𐙚 in which you get in an argument with the teamies and they say some not so nice things
𐙚 masterlist | taglist | requested? yes!
𐙚 warnings - established relationships, idol teamies, mean words, arguments, hurt/comfort bcs writing heart aching angst hurts my soul, 5/9 teamies bcs i was too lazy to write the rest of em
𐙚 a/n: this took me a minute to write but this helped my fear of writing angst... i hope its everything you wanted and more anon !!
𐙚 koga yudai
you knew kei was exhausted from preparing for the upcoming comeback. it was going to be their biggest one, and yudai always wanted to work his hardest to make sure not just himself was perfect but everyone else was as well. he told you and reassured you that even if he was upset, or tired, when he got back home that it wasnt your fault, and that just being around you made him feel better. and today was no different. he'd come home a little later then usual from practice but it wasnt unexpected. he just wanted to take a shower and sleep. and thats what he had started doing, until after he stepped out of the shower. "yudai, you have to eat something." your voice, quiet, but stern, called out. he just sighed, not having the energy to even speak. your hands found the sides of kei's figure, wrapping around his waist as his head hung low and his hands gripped the sides of the sink. "can you not." it wasnt loud, not snappy or cold. just sad. "i'm just trying to take c-" "just right now, loving you is exhausting. i just need to be alone." he said, still in the original position he was standing in. except now your arms werent holding him. they were holding yourself. you knew he wasnt saying this out of spite, or to hurt you. he was just tired. but it hurt. hearing the person you loved the most telling you that you were too much to be loved at this moment. lip trembling as you held back tears. "okay." is all you could muster out. stepping away, leaving the bathroom as you headed to your shared bedroom. collecting your things. you knew it was probably a little overdramatic, but he wanted to be alone. who were you to not give him what he wanted?yudai realized what he'd done. that what he'd said hurt. even if he didnt mean the words that came out of his mouth, he still felt horrible. "baby.. i'm so sorry, please dont leave me." yudai's eyes glazed over, his lip now trembling as he knelt down on the ground in front of you. palming your calves as his forehead rested against your knees. "i dont want,,,, i dont need to be alone.. i just need to be with you, you always make me feel better. i'm so sorry i didnt mean anything i said." you could feel his wet tears against your legs, he was shaking as he gripped your legs tight, scared you'd walk away, scared you'd leave him. meeting yudai on the floor, you pulled him into a deep hug. leaving kisses all over his cheek, ear, and neck. "i'm not gonna leave you, yudai. i'm here... i'm here." small sobs still coming from kei as you pet his hair, calming him down. "i love you so much." he whispered before drifting off in your arms.
𐙚 murata fuma
"fuma you need to talk to me!" "i am! we're talking right now!" communication with your boyfriend recently has been choppy. he's been at the dorms more than home and in the practice room even more. you barely have time to even say hello to eachother, and you know its not either of your faults. but it feels like you've just hit a brick wall. "this isn't talking, this is arguing." "well i feel like every conversation we've had for the past two months has been just an argument." "you're right." it was exhausting, for the both of you. the upcoming comeback was weighing on not just him but you as well. knowing he wasnt going to even be in the same country as you for who knows how long, you hadnt been apart for that long before and you didnt know what was going to happen. sleepless nights without fuma in your bed, thinking about your relationship and how it was going to survive this. you've gone through so many other hardships and have come out strong but this felt different. like something bad was going to happen, it was your gut feeling but you didnt want to trust it. you wanted to just have the love of your life back. all the thoughts running through your head at once. it was overwhelming, too much for you to handle. you could feel the tears start to well up. you didnt want to cry, not now, not in the middle of whatever this was. "whats going to happen fuma." voice cracking, holding back tears. "whats gonna happen when you're overseas? you've already been so distant, i just.. i just dont want to loose you." tears finally shedding, falling down your face as your lip quivered. he just shook his head. "i dont know." is all he said, barely a whisper, but you still heard. did he not want to fight for the relationship? did he not want this as badly as you did? legs giving out, feeling weak as you slumped on the couch. hunched over, face in your palms as you cried. losing fuma would break you. more then you'd already been. then you felt it. his warmth enveloping you. strong arms wrapping around your body that'd been shaking. "i cant lose you either. you're everything to me." your arms finally wrapping around his body as you cried into his shoulder. his hands rubbing up and down your back, soothing you. murmuring how much he loves you while kissing your temple. maybe it would be okay.
𐙚 wang yixiang
you honestly had no clue what was going on. nico had come home in a bad mood. you assumed it was something to do with being at the studio all day so you tried to make him feel better. ask him what'd been bothering him and if there was anything you could do to help and he just brushed you off. not even responding to your questions. not even a look at you. you'd decided to give him space because that's obviously what he wanted. but it'd been almost two hours he'd been home and he hadnt spoken a single word to you. "nico, seriously, please tell me what's bothering you. maybe talking about it will make you feel better?" "right now you're the one bothering me, just leave me be." yeah, that stung right to your core. just wanting to be there and help your boyfriend made you annoying? your lips tightened into a thin line before just walking away without a word. not wanting to 'bother' him anymore. sure it was petty, maybe he didnt mean it, maybe he just had a bad day. but there was no reason to take it out on you. you sat on the couch after leaving your shared bedroom —where nico had been camping out— and just turned on the tv and started watching your show. paying no mind to how nico had just treated you. if he was going to act like a baby he can be treated like one. then your head started racing. what if you'd actually done something to upset him? what if you were bothering him? picking at your nails and staring blankly as your mind spun. before you even realized you felt arms wrap around you. looking over and seeing nico's head burried in your neck as he breathed you in. "i didnt mean it, you dont bother me ever, thank you for worrying about me baby." he hummed into your collarbone. a giant sigh of relief came out of you before your arms wrapped around nico, fingers running through his hair. "its okay, i know,,,, never speak to me like that ever again though or else you'll be sleeping on the sidewalk." "yes ma'am."
𐙚 asakura jo
you and jo never got into arguments. i mean never. not even over a food place. you were just always in sync and just knew what each other always wanted. jo'd gotten home particularly late one night. you always would stay up late —even if you'd had work that day— to greet him and so you could go to bed together. you were waiting and waiting.... and waiting. and nothing. you'd even texted him asking if he was going to get home late, and no answer. just left on delivered. you sighed, giving up for the night as the clock read 2:00 am, you'd just see him in the morning, or at whatever ungodly time he climbed into bed with you because you werent a particularly heavy sleeper. while gathering your things to move into your bedroom you heard the lock on the door click and the door creak open. you watched as your boyfriend's tall frame slide through the door, closing it behind him. after looking at him for a moment, you continued grabbing your things. "not even a hello?" "not even a text you wouldnt be home until 2 am? i'm not playing that game jo. goodnight." is all you said before going to your shared bedroom. you didnt expect him to follow you. "whats your problem?" "are you actually serious right now? i texted you like ten times and you just left me on delivered. you could've been dead on the side of the road for all i knew." you continued getting ready for bed as you ranted to him, about himself. he just scoffed and shook his head. "do you seriously think you're not in the wrong here? a text would've been nice. i have work in the morning you know." "i never asked you to stay up for me." "you dont have to jo.. i always do. i do it because i love you and i want to see you before my day ends." "well loving you is exhausting sometimes." that stopped your whole world. your heart dropping to your stomach,, or maybe it jumped out of your throat? you couldnt tell at this point. you just stared at him. blank. emotionless. while all of the emotions that werent showing on your face, went crazy on the inside. the man you loved just told you that being with you was exhausting. "just go. you shouldn't have even come back home." you sighed out, eyes finally breaking, all the emotions that you were trying to hold back, spilling out as you pushed him out of your shared bedroom. closing the door, and locking it. choked sobs leaving you as you slid your back down the door. jo on the other hand. didnt even realize what he'd said. he was just talking out of his ass. he wanted to be in the right so bad —even if he knew he wasnt— that he wouldve said anything in that moment. he could hear your cries from the other side of the door. all he wanted to do was kick it down and hug you. tell you that he didnt mean it and that he was wrong and he should've texted. but he couldnt. he just sat there. on the other side of the door, listening as you cried. eventually the cries stopped. but he could still see the shadow under the door. he knew you were still there. "please, open the door." he whispered, just loud enough to if you were awake, you'd hear him. and you did. the lock clicked, and you shuffled away from the door. staying on the ground, not having enough energy to get up. jo on the other hand, rushed in, not giving it a second thought before seeing your hunched over figure on the ground. immediately enveloping you in his arms. "i'm wrong, i was wrong. i should've texted you, i shoulda told you i was going to be home late, im so sorry. and you're not exhausting, you're everything to me." jo word vomited out, trying to say everything he was thinking for the past —what felt like— eternity. sniffles and more tears came from you, jo's warmth felt so good, even if you didnt fully forgive him. "please dont cry, i hate knowing that i made you cry. i love you so much."
