deep breath, his lips stretching weakly into a curve. He extends his arm out, “Come on,” offering it to you. “Dance with me.”

Singlehandedly, he pulls you up off the floor, leading you to the centre of the room. “Hold on,” he utters as he picks his phone from out of his pocket. Tapping on the screen a few times before a soft melody begins, and slipping it back inside the pocket. With one hand wrapped around your waist, he lines his other hand up with yours. Gently, he folds his fingers, lacing them in between your own.

Rather than opting for all the complex routines you and Doyoung have learned and mastered by now, he begins to guide you through a simple waltz. Just step, step, and step. Over and again, the pair of you orbiting in your own circle along to the soft hum of the music. 

Doyoung holds your hands closer to him, kissing your knuckles. “Whatever happens tomorrow, know that I will be right there by you.” 

His words, for some reason, carries so much weight with them. The phantom touch of his lips on your fingers a reminder of all the ways he’s been with you through this tempestuous happening. 

The moonlight illuminates his back, a bright halo outlining him.

For what might be the first time, you wholeheartedly believe him. 

You can’t offer Doyoung more than a beam, allowing yourself to accept what you know to be true. 

So, you simply melt into his touch, letting him guide you through a waltz in the dark.

⋆˚☆˖° ⋆｡ﾟ🦢 ｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

note . . . thank you for taking the time to read this piece of work by me. truthfully, it took so much to write this, and even though it is definitely not the best seeing as i started this project more than half a year ago, finishing this still gave me some sense of accomplishment. that said, whatever your thoughts are, please let me know! i love feedback and thrive on interactions and comments. thank you again!

[tengensangel]

Fade into you.

Boxer!sevika x topside!reader

a/n - I really hope you all enjoy this fic! English is also not my first language so I’m very sorry for any mistakes! Anyway I love sevika so much I want her so bad.

Wc: 1258

It was just another day for you, you had just finished up classes and were on your way home from college. Being a nursing student was definitely not easy. You got home and greeted your mother and fed your cats, ladybug, and Leo. You head up to your room and set your stuff up so you can start studying and doing assignments when you get a message from your friend Sam.

Sam <3: be ready at 8pm tonight, we're going out with the others. Wear something cute ;).

You wanted to decline the offer, but you knew how stubborn Sam was, so you just sighed and agreed. You study for the next couple of hours before you decide to get ready to go. You really had no clue as to where you guys were going, you just hoped it wasn't anywhere dangerous. Walking to your vanity, you start applying your makeup, deciding to go for a natural look. After all that, you decide to put on some flare jeans and a black tank top, deciding to just leave your hair as it is. After getting ready, you get a text from Sam letting you know that she and the others are here. You weren't really close with Sam's other friends, but it was fine. You sneak out of your bedroom and walk over to the meet-up spot. You spot Sam and run over to her.

“Hey Sam! Where are we going exactly?” You were curious. Sam was never the kind of person to tell you where you were going until the last second. Her answer surprised you.

“We miss goody two shoes are going to zaun aka the under city to watch an underground fight!” Sam said very enthusiastically. You gave Sam a look that said ‘what the fuck?’ but she just ignored it before dragging you and the others down with her. Was this really a good idea? Probably not, but you don't want to look like a loser in front of everyone or Sam, so you didn't say anything. After a little bit, you guys arrive in the undercity. Everything was different here. The people, the buildings, the atmosphere, everything. Staying close to Sam while she's taking you to your destination.

“Sam, is this safe at all?” “Oh absolutely not. We're here though!”

Looking at your surroundings, you notice how there is a boxing ring dead in the center. Did she just take you to see an illegal boxing ring? You notice that there's a bar and dance floor off to the left. God, could this night get crazier? Taking hold of your arm, she takes you guys closer to the boxing ring. People started piling in and crowding around you all, you saw people placing bets and getting drinks. Maybe you should have declined Sam's offer.

You can't hold that though for long before the announcer starts hyping the crowd up. You see one big man enter the ring, but you don't even focus on him because you see a woman enter the ring and shake off her dark magenta-coloured robe. She must've been 6’3 at least, her short brown hair tied up in a bun. Her muscular body looked like it had been sculpted by the gods themselves, her scars made her look intimidating, but in a perfect way. The announcer introduces the man to the crowd, but you don't care, being too focused on the big muscular woman standing in the ring, finally he calls her name.

“AND TO MY LEFT IS THE ONE AND ONLY SEVIKA FROM THE UNDERCITY!!!”. After that, the crowd went absolutely insane. She must be very popular here then. He then tells them it's time to fight. Before the man can get any hits on Sevika, he gets knocked out. 45 seconds, 45 fucking seconds.

The crowd goes absolutely crazy, crazier than before. The announcer announces her as the winner and after that some people leave, some stay and go to the bar. You let Sam know that you are going to the bathroom and that you'll be back soon. You were so unfamiliar with this place, so you kinda assumed where the bathroom was. You find a red door and a similar one beside it, so you assume these are the bathrooms. You push the door open, now seeing Sevika was not on your list for tonight. There she was in her shorts and tank top, her hair now down a cigarette in her mouth. She's looking you up and down, yep, and that is how you get beat up and die!

“I'm so sorry I thought this was the bathroom! I'll leave right away!” she had to understand, right? It was just a mistake, yeah, an honest mistake.

“Relax dove, you look like you're about to pass out or something.” What? Did you just freak out for no reason at all? She's just chilling with this? Feeling relieved, you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. Sevika just continued to look at you, she couldn't lie seeing you in that crowd made her feel a sort of protectiveness for you. It was weird because everyone knew that Sevika never had relationships, she was a person who fucks and leaves. Sevika knew you and your buddies were not from around here, she'd never seen you before. Your friends have come here before on multiple occasions. It almost made her mad to see you here. You shouldn't be here.

“Name’s Sevika. You probably know that though, Dove. What's your name?” Oh, she wanted to know who you were.

“My name is Y/n. Yeah, I saw you knock that guy out in 45 seconds! That's actually insane.” she lets out a little chuckle and getting up, she walks over to her. She noticed the confused look in her eyes. She really shouldn't feel this way towards you. Why does she feel like she wants to know absolutely everything about you? How your days are spent or how you like your coffee. God. She needs to snap out of it. Love means weakness, Something Sevika can't have. She's only ever known violence in her life and she's never really questioned it. You felt her lean down a bit. She tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I should go now, Sevika, my friends are probably waiting for me.” you fidget with your fingers, feeling a little nervous under her eyes. She backs up after a bit, giving you space. You really wanted to see her again, not wanting this to be the last time you two met.

“Come see me next week, Dove, I'm up again.” you nod and leave her room. God, what did you just get yourself into? Is this finally your way of rebelling against everyone in your life? Why did you feel this way towards Sevika? She's from the undercity, and she's a fighter, and you were the complete opposite. It'll pass. I mean it has, so you can't fall for someone who's from the undercity, can you?

You spot Sam and the others and practically beg for her to take you home. You felt tired and a bit overstimulated. you got to your house, and climbed the tree that's by your window and sneaked into your room. If your parents ever found out you were out this late they'd probably ground you for life. You hop into your bedroom and change your clothes before hopping into bed. The last thing on your mind before you drift off is sevika.

[subwaysurf45]

The Cafe

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6k

Warnings: nothing really (except for the fact that I haven't posted in like a year lmao), alcohol, self-doubt, etc...

A/N: don't get used to this...just an idea I managed to finish.

The first few times you were seen in the campus cafe it was when you were by yourself. You must have been completely unaware of the constant nail biting or when your neck would let your head fall forward in discouragement, all the signs that you were stressed flew under your radar. 

As Bucky Barnes stood behind the cash he looked over his customers should to see your head fall forward once again, the third time since his shift started fifteen minutes ago…not that he was counting. He knew it was a problem when the customer he was serving looked over their shoulder, not understanding what Bucky was looking at. 

He’d watch you go from sitting completely still to your finger flying across the keyboard with a new idea, as if you were rushing to write it down before the idea slipped through your fingers. When you’d hit your groove, not looking away to grab your coffee mug provided by the cafe, Bucky took it as a sign to tone down the stairs to see if you were okay. 

With your headphones on and music blasting the hairs on the back of your neck didn’t stand up like they normally do when someone was looking at you, truthfully, you had caught the barista looking a few times but you had no idea that wasn’t even the half of it. 

Bucky was truly hypnotized by you, and he had no reason to be. Maybe it was the insane work ethic that blew him away, always by yourself with headphones on your laptop open. Maybe it was the way in which you talked to service workers, always adding a please and thank you no matter the service you got. It didn’t help that you were beautiful in his eyes, he could stare at you for hours, taking in your attributes as if he was being tested on it. 

His stomach always twisted when he saw you pack up after a few hours. Part of him wanted to go up and talk to you, maybe offer another cup of coffee to keep you there for longer. But he knew that it was selfish, and creepy. He’d always dreamed of following you out of the cafe and asking you out, or even for your name…probably the name would be the first question. He felt like he knew you before ever really conversing with you, but the moment you left and vanished from view out of the windows he was reminded time and time again he did nothing, just staring and holding back. 

********

“Welcome to another lecture everyone,” Dr. Fury spoke from the front of the room, you were already set up with your notes, hands hovering over the keyboard due to the speed at which he talked. He was an amazing professor, you’d tell people, but he couldn't help how fast he talked when he was in the middle of lecturing. 

“I thought you were going to skip,” you whispered to Wanda as she sat down next to you, rushing to pull out her notes. It was only one minute past the class start time and yet Dr. Fury was beginning his lecture, “why can’t he talk about his weekend for like two seconds,” Wanda whispered as she opened up her laptop to a black screen that stayed that way.

All you could do was laugh before taking out your charger, “there you go.” 

Wanda just looked at you with an apologetic smile, “you are a lifesaver, this and the notes you let me borrow,” she thought for a moment, “let's get coffee, let me buy you a coffee as a moment to thank you for our friendship.” 

You giggled quietly to yourself as your fingers began to type, “I’ll never say no to a coffee, but you don’t need to always pay me back, you know I have your back.” 

“I know,” Wanda quickly responded to not annoy the students surrounding you, “but just let me, okay?”

All you could do was nod with a smile on your face, a small warmth bloomed in your chest as you took a moment to reflect. You had a good friend with you, one that you’d want to keep for a while; especially if she likes to buy you coffee. 

When the class finished you stayed back to ask Dr.Fury a question about a topic that didn’t make sense in the lecture, Wanda was going to meet you at the cafe after her meeting with her biology professor. Dr. Cho held weekly tutoring sessions that Wanda found extremely helpful. 

Before you could fully make it out of the lecture hall you felt a tap on your shoulder, when you turned around a semi-familiar face greeted you. Something was off about the individual but you knew you knew them. Even though you didn’t really remember the boy, you smile wide. 

“Hey,” he said quickly, “I love your sweater, did you see them live?” 

Your eyes lit up, “yes I did and thank you,” without thinking you grew coy, “it was like a religious experience, I love live music,” you managed to pull a giggle from him. “I know this sounds so rude but I know you but I don’t at the same time…” you trailed off with a squint. 

“I work at the cafe?” it was a question, “I also have a class in here right now so maybe-”

“James, I didn't even recognize you without the hairnet and apron oh my god how stupid of me!” Your face grows hot, your favourite barista compliments your sweater and you forget who he is. “I am so sorry.” 

“No, don’t be sorry,” he quickly waved his hand, “I know, the uniform becomes a part of you at some point,” his eyes lit up when you giggled. 

“I’m heading there now to get coffee with a friend, when do you work next?” you could see in his face for a moment that he was surprised at the question, as if he didn’t fully believe youd care enough and actually go in to see him. 

“I work tomorrow, I have a lab due tonight so that’s going to take the top spot on the to-do list,” he bashfully smiled. 

“Okay,” you nodded, “then I’ll see you tomorrow, James,” your face grew warm again as you back away, “have a good class.” 

“You too,” James said before biting his lip, you just had your class, idiot.

But you just giggled and left. Didn’t point and laugh that he couldn’t flirt, didn’t care to point out his heavy blush the entire time he spoke to you, didn’t make fun of him when he let his true thoughts show on his face. 

Bucky sat down at a seat, he placed his hands on his face to feel a radioactive heat still burning hot. He knew he’d be completely out of it the entire class, how could he focus on molecular genetics when all he could think of was the girl he was hypnotized by talking to him; nevermind asking about when his next shift was. 

“Why are you sunburnt?” Sam asked the moment he sat down, Steve joining Bucky on the other side. 

“Shut up,” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

Sam whipped his head to look over, “oh that’s not a sunburn, that’s a blush!” Sam poked his shoulder to be a nuisance, “I forget how red you guys get it’s hilarious,” Sam laughed to himself, “who got you that flustered?” 

“Ended up talking to the girl from the cafe,” Bucky muttered, the seats around him were filling up and the last thing he wanted was to have a group therapy session with everyone in his class about the girl who finally talked to him. “She’s as sweet as I thought.” 

“Oh you’re a goner,” Steve shook his head, “invite her to the house party, maybe she has a friend she can bring to make it less obvious, you guys can talk there.” 

