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athrasinelle · 1 year ago

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the way my heart broke into a million tiny pieces when minho understood she went on a date. then it broke into a trillion other pieces when he said he was going to leave. ugh. then it melted at the end. the ending was so soft ieuaghdhkgnnssfg

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33.

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear.

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory.

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse.

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance.

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you.

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you.

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago.

Day 17.

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade.

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores.

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes.

He knows you better than you know yourself.

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands.

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from.

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you.

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.”

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head.

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again.

��You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you.

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you.

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19.

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement.

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.”

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask.

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently.

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?”

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.”

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment.

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé.

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out.

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms.

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope.

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto.

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating.

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in.

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back.

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night.

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you.

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?”

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure.

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles.

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door.

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place.

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up?

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you.

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-”

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.”

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you.

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach.

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls.

Day 22.

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart.

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.”

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.”

“I can try.”

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles.

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him.

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle.

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago.

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?”

“Of course. I promise you.”

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear.

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers.

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm.

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road.

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart.

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light.

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify.

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.”

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words.

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face.

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression.

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running.

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again.

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content.

“You did.”

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands.

“Of course.”

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.”

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to.

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.”

Day 26.

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads.

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more.

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin.

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest.

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought.

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.”

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within.

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals.

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door.

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for.

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you.

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.”

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more?

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were.

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks.

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart.

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words.

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle.

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words.

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side.

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder.

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second.

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing.

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips.

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly.

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends.

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?”

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.”

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out.

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along.

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle.

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs.

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks.

“N-nothing,” you stammer.

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you.

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you?

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out.

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And he loves you.

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for?

How many more days do you have to love him back?

Day 30.

Minho is sick.

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face.

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind.

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented.

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow.

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on.

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers.

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering.

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you.

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?”

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet.

“Anything.”

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly.

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to.

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm.

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you.

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows.

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted.

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds.

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days.

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again.

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean?

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep.

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name.

He prayed you’d call his too soon.

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean?

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips.

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of.

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways.

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh.

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!”

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?”

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh.

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card.

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify.

“Hey, yn!”

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them.

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run.

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey.

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat.

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by?

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be.

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both.

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all.

Day 33.

“Did I keep you waiting?”

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?”

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him.

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table.

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here.

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines.

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger.

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.”

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you.

“But how does that make you feel?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.”

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.”

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?”

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.”

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yn, he brought you back to life.”

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?”

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core.

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table.

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder.

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around.

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it.

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart.

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room.

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind.

“Minho?”

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to.

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again.

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho.

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one.

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?”

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.”

#i love love LOOVE your writing style #it is literally so so so pretty #i can say without doubt that this is my favorite fic ever #mes préférés parmi mes préférés 📁#on an another subject #i got do scared the parents would barge into their house when they started kissing and all 😭#anyways have a good day !!

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nucrests · 6 months ago

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Unify Collection

Hi again, it's been a while right?? Anyway I'm back with another rework of one of my favorite sets, the Unify Collection! I did a complete rework including: cleaner textures, fixed UV issues, new thumbnails, and now converted for children!

Additional information:

UNIFY TOPS AF: Each top is base game compatible and comes in 2 variations (Shirt, Shirt W/Tied Shirt, Shirt W/Collar, Button Up, Shirt Tucked, Shirt Cropped) ▪ Version 1: 18 solid swatches ▪ Version 2: 20 swatches (including graphics, plaids, and/or denim)

UNIFY BOTTOMS AF: Each bottom is base game compatible and comes in 2 variations (Pants, Shorts, Pants W/Tied Shirt, Shorts W/Tied Shirt, Denim Shorts, Denim Shorts W/Tied Shirt) ▪ Version 1 (Pants & Shorts): 20 solid swatches ▪ Version 2 (Pants & Shorts): 20 solid swatches (including wool textures) ▪ Version 1 (Denim Shorts): 18 denim swatches ▪ Version 2 (Denim Shorts): 15 colorful swatches + 5 tie dye swatches

UNIFY FULL BODY AF: Each outfit is base game compatible and comes in 2 variations (Overalls & Overalls W/ Tied Shirt) ▪ Version 1 : 18 solid swatches ▪ Version 2: 15 colorful swatches + 5 tie dye swatches (including graphics)

UNIFY TOPS AM: Each top is base game compatible and comes in 2 variations (Shirt, Shirt W/Tied Shirt, Shirt W/Collar, Button Up, Shirt Tucked, Shirt Cropped) ▪ Version 1: 18 solid swatches ▪ Version 2: 20 swatches (including graphics, plaids, and/or denim)

UNIFY BOTTOMS AM: Each bottom is base game compatible and comes in 2 variations (Pants, Shorts, Pants W/Tied Shirt, Shorts W/Tied Shirt, Denim Shorts, Denim Shorts W/Tied Shirt) ▪ Version 1 (Pants & Shorts): 20 solid swatches ▪ Version 2 (Pants & Shorts): 20 solid swatches (including wool textures) ▪ Version 1 (Denim Shorts): 18 denim swatches ▪ Version 2 (Denim Shorts): 15 colorful swatches + 5 tie dye swatches

UNIFY FULL BODY AM: Each outfit is base game compatible and comes in 2 variations (Overalls & Overalls W/ Tied Shirt) ▪ Version 1 : 18 solid swatches ▪ Version 2: 15 colorful swatches + 5 tie dye swatches (including graphics)