𐙚 maus riki
the week of your period was always the hardest. on the worst days, the pain would physically debilitate you, not being able to stand without your uterus feeling like it was ripping out of you. maki was always there to help. always bringing your favorite snacks and herbal teas. always there with a heating pad and a smile to tell you everything was going to be alright. well,, almost always. it was different. today was just,, off. is what it felt like. maybe he was just having a rough day. or maybe it was the upcoming comeback that was stressing him out more than usual. but he was distant, still there, but distant. not even a hand on yours or a sweet smile. not that you expected it, he always helped out of the care in his heart for you, not because you asked. but without his help, for some reason, you felt empty. it wasnt his job to help you but you still appreciated it so much and it felt like a loss when he didnt. "maki,, can you pass me-" "i'm not your arrand boy you know." he snapped, it was quick, a short quip that stung you in your core. leaving your jaw dropped. you always felt bad when maki went out of his way to help you, always telling him how he didnt need to and that he was too sweet to you. that just made you feel 10 times worse.. did he always feel like that whenever he helped you? like you were taking advantage of him? "i.. i'm sorry." is all you could muster out, bringing your knees into your chest on the couch that had been laid out on maki's thighs. now on complete opposite sides of the couch, you sat divided. "yn.. i didnt-" "no its okay, you did." you just got up walking away to your bedroom, not wanting to be around him. maki on the other hand was racking his brain to find out why he'd even said that. he loved helping you. it made him feel like the best boyfriend ever when he saw the smile on your face when he handed you your favorite snack. he was just stressed out and he took it out on you when he didnt mean to. he ended up following shortly after you to your room. the door was closed and he didnt want to intrude. a gentle palm against the door before he called out your name. "please let me in." he sighed out. he was willing to stand there and wait all night if necessary. but the door cracked open, creaking as it slowly opened. maki met with your sad face as you looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes. his hands instantly cupping your cheeks bringing your face up so his eyes could meet yours. "i didnt mean it, i love being your arrand boy." "like that makes me feel any better." maki smiled at the cute pout that enveloped your face. his arms wrapped around you in a comforting hug. "i'm sorry, just been really stressed recently, i didnt mean to take it out on you. please keep asking me to do stuff for you, it makes me feel like the best boyfriend ever."
req ⠀in which - You had no idea why one of the most notorious fuck boys at your campus feigned interest in you, but when you give him a chance, all your worries became true, but it isn't what it seemed.
wc 4,300+ warnings dom! nicholas, fem! reader, smoking, angst (?), hurt comfort (?), fluff, established relationship, pet names (princess, baby.), fingering, overstimulation, oral f! rec, unprotected pnv, thigh slapping, neck marking. note I didn't expect to Get my first request so soon, tysm! I stopped writing all my projects just for this lol
5 months ago.
“Do you wanna maybe get a drink with me sometime?” Nicholas asked casually, taking a puff from his cigarette. “I think you’re cute.”
It was late into the night. What was a scheduled study session with a friend had somehow turned into her dragging you to a bar. It wasn’t your usual scene but you weren’t opposed to it, although you definitely didn’t fit in. That’s what made you so noticeable.
You were drunk out of your mind. The world felt like it was spinning under your feet and you weren’t sure how, but you ended up swaying your way into an alley near the bar. Alone. You’ve been hearing footsteps trailing behind you, followed by the snickering and foul words of a man you didn’t know. You didn’t know what to do, was there anyone around? Should you call the police? Maybe you could run.
With all the courage you had, you turned around to face the man. Bracing yourself for some sort of attack, you were shocked when he simply muttered a few things and walked off. That’s when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You yelped, whipping around and stumbling back, only to stop when you recognized the face.
“Woah, relax. I’m not a creep,” he assured.
Wang Yixiang. Or more famously on campus, Nicholas. You’d seen him at the bar earlier with some girls from your class, but he’d disappeared halfway through. He must’ve slipped out for a smoke.
You sighed, rubbing your eyes trying to center yourself. He watched you the whole time, the smell of cigarettes filling both of your senses.
“Can you put that out? It’s horrible,” you whined.
Nicholas raised a brow, kneeling a bit to see your face fully. “If you don’t like smoking, why’d you come to an alley, huh? Don’t tell me you’re drunk already, it’s only been an hour.” He laughed, flicking your forehead softly with a finger. What a lightweight you were.
You kept bickering with him, softly whining and swaying. He just stood there listening to your babble. That’s when the question slipped out, it kind of surprised him too.
“Do you wanna maybe get a drink with me sometime? I think you’re cute.”
That sobered you slightly. Nicholas. You knew who he was. You’d never spoken to him personally but he wasn’t hard to figure out. Attractive, a smoker, dyed blonde hair with an eyebrow slit, and a girl always on his lap. He was a playboy.
You hated playboys.
“Are you crazy? You don’t even know me,” you muttered. You weren’t going to get sucked into his world, become a woman following a man’s beck and call. You turned and headed back toward the bar to find your friend.
Nicholas followed, amused. “Sure I do. You’re the girl who sits in front of me alone in psychology. See? I know you.”
You shooed him away with a hand. “Okay, but you don’t know me know me.”
“That’s what the date is for,” he chuckled, leaning down beside you, waiting for your answer.
You stopped and glared at him, brows knit with frustration. “I know what you’re playing at, and I’m not interested.”
He put his hands up in surrender. To your surprise, he didn’t push any further. He walked back into the bar with you, then split off toward his group of fuckboys. Was he ill? You and him? On a date?
What you thought was him giving up and coming to his senses turned out to be a chase for the worst. For some reason he was set on taking you out. He even started following you around campus. Why was he doing this? You didn’t even look like the type of girl he usually went for.
Which led to now. Him sitting across from you in the library, scrolling through his phone while you tried to study. You glared at him. How could someone so good looking be so annoying? He caught your eye, that teasing smile spreading across his face again.
“If I go on that stupid date, will you leave me alone?”
His eyes widened slightly. “Of course. All I ask is one date. Hm?”
You groaned, one date wasn’t the end of the world and recently he’s been distracting you way too much, more than you realize. “Fine. But no bar.”
He nodded. “Got it.”
“It needs to be a restaurant with good food. Daytime only. And on a weekend,” you bargained.
He tilted his head, smirking. You were difficult, but he couldn’t deny you were smart. “Understood.”
But just as you predicted, he was exactly the way you knew he’d be. Nicholas picked you up in his car, eyeing you up and down at your small effort to look nice. He took you somewhere with great food, walked around downtown with you. The date itself wasn’t the issue. He was.
He was full of himself. You could see it in the way he smiled when girls asked for his number, or how his voice changed when talking to the waitress. He talked about himself too much, going on and on. The only thing keeping you there was the free date at this point. Maybe you were.. a little disappointed.
Moral of the story was, Nicholas wasn’t your type. Not at all. Not ever.
After you two split up to use the bathroom, you went looking for him again. The sun was setting. It was about time you turned him down and headed home. You followed the sound of his voice near the plaza, confused when you found him playing a street game usually meant for kids. A dalgona scam- cookies that were impossible to cut cleanly, but he was there fighting for his life over it. You lingered behind him, watching him focus so hard for what? A plastic ring? Some knock off plushies?
After several failed attempts, he bought one more try. Tracing around the shape again, completely locked in. He was so sure he finally had it, but the moment he tried to lift it, the cookie snapped. He groaned dramatically.
You couldn’t help laughing. Nicholas turned towards the sound and spotted you behind him, he genuinely looked upset. The old lady running the booth sighed, grabbing his attention.
“You paid too much money just to get this ring for your girlfriend. You should be more responsible.. here- just take it.” She smiled, handing him the ring.
Nicholas thanked her over and over, his pout melting into excitement. He stood up in front of you, gently taking your hand and sliding the plastic ring onto your finger.
“Look at that. Cool right?”
You didn’t answer. You just stared at him. At his smile. It was the first time he’d ever actually smiled. A real, authentic smile.
He cleared his throat and looked away. “That was corny wasn’t it?”
“No.” you blurted. “I liked that. Seeing you not play this fake front. You should do that more.”
His smile dropped slightly at your words, you wondered if anyone had ever told him something like that before. He smiled again more confidently, taking your hand and leading you down the pavement.
If it was possible, you’d actually gained a small, tad interest in him. In who he was as a soul. You two began meeting up more casually. He started sitting with you during lectures and talking with your friends. He stepped into your world. Sitting quietly beside you in libraries, watching cheesy dramas, turning in to bed early just like you did. And you stepped into his world. Going out more, socializing with the people in his circle, learning how to live life outside of academics. He changed your life completely. He showed you time and time again that he was dropping this fuck boy facade for good. So when he asked you to be his girlfriend..? you said yes.
Present.
“You look great princess,” Nicholas whispered in your ear, looking into your eyes through the mirror as he kissed the side of your neck. “Makes me wanna keep you here.”
His cat like eyes always flustered you, he knew exactly what they did. “Quit it Weno, I don’t want to be late.”
Nicholas pouted. “You caught me.. I’ll start up the car downstairs, okay?” You hummed, watching through the reflection as he left.
You both were headed to a new club an hour away from campus. You opposed at first since mid-terms were soon, but after some convincing, you agreed. Your bestfriend Beomgyu and others were going to be there so what harm could be done? It’s just one night.