“It’s too soon,” Bucky shook his head, “I’m not doing that.”

“I think you should, even if she says no at least she actually knows you want to see her again, maybe get to know her.” Sam dropped the joking tone and got as serious as Steve, the two of them could see how much he liked that girl. “What did she say to you?”

“I just complimented her sweater, I know the band and I know they were just on tour, she-...” his words got caught in his throat when he realized inviting her to the party wasn’t a stretch, “she asked when I was working next…”

Sam facepalm, “because she wants to see you again…” The mocking tone came back, James honestly preferred the devil-angel situation with Steve and Sam instead of them both getting serious on Bucky. “But no of course, it’s too soon.” 

The class started and Bucky barely took any notes, he was thinking of you at the cafe with your friend. His mind wandered to all the terrible outcomes of you going to the party, any outcome other than him getting with you - or even speaking to you. Both Sam and Steve knew Bucky was not looking for another notch in his belt, being raised by a single mom gave him a unique view of women; including the mommy issues. 

********

Bucy Barnes had never made so many coffee’s wrong in one shift. Everytime the bell rang on the door  to signal a new customer, he’d look up to see who it was and somehow mess up a pour or leave the milk to steam a little too long. He’d never admit to anyone how high he got his hopes up, he’d think how pathetic he was and miss his pour, landing hot coffee onto the back of his hand. 

His shifts were long and he felt like you knew that as well, there would be times during midterm season where you’d out-last him at a table while he worked his shift. Part of him always wanted to stay back, not knowing how long you stayed; he wouldn’t be surprised if you had walked yourself home in the dark more than once. 

Bucky was in the middle of an order when the ball rang again, his eyes shifted slightly when asking for the customer's name - his stomach dropped; you actually showed up. Not that he would ever think you wouldn’t show up but the anticipation was over. 

Seeing that he was busy you waved with a big smile, raising both eyebrows as you found a table. Once he finished his order and began working on the coffee he took his time watching you, seeing how you set everything up before getting your coffee. 

“Totally didn’t expect to see you here,” you spoke softly as you walked up to the counter, “how’s the shift been?” 

Bucky smiled, “pretty good,” while he was thinking of every time he messed up thinking of you, “pretty slow as well which is always nice.” 

You giggled, “I’m glad to hear, can I just get my usual, please?” you pulled out your wallet. 

“Of course,” Bucky punched it in, a simple order that was always the same. “Anything else?” 

“No, that’s okay, thank you!” you smiled, ready to pay.

This is your moment, do something. 

“Come on, let me get you something to eat, on the house?” he pointed to the small treats they also sold beside him, definitely not as popular as their drinks but he knew you’d be here for a while, who wouldn’t want a little treat? 

He could see you grow coy again, tucking your chin into your neck like you did yesterday when he complimented your sweater. It was as if you didn’t experience this often, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. It occurred to him at that moment that you might be as nervous as him, maybe guys being interested wasn’t as often as he thought, especially someone as beautiful as you. 

“What have I done to deserve that?” your voice has grown so quiet. 

“For starters, you’ve always been extremely polite whenever you order, you’d be surprised how many people think we’re robots,” hearing the giggle he pulled from you made his heart soar, “and because you deserve it, you’ve been studying here forever and you deserve a little recognition, a little something - I don't know…” Maybe he gave too much away, maybe you were thinking to yourself how he knew how often you studied, maybe you weren’t as interested in him than he thought. 

“Chocolate chip muffin, please,” you beamed and all the worries washed away, “that is so kind, James, you just made my day.” 

Before he could say anything, even correct you to use his nickname, the door blasted open. In that moment all the confidence he accumulated dissolved right between his fingers. All he could think was oh no as he saw Steve and Sam burst through the door. To think he was actually about to ask you to come to the house party, to think he actually made progress with you, all torn up in one moment.

“Bucky!” Sam shouted. 

Bucky stood still as you looked over your shoulder to see the two men attempt to squeeze through the single door at the exact same time. He could see your brows pulled tightly together, the way you were so thrown off by the loud call in a semi-full and semi-silent cafe. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered before the two men managed to approach the cash. 

All you did was smile at James, realizing whatever condolence you offered would be heard by the two guys approaching. You quickly paid and stepped to the side, thinking they just wanted to order next. 

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said, “how’s the shift?” 

“So great,” Bucky deadpanned as he made your coffee, looking over to see you trying to cover a smirk. 

When he placed your coffee down you reached out quickly, managing to brush your hand against his. “The muffin?” you whispered, not wanting to further embarrass him in front of what you assumed were his friends. “Thank you again, that was really sweet,” you said as you picked up the plate. 

“She got a free muffin?” Sam whined, “you never let me get anything for free.” 

You stood there giggling, “maybe don’t almost break down the door when you walk in and see people studying,” you shrugged, “just a thought.” 

Not wanting to entertain any longer, you walked away, back to your little spot in the corner. Once your headphones were on you began to work, toggling back between tabs as you worked on your paper. The one thing you learned about James when you worked here was that he was a very focused guy, rarely ever did you see him standing around or slacking off. There was always something going on behind the counter, he was always busy. 

As you worked you could see the two men who barged in slowly shrink into themselves, you could tell James wasn’t very happy, which is a first. Part of you had to agree, it was a very cute moment. Being told you’re a memorable customer that has an impact took you out of your normal routine. Most days were the same, it would have you thinking late at night what was it all for? 

Moments like that, when you’re gifted with a free muffin by someone who makes you smile almost everyday. It was now retrospectively obvious there was something else under this offering, which was why James was so upset. To say that James was harsh on the eyes would be a blatant lie. He was a very handsome guy but to you he was someone working a job that involved a customer service persona. 

After yesterday, seeing him in his element, you realized that persona wasn’t just so he could pay his rent; he actually enjoyed the moments with you as much as you enjoyed them with him. But it was spoiled in a way, a way you thought was left in high school. 

You didn’t even notice when the two boys left, the bell ringing for another customer that rang right when a song faded out brought your attention up, seeing James smile to the customer walking in. You let yourself pause to think for a while, working through what your next paragraph would cover, but an all too familiar habit began to roll out as you watched James work behind the counter. 

Who the hell is Bucky? 

He was James, that’s what his name tag said. In what world did James logically connect to Bucky, it must have been some inside joke or story you obviously didn’t know. It never occurred to you that he was someone else to others, you had realized how repetitive you have been, how robotic. 

“Hey,” James slid into the chair in front of you, scaring you half to death, “sorry.” 

You slowly slid your hand off your chest, reaching over to music at the same time. “Don’t worry,” you smiled. 

“Sorry about my friends earlier,” he couldn’t look more sincere, “they always do this, like, always.” you just laughed, understanding how annoying this was to him. “So I just wanted to say sorry, I don’t know if they made you uncomfortable or anything.” 

“Not really,” you shook your head, “I’d like to remember the moment right before that instead.” 

This seemed to take him by surprise, “me too,” he spit out, making sure to keep you on the same page, as if this would never happen in his wildest dreams. “Also,” he paused for a moment, “those same,” he sighed, “those same guys are having a house party this weekend and before they crashed in I was going to tell you about it, I don't know if parties are your thing but I thought if you were looking for one…we could maybe, y’know,” his eyes got lost, he was losing confidence, “see each other when I’m not working, as actual people, you know?” His voice was pitched up, his eyes squinting. 

You were nowhere close to a party monster in your mind, most weekends you stayed in, sometimes with Wanda, and just chill. The week ate away at you and left you too tired to even think about getting ready, pregaming, going out, so on and so forth. But you were tired of feeling robotic, this was the time to live it up. 

“I’d love to go out this weekend, I can't remember the last time I was at a house party, honestly.” you looked out the window to think but couldn’t remember the date, just drunk memories that didn’t make sense now. “Do you mind if I invite my friend, I promise she won’t keep me to herself but I think she’d love a party.” 

James quickly agrees, “yeah, of course, of course, no worries, Invite whoever because I know for a fact those two-” he couldn’t find another word, “-idiots want some rager, I don't know.” All he could do was laugh, “so bring whoever.” 

“Since I’m going I need to make sure they let me in, will they kick me out if I ask for James? Who’s Bucky?” you laughed and sipped your coffee, slowly pushing your laptop screen down a bit to show your attention. 

In a moment you saw his face grow red, he tried to cover it with his hands but to no avail. “That would be my nickname, so happy you noticed,” he said sarcastically, “my middle name is Buchanan, so of course my childhood best friend- the blonde one -shortened it and somehow it has stuck all these years.” 

“You don't seem to be happy with it?” your hands clasped under your chin to hold your head up, your eyes squinted as you studied him. 

He tilted his head back and forth, “I mean they’re my buddies so I can see why they would call me by my nickname but y’know, I don’t mind James…” his face grew red again, “especially when it comes to you.” 

It was your turn to grow warm, covering your face as well. “You are such a flirt, first the muffin, now this,” you giggled. 

“First the compliment, really, I had never seen you outside of the cafe before, I wanted to make an impression,” he said after a while, “now I feel like I’m spilling all my secrets,” his eyes met yours quickly, “I just-...” he sighed, “I feel like I can just talk to you, I don't know.”

“I’m glad,” you smiled, “because you can, and I’m very excited to see you this weekend.” 

All he could do was smile to himself, “me too,” he drummed on the table a few times before looking at his watch, “sorry, even though I could keep talking I only had a fifteen minute break,” his thumb jerked over his shoulder, “I gotta get back.” 

“That’s all good, I’d never get my work done,” you grabbed your headphones again, “wait, I need to know how to get there, the party,” you clarified. 

“Right, okay,” James looked over his shoulder, the pen he used to write down expiry dates on the dairy products was clipped to his apron that he still had on. With the clean napkin you grabbed for your muffin he quickly scribbled down something, “I’ll see you Saturday night, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, watching with a smile as you see him get right back into working. You slid the napkin towards you and saw his number, followed by the address of the party. Knowing you, you’d lose the napkin before Saturday and would need to text him.

But he didn’t know that, he just gave you his number.

********

YOU: Wanda do I have news for you

WANDA: TELL ME TELL ME

YOU: you know that really cute barista at the cafe I always go to…

WANDA: SHUT UP

YOU: he gave me a free muffin and an invite to his friends house party this weekend

YOU: and of course I asked if you could come, so do you want to party this weekend? 

WANDA: Is that even a question???

WANDA: also I need to lend you clothes for this, you need to end the night with that man oh my lord

YOU: Alright take it easy, we’ll see how it goes!

WANDA: don't be stupid you two would be so cute together!!

********

Throughout the week you and James had been texting all the time, you even waited after Fury’s class to say hi to him again. It ended up that you took the entire ten-minute grace period between classes to catch up since texting last. Conversations both in person and over the phone were easy, it didn’t feel as complicated as your other situationships and relationships. 

There used to be calls with Wanda, freaking out over what was too risky or what was too boring. Forget the spitballing of the same sentences with minor changes, forget the excruciating nerves that came in the window after pressing send and before hearing back. 

He was an interesting person to get to know, but you didn’t regret it. By Saturday you understood how Bucky could be so fitting, under the customer service persona, in his element, he’s a hilarious guy. It wasn’t always flirty, it wasn’t always serious, it was just a well-balanced conversation that seemed to continue for days. 

As you stood in the bathroom, drink in one hand and mascara in the other, you bounced with Wanda as you both got ready. Friday night you and Wanda booked a study room and grinded your to-do’s that had yet to be completed, and a grind it was. Three red bull’s ,each, later you and Wanda were ready to take the entire day to pamper yourselves. 

With no weights on your shoulders you took an everything shower this morning, feeling clean and well moisturized. You ate what you wanted throughout the day, treating yourself to the first thing that popped into mind. Wanda did the same, sleeping in until noon before beginning her wake-and-bake. 

All of that pampering led to now, you and Wanda mouthing to Beyonce as you placed the finishing touches on your makeup. 

“Another shot!” Wanda poured two shots, both of you taking them back like it was nothing. 

“How long until the uber gets here?” you asked between coughs, trying to fight the vodka burn. You downed the vodka cranberry you made before spraying Wanda’s setting spray. 

“Five minutes, we should head down,” Wanda did one final once-over before turning to you and making jazz hands around your face, “super-model is getting some dick tonight!” Wanda shouted before you could cover her mouth. 

“Shut up!” you laughed and pulled Wanda into a hug, “are you sure you’re gonna be good if I go off with James?” you asked as you both grabbed your final things to shove in your small purses. 

“Oh, of course,” Wanda looked over her shoulder, “but I want to meet those idiots and show them how to introduce a friend,” you couldn’t see her face but you knew she rolled her eyes; she found the story more annoying than you. 

“Relax with that, let’s have an open mind,” you said as the elevator began to descend. Your phone in your hands, you were texting James to let him know the two of you were on your way. 

When the two of you arrived the party was in full effect, before fully entering you sent another text to James, he hadn’t responded to the first one. The ride was short, not expecting the house to be this close. 

