♬ dancing in the kitchen – zachary knowles . our song – taylor swift
› a/n : hello! another chapter of home is out and it's lowkey inspired by two songs from my fav artists. ugh.. martin is so boyfriend coded in this. had my feet kicking the air and toes curled to his cuteness like mama, i want a martin too.. anw, i hope all of u enjoy this as i do! <3
The sound of utensils clanking rings through the kitchen, straight to your shared bedroom.
“Babe, is everything okay?”
You half shout from your bed.
“Uh. Yeah! No one is hurt!”
Martin replies with a full yell, blastered across the apartment unit.
You move the heavy duvet to the side, making your way to the kitchen where Martin is preparing a breakfast for two.
Your feet drag you slowly to the kitchen.
You can see him barely crouching 90 degrees, retrieving the burnt pieces of something on the floor.
Then you quietly give him a backhug, making him startled at the sudden contact.
You snuggle into his warmth, inhaling his familiar musky scent.
“Morning”.
Smooch.
Martin mumbles his morning wish back, while reciprocating your smooch on the lips.
“Smell something good, so I drag my lazy bum here.”
“Made some cheese toasts for us!”
Cheese toast. That's the menu.
You tap your forehead lightly as a sign of forgetting that you are the one who is supposed to make his favorite meal this morning.
“Oh my god, Eds! I am so sorry. How can I forget that you are craving for it yesterday?”
You facepalm with a slight anger in yourself.
With a slow hum, Martin circles your waist and rubs your side on the fabric of your silk nightwear.
He flashes a gentle smile.
“Nah, that's okay. My girl should have more time of her beauty sleep”.
You ruffle his fluffy morning hair and giggle at his answer.
“I can see that you hardly survive a battle against the stove and the pan just now”.
“Well at least your kitchen is safe from any damage right, baby?”
He pecks you on your crown.
“Yeah right! What's with the burnt ones in the sink?”
You throw a side eye to him and wiggle your eyebrows.
“Ugh no way. You caught me in a broad daylight!”
His shoulders slump a bit.
“I never meant to.” You mock him with a sly grin.
“But hey, I made us breakfast. So stop!”
You coo at his childish antics, making him pout.
You then tiptoed to give him a peck. “Thank you!”
He returns your peck with a deep french kiss on your lips, making you gasp and slap his chest lightly.
He lets out his signature husky laugh, straight to your face.
Both of you move to the dining table, with a plate of cheese toasts and a glass of fresh milk served by your boyfriend.
One glass is just enough. You can always share a sip of it. Not that you are a fan of milk though.
“Is it good?” Martin anticipates a reaction from you.
“Tastes the same as how I usually do it.”
You tell him with an honest look.
“Then why did mine is different back in LA?”
Oh. He looks way too serious now.
“Is it the cheese?”
“Nope!” You let out a loud stress on the 'p' sound.
“You are just being clingy, Martin. That's it.”
“You're mean.” He intends to grab the toast from your hand, but you retract way faster than him.
“Uh uh, mama says do not play with the food!”
“Ugh... you should be grateful that I still let you have it.”
You fake a dramatic gasp. “Wow, that means you love me.”
Martin ignores your tease and pinches your nose. Cute! He loves your rosy tinted nose.
It definitely seems like a typical setting of breakfast at home on the weekend, having a morning banter together with your partner.
You kind of like it though, and weekends are supposed to be like this. You hum an unknown song with dangling happy feet under the table.
•••••••••••••••••••••
While you are busy with the laundry, Martin is seating comfortably at the living room with his acoustic guitar.
That guitar. The one that you bought for him on his previous birthday.
Your heart warms at the sight. It feels so domestic.
Right after you shove the last piece of cloth into the washing machine, you stride over to where Martin is.
The couch dips lightly due to your weight.
You settle with both legs folded underneath your hip, and hook a hand on his shoulder to play with his nape.
His long and slender fingers strumming the strings of random tunes easily.
His eyes are focusing on the strings, while you observe his nearly serious face. His head bops slowly to the sound he plays.
His lashes are curled perfectly in its place. His brows crease slightly like he is processing a new song in his mind.
Pretty boy. You think.
“How come we don't have our own song already?”
”Huh?”
“Why, you, as a super smart boyfriend producer, do not have a song written for us?”
You repeat your question in a whiny tone, making your lips puckered unintentionally.
Martin catches a glimpse of your pouty lips and chuckles. His hand playfully pinches your cheeks.
You blush at his sudden encounter.
“Who said that I never intended writing a song for us?”
You gasp, half shock at his revelation.
“Then why I haven't heard any of it? It's not like I'm complaining but.. ugh.. Never mind.”
You stop playing with his nape. Your face is now few inches away from him.
Martin acts steady, all ears to your babbles with all his energy saved in him.
He never feels tired of listening to your voice. A beautiful voice that brings joy to him.
He reaches for both of your hands and clasp them into his.
“Baby, that's because our song isn't for the public to listen to. It's reserved for us. Only both of us”.
You listen intently.
He tucks your hair behind your ears and brings you close to lean on his chest.
His heart beats calmly behind you.
He plays with your ring on your finger, absentmindedly. The one that he once bought for you.
The same promise ring that he has one too.
“Our song—is the sound of the slamming door when we were having small fights.”
“Our song—is the overlapping voices when we were on the phones and you talked real slow, thousand miles away from each other”.
“Our song—is the way we laugh when we were having our cozy nights together”.
You have no words in between that. Period.
Martin is so poetic, even with his goofy demeanor. He can be silly, some times.
But some other times, he never plays when he is in his elements.
You lift your head slightly, to look at his face with a longing gaze.
All this while. He was recording his precious, big or small, happy or sad moments together with you in his mind.
Your eyes are already brimming with some hot drops. You reach for his cheek and palm it with the softest lingering touch ever.
“Martin Edwards Park. I can never get enough of you.”
He melts into your warmth.
“Girl, not the government name please.”
“Shut up.”
You look straight into his brown orbs and lean into his face, claiming his lips with a yearning kiss.
He deepens it, making you circle your arms around his broad shoulders.
tags: james x f!reader, longfic, sfw, college au, angst if you squint, pining, ft. cortis hyung line and members of katseye
synopsis: you and james were joint at the hip. all your friends saw it, the way you looked at each other, the lack of boundaries, the genuine connection. throughout heartbreaks, bad dates and long days, you found each other at the end of it all. you both had a track record of shortlived flings, however, when you get in a proper relationship for the first time ever and leave james behind, he wonders why he cares this much, and gets antsy waiting for you to snap out of it.
snoopy's notes: hellooo hii!! this is my first time posting a fic ever! #scared but everyone on coerblr is so nice so it helps me feel better. this is my first time writing a narrative story ever also so it's probably lowkey kinda bad but im not going to let 8k words sit in my notes app! turned 17 yesterday we're embracing new horizons ayy!! the premise of the story is based on the arctic monkeys song 'snap out of it', this idea has been in my head for years but i just had no one to write it about then enter my glorious, beautiful, intelligent, charismatic, talented, one in a million james ❤️
also, there's a character named louis in this and at the time i was writing it i really just pulled the name out of my ass and never went back on it, just so you know! it's not referencing to louis from lngshot! it's really just some random guy
(wc: 5k)
the midsummer sun was almost cruel with its piercing rays. the air was still and the sky placid blue. under the shade on a lounge chair, james was somewhat able to curb the heat, with that and the coolness of the ocean water slowly drying off his skin. his current preoccupation was to artfully ignore the gaze of the brunette girl who sat two seats over. not because he wasn't interested, he liked playing the long game. eventually he'd walk past once, twice, thrice if he was feeling extra, before striking a conversation and the rest would be history. short lived history if you will. he took the last swig of his drink and decided this is when he'll start his mission. before getting up though, he checks his phone one last time. he stares at the text messages from the group chat, a picture of you with ice cream on your nose and martin laughing at you for it. he can't help the small smile that plays on his lips reading his reply, ‘i would've licked it off if i was there’, to which the group chat had erupted in strings of ews and yucks.
whatever you and james had going on was no secret. it was a loud white lie, the we're just very close and we've known each other forever. where james would flirt with you shamelessly but hold you when no one was watching. where physical boundaries were non-existent, to the point your friends were used to the sight of the two of you ending up on top of each other at some point during the hangout. it was thrilling, normal. you talked to other guys, he talked to other girls, somehow still always meeting half way with each other any way. after a bad date you'd text him come over? and he'd reply with ‘omw’. after a stressful day at work he'd shoot you ‘wanna hang?’ and you'd say ‘always’. the familiarity was coaxing, the freedom non oppressing. you liked how james was unpredictably predictable, to everyone else he was spontaneous, a little crazy, but you could study the pattern that was him. you knew he would always be there, in whatever way you needed him, and you would be for him– maybe that's what your whole situation was based on, just the mutual trust and lack of boundaries, in any sense of the word. from your lack of boundaries when it came to friendship to the rigid walls that captured the word "relationship" and all the rules that came with it.
james' summer in europe was mostly uneventful. he lazed around at the beach, mapped the city by himself when his parents were too busy enjoying the luxuries of the 5 star hotel they were staying in, he went on dates here and there, mostly for company–( it got lonely by himself in a foreign city), he shopped at street markets, bought souvenirs for everyone (after he realised he bought you things and forgot about the rest). he convinced himself that the lack of messages from your end was normal. the only updates he got about you were second hand information from the rest of the group, he just figured you were busy with your summer job and enjoying life while the warmth was still present in the days.
he still tried to convince himself the same when he was back home and had minimal contact with you. the rest of the summer passed by in a blur, august evenings diluting in a watercolor hue and no trace of you.
it was fresh september, the last week of doss days before college began. the group planned a meaningless hangout, like they usually do, which feature walking around various places and trying not to spend money. almost everyone showed up, except you.
martin and james naturally ended up a few steps behind the rest of the group.
james strolled with hands in his pockets and questioned casually, "where’s y/n?"
martin shook his head in mock disappointment, "she chose hoes before bros."
james steps staggered, before he pushed onwards, "what do you mean?"
"you know the guy she's seeing?" martin said so matter of factly that all james' face could manage was a blank.
martin pursed his lips, as realization dawned on him and he wished he was not the one having this conversation.
"..she didn't tell you?"
"hasn't." james corrected quickly, resuming back to his usual demeanor.
martin was quick to jump on his remark, "oh yeah man– she's been- like so busy. i’m sure she'll get around to it."
he watched james carefully, and was surprised to see the lack of expression on his face.
"i mean it's whatever," james replied coolly, "what does it have to do with me?" he punctuated with a smirk before running up to the rest of the group and making some stupid joke causing all of them to laugh. martin stood feeling dazed.
the college campus was lively and loud. friends reuniting in their familiar spaces, everyone catching up and expressing excitement for the new year. your footsteps followed the familiar terrain to the back of the building that is your spot. you turn the corner of the red brick building and find your friends grouped near the wall. you smile at the sight. heads turn when they hear the crunch of gravel under your foot. The group erupts in greetings and hugs and megan and yoonchae berating you for disappearing. you apologize trying to escape their wrath, assuring them they will get the details soon over coffee.
james watched from the outskirts of the group as he usually does, waiting for your eyes to find him. your eyes land on him and you disentangle from the group and move towards him.
"hi." you smile. open, familiar.
he smiles back, opening his arms for a hug which you gladly fold into.
"hey." he says into your hair.
you pull back, a renewed sense of warmth in you at the sight of him.
"so, how was europe?" you ask.
he thinks for a moment, "beautiful." is what he comes up with, "that's it i think."
you laugh, "what a waste, your parents should've taken me instead."
"oh definitely." he says without hesitation, "you know i wouldn't have minded some company, you know, peers, and not my parents trying to convince me to join them for the live music night at the hotel where all they sing is really sad and really bad covers of love songs."
"oof." you grimace, then a small smirk replaces it, "oh, so you were lonely?"
he shrugs, "i found ways to keep busy."
you didn't reply, for some odd reason his words settled in your mouth with an odd taste. you force a smile in response.
the group was slowly migrating towards their respective buildings and lecture halls, dropping off in pairs until it was just you and james walking across the campus to your classes. you walked in silence, which you were trying to discern was comfortable or not. you never questioned it before. as you studied the patterns of cobblestone on the ground, you debated how to tell james about the guy you were seeing. it felt exponentially harder to do so compared to when you told your other friends, which made sense because he wasn't exactly your friend, not in the traditional sense any way. but you also hadn't seen him in a while, and didn't he just hint at seeing girls on his vacation? you never overcomplicated things with each other before so why now?
you decide on a casual approach, conversational like you were only exchanging the new events in your life seeing a friend after a long time. that's what this basically was, right?
"did i tell you i’m seeing someone?" you mention coolly.
james is equally stoic, "you didn't."
james wasn't worried. surely this was the usual gig for you guys. and why would he even be worried? he knew in a weeks time you guys would be back to your usual antics.
"yeah. i met him at work. he's really sweet. he asked me out after work one day, and yeah. i’ve been seeing him since." you nod when you finish your explanation which you felt like you owed him.
when he didn't give an outright response, you felt your mouth move involuntarily,
"i really like him."
you deliberately pressed your lips together to stop yourself from saying anything more. you found yourself trying to analyze his expression, there was a small smile playing on his lips, which made you raise an eyebrow.
"what?"
"hm? nothing." he replies still with the same smile painted on his lips.
he didn't buy it.
you felt irritation bubble in your stomach, he was the only one who could elicit such emotions from you so easily. before you could say anything more, he checked his watch and started drifting the opposite way.
"see you at lunch." he winked and made for the door.
you stared at the empty space that was him two seconds ago before realising that, you were also late and also standing right in front of your building without even realising. you blink a few times to clear your head before climbing the steps to the door.
that day he showed up at your work. you hear the door chime and you move to the counter automatically barely registering your surroundings.
"hey, what can i get for you today?" you say in your high pitched but dead, perfect customer service voice.
"mm, depends. yre you on the menu?"
Your eyes shoot up from the ordering screen to be met with the playful glint in james' eyes. you sigh and shake your head.
"oh. you."
"that's no way to greet a friend." he tsks.
"the usual?" you ask.
"i said depends," he leaned both his elbows on the counter, "you didn't tell me if you were other menu."
your eyes flick over once to the far corner at the other end. james catches it instantly, staring at the guy frothing the milk at the machine.
"cut that out." you say softly.
james nods his head once towards the corner, "that him?"
you turn your head to look at louis, even though you didn't need to and knew who james was talking about.
"yes."
you avoid his eyes, busying yourself by tapping on the screen, making james' usual order by muscle memory.
james considers this, "interesting."
the same irritation from the morning resurfaces.
"is that why you're here? to assess the guy i’m seeing?" you ask annoyed.
he takes a step back and puts his hands up in surrender, "i didnt even say anything! i’m here to get my coffee because your shop is conveniently on the way from school."
you scoff, yeah right.
"and to ask if you're down hang after you’re finished work."
you physically stiffen.
"could've texted me." you say with arms crossed.
"this is more heart touching, plus the coffee."
you shake your head, unable to resist the small smile on your lips.
"sorry, i can’t tonight."
he shrugs, "well, i tried." then he adds after a moment, "you going out with him?"
alarms blare in your heads for some reason even though it is a very normal question to ask. you take a breath before answering.
"yeah."
he nods once, then twice, "where are you going?"
"i don't know yet. he says it's a surprise." you smile and look at louis from the corner of your eyes. "i’m kind of nervous."
"yeah, you hate surprises." james states as a fact.
"that's not true," you say defensively, "i like them when they're done well."
"i hope he's done it well then."
you nod silently, and for a moment it's just quiet. youre both looking at each other divided by the counter.
"james." louis calls from the other end, a to-go coffee in hand.
james raises an eyebrow in confusion.
"i put your order in, you were taking too long to decide."
he laughs, actually laughs before sliding to get his coffee. he doesn't thank louis or even look at him, which is a little petty he'll admit, but oh well.
he raises the cup towards you as he walks past towards the door, "cheers."
you wave goodbye.
you kick the door shut behind yourself and take a deep breath, bouquet clutched against your racing heart trying to calm it down. you kick your heels off, and walk into your apartment, the smell of roses wafting up your nose.
manon is sprawled on the couch half watching something on the tv, half on her phone. she looks up when she finds you standing there with the roses in your hands. she smiles a knowing smile then mutes the tv and puts her phone down.
"so?" she provokes.
you stare at the flowers again, still half dazed from the events of the day. too much for one day. way too much.
"he asked me."
manon stares at you.
"to be his girlfriend." you finish and it comes out like a breath you've been holding.
her eyes widen and she laughs,
"and??"
"and i’m scared manon!" you finally put the flowers down.
"why?" she asked genuinely baffled.
"because!" you’re pacing back and forth in front of the tv and her eyes follow you in confusion, "because i’ve never done this before? because im scared ill mess it up?" because i don't even know if im ready.
she pauses then asks, "do you like him?"
"yes." you did.
"then you take the chance! who cares what ends up happening?"
you think about this.
"and didn't you say you wanted to be in a proper relationship?"
you did want that.
"i said yes. to him."
she jumps up and hugs you, "atta girl. about time you start doing things for yourself."
you were too exhausted to ask what she meant.
in a weeks time it was established that you and louis were in a relationship, a proper one with the boyfriend-girlfriend label attached.
life did feel different. the only time you didn't see him was in school, you saw each other in work and after. he'd do things that people do in relationships that you had never experienced, like introducing you to people by telling them you were his girlfriend, or holding your hand when you were on sidewalks and kissing you goodbye at the bus stop. it felt good, this unfamiliar feeling. you could get lost in the high of it.
it was lunch, and still warm and sunny for the end of september. you sat at the campus park with your friends soaking the last of summer.
you heard yoonchae make a gagging sound and you open your eyes and squint at what she's looking at. that one campus couple that are way too into pda. you frown.