Unfortunately clubbing was the same as it always was, pulsing with lights and noise. But this time, your small group of friends was there, which helped you relax. Nicholas had parted ways with you after you both found your friends, wandering off to talk to his own buddies for a short while. You still didn’t like them but what could you do? They were his close friends.
Beomgyu called out your name. “Hey, could you get me another beer? I would go, but the bartender is so cute~ it makes me nervous.” He dramatically sighed, swaying his head in his hand faking shyness.
You rolled your eyes and pushed his head back, causing him to bump into Kai. “This is the last one, okay Gyu?”
He argued but ended up complying. You walked off alone toward the bar, passing by people too hammered to even think about the time. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Where was your boyfriend?
As if you manifested it, you heard the sound of his voice coming from a hallway near the bar. Your heart skipped a few beats. It always did when it came to him. You almost rounded the corner to greet him, but the sound of his friends speaking to him made you stop. Was this intrusive?
“Damn man how long are you and Maki gonna keep going around in circles like this? It’s been months and you two still haven’t made up.” Heeseung asked Nicholas, hand on his shoulder.
“Hey Nicho, your girl- wasn’t she claimed by someone else before?” Sunghoon asked, chugging down his drink.
Heeseung laughed, nudging him a little. “Were you not there? Maki and Nicholas had a fight about some girl who played with both of them at the same time, guess what Nicho did..”
“Hey, shut up,” Nicholas warned, but was ignored.
“Remember that club downtown a couple months ago? Y’know, the two blonde girls we had fun with?” Heeseung said.
Sunghoon nodded. “Oh, that club. How could I forget?”
“Well, Nicholas here saw the girl Maki was trying to get his dick wet with and decided to get it first. Got a full blown date and everything in a week.” Heeseung snickered.
What? He told you there wasn’t an ulterior motive with you. He told you that he really liked you. That he really wanted to leave his fuck boy tendencies behind all for you. You knew it. You should’ve known better. You should’ve listened to your gut. You knew that guys like them never meant any good. You thought he really did like you, Was he just having fun these past couple of months? Toying with your feelings?
“Hey, isn’t that..?”
Nicholas turned slightly to see what they were mumbling about. His eyes widening when he saw you, your hurt expression, the tears prickling at your eyes. He quickly put out his cigarette and jogged toward you. “Wait!”
But you didn’t want to hear what he had to say. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, so you walked away. He chased after you, losing you slowly as the crowd swallowed your frame. Panic settled in his chest. He knew he should’ve shut them up. He didn’t want you to find out this way, he was going to tell you himself when he was ready.
You pushed through the bodies, through the colored lights and thick air until you found the back exit. The cold air hit you, but it didn’t stop the shaking in your hands. You leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing, trying to stop the tears from spilling. The door burst open behind you.
“Hey- wait, please,” Nicholas panted, breathless from running.
You didn’t turn around. “Don’t,” you muttered, your voice cracking. “Just go away.”
“Baby, it’s not what you think it is, I mean it.”
You let out a bitter laugh. “Really? Because it sounded pretty clear to me, you lied to me, you used me for this stupid vendetta against Maki.”
He followed you. “I didn’t- It wasn’t about Maki. I swear, I never approached you because of- Well, At first yes but after that date it was all real I put my life on it!”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered, finally facing him. “Were you going to hide it forever? Watching me, the idiot who actually fell for you even though it was all just for bragging rights? How can I believe you?”
Nicholas opened and closed his mouth, no excuse strong enough to break through the hurt between you. His usual confidence was replaced with silence. For once, he didn’t know what to say. You turned around again, walking faster. He trailed behind you. “Where are you going? It’s too late to walk on your own princess.”
“Nicholas if you truly meant what you said, you’d leave me alone. That’s the least you could do.”
You didn’t turn around to see what expression he made or what he said under his breath but you could hear his footsteps fade the farther you walked. You didn’t know what to think, where you were going to go. You couldn’t go to your apartment, he’d just show up. You felt horrible and at a loss. Would this be the end of you and him? You walked into a random direction, letting the slight buzz of alcohol carry you needlessly. Did he truly mean what he said? Was everything real after that date? You couldn’t tell. All you knew is that seeing him was unbearable right now.
The headlights of a car pulling near the curb pushed you out of your thoughts. A call of your name ringing in your ears. “Hey! are you crazy?! What happened?” Kai shouted as he stepped out of his car. His angry expression softening when he saw your eyes shut, heavy tears falling down your face.
He patted your head. “I don’t know what happened but you need to get out of this cold seriously, come on I’ll take you home. Where’s your boyfriend?”
You pulled him back. “No! I can’t go home, not right now.. and don’t call him.”
He sighed. “Alright, let’s go to my place. I’ll sleep on the couch don’t worry, should I call Beomgyu?”
It had been a week. Nicholas had contacted your phone every single day, leaving messages, some with his voice. He left calls and voicemails begging to meet, insisting he had so much to explain. Beomgyu mentioned that he had asked about you repeatedly- where you were, how you were doing. It scared you. What exactly would he say? Would he tell you it truly was all a lie? That you wasted your effort and that it’s time to end this for good?
“Seriously, you need to get out of this room,” Beomgyu scolded, picking up the wrappers and water bottles scattered by the bed. “Plus, if you make Kai sleep on that couch any longer, he might get arthritis, he’s a tall kid.”
You looked away from his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, or what to say.”
He sat on the bed, his playful energy dissolving into comfort. “Have you thought about talking to him? He’s been begging me to tell him where you are, it’s pitiful the state he’s in right now. It’s better to deal with it now and hear what he has to say, no?”
“I don’t want to see him right now.” You sighed.
Beomgyu rolled his eyes. You were so full of it. He’d tried his best, and now there was only one thing left to do. “Alrighty then, if you say so.” He stood up, heading for the door. “Text me if anything happens.”
You didn’t think much of his sudden exit or ominous tone, The heaviness in your eyelids were numbing your senses.
Knock. Knock.
“Beomgyu just come in.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Ugh, are you really gonna make me get up? Fine.” Pushing yourself off the bed, grumbling about how annoying he could be, you opened the door already prepared to complain but instead of Beomgyu your eyes met someone’s chest. Kai? No, Kai should be at his job.
You looked up. Nicholas.
His blonde hair was a mess, eyes looking exhausted, his face was a contrast, full of relief. Your eyes widened. You immediately shut the door and locked it.
Nicholas tried the doorknob, grunting in frustration. “Please- I need to talk to you. I want to explain everything.”
You pressed your back against the door, your heart racing. “Anything you want to say to me, you can say it out there.”
He sighed and rested his forehead against the wood. If this was the only way you’d listen, then he’d take it. “It’s true okay? Maki and I had an argument over some girl a while back, and I decided to take action against him. He told us before that he thought you were attractive and wanted to see what you were about. At first, I wasn’t going to do anything. That day at the bar, I didn’t even know who you were. I just saw a girl I’d never seen before that was extremely beautiful. Then you came into the alley, whining and babbling about how cigarettes were going to kill me, and when I learned your name.. I decided to do what I did.”
“You’re an asshole,” you spit out, teeth clenched.
Nicholas looked up sharply. “Just- wait.” He pleaded. “Yes, when I took you out on that date it was all for selfish reasons. But toward the end when I bought that ring for you and you told me you liked who I was beneath all my bullshit, when we talked as I drove you home- by that point, I really, truly did start to like you. No, Love you.”
You stepped back from the door, turning to face it with trembling hands.
“Every single thing I said or did with you was real. I swear it on everything. So please- if you could forgive me, if I could try again? You don’t understand how much I need you. How much I want you.”
He stopped rambling the moment the door creaked open. Your glossy, wary eyes met his. “Do you mean it, Weno? Do you love me?”
Nicholas nodded frantically, his heart pounding. “I do princess I mean it. I love you.”
You threw your arms around him. He exhaled, relief crashing through him. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. Nicholas held you, his breath unsteady against your shoulder. He finally eased his hold, his hand slid down until his fingers intertwined with yours, gripping like he was scared you might change your mind.
“Come on,” he murmured gently. “Let’s go home princess, your place.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He squeezed your hand and guided you out of the room. The mysterious figure making you freeze.
Beomgyu was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, a grin across his face.
“Ohhhh~” he drawled loudly, “you finally left the room.. and look who you brought.”
“Beomgyu,” you clenched, eyes narrowing. “You are the worst.”
He gave you a cheerful thumbs up. “You’re welcome.”
“Nicho, please- wait.” you moaned, your body pressed up against the door of your apartment. You tried putting your things away, but he kept leaving marks on your neck.
He exhaled near your ear, as if he was fighting to hold himself back. “Sorry baby. I just can’t get enough of you.”
Once you took your shoes and coat off, he picked you up by your thighs and carried you away, forcing you to cling to him. “Put me down! This is- ”
He caught your lips mid sentence, not giving you a chance to breathe. Every time you tried to say something, he smacked your ass, making you whine- whether from pleasure or pain, you couldn’t tell. “I missed you,” he whispered.
He placed you on the bed, kissing you deeply, leaving no room to breathe. You gasped when you felt him toy with the waistband of your pants. “Gonna take these off for me, yeah? Let me make you feel good like you deserve?”