JAMES: come down the main hall and into the kitchen, you’ll see me

You grabbed Wanda’s hand and began to march through people standing and talking, couples making out against the wall. There was a basement door before the kitchen, you could hear different music coming from the speakers down there. People were cheering and yelling, most likely playing a drinking game. Pushing through the final group of people you were in the kitchen, and there he was. 

Two closed cans extended to you and Wanda, a tipsy smile gracing his face. “I’m so glad you guys could make it!” he spoke loudly to be heard over the dub-step music. “My buddies are there, I wanted to make sure you got in alright,” he confessed, bringing a blush to his cheeks. Three of you walked over to the two men you recognized. “Sam, Steve…” Bucky coughed, “this is y/n and her friend Wanda. Wanda, this is Sam and Steve,” James pointed to them respectively. 

“Hi boys,” Wanda greeted with a half-smile.

Tipsy and slightly nervous you jutted in, “Wanda is a chem major.”

“We’re all in stem,” Steve lit up, “I’m in engineering, Sam’s in Biology with Bucky.” 

Wanda almost spit out her drink, “who the hell is Bucky?” 

Everyone laughed, in that moment you looked to James to see a wide smile, Wanda was in between you two so a look was all that seemed appropriate. The conversation flowed, primarily about stem activities. For a while you stood silently and listened to their similar stories and experiences. James didn’t talk that much, he seemed to be waiting for something. 

The party had only grown but you all stayed in the same spot, you didn’t realize until a small push how crowded the kitchen became. Wanda jolted forward and James stepped in, moving Wanda to where he was standing so he could push back against the large group of guys obnoxiously jumping and screaming to a song. 

Your circle slowly began to shrink, Sam and Steve stayed pressed against the counter, right by the corner. Wanda snuck in beside Steve, you noticed her flirty look at him. Instinctively you moved to stand more in front of James rather than beside, his hand quickly wrapped around you. 

“This is okay, right?” he asked and brushed his thumb a few times on your waist to signal what he was talking about, you looked up quickly and nodded. The moment he saw your face his brows pulled tight, “are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you spoke over it all, he leaned down to listen, his hair almost in your face. As he bent down a gust of his cologne hit you, it had an undertone of beer. “Just kinda crowded.” 

“Tell me if you want to go to the basement- how about that? They're playing beer pong down there, maybe we can watch?” 

You nodded quickly, looking at Wanda who had moved away from Steve and was talking to another guy. “Wanda,” she looked over her shoulder, “I’m going to the basement, okay?” 

Wanda’s eyes grew big as she gave a thumbs up, “I love you, I’m all good, have fun!” 

You giggled and took Jame’s hand, he took the long way around the annoying crowd and to the door you noticed when you walked in. Finally starting to move after a while, you realized how drunk you really were. The stairs were steep, as one hand grabbed the hand rail the other was placed on his shoulder. 

Once you got to the bottom he gently took your arm to get your attention, “still good?” he giggled. 

“I’m very drunk, but good drunk!” your laugh pushed you into his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you. After a quick squeeze he pulled away and brought you away from the stairs, the both of you watched the game as you nodded your head to the beat. 

“Have you been enjoying the party?” After a while James leaned down to your ear from behind you. The smell of beer washed over your face as his lips tickled the side of your ear. Before you could respond, a full-body tingle, accompanied by goosebumps, rippled down your body. James could obviously tell you had a physical reaction to him, “I saw that,” he whispered again, peering over to see your eyes gently close. 

With his arms wrapped around your waist you slowly turned to face him, “that was like ASMR in real life,” you blurted out, your guilty pleasure slipping through your teeth. James laughed and nodded, his reaction calms your nerves because it seemed like he was drunk enough to admit it to. 

“That shit is great!” 

A burst of laughter ripped through you, your hand covering your mouth. “Imagine you recommending a coffee to someone like that,” you tried to imitate but another wheeze of laughter hit you, the alcohol making everything so much funnier. 

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled to himself, a genuine smile gracing his face. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes switching between yours, though his smile faded a small grin stayed implanted on his face. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” you bit your lip and nodded, your eyes flicking down to his lips as he licked them. One hand that sat on your hip moved to cup your jaw, his eyes watching your lips the entire time. As you leaned forward the alcohol pushed you a little too hard, there was no way you were going to ruin this moment by stumbling so you placed your hand on his chest, gently closing your eyes as you felt his lips connect with yours. 

It seemed neither of you wanted it to end, holding onto the moment before slowly pulling away. It must have been the alcohol between the two of you because neither of you were satisfied, instantly you both kissed again, James prodding his tongue against your lips. 

Getting the hint, you slightly opened your mouth and slid your hand up his chest. Grabbing a fistful of hair you kept him right where he wanted. Kissing him was like a drug, every second thought or insecurity slowly faded away as your shoulder rolled back for the first time this evening. Due to the lack of air you  both pulled away at the same time, giggling to yourself as you looked around; realizing how public that make-out session was. 

“Are you okay?”James asked, you quickly nodded and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, making him blush. “You are such a good kisser,” he added. 

“You too,” you tucked your chin into your neck, not knowing what to do with the attention. 

After watching the end of the beer-pong game you both headed back upstairs to find Wanda, James was more than happy to come with you to check on her. She was with the same guy you saw her with when you left, when she saw you her eyes lit up. Before you could say anything she turned back to the guy, speaking quickly with an apologetic face. Quickly, she rounded the counter and grabbed both of your arms, “I see a little lip gloss smudge,” she reached up and wiped your top lip. 

“Stop,” you gasped and quickly wiped around your lips to make sure it was all gone. “Now, who is that guy over there?”

“His name is Vision- he’s European, we’ve been talking so much about Europe it’s so nice to talk to an international student,” she leaned closer, “it also helps that he’s hot.” 

You laughed and looked over Wanda’s shoulder to wave to the guy, looking confused as to why the girl he’d been talking to all night ran off. Before Wanda could leave James came back, empty hands leaving his pockets to wrap an arm around you. 

Wanda took one look at James before a wicked smile grew, “love the lip gloss, what shade is that?” In an instant James covered his mouth, the crinkles around his eyes told you he found it as funny as Wanda did. James didn’t have anything to say back, obviously being caught. Wanda didn’t harp on it though, she just sipped her drink with a chuckle. 

The night flew right past you, you had slowed down on your alcohol consumption but still held a decent buzz. After the moment in the basement it seemed James was stuck to you, and you weren’t complaining. If you were dancing, talking, or even moving from one room to another James was touching you in some way. 

His hand rested on your hip for the majority of the evening. It was grounding to feel his side pressed to your shoulder, you felt protected in ways you never felt before. You hadn’t asked him to gently pull a strand off of your lip gloss and tuck it behind your ear, you didn’t tell him you wanted a hug everytime you came back from the washroom, he did it because he wanted to. 

********

The walk to the cafe had never felt more stressful than it did right now. Flashes of the previous night caused a lull in your stomach, a slowly growing ball of stress. 

Last night was too perfect, this morning you laid in bed and analyzed everything you could remember about the party. You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring at the ceiling, nit-picking every interaction you had with James. Even the thought of the kiss you shared in the basement caused a wave of nausea to hit you. You had sent him a text when you got home, he sent a quick reply. 

This is definitely a fluke, you thought to yourself as the cafe entered your view, he just liked me because we were both drunk. Part of you didn’t know why you were so keen to go the next morning, maybe you should have stretched out the rejection; living in your fantasy for as long as possible. 

With a deep breath you pulled the door open, cringing at the bell ringing; you had hoped for a stealthy entrance, maybe you could both go about pretending not to know each other. 

There he was, barely anyone else was in the cafe at the time, he looked right at you. “Hey,” you said softly, eyes casted low. 

“...hi,” James dipped his head to try to make eye contact, “y/n, what’s wrong?” His eyes widened in a fraction of a second, shooting him forward, “did I make you uncomfortable last night?” he whispered, placing his hand on the counter. 

In shock your lips slightly parted, “I-um, yeah I’m okay-um,” you just shook your head, speechless. “I just thought this was going to be different.”

“How?” 

With your eyes wide, you tried to find the words you wanted to say without sounding like an idiot, you hadn’t even entertained the idea of him genuinely liking you after one night out, especially when there was a steamy make-out session that wasn’t spoken about for the rest of the night. 

“I-I genuinely thought you would regret yesterday, I don’t know why I- I just thought it was because we were drunk,” you fiddled with your hands as you spoke, not wanting to deal with this any longer. 

“I need you to understand,” James spoke as he rounded the corner of the counter, taking your hand and pulling you to the back. “You come here all the time, you are consistent, you are a creature of habit.” James placed a hand on your shoulder, “almost everyday I think about when you’re coming, what you’re doing while you’re here, if your work is going smoothly, and if you get home safe. I always look at the door thinking it’s you walking in, okay?” He chuckled at the confession, “this is not because I was drunk, this was not because you were drunk. It’s simply because I like spending time with you, in fact, I love it now because I can actually get to know you; not just from your window seat.” 

It came as a whisper, “okay,” slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling him instantly pull you close. “I was really preparing for the worst, but I do really like you too, James,” you giggled after feeling him squeeze you tighter at the sentiment. 

“I know your coffee order, my friends came and made fun of me in front of you,” he led you out of the back and began making your order, without you paying. “There are so many reasons this is not a fluke, okay?” 

Taking your coffee into your hand, you quickly nodded. “Thank you, James,” you slightly lifted your cup to him, “maybe I can get you back for the muffin and coffee…” you tucked your chin to your neck, “maybe dinner would be the logical reimbursement…”

James just laughed, “I would love to get dinner with you, but you are sure as hell not paying on the first actual date,” he continued to laugh, “that’s just not happening.” 

“Fine,” you took a seat at the bar, “you can pay for the first and I’ll pay for the second.”

James’ smirk grew, “sure, totally.” 

“I’m serious,” you laughed, “let me pay for at least one!”

All it took was a knock-out smile, “you’ll pay on the one-thousandth date, and I am not keeping track.” 

[bajicantspell]

Strangers

Summary : part two to Kodzuken in my DMs (press), although i wrote it in a way that reading part one isn’t necessary. The only context you need is that x reader is a small instagram influencer. This chapter is about them hanging out together, doing stuff and Kenma pondering how to make you his girlfriend :)

→ Warnings: smut,cursing (Fluff) 🎧

Kenma loved every conversation with you and couldn't get enough. Each text left him wanting you more ; you were just so… interesting. He was completely amused and infatuated with you. 

The fact that he also thought you were a total smoke show was a bonus as well. It was like having the best of both worlds – someone who was not only interesting to talk to but also insanely attractive.

He daydreamed about you a lot, whether he was grocery shopping and saw the drink you told him you like, or glancing at his screen every few minutes hoping you’d reply. He also thought about you, at other times. With one last whimper he flopped onto his bed, exhausted, reaching for the tissues.

He couldn’t help himself; everything you said, every picture you sent, every time you spoke during a call, made him feel a certain way. Your words, your voice, and your beauty all had a profound effect on him, stirring emotions he couldn't ignore. Each interaction left him more captivated, more infatuated with you, and he found himself constantly thinking about you during his alone time late at night. 

Kenma kept breathing heavily due to his exhaustion from his high, feeling his eyelids growing heavier. 

“Fuck, wish you were here.” He whispered to no one, hoping it could reach you. 

He just felt so, so fucking lucky. Not only were you everything he asked for, your university was also ridiculously close to his place, so you didnt live far either. It was as if everything was perfectly set up for you to get together. 

He’s a logical man, he wouldn’t be hopeful if the probabilities of you being together were low, but each day he was growing  more and more impatient.

He didn't know if he was doing the flirting thing right, but he assumed he must be doing something right since you agreed to go out with him a couple of times over the few weeks of knowing each other.

Over text you could talk together so much, no conversation was boring with you. But he spend the entire evening of your first date just staring at you in awe. You honestly looked better up close than in your pictures, he didnt know that was possible. He could tell you were a little nervous since you talked about everything and anything that came to mind. Your constant chatter was endearing, revealing your anxiousness in a way that made him sheepishly smile. It was clear you were trying to fill the silence, and he found your efforts adorable. 

Thankfully, when you talk you’re not that in touch with your surroundings, so maybe he got away with staring. 

Lying down in his bed, he smiled a little at the memory. He drifted off to sleep, knowing he’d get to see you again tomorrow. The thought brought him a sense of calm as he finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

Kenma has always been observant of people, a skill that served him well during his high school volleyball days. Old habits die hard, and his keen observation hasn’t faded. But now, it’s working against him as he watches you wrap your lips around the coke bottle, his eyes fixated. It makes him wish he were that bottle.

You noticed his eyes lingering.

"Ken', are you okay?" you asked.

"Hm? What?" he replied, caught off guard. 

He invited you to his house for a date night, away from the crowds. The past few times you went out together, you were stared at due to his presence, and he noticed it made you a little uncomfortable. He knew exactly how that felt. Back in high school, he had even bleach-damaged his long beautiful raven locks just to avoid standing out. Though he's an introvert himself, he eventually got used to the public attention fame brings and learned how to tune it out. But he understood that it's not something everyone can easily adapt to. He wanted to ensure you felt at ease, so inviting you to his house seemed like the best way to enjoy each other's company without any unwanted attention. 