UNIFY TOPS CU: Each top is base game compatible and comes in 2 variations (Shirt, Shirt W/Tied Shirt, Shirt W/Collar, Button Up) ▪ Version 1: 18 solid swatches ▪ Version 2: 20 swatches (including graphics, plaids, and/or denim)

UNIFY BOTTOMS CU: Each bottom is base game compatible and comes in 2 variations (Pants, Shorts, Pants W/Tied Shirt, Denim Shorts, Denim Shorts W/Tied Shirt) ▪ Version 1 (Pants & Shorts): 20 solid swatches ▪ Version 2 (Pants & Shorts): 20 solid swatches (including wool textures) ▪ Version 1 (Denim Shorts): 18 denim swatches ▪ Version 2 (Denim Shorts): 15 colorful swatches + 5 tie dye swatches

Note: These are reworks of my past content so these files will replace the older versions! Please be sure to delete the previous versions first before downloading.

📁:PATREON (ALWAYS FREE) | TOU | KO-FI If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting me on patreon or ko-fi. Your support will be much appreciated! 🤍

#💙#the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 #the sims 4 cc #sims 4 cc #ts4cc #sheeshh this took longer than i thought it would!!!

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meidiary · 1 year ago

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( 📁 ) THINGS THEY DO TO MAKE IT UP TO YOU

synopsis: they can't apologize like normal human beings, so they do their quirky acts to make you forgive them

characters: sanji (shocker), zoro & luffy!

warnings: swearing, (unintentional) angst for luffy..

a/n: my new hobby is making cute character banners oops 🫢 banner inspired by @sixosix <3! happy ending for luffy here !!

☆ whenever you and SANJI have had a fight or disagreement of any sort, he folds first. he is always the first one to give the 'cold-shoulder' act up.

☆ usually, he wouldn't ever stop talking about how much he loves you and how absolutely drop-dead gorgeous you are, but the moment he should talk about all that, he doesn't.

☆ he knows he fucked up.. but he can't bring himself to charm you up like usual.. so- he decides to bake his way out of this problem!

☆ your favorite cake, fruits, drinks, chocolate, and anything you ever mentioned to enjoy will be made and presented to you by your truly apologetic sanji <3

☆ he'd be standing in the kitchen for hours on end. not taking a break because he feels like it's 'his responsibility' to make you forgive him the hard way.

☆ eventually, after being presented more than a month's worth of desserts.. you got worried about the state your charming blonde lover was in.

"not that i forgot our fight.. but you should take a break, sanji.. you've been overworking yourself since this morning!" you tell him, trying your hardest not to sound worried. he gives you an exhausted smile, dropping the cutlery he had in his one hand and the spatula he had in the other one. "you talked to me," he spoke, barely louder than a whisper, before he let out a sigh of relief.

you felt your heart ache, seeing him in his current condition; sweat dripping from his forehead, hands cramped up from all the work he had done, and his apron splattered with a mixture of flower and melted chocolate.

your eyes met his almost immediately, which resulted in him instinctively noticing your sorrowful eyes. "what's wrong, darling? you alright?" he dusts his hands off with the kitchen towel before making his way to you swiftly. "my love why are you giving me your sad puppy eyes right now?" he chuckles as he cups your face in his cold hands, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

"because you overworked yourself because of me.. your hands are all cramped up because i was too stubborn to forgive you right away! i don't deserve you sanji.." he gasps, almost offended. "now that is the bullest crap i've ever heard. darling, i've gone way longer with way more pressure on me to complete dishes for a full-house back at baratie." he chuckles yet again, this time more relaxed. "what i did today was a mere exercise to make sure i was still able to perform under some pressure," a big smile growing on his face.

"sweetheart, if anything i don't deserve you.. i'm sorry for upsetting you earlier.. i was deep in the wrong, yet i'm only apologizing now. forgive me, my love." sanji gives kisses your forehead while grabbing your hands, interlocking them with his. "then let's say we're even now.." you two make up and after forcing sanji to let you help clean up the kitchen, you do just that.

☆ sanji tells you he won't 'bake his way out of a fight' anymore, but knowing him, you didn't believe that statement one bit. you told him to "just make sure you don't overwork yourself anymore.. wouldn't want your pretty hands to hurt.." ~ which ended with him teasing you the whole afternoon.. "you think i have pretty hands~? how very endearing, my love."

☆ now anytime you and ZORO fight, with him being in the wrong, his pride always gets in the way of him owning up to his shit and apologizing. that's all you need from him, an apology. you don't expect him to bake you desserts or write you a poem declaring his live for you, no you just want an apology that isn't forced out of zoro by sanji or nami, or even usopp!

☆ you ignore him because he messed up big time and won't even acknowledge it? ha, child's play, he ignores you. you don't even know how this petty fight escalated so far that both of you haven't talked for a good couple days.

☆ usopp is basically begging you two to make up. considering he had been forced given the role to communicate things between the two of you. zoro needed to clean his sword but didn't know which cleaning agent to use, because you always gave him the right cleaning agent? ⟶ usopp is sent to you asking you which cleaning agent is best to clean zoro's swords with. receiving the dirtiest glance from you, you tell him to tell zoro "he should pay attention more to what others say, instead of staring at his reflection off of his sword 24/7!" ⟶ usopp goes to zoro and delivers the message. zoro scoffs and chuckles lightly before angrily giving usopp yet another message to deliver to you. ⟶ after a while usopp started hiding from the both of you, not wanting to get sent to other anymore.