You nodded frantically, lifting yourself so he could pull them off. You wriggled with anxiousness when he stared at your panties. “So wet already, princess. Who did this to you, hm?”
You sighed as he pressed his fingers over your underwear, circling your clit. “F-fuck—y-you did.”
He smiled at that. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you waiting, right baby?” he cooed as he slid his hand under your underwear, all your slick gathering on his fingers. The wet sound of him touching you made you shy.
“Weno- please, I need you,” you moaned, placing your fingers over his bulge, feeling him twitch in your hand.
He chuckled. “Don’t be impatient. You know I have to get you ready for me.” Before you could protest, you felt his fingers open your folds, working you slowly. He curled his fingers right at the spot you liked, watching your eyes roll back. Then he added another finger, stretching you more.
“Does it feel good? Tell me..” he asked, watching you try to form words. Nothing came out so he smacked your thigh, making you jolt.
“Y-yes! Feels so good!” you moaned shakily. He hummed, then slipped his fingers out, watching you clench around nothing. You whined at the loss, unsure what he was doing as he moved down the bed. You gasped when his tongue met your clit. He switched from fingers to mouth, stimulating both your clit and your insides at the same time. Your hands clung desperately to him- pushing him away yet smothering him against your pussy.
He loved when you pulled his hair, groaning into you, the vibration making you shake. His other hand moved to his cock, groping it just to feel some relief. He swore he could cum like this.
Nicholas felt your walls clench around his tongue so he sped up, lapping and swirling over your clit. You moaned loudly and slapped a hand over your mouth. You were absolutely getting a noise complaint. He curled his fingers deeper, watching you wriggle from the pleasure. “I can tell you’re close baby. You gonna let go for me?”
“Ah—!” You nodded frantically. You were so, so close. You tugged his hair, grinding against his mouth, making him lick you harder, his nose brushing your heat. From this angle it was like you were riding his face.
The sounds of his tongue and fingers filled the room. His groans grew louder the more he rutted into his own hand. His desperation mixed with the wet gushing pushed you over the edge, your back arched as you came. He lapped at you until you had nothing left, taking it all in. When he finally stopped, he lifted his head, watching you come down from your high. Then he leaned up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on him. He grunted into your mouth. He needed more.
He picked you up slowly from the back and pulled your shirt off, licking his lips when your breasts came into view. He took off his own shirt above you, his chain falling against his chest. “God, I love you. You love me too right?”
You nodded, eyes heavy as he tugged off his pants and boxers together, his cock springing free, tip already leaking with precum. “I love you too, Nicho- I want-n—need you,” you sighed shakily.
“Yeah? F-fuck—don’t say that…” he whined, pumping himself lightly before lining his tip up with you. “I don’t wanna cum so soon.”
Your back arched as he gripped your waist, slowly inching himself inside. Your moans grew louder- his did too. The sounds were filthy. Once he bottomed out, he stilled, waiting for your approval. He leaned down and nipped at your breast, licking at your nipple while his other hand squeezed the other roughly, making you whimper.
“Baby.. can I move? I- I can’t—” he moaned, shifting back and forth just enough to feel friction. When you nodded, he completely lost control. He gripped your waist tighter and slammed into you, the bed hitting the wall over and over. At this point he didn’t care about the neighbors. He rubbed messy circles over your clit, overstimulating you. Your hands clutched his arm, not pushing him away. You were so tight around him, his eyes half lidded as he watched himself disappear into you.
“Nicho! I’m gonna cum- ” you warned, head spinning. “Cum with me please.”
Nicholas slowed, eyes widening. “You want me to cum inside?” You nodded without hesitation.
“Shit- then I’ll give it to you baby.” He picked up his pace, thrusts shaking your whole body. He pressed his chest to yours, holding you as close as possible as both of you moaned, your releases mixing together. You were both breathless, clinging to each other while coming down from your highs.
He looked up, strands of hair stuck to your sweaty face. He stayed inside you, leaning into your neck to kiss you softly.
“Weno- you smell like cigarettes. You seriously need to stop smoking.”
“Okay,” he murmured, nipping at your neck.
You brought a hand into his hair, pulling him closer. “A-and I want you to focus on your studies too.”
“Alright, baby..” he complied, licking slow stripes under your ear.
“And you need to meet my parents as well.”
He hummed near your ear as he cuddled you. “Whatever you want, princess. God, I’m addicted to you. What drug is this?”
ꨄ︎ warnings : reader is very insecure, indirect mention of suicide, crying, isolation, skinship, kissing, praise(?), lowercase intended
ꨄ︎ word count : 1.1k
ꨄ︎ author's note : based on a maki ask i received last week! can you tell i projected hard onto reader… this was kinda difficult for me to write because i relate to it alot and struggled with similar issues. anyways, all support is appreciated. i hope u enjoy jokitties 🪽
ִֶָ. ..𓂃currently playing: all i need - radiohead ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 宏田力ᰍ໋ ۫ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹⠀ 𓈒 読む⸝⸝ ⟡
throughout your teenage years all the way to young adult life, you’d struggled with your body image, your self esteem. negative thoughts constantly swirled around in your mind, lingering, dragging along behind you wherever you went, like a dark cloud you couldn’t get rid of.
years of makeup practice, haircuts that covered your face, clothes that hid the insecurities that filled you with daunting shame. nothing ever seemed good enough, though. nothing quite fixed you. the bad parts of you may have been hidden, but the coverage was only temporary, flaws waiting for you to remove the baggy clothes to allow them to feast on your self-consciousness once again.
your mind was plagued with these thoughts, and nothing could help get rid of them.
---
when maki came along, you struggled to believe his feelings for you were genuine. despite his insistence, you’d always worried it was some joke, a stupid prank he let go too far. you still felt like this now, 2 years into your relationship.
maki was the complete opposite in comparison to you - handsome face, perfect body, confident and outgoing - all the things you weren’t, the things you lacked yet yearned so desperately for.
you weren’t blind to the way people stared when they saw you two together, judgemental glances thrown when they saw maki’s hand in yours. you knew he was out of your league by a long shot, and you constantly worried that people would judge maki for dating you of all people. the guilt of containing maki, greedily keeping him for yourself when he could do so much better, it ate at you every time you kissed, every time he touched you, every time he called your name.
it didn’t help when maki would get hit on, beautiful women approaching him, flirting as if you didn’t exist. every time it happened you’d be pushed off to the side, ignored, disregarded. they wouldn’t believe someone like you were dating maki. as if he was with you out of pity, or it was a fluke on your behalf.
and unfortunately, you believed them.
---
on one occasion, whilst the two of you were walking down town, you’d overheard a passing conversation between two girls.
“do you think they’re dating?” one had asked, an amused tone in her voice. “look, he’s holding her hand.”
“i guess so. poor guy.” they giggled together. “he deserves better than that.”
your stomach swirled with guilt and shame yet again. the comments never seemed to stop. the embarrassment would find you anywhere, like a predator hunting it’s prey. you were a weak bunny, your insecurities the sly wolf, never letting up the chase. you couldn’t escape.
you cried to maki that day, unable to keep it in this time, unable to suppress your feelings.
“they’re right, y’know?” you sobbed, eyes shut tight, tears falling. “you do deserve better.”
maki’s grip tightened around you as you spoke, his expression soft. he shook his head.
“it’s not true, baby. not at all.” maki whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead. “i’m happy with you. i don’t want anything else. just you. don’t listen to those liars.”
he didn’t let you go that night.
---
over time, all the negative thoughts became too loud, too much. it started eating at you, consuming you. it led to you beginning to distance yourself from maki, wanting to make it easier for him to leave you.
it felt like the end of your whole existence was nearing, terrifying yet inevitable. what else could you do? there was no other option. no one would miss you.
each day dragged achingly slow, the light draining from everything that you once loved. your adoration for maki stayed strong, but the painful diffidence you carried with you only fed off of it all.
the contemplation teetered in the back of your mind daily. the craving to escape from your pain, to feel peace - more desirable than before.
your removal from maki was quiet; short conversations with no depth, no honesty; hiding yourself away from his sight, body covered; touches that lacked comfortability.
if you slowly eased away from his grip, it wouldn’t hurt for him to completely let go, right?
---
maki noticed after a few weeks.
at first it was the lack of conversation, then it was how you pulled away from his kisses before he could let them go anywhere. it became obvious to him when you started to stare out of the bedroom window, your eyes fixed on the ground far below. the sight tugged at his heart, made him worried.
“hey, baby.” maki approached you one late evening, finding you sat on the couch, staring at nothing. he sat next to you. “how are you?”
the conversation felt casual, but the underlying distance was tense.
“i’m good.” you answered. nothing more, nothing less.
“how are you really?” you flinched when his hand took yours. “please talk to me, baby. i’m not blind. i’ve noticed what’s going on… why are you drifting away from me?”
his question made your heart drop, a hot wave of emotion washing over you. he wasn’t meant to notice.
“please don’t let me lose you.”
maki’s whispered beg broke you, your face burying into his shoulder, hands gripping his shirt.