"You were staring, Ken," you chuckled.

The way you said his nickname was smooth and sweet, giving him chills. Your seductive voice held him utterly entranced. 

“Can’t help it. You’re too pretty.” He said, leaning down to peck your lips. 

You shared a few kisses, both gentle pecks and passionate ones, but it never went further than that. You didnt know each other long enough for it to go further than that. 

You smiled against his lips and he swore his heart skipped a beat. You don’t know what you do to him. He was completely and utterly at your mercy, like putty in your hands. 

He knew that if someone who knew him well, like Kuroo, saw him interacting with you, they wouldn’t believe it was the same Kenma. 

He surprised himself, honestly. Kenma wasn’t used to being this gentle; he was more familiar with hearing his friends call him a bit intimidating or too straightforward. Though he wouldn't admit it, he kind of enjoyed leaning into his scariness. He also really enjoyed making fun of his friends, if he didn’t throw shit at Kuroo at least once it’d be a bad day. He took particular delight in finding the perfect moments to attack in his monotone voice, and Kuroo was often his favorite target. 

Honestly, you couldn’t believe that the guy taking you out, showering you with gifts and compliments, taking photos of you when you asked, and offering to help you with everything, was the same guy famous for his streams being the definition of chaos. The contrast was striking, and you wondered if you’d get to see both sides eventually. 

"Ken? Should we clean up and watch a movie?" you whispered softly, your face just inches from his.

"Mmhm," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "How about I wash the dishes while you pick out a movie?" His eyes lingered on yours, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, "No, I'll do it. You paid for the food."

He smiled, appreciating your gesture. "Alright," he said, leaning back a bit. "But next time, it's my turn to clean up."

With a playful nod, you headed to the kitchen, feeling his gaze follow you.

He snickered, enjoying the view as you walked away.

Kenma often found himself questioning whether his opinions of you were merely a romanticized version he had created in his mind, or if you truly were that perfect for him. He couldn't help but wonder if his feelings were clouding his judgment, making you seem even more flawless than you actually were. The way you made him feel was undeniable, but he often pondered whether his perception was influenced by his own desires and hopes.

He mentally shook his head—no, that’s not how his mind operated. Kenma was to his core, a realist, often setting himself up for disappointment by meticulously analysing every detail. There was no idealized version of you in his mind; it was simply you. He couldn’t find any flaws because, to him, there genuinely were none.

He knew sooner or later he’d have to officially make you his. The thought of it made his heart race with anticipation and excitement. 

The fact that you were still technically available made him simmer with jealousy, despite the unspoken understanding between you that you were unofficially exclusive. He knew he needed to change the 'unofficial' part, though.

He didn't know what got over him, but something compelled him to go after you. An irresistible urge surged through him, driving him to follow you into the kitchen.

You were washing the last plate, completely lost in your thoughts, when you were suddenly brought back to reality by the feel of two hands gently gripping your waist and a head resting on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch and the closeness of his presence sent a shiver down your spine, pulling you out of your reverie. His breath was soft against your ear, and you could feel his heartbeat against your back, grounding you in the moment.

“Well, hello there,” you chuckled, your voice light and amused, hiding your nervousness.

“You smell so good,” he murmured, his voice muffled against the crook of your neck. The warmth of his breath tickled your skin, sending tingles through you. His arms tightened around your waist slightly, pulling you closer as he nuzzled into your neck. You could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing and the gentle press of his lips against your skin.

You giggled in response. 

“I’m almost done with these. Did you pick a mo—” you were suddenly interrupted by his grip tightening on your waist, bringing you closer, followed by the sensation of wet, lingering kisses being placed on the back of your neck.

“Kenma, what are you doing?” You asked, your voice firm and low. 

"Whatever you want me to. If you want, I'll stop," he replied matter-of-factly, his breath warm against your neck. His hands remained firmly on your waist, but he eased up slightly, giving you the space to decide.

You paused.

"I want... I want more."

Kenma's eyes lit up. "More?" he echoed quietly, a spark of excitement and anticipation in his voice. His grip on your waist tightened once again, his lips hovering just above your skin as he awaited your next move, eager to fulfill your desire.

“Mhmm,” you nervously replied, still gripping the plates. Your heart raced as you felt him grin against your neck, anticipation building with every second.

“Well, if you want more, I'll give you more,” Kenma murmured, his voice low and full of promise. His hands slid up your sides gently, and his lips resumed their trail of kisses along your neck, making your heart race even faster.

His hands slid under your shirt, over your bra, an action that made you set the plates down in the sink gently. The feel of his touch sent a sense of calm through you, and you leaned back into him; an action that made him smirk against your neck.

He played with the textured lace of your bra, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric as if asking for permission to go further. You nodded, neither of you making a sound, the tension between you too much to make a sound. His fingers, encouraged by your silent approval, continued their exploration with more confidence.

He stopped at the hook of your bra, bringing both hands to unclip your bra in one swift motion.

The ease with which he did it made you wonder how much practice he had. His fingers moved so skillfully, it seemed almost instinctual. But don't worry; it was just a fluke. Even he was surprised by it. In reality, he was navigating this new territory with as much uncertainty as you were. The chemistry between you made everything feel natural, even though his heart was pounding just as hard as yours.

When your bra was completely off, with just a little bit of hesitation his hands approached to cup your breasts. His touch was tentative at first, fingers lightly tracing over them as if he were memorizing every curve. 

"Fuckin' perfect perky tits." he mumbled against your neck, almost as if he were talking to himself. His breath was hot against your skin, and the words came out in a hushed, reverent tone.

You could only giggle in response. 

He pulled one hand out from under your shirt, cringing as the sudden cold air hit his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you provided.

With one hand still drawing circles around your chest, he brought the other one in front of you, his middle and ring finger just before your mouth. His silent request was clear, so he eagerly waited for you to part your lips. 

"Say it," you said, a sudden confidence overcoming you.

"Hmm? Say what?" he replied, his voice tinged with curiosity and anticipation.

"Say what you want me to do," you commanded softly, challenging him to voice his desires.

"Oh yeah? Okay then. Suck ‘em," he said with a chuckle, his fingers practically pushing your lips open. The playful command, combined with the gentle pressure of his fingers, sent a thrill through you. You parted your lips, letting his fingers slide in, and the taste of his skin filling your mouth.

He was still pressed up against your back, and throughout this entire exchange, it was the only time he was glad he couldn’t see your face. He knew he didn't have the self-control to hold back if he saw your pretty, pouty lips wrapped around his fingers like that. The thought alone was enough to drive him wild, but the feel of your mouth on his fingers, warm and inviting, was almost too much to bear.

Eventually, much to his displeasure, he had to remove himself from your mouth.

His sticky, saliva-covered fingers quickly slipped back under your shirt before you could notice. Meanwhile, his other hand traveled just below the waistband of your sweats, tracing the small bow on your panties.

With the fingers that were mere moments ago in your mouth he started gently tracing your nipple, slightly pinching it in the process, causing you to mewl oh so quietly. 

He had to bite down on your neck to quickly ground himself. Hearing you make a noise, even if it was barely audible, for the first time had him battling every instinct to not pounce on you that same instant. The soft sound made him want to hear it more, and he struggled to maintain control, every fibber of his being yearning to give in to the moment. He was so hard it was aching. 

He couldn’t help himself. While maintaining the rhythm of his fingers, he began gently grinding against you, unable to resist the overwhelming urge.

“Fuck, baby. I never knew it could feel this good, never felt this good with anyone. ” he quickly mumbled, his voice whiney, almost a whimper. 

You couldn’t even process the new pet name, you were clenching around nothing and aching for attention too much. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you were touched like this. Kenma had his own struggles with love due to his fame, and although you were locally known at best, it didn’t mean you didn’t attract a bunch of insecure boys. Men who claimed they didn’t care about the online attention you received would quickly change their tune when they saw how many men were in your comments. Some even used you to boast to their friends about talking to you. As a result, every experience you had prior to this one felt completely one-sided. They didn’t care if you felt good or not, as long as they got off. Your last boyfriend couldn’t even make you come once in the entire three months you were together.

But Kenma was different. Kenma wasn’t insecure, and his feelings for you, although attraction based at first, were real now. His touch was filled with genuine desire and hunger, making you feel truly seen and wanted, craved even. The contrast was striking,and it made all those past experiences fade into insignificance.

“Kenma?” you said breathlessly, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Mhmm?” he responded, his voice husky he continued to touch you. 

“Please. Wanna come,” you pleaded, your need evident in every word. The desperation in your voice only fueled his own, making him more determined to bring you to the edge.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, pretty,” he said, his voice filled with urgency. The hand that had been teasing the edge of your cute panties slipped inside, his fingers skillfully finding their way to your most sensitive spot.

He paused for a moment as his fingertips brushed against your entrance. “You’re fucking soaked,” he murmured, a hint of awe and satisfaction in his voice.

“Maybe you’re doing something right, then,” you replied with a teasing smile, your voice a mix of playful and breathless. 

“Maybe I am,” he teased back, a smirk playing on his lips as his middle finger began making gentle circular motions on your bundle of nerves using your own juices to lubricate it. It was so lewd. The sensation was like nothing you’ve felt before, making you gasp and lean further into him.

‘Fucking gamer hands.’ You thought to yourself. 

As his fingers continued their rhythmic movements, you could feel the intensity building within you, every movement bringing you closer to the edge. Your breaths grew shallower, your heart racing as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations he was creating. His other hand, still wet and playing around with your nipple, only fueled the buildup. 

Kenma’s eyes never left what he could see of your face, watching every expression. You couldn’t meet his gaze, eyes closed in pleasure. If you could, you’d be terrified by the dark, feline-like stare he wore. His eyes were intense, predatory, and focused entirely on you, taking in every detail of your reaction. The sight of you, lost in feeling because of him, only spurred him on. 

He could tell you were close.

He whispered softly in your ear, “Let go for me, pretty,” his voice a mix of command and tenderness. His assured yet gentle words urged you to surrender. 

The rhythmic circles on your sensitive spot grew more insistent and you could feel the tension building, a powerful wave approaching.

His free hand roamed your body, adding to the sensations. You felt completely surrounded by him—his presence, his touch, his voice—all combining to create an experience unlike any you had known.

As the intensity built, your breaths became ragged, your body trembling with anticipation. Kenma’s dark, intense eyes never left your face, capturing every expression and quiver of pleasure.

 “Let go,” he repeated, his voice now a husky murmur, filled with urgency and promise. His touch and words were irresistible, and you finally surrendered, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure.

Loud whimpers filled the house as your muscles tensed from the sensation. The intense pleasure made it impossible to stay quiet, each sound escaping your lips adding to the excitement. Your whole body tightened, responding to the waves of ecstasy, leaving you breathless and trembling in Kenma's arms.

He finally turned you around, taking a good look at your face. His eyes roamed over your features, taking in every detail—the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the dazed expression in your eyes. He smiled to himself, proud of his work.

“Was it good?” he asked, gently cupping your face. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, his eyes searching yours for an answer. Not that there was any doubt in his mind it wasn’t. 

“Are you joking? That was the best one I’ve had in a long time.” you replied breathlessly , a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

Your arms wrapped around him and he followed suit. You stayed like that for a couple of minutes, you calming down from your high and him holding you through it.

His fingers gently stroked your back, a soothing gesture that further eased you into a state of complete relaxation.

“Ken?”

“Yeah?” he responded, his voice gentle and attentive.

“I’m on the pill, you know,” you said, your voice teasing but clear.

He grinned slyly, “Oh yea? And why are you telling me this?” 

You stood on your tiptoes, gently pulling him closer by the collar. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn't resist, his breath hitching as you leaned in close. Your lips brushed against his ear, and you whispered, "Because I wanna go to your room so you can ruin me."

He hid his surprise and excitement, taking a step back. "Sorry, I don’t fuck strangers." He lied.

You were confused. "Strangers?" you echoed, your voice tinged with hurt and uncertainty.

“Well, yeah,” he said, leaning on the counter. “So unless you wanna be my girlfriend, it’s a no for me.” He smirked, watching your face change from confusion to realization.

The initial hurt faded, replaced by a mix of surprise and excitement. "Girlfriend?" you repeated, your voice softening. 

“Mmhm.” He replied with anticipation. 

A smile appeared on your face. “Oh, fuck you. I thought you were going to kick me out or something. Couldn't you ask like a normal person?”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “Where’s the fun in that?” he teased. “So, what’s it going to be? Girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide your grin. “Yes, Kenma. I’ll be your girlfriend.’ 

“Good,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Now, about ruining you...”

You looked up at him seductively. “Gonna have to catch me first.”

Before he could process what you said, you quickly turned and ran to the bedroom, laughing.

“Don’t run so loud, you’re annoying,” he called after you, a huge grin plastered across his face as he followed you.

Kenma genuinely lost count of how many times he came in you that night. 