☆ nami is on your side, of course, sending dirty glances to zoro any chance she gets. she doesn't give him the silent treatment, but instead aggressively tries to let him acknowledge his faults so he could own up to his shit and just apologize!

"y'know zoro, i'm not even in this relationship, yet your ego still somehow found a way to suffocate me! fucking realize you've been acting like a child and just own up to the fact that you messed up, damn it." nami blurts out, all in one breath, before she walks off annoyed.

zoro let's out yet another scuff before sanji makes his way to the moss head. "don't you even start-" zoro sends him an angry glance which has sanji raising his hands in defense, chuckling slightly. "i just can't stand seeing my beloved y/n in distress like this. i don't know the details, i don't want to know the details. all i know is that if you don't want to lose her, i'd act fast if i were you.." he just as quickly turned away and resumed his kitchen activities.

out of all the things the crew told him, hoping to convince the stubborn moss head to apologize to you, this stuck with him for the rest of the day.

after having a rather silent diner with the crew, the same as the past few days, you finished first, leaving the table immediately. "thank you, sanji, the soup was delicious, as expected," you tried to smile at him which resulted in your lips becoming a wobbly line.

"anytime, darling, i'm glad you enjoyed.." sanji noticed your sorrowful expression, as did the rest of the crew. you sent him a forced smile again before leaving the kitchen, heading for your and nami's room.

zoro sighed before standing up from his spot, leaving the kitchen to follow you. reaching your room's door, he notices you locked it. "hey! open the door," zoro leans against the handle, his forehead against the door. "come on now, just open the door for me baby.." his voice softens, realizing how fucking stupid he's been acting, neglecting you in so many ways. "listen.. i'm sorry for being such an ass- you didn't deserve my shitty attitude, i shouldn't have acted so stubborn, i'm sorry. i- i just can't lose you okay? please open the door and talk to me, yell at me, scream your lungs out, just please let me see you baby.. " with that he balled his hand that was leaning on the door into a fist, remorse dripping out of his mouth as he finally realizes how wrong he has been acting, how bad he's been treating you, how much more you deserved.

what surprised him was that the moment you opened the door, you weren't carrying an annoyed expression. no, your eyes were teary, your upper lip was trembling, cheeks a red shade, and your eyebrows furrowed. "h-hey, don't cry now.." zoro wrapped his arms around you, whispering endearments into your ear whilst caressing your back.

you two ended up cuddling on you small framed bed, that barely kept the two of you on it. not a word communicated between the two of you. just you laying on his chest, playing with his fingers while his chin rests on top of your head, still caressing your back.

"i'll do better for you.." zoro breaks the silent, planting a kiss on your head. "i can't lose you, i won't lose you.." you look up at his last statement, putting your hand on his cheek. "you won't lose me.. you'll never lose me."

☆ yeah, fights with this man sure are extreme.. but you two make it work

☆ every once in a while, on a full moon, you and LUFFY experience a disagreement lead to a big fight. of course your relationship isn't always all rainbows and butterflies. but considering luffy's nature of not taking most things serious, lots of fights were prevented. you thought luffy was flirting with a waitress when you left? he laughed so hard, getting cramps in his stomach, because he thought it was the most stupid thing ever that you believed he would flirt with someone other than you. he made you feel ridiculous, thinking of such a thing! ⟶ fight prevented!

☆but sometimes, this very nature of his was what lead to some of the most dreadful moments of your life.

☆ anytime such an event would take place, luffy would be the furthest away from it, the furthest away from you.. it's not that he's angry at you, per se. he just needs his time alone to review all his actions leading up to the fight that may have caused for it to get this big. most of the time he'll be dozing off, too tired to look back on his actions. he doesn't even know himself why he always ends up avoiding you for a couple hours after a fight. all he knows is that he, somehow, always ends up understanding what went wrong between the two of you.

☆ but this routine action of his doesn't always receive a positive reaction from you..

there he went, yet again, neglecting his responsibility in this fight. it was petty, you knew it was, still you wanted him to own up to it! it wasn't fair that he'd leave you shaking, crying, screaming at the top of your lungs, out of nowhere. you were talking, well actually arguing, about how luffy had been avoiding you lately, how he'd turn around once he'd see you, sit at the other side of the table, leave the room the second he saw you enter it, but what hurt the most was that he'd shake off your touches..

you finally confronted him about this, not wanting to bottle up your emotions any longer. luffy reacted as usual, disregarding the issue jokingly, he assured, "it's not a big deal~ you're just seeing things." and then you snapped, everything you bottled up 'till this moment, unleashed. you were a sobbing mess. he had never seen you in this state, shit even you have never seen yourself like this.

you asked him what happened, what you did wrongfully. why was he ignoring you? why did he act like he was allergic to your touches, your voice, your conversations, to you? why all of a sudden? what changed between you? you wanted, no, needed him to answer; you hoped he would realize how stupid he was acting, how neglecting he had been. you needed him to take you in his arms and assure you he still loved you, that he still cared, that he always will..

as if all your sobs were disregarded. instead of talking to you, he stood up wordlessly and walked out of your room, gently closing the door behind him. which resulted in your cries escalating as you tried muffling your sounds with a pillow.

where did he go? why did he leave all of a sudden? does he not care about you? all of these thoughts were racing in your mind, overwhelming you to the point you were gasping for air. at this point, nami came sprinting to your shared room, worried about your condition. "what did that boy do?!" she questions with a mix of distress and anger.

