iām myun, and iām currently enrolled in a long old creative writing course, meaning i am loosing the ability to write for fun :(. so here i am, ready to embarrass and expose myself ā writing fan fiction as if i were twelve again.
in all honestly, iām just trying to increase the speed of which i can write coherently. so be prepared for many mistakes and mishaps because quite frankly, i suck at what i do. iām also hoping i can use this as an opportunity to simply grow my confidence in writing, as this is only silly.
please feel free to write requests and whatnot, though i promise absolutely nothing in return (and in the kindest of ways)! hoping this could get me inspired and make me semi-productive between assignments ā”
i have the most fun writing x reader, and iām appalled to admit that i prefer my fics to be written in the first person š³ controversial ā i know. itās what iām most used to writing, and i do believe there is an art to it. so i will try my very best, though i highly doubt i can capture it in the same way i once did a decade ago writing mafia!127 on wattpad. lord what the fuck.
once again my condolences regarding the first person ā however in the age where itās rather obvious some fic writers are generating their stories with ai š¤Ø i think we can deal with the elaborated āi said thisā and āi did thatā and can each appreciate a mass avoidance of āy/nā.
further, i am a markf so am leaning towards being specifically a mark blogā¦ however iām not entirely opposed to writing for the other (well, remainingā¦) members. certainly leaning towards writing fluff/angst, but anything could happen, truly.
we shall find out š³ thank you for reading: if i keep this up iām sure this post will turn into some form of masterlist, or get deleted; thatās in future meās hand.
ā” really / or so iāve noticed (trainee!mark x trainee!reader)
synopsis: trainee!reader is beginning to lack motivation and is ready to quit the idol industry altogether, well would be ā if it werenāt for her habit of stealing glances as trainee!mark during rehearsals, and his grace in offering to help her with rather poor footwork.
content warnings: first person lmfao, but despite that ā none. female trainee!reader is characterised as rather sarcastic and may be read as insecure regarding her skillset. both she and mark are in denial about their feelings towards one another and can be awkward. trainers are a little mean, as expected.
word count: 1.8 k (part one) includes text messages
training days are difficult, nauseating.
they make me feel especially sick when our mentors divide us into the most ridiculous or pathetic of groups. dance rehearsals call for a set discipline thatās started to evade me: mixing with older, more experienced trainees makes it particularly obvious that these days iād rather be anywhere else than the dance studio in the basement of the SM building.
today, however, itās the youngest bunch the company have available to them. sweat tantalises the room, and everybodyās just about had enough. iām tripping over my feet, and jaeminās too. itās becoming embarrassing, though iām sure itās bringing some light to everybodyās likely long day.
with each mistake, the trainers, without hesitation, clap and call a name. an attempt to illicit embarrassment, of which, in theory, will reinforce correction. itās often my name they yell. occasionally my dorm-mates get some flack, as do the boys. we all try and play it cool even though it wets our eyes, makes our feet go light. itās no biggie, we pretend.
however, its rare that itās mark to get stick, each of us deduce it to everybody simply being overly fond of the boy. myself included, though in their eyes heās golden. heās lovely, sweet even, but despite this: upon hearing a āmark, head straightā or a āmark, concentrateā i canāt help but be a little too amused.
so much so it often leads to myself getting startled, and caught. the trainers yelling āwhats that smirk for?ā and in the abscene of an appropriate response, i have no choice but to act ignorant instead of flustered, often proving difficult.
i wonder if it distracts everybody from noticing the way mark instantly fixes his form, how his arms tense in their movement, perfecting his spectacle. or how upon hearing his name, his breath begins to speed upā¦ how he checks to see if anybodies watching. how i always am.
how he meets my eyes first without fail, and immediately causes them to dart to the mirror, to the trainers, to the rest of our groups, and then back at me to check iām still starting. his eyes open fire at the glint in mine, a rare shame, closing harshly before reverting to their past passivity. the mistakes that follow often depend on wether he was able to effectively shoot down my gaze on his final check, or so iāve noticed.
i used to think he was seeking some sort of approval, but these days, itās far more likely heās looking for somebody to compare himself to in hopes it makes himself feel somewhat better after a teasing scold. and still, i think he knows deep down that heās beyond the rest of us when choreography is at play.
itās not that iām bad at dancing, iām fairly confident that i donāt stick out or look too funny. if they didnāt want me here anymore, i wouldnāt have been here for the past year and a half or so. i know i donāt exactly excel down here ā but iāve never claimed dancing as a speciality. whats important to me is that i can maintain my movement and remain a somewhat strong vocalist, relatively anyways.
thatās why iām particularly disturbed to hear laughter from my fellow trainees. laughter that appears to be directed at me. iām forced to repeat the high note from the little mermaidās āpart of your worldā which the vocal trainers have re-written to be particularly jarring: somehow reminiscent of both trot and bubblegum pop. perhaps this is the source of my nausea.
the clashing of donghyuck and iās vocal tones really seems to set everybody else off. the laughter is bitter, at war with the sound of asynchronous footsteps. childish and immature like the songs they have us practice, and i feel my cheeks heat up as i stand sheepish, though donghyuck smirks and taps my arm playfully, silently communicating his own silent āmy badā. itās too often that we have to apologise to the other, but iām relieved that for once that iām not at fault.
our dance mentors clap, and yell, āreset.ā yet again, weāre back to the start. itās impossible to return home until we perfect it. iām astounded they donāt swap out donghyuck and i for my roommate and renjun, and almost wish they would so we can all leave sooner.
soon, we get to take a break. i slouch against the mirror, let my body anchor towards the floor. donghyuck comes over, weāre well aware that today, neither of us are popular.