“i’m so tired, maki…” you sobbed, his large arms wrapping around you. “i’m not… i’m not good enough. i never will be. everyone can see it.”
your tears fell onto his shoulder, warm and fragile, spilling without your control.
“i hear what they all say… about h-how i look. it hurts, but it’s all true.” you stuttered, vision blurry.
“stop, baby, please.” maki whispered, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. “nothing from their mouths is true. i hate that you believe them.”
“you’re so beautiful, y/n. i’d do anything if it meant you could see yourself how i see you.”
you shook your head, eyes squeezed shut tight, your face in the crook of his neck.
“you’re perfect to me. i don’t want you to change at all.”
“maki-”
“-let me finish.” he cut you off, his hands laying flat on your back, your body shivering under his touch. “you know how beautiful you are to me?”
you slowly tilted your head up at him, tears still spilling down your face. maki was looking back at you, and it was as if you could see hearts in his eyes, his gaze set on you and nothing else.
“...really?” you asked, voice raspy from crying. you wanted to believe him so badly. so badly.
“really. and don’t ever doubt that.” maki said, his lips ghosting over yours. “you’re perfect, baby.”
wherein; the only natural response to a nightmare is to call your ex in the middle of the night.
(1241 words)
pairing: ex!jo x reader
genre: angst, exes, hurt/comfort (?,) jo and reader are yearners
warnings: not much! just a little sad, use of yn, little plot i just enjoyed the concept and the vibes forgive mee
a/n: hello!! i missed writing for jojo sm i really enjoyed working on this one (ㅅ´ ˘ `) i did a poll on whether this should be fluff or angst and fluff won. clearly i did not listen but i hope ygs enjoy it anyway!! soundtrack for this fic is ‘promise’ and ‘love flew away’ by laufey (and adam melchor)
the phone rang twice before jo picked up.
”…jo?” your voice came out shy, already regretting your half-conscious decision to call him.
”hello?” jo responded with a groan, a yawn peeking through his words.
something in your brain flutters at the familiarity—jo’s voice slow and velvety as he stirs from sleep, yet to speak to anyone that day. drowsy in a way only you had heard before.
the thought sends a guilty warmth creeping up your cheeks.
a shuffle of blankets filters through the speakers, shattering the version of jo your mind had slipped back into imagining—how he’d look when you woke up next to him on slow mornings or when you’d murmur him confessions in the dead of night.
it reminds you why you’d called in the first place. ”sorry, did i wake you?”
”no, it’s fine.” he reassures you, though you both know you did. “is everything alright?”
you pause for a moment, toying with the tangled sheets in your hand. “i can’t sleep.”
a hum on the other line prompts you to go on.
truth be told, you’re not sure why you called jo. you’re not sure why—when you’d woken up with tears staining your face from a nightmare where you couldn’t speak, where the world ignored you—you knew he would be the one person who’d understand.
you sniffle, “i’m sorry. i… i don’t know why i called.”
”it’s okay.”
everything was okay with jo. it was okay when you were together. it was okay when you broke up because life drove you two on paths that no longer intersected. it was okay when you said you’d moved on but you still thought of jo when love songs played.
so it must have been okay when you called your ex in the middle of the night, despite yourself, wanting nothing more than him lying next to you.
jo clears his throat, pulling you from the thoughts that stuffed your head, “did you have a nightmare?”
of course he knew.
in some other world, you would’ve been shaking him awake instead of calling him. he’d hold you, run his hand through your hair and tell you nice things. eons ago that world was real.
it was yours.
but now, all you can do is stare at his name on your phone and say, “yeah.”
”do you wanna talk about it?”
yes, you think. please.
yet you know if you start, you won’t be able to stop. the tears will keep coming, and you’ll find yourself tearing your heart out and handing it to jo, like you had so many times before.
only this time, you don’t know if you’d get it back.
you’re not sure you ever did.
”no,” is all you answer.
“okay.”
silence lingers between you, nothing but the hum of your aircon and jo’s fan blowing wind into his microphone.
you hug your pillow a little tighter, “tell me something nice, jo.”
he pauses for a moment and exhales into the phone, thoughtful.
“do you remember miso?”
the words make you sit up a little straighter. “the little stray cat outside your apartment?”
“mhm,” he hums. “she had kittens.”
“…she did?”
“five.”
you let out the smallest laugh. “that’s a lot.”
“yeah. i think she was hiding them for a while.” you can hear him smile. “the old lady downstairs found them behind the storage shed.”
“are they okay?”
“they’re loud.” he chuckles. “so… probably.”
another laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
the conversation is so normal, so everyday. it’s painfully easy—the way he tells you about the kittens or his grumpy neighbors, the little restaurant he tried the other day.
for a short while, it feels like nothing changed.
”jo,” you start without thinking.
”mhm?”
”i miss you.”
it was an mistake—to speak the very thought that’d lingered on your tongue since the line clicked.
you’re met with a pause that lasts just a little too long, you glance back over at your phone to make sure he didn’t hang up.
”…it’s okay.” his grainy voice mutters.
your chest tightens.
“please stop saying that.”
“im sorry.” jo whispers, it squeezes your heart even more. you hear him let out a shaky breath.
“…i miss you too.”
the words hang between you, blowing with the wind.
”i think…” he continues. “more than anything i miss taking care of you.”
your head falls back against your bedframe, blurry gaze met with the ceiling.
“i wish i was lying there next to you instead of talking to you through my phone.” he laughs softly, though there’s no humor in it. “i wish i could hold you—tell you you’re safe until you fell asleep.”
you blink, having to fight your eyes from welling up all over again. you have to keep yourself from asking why don’t you? because you both already know the answer.
everything was okay with jo. it was so much more than okay. maybe that’s what made it so hard to leave.
sometimes you wished your relationship had ended with yelling and slammed doors.
sometimes you wished it had been a stupid misunderstanding neither of you bothered to fix.
you wished you could talk bad about him to your friends and feel no remorse because he was a “piece of shit” anyway.
sometimes you wished it had been anything else other than the bittersweet smiles you exchanged, loving each other enough to let go. you wished he didn’t understand you more than anyone else or never listened when the world spoke over you.
and right now, you almost wished you’d never called him at all.
“yn?”
you hadn’t realized how long you’d gone quiet.
“still here.” as if you weren’t sure whether that was a good thing.
you squeeze your eyes shut, regret flooding your senses. “jo i’m… i’m really sorry. it was stupid of me to call. but thank you… for picking up anyway.”
you expect him to tell you it’s okay like he always did. tell you to go to bed. you’re ready to lay in silence and hope you forget everything in the morning, even when you know you wouldn’t.
instead, “please don’t hang up.”
the words are barely above a whisper, you think you imagined them.
“don’t be sorry.” jo’s voice is tender, nearly a plea. you can’t help but notice the tears that too stain his tone. “stay.”
you lay back onto your bed, phone next to your ear as you lay your head on your pillow. you hear him do the same.
“okay.”
just for tonight, you tell yourself as jo murmurs a thanks. you let the sound of his breathing fill the room, muffled by his microphone.
your eyelids flutter shut and you allow sleep to start taking you away.
despite the drowsiness washing over you, you know this changes nothing.
you know that you’ll wake up tomorrow and will have to tend to the wounds you reopened tonight. jo still isn’t yours to call, he hasn’t been for a while.
but just for tonight, in this little moment shared with him and the stars that blink down at you, you rest.
jo whispers something on the other line that you don’t hear. you don’t ask him to repeat it. he doesn’t call out your name when you don’t respond because he knows you need sleep more than you need saving.
you rest and you know that everything’s gonna be okay. because, with jo, it always is.
tag list: @nichozzystuffs, @sofisbelle, @jothehirono, @minhosimthings (ask/comment/dm to be added or removed!)
ᯓ★ 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: my first 'long' fic. how do you guys like it? ><
proofread but i apologize if there's any mistake ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
Very carefully, you applied your lip gloss so as not to mess it up, which would be pretty easy, considering you were in a car with your friends driving to a party you’d been invited to.
– Oh my god, Steph, drive slower. I'm gonna end up with lip gloss in my eyes– you complained.
– I'm not even going that fast– your friend replied.
Your other friend, Yunjin, laughed from the passenger seat.
– I know you're not laughing– you scoffed, rolling your eyes.
A notification sound from your phone made you pick it up. It was a message from your best friend, Maki.
-Hey, you here yet?
Almost there, we're looking for a parking spot
-Bet, let me know when you're here
Will do :)
You put your phone down and packed your makeup into your bag, then looked ahead throught the windshield.
A friend of a friend had invited both you and your best friend to this party, but your other friends were faster, so you weren't able to go together. Not that it supposed a problem, as you had already agreed to meet there.
Soon enough, you parked and quickly made your way to the place, which turned out to be the host's house.
There were some people outside, either talking or just lying on the floor. You messaged Maki, letting him know you'd arrived and were by the door. Your friends started walking inside, so you followed right behind.
As soon as you stepped in, you felt two strong arms wrap around you. You would've been surprised if you hadn't recognized Maki's perfume right away. Your arms wrapped around him too.