all the while, luffy was sat on the figurehead of the going merry, the sheep. he was enjoying the cold breeze as he kept breathing in and out, trying to understand what had just happened. he soon realized he walked out on you the moment you needed him most. and oh how it should've hurt him, how his heart should be aching right now. instead, he feels nothing except the subtle chilly breeze flowing against his skin, through his hair, moving his flip-flops. he knows he should care, he knows he should run back to you, embrace you in his arms, and tell you he loves you. but he doesn't because as much as he wants you to feel loved and cared for, he can't be the one to make you feel that way. it's not fair to you, you deserve someone that means it when he tells you he loves you and always will be there for you.

he can't put on this facade anymore. he stopped caring a while back, but he believed it to be a decent thing to have you believe he was still the guy that would comfort you when you had a nightmare, the guy that would give you his last piece of meat to show you he cares, the guy that would cuddle you to sleep whenever it was too cold..

he thought it'd be easier for you. oh, how it turned out to be quite the opposite. because he faked your relationship this long, and it had come to an end like this; you didn't only lose your lover tonight, you lost your friend.

MEI'S NOTE: uhm.. yeah idk what happened at luffy's part- but I hope you enjoyed ☺️💓

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sethcertified · 2 years ago

Note

Poly Billy & Stu x Male Reader

Where reader has been canceling plans and spending time with Randy when the three promised to hang out or just generally ditching them for him and they’re hella jealous? Like wanting to keep reader on a leash so he can’t run away anymore jealous.

「 JEALOUSY KILLS ! 」 . . . 📁

scream : billy loomis, stu macher

w.c: 3.2k

⊹˚.⋆ synopsis . . . Billy and Stu confront you, raging in jealousy, after seeing you with Randy at Stu’s party; the man you had been ditching Billy and Stu for

⊹˚.⋆ starring . . . billy loomis, stu macher, & male reader

Macher parties were your least favorite. They always consisted of the people you hated the most: snobbish highschoolers that didn't give anyone below their social standards the time of day unless it benefited them somehow. You were bare witness to this in real time as a highschooler yourself.

You could usually count on the company of Billy or Stu to keep you occupied. For a while, at least. Yet they developed the habit of seemingly forgetting your presence as the party raged on. They would hang out with you for the first couple minutes of the party, but leave you alone at one point or another. Usually to hang out with Sidney or Tatum. It had happened again and again, and by now, you were sick of it. Standing alone in the corner as people you hate surrounded you was not fun in the slightest.

So you invited Randy.

✁.

Billy sat on the living floor, beer in hand, as Stu sat beside him. Billy was used to having Stu as company, and don't get him wrong, Stu is his best-friend, but there's a limit as to how much Billy can listen to the other man ramble. "Can't believe Will was able to do that! A keg-stand with one hand? I wish I could do that. Whadda ya think, Bill?" Billy's name escaping Stu's mouth caused Billy to look to the blonde boy who had been talking to him for... awhile.

Billy felt himself down the last few drops of beer as he cleared his head. It wasn't common for him to zone out. In fact, he would consider himself to be a great listener. Although, you kinda have to be when being not only best friends but also boyfriends with Stu Macher. But today, something else had caught his attention completely.

Stu flops against the wall as he realizes just how much Billy had been listening for. His gaze flickers to Billy, catching a glimpse of what had ruptured Billy's attention for the past half hour.

You, in all your glory, sipping on your drink in the most angelic way possible. A dark blue sweater draped over your body in a simple but beautiful way. Blue is your color, Stu thinks. No wonder Billy was staring at you. He looks back over to said man, watching as his eyes darken and his jaw tense. Confused, Stu looks back to where you stood, noticing the thing that was bugging Billy. "Is that?"

"Randy," says Billy, in a way that makes it seem like what he's looking at is the most absurd and repulsive thing he's ever seen. Stu mouth falls agape as his eyes catch sight of you, laughing as you touch Randy's forearm. "What is he doing with [Name]?"

Billy lets out a sarcastic chuckle. "What do you think?" Stu's eyes narrow as you laugh at some joke Randy made. He had noticed you two getting closer recently. Hell, you even ditched Billy and Stu to hang out with him more than once! But there was no way you two were-

Maybe you were. "They're not- right, Billy? [Name] wouldn't date Randy." Stu asked, panic and jealousy apparent in his tone. Billy sighs as he lips press into a stern line. "I don't know."

"What if they are?" Stu asks.

"We kill Randy," Billy says nonchalantly but there's something dark underlying his words. "Give [Name] a shoulder to cry on, make him ours. Simple." Stu nods along to Billy's words, but doubt still clouds his mind. "What if that doesn't work."

"It will. And if it doesn’t… I’ll put him on a leash if I have to," is all Billy says before going silent once more. His gaze is glued to you and Randy. You are still smiling at him and talking. But that's okay, Billy reasons. When you're comfortable with someone, you love to talk. You could spend hours rambling about the latest movie you saw or the newest episode of your favorite tv show. That doesn't mean you're dating him. Right?

And smiling? That was nothing. You smile at everything. Something both you and Stu had in common. Hell, you even smile at strays. And, to Billy, Randy was extremely familiar to a stray, wild, animal.

Can't be wilder than you and Stu though. Or did you forget who you are, ghostface?