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕤 ↓。

a bunch of ppl requested anonymously for this to be a smut chapter, so I’m delivering lmaoo, you animals. (ILY THANK U FOR THE SUPPORT) Tags : @nazwrites-2002 @nishayuro @nnnyxie If u wanna get tagged in my next fic abt Suna or if u want a part 3 lmk <3

[sporesgalaxy]

The way Dungeon Meshi does gender makes me insane. It’s stated over and over that Falin and Laios really are more similar than anyone is looking for- Laios directly states as much at one point, Marcille mentions it when Falin wakes up the first time and starts bemoaning not eating any monsters, the magic mirror story even has fem!Toshiro crushing on Laios- but Laios is so protective of his little sister. Laios leaves home to start making a life he can one day share with her. And she leaves magic school because he has failed, and failed so hard that she’s worried that she might never see him again if she lets him leave without her. He wants to protect her from the way the world treats him, but he does not or does not want to understand the terrible truth- the world will never treat her as harshly as it does him, because she is a pretty ‘quirky’ girl and he is a big autistic man. Falin is happy, doing well in her own sphere, making a single friend (because she is still autistic, and has struggles of her own, even if they’re a different kind), but Laios still feels a need to protect her because his experience of this world has been nothing but cold shoulders and distrust all the way down. This story makes me want to sprint into the river. Laios and Falin are the best characters of all time.

Ouhhhhh I dont have time to reread dungeon meshi to give you good sources but based on my doodoo memory and vibes therein: I have to disagree that Falin was necessarily doing "well," and I especially disagree that the tragedy here is that Laios was doing something unnecessary by trying to make a place in the world for him and Falin.

Falin gets along seemingly ok in the world but it's because she's agreeable to a fault .

What's so interesting to me about the Touden siblings is the different ways they've learned to deal with being The Odd Man Out. Laios set out to try and forcefully carve out a PLACE for him and Falin in the world, where they could both openly and unabashedly be themselves.....Falin stayed behind, and learned how to hide the things that made her stick out too much, and how to appease people on the verge of rejecting her and Laios.

That can be functional, but it isn't good. It isn't happiness. It hurts in a million tiny ways every single day, to hide yourself out of fear of rejection like that.

At school, Falin must have spent a lot of time alone before she befriended Marcille, since Falin was familiar enough with the surrounding wilderness that she knew where that small Dungeon opening was. She sought out what happiness she could by following her unusual passions in more private ways, where no one would judge her for it. Falin didn't expect anyone NOT to judge her for her "weirdness" before she met Marcille, so Falin didn't even try to connect with anyone before Marcille at a level more personal than "classmate." That's not doing well. That's not living.

This kind of self-isolation is a coping mechanism for neurodivergence that functions for a while, but it eats away at you. Falin considered marrying Toshiro despite not loving him, essentially because it seemed like the normal thing to do and she didn't think she'd get another chance to be married at all. What if she had gone through with that, or something similar by the same reasoning? Laios lived in a state of being rejected over and over, which obviously hurts like hell. In contrast, Falin was willing to live a life she never wanted just to avoid total rejection. That can be incredibly painful too, in its own way.

Falin and Laios were BOTH tragically fighting doomed battles to find a place for themselves in the world during the time they were separated. Working together, supporting each other, they're able to do a lot more. Cries.

[luvtak]

baby i'm yours, lee felix

✧ pairing lee felix x gn!reader

✧ genre/tw fluffy fluff! kinda hurt/comfort, reader has a migraine and felix is a little lovebug as always, too many petnames, kissing and sleepy cuddles

✧ w/c 1000

✧ a/n something small inspired by my own migraines, i hope anyone who relates starts to feel better and feels comforted by the sweetest boy <3 title is after this song it reminds me of him 💗

The house is filled with sound, circling around the space with laughter and music and video game noise. Lively melodies of boyishness, teasing and yelling; roughhousing so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear.

The house is filled with sound, all except for your place in Felix’s room. Behind the door it’s silent, no sound but your gentle breath hitting his skin. He’s always so warm, a space heater personified, heating you everywhere his star-studded skin touches. You can feel his smile moving across your neck, placing soft little kisses on his path from your clavicle to your throat, all the way up to the side of your mouth.

“Feeling better?” he asks, his voice is gruff from lack of use and his eyes are light when they meet yours. His question seems more like a wish than an inquiry, he always worries when you get these headaches. Pain throbbing underneath your eyes and inside your temples, sometimes you feel so sick, nausea begins to accompany the migraine, and the only thing your boyfriend can do is wrap you up in his arms and his blankets and hope for the best.

You both know it’s easier to cure these moments away from the boy’s dorm. The cozy quiet of your apartment is much better suited to comfort the constant pounding, but there’s something magic to the noise. A curious familiarity surrounds the home, in some ways it reminds you of being a little kid and going to bed to the sounds of your parents still awake. A memory from an easier life, a moment trapped in time, but relived in these hurtful days inside this room.

“Just a little, I’m sorry I’m not very fun right now.” Your voice is a whisper, and your eyes are still squinted shut, but you hope your words are enough to convince him to stop worrying.

“Don’t be sorry, my love, I’m having a blast laying here with you.” Felix’s grin is sunlight, as bright and pretty as the rest of him, and you think it doesn’t matter if he’s lying—your head is already starting to ease just from the sight of your starshine boy smiling down at you.

His hands are in your hair and his smile is on your forehead, and you think you’ll be better in a few minutes. When you came over you had plans to watch movies and play Mario Kart with the rest of the boys, and maybe in just a few more minutes you can. You can almost envision it, opening up your eyes to a clear head and telling Felix that you feel so much better, joining the rest of the dorm in their night of laughter instead of this sickly quiet you currently inhabit.

You can tell your boyfriend doesn’t mind, he’s always happy to take care of you, but you’re sorry that another fun night has become the opposite.

“Really, Lixie, Go have fun with the boys… I can do all this by myself.” You don’t want him to go, but you need him not to feel trapped. Popping one eye open, you can tell what he thinks about that offer—if the slight squint of his eyes having anything to do with his emotions, he must think you’re crazy for even posing it as an option.

“And what? Sit in the living room with people I see every day instead of lying here with you? Are you insane?” He’s laughing as he says it, and his arms escape from your hair to gently play with your fingers. “You must be, my crazy little love… where does it hurt?”

His touch is light as a feather, pulling at your hands and rubbing up and down your arms. The skin to skin contact makes you shiver, even after all this time all it takes is a few gentle touches to start up the butterflies in your belly. You tell him about the pain under your eyes, huffing and whining when his body moves too much atop yours, but you stop as soon as his lips land softly on your eyelid; pressing down gentle and tender where the pain started.

“A kiss to make it feel better, okay baby?” Even through the pain his voice (so deep and quiet in the dark room) makes you smile. So typical of him, to be as sweet and sugary as the treats he cooks up. A boy who grew up on kiss cures and tickle fights, what a blessing to have him lay with you in the dark.

You’ve been smitten with him from the first time he shot his shiny smile at you, in love with each picture perfect piece of him. With hands grasping out to hold his, you kiss wherever you can reach: his shoulder first than the divot of his adams apple, all the way up to his uplifting lips.

“I love you, sweet boy… thank you for being with me.” You can’t tell if you mean here in the moment, or just in general, but either way it’s true. You’ll never stop being grateful for his place in your life, a light in the darkness and a heart to hold you when you don’t feel good.

He kisses you again instead of a response, slow and closed mouthed—desperately trying to express his feelings in all the ways he knows how.

“I love you too, you know I do.” He rolls off you, tucking you just underneath his chin; keeping you as close as possible. Legs on legs and hands clasped together, you can’t seem to find where you begin and he finishes—you’re as close as you could be with your warm pajamas on.

Everything is burning up, his skin and your love for him. So, cozy you can’t help but feel your eyes flutter close again. This close you can hear all his sounds, his heartbeat and his breath, and his sweet voice like a lullaby lulling you to sleep.

© luvtak

[grenade-maid]

Part of why I dragged my feet on ever checking out JJK was the reputation I heard was that it's a BRUTAL grimdark story where ANYONE can DIE in a snap and the author says FUCK you. And after finally catching up with the anime that just... Isn't the tone at all?? Like, Game of Thrones, Gantz, Attack on Titan, etc other cornerstone grimdark reference points, I think one of their defining hallmarks is not just that characters die suddenly and violently, but that human life is nasty, brutish, and meaningless, and it's your own fault for being stupid enough to get attached.

Jujutsu Kaisen on the other hand, I don't know how you can look at one of the most recent casualties circa S2Ep20 of the anime where that character gets a full entire episode reminiscing about their childhood, and the moments and people that meant most to them, and come away thinking the author's intent was to treat life as meaningless. The amount of screen time devoted to the following character who gets badly maimed, the audience gets enthusiastically shoved neck deep into their insane kaleidoscopic passion that is never once undercut or subverted. Both of these characters, far from being callously snuffed out and dumped in the trash, were shown immense love. What we got was not a statement of their life being disposable, but a celebration of life, a reminder of who they are, what they cared about, what made them special, who they loved and who loved them and will remember them in turn.

This is a story about curses born of misery, hatred, and malice. It is also a story deeply concerned with dualism, especially when it comes to attachment and desire. Misery stems from worldly attachments, but it is not weak or foolish to become attached to things in this world. To love something is to set yourself up for the pain or anger of losing it, or sadness of having it denied. But that love is what makes life worth living anyway, and what makes it worth it to keep fighting. We as the audience are sad because we are attached to these characters who have met terrible fates. We see enough of them to be able to clearly picture the whole rich life they could have lived surrounded by friends and feel the sting of that path cut short. It is a story about how it was worthwhile knowing them well enough to be attached anyway, even if it meant unavoidable heartbreak.

This is true of both the human protagonists as well as the curses! Volcano Man and Mahito are ruthless killers who cruelly take lives without a thought. They also have hopes and dreams that they earnestly try to protect and follow through on, and face heartbreaking despair upon defeat. They feel pain just like we do, but must nevertheless be killed. Humans face pain through the very act of living, but nevertheless must live.

In true grimdark fiction there is rarely anything good in life for characters to return to once the battle is over. In Jujutsu Kaisen, on the contrary, there is enough good in life that we see it even amidst the battle. I can see that no other way than an expression of genuine affection. Truly bleak fiction leaves me wondering why everyone involved doesn't just put a gun in their mouth and be done with it. JJK provides an answer--because you'll get to laugh about ruining an expensive shirt, because you'll meet an acquaintance's hot mom, because the next human earthworm movie is coming out, because your favorite idol is doing a meet and greet this weekend, because maybe someday you'll finally go to Malaysia. There are many answers, and none of them are stupid.

[graysexualcreature]

before i go into this post i should be specific: i am a matpat fan. i have watched matpat for a long time. therefore, i am an inherently biased perspective.

something i will never understand is the visceral hate for matpat. like mfs will act like they have the biggest slam dunk ever and then pull out something from 10 years ago. like yes there was some questionable stuff back then but people can change as time moves forward. bro is just living his life you don’t have to like his theories you don’t have to watch his videos nobody is sitting you down and tying you to a chair and forcing you to watch his videos. you dont have to make up reasons that you hate him you dont have to go digging for old shit. you also dont have to viscerally hate him because he made a theory and got it wrong i fucking guarantee if he was a much smaller creator nobody would be dogpiling him the way he gets dogpiled.

also: the people who think he is the only one who did the research and work for ALL OF THE THEORY CHANNELS for YEARS is just insane to me. I guarantee you he has a whole ass team for each channel he’s not doing this shit at lightning speed if you see something that looks like it might be a stolen theory then maybe you shouldn’t pin it on one member of an entire team. matpat does not have magic superpowers. calm the fuck down. when a car breaks down you don’t immediately blame the metal shell that surrounds the inner workings. matpat has mentioned MULTIPLE TIMES that scripts and theories are a multiple person effort that involves a lot of input from multiple people. His earlier videos are definitely different but when you look at something from more recent times and try to say that he is the sole creator you just sound fucking ridiculous.

people make mistakes. everybody makes mistakes, but when the internet comes into the equation and stuff gets preserved all of a sudden it’s as if everybody must be infallible as a human being.

also: the amount of rage people have towards him over theories is fucking insane im sorry. i understand being serious about a topic but putting visceral hatred onto a human being who is just as human as you are is not the answer. if the theory is that bad you can easily just change somebody who believes it's mind using evidence he's not some omnipotent being who is brainwashing people into liking his theories. If somebody isn't willing to listen to you then that's a them problem not a matpat problem. Also, this stuff does not matter when you step outside and enter the real world i guarantee nobody in the local park is going to be as worried abt video game theories as you are.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 10

Elijah Mikaelson, Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having recently moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they are until it's too late.

This Chapter: The powers that be reveal that they've been pulling the strings all along, and you're forced to finally choose a brother.

Warnings: Mature Content, Love Triangle, Klaus' Filthy Mouth, Violence, Blood, Knives, Cutting, Blood Drinking, Witchcraft

Word Count: 3.6k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

“Oh good, you’re awake!” A woman’s voice rings in your ears, echoing off the walls of the room that you open your eyes in. It’s an older southern accent, it’s pitch and volume signaling that she’s standing only a few feet away from where you sit, even if you can’t see her just yet. “You must be exhausted from entertaining two of the world’s most lethal vampires for the past few weeks. I’ll bet you needed that rest.”