– Hey, you're here, I'm glad you made it. Did you see that guy lying outside? He's been there since ten, bro– he laughed, pulling away from the hug.
– Damn, that early? That's crazy– you laughed as well.
He glanced at you, checking you out in a way that was so obvious it was funny, a cheeky grin forming on his lips.
– You look good. I like the necklace– he complimented, making you chuckle.
– Of course you do, it's Chrome Hearts– you replied, rolling your eyes at him.
Before you two could continue the conversation, your friend Yunjin grabbed your arm and started pulling you away.
– Let's go get drinks, I need alcohol right now– she insisted.
You gave Maki an apologetic look.
– I'll catch you later– you managed to say before being dragged to the kitchen.
Stephen was quick to grab some plastic cups, handing one to each of you before pouring God knows what liquor into them.
You took a sip, grimacing instantly at the flavor.
– What the hell is this? Give me some juice– you said, grabbing a bottle that seemed to be strawberry-flavoured.
Stephen laughed, pointing at you with the hand holding his cup.
– Come on, it's not that strong– he argued.
– I'm sure I could clean with it– you replied after coughing a couple of times.
You took some sips of your now toned-down drink. Looking around, people already seemed drunk.
– Let's dance, let's go– he said, making his way toward the open area of the house where most people danced carelessly.
It was dark, the only light coming in colored flashes. You three danced and drank for a while, loosening up as the alcohol hit.
At some point, someone came up to you, it seemed to be a friend of Yunjin’s. They started talking, Stephen joining in; you weren't that good with strangers.
– It's so hot in here, I'll go outside for a bit– you told Stephen, who nodded in response.
A soft breeze coming from the other side of the room showed you where the back door was. Slowly, you made your way through the crowd and stepped out into the backyard. It felt good to breathe some cold air after a while.
Your skin cooled. The music sounded distant, not as overwhelming. You felt relaxed.
That is, until you heard your name being called, making you turn in confusion.
– Oh, Taki. Hi!– you greeted with a big smile as you saw him.
The one calling your name turned out to be one of Maki's friends. You assumed they had come together. You weren't that close to his friends, but you knew them; and they knew you.
– Hi! I'm glad you came out, you can't even breath inside– he said sincerely, stepping closer to you, probably closer than he would’ve if neither of you were drunk.
– Yeah, it was getting unbearable– you agreed.
You noticed –or perhaps the alcohol made you notice– how his cheeks were softly flushed. Yours were probably too, you could feel the heat on your face, that was definitely from the alcohol.
You weren't close to any of Maki's friends, but you did have a soft spot for Taki. How could you not? He was younger than you, reinforcing the puppy-like energy he had going on. You'd always found him very adorable.
– You look very pretty today– he said in a sweet yet clumsy way, visibly nervous after realizing he had actually said it.
Even though it surprised you how out of nowhere the compliment was, you found it very cute, letting out a soft chuckle.
– Thank you. You look great too– you replied with a honest smile, glancing at him.
He never struck you like the flirty type. Perhaps it was the alcohol making him a little too honest.
– Are you okay? Did you drink too much?– you asked trying to keep the conversation going without making him more nervous.
– Oh, no, no. Just... a little bit– he smiled shyly, though he didn't sound too convincing. – How about you?–
– Uh, I don't think so...– that was a greatly timed response, as you said it right before stumbling slightly.
He was quick to step closer and steady you, one hand on your arm and the other wrapping gently around you.
You stood there in silence for a second. Not because you didn't have anything to say, but out of embarrassment.
– I swear I didn’t drink that much– you said, your face already hot, now burning even more.
You were sure you were as red as a tomato.
That’s when you turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. The silence between you felt heavy for a moment. It took him a second longer that it should have to let you go.
– I-I'm sorry. Are you okay?– he asked nervously.
–Yeah, thanks– you replied, brushing off your clothes as if there were anything on them.
His hand moved to your hair, gently brushing a strand behind your ear. Your eyes lifted to his face, surprised.
The moment stretched, just from looking at each other.
But it broke when you heard your name being called again. This time in a very recognizable voice; Maki.
– Am I interrupting something?– he asked, walking closer, both hands in his pockets.
He had a half-smile, but you could tell it wasn't genuine. You knew him too well. Maybe something else happened, you weren't sure.
Either way, his comment created more distance between you and Taki. Enough for him to stand in between.
– Kei was looking for you– Maki said, glancing briefly at his friend.
– Oh, thanks for letting me know– he replied as he glanced your way, visibly embarrassed– It was nice seeing you–
With a clumsy smile, he turned and went back inside.
Maki turned his head slightly, looking in the direction Taki had left. There was silence between the two of you for a moment.
– Since when are you two so close?– he asked, his tone carrying a hint of something you couldn't quite place… or maybe you were just denying it to yourself.
– Oh, we're not. We were just talking– you replied.
– Yeah– he murmured– I bet you were–
– What's that attitude I'm sensing?– you questioned, your eyebrows furrowing.
– I don't know what you're talking about– he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. –I don't think you should get too close to him tonight. He's pretty drunk–
You chuckled, finding his comment a little ridiculous.
– I think we're all pretty drunk, actually– you replied, a cocky smile on your lips.
He glanced at you, mirroring your expression.
– Are you that drunk?–he laughed softly, looking down at you.
– Are you?– you shot back.
He looked away as you rolled your eyes at him and started walking inside, his arm still around you.
– Let's go inside, you're cold– he said.
And the truth was, you were indeed. You just handn't noticed it before. But now, with the thought in mind, you became aware of how warm Maki was. As you walked pressed together, you could feel the heat of his body against yours. His hand resting warmly on your shoulder.
As you stepped inside, your phone vibrated in your pocket. When you checked, it was a message from Yunjin.
-Girl, you good? You've been gone for a whileeee
I'm okay, I just came inside
Maki seemed to be reading the messages too. You were so close that neither of you minded if the other glanced at the other's phone.
You looked around the room, spotting your friends, then turned back to Maki.
– I should go back to them– you said, pointing in their direction.
Maki followed your gaze and saw them. His arm didn’t move from around you.
– Alright, I'll be with my friends. We're right in the corner– he said in a neutral voice, though you could tell he was a little hesitant.
You walked back to your friends. From where you stood, you had an almost clear view of Maki and his group. Still, you tried not to get caught up in watching them and focused on enjoying the party.
You kept telling yourself to stop looking his way, but you couldn’t. It was harder to control your instincts when you were drunk.
Your friends noticed how distracted you were, how your eyes kept drifting in the same direction.
– You should just go with him if you're gonna keep staring like that. You look like you're about to eat him alive– he teased.
His comment caught you off guard, it showed on your face. Shaking you head, you denied it.
You forced yourself to focus on dancing with your friends, trying to enjoy the moment. Still, you couldn't shake the question of why you kept looking over.
You two were best friends. Of course he had other friends. You were having fun with yours, and he was with his. So why did it feel wrong to look away, even for a moment?
You didn’t quite understand what was going on inside you, but you didn’t like it. It felt off. It felt... wrong.
Either way, you managed to distract yourself for a while.
Well, not really.
Your eyes kept drifting back to him, like you couldn’t help it.
Yunjin danced with the friend she met earlier, and you danced with Stephen. The distance between you was almost nonexistent, but both of you were too drunk to care. Even so, you knew that, drunk or not, being that close wouldn’t have been a problem as you were that comfortable with each other.
That’s when you glanced over at where your best friend was; unintentionally. And this time, you saw something that made your stomach twist.
He was talking to someone. A girl.
She had impeccable style. Long, dark hair fell down her back, somehow untouched by the crowded space around her. Her sharp features looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine.
You found yourself focusing on Maki. On the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he looked at her.
You noticed everything.
Maybe too much. More than you would’ve liked.
She talked to him with such ease, moving around him like they had known each other for a long time.
Suddently, she placed her hand on his arm, closing the distance between them. He didn't pull away. He just stayed there, letting her do whatever she wanted to. And for some reason, that bothered you more than anything else.
Something about the sight made you feel sick. You told yourself it was just the alcohol. Maybe that's what you wanted to believe.
You looked away, trying to focus on anything else, but it was no use.
– I'm going to the bathroom– you told your friends before slipping away as quickly as you could.
You found the stairs leading upstairs, where you assumed the bathroom would be. Once you found it, you went inside, locked the door, and sat on the closed toilet lid, taking deep breaths.
– What's wrong with me?– you muttered to yourself.
Your thoughts drifted back to the backyard. Then to how you couldn’t stop looking at him. Then to that moment; him, laughing with her.
Things slowly started making sense in your head. Just… not in the way they should have.
She's prettier than me.
He probably likes her.
He'd chose her over me any day.
I know him well... I'm probably right.
Why is it always like this?
It's never me. It will never be me.
This is so embarrassing...
You took a deep breath and stood up, walking over to the sink. You stared at your reflection in the mirror.
– This is low-key pathetic. Get it together– you told yourself, meeting your own eyes.
After pulling yourself together (enough), you walked out of the bathroom. Right outside, you saw someone’s back. They turned at the sound of the door opening.
It was Maki.