Billy frowns at the thought. You didn't know. Both Billy and Stu had guaranteed that. But what if you did? What if that was the reason you had started to ditch them for the likes of Randy? Everything you had done with them was stuff you were know doing with Randy, after all.

The first time you had ditched them for Randy was on your weekly movie night. After you had yet to show up after an hour, they had gone out looking for you. They eventually found you sneaking him into a movie theater to see the new Hellraiser movie. Something you had promised to watch with Billy and Stu.

As you began to ditch them more and more, they continued to see what you were doing instead of hanging out with them, and every-time you were with him. Doing stuff you always did and/or promised to do with Billy and Stu. Watching stupid movies to make fun of their absurdity, sneak onto the roof to just talk until the sun crept over the horizon, etc.

It drove them insane. Sure, you didn't owe the two anything. You didn't sign a contract saying you had to spend every waking moment with them. But that didn't make the two any less jealous. Especially when Randy wouldn't leave your side.

"Bill, I can't do this anymore, watching them is driving me nuts, man!" Stu whined as he chugged down some of his beer. For a second, Billy was taken aback. He had completely forgotten Stu's presence (again) while glaring holes into Randy's back. "Maybe we should go up to him?" Stu asks.

Billy clears his throat at the suggestion but glares at Stu. "Does it look like we could with Randy clinging to him? Don't be stupid." Stu pouts as he glances back at you and Randy once more. You're laughing at something he said, again. Stu's pout quickly turned into a frown. He was the only one to ever make you laugh that much.

Was he being replaced by Randy? Could Randy do everything he could? Better, even? The paranoia racking Stu's brain makes him sure he's going crazy. Surely, you wouldn't replace him. Right?

"I'm going up to him," says Stu. Billy gives him a pointed look. "Tell me how that goes."

"You should come with me," Stu replies. Billy feigns ignorance to Stu's words as he lifts the empty bottle of beer to his lips. "C'mon man, before it's too late."

Before it's too late.

The sentence echoes in Billy's ears. He didn't want to lose you. He couldn't lose you. Not to the annoying guys at school, not to the girl who always insists on being your partner whenever she gets the chance in English, and especially not to Randy. Billy wouldn't let that happen. Never. Not to anyone.

You were his and Stu's. No one else's.

Before he even can process what he's doing, Billy's standing up off the floor and walking to the kitchen. Stu right beside him with a satisfactory smile across his face.

You chuckle at something Randy says before you notice Billy and Stu walking towards the both of you. Your smile quickly drops. Now they chose to come say hi?

Stu swings his arm around your shoulder, "Hi, [Name]." His tone was flirty in the charismatic Stu way that would usually make your knees weak. Billy creeps up besides Stu. He gives Randy a quick glance before saying, "Hey" to you.

It was impossible not to notice your sour mood. Even Stu felt his confidence falter. You were pissed. Randy clears his throat, causing all three of you to turn your attention to him. "Sorry, Randy. Anyways, what were you saying?" You completely disregard Billy and Stu, focusing all of your attention on the brunette man in front of you.

Randy's gaze flickers to Billy and Stu before sending you a confused look. The two of you do a bit of eye communication as the tension between all four of you gradually increases. "So," Randy finally clears the air, "Have you guys seen the new Hellraiser movie? Me and [Name] saw it the other day."

As soon as those words leave his mouth, both Billy and Stu look like they want to rip his face off. They already knew of you ditching them for Randy, but to hear it out of his mouth made both men want to take you far, far away from the world. Make you theirs and only theirs.

"Not yet." Says Billy as his brown eyes lock onto you. The feeling of his stern gaze makes you swallow awkwardly. Randy didn't know you were going to see it with Billy and Stu. He also didn't know about your repeated ditching to hang out with him. Every word that could and had come out of his mouth was putting you one foot in the grave.

Randy laughs awkwardly, "It sucked. Didn't miss out on much." Billy just nods his head, not interested in what Randy had to say. "But [Name] can make any movie good. I never laughed so hard in a movie theater before."

"We get it." Billy says, annoyance clear in his words. Your eyes widen at Billy. You knew he never liked Randy that much, but he seemed to always tolerate him when you all hung out together. It made sense, so you never bugged Billy about it since Randy made his crush on Sidney very obvious.

Your gaze lingers on Billy, trying to decipher his abrupt aggressiveness. His face is contorted angrily. If looks could kill, Randy would be six feet under.

"So, Randy, you still got the hots for Sid?" Stu suddenly asks. It doesn't sound genuine at all. What were they up to? "Stu!" You whisper-yell at him. His blue eyes meet with yours. "Why would you ask that when Billy's right there?" It seems odd to you the fact you have to remind Stu that mentioning Randy's crush on Sid is a bad idea when Billy's right there. Unless he had something up his sleeve?

"Uh," Randy stutters, now slightly scared of what Billy will do if he answers truthfully. It doesn't help that Stu was staring down at him like a vulture. "A little, I guess." Your lips pull awkwardly back as Randy avoids eye contact with Billy and Stu. Why were the treating Randy like this?

Stu laughs at Randy, "I can't believe you would actually admit that when her boyfriend is right there!" His laughter quiets down but chuckles still escape his mouth. "Are you that stupid?"

"Dude! Stop being a dick," you whisper to him. Stu squints his eyes at you as if he's trying to figure out why you're defending Randy so hard. Stu frowns but continues on his taunts. "Is that why you came? To sneak a peek of her?"

"What? No!" Randy responds. "I came to hang out with [Name], so he isn't alone. He invited me in the first place."

