Akatsuki no Yona • One-shots

[10] Joo-Doh x F!Reader (School AU) ▪ Hapiness

A/N : This is for ChocolateNeko07 ! Hope you like it !

As usual, in the afternoon, right after classes, [Y/N] was taking a stroll around the school, humming a song as her [H/C] hair swayed around gracefully. She was taking time to look at her surroundings, admiring the empty hallways while the courtyard was full of life : numerous clubs were there for their activities.

In fact, [Y/N] was in the litterature club, but she had a hard time writing a good piece ; her writings always ended up dull, without any feelings carved into them.
Actually, they were even boring, without anything standing out : the story was far too cliché and predictable, the characters only seemed lovable because she was their creator, and the fantasy world she wanted to depict had nothing memorable.

First of all, she tried to make up for the weak plotline by making great characters, but then, they were too different, too successful or too drenched in misery. It seemed like everything about them was exaggerated, even their reactions and ideals. When she added an element onto them, it only made them more ridiculous. When she tried to make them more simple, they seemed bland.
So she gave up on the characters, and chose the best setup she had, thinking she could at least make the story interesting by describing a vast panel of architecture, social classes, politics and animals, to make it more like a study about what life could be like in a fantasy world. And of course, she failed miserably.

Who would read dozens of pages of very detailed description about passerbies and birds ? When politics were such a bother in the real world, why would they be interesting when brought onto a story ?

Everything she wrote was so bad ; she couldn't show that to anyone. Worse, being so awful at creating stories made her ashamed of her own existence, shielding her notebook against her chest so that no one would be able to read the title.
When another student walked near her, [Y/N] would lower her head in embarrasment, praying that they won't ask to read what she wrote.
After all, [Y/N] could be considered shameless : her dream was to become a successful author ; she used to announce it proudly to her friends because she was convinced that if she worked hard, she could do it. Everyone knew that [Y/N] was writing all the time, even in class, and in general, whenever she had time ; she viewed the entire world as nothing but a source of inspiration and took every opportunity to challenge her talent.
She had won writing contests and even appeared in the local newspaper. Everyone knew her, and thought that it was her destiny to be successful in the future.
But the truth was, she had never being that good, and the low quality of her work now was the ultimate proof of that.

She had never been a genius, not even close. And yet, her classmates, friends and parents viewed her like that, like it was normal for her to succeed.
Then, what failure would be considered like ?

Shame, embarrassment, disappointment, pity.
Everyone's looks are cold, and unwavering, as they step back from her. They frown and mutter words that pierce through her like pointy daggers.

[Y/N] would never be able to look at them properly. She had to do something to overcome this slump, and she desesperately tried to find inspiration as she looked at the world around her.
Oh, so many ideas of stories pushed each other in her head in the most marvelous way. And yet, [Y/N] paid them no mind, as they weren't good enough. She sighed ; to be honest, she wanted to run away and to rest. However, she immediately labeled those thoughts as poor and unpleasant : why would she have the right to rest when she couldn't even do her job well.

As [Y/N] felt more nasty tears forming in her eyes, she bolted through the empty hallway as quickly as she could. Running inside of the building was forbidden, but she kept going as she encountered no one and only heard the sound of her heavy footsteps.
Then, she suddenly stopped in front of a heavy, wooden door. It was quite different from the sliding doors that lead to every classroom. She opened it quickly, and got inside while closing the door.
Resting her body against the reassuring, imperfect polished wood calmed her a bit as tears silently fell down from her eyes, clouding her vision. She couldn't even see the empty room.