"ew."
"you can't say anything, you're one of them now." says yoonchae kicking you lightly with her foot.
"um no," you furiously shake your head, offended, "i’d never be caught dead doing all that in public. also megan’s literally had a boyfriend of two years, i didn’t abandon you."
"when is it my turn?" martin asks despairingly at the sky.
"never." yoonchae replies without missing a beat.
"you have no game either." martin retorts.
"incorrect."
martin echoes, "incorrect." in a mocking nerd voice, making everyone laugh.
"wait, y/n you never told us how louis asked you out." megan asks.
your eyes flicker to james for just a second, then back to the whole group. james is sitting, facing outwards from the group, but he turned his head to look at you.
"well. he asked me out one day after work and when i asked him what we were doing he said" you gesture air quotes, "it's a surprise."
"so after work we went on a drive to this lookout where you can see all the city lights at night and then he disappeared back to the car and came back with roses and asked me to be his girlfriend. the end."
"that's so sweet!" megan said clapping her hands together, and the group joined with oohs and aws.
you pick on a blade of grass, "yeah, it was really nice."
"oh my god she's blushing." juhoon points out and you flip him off.
"when do we get to meet him?" james voice cuts across the group, he has a tight smile on his lips. you blink.
"you guys already have." you reply.
"seeing him from a distance at your work doesn't count. we want to meet him properly." yoonchae points and you see all of them nod their heads and you immediately try to bring them back down to earth.
"not now." you said firmly.
"why not?" asked yoonchae.
"because. you'll scare him away."
"we wouldn't do such a thing." juhoon said with a hand to his chest.
your eyes pierce into james' and he laughs,
"what?"
you look away, "i know he will."
"why do you say that?" martin asks suspiciously.
you look at james again, "he already did."
martin dramatically puts his hands on his head, then points at james, "youve met him already?"
the whole group is shocked and all stare at james with varying levels of surprise.
james immediately springs up, "wait, hold on. i only saw him. i never spoke to him, so there's no way i could've done anything to scare him."
"what did he do?" yoonchae questions immediately.
james moves his body to face you properly. he looks entertained by this conversation. "yeah, what did i do?"
you avoid his pressing gaze, "you snatched your coffee out of his hand, didn't look at him and didn't say thankyou." you say in a lighthearted manner counting each thing on your finger.
the group laughed.
"you didn't say thankyou?" megan said in a disappointed tone.
"that's so not you." martin lightly bumped his fist on james shoulder.
james smiles, unaffected, "did he tell you this?"
"no!" you begin defensively, then, "..yes."
james laughs, "seriously, that's it? that scared him?"
laughter erupted once more.
"it wasn't like that." you attempt in defense of your boyfriend, "it just came up in conversation and i was there too, i saw you guys, it's not like he was making things up."
everyone was quiet. james regarded you quietly which made you nervous.
"and what did you think?" he asked.
"about what?"
"about me and whatever i was acting like?"
you purse your lips, "i thought it was rude you didn't say 'thankyou'."
he nods, "i might’ve forgotten in the moment," he looks at you with a solemn expression, way too serious. he advances and captures your hands in his, the touch warm from the sun, "will he ever find it in his heart to forgive me?" he says dramatically, "will you?"
you push your hands away from hold, with a suppressed smile on your lips.
"i hate you."
juhoon dapped james up and everybody smiled amusedly at the whole interaction. that moment seemed to break the conversation as it led to other things, to your relief, away from you and the subject of your relationship. james studied you quietly, he found himself doing it more often recently. for the first time he couldn't seem to be able to figure you out. he wasn't yet sure if the thought excited or scared him.
james wasn't blind. as the weeks turned into a month, he grew uneasy. he never saw you anymore, just him and you. when he saw you in college amongst all your friends he questioned why he cared so much. he would see you smile at your phone every now and then, watched you bring louis up in casual conversation, noticed the new necklace you had been wearing. he couldn't figure out why he cared so much. he saw people and so did you all the time before, but this felt different. it's just that he missed your company, that's it. nothing weird, even if seeing you made his body react in a way he wasn't used to, apprehensive and drawn in at the same time. sometime he made a decision to do something about the latter. it happened slowly, but he started pulling away too, subtlety avoiding you. he didn't like the way his brain functioned around you and how much of his energy was spent reading you, he figured there was something genuinely wrong with him at the moment and it was best to retreat for the time being as he walked the journey towards being normal again. so in an attempt of proving to himself he was totally normal, when the girl with blue hair who sat a few rows down from him in one of his lectures, asked for his number randomly one day, he didn't let himself think too much before giving it.
he adjusted his glasses and concentrated on the notes opened in front of him, the chatter of the campus café blocked by the earphones in his ears. he heard a tapping on the window beside him, turning his head only slightly to make sure he was imagining it, but you stand there waving enthusiastically. he removes one earphone slowly in confusion and you hurry past the window and into the cafe in a split second. your eyes search the tables by the window and find his. you smile at him as you approach and his heart does something very annoying in his chest.
"hey you." you smile warmly as you pull the chair opposite him.
"hey." he replies but it comes out a little breathless.
you shrug your coat off, "feels like i haven't seen you in forever."
he looks down, "yeah, i know."
you nod slowly, you weren't used to things being awkward between you and it made you nervous. silence settled between you, as you thought of what to say.
"you seem busy with all this," you gestured to the table, "but i was thinking of checking out the flea market that's on tonight after school." you add, "if you wanna come."
he pauses for a moment, "i have a date tonight," he says like it cost him something, "sorry."
you blink in surprise, "oh! don't worry about it," you rush to say, "that's great. is she in our college?" you ask in the most casual tone you can summon.
everything in james was telling him to cancel on his date and go to the flea market with you.
"yeah, she's in one of my classes."
you nod fervently, "that's good, you have things in common then."
he looks at you for a moment, which makes you nervous, "yeah, i guess."
your hands curl around the handle of your bag, "well, ill see you at megan's party next week, right?"
he nods, "oh yeah."
"okay, good" you put your coat back on, "dont work too hard." you smile, he forces a smile back and then you're off.
james' head hits the table as the doors closes behind you with a thud.
the colourful lights spilled out of the house that boomed with music, housing sweaty drunk people way over its capacity. megan was known for her parties and her endless array of friends. all she needed was an excuse and she was throwing a party on behalf of a friend of a friend's birthday. you take a deep breath at your surroundings and question if this was the best place for your friends to meet louis, properly. he seemed relaxed though. his hand curled around your waist as if he could sense your unease.
you yell over the noise into his ears,
"don't mind them, they're a bit weird." as you lead him to the living room where martin set up his dj set and most of your friends stood crowded around. louis laughed and shook his head.
"she made it!" said manon spotting you and reaching for a hug.
louis stood awkwardly by you as you greeted your friends, all of them waiting for you to address the elephant in the room.
"this is louis," you introduce him as if he needed an introduction. "this is martin the dj," martin daps him up, "this is my roommate manon," she smiles slowly at him, assessing him which makes him nervous, "oh and here's juhoon too," you said spotting him as he made his way over with drinks in his hands then fist bumped louis with a casual "wassup man?"
louis nodded taking it all in,
"megan and yoonchae are m.i.a." said manon.
"as per usual." you laugh.
louis cuts in,
"what about james?"
everyone freezes, all eyes trained on the two of you. you blink at louis,
"james?"
"yeah."
"he's around, i saw him before." juhoon answered for you.
louis takes a sip of the drink juhoon had handed him and nods, "cool, i wanted to meet him too."
another awkward silence falls over the group. you clear your throat,
"well, come help me look for a proper drink." you tug at his arm, and he follows without objection. upon your leaving, the group shares an exasperated knowing look.
"that wasn't too bad?" you ask.
louis shakes his head, "no, not at all. they seem nice."
"they are."
"i think some of my friends are here too."
you feel anxiety bubble up, "oh really?"
you end up at the counter with the drinks. louis does a show of mixing up something dramatically for you, which makes you laugh. he swirls the red plastic cup like a wine glass and hands it to you. you take a sip and wince.
"awful."
he laughs, fingers reaching out to brush the hair out of your face.
from a few feet away, james watches. to his dismay his eyes seemed to spot you in a room full of people, ears following the pitch of the soft laugh that sounded like dominoes cascading. he watches him whisper something in your ear, and your shy laughter and twinkling eyes. you leaning into his touch with familiarity. like it was no big deal. he turns around and walks the other way.
you and louis float around the place, ending back up at the living room where martin laid on banger after banger.
you pull louis by both his hands, "dance with me."
he pulls back and shakes his head.
"please!"
"i'll watch."
you drop his hands with an unserious pout,
"fine, you better be watching."
you mingle yourself into the sweaty and hyper mix of bodies, jumping up and down. you internally applaud martin for his music taste as you throw your arms here and there. you feel a tap on your shoulder and you whip around,
"james!" you exclaim with laughter.
he smiles in response, dancing in an absurd way that always made you laugh. you start mirroring him, the two of you engaged in some outlandish ritual of your own, which you both found hilarious.
you break from the crowd out of breath, james follows behind you . you find louis watching you with a keen gaze, still at the same spot you left him at.
"this is james." you say, a little louder than usual over the music.
louis smiles an easy smile and extends a hand towards james introducing himself.
his other hand slides around your waist and james' eyes flicker towards it for a split second, before he takes louis hand in a firm shake, a pressed smile on his lips.
"i've heard a lot about you." louis begins and your head snaps in his direction in bafflement.
james looks amused, "really?"
"he's lying." you say to james.
louis laughs, pulling you more into him. you notice the smell of drink off him wash over you.
"she says 'one of my friends' or 'i have a friend who', but i know she's talking about you." he still has that easy smile on his lips, but you find yourself growing uneasy.
you were supposed to ask how could he know which friend you were talking about, but what leaves your lips is,
"we've just known each other the longest."
louis head turns to face you, "really? how long?"
you pause to think, but james replies instantly,
"since 7th grade."
you blink,
"oh, yeah. he was the new kid at school," you reminiscence, "i went out of my way to become his friend, because im just so great." you add the last part jokingly.
"you are." james and louis say at the same time.
your eyes widen, a stretched silence engulfed you as james and louis regarded each other in a moment that made you wish you would combust on the spot.
you project a nervous laugh, which breaks the intense moment.
"ladies, one at a time." you joke awkwardly, unsure if you made the moment lighter or worse.
to your relief, louis broke away from the situation. his eyes drifted from james to find a set of familiar faces. his hand found yours.
"there are the guys i was talking about."
your eyes follow his gaze to find a group of boys sat on the living room couch, laughing and gesticulating, empty cans abandoned around.
louis nods curtly at james, "see you around."
james nods as well, with no response.
your eyes drift over the room in search of your friends, from where you are at the couch, leaning against louis as he talks animatedly to his friends. he had introduced you, and then after some attempts at conversation you found it hard to jump into their discussions. you didn't let yourself be disappointed because louis had been so great with all your friends tonight (except whatever happened with james), so you kind of owed it to him.
you lean closer to him, "im gonna get some fresh air."
he breaks from the conversation and focuses his attention at you, "sure. you okay?"
you nod, "yeah, it's stuffy in here."
"okay." he plants a kiss on your cheek, which makes you smile. sweet.
you move towards the front door, knowing the backyard had a pool so everyone would be hanging out there.
the brisk autumn air is refreshing when you step out onto the porch. you inhale deeply and close your eyes. you open your eyes as you exhale and they land on james, who was leaning on the porch railing, bottle in hand, looking at you. you move to the same railing.
"what are you doing out here?" you ask.
"getting some air and quiet." he replied. "you?"
"same, it's really hot in there." you add, "have you seen the others? i looked around just now and couldn't find them."
james finishes taking a sip, "they're in some room smoking pot."
you fake gasp, "without us?"
"well, you've been busy." he says matter of factly.
"i would've appreciated the invite. and you? why aren't you with them?"
he shrugs slowly, "..meh."
you laugh, "meh?"
"didn't feel like it." he clears up.
"that's fair enough."
a soft kind of quiet falls over you. there was the sound of faint music and laughter carrying out of the house, the only light was the distant streetlight and the fluorescent lights spilling out of the windows which softened james' features.
you break the quiet with a question you had been dying to ask,
"so, what do you think of louis?"
he squints at you with a suspicious glint in his eyes,
"why do you care what i think?"
"i care what all my friends think. i just haven't got a chance to ask them yet." you say matter of factly.
"hm." he hums, staring ahead as he thinks. you find yourself waiting in anticipation.
he finally speaks, slowly, "i think he plays the part of being your boyfriend instead of actually being your boyfriend."
you stare at him, processing his words.
"what do you mean?"
he shrugs, "like, back there," his head motioned towards the house, "he introduced you to his friends but didn't engage you in the conversation. or when he asked you out with what, roses? does he know those aren't your favourite flowers?"
your eyebrows pull together in confusion, "the kind of flowers he gets me means nothing. that's insignificant."
he brings the bottle up to his lips, but pauses. he shrugs,
"i guess, until you find out he doesn't know you at all."
you stare at him bewildered,
"and who made you the expert on this?"
he leans back, annoyance painted on his features, mirroring yours,
"you asked?"
"yeah, but-" you sigh in frustration, "you're being weird."
"no i’m not."
"yes, you are!" you pause, "even back there! you were being weird and standoffish."
he cuts across you, anger evident, "and he wasn't?"
"he was. but it was from a place of– i don't know, jealousy? protectiveness? stupid boyfriend-girlfriend stuff? it wasn't justified but it was explainable. what's your reason?" you say louder than you intended.
he looks at you baffled, before pulling back to his usual demeanor, looking away. you groan internally at his unwillingness to be open about any of his emotions.
"i spoke to him with the same air he spoke to me. that's all."
"you're so frustrating." your words fly out.
"and you're overbearing." he retorts.
both of you stand there, charged and breathing heavily, but neither of you moves away. james turns away, facing forwards again, leaning on the railing.
you don't speak for a while.
"are you in love?" james asks out of nowhere.
"what?" you ask, confused.
"might explain why you're acting this way."
you roll your eyes, "oh, please."
he places his elbow on the railing, and rests his head on his fist, turned to look at you. the way he looks at you makes your heart race.
"so, are you?" he asks again.
you jerk your shoulders up and down, "i don't know, and what if i am?" you say defensively.
he stares at you for a moment, something you can't name washes over his face.
he's moving again, not looking at you anymore, staring straight ahead.
"it doesn't sound like you." he says simply.
you're taken aback, "what does that mean?"
he licks his lips before answering, "it sounds like settling down, or giving up," he looks at you sideways, "doesn't sound much like you."
you immediately frown, offended.
"i want to settle down. is that so hard to imagine?"
he shakes his head, "it just seems a bit sudden."
you scoff, "i've wanted this for a long time."
james pauses, "you have?"
"yes." you fire, "and you're making me feel like i don't deserve it."
"that's not what i meant and you know it." he says immediately.
"do i? do i know it?" you advance, anger evident in your tone, "i think we don't see eye to eye on things we want anymore."
there's an inch of space between you, james stares down at the fire in your eyes, his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second and it feels like there's a deafening silence surrounding you.
"i guess we don't." is all he says.
you turn at your heel and walk back into the house, not looking back. james stares at your back disappearing behind the door.
that night, you didn't let louis question you on why you wanted to leave the party so suddenly. you said you had a headache and were tired and he didn't ask more. you walked out the car to your dorm and didn't kiss him goodnight.
Synopsis: You were to be Persephone, he was to be Hades and neither of you wanted to love each other. The Fates however, did not like their plans to be thwarted.
Pairing: Hades!Jo x Persephone!fem!reader
Warnings: Greek mythology au, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers (sorta), slow burn, this is not a real representation of greek mythology i am only using the tropes dont come for me, mention of blood, alcohol and food, poetry because its me, SMUT IN NEXT PART
A/N: this was originally a Sunghoon fic i abandoned back in 2024 and i stumbled upon the first three scenes i wrote back then so i decided to pick it up for Jo instead because he fits really well for this. Shoutout to my baby nika @kwnnies for listening to me yap and crash out over this fic ily mmwah mmwah. As always, enjoy, my darlings!
Word Count: 19k (37k total)
PART TWO
“May The Fates be ever in your favour.”
The smiling young boy in front of you stood up with a muffled groan, and patted away the soft green earth stuck to the fabric of his trousers—a reason many stood with reluctant faces before kneeling down in front of the altar. But that is an insignificant reason. The real reason for the shuffling of feet and the fiddling of fingers before tall marble pillars of stone and marble, was something more detailed than muddy grass and loose threads.
“Uhh…were you not here last week too, sir?” you raised a brow at the elderly man clad in a royal general’s tunic in front of you, who, even at such an age, shocked you by kneeling with the agility of a modern soldier, “Something about your daughter and a prince?” The man’s crooked teeth as he smiled with all his mouth made you stifle your wince,
By the heavens, let the Gods not punish me for flinching away at this lone wolf of a man.
“I assumed you would have seen that,” the man said in barely a whisper, “would you have not, dearest oracle?”
“You mistake me for a common soothsayer, my good general.” you laughed, looking up at the statue of Apollo standing tall behind you, “I serve only the Gods.”
“My apologies, great oracle.” The old wolf grinned once more, this time bowing his head. He extended his arm behind him, presumably to signal some servants. Your eyes followed his arms, scarred skin full of constellations and stories he would tell his grandchildren one day when he would be far too old to find another war. That would be the beauty of war then, you decided. It provided stories, and stories were always perfectly ordinary were they not? The grandchildren would sleep well.
With stories of dried blood? a voice in your brain echoed, with stories of Ares and angels of death? Not a chance.