You smile at his words. It didn't take much to notice; however, how Billy's jaw tensed and Stu's hand against your shoulder clenched. If the only people in the room were you four, you wouldn't doubt either of the boys breaking a beer bottle on Randy's head.

"Well, he isn't alone anymore, so you can leave." Billy says. Randy nervously chuckles, "I mean, I could. But I'm already here with [Name], and I like hanging out with him."

"I like hanging out with you too." You tell him, desperate to make him feel less uncomfortable when there's two men right in-front of him who look like they could slit his throat if given the chance.

"You know what's more fun to hang out with? The door. You should go check it out and while you are at it, get your ass out of here." Billy says without any hesitation in his voice.

"Billy!" You gasp. This wasn't cool anymore. "Can I talk to you?" Your gaze flickers to Stu. "Both of you. In private?" You send Randy an apologetic smile before grabbing both Billy's and Stu's hands and dragging them the hell out of here, without waiting for a response from the two.

Billy stops for a moment to speak to Randy once more, "The door is right there. Feel free to use it while we're gone." You curse under your breath as you pull him with you and take him up the stairs, eventually pulling the two into Stu's bedroom. Your hand doesn't leave theirs 'til you shut the door and can only hear the faint noise of the party raging on downstairs.

You let go of them to cross your arms over your chest, "What the hell are you two doing?"

Billy's the first to respond. "Showing Randy his place," he says, without an ounce of guilt for what he had done.

Stu nods and you glare at him. "C'mon, you guys. He's my friend. What's the problem with him hanging out with me? It's better than me being alone in the corner as I watch everyone around me make out and drink booze." It's your turn to be upset, and you hope your feelings get through their thick skulls.

"I don't care if he's your friend," Billy says, putting a strange emphasis on the word friend. Your brows contort in confusion and anger at his words. "What the hell is wrong with you? There was no reason for you to be that rude to him!" You snap. "I really like him, okay? And I don't want to lose him to you two being major assholes."

"Oh, so now you like him, huh?" Stu says and you sigh. Both of them were being so stubborn about this. "He's my friend, Stu. Of course, I like him."

"What about us? Do you like us?" Stu asks and your mouth falls open in shock.

"Yes? Why wouldn't I like you? You guys are quite literally my best friends."

"Then you shouldn't have an issue hanging out with us instead of Randy," Billy says. You close your eyes in frustration. The three of you were just going in circles at this point.

"Is it 'cause he likes your girlfriend? If so, that has nothing to do with our relationship." You ask and the expression on both of their faces makes you immediately regret your words.

"No. I don't care about Sid, okay? And it has everything to do with your... relationship." Billy pauses before saying the word like it's the most disgusting thing he's ever said.

"Yeah, man!" Stu chimes in. "He's weird. His hair is weird. And his clothes. And... and the way he looks at you! You shouldn't be around him."

"What? You two are behaving like children, right now! What is up with you two?" Your eyes widen as you suddenly put the pieces together. "You're jealous!" You place your palm over you mouth as your gaze flickers between the two. "You're jealous of Randy!"

"So what?" Billy says.

You inch closer to them, "You two are jealous because I've been hanging out with him so much. Oh my god. This whole time, I thought-"

"You thought what?" Stu asks.

"I thought you guys just didn't like him because he likes Sidney. But... why do you guys care that much if I hang out with him so much?" You ponder as you sit on the edge of the bed, no longer standing in front of them.

"Because you're ours, okay?" Stu says as he looms over you. Your eyes widen but he goes on. "We know you've been ditching him for us, [Name]. What did we do wrong?" He wraps his long arms around you as he moves to sit besides you on the bed. His hold is tight, possessive, but strangely enough, oddly comforting.

The room is silent for a moment before you speak. "You guys have been ditching me too, you know? At these parties, you'll talk and hang out with me for a little bit, but sooner or later, you leave me alone in some random room surrounded by people I don't know or don't like. Even at school! I didn't want to be clingy, so I made a new friend. I just didn't want to cling to you guys like some dog."

Your eyes show your hurt and Billy and Stu share a look. That was the reason? It never had even processed to them that that could've been the reason. But the same hint of relief in their eyes shone brightly. You didn't know.

"[Name]," Billy says as he walks to you. You gaze up at him as Stu rests his chin on your shoulder. He stands in-front of you before grasping your chin between his thumb and pointing finger. Flushed at the feeling of his intimacy, you avert your eyes. Before any of you know what's happening, Billy closes the distance between you. As your lips met his, everything else went into a standstill.

Too shocked by the action, you fail to respond to the kiss. This wasn't happening. There was no way Billy Loomis was kissing you. Did he-

Suddenly, all your worries turn into mush until the only thing you can think about is his lips on yours. And you finally realize this is what you had wanted for the longest time. To be with him. No- to be with them. They were the only ones in your heart. Stu's body warmth spreads through your body and captures your soul, making you part away from Billy.

Turning to Stu, your eyes bore into his, asking the question that wouldn't dare leave your mouth. Are we about to kiss? Stu answers the question immediately, pressing his lips against yours. The feeling that rushes through you is almost identical to the one you felt while kissing Billy. Your brain fogs, only focusing on him until the necessity to breathe arose, causing you to pull away.

"That was," you pause as your mind tries to find the words. "Unreal." You stare up at Billy dizzily. He takes the eye contact as a positive, sending you a rare but genuine smile. Stu practically jumps on to Billy as he springs up from the bed, wrapping his long arm around Billy’s neck, putting him into a headlock. “Sorry, Bill, but he was talking about our kiss. Not yours.”