“Excuse me?” You blink a few times and try to focus on what’s around you, noticing the chill of night and the steady drip of water leaking down from the roof a few dozen feet behind you. It drips in a slow, unchanging rhythm, surpassed only by the increasing beat of your heart as panic begins to settle in, stifling your breath along with it.

Oh great, you’ve been taken.

“Where am I?!” The smell of rust and sage surrounds you as the rest of your senses start to kick back in, your eyes now focused enough to take in the barren walls towering over you, flanked by rows of boarded up windows with all sorts of symbols painted on them as outdated newspaper clippings peel off their corners. It doesn’t take long to figure out that you’re in an abandoned warehouse out in the middle of nowhere.

“I almost feel sorry for having to put you through all of this, baby.” The voice comes again, this time curving around your right side as it gets closer with each click of her heels against the concrete floor. “Almost.”

You turn your head to look at her, to put a face to that voice which taunts you, but quickly realize that it’s the only thing that you can physically do. You can’t turn your torso at all in the chair that you’re tied to, the tightly bound ropes digging into your wrists, chest and ankles as you try to move your limbs in a painfully futile attempt at freedom.

Holy shit, you’re not going anywhere! This is bad… REALLY bad.

“What do you mean, feel sorry for me?! Did you really knock me out and bring me here? Kidnap me?” You ask, absolutely dumbfounded. “People still do that?” You have to admit that out of all the absolutely insane things you’ve witnessed recently, this is the most incredible. You expected there to be violence from your immortal suitors in your immediate future, but kidnapping? Well, you didn’t predict that at all. She must be one of their enemies, one of the people Klaus had trained his men to protect you from. Lot of good that did. “Who are you?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter who I am, child.” The woman steps in front of you, her dark hair littered with streaks of gray as it falls down onto her shoulders dressed in a colorful linen dress. She holds a stick of sage in front of her as she chants indistinguishable words beneath her breath, the white smoke wafting off of it slowly thinning into the stale air around you both. “All that matters now is you and the part you still have to play.”

“Look, I don’t know what I did to offend you, or what ancient tradition I broke, but whatever it was, it was an accident. I’m sorry, I swear to God, I promise I am! I was on my way out of the city anyways, I’m not even staying in town anymore after today, so none of this is really even necessary! We can just forget about this and all go home. Both of us.” You try to plead your case as she continues walking circles around you, her chants getting a little louder as you notice the large ring of salt around the bulk of the room.

Shit. She’s a witch. Another one of Klaus’ warnings that you should have heeded… but how? What would you have done differently besides ask more questions about how to avoid them? Would he have even answered them for you?

“Oh honey, I wish it were that simple,” she smiles somberly, amused by your ignorance. “But I still need you to bring them here for me.” She sets her sage down somewhere that you can’t see, its earthy scent still lingering in your nostrils before she comes back into your field of vision. “Which shouldn’t be that hard at this point. I was planning on waiting a little longer before doing all this, planning to let you bond with them both just a little bit more, to really twist that knife. But you had to go and wise up, now didn’t you?” She shakes her head and laughs.

“What are you talking about?” You force your wrists upward again, testing the strength of the ropes one more time as their frayed strings cut into your skin, drawing little droplets of blood out in the process. “Wise up to what? Is this about Klaus, about Elijah?”

She nods. “A little slow, aren’t we, child? Did you honestly think that both of the original vampires could fall in love with ‘little old you’ at the exact same time? That it was mere coincidence that these two wildly different monsters wound up in your bed absolutely smitten with their little nurse?” She pulls out a phone… your phone that she had to have taken from you sometime between leaving your brother’s place and tying you up here. She holds it up to your face to unlock it and then turns it around to take your picture. “Smile for the camera.”

Wait, WHAT?! Is she saying that everything you’ve experienced in the past few weeks has been nothing more than a lie? A spell? A curse? But how could she do that? How could that BE?!

The flash nearly blinds you in your devastated stupor, forcing your eyelids to close as you hear her fingers type away on the digital keyboard of your smartphone, your eyes finally adjusting enough to see her grinning the entire time.

“You put a spell on me?” You venture a guess as your heart feels like it’s being torn in two, each tattered piece slowly sinking down to the very bottom of your chest.

How can what you feel for them not be real?

“The spell I cast is for all three of you, actually. It was the only way that any of this could work, and despite your little hiccup with the time frame, I think it will all work out in my favor.” She smirks with a tilt of her head. “Only one of them has true feelings for you, and you for them. But in order to find out which one, to break the spell, you have to choose one of them.”

“What? No… no, that’s not fair!” You scream shakily, the pain in your chest taking root in your stomach as nausea bubbles beneath the surface. You’ve already weighed the pros and cons of choosing one of them, and neither result is favorable. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why would anyone do this? You may have just moved here, child, but vampires and the Mikaelson family have been terrorizing the people of New Orleans for centuries; killing innocent people like my Charlotte just to get a meal, or simply for their own entertainment! I needed a way to divide their house, a way to tear their family apart from the inside out, and what better way to do it than with a pretty girl like you in their beds? Once they get here and find out the dirty truth, they’ll have no other choice but to destroy each other.”

“You’re sick, you know that?” Your lip quivers in fear, realizing now that you’re going to die here in this empty warehouse as you imagine the very worst ways for that to happen.

She puts your phone back in her pocket as it vibrates almost immediately, a smug look gracing her aging features as she glances up at you in silence, refusing to answer. She gives you a look that no one else has ever given you before, a look that shakes you to the very marrow of your bones; as if somehow you’re the answer to all of her malevolent prayers.

“Please!” You beg again, a single tear falling down your cheek as your sinuses begin to fill with a sick sorrow. You feel your heart race as the taste of bile backs up into your mouth as you watch her pull a large knife out of her bag, its blade glinting in the dim candlelight. “I don’t even know you! I’ll forget your face! I’ll leave them both alone, I swear, you’ll never see me again!”

You watch in awe and devastation as she raises the knife up into the air before cutting into her own palm, letting her blood drip onto the array of random objects and ingredients she has scattered on the floor.

“It’s too late for all that now, child. They’ll be here soon.” Her tone is cold and flat as she steps toward you, her blood glistening a ruby red on the blade before she drags it across both of your arms.

It stings at first, the piercing pain searing into each layer of your skin before cutting through to the muscle. Your own scream surprises you at first as it vibrates in your throat, nearly deafening you as it bounces off the empty walls of the warehouse. More tears stream their way down your reddened cheeks as she pulls the knife away, swiftly disappearing from sight as the pain from your wounds simmers into a low, heated throb. Your bound hands are unable to do anything to stop her or subdue the bleeding as it spills onto your thighs, staining your jeans a deep burgundy before the rest of it drips onto the floor in an off beat of the leaky ceiling.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

This is it, isn’t it?

——————

“It’s okay, I’m here now.” Elijah’s voice suddenly distracts you from the growing pain as it radiates up your arms, his nimble fingers making quick work of untying your right wrist.

Oh thank God, you think, just before remembering the rest of the witch’s plan. Uh-oh.

“Elijah, I’m so sorry.” You mumble, the rope digging deeper into your skin before it eventually eases up and releases your arm altogether.

“Shhh, don’t be sorry. I should have been here sooner. I should never have put you in any kind of danger.” His voice is tinged with a hint of fear and regret as he unties your other wrist and immediately bites into his, bringing it up to your lips to drink.

You open your mouth and swallow it without question, knowing that his blood will help heal your wounds and give you strength as he kneels to untie your ankles. You can feel it working almost immediately as the pain begins to dull, then subsides completely as your skin seems to stitch itself back together right before your eyes. You’ll never get used to that.

“There, you’re free.” Elijah gets up off his knees and reaches his hand out for you to take, a confused look knitting his brows together as you refuse to take it. “What is it?”

You can’t help but stare at Klaus as he storms through the entrance of the warehouse, his presence sealing your fate as he fulfills the requirements for the witch’s twisted revenge plot. His dirty blonde curls fall in front of his eyes as he takes in everything from your healing injuries, the tears on your cheeks to his brother’s blood smeared across your lips to tell enough of the story for him to clench his jaw in frustration.

“What’s all this, then?” Klaus’ tone is cold and dismissive as he waltzes toward you, noticing the familiarity between you and his brother while Elijah still reaches for your hand.

You remain speechless as you watch the wheels in his head spin, each cog fitting into the next as he puts all the pieces of the puzzle together, setting the blue of his eyes ablaze in an infernal, glowing yellow. But just as he’s about to open his mouth to speak, to yell and scream at you and Elijah, he steps into the circle of salt, igniting the candles that surround it with a nearly deafening WHOOSH.

Elijah flinches just slightly as the flames grow taller, turning reluctantly toward his brother, “Niklaus, what are you doing here?”

Niklaus? Who the hell is Niklaus?

“What am I doing here, you ask?” Klaus laughs, casually pointing to you as if you’re nothing more than a mere piece of furniture as you sit there, frozen in fear. “Well, I could ask you the same thing, dear brother. I just got a message that my lovely little protégé was being held here against her will, and here you are, so quick to swoop in and play the hero once again.” He smirks, tapping that pointed finger against his lips as he continues. “You know, I’m beginning to think that your desire to save her is fueled by much more than just your noble oath of ‘always and forever’.”

“Your protege?” Elijah’s breath catches in his throat as he looks at you before glancing back at his brother, eyes shining with the realization you’d hoped he’d never come to.

FUCK.

“You’ve been seeing her, too?” The hurt in Elijah's voice is everything you dreaded it to be, another painful stab in the series of a thousand tiny cuts that you’ve endured tonight. You watch him take a deep cleansing breath, shifting the weight in his hips as he tries to regain his composure before speaking again. “For how long?”

“Well, why don’t you ask her?” Klaus leans forward and grabs onto your neck with a nearly deadly squeeze, lifting you up so far out of your seat that your legs begin to dangle. “How long after I pulled out of you did you let my brother slip inside, hmmm? Did you even allow the paint to dry on your skin before letting him into your bed? How far did my come drip down between your thighs before you so desperately helped him out of his three piece suit, whore?!”

“Klaus…” You attempt to explain yourself as he squeezes even tighter, the betrayal in his eyes shifting to anger as your hands frantically grasp onto his fingers. “I didn’t know you were… it wasn’t my fault!” You gasp for air as he lifts you even higher, his strength so much greater than you could have ever imagined.

“I’m sorry, love, what was that? It sounded like you were trying to speak.” Klaus’ eyes glow gold again as the veins around them darken and engorge with blood, showing you a side of him you’ve never seen before as fangs descend from his canines. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Enough, Niklaus!” Elijah finally stops him, releasing his grip with a mere pinch to his brother’s wrist. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, but this is clearly some sort of… witch’s plot meant to trap us here. Perhaps we should focus on that instead of our menial transgressions against one another.”

Menial? Do you mean that little to Elijah? Does he even care?

Klaus stares at you like a lion would an antelope beneath its paw, ready for the kill at any point, but after what seems like an eternity of torment, he eventually softens. “Very well.” Klaus’ features return to normal before loosening his grip on your neck, gently lowering you back onto the chair as a growl brews just beneath the surface of his words. “After all, you always know best, now don’t you, brother?”

“She put a curse on all three of us! She needed to pit you two against each other!” You push your words out as fast as you can in your now gravelly voice, rubbing your palm across your neck to soothe the irritated skin.

Jesus!

“What else did she say?” Elijah consoles you with a palm to your cheek before pulling back a second later, feeling Klaus’ eyes on you both.

“She said that only one of you has real feelings for me. That I only have feelings for one of you. But we won’t find out who, we won’t be able to leave the circle until…” You choke up a little as they both stare at you with rapt attention. “Until I choose someone.”

Elijah clenches his jaw as Klaus huffs.

“Well, I say we get on with it then, love!” Klaus lifts his arms up in the air like the dramatic showman that he is. “Why waste any more precious time to chance?” He steps in close to watch every micro expression on your face as you wrestle with the pain and heartbreak of this zero-sum game that you’ve been forced to play with them. “Ticktock, darling.”

“I can’t…” you look into his eyes as he closes the space between you, your whole body trembling with the anticipation of what’s to come before looking over at Elijah for guidance. “I can’t possibly choose.”

“I see,” Klaus nods with a whisper, pressing his lips together as he pulls back from you slightly, his anger still simmering just below the surface. “Let me make it easy for you then.” He grins before instantly reaching back and snapping his brother’s neck with a loud CRACK, all while keeping his eyes fixated on you.

You gasp as Elijah’s limp body falls to the floor, your eyes darting back and forth between the two brothers dozens of times as fear immobilizes you completely, nearly paralyzing your lungs.

“I would have given you everything! Can’t you see that?” Tears blur in his eyes, making that deep blue seem a slight shade of green in the glowing candlelight. “How could you even think of choosing him after what he shared together? Just so you can be judged for every mistake, ridiculed for every flaw and controlled for the rest of your life? I would have let you be who you were meant to be! I would have helped you grow!” Those tears stream down his cheeks in tragic trails of saline, dripping down onto the floor as they mix in with your blood near his boots. “I would have loved you no matter what!!!”