“.....And so we present to you, great oracle, our grandest offerings.” The wolf man laughed like a king, “We hope the Gods will be delighted.” You snapped back to reality to see all the grandiose plates set before you, filled with food, jewellery set with stones mined from the darkest corners of the earth, perfumes of foreign lands and weaponry, for the temple’s guards, you assumed.
“All this for a vision, my lord?”
“Your vision catapulted my daughter’s hope, and the wedding is to be set next week.” he huffed and puffed with his chin held high, “May you be allowed to attend?” You looked down meekly and placed your hand on the statue of Apollo, feeling a sense of warmth radiate off from it. You turned back, smiling, towards the general, your eyes hidden by the hood of your dress.
“Alas, Apollo forbids me.” You sigh, “He says I would be dishonouring Him if I ever leave his side.”
Behind you, your fellow priestesses, draped in fine cloth tread carefully, signalling for the gentleman to leave. He took heed of their gestures, and with one last bow, he swept off of his knee and strode off, his grand robe dancing behind him as he went. You heard one of your priestesses giggle.
“Now, what ghastly curse has befallen upon you, Wonyoung?” You said calmly, turning your head, with your hood off to the tall, fair girl, “That you are laughing without any reason?”
“Pardon me, oh great oracle.” She giggled again, “But don’t you think all of this–” She looked at the lines of jewellery, “—is too great of a gift for your matchmaking skills?” She impressed you, staring intently into your revered eyes, something not even the head priestess could do without much speculation.
“You question the oracle’s words, Wonyoung?” Another priestess, Yeji raised a brow, sweeping her long black hair behind her shoulder, “My my, priesthood is getting to your head, don’t you think?”
“I think you’d be a fool not to accept all of this.” You smiled at Wonyoung, running your hand over a silver platter filled to the brim with rubies, “This is your livelihood now, Wonyoung.” You got up from your position on the floor, stretching your stiff legs as you did, “You have to learn to appreciate it.” Wonyoung, with her young, curious face nodded fervently, bending down to pick up the silver platter along with Yeji.
“Are we to close for the day then?” A girl with blonde hair questioned sharply from behind you, “If the Gods are not troubling you anymore that is.” You turned to Karina and put your finger to your temple, pretending to think hard. Then you grinned like a cat, finally being able to see in full vision, with your hood off.
“They’re letting me go early today.” You laughed, looking up at the faint outline of the crescent moon from the open roofed temple. Rosy dusk cascaded like a waterfall in the far west and the sky was almost black now.
“Seal up the temple gates and hand the keys off to Jihyo in her chambers.” You pressed your hands to Karina’s tightly, “ Tell her I’ll be visiting Persephone’s shrine today.”
“That’s the fifth time this month you’ve been there.” Karina shook her head, “Has the Goddess enchanted you so much?”
You shrugged your shoulders. “She’s enveloped me in her flowers.” You tossed your hood back onto your head once more, effectively hiding your eyes, to anyone that might see. Taking one final look at the main chamber of the temple, you bid goodbye to Karina and sauntered off towards the south-eastern doors, a secret path which you took regularly to escape Apollo’s temple. You carried a lit torch in your hands.
Being the revered oracle of Greece meant that no one was to see your eyes, out of the ancient fear that fire itself brimmed from them. You didn't know much, but you were certain of the fact that your eyes weren't burning from dusk to dawn.
Perhaps they would have, you thought about your mother, if you had been a real oracle.
Not wanting to think much about the next day’s proceedings, you resorted to inspecting the marble floor of the path you were taking, checking for any irregularities that you’d have to report to Jihyo. To your utter disappointment, you didn't find any; the spotless floor has been cleaned with river sand as usual by the servants.
You then turned your eyes to the sky—it was properly night by now and judging by your faint shadow, the moon was right behind you. You ought to have paid your respects to the Goddess Selene, as you admired the sliver of the moon hanging proudly in the sky.
But you were an oracle dedicated to Apollo. How could you ever betray the mighty God who had created you? You and your entire family of your oracles, the gift being passed down from generation to generation, actual power surging through your blood.
Except that it did not.
“Oh Jihyo!” You cried with surprise, at the figure that had approached you from the dark. There stood Jihyo, the wide head priestess of the temple and your mentor.
“My dearest oracle.” She smiled gently, her face illuminated by the oil lamp she was holding, “Are you scrambling off to the Goddess Persephone again today?” You gave her a shy smile as you nodded, feeling like a child who had been caught in the middle of a mischievous act.
“Well, I’ve just offered my prayers to her.” Jihyo chuckled, “I daresay you would prefer to disturb her once more?”
“Only if she’ll allow me to.” You laughed, “Would you like me to lock the shrine up once I’m done?” You gestured towards the keys she held in her hand.
“Oh no, my dear.” Jihyo said, “I’ve been leaving the shrine open nowadays. Hardly any thief dares to enter the Goddess’ vicinity.” She laughed dryly, “But then again, our men are not as brave as they think they are.”
You stifled your raucous laugh at Jihyo’s jest, knowing well enough that it would disrupt the silent peace of the night. You said your goodbyes to Jihyo and went back on your path, promising her that you’d come back to your chambers early today.
An empty promise, you thought, your conversations with the Goddess could last on for centuries. She was the only one, in your opinion, who could listen to your rant about the absolute guilt you felt at giving your false prophecies everyday. Though she was only a marble figure, with beautifully carved curves, a face that could lure anyone and hair that slid like a waterfall, she felt more human to you than anybody else.
Goddess, you reminded yourself, as you knelt down on the altar, Goddess not human.
And with that, you began your prayer.
____________________
Ever since you started comprehending the world around you properly, your only duty as a child was to observe.
Observe your mother as she went on with her daily work as an oracle, who would relay messages from the mighty Gods above to the people of Greece.
You distinctly remember asking her once about the Gods. You could see her right now, in fact, smiling down sweetly at you and picking you up to her bosom. She smelled like wheatgrass and fresh marble and her voice was pure honey.
“The great Gods above–” She would begin after the day had ended and the temple was sealed up, “—are far too busy in their own important matters to lay their feet upon earthly mud and meddle in the quarrels of men.” She’d pick up an oil lamp with one hand, holding your tiny one in the other. She’d shine the light on the carvings of the temple walls, illuminating the faces of each and every God.
“Their voices are the most divine thing you could ever hear, my dearest.” She’d tell you, softly stroking your hair when you fell asleep next to her, “And one day—you’ll hear them too.”
As a mere child, you didn't understand the responsibility that an oracle had. You did understand the violence that came with it, having witnessed violent ribbons of red cloud your eyes by the most noblest of men, when your mother spoke something unsatisfactory.
War was the most common topic and you distinctly remember a time when the temple was sealed for three days straight after your mother said that Athena was far too disgusted by the Greek men to promise them victory at the latest war against some obscure island.
You remembered your mother too. You had seen her scars that day.
They were scars she promised never to let touch your skin. And as a naive child, raised by soft dressed priestesses and cold marble statues, you believed her. Perhaps the prayers she had chanted for you when she was still alive, did reach some merciful God. Not a single scar draped your body, except for the harmless ones you had acquired from scraping your body on a jagged piece of floor.
“That idiotic boy from that family of Stratigos keeps chanting useless prayers at the temple every morning again.” You chuckled, leaning back against the wall, hands playing with your dress in your lap, “I do not know how to break it to him that priestesses like Karina do not marry.” The delicate and subtle scent of asphodel floated to your nostrils, someone must have placed fresh ones at the altar early in the evening.
The familiar, cool silence of Persephone’s shrine settled around you like a second cloak. It was here, in this pocket of night scented with asphodel and damp earth, that you could finally let the sacred lie fall from your shoulders. You shifted on the stone step before the dais, your gaze tracing the serene, carved smile of the Goddess.
“Another day of grand performances,” you murmured, your voice barely stirring the still air. “Another general’s destiny secured with my lies.” You let out a soft, weary breath. “I wonder if you ever grow tired of the theatre, my Lady. Up there on Olympus, I mean. We certainly do down here.”
You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. This was the truth no marble pillar in Apollo’s temple would ever hear: the great, humbling secret that sat in your chest where divine fire was supposed to burn.
“I cannot see,” you confessed to the statue, the words a familiar, aching relief. “There are no swirling mists parting to show me Fate’s tapestry, no divine whispers threading through my mind as I sleep. No visions, never any visions.”
You had realized it young, a dawning horror amidst the incense and awe. While your mother’s eyes would grow distant, fixed on some unseen horizon as she spoke in a voice not quite her own, yours remained stubbornly present.
You saw only what was there: the tremor in a supplicant’s hand, the too-quick blink of a liar and the proud set of a general’s jaw. You listened to the worries they spilled before even asking their question, read the political currents of the city in the gifts they offered and the names they emphasized.
You were not a conduit for the gods, you were a student of the people. A collector of patterns, you liked to call yourself, a shrewd observer who had learned, from a lifetime at the altar’s foot, how to weave cold readings and carefully couched platitudes into something that sounded like prophecy. Truly a great performance.
“Sometimes,” you whispered, “I think my only true divine gift is the memory my mother drilled into me. Every past prophecy, every outcome, every trivial bit of gossip about every noble house—it’s all up here.” You tapped your temple. “The same thing happens each time, ambition will lead here, love will falter there. It’s all so….terribly ordinary.”
You stood, brushing the dust from your dress, a strange, empty fondness in your heart for the unmoving Goddess. “Forgive my complaints,” you said, offering a final, small bow. “And thank you, for listening.” You laughed a soft laugh, “You are the only one who knows the charade does not include you.”
You turned, the hem of your cloak whispering against the clean floor, and reached for your torch where it rested in a sconce. As you lifted it, the new angle of light threw your own dancing shadow against the far wall. And then you heard it.
Clear as your own voice in the quiet chamber, but layered with an echo that seemed to come from the very earth and stone.
“So terribly ordinary…”
Your blood turned to ice water, the torch nearly slipping from your grasp. You whirled around, heart hammering against your ribs, your wide eyes scanning the shrine. The light leapt and flared, painting frantic shapes on the columns.
But there was nothing. Only the statue of Persephone, her marble gaze holding its eternal silence. The asphodels nodded gently in a breeze you could not feel.
No one was there.
A long, suspended moment passed, filled only with the crackle of your torch and the deafening rush of your own pulse in your ears. A trick of the mind, you insisted, the product of guilt and fatigue and too many hours in the company of silent gods. It had to be.
With a hand that trembled only slightly, you pulled your hood up once more, shrouding your all-too-human eyes. You gave the statue one last, searching look, but the carved face revealed nothing. Swallowing hard, you turned and walked quickly into the dark mouth of the passageway, the echo of your own words—or something’s perfect mimicry of them—lingering in the sacred air behind you.
____________
Another day, another hundred hours of sitting in the sun and preaching your prayers.
The first hours of the morning always belonged to the desperate. By the time Helios had barely begun dragging his golden chariot over the horizon, there were already sandals scraping against the temple’s marble stairs and hushed prayers curling through Apollo’s sacred halls like smoke. Priestesses moved like pale ghosts between the columns, lighting incense, arranging bowls of figs and wine and honeyed bread before the altars while the first petitioners waited with clasped hands and restless eyes. You sat upon the sacred stone, your hood drawn low, and the day unfolded as a predictable scroll.
First came the merchant, fingers stained with ochre and speech laced with worry about ships—you spoke of Poseidon's favor, but cautioned against the greed of rushing the seasons. Next, a young athlete, his body taut with ambition and fear; you told him of honoring the body as a temple, and he bowed so deeply his forehead touched the marble.
Then a trembling young man who wished to know if the girl he loved would ever return his affections. That one was easy. “They already do,” you had answered after noticing the embroidered ribbon tied around his wrist—the same color worn by the baker’s daughter who delivered temple offerings every morning while glancing shyly toward the training grounds. He left the temple grinning like a fool.
By midday, the heat became unbearable, sunlight pouring mercilessly through the open roof of Apollo’s sanctuary, turning the marble floor warm beneath your knees. Sweat gathered at the back of your neck beneath your hood while incense smoke clung heavily to the air. The line of visitors never seemed to shorten.
You dealt with arrogance before noon. Fear after noon. And grief by evening.
A wealthy noblewoman arrived draped in enough gold to ransom a kingdom, demanding to know whether the gods approved of her son’s political ambitions, speaking as though Olympus itself ought to bend at her convenience. You told her carefully that “unchecked pride invites Athena’s displeasure.” The woman left deeply offended.
Yeji had nearly choked trying not to laugh after she departed. “You enjoy provoking them, don’t you?” She whispered later while replacing burnt incense at your side.
“I enjoy humility,” you replied mildly.
“That is not the same thing.”
“No,” you admitted, watching another petitioner ascend the stairs, “it rarely is.”
Hours blurred together after that. Names became faces and faces became voices and voices became prayers. Some were genuine, some selfish, some merely wished for the gods to confirm what they had already decided. You gave them all something—hope, warning, comfort, an illusion.
By the time dusk finally began bleeding across the horizon, painting the sky in hues of ochre and lavender, the temple had emptied into exhausted quiet. The marble pillars glowed beneath the dying sunlight while priestesses carried away offerings in silver trays, their soft chatter echoing faintly through the hall.
Karina had already retired to the lower chambers. Yeji disappeared with Wonyoung after complaining dramatically about her feet hurting. Even the guards stationed near the outer gates had relaxed now that the rush of visitors had ended.
You remained seated alone before Apollo’s altar, shoulders aching from maintaining the same poised posture for hours. The temple smelled of extinguished incense and warm stone.
At last, silence. The weight of the day's performance was lifting, and your thoughts were already drifting towards the quiet solace of Persephone's shrine, where you could shed the oracle's mantle and just be a tired young woman with a guilty conscience. You exhaled slowly and reached up to loosen the edge of your hood.
“One more minute,” you murmured to yourself. Apollo, in all his magnificent marble indifference, offered no objection.
Then, a figure approached from the shadow of a column. Neither a general nor a merchant nor a lovesick fool. A young woman, cloaked in a simple cream-colored robe that brushed against the floor as she walked. She moved with a gentle grace, her face open and kind, yet etched with a profound, quiet sorrow that seemed to deepen the dusk around her. She knelt with a genuine, weary humility that touched the stone as if seeking rest.
Strange, even stranger was the fact that she had come alone.
Most people feared visiting the temple at dusk. Shadows stretched too long then, and Apollo’s sanctuary felt less like a place of worship and more like the throat of some ancient sleeping beast.
Yet the woman did not seem frightened. Only tired.
As she stepped closer, the lamplight illuminated her face. Young—perhaps close to your age. Beautiful in the quiet way moonlight was beautiful, all softness and stillness. Dark hair slipped from beneath her hood in loose waves and her expression held something peculiarly gentle, though exhaustion lingered beneath her eyes like bruises. You straightened automatically into the practiced posture of the oracle.
“The temple closes soon,” you said softly.
The woman stopped several feet from the altar and lowered her head respectfully. “My apologies, great oracle,” she replied. Her voice was warm and……familiar. “I did not mean to disturb your rest.”
Something strange curled faintly in your chest. You had never seen her before. You were certain of it. And yet—
“No disturbance,” you answered carefully. “What guidance do you seek from Apollo?”
The woman lifted her gaze then. And smiled, a comforting smile. A knowing smile. A smile that had your insides churning, as if she knew something you didn’t. It sent a cold shiver crawling softly down your spine.
“I did not come for Apollo,” she said. The dying sunlight flickered across the temple columns. Behind you, somewhere high above the sanctuary, a raven cried sharply into the darkening sky. The woman’s eyes never left yours beneath the hood.
“I came for you.”
The woman’s words hung in the sacred air, a statement so direct it pierced through the usual veil of ritual and supplication Your fingers tightened instinctively around the folds of your robe beneath the altar. The woman’s gaze did not waver. Somewhere beyond the towering columns of the temple, the evening wind stirred through the olive trees with a hollow sigh. The raven cried once more, sharp and cutting, before silence swallowed the sound whole.
You found your voice only after a long moment. “What do you mean…you came for me?”
The woman tilted her head slightly at the question, almost with fondness. Then she laughed softly with the quiet amusement of someone hearing a child ask why the stars hung in the sky.
A cold, precise shock settled in your chest. Your voice maintained the measured, hollow timbre, “The oracle serves Apollo. One does not come for the vessel, but for the message it carries.”
She smiled again, that same gentle, knowing curve of her lips. “And what if the vessel is tired of carrying messages for a god who does not speak to it?”
The chill deepened, spreading to your fingers. Her words were an arrow aimed at the core of your secret. You forced your voice to remain steady. “Who are you?”
“You spend your entire life speaking of gods,” she murmured, “and yet you never once wondered whether one of them might answer back?”
Your breath caught, the torchlight beside Apollo’s altar flickering violently. You stared at her, at the strange stillness surrounding her, at the peculiar heaviness in the air, like the world itself had paused to listen. At the scent drifting faintly around her—not incense, not perfume.
Flowers, asphodel, cold earth after rain. Your stomach twisted sharply.
“No,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. The woman merely smiled wider. And suddenly you understood why her voice had sounded familiar.
It was the same voice that had echoed through Persephone’s shrine the night before.
“So terribly ordinary…”
The memory crashed into you like icy water and you took an unconscious step backward.
“Who are you?” you demanded, though your voice had already begun to tremble around the edges. “What are you?”
The woman rose slowly from her kneeling position, gracefully, effortlessly. Like moonlight unfolding across dark water.
Her smile softened, becoming almost pitying. “You talk to me every evening. You confess your fears, your loneliness, your beautiful, terrible fraud.” Then, with calm fingers, she reached for the edge of her hood and lowered it.