He looked concerned.
– Are you okay?–he asked, scanning you up and down as if checking for anything wrong.
– Uh... yeah. What are you doing here?– you replied confused.
– I... I saw you rushing out, so I got worried– he said, averting his gaze.
He saw you? Rushing out? Had he been watching you too?
– I'm okay. I just needed to go to the bathroom– you said, looking down.– You didn't have to come check on me. I bet you were having a better time down there– you added, your tone coming out sharper than you intended.
Maki frowned slightly, confused at first, but quickly enough he seemed to understand.
– You looked like you were having a great time dancing with your friend... what's his name? Steven?– he said, stepping closer.
–Stephen. Yeah, well... It was fine– you murmured, not backing away.
– Or did you have more fun out there with Taki? You seemed like you were having a blast too then– he added, now him being the one that sounded sour despite trying to sound casual and unbothered.
You let out a small, humorless laugh.
– Yeah, I probably was having a better time than I am right now– you shot back, stepping closer, meeting his gaze.
– Oh, really? Then go back to him– he replied, the irritation now obvious.
You hesitated. Your eyes dropped to the floor, where your feet stood almost touching his.
– I don't want him– you said softly, but loud enough for him to hear over the music.
You slowly looked up at him again. There was a hint of defeat in your posture, but something else in your eyes. Something clear.
Silence settled between you.
Each second felt heavier than the last. This wasn’t the comfortable silence you were used to. This one was tense. Uncertain.
Neither of you moved, almost like you were both waiting for the other to do something.
Until a warm hand cupped your cheek, hesitantly pulling you closer. Your lips meeting his.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t intense.
But it was undeniable that both of you had wanted this for a long time.
Your hands slid up his chest, resting around his neck, while his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer.
He tasted like alcohol. You probably did too.
Even so, you kissed each other like the world might stop if you pulled apart.
Your hands tightened, tracing, holding, pulling closer.
Eventually, you had to break apart for air, your breaths uneven, the heat inside the house not helping.
But only for a moment, because soon enough yours lips met again. This time with more urgency, more certainty, as it became clear what both of your hearts had been holding back.
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!
k is often a bundle of joy. he's understanding and aware of your rigorous timetable - studying every second of the day - as you yearn for that place in law school. but despite your best efforts you're unaware that yudai yearns for you.
one evening, you noticed k's moody demeanour. he muttered a soft 'hm' almost begrudgingly when you asked what he wanted for dinner. you ignore his silly remark and went to your shared bedroom exhausted from the day. not long after your ear's perch up at the sound of a light knock 'darling can I come in.' without waiting for your response k barges in and attacks you with a multitude of cuddles attaching his huge body on to yours. you groan at his weight to which he just chuckles at; remorse eating away at him 'i'm sorry I behaved in such a petty way earlier' he confessed as he held you tight "I know you're tired and working so hard" 'it's-' 'no pls I just wanted your affection and I know you can't always give it to me. I'm completely fine with just your presence' you cut him off with the sudden urge to plaster his face with kisses. when you stopped he cradled you in his arms for hours.
❀ murata fuma:
you didn’t mean to snap at him. the words came out sharp like glass and the moment they left your mouth, you saw the way they cut into him. but fuma didn’t flinch. he just stood there, watching you tremble under the weight of your own words, hands curled into fists at your sides, breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob. 'I’m trying, okay?' you cried. 'I’m doing everything I can and it’s still not enough. And I know you’re just trying to help but I can’t fuma I can’t breathe.' you half-expected him to walk away. maybe slam a door. say something spiteful like 'then what the hell do you want me to do?' instead…he just stepped forward. he didn’t say a word as he pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you. one hand found the back of your neck, the other gently rubbing circles on your back, slow and steady. you choked on your own sobs as the stress poured out of you like a dam breaking. 'I’m sorry,' you hiccuped, over and over. fuma just kept holding you. 'I know,' he whispered finally, voice hoarse. 'you don’t need to apologise angel. not to me.' and he stayed like that until your body stopped shaking until your breathing matched his, he pressed a soft saccharine kiss on to your coarse lips. holding you like you might shatter in his arms at any moment.
✿ nicholas wang
'you haven’t looked at me all day,' nicholas says with a smirk, nudging your leg under the table.
you blink. still rereading the same textbook paragraph for the fifth time. 'I’m serious, y/n' he adds, a teasing tone laced into his voice. 'at this point I’m starting to wonder if you even remember you have a boyfriend.' you clench your jaw already over his stupid remarks. 'don’t start this shit, nicholas' 'what?' he laughs, but there’s a slight edge to it now. “I’m just saying. I know you’re busy, but it’s like I don’t even exist lately.” something inside you snaps. 'oh my god. you narcissistic prick. you think this is about you?' his smile falters instantly. you shove the textbook shut. the sound harsh, final. 'I’m exhausted. I’m behind. I haven’t slept properly in weeks. and now I have to manage your feelings too?' his brows knit together, defensive. 'I’m just asking for attention, not a war.' you laugh, cold and bitter. 'then maybe ask someone who has the energy to give it to you' he recoils like you struck him across his face.
silence.
'weno, I didn’t mean that' you start, but it’s too late. the hurt’s already there, tucked into the way he pulls his hoodie sleeve over his hand like a shield. 'I get it,' he scoffs, softer now. 'nah, you don’t have to explain. i'll fuck right off' and he walks out, leaving your heart pounding in the wreckage of your words.
❀ byun euijoo
ej has always known how to read you. you like to pretend you're okay muttering 'just five more pages' like it's a prayer, blinking through exhaustion as you type away under the dim desk lamp. he doesn't say anything at first, just slips into the room with two mugs of tea and a gaze that lingers a second too long. 'you’re doing it again,' he murmurs softly, setting the mug down beside your laptop. you blink up at him, dazed. 'doing what?' 'carrying everything like you’re not allowed to fall apart.' your eyes sting a little. you didn’t realise you were that transparent. he leans down and brushes a kiss to your temple, then your shoulder. 'I know how badly you want this, baby. but if you're burning yourself out to prove you deserve it, you're gonna forget that you already do.' you don’t reply you can’t really but when he pulls your chair back and gently coaxes you into his arms, you don’t resist. he rocks you back and forth in the silence for a long time.
'just rest doll,' he whispers, 'and I’ll stay right here.'
✿ nakakita yuma
friday nights were always sacred in yours and yuma's relationship; you both snuggled in front of the tv watching a cheesy and typical rom-com that you've both probably watched over a hundred times. but when you refuse 'i can't tonight yuma I have to study for the dat' yuma's brainwaves fuse into a silly yet loving explosion forming an idea to cheer you up. he disappears from the room with a soft hum, muttering something about a plan b leaving you buried in textbooks and fluorescent highlighter streaks. fifteen minutes later, you're pulled from your revision fog by the sound of the microwave beeping. when you wander out, he's standing in front of the tv in his pyjamas holding a tray with popcorn, grape fanta, and the most dramatic puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. 'i promise just twenty minutes,' he pleads, already queueing up legally blonde. 'if you don’t laugh at least once, i’ll do your flashcards in a goofy accent.' you almost cry. he doesn’t guilt-trip you. doesn’t push. just offers this quiet reminder that you’re allowed to feel joy, too. you take the popcorn, sit beside him, and let your body lean into his shoulder. he presses a kiss to the top of your head like it's the most natural thing in the world. 'okay,' you whisper, already blinking slower. 'just twenty minutes.' but you both know it'll be thw whole movie.
❀ asakura jo
youve had a day from hell: midterms, spilled coffee, stress tears in the school bathroom. you come home tense, dead silent. jo immediately clocks something’s wrong. he panics because bless his chalant soul what does he do better? what does he do to solve your shared dilemma? he starts baking. but Jo doesn’t know how to bake... he just remembers you once said, 'cookies solve everything' and his brain latched onto it like gospel. cue flour on his face, the oven beeping wrong, and him sheepishly offering you the ugliest, slightly burnt cookies known to society. '...I was gonna write you a note too but I ran out of sticky notes and do you wanna just, like, scream into a pillow together or something?' you burst out laughing. and maybe crying. and jo just lets you, patting your head until you calm down, your warm embrace wrapping around him like a bundle of candles lighting up a bitter room on a piercing-cold autumn night.
✿ shigeta harua
you’re at your desk, hunched over like your spine is crumbling beneath the weight of a future you’re not even sure you want. everything hurts your eyes, your brain, your sense of time. harua’s behind you, quiet. he’s been reading on your bed for the past hour, only shifting occasionally, as if afraid even movement might set you off. he doesn’t say a word. not until your pen drops and your head falls into your hands with a soft, exhausted groan. then, he moves. a small sound the rustle of blankets, the creak of floorboards, the click of a light dimming. he comes over, slips an airpod into your ear without asking, without explaining. the music is gentle. lo-fi, but there’s a piano loop that sounds like the kind of rainy afternoon you and harua used to dream of watching the rain drops dance gracefully upon the battered window pane. the kind you haven’t felt in a while. 'you’re breathing too fast,' he murmurs, crouching beside you. 'just let it slow down.' he whispers as he cradles your hands in his. your breath hitches. 'rua i’m behind,' you confess, 'and tired and everyone else is' he takes your wrist gently, presses his thumb to your pulse. says nothing. just lets it beat against him, like proof that you’re still here. still trying. and then quietly. 'you’re allowed to rest.' it wasn't a harsh demand. and he definitely wasn't scolding you . just a lingering reminder. and somehow, that makes you cry more than anything else could’ve.