His scream nearly shakes your entire body, triggering your lungs to expand again enough to take a gasping breath. You aren’t sure what to say, or what to do next, afraid that no matter what course of action you take, it will lead you down a road that ends up just like Elijah’s. So you decide to take a page out of his favorite book, to try to appeal to the monster before you.

“I was the one who had my brother look you up.” You confess, figuring you might as well tell him the whole truth. “I was scared that I was falling too fast for you, and I wanted to be sure that you were real, but when he came up with nothing… no driver’s license, no property, no nothing, I freaked out.” You pause and see the tension release a bit in his shoulders, urging you to keep talking. “I’ve been lied to a lot in the past, and I didn’t want to go through that pain again. I know now that I should have confronted you and asked you about it myself, but before I had the chance, we were attacked by those men warning us to forget your name. You can imagine why I didn’t come back to see you after that.”

Klaus’ maddening mask of anger morphs into a sullen shade of hurt as his tears curve down the outline of his pouty lips, reminding you of the champagne from the night you first met. He lets those tears fall down his face as he gently strokes your hair, searching your expression for any signs of deceit, but unable to find any.

“So you fuck my brother instead, thinking he’s the better, safer choice, hmm?”

Damn. So much for honesty.

“Klaus, please,” you beg, your tone changing to one of nervous desperation. “It was the curse, the spell… the witch, she…”

“And where is this witch now, hmm? How do I know you aren’t actively working with her to destroy me? That you haven’t been conspiring against me with my brother from the very second you stepped foot in New Orleans?” He cradles your face with both hands, an act that might normally be mistaken for intimacy, but in this case is clearly a threat.

“She was here just a second ago, I swear!” You feel your breath become more rapid and shallow as his fingers press against your scalp, this newly heightened state of stress dizzying you as he tightens his grasp. “Can’t you read my mind or something? Isn’t that one of your powers?” You offer up in a last ditch effort of transparency, hoping to God that all the vampire movies you’ve watched up until now haven’t led you astray.

He smirks as he watches you struggle, licking his lips before leaning in close enough to whisper into your ear. “I’ve got a better idea, one that’ll make your body choose once and for all.”

He bites into your neck without hesitation, pulling you in as close as possible as his fangs sink deep into your flesh, swallowing what little blood you have left. The pain is so much different than the cut from the witch’s knife, the sensation of his lips and tongue massaging your skin lulling you into a false sense of euphoria as you drift off to sleep.

------------------

Tags: @hcqwxrtss123 @hayleym1234 @derangedangel @spnaquakindgdom @natalie668 @arbesa-mind

[c1oud999]

hi

i just wanted to come on here and talk about my experience with spirituality. warning: longggg post ahead.

basically ive been in the spiritual community for YEARS now. ive had existential crisis since the age of 11 and ive gone through many phases of many different spiritual trends. from law of attraction, to witchcraft, to religious devotion, to law of assumption and now finally non dualism. i read books, meditated for hours and hours, talked to spiritual ppl from all walks of life and watched all the episodes of ganga upanishad (a show i still highly recommend, you can watch on youtube). all this childhood trauma and mental illness made me crave for sweet relief. but nothing really made sense until law of assumption. i thought that that would be it yk. i thought i was done searching but i think that was when i was searching for things the most. i do know i have it in my 4d, when will i see it? i thought i would get all my desires but did not meet success. and then the non dualism trend began and i hopped onto it like pretty much everyone else. i was bewildered at the stuff teachers kept saying. what do you mean everything's an illusion? there's no way that's true. my very real surroundings are causing me VERY real pain and suffering. oh no no there must be a deeper meaning behind all this. and so i read all the books in 4dbarbies drive, but nothing clicked. yes it made sense intellectually, but i didnt want to believe it bc where is the materialisation satisfaction here? also i felt none of the euphoria that was supposed to come with self realisation. which means i must not be a realised being. and then i cried and cried and cried, isolated myself, literally stopped going to school and just lay in bed all day. but ofc, i continued to read the tumblr posts like i had been doing for the past several years. and yesterday i read 4dkelly's post about giving up. it made sense. by the time i had finished reading the post i had truly given up on everything. on wanting, hoping, fearing, striving etc etc. i was SO tired. so i gave up. fell asleep. i woke up really late as usual and missed the school bus. i ate breakfast in silence, switched the tv on and lied down on the couch like always. and like always out of compulsion and force of habit i reached for my phone and looked up non dualism on twitter. and then i came across a tweet that said a simple sentence only- "nothing is ever actually happening." woah. that kinda drove me to the edge of the cliff i desperately wanted to jump off. i turned on some dnb background music and turned the shower on. i stood under the boiling hot water like some dramatic bitch and started piecing together the "puzzle". it all made so much sense now. i got out of the shower and left the house for the first time in months with a cute outfit and makeup on and everything. i went to the mall, bought candles, stickers, eye masks, coffee, and a doughnut with absolutely no social anxiety at all. i sat by window, read some poetry on my e-reader, cried, peered down at the floor below me and cried some more at the sight of little kids sitting on santa's lap and taking pictures and marveled at all the christmas decorations around me. it was insane. i decided i was going to be neutral towards everything but im in love. maddeningly so. in love with this dream that i thought did not love me back. but love is all there is. I AM ALL THERE IS. and i need you to take this literally. there is nothing happening. there is nothing here except you. nothing to fear, nothing to desire. ik a lot of people are going to dismiss this post because it's not a "materialisation success story" but i honestly dont think i can ever want anything physically bc in all its true essence, what is there to materialise? i am already whole and complete. i am lying on this cold hard floor, but i have never felt warmer. also ik there may be a lot of things ive written you might not agree with but again, this is NOT REAL. I AM. i hope this post helps you.

thank you to all the blogs ive come across and all the pointers they have shared: @se1f @realisophie @itgomyway @4dkellysworld @4dbarbie-backup @infiniteko @iamthat-iam and many more i cannot thank enough.

lots and lots of love (more than you can ever imagine), and good luck.

[sunafc]

Do you get it now? — ft. Tendou Satori

cw: wc 1.6k, fem reader, timeskip tendou, best friends to lovers, this is overall pretty sweet, as always if there are typos just ignore them 🙂‍↕️

‘What are you even talking about?’

Tendou can hear the anger in your tone. You’re on the phone, hiding in his bathroom, but now your voice is getting louder and he can clearly hear your words.

‘Do you even hear what you’re saying right now?’

Tendou has no idea what’s going on, he can’t hear the person on the other side of the call but he’s pretty sure about who it could be. There’s only one person that gets on your nerves like this and, funnily enough, it’s your boyfriend. Tendou can’t hide the curiosity and gets closer to the door.

‘Baby,’ your voice is full of exasperation and he knows right now your taking a deep breath to calm down a little, not sure that worked though because you’re soon screaming again, ‘He lives in fucking France!’ Oh?

Tendou connects the dots in his mind. There’s only one person you know that lives in France and that’s him. You’re fighting over him? You must be.

‘This is insane, you– I’m hanging up, call me when you’ve calmed down.’ it takes less than a second for your phone to be ringing again, ‘I don’t want to talk to you right now, no because–’ Tendou can hear you walking back and forth in his tiny bathroom, ‘That’s–’ your tone drops and you sound exhausted when you say ‘I need a break,’ the sound of your footsteps comes to a halt, ‘We’ll talk when I’ll be back, if you call me again I’ll block your number,’ and you hang up.

When you open the door, Tendou doesn’t even try to hide he was eavesdropping and just stares at you with a questioning look. You lean your head on his chest and let out a deep groan. His long arms embrace you as soon as your forehead hits his body and the cherry scent of his body lotion surrounds you.

‘There, there, little Y/n,’ he rests his head on top of yours, ‘Talk with me.’

‘You know he doesn’t want me to talk about our fights to other people...’ you groan again.

‘I’m pretty sure this one concerns me too,’ he traces circles on your back, ‘Come on,’ his hand slides down your arm until your fingers interlace, then he guides you to the kitchen.

You sit on the counter as you watch him taking out a box from his cabinet. He offers it to you, just to hold it back to his chest when you try to grab it. He does so a few times.

You chuckle at his antics, ‘Just give it to me!’

He smiles fondly at you and shakes his head, ‘Will you tell me what was all that about?’ He asks tilting his head towards the bathroom.

‘Are you trying to bribe me, Satori?’

‘Yes that’s exactly what I’m doing,’ he opens the box, still holding it far from you, showing you the inside: there’s a bunch of different chocolates.

You gasp dramatically, ‘Did you make those?’

He nods, ‘For you, see,’ he points at a specific one, ‘This is shaped like a bunny, because you love bunnies,’ he points at another, ‘This one has caramel filling and– no, actually, I’ll let you guess the other flavours.’

Your heart feels weird, your chest feels warm, ‘Satori,’ your voice is laced in honey as you say his name, ‘That’s so sweet, thank you.’

‘So? Did I bribe you successfully?’

‘I mean, I would’ve told you anyway,’ you smile.

‘And I would’ve let you eat these anyway,’ he says.

He lends you the box and sits on the counter next to you, kicking his legs.

‘He said I see you too much and that it seems like I prefer hanging out with you and he feels unappreciated,’ you roll your eyes, ‘Which makes no sense, because the last time I saw you was literally six months ago since you live on the other side of the planet!’ You take a deep breath, ‘He’s so jealous lately... it wasn’t always like this but now I can’t hang out with any of my friends without him being mad at me,’ you open your mouth to say something else but you quickly close it again and Tendou can almost see the gears turning in your brain, ‘And, I don’t know, maybe I do prefer hanging out with you and my other friends but like, search your own heart and you’ll find out why.’

‘He doesn’t deserve you one bit,’ Tendou says, thinking about how understanding you are and how you always forgive him in the end. He almost throws up when he thinks about how you call that shitty boyfriend of yours ‘baby’ with the sweetest voice. Tendou doesn’t want to pry too much, so he stops himself from asking why you won’t break up with him. He’s also scared the answer would be that it’s because you love the guy. He doesn’t want to hear you say that.

Tendou brings a chocolate to your mouth, ‘Eat this,’ your lips brush against his fingers and his heart skips a beat.

‘God, this is so good,’ you say, mouth full, and Tendou can’t help but find you adorable, ‘Is this blueberry?’

‘Good job,’ Tendou smiles.

‘Be honest,’ you say, now looking straight into Tendou’s eyes, ‘Do you think I should break up with him?’

Yes. Absolutely yes. Right now. There’s a million reasons why Tendou thinks so. The first being that you’re clearly not happy in this relationship. Another one, a little bit more selfish of a reason, would be that he’s head over heels for you.

‘Honest?’ Tendou asks you and you nod, ‘Yeah,’ he gets off the counter and grabs a glass of water, ‘Do you want to... break up with him?’

‘Maybe,’ you sigh, ‘Maybe I’ve just been waiting for a good enough excuse to,’ you study Tendou’s expression, ‘Does this make me a bad person?’

Tendou gets closer to you, he holds your head and kisses your forehead, ‘I think you’ve been waiting for him to show you if your relationship was still worth it.’

You lean in into his touch, Tendou always manged to calm you down, to make you feel like everything was gonna be fine. He made you feel like maybe this was what life was all about, talking about anything and everything, laughing and crying, feeling complete witch each other.

‘Do you want to try another chocolate?’ Tendou asks stealing the box from your lap.

‘He never gifted me chocolate,’ you blurt out, ‘Like, not even for Valentines.’

Tendou tilts his head in confusion, if he was your boyfriend any occasion would be good enough to gift you chocolate. Or flowers, or necklaces and bracelets and rings, or any of the things he knew you loved.

There’s a hint of disgust on his face, ‘Does he even know what you like?’

Tendou wants to know, do you feel butterflies in your stomach when your boyfriend compliments you, does he even compliments you? Do you feel your cheeks getting warmer when your boyfriend is close to you? When he caresses your skin? Do you relax in his embrace and do you get flustered when he kisses you? Because Tendou’s pretty sure he never saw you more comfortable than when he has you in his arms, he notices how your breathing gets more stable and how your heart beats slower. He notices how your eyes glow up whenever he gifts you anything, even the littlest thing. He notices how you get shy when he compliments you and he can’t help but do that more. Maybe he’s starting to feel a little cocky but he thinks he can make you feel butterflies in your stomach with a kiss, and he’s dying to know if he’s right.

Tendou finds your hand resting at the edge of the counter and interlaces his fingers with yours. He places the box of chocolates next to his glass of water and his now free hand finds rest holding your jaw, long fingers caressing your face. You feel shivers down your spine. You’re not sure what’s happening but not wanting it to stop either.

‘Y/n,’ he hasn’t said anything yet and you’re already nodding, a chuckle escape his lips, ‘Can I?’ His thumb brushes against your bottom lip and you nod again. ‘I want to hear you say it, please.’

‘Yes, Satori, you can,’ you say.