The world stopped. No mortal woman could have looked like that. Beauty was too small a word, too human, too earthly.
Her face carried the contradiction of spring and death together—soft warmth woven beside something ancient and endless. Dark waves of hair spilled over her shoulders like rivers through midnight, threaded faintly with glimmers of gold that moved though no light touched them. Her skin seemed carved from ivory kissed by dusk itself.
But it was her eyes that destroyed you. Eyes that held eternity—the first flower blooming from frozen soil, the silence beneath the earth, the grief of winter, the promise of spring. Your knees nearly gave out beneath you.
“You know who I am,” she said, her voice now layered with the richness of deep soil and spring rain. “You have always known. You just never let yourself believe I listened.”
Persephone.
The Goddess stood before you, merely smiling at your horror.The Queen of the Underworld, the Bringer of Spring, in your temple at dusk.
“I…” you began, but no sound came out. Your oracle’s mask, your human composure, disintegrated.
The Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld stepped closer, robes whispering against the marble floor, closing the distance between the divine and the deceitful. The shadows around the temple seemed to bend toward her lovingly, the dying dusk gathering at her feet like loyal hounds.
You could not move, could not think. Your heart pounded so violently you thought Apollo himself might hear it echoing through the temple halls.
“This is not possible,” you whispered weakly.
“Oh, little oracle.” Her voice held unbearable tenderness now. “You of all people should know how fragile the word impossible truly is.”
She stopped directly before you, the scent of asphodel surrounded you completely. You could feel fire radiating from her skin despite the coolness of the evening.
Your mind screamed at you to kneel, to flee, to pray. Instead you stood frozen beneath her gaze, every carefully constructed certainty in your life collapsing like brittle parchment set aflame.
Persephone lifted one elegant hand slowly toward your face. You flinched instinctively, not from fear of pain but from the terrible certainty that no mortal should ever be touched by a god. The Goddess only smiled sadly at the reaction.
“You have carried your burden with more grace than any true oracle would have needed to,” she whispered. “You observed a world that thinks it wants visions, and you gave it what it needed. And it has left you empty.”
“I have something very special for you,” she whispered, “A gift, little oracle.”
Then her fingers brushed your cheek. Soft, cool, gentle enough to rival flower petals. The warmth of her touch spread, but it was not soothing. It was overwhelming, the sun on frozen ground, cracking the ice.
And suddenly, everything vanished.
The temple disappeared first. Then the torchlight. Then Apollo’s towering statue. The world split open beneath your feet in a rush of blinding white and violent darkness all at once. Your breath caught sharply in your throat as something ancient and immense poured through your body like molten gold forced into mortal flesh.
Voices—thousands of them—screaming, praying, crying, laughing. You saw flashes—a battlefield drowned in bronze and blood, a crown sinking beneath black water, olive branches burning beneath a crimson sky. A young boy weeping before Apollo’s altar, a woman in chains smiling through broken teeth. A pair of familiar eyes staring at you from beneath spring flowers. Your mother.
Then came the agony. As though invisible hands had torn open the center of your soul and forced the heavens themselves inside. You tried to scream but no sound came. The last of your strength, the last thread holding you upright, snapped.
Only darkness swallowed you whole as your body crumpled soundlessly onto Apollo’s sacred marble floor beneath the gaze of a forgotten sun god and the gentle eyes of the Queen of the Dead.
____________
Consciousness returned slowly, in drifting fragments.
A strange softness was felt beneath your body that you did not recognize, far too luxurious to be the narrow bedding of your chambers beside Apollo’s temple. Then came scent—lavender, lilac wax and something faintly metallic beneath it all, rain against stone.
Your lashes fluttered weakly. Pain throbbed behind your eyes the moment you tried to think. You inhaled sharply and forced your eyes open.
At once, unfamiliarity swallowed you whole. The room surrounding you looked nothing like any chamber you had ever seen in Greece.
Heavy crimson curtains cascaded from the towering ceiling in folds of dark velvet, rich as spilled wine, enclosing the room like the inside of a royal heart. Yet despite the grandeur, neither sunlight nor moonlight entered. There were no windows, at least none you could immediately see. Instead, the chamber breathed in dim lilac candlelight. Dozens of slender candles flickered from silver stands along the walls, their pale purple flames casting ghostly shadows over polished black marble floors. The air felt cool and far too still.
You pushed yourself upright slowly, immediately wincing as dizziness rolled through your skull. The blankets pooled around your waist in waves of dark silk, absurdly soft against your skin.
Your skin.
Your breath caught softly. The ceremonial robes from Apollo’s temple were gone; in their place, a flowing white dress made from fabric so delicate it felt like clouds brushing your body. The sleeves slipped loose around your arms and silver thread shimmered faintly through the cloth whenever candlelight touched it.
You stared down at yourself in mute alarm. Who had changed you? Where in Hell were you?
The thought struck harder than intended. Hell. Persephone. The Gods. Your eyes darted across the chamber again.
The room was beautiful, yes, but everything here carried the eerie perfection of a burial offering laid carefully beside a king’s corpse. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed too quickly and the room lurched. A sharp gasp escaped you as your knees nearly buckled beneath your weight.
“Easy there.”
The unfamiliar voice startled you so badly you almost fell. You whipped your head toward the doorway. A young woman stood there carrying a silver tray balanced expertly in her hands.
She looked perhaps a few years older than you, dressed in dark robes embroidered with faint silver flowers curling along the hems. Long black hair flowed down her back in sleek waves, framing a face that was strikingly beautiful in a sharp, fox-like way. Her eyes, however, softened immediately upon seeing your expression.
“Oh good,” she sighed with relief. “You’re finally awake.”
You stared at her wordlessly. The woman stepped fully into the chamber, shutting the heavy door behind her with one foot before approaching. The silver tray in her hands held a small glass filled with amber liquid that caught strangely in the candlelight.
“You collapsed rather dramatically,” she continued conversationally. “Lady Persephone worried you’d cracked your skull on the marble.”
Your heartbeat stumbled. Lady Persephone, not a dream then. Gods above. The woman noticed the horror returning to your face and quickly grimaced. She set the tray carefully on a nearby table before turning back toward you.
“I’m Yunah,” she said gently. “And before you panic further—no, you are not dead.” A pause. “Well,” she amended thoughtfully, “not technically.” Your face drained of what little color remained. Yunah blinked. “…That sounded much better in my head.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply sat there on the edge of the unfamiliar bed, staring at the lilac flames dancing along the walls while your thoughts tangled themselves into impossible knots.
Persephone. A goddess. A real goddess. Not marble or myth or carefully crafted stories whispered to frightened mortals beneath temple roofs.
Your breathing felt strangely uneven. You thought of every prayer you had ever spoken with empty certainty, every false prophecy delivered and every night spent kneeling before Persephone’s shrine believing no one listened.
Shame twisted viciously in your stomach and beneath it, a tinge of fear. You swallowed hard and finally forced yourself to speak.
“Where…” Your voice cracked painfully. You winced immediately as a sharp ache speared through your skull. “Where am I?”
The pain exploded behind your eyes before the sentence fully left your mouth. You sucked in a breath sharply, pressing trembling fingers to your temple. It felt as though your mind itself had been split open. Yunah’s expression softened into concern.
“Oh, don’t try thinking too hard yet,” she said, moving toward the tray again. “That headache will only worsen if you keep fighting it.”
You barely heard her. Fragments still flashed violently through your head whenever you closed your eyes. Blood soaking bronze armor, spring flowers blooming from graves, your mother’s face, the screaming voices. You bent forward slightly, breathing unevenly as another pulse of pain struck through your skull.
“Here.” Yunah carefully picked up the small glass of amber liquid and crouched beside you. “Drink this.” You eyed the liquid suspiciously through blurred vision.
“What is it?” you asked weakly.
“Something to stop your head from feeling like it’s being devoured by angry spirits,” Yunah replied dryly. “Trust me, you need it.” Despite her teasing tone, there was genuine sympathy in her eyes.
Reluctantly, you accepted the glass. The cup felt cool against your fingers. The liquid inside smelled faintly sweet—honey perhaps, mixed with herbs you did not recognize. You hesitated only a second before drinking.
Warmth spread down your throat immediately, settling deep into your chest like liquid sunlight and sweet relief came almost instantly afterward. The pounding in your head dulled and you exhaled shakily. You handed the empty glass back weakly.
Questions crowded your mouth by the hundreds, but none of them seemed capable of forming properly. Yunah must have noticed the panic building behind your silence because her expression gentled once more.
“She’ll explain everything,” she promised quietly.
Your eyes lifted toward her immediately. “Persephone?”
Yunah nodded. “She’s been waiting for you to wake.” Something almost amused flickered briefly across her face then. “Very impatiently, actually.” A strange chill ran down your spine at that.
The Queen of the Underworld was waiting for you. As though you were important enough for a goddess to wait upon. Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of the dress.
“I…” Your throat suddenly felt dry again. “Why did she bring me here?”
Yunah’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment. And for the first time since entering the room, something unreadable crossed her expression. Something like recognition.
“You really don’t know,” she murmured softly. Before you could ask what she meant, Yunah stood and carefully straightened the folds of her dark robes. “Come,” she said gently. “It’s better if she tells you herself.” She extended her hand toward you beneath the flickering lilac candlelight. You found her words to be humorous.
What knowledge could a false prophet have anyways?
___________________
The journey from that soft, crimson-walled room to the Goddess’s threshold was a silent, surreal procession through a realm you could never have imagined.
The moment the heavy doors of your room opened, cold air swept over you. It wasn't like winter cold, it was something older, the kind of cold buried beneath untouched earth and ancient stone. You nearly stopped walking then.
Yunah guided you through corridors of polished black stone, lit by glowing veins of amethyst and quartz that pulsed with a soft, inner light. The air grew cooler, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant, blooming flowers—a contradiction that felt both unsettling and serene.
You passed archways leading to gardens of impossible beauty: roses that glittered like gemstones, trees with silver bark and leaves that whispered as they moved without wind. Shadows flitted in the corners of your vision, shapes that might have been servants or spirits, moving with silent purpose.
Yunah walked beside you, her dark robes blending with the gloom. She spoke little, only offering brief, gentle explanations. “The Hall of Echoes,” she murmured as you passed a long gallery where whispers seemed to linger in the air like mist.
“The Garden of Remembered Sunlight,” she said, pointing to a courtyard where a single, captured beam of golden light hung suspended beneath a dome of crystal, illuminating a patch of vibrant, living grass.
You saw no windows to the outside world. No sky. This was a kingdom carved from memory and stone, a world beneath the world. Your dress—so soft, so white—felt like a flag of surrender in this place of profound darkness and beauty.
You could not tell whether minutes or hours passed. Time felt wrong here, bent strangely around itself. Finally, Yunah slowed before a pair of enormous doors. You stopped breathing for a moment. It was made of ancient, dark wood, inlaid with silver that traced the patterns of vines and pomegranates. It stood at the end of a quiet, empty hallway, emanating a stillness that felt sacred and intimidating. Divine cold radiated in waves.
Yunah turned toward you then, “She’s inside,” she said quietly.
Your throat tightened immediately. The Queen of the Underworld, waiting behind those doors. Yunah noticed the fear flashing across your face and offered you a sympathetic smile.
“She won’t hurt you,” she assured softly. That did not comfort you nearly as much as she probably intended. Yunah stepped backward after a moment. “You’ll go in when she allows it,” she explained. “Until then wait here.”
And just like that, she left, the sound of her footsteps disappearing into the endless halls, leaving you alone. You stood before the grand doors. The cool air seeped through the delicate fabric of your dress and you shivered. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, mortal rhythm in this silent, immortal place. You stared at the silver pomegranates, wondering what awaited you beyond that threshold—judgment, forgiveness, or something else entirely.
Wherever this place was, it certainly did not belong among the living. You tried not to think about that too hard.
Then, a voice cut through the silence behind you, cold and teasing, like a winter breeze through a sunless garden.
“How terrifying she must seem to you.”
Low, smooth and teasing. You spun around so quickly your pulse nearly stopped. A man stood several feet away, leaning lazily against one of the black marble pillars with a grace that seemed to mock the solemnity of the hallway.
No mortal man should have been allowed to look like that.
For one dizzy moment, the only thought that crossed your mind was that he resembled an angel cast down into hell itself. Beautiful in a way that bordered on cruel.
Tall and lean, dressed entirely in black robes embroidered subtly with silver thread, he carried himself with effortless elegance. Dark hair framed a small, sharply sculpted face and his jawline looked precise enough to cut marble. Frameless square glasses rested neatly across the bridge of his nose, softening absolutely nothing about the sharpness of his features. His voice was deep, smooth, and carried an undertone of mockery.
But it was his angelic eyes that unsettled you most. Dark, knowing and amused. Like someone perpetually standing one step ahead of every conversation. You immediately took a cautious step backward. The man noticed. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh?” His deep voice echoed softly through the corridor. “That frightened already?”
You stared at him speechlessly. The stranger straightened from the pillar and approached leisurely, hands folded behind his back.
“Mortals are always so dramatic around gods,” he sighed almost fondly. “Though, admittedly, Persephone can be rather intimidating when she wishes.”
“You know the Goddess?” you asked before thinking.
“Know? Darling,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “everyone here knows the Goddess.”
Here.
The word struck strangely. You opened your mouth to question him further, but he continued before you could speak.
“She’s taken quite an interest in you, hasn’t she?” His eyes flicked knowingly toward the grand doors behind you. “That alone is enough to make this place restless.”
You frowned faintly. “What does that mean?”
Another amused look crossed his face. “You truly have no idea what you are.”
The same words, Yunah had practically said the same thing earlier. A chill crept slowly down your spine.
Before you could demand answers, the massive doors behind you suddenly groaned open. The sound echoed like thunder through the dark halls. Warm golden light spilled from within the chamber beyond, cutting through the cold violet shadows surrounding you.
When you looked back, the man was already stepping away—retreating into darkness as effortlessly as smoke disappearing into night.
“Wait—” you called instinctively. “Who are you?”
He paused only briefly. Then smiled. A strangely pitying smile this time.
“Good luck, little oracle,” he said softly, “if we can call you that.”
And before you could blink he was gone, the shadows where he had stood moments ago now lay completely empty.
Your pulse thundered violently in your ears. Then, from beyond the open doors, came Persephone’s voice. Gentle, ancient, waiting.
“Come inside.”
_____________
When you were little, your mother used to braid flowers into your hair after evening prayers.
You remembered sitting between her knees in the quiet chambers behind Apollo’s temple while priestesses extinguished torches one by one outside. The smell of olive oil and incense always lingered faintly in the air, and your mother’s fingers were forever warm as they carefully separated strands of your hair.
“You think too much,” she had once laughed softly when you asked her why the gods chose oracles at all.
You remembered pouting at that. “I do not.”
“You do.” She smiled knowingly and tucked a white narcissus flower behind your ear. “Your eyes are always searching for answers before the questions have even finished.”
Then her expression had softened strangely. Almost sad.
“The gods rarely choose the people who understand why they were chosen.”
At the time, you had not understood the weight behind those words.
Now, standing before Persephone herself beneath ceilings painted with constellations no mortal sky had ever held, the memory returned with enough force to ache.
The chamber beyond the doors was beautiful. Warm golden light flooded the vast room from chandeliers suspended high above, their crystals glowing like captured stars. The floor beneath your feet was pale marble streaked faintly with gold, softer than the black stone outside. Massive bookshelves climbed endlessly toward the ceiling, crowded with ancient scrolls and bound tomes whose titles shimmered faintly whenever your eyes lingered on them too long.
And at the center of it all Persephone sat watching you, reclined gracefully upon a long velvet divan near the fireplace, dressed now in robes the color of deep pomegranate wine. Gold adorned her wrists and throat in delicate vines, and flowers bloomed lazily around her bare feet despite the polished marble beneath them.
Beautiful, terrifying, divine. You stopped several feet away, uncertain whether to kneel or speak or simply collapse from sheer disbelief. Persephone solved the dilemma for you.
“Sit,” she said gently, gesturing toward the chair opposite her.
You obeyed immediately. The warmth from the fireplace should have soothed you. Instead your hands only trembled harder in your lap. For a while, neither of you spoke. Persephone merely watched you quietly, her gaze unbearably patient. Finally, you found your voice.
“That man outside…” you began weakly before stopping yourself. No, there were more important things. Your head lifted sharply toward her. “What is happening to me?”
Persephone tilted her head slightly. “You already know the answer.”
“No,” you said immediately, almost desperately. “No, I do not, Goddess.” The Goddess studied you for a long moment. Then she spoke softly.
“You are to become the next Persephone.”
The words hit you harder than the visions had. Your breath caught violently in your throat.
“What?”
“The names of gods,” Persephone did not look away, “are not immortal beings,” she explained calmly. “Not entirely. They are titles. Mantles passed from soul to soul across centuries.” Her fingers traced absent patterns against the arm of the divan. “One Persephone ends. Another rises. One Hades falls. Another inherits.”
You stared at her in mute horror. “That’s impossible.”
“It is truth.”
“No,” you whispered again, shaking your head now. “No, gods are eternal.”
“We are,” Persephone replied softly. “And we are not.”
The room suddenly felt far too small. Your thoughts crashed together chaotically.
“You are saying…” Your voice faltered. “You are saying all this time—”
“That your lineage could see visions because they carried Apollo’s blessing,” Persephone finished gently.
And suddenly everything made horrible sense. The silence, the emptiness, the reason no visions had ever come to you no matter how desperately you prayed for them as a child. You had thought yourself broken, a flaw in a sacred bloodline.
“You couldn’t see because you were never meant for Apollo,” the Goddess said softly, as though hearing the thought form inside your mind. “Your soul belonged elsewhere long before you were born.” You stood abruptly from the chair.