Billy pushes him off and you can’t help but chuckle at the two. Billy punched Stu shoulder playfully but still with impact. “I can make them say that about more than kissing. Too bad, you can’t do the same.”

“And how would you know, smart guy?” Stu asks but you can feel the sexual tension start to build up between them. Billy suddenly pulls Stu’s head back by his hair, “Cause you can only take dick.” Stu bites his lip in arousal and you can tell that this was by no means something that they hadn’t done before.

Billy turns to you, Stu still in his grasp. “Do you want this?”

Your mouth opens in response, “I-”

✎ notes . . . to be continued… my favorite type of endings!! if this does well, I will write a part two that is SMUT AHHH

©️ sethcertified 2023

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heesevngi · 2 years ago

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I Read BOTH VOLUMES AND WHAT I CAN I SAY I LOVE IT !!! It was so tense and interesting to read!! even sometimes i needed put my phone down and walk around my room (because of Jay and reader kinda ) 😖😖😖😖😖😖👹👹👹👹I’m waiting for Jake and Sunghoon ones too and I’m excited about it !!🤗🤗🤗🤍🤍🤍🤍

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑; 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 —volume one

pairing: ceo!park jongseong x brother’s best friend!fem!reader

genre: arranged/forced marriage, accidental pregnancy, brother’s best friend, slight age gap (reader’s 22 and jay’s 24), angst, fluff and second chance love.

warning(s): grammar mistakes, curse words, nicknames, arranged marriage, suggestive scenes, mentions/allusions to sex, toxic/abusive mother, verbal abuse, vomiting, mentions of food, accidental pregnancy, sort of toxic relationship between jay and reader.

word count: 14.0k words

summary: Just a year ago, you were forced to marry Park Jongseong, CEO of the Southern Branch, part of the vary famous Park Enterprises. It was all for the sake of your family, a marriage for the benefit of gaining more traction as a company. Jongseong was attentive, caring, sometimes even sweet, but your relationship was more about sex than it was about the marriage itself. At some point, everything got bad, and it was just mere sexual intimacy that anything else, and just when you were close to ending things…you found out you were pregnant.

playlist • backburner by niki • common by zayn • dos mil 16 by bad bunny • used to this by camila cabello • astronomy by conan gray • lovers by anna of the north • lover of mine by 5sos • this love by taylor swift • julia by lauv •

volume two

CEOs & ARRANGEMENTS MASTERLIST

taglist (open): @iloveoceaneyesss @abdiitcryy @chimajeyn @sjakewrld @loves0ft @duolingofanaccount @ufoundme @sunghoons-mole @tobiosbbyghorl @dasa3040 @monkeybabyzz @snowysung @wonyofanclub @prdxinvade @dearhee @zhrtics @woinswoo @rerequire @in2jhae @darkreymbow @ahnneyong @uuwonniee @hueningluvbotsworld @iwuvjay @zen003xx @pshchives

author’s note: So sorry for the delay, I’m still not done with volume two, and I wanted to have ready before publishing volume one, but I’m very impatient. The story is so long (it’s 39k long at this point) that I had to divide it in two parts. I’m really anxious, because I don’t know if this is good… but here you go. Also, the story is narrated mostly on the MCs views, not in first person, but mostly in the ambience that she is around.

PROLOGUE; And for once, I don’t care about what you want. As long as we keep talking

It wasn’t that the hospital bed was uncomfortable. It’s the ambience, the situation that you just got into that made you uncomfortable.

Jongseong wasn’t showing any type of expression, he was just standing, staring at the floor, maybe at his feet. You swore that his soul was wandering somewhere around the room.

You should’ve ended things sooner.

Maybe it was your fault, somehow.

Keep reading

#Meg’s favorite ❤️#the emotions I feeled while reading it !!#📁finished reading!!#📝genre:fic #💌feedback:check!!

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dolcinos · 11 hours ago

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fatpad hornyposting Yess.. yess...

not to get too gross here but something abt the combo of huge fatpad + erectile issues from awful diet (diabetes or just hormonal issues... idk if fat in that arteries could affect that but im hornyposting so i wont check) + desperation is so wonderful for alfred.

like for example... matt vs alfred. matt gains in a dadbod way- mostly visceral fat and the rest is distributed evenly. so sure he has a ridiculous big ol' gut and thicker thighs and moobs but he's p functional even at higher weights (health issues are another thing but like. he's pretty functional and doesn't have mobility issues so soon etc). His weewee? all ok, mostly. sure, it's a little challenging to use it because his rounded out beer gut is kinda in the way and not easily squished out the way but his fatpad is just a little puff proportional to his legs, so the canadian sausage is perfectly functional unless he starts going into extreme chub territory. he gets fat off hearty meals- lots of maple syrup (the actual real thing, not the sugar water corn syrup horror alfred has), thick gravies, warm soups and sandwiches, all the things good to keep warm when it's cold. his blood sugar is a little high maybe, and his rounded beer gut had some alarms ringing about visceral fat and its dangers, but his libido is perfectly ok and his little matt can Rise up when needed