❀ takayama riki
you’re hunched over your notes again, highlighter cap between your teeth, the vivid light making everything feel too sharp. you don’t hear him come in. until a soft thump hits the side of your head. 'what the hell'. you turn. your gremlin of a boyfriend. taki. grinning profusely, pillow in his hand, stance wide. 'you look like you're about to cry,' he says, deadpan. 'figured I’d strike first.' you want to be mad. you do. but he whacks you again, this time in the stomach, and something in your chest just breaks. not in a painful way. in a release kind of way. you burst out into a fit of laughter. you tackle him with your own pillow, and for a few glorious minutes theres no studying. no deadlines. just feathers, shrieking, messy hair and your laughter bouncing off the walls. eventually you both collapse. breathless, tangled in blankets, your textbook buried somewhere under the chaos. 'you okay now? he asks softly, poking your cheek. you nod. mostly. 'i don't like seeing you disappear on me like that' to that you grin engulfing him into a hug whilst he giggles kicking his feet -taki is so babygirl coded idc idc
✿ hirota riki
the apartment smelled like garlic and candle wax. soft music played from the speaker low, dreamy. you blinked at the table. it was set for two. 'hey,' he called, stepping out of the kitchen, apron still on a nervous smile twitching at his lips. 'you’re early.' 'you made dinner' you asked, eyes darting to the steaming pasta. he scratched the back of his neck. 'you’ve been… kinda quiet lately. and I didn’t know if I should ask or wait, so I thought maybe' he trailed off his voice soft. '...this would feel like something.' something in you splintered. not in pain. in gratitude. you hadn’t meant to shut him out. you were just tired. and he’d read every part of your silence like a poem he wanted to find the sheer nuance of. you wrapped your arms around him. he hugged back, firm and still. you don’t have to say anything tonight. 'just let me love you in solace'
could you do 30 from your prompt list with nicholas with angst angst and fluff? Wtv length you want is fine!
prompt #30 "i called you ten times. where were you?"
notes: angst and nicholas? my favorite plate frfr. this turned out kinda short but my brain is not braining a lot these days lmao i hope you like ittt ❤️
• you can find my prompt list here
pairing: ex!nicholas x reader
tags/warnings: angst with fluffy ending, drunk nicholas, crying, euijoo mentioned, i love nico :3
wc: 1.5k
the soft glow of the tv in your living room was the only source of light in your apartment at that moment. you were curled up on the couch after a long day, soft blankets covering your whole frame and eyes almost fully closed by now.
just then, your phone on your lap started ringing. you barely opened your eyes, too sleepy to care about whoever was calling. after a minute, it was ringing again. you groaned and turned the screen towards you.
your heart stopped.
there wasn’t a name on the screen, but a number. and you knew those digits very well. you knew them by heart.
you stared at your phone until the call ended on the other side, the screen going black again on your hand.
"he probably called the wrong number." you thought to yourself.
because why was your ex suddenly calling you? in the middle of the night? after more than 3 months?
you checked the number a third time. it was him. even if you deleted his contact months ago, you still remembered his number.
and did he remember yours too?
you didn't even remember what was the reason you two broke up. he just came to you one day and ended things. he said something about it being "too much". you were too much? the relationship was? you didn't really know.
you accepted it, because it seemed like he did too. you couldn't find a trace of sadness in his eyes that told you he would regret his decision. in fact, he was too calm about it, nothing compared to the passionate, fierce man you knew.
you moved on with the idea that maybe he just simply stopped liking you. it didn't make so much sense to you, but at least it hurt a little less that way.
you never saw him again after the breakup. even when you still talked with some of his friends, they didn't mention him either. then why was he calling you now?
you looked down at the phone laying on your table, illuminated again with the fifth? sixth? call. you didn't know, your heartbeat pumping in your ears was quite louder than the ringtone.
you were torn between picking up or ignoring him. he didn't even have the guts to fight for you back then, so why should you care to answer him now? were you even ready to hear his voice again?
as the calls kept going and your mind kept racing, the info on the call id suddenly changed. instead, a name appeared; euijoo. his roommate.
your heart stopped again, this time with worry. euijoo wouldn't call you if something serious didn't happen, right?
you picked it up, shaky hands holding the phone to your ear.
"hey..." euijoo's voice was soft on the other side of the line. "so, um, nicholas is... not in his best state right now. he's drunk, and keeps calling for you. would you please come?"
you moved way too fast for someone who said didn't care about him anymore. you put on the first hoodie you found, took your keys and your phone and ran off your apartment.
nicholas was drunk? the man who never, ever, touched a drink, not even in parties?
at their room, you were first met with euijoo's sympathetic face. "i'll leave you guys alone."
then you saw him. as you stepped into the room, you spotted nicholas sitting on his bed. he was already looking at the door, like he was impatiently waiting for you.
"i called you ten times. where were you?"
you shivered at his words. it was the first time in months that you heard his voice. his deep, but sweet voice, that sounded way too small and emotional now.
you took some steps towards him. you didn't really know what to do, but something was telling you to step closer. you made contact with his eyes. they were red now. you didn't know if it was from the alcohol or something deeper.
"y/n..." his hand was reaching towards you as the words leaving his mouth seemed to actually hurt him. "where were you?" he repeated, softer this time, like he wasn’t talking about this exact moment but your general presence in his life.
you let him wrap his fingers around your wrist. his touch was careful, almost afraid you were going to push him away.
after the breakup, you thought if you ever saw him again, you would be mad, you would scream at him at the top of your lungs for leaving you. but now, you could only feel a deep feeling of longing and despair. you wanted to hug him, to feel his arms around you again. you didn't move on as well as you thought you did.
you were too lost in your mind to realize he was crying now. his two hands were wrapped around your arm, softly tugging you down like he needed you closer. and you moved without realizing, sitting in front of him.
his shoulders were shaking, small whimpers leaving his mouth as tears rolled down from his beautiful eyes. it was heartbreaking to look at, but somehow soothing; maybe he did care after all.
"is it really you?" he whispered in a broken tone, trying to touch your face, but he was way too drunk to even lift his finger towards it.
"it's me, nicho." you whispered back, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. god, you missed him so much, you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.
he moved slowly, carefully, until his head hit your shoulder. he let it rest there, like that was his safe spot. even his big arms felt too small around your waist now. his tears left a damp spot on your hoodie as he cried his heart out for you.
"i missed you so much..." he said in between small whimpers and hiccups, and you had to blink away your own tears. you felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulder at his words.
"then why did you leave in the first place?"
"i was scared." he muttered, the alcohol in his system seeming to make him more sincere than usual. "i'm scared because i love you too much."
nicholas was very passionate about what he liked. music, friends, basketball... whatever it was, he would pour his whole heart into it. he just never felt so much as he did with you. he would do anything you ask him, he would run across the whole world just for you. he carried your love in his soul, and it was so big that it terrified him.
you lifted his head from your shoulder and cupped his cheek, wiping away the tears as they fell. this time, you could see the emotions in his eyes. sadness, yearning, love... you could see his love for you, the one you thought was gone already but turned out was just hidden in between his own fears.
"what we had was so perfect i was afraid it would break, so i pushed you away. but i can't stop thinking about you. i can't stop missing you."
"i miss you too." you whispered, pulling him back in your embrace. you hold him there until he calmed down. when you tried to pull away, he only hugged you tighter. you couldn't help but chuckle softly. oh how you had missed his clingyness...
"you're really drunk right now."
"i only had one drink." he pouted.
"but you never drink, love."
"love..." he smiled at the nickname.
"yes, you're my love. still are..." you left a kiss on top of his head.
"and you're my baby." nicholas left a sloppy kiss on your cheek and then wrapped himself around you like a plus sized cat. you already knew, he wouldn't let go of you from now on.
you could hear his ragged breathing against your ear. "hey. you're not gonna throw up, are you?"
"no. just feel really awful." he pouted again. he really couldn't handle alcohol at all. "cuddles would help tho."
"um, sure." you gently laid him down on the bed with you, bringing him to your chest. the sight of his pouty lips and cheek pressed against your clothes was enough to make your heart melt. he took your hand in his and brought it close to his heart, as to ground himself.
"i'm really sorry..." he repeated after a while, voice quieter. "i'll make it up to you."
"you will?"
"yeah. i'll do it. but not now." he yawned, feeling too dizzy and tired to even move.
you started moving your fingers through his hair, just the way you know he likes it. it calmed him down even more, and he cuddled further into you.
"y/n... i love you." his voice was a low whisper now, almost on the verge of falling asleep.
"i love you too, nicho." you left a kiss on his forehead. "we'll make it work this time, um?"
"yeah..." he lazily kissed your jaw in response before going pliant in your arms.