“No.” You backed away a step. “No, that cannot be true. I’m not—I cannot be a goddess.” Fear curled viciously in your stomach. “I’m a fake,” you whispered harshly. “I lie to people. I pretend to hear gods I cannot see. I am not worthy of—of any of this.”
Persephone’s expression did not harden. If anything, it saddened.
“The Fates do not choose based on worthiness,” she said quietly. “If they did, Olympus would have collapsed long ago.”
You stared at her. Then laughed once—a broken, disbelieving sound. “Why me?”
For the first time since meeting her, Persephone looked truly ancient, a weariness stretching beyond centuries. “The Fates are mysterious even to us,” she admitted softly. “There are threads not even gods may touch.”
Silence settled heavily afterward. The fire crackled quietly nearby. You sank slowly back into the chair, feeling hollowed out from the inside. Persephone rose then. She crossed the distance between you gracefully before kneeling beside your chair despite your immediate panic.
“No,” you blurted, horrified. “Please do not kneel to me—”
A faint smile touched her lips. “I am not kneeling to you, little oracle.” She murmured. “I am comforting someone frightened.” Her cool fingers gently brushed stray hair from your face. “You will not be abandoned here,” she promised softly. “Your training begins tomorrow. Nothing will be forced upon you before you are ready.”
You swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You will.”
“I am afraid.”
“I know.” The simple honesty in those words nearly undid you. Persephone’s gaze softened further. “You are not the first successor to fear becoming divine,” she said quietly. “Nor will you be the last.”
Something inside your chest loosened slightly then, just enough to breathe. Eventually, Persephone rose smoothly to her feet once more.
“You should rest,” she said gently. “Your mortal body is still adjusting.”
You nodded weakly and slowly stood. Your legs still felt unsteady beneath you. As you reached the doors, however, another thought suddenly surfaced in your mind. You hesitated.
Persephone noticed immediately. “Yes?”
You turned back carefully. “If…if there is a next Persephone,” you said slowly, “then is there already a next Hades?”
A strange expression crossed her face then. Amusement.
“You’ve already met him.” She said with a smile, “My apologies if he scared you.”
Your stomach dropped instantly. That angel in hell standing in the hallway. Persephone watched realization dawn across your face and laughed softly beneath her breath.
“You will be alright, oracle.” She crossed the room and lay back down, throwing a graceful arm over her head, a painting in motion. As you turned to take your leave, you heard her call out again.
“Try not to dislike Jo, little oracle.” She chuckled, “Who knows how he’ll steal your heart as Hades stole mine?”
Who knew that hearts existed at all in hell?
_______________
Jo’s chambers looked nothing like the rest of the Underworld.
Well—not entirely. The same black marble walls towered high around the room, and the same pale lilac flames burned lazily from silver candle stands. Beyond the enormous arched windows stretched the eternal dusk of the Underworld, rivers of silver mist winding through distant valleys beneath a starless sky.
But unlike Persephone’s warm elegance, Jo’s quarters felt inhabited, lived in.
Books lay scattered carelessly across tables and sofas alike, some opened face-down as though abandoned halfway through reading. Dark coats had been thrown over chairs with little regard for order and stacks of parchment crowded every available surface. One corner of the room held an enormous gramophone softly crackling with music from somewhere aboveground.
And directly in the center of the chaos Yuma lounged upside down across one of the velvet couches like an overfed cat.
“You’re lying,” he declared dramatically.
Jo barely looked up from the crystal glass in his hand. “I gain nothing from lying to you.”
“You gain peace.”
“That alone should convince you I’m telling the truth.”
Yuma scoffed loudly and tossed a grape directly at Jo’s head. Jo caught it without effort, annoyingly.
“You met the next Persephone,” Yuma said, sitting upright now with obvious interest brightening his sharp features. “And you neglected to summon me immediately afterward? Cruel. Truly cruel.”
“You snuck into the Underworld uninvited again,” Jo replied flatly. “I think we both know who the criminal is here.”
Yuma grinned. Unlike Jo’s cold elegance, he carried warmth so naturally it seemed stitched into his existence. Everything about him moved quickly—his smiles, his hands, his thoughts. Dark curls fell messily into his eyes and there was something perpetually mischievous about the way he carried himself, like Hermes himself stood one poorly thought-out decision away at all times.
“Well?” Yuma pressed eagerly. “Is she pretty?”
Jo finally looked up from his drink then. The silence that followed lasted exactly long enough for Yuma’s grin to widen dangerously.
“Oh my gods,” he gasped. “That pause told me everything.”
“It told you nothing.”
“It tells me that she is beautiful.” Yuma hummed, “As Persephone is.”
Jo leaned back against the armchair slowly. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it either.”
A look of mild irritation crossed Jo’s face. Yuma burst into delighted laughter immediately.
“This is unbelievable,” he wheezed. “The future Hades himself rendered speechless by some little oracle from Apollo’s temple—”
“She fainted.”
Yuma blinked. “What?”
“Twice, actually.”
That only made Yuma laugh harder. Jo watched him with visible disappointment. “She stared at Persephone like a lamb realizing the wolf could speak,” he continued dryly. “I thought she might collapse permanently, the second Lady Persephone revealed herself.”
“And yet,” Yuma hummed smugly, “you noticed she was pretty.”
Jo sighed heavily. “She’s…” He paused as though irritated even by the necessity of describing you. “Good-looking enough, I suppose.”
Yuma nearly fell off the couch. “Good-looking enough?” he repeated incredulously. “Jo.”
“She looked terrified of me.”
“Well, you do resemble a villain standing in dramatic lighting half the time.”
“That sounds like a personal failing on your part.”
Yuma pointed accusingly at him. “You’re avoiding the question.”
Jo raised a brow. “What question?”
“The important one.” Yuma leaned forward excitedly. “Did you feel the divine pull of destiny? The stars aligning? The tragic inevitability of romance?”
Jo stared at him blankly. Then took another sip of his drink.
“No.”
“Oh come on.”
“She’s frightened, overwhelmed and painfully mortal.” Jo’s tone flattened further. “I have no intention of becoming some tragic love story because the previous Hades and Persephone happened to adore each other.”
“We were mortal too once, my friend.” Yuma hummed thoughtfully. “You know, your words sound suspiciously like denial.”
“They sound like common sense.”
Yuma ignored him entirely. “So Lady Persephone truly believes the cycle repeats itself?” he asked more quietly now. “The marriage and the pomegranates and everything?”
At that, Jo’s expression shifted faintly. “She believes the bond between Hades and Persephone transcends succession,” he admitted after a pause. “That some things survive even when names change.”
“And you?”
Jo snorted softly. “I think immortality has made her sentimental.”
Yuma grinned knowingly. “That’s a very poetic way of saying you’re scared.”
Jo’s eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses. “I am not scared of love.”
“No,” Yuma corrected lazily, “you’re terrified of it.”
Silence stretched briefly between them. Then Jo laughed once under his breath, low, sharp and humourless.
“Hermes may spend eternity chasing pretty mortals through cities and wars,” he said calmly, “but Hades does not have that luxury.” Yuma tilted his head. Jo’s gaze drifted toward the dark windows overlooking the Underworld. “When you rule death long enough,” he murmured, “you stop believing in things as fragile as love.”
For once, Yuma did not immediately joke. The room quieted around them, filled only by the faint crackle of the gramophone.
“…Still,” Yuma said carefully, “is she really that pretty?”
Jo closed his eyes briefly. “You are unbearable.”
“That means she is.” Yuma’s grin widened triumphantly as Jo pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.
Jo swirled the dark amber liquid in his glass absentmindedly.
And perhaps you were.
Pretty.
Divine beauty often felt too perfect, too sharpened by eternity to resemble anything truly alive. Persephone herself looked like spring carved by grief into human form. Aphrodite was said to blind men by simply smiling at them too long.
But you? You had looked painfully mortal. Warm and fragile, scared little lamb.
Your fear had sat openly in your eyes no matter how hard you tried concealing it beneath dignity and priestly composure. Even standing before Persephone herself, trembling like a leaf caught in winter wind, there had been something stubbornly human about the way you lifted your chin, Jo could only peek from his hiding place.
Yuma watched the silence stretch across Jo’s face and immediately narrowed his eyes. “Oh no.”
Jo blinked once. “Oh no what?”
“You’re thinking about her.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Jo sighed heavily and stood from the armchair in one smooth motion, clearly deciding he had tolerated enough of Hermes’ future successor for one evening. Yuma pointed at him accusingly from the couch.
“That expression right there,” he gasped dramatically. “That is the face of a man already doomed by destiny.”
“I would rather descend into Tartarus willingly.”
“Hades says that every cycle apparently.”
Jo stopped walking. Slowly, he turned his head toward Yuma.
“…What?”
Yuma immediately looked delighted with himself. “Oh, did Lady Persephone never tell you?” he asked innocently. “Hermes remembers fragments between successors. Not everything, but enough.” He leaned comfortably against the couch cushions. “Every Hades insists they’ll never fall in love. Every single one.”
Jo stared at him flatly, “You lie.”
“I’m Hermes.” Yuma said carefully, “I cannot lie.”
Silence followed, then Jo scoffed quietly and reached for a black coat draped over a nearby chair. “I met her for less than five minutes.”
“And?”
“And she nearly fainted because I spoke to her.”
“That’s adorable actually.” Yuma burst into laughter again.
Jo ignored him entirely, sliding the coat over his shoulders with effortless elegance. Still—against his better judgment—his thoughts drifted back toward you once more. The way your fingers had tightened nervously into the fabric of your white dress, the way your eyes had widened when you looked at him, uncertain whether to fear him or question him.
And strangely enough the way you had turned back to ask Persephone about the next Hades before leaving. Jo frowned faintly to himself. Dangerous. Curiosity was always dangerous in this place. Especially when directed toward him.
He wondered absentmindedly about what you would have liked.
_____________
The first three days passed in a haze so surreal you occasionally wondered whether you had truly died on Apollo’s temple floor after all. Nothing felt real anymore. Not the Underworld, not Persephone and certainly not yourself.
You spent most of those days wandering through the palace beside Yunah, trying desperately to absorb information vast enough to split your mind apart. The Underworld itself was far larger than you had imagined.
Not merely a kingdom for the dead, but an entire world existing beneath reality like roots beneath a tree. Vast silver rivers cut through valleys of black stone while ancient forests glimmered beneath eternal twilight. Souls wandered peacefully through distant fields of asphodel, watched over by silent attendants draped in dark robes.
It was not hell. At least not the monstrous place frightened mortals imagined. It was quieter than that, sad in older ways. And Persephone ruled it with startling gentleness.
You learned quickly that very little of the mortal understanding of gods was entirely correct. Some myths were exaggerated and others softened on purpose. Some truths were hidden because human minds simply could not survive knowing them.
Yunah answered every question you asked with surprising patience. Even the painful ones. Especially the painful ones.
“What happened after I disappeared?” you had asked quietly one evening while standing beside one of the palace balconies overlooking silver rivers below, “From Earth?”
Yunah had not hesitated. “You were replaced.”
The answer had struck harder than expected. You turned sharply toward her. “Replaced?”
“The world cannot function with gaps,” Yunah explained softly. “Especially not around divine succession.” She leaned against the marble railing beside you. “Another oracle appeared in Apollo’s temple the morning after your disappearance. Your priestesses remember her as though she has always been there.”
Your stomach twisted. “Karina?” you asked weakly. “Jihyo? Wonyoung?”
“They remember loving you,” Yunah said gently. “But they also remember mourning you long ago.”
The ache that followed settled somewhere deep beneath your ribs. It felt wrong, cruel. Your entire existence erased from mortal memory as easily as wiping dust from stone.
“No one noticed?” you whispered.
Yunah’s silence answered before her words did. “The Fates are thorough.”
After that conversation, you stopped asking about Earth quite so often.
Instead, you focused on surviving what came next. Training.
Though Persephone had promised to begin slowly, the mere concept overwhelmed you. Apparently becoming a goddess involved far more than divine powers and beautiful robes. There were laws, ancient duties, balance between realms, control over powers capable of altering life itself.
You learned how divine succession worked, how gods slowly passed fragments of themselves into successors over years rather than moments. Too much power too quickly could destroy mortal minds entirely. Which explained the visions. Or rather your sudden ability to have them now.
Ever since Persephone touched you, strange flashes had begun haunting the edges of your thoughts. Small things mostly. A servant dropping a tray moments before it happened. Yunah arriving at your chambers seconds before she knocked. Tiny fractures in time, each one terrifying you more than the last.
And now on the fourth day your true training was finally meant to begin. Which was precisely why you were currently pacing nervously across one of the palace’s grand receiving chambers trying not to feel sick.
The room itself was breathtaking. Tall arched ceilings stretched high overhead painted with constellations that shimmered faintly in motion. Massive windows framed the endless twilight of the Underworld while black marble pillars wrapped in flowering silver vines lined the chamber walls. At the center stood a long table carved from dark stone, covered in scrolls, candles and strange golden instruments you did not recognize.
Persephone had instructed you to wait there for her. You had been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes already. Which meant you were currently alone with your thoughts. A terrible situation. You clasped your hands tightly behind your back and tried not to imagine every possible way this training could end in humiliation.
“So restless aren’t we, darling?”
The familiar voice nearly made you jump out of your skin. You spun around immediately.
And there he was.
Jo lounged carelessly in the far corner of the chamber upon an elegant divan you somehow had not noticed before. One long leg hung lazily over the edge while the other remained bent comfortably beneath him. Dressed entirely in black once again, he looked irritatingly composed beneath the dim golden light.
A pomegranate rested loosely in one hand. He turned it idly between elegant fingers as though it alone occupied his full attention. Your pulse stumbled traitorously for reasons you refused to examine.
“You.” You blurted intelligently.
Jo glanced up at you over the rim of his glasses. “Me.”
You frowned immediately. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I noticed.” His mouth curved slightly at the corners, not quite a smile, but he looked angelic all the same.
You straightened instinctively beneath his gaze. “What are you doing here?”
Jo lifted the pomegranate lightly. “Eating breakfast.”
“That is not breakfast.”
“It is in the Underworld.”
You stared at him. He stared back with maddening calm. Now that you were not actively fainting from terror, you realized something deeply unfortunate.
He was even prettier up close.
It was genuinely irritating—the way the dim golden light softened the sharp edges of his features just enough to make him look almost unreal, like some ancient sculptor had spent centuries carving a face designed specifically to ruin people’s peace. His dark hair fell neatly across his forehead and the glint of his glasses only made his gaze more distracting somehow.
Worst of all, he knew it. You could tell by the way he watched you noticing. A flicker of amusement crossed his expression as he lazily turned the pomegranate between his fingers.
“You’ve circled this room seven times.” He chuckled, “Ever so restless.”
You blinked. “…You counted?”
“I was bored.” Your mouth opened indignantly before immediately closing again. Jo looked pleased by that.
“Do you find your entertainment in irritating people?” You asked.
“No,” he corrected smoothly. “Only people who react entertainingly.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re here.” You crossed your arms instinctively.
Jo hummed thoughtfully at that. Then, with unhurried elegance, he rose from the divan. You immediately regretted standing so close.
Gods above, he was tall.
Not absurdly so, but enough that as he approached, you had to tilt your head upward to properly meet his eyes. Black robes draped effortlessly over his lean frame as he stopped directly before you, close enough now for you to catch the faint scent surrounding him.
Smoke, winter, something darkly sweet beneath it all. Your pulse betrayed you again. Jo noticed. Of course he noticed.
He lifted the pomegranate between you both, letting it spin lightly across his fingers.
“Do you know the story?” he asked softly.
You eyed the fruit suspiciously. “The story of Persephone and Hades?”
“Mhm.”
“Everyone knows it.”
“And yet,” Jo murmured, circling slowly around you, “mortals always tell it incorrectly.”
Your spine straightened as he moved behind you. It should not have made you nervous. And yet every step he took felt chilling somehow, predatory in the calmest possible way. Like a wolf strolling lazily around a trembling lamb just to observe whether it would run.
You refused to run.
“The pomegranate,” Jo continued, his deep voice echoing softly through the chamber, “was not merely a trick.”
You turned carefully to keep him within sight. He looked amused by the effort.
“They teach mortals that Persephone was trapped,” he said lightly. “That Hades stole her away beneath the earth and bound her to the Underworld with six seeds.” Jo stopped beside you again. His gaze lowered briefly toward your face.
“Humans do adore simplifying things into villains and victims.” Something unreadable flickered across his expression then.
“But the truth,” he murmured, “is that the Underworld asked Persephone to stay.”
The room suddenly felt quieter. Jo twirled the pomegranate once more.
“And she chose to answer.”
Before your eyes, the fruit dissolved, unravelling into ribbons of crimson light that curled elegantly around Jo’s fingers before reforming themselves into a delicate ruby necklace resting in his palm.
You stared openly. Jo glanced down at the necklace as though transforming ancient magical artifacts into jewelry happened regularly before breakfast.
Then he stepped closer again. Too close.
Before you could react properly, he slipped the necklace carefully into the pocket sewn into the folds of your dress. The rubies glimmered faintly like captured drops of wine.
“A gift from Hades,” he said smoothly.
Your breath caught, the words settling strangely in your chest. You narrowed your eyes.
“From Hades,” you repeated slowly. “Or from you?”
For the first time since meeting him, Jo actually looked momentarily caught off guard. Only for a second. But you saw it. And apparently so did Persephone.
“Well,” her warm voice echoed suddenly from the chamber entrance, “that is certainly an interesting question.”
You jumped violently. Jo stepped back immediately, expression smoothing into elegant indifference so quickly you almost wondered whether you had imagined the previous moment entirely.
Almost.