It’s the first time he kisses you, but Tendou knows what you like because he knows you. He takes his time making you comfortable before slipping his tongue in. His hands are wandering your body and your legs are wrapped around his torso, pressing him closer to you. Gasps fall from your lips as he kisses you and they’re music to his ears. He’s kissing you slow and there’s a weird tickling in your stomach but you like it and you don’t want to let it slip away. Maybe this is how it was always meant to be, not wanting to stop even though you’re breathless and fighting to be closer to him even though there’s no gap between you. Maybe this is what you were looking for. It’s fevirish, with an intense feeling of longing, it feels right. When he breaks the kiss you follow his lips and Tendou smirks before giving you a chaste, sweet peck that is nothing like the kiss you shared just before.

‘Do you get it now?’ He asks you. Do you get, now, how different it is with someone who cares about you. Who loves you. Who knows you. ‘I could be a better boyfriend than him.’

notes: i love tendou sm ! ! i hope this gets some love and i hope i wrote our miracle boy well enough

[purpurussy]

what is all of this like for post-hiatus phannies?

I've been trying to figure out how to phrase this for a minute. The most obvious comparison would be that it's like starting a TV show 10 seasons in, but that doesn't come remotely close to the amount of required reading necessary to understand even 5% of the references. This has not been a problem for me, as I love nothing more than a good all-consuming hyperfixation rabbit hole, but something I'm realizing is that you really just had to be there to fully Understand.

I got into d&p properly in December of 2023, when gamingmas appealed to my emotionally curious nature and then gave me some kind of irreversible brain damage which I'm still trying to process. Since then I've been consuming their back catalogue as though it's laced with cocaine, and obsessively lurking on phannie tumblr until I finally made this blog a few weeks ago.

-

I actually watched Dan's videos for a little while back in roughly 2013/2014, but something about his content back then just wasn't working for me like it does now (I have such a clear memory of watching Reasons Why Dan’s A Fail and thinking "aw man why does this cute little twink hate himself so much 😔" and then going back to watching Jenna Marbles lmao. Funnily enough it did make me change my negative self-talk a little bit). I was very much a brief casual viewer who went off them pretty much after watching a few videos, and after that I was sort of vaguely aware of them as the cultural icons of the 2010s that they were, but I wasn't keeping up with them at all. 

I don't even remember BIG coming out, which is insane because I've always been extremely chronically online and it definitely broke containment as a cultural moment (although I think I was trying to minimize my social media use at that point in my life, so maybe that's why it went over my head). I feel like I must have heard something about it at the time, though, because I knew they were gay when I started watching them last year. What's really strange is that a lot of this stuff is kinda timeless to me. I don't remember it happening 5, 10 or 15 years ago - I just witnessed it very recently. For a lot of you guys, BIG happened 5 years ago, but I just watched it for the first time a few months ago. At the same time, in my mind they've just always been gay, since I wasn't in the trenches of the unhinged online culture surrounding them in the early/mid 2010s. It's so confusing to balance my weird temporal perception of these events with the impressions that I get from you guys. Oftentimes I have to judge roughly when something would have happened based on their appearances - it's not actually a *memory* for me, like it is for you. I absolutely love the dynamic and branding they have now, and the deep dives into their past are more of a curious exploration of how they got here, rather than actually nostalgic (or, I suppose, mildly traumatic) for me. It’s still very interesting and compelling to me, but because I love the current iteration of Dan and Phil, not because I’m emotionally invested in who they used to be. 

Sometimes I’ll be aware that an event happened, but I won’t realize how monumental it was until I see people talking about it (I hate to say it but I genuinely don't fully understand why the BONCAs thing was so earth-shattering, but like I said, I've always lived in a post-BIG universe, and I think you just had to be there). There are also plenty of references to stuff that's just been lost to time, which I have to piece together with context clues, as well as the more unhinged demonic stuff that I just don't have any interest in exploring whatsoever (I think I might have watched the v-day video if I'd been there when it leaked and I was a stupid teenager, but at this point, I don't even feel any kind of morbid curiosity for it. I just feel really bad for them that it got leaked. Plus, unfortunately, I think I've learned all I need to know about it through internet osmosis here). I feel like a lot of these events have a real emotional meaning for you guys, when to me, they're just interesting/funny/insane anecdotes which give some context to everything. Some of the shit that you guys lived through back then is absolutely wild, and I love and appreciate all of you for meticulously archiving and documenting everything and for being so willing to answer the same questions over and over again! Otherwise I feel like I wouldn't be able to really be part of this community, and posting my silly little memes on this blog is so fucking fun. So thank you all for that.

It seems like this is one of the most ride-or-die fanbases I've ever seen. The fact that they could invent the concept of YouTubers doing world tours, successfully execute that multiple times, branch out into several other ventures, come out as gay not fully knowing how that would affect their careers, disappear for several years and then come back knowing that there would be a solid audience waiting for them even after their virality had died down, drop merch every 3 seconds - I don't know who else can really get away with that, for almost 15 years, in the extremely "live fast die young" culture of internet fame. And I think it's in no small part because you all have chronic "unconditionally supporting dan and phil" disease. (While we’re on the topic, I feel very lucky to have missed the hiatus era. There's kind of a compression in the timeline for me between the gaming channel going dark and Dan starting his WAD tour, where it's like that time just doesn't exist in the Dan and Phil cinematic universe for me. It took me a while to realize how insane it must have been when they came back in full force, I can't even imagine how that must have felt.)

Of course, there's a caveat in that I'm saying this only really knowing about the tip of the demon iceberg. I’m aware of people engaging in behaviours such as doxxing them, outing them and stalking their families, which is horrifying in and of itself, but I don’t know how long it went on for or how many people were involved. I think people are generally pretty well-behaved at this point, and most of the drama seems to be between different schools of thought within the fanbase itself. I assume a big part of the reason for that is people's varying degrees of involvement in (and remaining notion of guilt for) the boundary-crossing behaviour from the old days. Living with the spectre of this insanity is kind of strange - it makes me feel nervous sometimes that I’m gonna accidentally say something that hits a nerve, or cross a line I didn’t know existed, because there’s all this history that I don’t fully understand, beyond just the normal unwritten rules for interacting with fan spaces online. 

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The topic that got me writing this in the first place was the orange heart incident, and everyone’s subsequent meltdown. For me, the excitement in them soft/hard/semi launching is more about me just getting excited about any open, proud expression of queer joy - it heals something inside me every time I hear a man referring to his husband or a woman referring to her wife (excuse the gendered terms, ykwim. gay shit). It's just that sentiment, combined with the fact that I'm parasocially invested in them: I'd love to see that energy from my fave little guys who live inside my computer. I am basically rooting for them to become more comfortable with just talking about gay stuff more openly and candidly, and I guess that would require a bit of a hard launch, although I can understand that they don't want to potentially open the door to excessive questioning regarding their relationship. I feel like it ✨hits different✨ for people who watched them for years before they came out. Like, you guys are rooting for people who you watched in real time struggling with their identities and internalized homophobia for years and years, while to me, they’re just some guys who I’m a fan of. Sometimes I get caught up in the emotional frenzy of their hard-launch breadcrumbs even though I don’t feel quite as insane about it as you guys (I said in some tags a few days ago that it’s like the base instinct to turn around and start running if you see a crowd of people running towards you and screaming in terror, even if you have no idea what’s going on). Anyway, I would love to see them being more gooey with each other, and I am gobbling up the breadcrumbs they're feeding us atm, because I love seeing gay people expressing gay love with no shame 🧡 

I think my perception of them as a couple, or of their sexualities independently, is just kind of an extension of everything Dan said in BIG. I really have no doubt that they're a couple, and I don't feel any kind of weird Catholic guilt in saying that, since I neither witnessed nor participated in the insanity back then. I interpreted (I'm paraphrasing) "obviously we were more than friends, but it was more than just romantic, we're like, actual soulmates" followed by "as for the situation now? we're private people and we'd like to keep that part of our lives private" as him essentially saying that obviously they're a couple, but that their relationship is not part of the Dan And Phil™ Brand. The brand is 2 guys who have great chemistry doing comedy together (5 feet apart even though clearly they are gay and in love). And I think that's a completely healthy decision to make, even irrespective of their history. I think a hard launch would be subtle, and it wouldn’t realistically change the nature of their content that much. 

With that being said, to me, it seems slightly wild for people to adamantly insist they're not a couple, or that it’s “invasive” to assume that they are one (not that that really applies to anyone here, but elsewhere on the internet). If they were a straight man and a straight woman, and there wasn't a huge chunk of people on the internet struggling with this oddly conditioned aversion to seeing them as a couple, then nobody on earth would be insisting that it's weird to assume they're together. Dan confirmed that they became romantically involved around the time they met, and building a forever home with your ex is crazy, that's all there is to it.

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This is kind of a messy stream of thoughts (it ended up sort of becoming 2 essays for the price of 1) and I don't really know where I was going with it. In conclusion I think that day 1 phannies are braver than any US marine and you have all suffered more than Jesus on the cross, and I'm extremely thankful that I get to reap the rewards of your labour now without having lived through the dark ages myself. I also think some of you are holding onto a bit of unnecessary guilt for dumb shit you said on the internet when you were a kid. And Dan and Phil are gay and I love them and I reeeeaaaallllyyy want them to do a podcast so bad because this is all conjecture and I would parasocially love to hear their actual thoughts on it

[muchmossymess]

A Revali Fanfic Recommendation

I urge you all to put your life on hold for a moment and go read this brilliant fanfiction:

A hundred years after the fall of Hyrule to Calamity Ganon, and the hero Link has finally sealed the darkness and freed the Divine Beasts of their curse - and with it, their pilots are finally free. But not just as spirits. Awake once again, the four Champions of old have a second chance at life and must re-adjust to this future world with their decendants. Well - all except for one Champion, who doesn't have a decentant. Or even anyone left alive that knew him. Teba is happy to take in his revived ancient idol as one of his own, but sharing a living space with a hundred year old Champion with an ego the size of his divine beast and who might have some issues he's not willing to share can be a lot sometimes and they don't always see eye to eye. Revali thinks he should return to leading the new generation of Rito warriors. Teba thinks this actual child should never have been leading warriors or fighting a war in the first place. Tulin is just excited to have the infamous Rito Champion in his house.

Beautifully written and lovingly crafted, this baby can fit so much trauma and whump into the most gut-wrenching and heat-breakingly found family story you may ever read. 130,000 words, 36 chapters (and still regularly updating!), and a CRIMINALLY low number of kudos. If that doesn't sway you, here is some gushing under the cut <3

You think you've read a champions revival fic before? This will have you saying "how the FUCK have I not seen this before" and completely change the way you view everything (mild exaggeration. m i l d). We have all of your favourite revali tropes: being a dick and getting owned, being a dick and being right, getting own and never showing those feelings to the light of day, getting killed, getting unkilled and loved, showing emotions but being super weird and revali about it, bonding with tulin!!, bonding with teba and the rest of rito village, bonding with the champions, having panic attacks and trauma, vah medoh being the best ever, being a terrifying force of nature, being an idiot kid, and so much more!

Do you like grumpy dad teba? Do you like revali swallowing his pride? Do you like revali immediately spitting his pride back up and being a bitchy bird? Do you like mipha and revali as gossip buddies? Do you like the complete and utter fool revali makes of himself everytime he so much as hears the name link? Do you like people seeing right through his facade and calling him out on it?

AND NOT TO MENTION THE WORLD BUILDING??? this fic is so in depth of the political climates, racism, lore, changes in culture during times of war, colonisation, biology of the races and just fucking everything?? It adds so much life to the world of hyrule I am genuinely shocked at how much this person clearly loves these games (botw/totk/aoc) and they are able to incorporate all of this amazing information in a way that flows so naturally and just hhrnngngg I am fucking insane about it. THE SCIENCE, oh my god how did I forget all the wonderous thoughts surrounding the divine beasts and the sheikah tech, oh god and how they write the magic system? Guys I swear it's so good.

Characterisation is on point, everyone feels so full of life and that they are reacting exactly how you would expect them too, and they just seem so real, like they are right beside you as you're reading. The author does an IMMACULATE job of drawing you in and making you feel a part of the story, all the while being just beautifully written?

Don't get me started on the attention to rito culture. I have never seen someone pour so much love into something before, genuinely on of the greatest things I've seen. I've always had a fascination over how the races of hyrule view each other, similarities and differences, how their cultures and histories intertwine, and conflicts that may arise. But oh. my. god. My jaw was on the floor every time, it's so rich and beautiful but not without the horrors (and oh god, they are Horrors tm) and again it's just so real!!!

Be warned, however, that there is gore and viscera and terror and hurt and war crimes and death (duh), but for each terrible thing to happen it is repaid tenfold in love and kindness somewhere down the line. (Unless you are into hurt no comfort, then sorry buddy!) It is a beautiful narrative and the exploration of trauma and self is mind boggling and just go read it!!! 😭 😭 😭 I just love this fic so much, it has instantly sky-rocketed to one of my top 3 favourite fics I've ever read, and I'm so grateful to have found it and now be along for the ride that if I could bring that to one more person then by god I will fucking do it