āheās looking at you.ā donghyuck mutters, and thereās no need to question who āheā is. i look to donghyuck before shifting the object of my stare, and in my frustration raise my eyebrows at mark to alert him that heās not only been caught, but i want him to really be aware that i know heās looking.
he simply rolls his eyes and begins to stretch. unbothered, as if he could fool me.
āheās probably annoyed with us,ā i mutter, perhaps an overly blunt response to donghyuckās excited snitch of markās wandering gaze, āyou especially.ā
my teasing doesnāt come across as gentle, really doesnāt land well. emotions are too high. hyuck groans and i canāt help but look at him apologetically. nothings going well, and here, five minutes isnāt long enough to catch your breath.
eventually, we reach an acceptable level of performance, although nobody is overly impressed. instead, everybody is missing the solace of the dorms. a growing need to return somewhere where you canāt be tormented by the bastardisation of the initially pleasant song sang by the red-headed mermaid, and certainly not by donghyuck and i. itās dark outside and everybody is grateful to be of the company leash.
we all leave, scurrying. each of us a lamb to the pen, barging shoulders, wanting to be the first out the door. hyuck and i are eager to be gone ā an attempt to avoid confrontation from our vocal trainers. a means of protecting our dignity.
as we rush through the hallways, with full, playful intent, i barge shoulders with jaemin. a silent ask to reconcile after iād likely bruised his little toe for the second time this year. heās not appreciative, and groans. itās too stern for my liking, and iām caught of guard, too surprised to be offended, when he barges me back. only then does he give me the pleasure of a smirk, as does donghyuck, as does mark.
todayās not my day, and iām not quite sure how to take it back into my hands. i slow my pace, nobody can push past me if iām at the back. not until mark catches the door and waits, stood still. i imagine he thinks that this is the right, most charming thing to do in this situation. it almost makes me want to turn around. i know heās ready for me to pass on through. anticipating the way i thank him, perhaps.
that in itself tempts me not to, but i know i must. polite doesnāt have to be friendly.
but rather than a āyour welcomeā leaving his lips to my thanks, he lets a, quite generous, compliment slip: āyou did good today, i hope you know that.ā
his voice borders silence, and i wonder if thatās to ensure that nobody hears him outright lying to me. i donāt bother to mutter an ingenuine reply, instead just hum. too flustered to come up with an appropriate response, too annoyed to want to.
āno, no, i hope you know i mean it.ā he teases. āitās hyuck that was off key, we wonāt let him live it down, donāt you worry.ā he says, a stupid smirk forming. iām certain if i didnāt start to speak he wouldnāt be able to stop himself from rambling forever.
so i part my lips, āitās not the singing iām worried aboutā i inform him ā though iām sure heās well aware.
āyouāll get better with your feet. iām sure.ā heās chosen to tease, and i wish i barged him instead of jaemin. iām not entirely upset with himā¦ his soft tone remaining somewhat earnest despite his sarcasm, forcing me to surrender a smile.
we exit the final door at the end of the corridor and end up outside, the sky dark, and for once seemingly cloudless. i look up at him. his face a shield to the purple sky above.
āiāll be better by tomorrow, i swear itā and i think i mean it. the shame is too much at this point, with everybody aware at just how bad i can suck. itās a strangely heavy pressure: weāve less than a week to expose the mess onstage, make fools out of ourselves for whoeverās willing to watch.
āiām sure you will.ā mark mutters, and iām certain his eyes scan over my lips before he says his version of goodbye āguess iāll see you when youāre better?ā
āreally, youāll see me when iām better.ā a newfound certainty in my words but not expression. shy, flustered, mostly embarrassed. it gets a smirk out of mark, and i watch as he and a couple of his roommates disappear into the streets of seoul. most likely in search for a 24 hour convenience store, they get the privilege of exploring as they please whilst the rest of us are ushered quite forcefully to return to our dorm rooms.
upon arrival, i do everything in my power to achieve the cathartic fall into bed with immediacy. i reflect on the day, on training, how i hope everybody fakes sickness tomorrow afternoon.
the girls are quiet, i suppose weāre all embarrassed about how this evening went. each day it feels like our chances of making this our careers slim, and that we should probably just go back to school. nobody verbalises these thoughts. i wonder who the first to do so will be, whether it will be me.
these thoughts lead me into dream.
at least the start of one. iām rudely interrupted by the buzzing of my phone besides my pillow, and i curse myself for not switching it at the side, turning on do not disturb or just forgetting the whole phone at the studio.
i go to disable my notifications, expecting a goodnight text from a family member, maybe a dumb text from a friend.
and thatās exactly what it is, a dumb text from a dumb friend.
and still, itās embarrassing the rate of which my mind scrambles to type a coherent reply to his likely fatigue-induced text message. i imagine heāll be embarrassed of it by the morning, itās simply ridiculous albeit sweet.
i roll over in the bed, and close my eyes. embarrassed and awkwardly pleased that itās come to this. personal one-on-one training with mark-iām-so-good-at-everything-lee.
i shut off my phone, for real this time, and begin to imagine all the ways of which tommorow could play out. embarrassment creeping upon my cheeks and wracking my brain to the point i know i wonāt sleep.
i hope i manage to dance better, and that there actually is a free room for mark and i. i hope that he doesnāt make me sing, and i hope that he hasnāt invited anybody else.