Persephone stood near the doorway draped in flowing ivory robes embroidered with gold flowers, amusement dancing openly across her divine features. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the pocket where the ruby necklace now rested. Then toward Jo. Then back to you.
“My,” she sighed dramatically. “And here I thought training had not yet begun.”
Warm gold seemed to follow her wherever she walked. Flowers bloomed faintly beneath the hem of her robes as she crossed the marble floor, the entire room softening somehow in response to her presence. Compared to the cold elegance surrounding Jo, Persephone felt like the first breath of spring after surviving winter too long.
Jo, meanwhile, looked utterly unbothered. Infuriating man.
He turned toward Persephone smoothly and bowed deeply before her, one hand resting neatly behind his back. The movement carried effortless grace, practiced so perfectly it resembled choreography more than etiquette.
“My Lady,” he greeted. Then, taking Persephone’s offered hand gently, he pressed a respectful kiss against her knuckles.
You blinked once, twice. The future Hades could do that? Persephone laughed softly at your expression.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” she teased. “He was raised properly despite his personality.”
Jo sighed quietly against her hand. “That is a deeply offensive thing to say before sunrise.”
Persephone ignored him entirely. Instead, her gaze drifted knowingly towards the pocket where the ruby necklace still rested hidden within your dress. Then back toward Jo, a smile curving across her lips.
“You know,” she mused, “if you wished to impress her, you might try greeting her properly instead of merely sneaking jewelry into her pockets like some lovesick phantom.” You nearly choked on air.
Jo straightened immediately. “My Lady,” he said flatly.
“What?” Persephone looked entirely too pleased with herself. “I’m only saying if you’re going to continue behaving suspiciously around the poor girl, you might at least commit to the performance.”
“I was being polite, My Lady.”
“Oh yes.” Persephone said, “Hades, polite.” She laughed then and it was bright and warm enough to momentarily erase the heaviness lingering perpetually within the palace walls.
You glanced awkwardly between them, suddenly feeling as though you had stumbled into a conversation carrying far more history than you understood. Jo’s sharp gaze flicked toward you briefly before he exhaled softly through his nose.
“You’re frightening her again,” Persephone informed him cheerfully.
“I haven’t even spoken for nearly thirty seconds.”
“And yet somehow you still manage it.”
Jo looked deeply unimpressed by this accusation. Then his eyes drifted toward you one final time. For a fleeting moment, something quieter crossed his expression.
“You should pay attention during training today,” he said calmly. “My Lady enjoys pretending her lessons are gentle before they become horrifying.”
Persephone gasped dramatically. She narrowed her eyes at him while he calmly adjusted the sleeves of his black robes.
Then, with a final shallow bow toward Persephone—and a smaller nod in your direction—Jo turned and headed toward the chamber doors.
The golden light caught briefly against his glasses as he walked. Even leaving a room, he looked unfairly elegant. Just before disappearing into the hallway beyond, Persephone called after him sweetly.
“Do try stealing her heart a little less obviously next time, son of Hades.”
Jo did not break stride. But you swore the tips of his ears turned faintly red before the doors shut behind him. Silence followed.
Then Persephone sighed contentedly. “Oh, this cycle might actually be entertaining.” You stared at her in disbelief. Persephone laughed beneath her breath. “Relax,” she said warmly, moving further into the chamber. “You needn’t worry so much about Jo.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” you muttered before thinking.
One elegant brow lifted. You immediately regretted speaking. But instead of offense, Persephone only looked amused.
“He appears frightening at first,” she admitted. “Most future Hades do.” Her smile softened faintly. “But despite all his sharp edges, Jo has always been strangely gentle with things he cares about.”
Your eyes dropped instinctively toward the hidden necklace in your pocket. Persephone followed your gaze and looked even more entertained. Then, mercifully, she changed the subject.
“Now,” she said, clasping her hands lightly together, “shall we begin?”
Your stomach immediately tightened again. Right, training. You looked around nervously at the scrolls and strange instruments scattered across the long marble table. Then back toward Persephone.
“Do I have a choice?”
Persephone smiled beautifully.
“Not even slightly.”
_______________
That night, you could not sleep.
So you lay awake atop the soft bed in your chambers, staring blankly upward at the ceiling Yunah had transformed for you earlier that evening.
A sky.
Not the strange silver twilight hanging eternally above the Underworld, but a real mortal sky scattered with stars. Tiny constellations shimmered overhead in soft gold and silver, shifting slowly across the darkened ceiling exactly the way they would above Greece. You had nearly cried when Yunah created it.
“You looked homesick,” she had said simply. Now the false stars reflected dimly in your exhausted eyes while you tried very hard not to think about what had happened earlier.
Training.
Your stomach twisted violently at the memory.
Persephone had begun gently enough. Or what qualified as gentle by divine standards apparently. She had seated you within a circle of silver candles and instructed you to simply breathe. To listen, to open yourself to the Underworld instead of resisting it.
And then the voices returned.
Thousands, this time.
An endless flood of grief and rage and sorrow crashing violently into your mind all at once. Souls mourning unfinished lives. Mothers crying for lost children. Warriors screaming beneath battlefields. Lovers begging the Fates for more time.
The weight of death itself.
You had collapsed almost immediately.
You remembered clawing desperately at the marble floor, unable to breathe properly as the voices tore through your skull like knives. Your own thoughts had vanished beneath them entirely until you genuinely believed your mind would split apart.
And worst of all you remembered your mother’s voice. Soft, gentle, calling your childhood name the way she used to after nightmares.Persephone had used it to pull you back, to calm the chaos enough for you to breathe again.
You rolled onto your side now with a miserable groan, burying your face halfway into the silk pillows. You had nearly thrown up afterward. Persephone, thankfully, had seemed entirely unsurprised.
“This will be the first and last time I shield you from them,” she had warned quietly while helping you sit upright afterward. “The Queen of the Underworld cannot fear the voices of the dead.”
Easy for her to say. She had centuries. You had approximately one catastrophic afternoon. You exhaled slowly and stared back up at the stars. Your room sat cloaked in comfortable darkness save for a few dim lilac candles flickering near the windows. You wore only a soft nightgown now, the fabric loose and cool against your skin.
The ruby necklace still rested untouched upon your bedside table. You had not worn it. Something about it unsettled you. Or perhaps something about who had given it to you unsettled you more.
Angelic bastard.
As though summoned by the thought itself, the chamber door suddenly creaked open. You bolted upright immediately.
“Yunah?” you called instinctively. No answer.
Instead, a tall figure stepped quietly into the room. Your heart nearly stopped. You grabbed the nearest blanket and clutched it sharply against yourself before realizing.
The man entering wore a black blindfold tied neatly over his eyes.
Jo.
You blinked in confusion. Jo paused near the doorway. “…You do realize I cannot see you, correct?”
Your grip on the blanket loosened slightly. “Oh.” A beat of silence passed. Then, somehow, Jo still looked amused despite being literally blindfolded.
“You mortals are remarkably dramatic at night.”
“I thought someone was breaking into my room.”
“I was, actually.” Jo hummed thoughtfully and shut the door behind him before wandering further inside with suspicious ease for someone who supposedly could not see.
“How are you walking properly?” you asked immediately.
“I live here.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“It answers enough.” You watched him carefully as he stopped near one of the chairs by your bedside.
Even blindfolded, he looked unfairly composed. Dark robes hung loose over his lean frame now, slightly less formal than usual, and without his sharp gaze fixed directly on you he seemed strangely quieter somehow. More human.
You eyed the blindfold again suspiciously. “Why are you wearing that?”
Jo leaned back against the chair lazily. “To relax after training.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“It would if you’d spent six hours staring directly into Tartarus.”
You decided perhaps you did not want elaboration on that. Silence settled briefly afterward. Then Jo tilted his head slightly toward you. “You survived your first lesson.”
“Barely.” A soft breath of amusement escaped him. “She made me hear them again,” you muttered toward the ceiling. “All the voices.”
Jo went still for a moment. You continued before he could respond. “I thought my mind was breaking.” Your fingers tightened weakly into the blankets. “There were so many people. So much grief and pain and—and—” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “I couldn’t stop hearing them.”
The room quieted and Jo did not tease you immediately. Instead, he spoke softly. “You eventually learn where to place them.”
You turned your head slightly toward him. “What does that mean?”
“It means the dead never stop speaking.” His voice remained calm. “You simply learn not to drown in them.” He said the words so terrifyingly easy, as though he’d accepted that truth long ago. Persephone had said something similar earlier.
Jo shifted in the chair. “Did she give you anything to help stabilize the connection?”
You blinked. “No?”
“Of course she didn’t.”
You frowned faintly. “What is that supposed to mean?” Jo reached up and loosened the blindfold slightly though he still did not remove it entirely. Then his head tilted vaguely toward your bedside table.
“You should perhaps wear it next time,” he said lightly.
You stared at him. Your eyes flicked toward the rubies again. Warm crimson glimmered faintly beneath candlelight. And suddenly the memory of him placing it into your dress pocket earlier returned far too vividly for your comfort. You cleared your throat awkwardly.
“Try not to collapse tomorrow either.” His mouth curved. “You’re becoming embarrassingly predictable.”
You scowled. “You are unbelievably irritating.”
“And yet,” he mused softly while standing once more, “you continue speaking to me.”
Before you could think of a proper response, he had already turned toward the door. He paused only briefly before leaving. Then, without looking back, he added quietly,
“Goodnight, little oracle.”
And for some deeply unfortunate reason, you smiled after he was gone.
Angelic bastard.
_________
White was your entire life.
White marble pillars stretching endlessly toward painted ceilings in Apollo’s temple. White robes flowing around silent priestesses drifting through sacred halls like ghosts. White incense smoke curling lazily through sunlit sanctuaries.
Even your childhood memories seemed washed pale with gold and ivory, touched only occasionally by the soft colors of fresh flowers placed upon altars.
Apollo’s temple had never belonged to warmth. It belonged to radiance. Blinding, holy, untouched radiance. Gold adorned everything, of course. Golden statues, golden goblets, golden embroidery threaded into ceremonial cloth. But gold in the temple never felt alive. It reflected light rather than creating it. Even the flowers offered to the gods had always been delicate things—white narcissus, pale lilies, soft olive branches resting quietly beneath marble hands. Nothing excessive or indulgent.
Nothing like this place.
The Underworld dripped with color. Deep violets and silver shadows. Black stone glimmering like wet ink. Dark crimson fruits split open upon banquet tables.
And red.
Red existed everywhere here.
Not the violent red of bloodshed Apollo’s soldiers dragged home from wars. This was richer, lush, dangerous pomegranate red. Ruby red.
The color now resting against your throat.
The mirror before you stretched nearly from floor to ceiling, framed in twisting silver vines blooming with tiny jeweled flowers. Soft morning light—or whatever passed for morning beneath the earth—spilled dimly through the tall windows of your chamber. And there you stood. Wearing his necklace. You exhaled sharply through your nose. “This is idiotic.”
The rubies glimmered innocently against your skin in response. You had spent nearly ten entire minutes arguing with yourself before finally putting it on. Ten humiliating minutes of picking the necklace up, setting it back down, walking away dramatically, then returning like a cursed moth drawn toward fire.
Your fingers brushed lightly against the necklace, adjusting the delicate chain where it rested at the base of your throat. The rubies were colder than ordinary jewels should have been. You immediately pulled your hand away.
Why had you actually listened to him?
Certainly not because his stupidly deep voice had softened slightly when he told you to wear it.
You frowned harder at your own reflection. “This is precisely how women in tragedies begin making terrible decisions.” The mirror, unfortunately, offered no wisdom. Only your own increasingly flustered expression staring back at you.
With growing irritation, you reached for one of the high-necked dresses laid neatly across your bed. If you were going to wear the necklace, then absolutely nobody needed to see it. Especially not him.
You pulled the soft dark fabric carefully over your shoulders before fastening the silver clasps along the throat. The dress concealed the necklace entirely beneath elegant layers of fabric. You relaxed slightly. Then immediately ruined everything by imagining, entirely against your will, the feeling of Jo’s hands brushing against your neck yesterday while placing the necklace into your pocket.
Long fingers. Cool skin. The faint scent of smoke and winter surrounding him—
“No,” you hissed aloud to yourself. You pointed accusingly at your own reflection. “Snap out of it.” The woman in the mirror looked deeply unconvinced. You groaned softly and grabbed the nearest cloak before your thoughts could betray you further. This was ridiculous.
You were training to become a goddess. The future Queen of the Underworld. Not some lovesick priestess daydreaming over a pretty man with sharp eyes and unbearable habits.
Angelic bastard.
Squaring your shoulders firmly, you turned away from the mirror and headed toward the chamber doors before your own mind could embarrass you any further. Training awaited.
And hopefully—preferably—Jo would not be there today.
_____________
Disappointment is a stupid human emotion. Truly humiliating in every possible way. Especially when directed toward yourself.
The necklace had been a miracle.
It had not silenced the voices entirely—nothing could do that apparently—but during training earlier that day, the overwhelming flood of whispers had softened enough for you to actually remain standing. The dead still lingered at the edges of your mind, distant murmurs threading beneath your thoughts, but they no longer crashed through your skull like waves trying to drown you. You could breathe through them now.
You stabbed absentmindedly at the food on your plate with considerably more aggression than the roasted figs deserved.
Across from you, Yunah watched with mild concern. “Are you fighting the dinner?”
You sighed dramatically and dropped the fork. The dining chamber was smaller than the grand halls used for divine gatherings, though still lavish by mortal standards. Warm candlelight flickered softly across dark wooden walls lined with silver detailing while enormous windows overlooked the eternal twilight outside.
Tonight, it was only you and Yunah eating together. Persephone had apparently been occupied elsewhere within the palace and you had nearly cried with relief at the thought of one peaceful meal. Unfortunately, peace required your thoughts to cooperate. Which they refused to do.
“I’m annoyed,” you finally admitted.
Yunah took a delicate sip from her wine. “At?”
You hesitated. Then glared faintly at your plate, “His stupid necklace quietened the voices.”
A slow smile spread across Yunah’s face almost immediately. “That explains your expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one people usually have after realizing Jo was correct about something.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I dislike how entertained everyone becomes whenever he’s mentioned.”
Yunah laughed softly beneath her breath. Even hearing his name made your stomach do strange things now. Absolutely unacceptable.
You leaned back in your chair with a groan. “I don’t understand him.”
“That makes two of us.”
Your gaze lifted immediately. “You don’t know him well?”
Yunah shook her head lightly. “Not particularly. No one does, honestly.” She set her glass carefully down upon the table. “Jo arrived here only about a year ago.”
You blinked. Only a year? Something about him felt far older than that. “He just…appeared?”
“In a sense.” Yunah tilted her head thoughtfully. “Hades brought him here personally. After that, he began training almost immediately.” Your fingers paused lightly against the edge of your plate. Training to become Hades—the thought still unsettled you every time it surfaced.
“There are rumors,” Yunah added carefully after a moment. You immediately looked interested despite yourself. Yunah noticed and smiled knowingly. “Curious?”
“No,” you lied instantly.
“Mhm.” Yunah leaned slightly forward across the table, lowering her voice despite the emptiness surrounding you. “They say he lost his entire family before coming here.”
The words settled heavily between you. Your chest tightened unexpectedly. “What?”
Yunah nodded slowly. “No one knows the full truth,” she admitted. “But servants talk. Apparently something terrible happened in the mortal world before Hades found him.” Her expression softened faintly. “Some believe that’s why he adapted to the Underworld so quickly.”
You stared quietly at the candlelight dancing across the table. Suddenly, certain things about Jo made more sense. The sharpness, the distance in his eyes, the way he spoke about death like someone long familiar with it. Yunah twirled her fork absentmindedly before continuing.
“A few of the palace attendants are frightened of him because of it,” she said. “They think grief made him cold.”
Cold was not the word you would have chosen. Sharp, perhaps. Difficult. Infuriatingly smug. But not cold. Not entirely.
“He doesn’t seem cruel,” you admitted quietly before you could stop yourself.
Yunah’s smile turned softer then. “No,” she agreed. “He isn’t.” Your fingers drifted toward the necklace resting beneath the high collar of your dress. Warm now, not cold. How strange.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I’ve always known him to be kind.”
You blinked at that. Kind—the word echoed oddly beside the image you carried of him—sharp-eyed, teasing, looking at you like he already knew every thought crossing your face before you spoke it aloud.
And yet you remembered him wearing a blindfold because his own training exhausted him, the quietness in his voice when speaking about the dead. The necklace he’d twisted around his slender fingers so prettily. He made it from a pomegranate. Hades and Persephone’s pomegranate.
Your stomach twisted again. This was becoming a problem. A very attractive problem.
On the opposite side of the palace, far beneath vaulted ceilings carved with scenes of ancient wars, steel rang sharply against steel. Again and again and again.
Jo moved like violence wrapped in elegance.
The training hall stretched vast and dim around him, illuminated only by towering braziers burning with silver fire. Weapons lined the black stone walls—swords, spears, axes older than empires themselves—and the polished floor bore countless scars from centuries of combat.
At the center of it all, Jo drove his blade forward with brutal precision. Nicholas barely blocked in time. The clash of swords echoed violently through the chamber before Nicholas stumbled backward laughing breathlessly.
“Fuck, Jo.” He wheezed, sweeping blond hair from his face, “you train like you’re trying to kill someone.”
Jo lowered his sword lazily. “You train like you’re trying to impress someone.”
Nicholas grinned immediately. “Well, one of us has to maintain charm around here.”
Unlike Jo’s cold refinement, Nicholas carried himself with loud confidence that filled every room he entered. Golden hair clung damply to his forehead from training and his sleeveless black tunic exposed arms lined with old scars. The future Ares, entirely unsurprising.
Nicholas rolled his shoulder with a grimace before eyeing Jo suspiciously across the hall. “So.”
Jo sighed instantly. “No.”
“You knew what I was going to ask?”
“You’ve been making that expression for ten minutes.”
“Blame it on Yuma.” Nicholas planted the tip of his sword dramatically against the floor. “Your little oracle.”
Jo resumed adjusting the leather bindings around his wrist without looking up. “What about her?”
Nicholas looked deeply offended, “I can sense something happening.”
“Nothing is happening.” Jo said gruffly. Nicholas watched him carefully for another moment before a grin slowly spread across his face.
“You like her.”
Jo finally looked up then. “What are you Nicholas, twelve years old?”
“You answered too quickly.”
“I answered appropriately.”
Nicholas laughed under his breath and wandered toward one of the nearby weapon racks. “Yuma was right then.”
At that, Jo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you speaking to Yuma?”
“Because unlike you, he tells me interesting things.”
“That is because Hermes survives entirely through gossip.”
Nicholas shrugged. “And yet he’s rarely wrong.”
Jo exhaled quietly through his nose before retrieving another sword from the rack nearby. The silver blade gleamed sharply beneath the firelight. Nicholas watched him for a moment longer before speaking again, this time less teasingly.
“So?” he asked. “How is she handling it?”
Jo’s movements slowed slightly. For the first time that evening, his expression softened almost imperceptibly. “She’s trying.”
Nicholas blinked once. Then immediately burst into delighted laughter. “Oh, you’re doomed.”
Jo looked murderous. “You asked a question and I merely answered, Ares.”
“You answered softly.” Nicholas chuckled, “I’ve never known Hades to be soft for anybody.” He pointed his sword accusingly towards him, “Except his Persephone.”
His Persephone.
Sweet little lamb, Jo thought, turning away before Nicholas could see the faint irritation flickering across his face.
“She nearly broke during training yesterday,” he said instead, quieter now.
Nicholas’ grin faded slightly. “The voices?”
Jo nodded once. A silence stretched briefly between them. Even Nicholas, loud and reckless as war itself, understood the weight behind that.
“…Can you feel it?” Nicholas asked carefully.
Jo’s fingers tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword. “Yes.” The answer came low and immediate.
Nicholas studied him thoughtfully. “And her?”
Jo looked toward the dark training hall doors, expression unreadable. “She’ll need it for the first few days,” he said calmly. “Until her body adjusts.”
Nicholas hummed softly as though filing the information away. Then, inevitably, “So the necklace was your idea.”
Jo said nothing. Nicholas grinned knowingly anyway. “You’re unbelievable.”
Jo resumed training without another word. Steel flashed violently through silver firelight once more.
But despite the sharp precision of his strikes, his thoughts drifted elsewhere again.
Toward soft white nightgowns beneath false stars. Toward frightened eyes trying desperately not to trust him. Toward a little oracle who looked at the Underworld like she still believed beauty and terror could not exist within the same thing.
Jo drove his sword harder into the next strike. The metal cracked loudly against Nicholas’ blade. Nicholas winced.
“…Right,” he muttered. “You’re definitely doomed.”
______________
You had quickly discovered something unfortunate about the Underworld.
It became unbearably lonely when you had nothing to do.
No training had been scheduled for today. Persephone had apparently vanished somewhere beyond the palace with several attendants in tow and Yunah had disappeared since morning without explanation, leaving you abandoned entirely to your own thoughts.
A terrible fate.
You tried reading for a while. That lasted approximately twenty minutes before the ancient texts began giving you headaches. You attempted resting afterward. Impossible—the Underworld never truly slept and now neither did your mind.
So eventually, with nothing better to do, you wrapped yourself in a dark cloak and wandered aimlessly through the palace halls instead. At first, you stayed close to familiar corridors. Then curiosity betrayed you.
You drifted further than usual, passing long galleries lined with enormous paintings whose figures seemed to shift subtly when you looked too long. Silent servants bowed politely as you passed and distant flames flickered softly against marble walls. The deeper you wandered, the quieter the palace became. Until finally—
Music.
You stopped walking immediately.
Soft, melancholic and beautiful enough to make your heart ache—a piano. The sound floated faintly through one of the open archways ahead and you found yourself following it almost without thinking.
The corridor gradually opened into a garden. You forgot entirely that you stood in the Underworld.
Moonflowers bloomed everywhere beneath silver twilight, their pale petals glowing softly against dark winding pathways. Massive willow trees swayed gently in a breeze you could not feel while rivers curved lazily between beds of luminous flowers.
Tiny lights drifted through the air like wandering stars. Nothing about it resembled death. It felt like a dream someone had desperately tried preserving forever. The music echoed softly through the garden, weaving itself between branches and flowers alike. You moved carefully along the stone paths, drawn further inward by the melody.
The song itself sounded lonely somehow. Yearning. The kind of music played by someone who had once loved silence until it became unbearable. Without realizing it, you slowed your steps to match the rhythm. Swaying faintly beneath silver trees while the piano wrapped around you like a spell.
Hidden within the heart of the garden stood an old black piano beneath drooping willow branches. And seated before it was the future King of this realm.
Jo.
For one suspended moment, you simply stared. He wore no formal robes today. Only a loose black shirt with the sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms, the dark fabric soft against his lean frame. His glasses rested abandoned atop the piano beside him and without them, he somehow looked younger.
Silver light filtered through the willow branches overhead, painting soft shadows across the sharp lines of his face while his long fingers moved effortlessly across the piano keys.
Beautiful was not a strong enough word for him. He looked like something carved from longing itself, entirely too ethereal for a place beneath the earth.
You slipped quietly behind one of the nearby willow trees before he could notice you, heart behaving strangely in your chest. The music continued, soft and hypnotic, every note dancing around you.
You stayed hidden there listening. Watching. You should have left. Instead you leaned slightly around the tree for a better view. And promptly stepped on a branch. The sharp crack echoed embarrassingly loudly through the garden. The music stopped instantly and your soul briefly left your body as Jo’s hands stilled against the piano keys.
Slowly, his head turned slightly toward the sound. You froze entirely behind the tree, one hand clasped stupidly over your mouth as though that somehow erased your existence. Silence stretched.
Then—to your utter confusion— Jo resumed playing. But differently this time.
The melody softened into something slower, each note curling carefully through the air as though searching for you specifically. It felt less like music now and more like a hand reaching quietly into your chest. Drawing you forward, inviting. Your pulse slowed strangely beneath it.
The garden seemed to hush around the sound, silver lights drifting lazily through the trees while Jo continued playing without once acknowledging your hiding place. As though he already knew exactly where you stood. The final note faded softly into silence and Jo smiled softly.
“Come out, little lamb.”
Little lamb?
Heat immediately rushed to your face. You stepped hesitantly from behind the willow tree, trying very hard to maintain some dignity despite the fact you had just been caught hiding and spying on him like an overly curious ghost. Jo looked up at you from the piano bench. That soft silver light beneath the trees truly did terrible things to him.
Without his glasses and sharp formal clothing, he looked untouchable sitting there amidst the flowers and drifting lights. Like something ancient and beautiful that had accidentally wandered into the mortal world and decided to stay only temporarily. His dark eyes swept briefly over you.
“You look good today.”
Your brain stopped functioning for approximately three seconds.
“…What?”
Jo blinked once. “I complimented you.”
“I heard that part.”
“Then why are you staring at me like I’ve threatened your bloodline?”
You narrowed your eyes immediately to recover some sense of composure. “You’re very strange.”
“And yet,” he mused lightly, “you’re still standing here.”
You stepped a little closer toward the piano instead, clasping your hands carefully behind your back. The instrument itself looked old beyond comprehension, its black surface etched with silver vines similar to those decorating the palace halls.
“You play beautifully,” you admitted softly. Jo’s fingers drifted absentmindedly across the piano keys again, producing a few quiet wandering notes.
“I used to enjoy music when I was younger,” he said quietly.
Younger—the word sounded odd coming from him. As though he had existed for centuries already instead of merely being another successor like yourself.
Without thinking, you asked softly, “What were you like when you were human?”
The question lingered gently between you both. Jo’s fingers stilled against the keys. Then he looked away. The silver lights drifting through the garden reflected faintly in his eyes now, making them seem darker.
“I don’t remember much worth keeping,” he answered calmly.
“You don’t miss it at all?” you asked carefully. “Being mortal?”
Jo was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he rose from the piano bench.
“No,” he said simply. “I never want to be mortal again.”
The certainty in his voice startled you. You watched as he wandered a few steps through the flowers nearby, his expression unreadable beneath the willow shadows.
“Why?” you asked softly.
Jo reached down absently and plucked one of the pale moonflowers growing beside the stone path. For a moment, he merely held it between elegant fingers. Beautiful, fragile.
Then slowly, he crushed it. The petals crumpled instantly within his hand, silver dust falling softly onto the dark ground beneath.
“Because human lives are this,” he murmured quietly, “So breakable, so…ephemeral.”
Your chest tightened painfully. The broken flower looked terribly small in his hand. Brief, gone almost immediately, something about the sight made sadness bloom unexpectedly inside you.
Jo’s gaze flicked toward your expression and genuine regret crossed his face. Without a word, he reached toward another nearby flower instead.
This one he handled gently. He stepped closer afterward, lifting the pale bloom toward you. You went very still as his fingers brushed softly through your hair, tucking the flower carefully behind your ear.
The movement lasted only seconds. And yet your pulse stumbled so hard you feared he might hear it.
“There,” Jo murmured quietly.
You forgot how to breathe properly for a moment. Then he stepped away before you could embarrass yourself further.
“You should learn music,” he said casually, as though he had not just shattered your composure entirely. “It helps quieten the mind.”
“You’d teach me?” You asked, with a soft smile
“If you stop hiding behind trees while listening first.” Jo looked unbearably amused. Then, before you could start arguing, he turned and began walking slowly along the garden path.
You hurried slightly after him. “Wait.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “What is this place anyway?” you asked, looking around once more at the glowing flowers and silver rivers winding beyond the trees. “This garden.”
Jo’s expression softened faintly then. For the first time that evening, something genuinely warm entered his gaze.
“This,” he said quietly, “is the garden Hades planted for Persephone.”
Your eyes widened slightly. You looked around again afterward.
The flowers. The music. The beauty blooming beneath eternal twilight. Suddenly the garden felt less like part of the Underworld and more like proof that love had once lived here long enough to change the landscape itself. Jo watched you take it in silently.
Sweet little lamb.
Beautiful oracle.
“He built it because she missed the music of spring.”
With that he walked away, closing the doors to the garden behind him, leaving you all alone in the grand hall of angelic honey. Your hand up to the flower in your hair, caressing it.
Hades and his love, hm?
___________
A month changed people in strange ways. Or perhaps The Underworld did. It was all the same to you anyways.
At first, you had counted the days carefully. Each sunrise you could no longer see, each lesson and each night spent wondering whether your mortal life above had already forgotten you entirely.
But eventually the counting stopped. Because the voices stopped hurting—not completely as you suspected they never truly would.
The dead still whispered constantly beneath the edges of your thoughts, a thousand distant souls threading softly through your mind like rivers beneath ice. But now you could separate them. Organize them. Silence the loudest ones when necessary.
You were good at it. Persephone herself had looked genuinely startled during one lesson after you successfully calmed an entire chamber of wandering spirits without guidance.
“You learn frighteningly quickly,” she had murmured afterward. You had smiled proudly at the praise.
Meanwhile Jo, leaning lazily against one of the marble pillars nearby, had simply said, “Told you she’d survive.”
The words had warmed you.
The Underworld no longer felt foreign now. You knew the palace halls by memory. Knew which gardens bloomed silver at night and which rivers carried the voices of mourning souls most loudly. You knew Yunah’s favorite desserts, Nicholas’ terrible habit of provoking everyone during training and Yuma’s tendency to appear uninvited solely to spread gossip.
And Hades?
Jo had somehow become woven quietly into your every day.
He still teased you relentlessly, called you little lamb whenever you became flustered, looked unbearably pleased whenever he managed to catch you staring at him too long.
But you had learned other things too.
Like how he always slowed his walking pace slightly without acknowledging it whenever you accompanied him through the palace. How servants stopped fearing him after speaking with him more than once. How he secretly fed the palace ravens despite claiming to dislike animals.
And how, beneath all that sharpness, kindness existed quietly inside him like a hidden wound he refused to expose directly.
You had never accepted his offer to teach you music. Mostly because the idea of sitting that close to him for extended periods sounded catastrophic for your remaining dignity.
But you still visited the garden frequently. You would sit beneath the willow trees with parchment scattered across your lap while Jo played softly at the piano nearby. Sometimes neither of you spoke for hours.
You wrote poetry. He played music. And silence between you never felt uncomfortable, only full.
A few nights ago was no different.
Above you, the false stars shimmered softly across the dark ceiling Yunah had once created for your chambers and later expanded magically across portions of the garden itself after hearing you missed the mortal sky.
You lay atop a blanket spread across the soft grass beside the silver river, one arm tucked beneath your head while pages of half-finished poetry rested nearby.
Beside you, Jo lay with his hands folded lazily across his stomach, blindfolded again. You had eventually learned he wore it after difficult training sessions because darkness helped quiet certain things within his mind.
You never asked what things. Some wounds did not enjoy being touched.
The night air smelled faintly of moonflowers and cold water.
“You still romanticize mortals too much,” Jo said suddenly.
You turned your head toward him immediately. “That’s because I was one.”
“A tragic condition.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
‘You continue to spend time with me voluntarily, darling.” He hummed.
You huffed softly and stared back upward at the stars. “Human life matters because it ends,” you argued after a moment. “That’s what makes everything beautiful.”
Jo tilted his head slightly against the blanket. “No,” he said calmly. “It makes humans desperate.”
You frowned faintly. The conversation had drifted into dangerous territory again. You should have expected it. Jo always spoke about mortality as though he stood outside it now, observing it from somewhere colder.
“Why do you speak about people like they’re temporary objects>” You murmured quietly.
“They are temporary.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re meaningless.”
Jo fell silent briefly beside you. The silver river flowed softly nearby.
“You know what mortals do best?” he asked quietly.
You glanced toward him. “What?”
“They cling.” His voice remained calm but something heavier sat beneath it now. “They cling to people. To promises. To moments already disappearing while they’re still happening.” A faint bitter smile touched his mouth. “Humans spend their entire lives grieving things before they’ve even lost them.”
The words twisted painfully somewhere deep inside your chest. Because despite how cold they sounded, you understood them. You turned fully onto your side then, facing him properly.
“You say that like it’s a weakness.”
Jo remained still beneath the stars. “Isn’t it?”
“Of course not.” You watched the silver light dance softly across the black blindfold covering his eyes. “It’s love,” you said quietly.
Jo did not respond immediately. But you noticed his fingers loosen slightly where they rested against his stomach. As though some part of him had gone still listening to you. And suddenly you became painfully aware of how close you both were lying beneath the stars.
How familiar his presence had become. How naturally you now searched for him in every room.
Hades had built this garden for Persephone.
Jo exhaled softly through his nose. “You really are Persephone’s successor,” he murmured at last.
“What is that supposed to mean?” You enquired.
A small smile touched his lips beneath the blindfold. “You still believe things grow after winter.”
How the king of hell questioned his unloving queen.
And before you could stop yourself, you asked softly, “Who convinced you they didn’t?”
Jo was quiet for a very long time after that, so quiet you almost regretted asking.
The silver river flowed softly nearby while the false stars shimmered overhead, casting pale light across the blindfold covering his eyes. Beside you, his breathing remained steady—but something in the air between you had shifted. Like you had accidentally touched a scar hidden beneath layers of silk and shadow.
Eventually, Jo smiled. “You ask dangerous questions, darling.” He murmured softly. That answer felt far heavier than anything else he could have said.
You wanted to ask more, wanted to understand what kind of grief could make someone stop believing in spring entirely.
But before you could speak again, Jo sat up smoothly from the grass beside you. The moment folded shut immediately, gone, just like that.
He stood and offered you a hand up from the grass. His fingers closed gently around yours. Then he released you before your heart could betray you further.
“Goodnight, little oracle.”
And again, your chest tightened stupidly after he walked away.
Tonight, the Underworld glittered. From the towering palace windows you could see silver fires blazing across distant terraces while music echoed faintly through endless halls below. Gods, spirits and successors alike had gathered beneath the earth tonight for the first grand ball of the season.
An introduction, a presentation, a declaration to the divine world itself. You would officially be revealed as Persephone’s successor. Which meant, unfortunately, everyone would be staring at you.
You stood motionless before the enormous mirror in your chambers trying very hard not to faint from nerves.
The gown Persephone had chosen for you spilled around your body in layers of soft white silk and silver embroidery, the fabric shimmering faintly whenever you moved. The sleeves draped elegantly from your shoulders and delicate silver threading curled across the bodice like flowering vines beneath moonlight.
You looked terrifyingly divine.
Which was the problem—you did not resemble yourself anymore. You resembled someone important.
Your fingers drifted nervously toward the ruby necklace hidden beneath the fabric near your throat, the familiar coolness grounding you instantly. Somewhere over the last month, touching the necklace had become instinctive whenever your thoughts spiraled too far.
“Wonderful,” you muttered. “I look like someone about to be sacrificed.”
The mirror offered no reassurance. A knock echoed suddenly through your chambers.
“Come in,” you called carefully.
Jo had seen beauty before.
The Underworld was full of it—immortal beings sculpted perfectly, divine faces untouched by age, creatures born from starlight and death alike.
None of them had prepared him for this.
You stood bathed in candlelight like the physical embodiment of every foolish spring myth mortals had ever written songs about. White silk clung softly to your figure while your bare shoulders gleamed beneath the warm glow of the room. The rubies beneath your neckline burned against skin and your hair fell around you in waves that made you look unbearably delicate.
Beautiful oracle.
Sweet little lamb.
Spring standing calmly at the edge of winter.
Suddenly all he could think about was the fact you looked exactly like something Hades himself would have crossed worlds for.
Jo physically felt his thoughts collapse in on themselves. His gaze lingered one second too long before he recovered enough to shut the chamber doors behind him.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” You quipped. Jo leaned lazily against the doorframe with far more composure than he actually possessed.
“I’m trying to decide,” he said smoothly, “whether Persephone intends to introduce you at a ball or start a scandal.”
You narrowed your eyes despite the warmth rising to your face. “That is not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” His gaze drifted over you again before he could stop it. Terrible idea.
Your off-shoulder gown exposed the graceful line of your throat just enough for him to notice the faint outline of the necklace beneath the fabric. You were wearing it again. Every day now. Jo tried very hard not to think about how much he liked that.
“You look nervous,” he observed lightly instead.
“I am nervous.”
“You’ll survive.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying right before horrifying experiences.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re adapting well to the Underworld then.”
You sighed dramatically and turned back toward the mirror. “I don’t know how Persephone does this so effortlessly.”
Jo watched your reflection quietly for a moment. “She doesn’t. You blinked and looked back at him. Jo shrugged one shoulder. “She’s simply had centuries to perfect pretending otherwise.”
Something about that answer softened your nerves. You looked down briefly at your hands smoothing anxiously over the silk of your gown. “What if they hate me?”
“They won’t.” The certainty in his voice startled you enough that you looked back up immediately.
Jo realized what he’d done a second too late. So naturally he ruined the moment on purpose.
“Besides,” he added lazily, “if anyone becomes unbearable, Nicholas will probably challenge them to a duel before dessert.”
You burst into helpless laughter despite yourself and Jo’s chest tightened annoyingly at hearing it. Trouble, trouble, trouble.
The sound filled the room softly, bright enough to momentarily cut through all the nervous tension knotting around your shoulders. You pressed a hand to your mouth as the laughter faded, still smiling.
Jo watched you for a second too long again, then looked away before his thoughts embarrassed him further.
Dangerous little thing.
“You should take the necklace off tonight,” he said suddenly.
Your hand instinctively flew toward your throat. Beneath the silver fabric of your gown, the rubies rested cool against your skin.
You frowned immediately. “What?”
“The ruby necklace.”
“Why?”
Jo reached casually into the pocket of his dark coat instead of answering immediately. Something small rested in his palm when he withdrew his hand.
A blueberry.
You blinked once in confusion, “I think I need an explanation.”
Jo rolled the tiny fruit lazily between elegant fingers, the faintest trace of amusement flickering across his face now.
“You told me once,” he said lightly, “that Apollo’s temple received blueberry offerings during summer festivals.”
Your eyes widened and a memory surfaced almost immediately. You remembered sitting beneath the temple columns one afternoon weeks ago while Jo played at the piano nearby. You had been half-delirious from exhaustion after training and talking far too freely.
“The priestesses hated it,” you had laughed at the time. “Because I kept stealing them.”
Jo had glanced over the piano then. “You stole sacred offerings?”
“They were blueberries.”
“As opposed to?”
“As opposed to everything else.”
You stared at him now. “You remembered that?”
Jo looked offended, “Come now, darling, you do not have that much trust in me?”
Before you could respond, the blueberry dissolved. The deep blue unraveled into shimmering ribbons of light that curled carefully around Jo’s fingers before reforming themselves into a delicate sapphire necklace resting against his palm.
The sapphires glimmered like captured twilight. Smaller and more delicate than the ruby necklace, the silver chain carried tiny dark blue stones that caught the candlelight whenever they moved.
Jo stepped closer before you could gather your thoughts properly and your pulse immediately lost all sense of dignity.
“Turn around,” he said calmly.
You obeyed before realizing you had. Traitorous body. Facing the mirror again, you watched Jo approach behind you through the reflection.
This was a terrible idea.
His figure stopped directly at your back, close enough now for you to feel warmth radiating faintly from him. Slowly, he reached forward and brushed your hair aside over one shoulder.
Your breath caught. His fingers barely touched you. Barely. Yet somehow the small contact sent heat spiraling violently down your spine anyway.
Jo stilled for the briefest moment behind you and that realization made your heart stumble harder. The room suddenly felt much too warm.
Carefully, he unclasped the ruby necklace from around your throat first. The familiar weight disappeared.
Then, gentler than you’d have expected the God of the Dead to have been, Jo fastened the sapphire necklace into place instead. Cool stones settled lightly against your skin. His fingers brushed the back of your neck while securing the clasp and you forgot how breathing worked. Through the mirror, you saw Jo watching your reflection quietly.
As though he himself had not expected this moment to affect him so much.
The sapphire glimmered beautifully against the white silk of your gown. Blue instead of red. Moonlight instead of wine. Jo finally stepped back slowly.
“There,” he murmured softly.
You swallowed hard and stared at your reflection. “Why sapphires?”
Jo adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves with suspicious calmness. “Rubies belong to Persephone.”
You turned slightly toward him. “And sapphires?”
“To Hades of course.”
Jo realized what he had just said approximately one second too late. His expression remained beautifully composed for approximately half a second before something dangerously close to panic flickered through his eyes.
Then your own thoughts caught up too.
Sapphires belonged to Hades. You were wearing white. He was dressed entirely in black. Your gaze drifted upward involuntarily toward the mirror again.
Together, reflected beneath silver candlelight, you looked almost—
No.
Absolutely not.
Your face immediately warmed. Jo cleared his throat lightly behind you with all the elegance of a man internally falling down several flights of stairs. The contrast between you suddenly felt impossible to ignore now.
White silk and moonlight.
Black fabric and shadow.
Spring and death standing side by side before a mirror like some ancient myth halfway through writing itself.
Neither of you spoke for one painfully long moment.
A knock mercifully sounded at the chamber doors. Both of you startled slightly as though caught committing some terrible crime.
“Come in,” you managed weakly. The doors opened and Yunah stepped gracefully into the room.
“The ballroom is prepared,” she informed you calmly, though her eyes still carried suspicious amusement. “Lady Persephone is waiting downstairs.” You nodded quickly, grateful for literally any interruption before your heart exploded.
Jo straightened beside you and smoothly regained control of his expression with infuriating speed. “You should go,” he said calmly, though something softer lingered beneath the words now.
You turned fully toward him at last. The silver light caught against his dark clothes beautifully, outlining the sharp lines of his face and the elegant fall of black fabric across his shoulders.
This man could ruin your peace permanently. For a brief second, neither of you moved. Then Jo stepped forward once more.
Slowly, he reached for your hand. His fingers closed gently around yours before he lowered himself just enough to press a soft kiss against your knuckles.
The gesture was perfectly respectful and perfectly elegant. And somehow infinitely worse because of it. Warmth spread violently across your face.
“Good luck tonight, darling.” Jo murmured quietly against your skin.
Then, before either of you could say something catastrophic, he released your hand and stepped away again.
Coward, you thought faintly. Because you were suddenly very aware that if he looked at you like that for one second longer, you might genuinely forget your own name.
Jo inclined his head once toward Yunah in greeting before turning toward the doors. Just before leaving, though, he glanced back once more. Only once, but it was enough to make your chest ache strangely beneath the necklace resting against your throat.
Then he disappeared into the corridor beyond, black fabric vanishing softly into darkness.
Death, how could you ever figure him out?
A/N: GO READ PART TWO GO GET OUT OF HERE SHOO
divider by @strangergraphics
@eu1joo @kwnnies @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @ikigaijo @antonh0lic @dearvampyr @riri4andy @tokunodoll @sunsoomi @makizdoll + Shoot me an ask or comment to be added!
i wish i could put into words to explain how hooked i was from the very beginning like this fic is proof my attention span is fine actually 🎉🎉 i think it took me a few hours to read both parts in their entirety, and when i finished i wanted to sob and start it all over again because i had all the pieces of the puzzle with me ☹️ (and that’s exactly what i did 😹 just finished my third reread and it was just as magical as my first experience)
the premise was already so promising and yet the actual story blew my expectations out of the water ITS JUST SO PEAK 🥹🥹 as a hades and persephone lover + a jo girl i squealed in excitement over every tiny thing
honourable mentions (including spoilers for da fic 🥸)
- JO THE LOVESICK PHANTOM SINCE DAY ONE BASICALLY the jewellery… the intimacy of clasping it on for her… im deceased seriously
- THE (MUTUAL) DENIAAAAAAALLLLLL and i just know the fates were laughing in their faces (as was i) as they watched both of these fools say they’d never fall for each other omfggg
- blindfolded jo 😝 i licked my screen 😝
- THE GARDEN SCENESNEJDJRKWKXKI sighs longingly… i gnaw on iron bars whenever i remember it wym he plays her the piano wym she sits and writes poetry are u kidding me that’s bloody beautiful 😭😭😭 my dream date… cute… UUUUGH AND THE WAY JO COAXED HER OUT THE FIRST TIME
and when i thought the first part was beautiful, the second part really took my breath away. mind u i have aphantasia im not meant to be seeing things in my head and yet i truly felt like i was in this universe I WAS DIZZYYYY FROM SPINNING YES! twirl me around pretty boy jo ☺️☺️☺️😊😊😊😊😊😜😜😜😜😜 we were dancing in that ballroom
++ the GASP i let out as everything started to unravel i wanted to cry at how magically devastating finding out the truth was oh my babies OH MY BABIES 😭😭😭😭😭😭 avoiding each other in their garden (THEIR. GARDEN), still dancing together just on the line of knowing they’d have to duel one another soon, jo being soooo gentle and then WHAT THE HELL MAN THE CLIMAX OF NOT ONLY JO SAVING HER FROM PERSEPHONE BUT THEIR INTERTWINED MORTAL LIVES????????? i was on the floor i really had to pull out the asthma pump because how does one survive this?? tears in my eyes at the pure genius of it all
WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH the duel had me so stressed i could see both of them so deeply i seriously didn’t know if we were gonna make it out😹😹😹😹✌️✌️✌️✌️fortunately for the tender hearted (ME😁☝️) love transcends all oh tragic, raw, romance how i adore you so dearly 💕💞💓💗💖💘💝💕💓💗 legend says im still sobbing over “and still, somewhere between spring and death, love remained.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀 here’s my heart bru justtttt take itttt
cause don’t even get me started on the writing style!! INDESCRIBABLE ON how lovely it was, and such a breath of fresh air for me because i haven’t read something this lyrical in a long time i wanted to sob at some parts of the prose note to self next time i reread this i shall find my favourite bits to quote in a reblog 💌💌💌💌
tldr: i don’t think anything will top this for me for jo fics and ive made peace w that 🧘♀️🧘♀️🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🥹💌💌💌💝💓💖💕💖💝💖💕💖💕💖💝💘💝💖💝💓💓💓💓💗💖😭💘😭💖💝💖im throwing up this was everything to me
ivy we miss u here on tumblr!! ☹️💕 how have u been!!!
anna im sobbing you found me on all my tumblr accs heheheheh cutie pie i miss u too ☹️☹️ ive been okay!! still on hiatus bc of finals but the end of the tunnel is near… it’s calling me… i’ll come home soon… 😓💞 OH EM GEE AND DONT THINK I HAVENT SEEN all ur fics!! EEEK IM SO EXCITED to binge read them all and im so happy you decided to start writing >3<
HOW HAVE UUU BEEN
update on da teamies i have literally been in a trance for all of them they taking over mah lifeeee
Sorry James I love you BUT AWEEE I'M ALSO GETTING MASSIVE FOMO I WANT TOMODACHI LIFE SO BAD!!!!! AND THAT'S SO CUTE I SWEAR I WANNA DO THAT WITH MY BIAS BUT it's be weird cuz he's a minor (me too but still) BUT AWE LET ME BE THE BRIDESMAID /j
I KNOOOW I HAVE FOMO TOO i want to get into playing games more cause rn it’s all just pokemon and animal crossing 😭✌️
hahahaha that’s cute i don’t think minors can get married in tomodachi life omf u guys too babyyyyy that’s okay yes you’re all invited to james and mine 🤫🤫💍💍
✚ Rapper!Martin x fan!Reader ⋮ oneshot ⋮ bananagirl masterlist
desc - you’ve been a fan of martins music since before he was on all streaming platforms, since before he was doing live performances and headlining for famous artists. And one day he suddenly deleted your favorite niche song of his off all platforms and you thought the best thing to do is to DM him about it, even though you knew he would never see it in the floods of all his DMs.
note - listen I know I said I was going on hiatus but I got really bored and js wanted to post smth so I made this BUT AS SOON AS I POST THIS I WILL OFFICIALLY BE ON HIATUS I NEED TO GET OFF TUMBLR HOLY SHIT ITS AN ADDICTION 😭😭🙏🙏
James is absolutely mega UNCCCC OLDKEUKEU OLDKEUKEU TEPANYAKI ON MY MAC and I'm still forever the youngest in all of my online friend groups 💔💔💔💔💔💔 also I love your pfp is that u n James perchance 🥹❤️🩹 my parents fr (UUUUUNC UNNNNCCCC)
And it's so cool to meet a lot of Christian coers fr
OLDKEUKEU😭😭😭JAMES GET UPPP CLEMS ROASTING U AGAIN😭😭😭
awwwe that’s so sweet LOL YES it is!! it’s the james n ivy miis in @pbananalover ‘s tomodachi life island 😛🫶 i got fomo because i don’t have the game so bae made us for me and we get married in 3 days i was the happiest girl in the world shoutout loo
Take your time on checking out the notifs ivy !! I hope it isn't too overwhelming for you.. I may or may not have called u unc ❤️ iloveuplsdontkillme but I hope things get better for you with uni you got this ivy !! And yes my miss r from coerblr and I love that they're christians to it's so refreshing !! 🍊<3🍊
UNC 😭😭😭 LMFAOOO honestly ive gotten used to it because so many coers here are so young 🐣🐥 its so funny being on the other side of this bc i used to always be the youngest in my friend groups and online spaces n now it’s reversed!! (james gotta be mega unc to you then bc he’s a year older than me 🦕🦕 07s and 06s = cortis’ middle kids 😛✌️)
iloveumore
thank you sweet girl!! 🍊<3🍊
awwwe more coer cuties🫰i honestly think there’s a lot of christian coers 🥸 ive met many already as well
Hi ivy! I noticed you were active today! I think I've sent a few asks on your main I'm not sure but ignore that for now until your done with work, how are you? 🫖<3🍊
┆Also update I made two new moots and I love them so much UGH I'm gonna explode into pink glitter 🐣🍕🍊<3
HELLO MY CLEM 🥹🥹🥹 yesss im a little active here n there on da blr because my friends have been telling me to check out specific things hehehe ^•^ im mostly on this account tho since im just reading for now 🤫
teacuplps has a lot of msgs and comments i need to reply to so im hiding here for now 😞 but i promise when i get back i will respond to your asks on my main :D 💞💞 ive missed u clem!! how are uuu my cutie baby 🍊🐣
im going well!! uni is overwhelming as usual but i can see the light 🙏🙏i have one more assignment and then it’s just two exams to go before winter break🙏🙏 i can’t wait to be back being a chud on tumblr everyday straight again 💀 (thank you for checking up n asking you’re so sweet 💌☹️💌☹️)
YAAAY that’s adorable!! i love making moots everyone’s sooo sweet here <33 are they from cortisblr? orrr 👁️👁️
(ive made some new moots from a new fandom ive joined too🤫 we r twins kinda 👯♀️)
hello my favourite teacup 🫖 i hope u know how much i love and appreciate u 💞 u da sugar in my teacup frl
i hope u think of me whenever the sky is filled with clouds! ☁️<3🫖
hello MY favourite teacup ☹️☹️☹️ don’t play pretty girl i love you so much truly you’re so sweet and i’m so happy we were able to get closer cloudy 😭💞😭💞 i appreciate you more :p guys cloudy and i r basically going to the noah k concert tgt 🤣🫰🤣🫰 watch out for our matching tear stained faces ok?
omg ivy i was watching the new vlog and you can literally hear earrings play in the background in one of the clips with martin and seonghyeon and i immediately thought of you and the peak that is heart2heart. martin i see youuu🤭
omg my soupy snoopy 🥹🥹 AHHHH my friend sent me the video it’s so CUTE ☹️☹️ the second (?) time cortis caught listening to mac todd ik he’s in their playlists im just waiting for an official confirmation……. i’ll get u one day canon heart to heart martin…. 🤫💌
떨리는 지금도 you're on my mind all the time — james zhao x ivy
나 원래 말도 잘하고 그런데 왜 이런지? i don't like that, something odd about you, yeah, you're special and you know it
synopsis : in which the miyo gc wonders why ivy has been spending so much time with a certain james zhao...
cw : swearing, inside jokes, mostly just silly fic
note : jamesivy is canon in my heart! dats unnie and her nampyeon frfr ok @teacuplps HERE U GO UNNIE ILY
(ft @teacuplps, @aerisyl, @coconhovr, @lovhyeon, @griinspire, @cloudedteacups, @bananagirl222, and @pbananalover)
SEULBIS SO CUTE FOR THIS OMFG I CANT 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏👭👭👭👭💕💘💓💗💕🫂🫂💘💓💕💗🫂 i love her so much awww the babies always have something to say wow just wow 💀💀
i was giggling through this whole thing wdym secret MARRIAGE 🤣💍💍💍💍💍 that is so intimate im sighing dreamily james i love you james i miss you im sorry for being upset with your short hair seulbi gave u the long haired + lps pfp so 😍 you got lucky 😍