meanwhile alfred, as you said, gains fast and fluffy and droopy and doughy. subcutaneous fat atop the harder visceral one. stacked rolls and folds all drooping (i personally hc him with some sort of lipedema he absolutely does not take care of bc Mm legs stacked w rolls like a stack of pancakes but i digress). while he also gains in an apple shape, his gut is soft and doughy and hangs down- and also his fupa puffs up fast along with it. the combination of inner thigh rolls, fupa, and overhanging tummy are a fast track to his All American Hog being tucked in warm, aka just covered and gone. not helped by the fact he fattens up on... not the best stuff. plenty of good ol' comfort food like grits and ribs and cornbread and such, sure! but the highly processed meats and the breads made with more chemicals than the back of a shampoo bottle and the drinks full of high fructose corn syrup and all that sugar and grease from countless takeout and snack bags so easy to buy make for a body that's not all too happy. hormonal imbalances? he might deny it but the fact his moobs puffed up to *that* size sure doesn't seem like normal fat guy stuff. diabetes? well, it's fine as long as he administers insulin, right?? his stamina? well... he's just pent up, it's totally normal to cum after 30 seconds of stimulation and he's almost sure he got half-hard this time, even if it was impossie to see! um. the watery cum is just, uh, because he's sooo well hydrated (false).

NO YES BE AS GROSS AS YOU WANT… i love it all. i agree 100% because this is how i see matt vs alfred weight gain differences being. matt is a lot more hearty while alfred dives deep into out of shape lmao. i think it’s the best compare and contrast situation because in legit dry-cut canon (slim) interpretations i tend to think of alfred as more buff/athletic and matt as a bit frail/sickly in comparison, mixing it up for when they’re fat is chef’s kiss peak. suddenly alfred is the grossly unhealthy one while matt gets the better end of the deal.

actually, i’ve been thinking of the erectile dysfunction recently with this ask and that other ask i got a few days ago 😭 tbh before i had always been under the very horny thought of the opposite, with alfred being much too sensitive and can come untouched/get very hard/come after other being touched for like 5 seconds, because of how little action he gets. BUT this concept also fits nicely… heh…… like this makes me super mega ultra hard……..

i like both sides of the coin. for nationverse maybe i am fond of keeping him free of disease and just have him tortured with immobility + horny all the time + cums super easy; while in human AUs i would LOVE to imagine him horribly ridden with high blood pressure + diabetes + he can never get his meat up no matter how desperately he rubs his fat rolls against his buried peen.

honest to god tho. in any AU/verse i just need him so obese that he struggles with everything and is hopelessly addicted to sugar and processed foods. he thinks those things are much better than real food, actually. like you know this dude is ordering a truckload of chinese takeout every weekend, a metric ton of noodles and orange chicken and fried rice, and gets beef and broccoli on the side to claim it was a healthy meal. alfred getting to the point where literally only heapings of food filled with tons of calories from sugars, salt, corn syrup, fats, being deep fried, or packed with preservatives can actually satiate him. just imagine him not being able to get hard, always hungry, always in constant pain from his back/feet and various health issues, heart and lungs incredibly strained…

You got me tweaking so badddddd all i’m gonna be thinking about for the next few days is alfred’s useless dick completely consumed by two different layers of blubber to the point he can hardly feel it.

#📧://emails #📁://favorited #📁://original #anonymous #/weight gain #/obesity #/stuffing #/medical #/gross #YOU’RE SO RIGHTTTT #i’ve been getting into the more medical aspects these past few months #where years ago i wasn’t fond of it at all. somehow a switch has been flipped in me recently and this is grabbing me by the balls…#i love it #this being such a perfect depiction of how i’d see matt too

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simdertalia · 3 months ago

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Simblreen 2024 - Weekend Two 🍭

🕯🔮 Ouija Board Set 🔮🕯

Happy Simblreen! Here is my treat for weekend two! These items will work with ouija board poses. This one is a favorite!

(I suggest placing 2 teleport objects, right on top of each other, when preparing to pose. It's so you can pose your sim, & move the board and planchette to be right where you want it, which will move the sim if it is placed too close to them when setting up your scene. This way you can move them back into the exact spot needed with the second teleporting object.)

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Download (still no ads): HERE

Type “simblreen 2024" into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Happy Simblreen and Happy Spooky Season!

If you haven't yet, go check out my page for lots more fun Halloween & Autumn CC that I started posting at the end of September! Tagged #sims 4 halloween 2024

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @public-ccfinds @simblreenofficial

The rest of my CC

#ts4cc #s4cc #simblreen #simblreen 2024 #simblreen 2024 weekend two #sims 4 halloween 2024 #sims 4 ouija #sims 4 kawaii #sims 4 retrowave #sims 4 ouija board #sims 4 planchette #sims 4 divination #sims 4 maxis mix #sims 4 maxis match #happy simblreen!

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jeonscape · 11 days ago

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── 𝐅𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐉.𝐊

⌗ You’re like a small deer, obliviously grazing an open field as you saunter about your kitchen; unaware of the wolf that lurks within the treeline.

wc. 896

𝖕airings stalker!jungkook 𝔁 f!reader 𝖜arnings stalking, fingering, handjob, mutual masturbation (non consensual, he gets off to watching her), obsession, Jungkook visualises himself touching the reader, heavy dub con on his thoughts.

from archive 📁 ─ first fic, well, drabble I suppose. dark content, don't like don't read! personally obsessed with the idea of jk stalking you and getting off to you without your knowledge.

Pretty.

Gentle, kind and timid. — Soft to the touch. Insignificant beneath the rough and large palms of his inked hands. Docile under his dark and demanding gaze. Jungkook imagines you as such. He has for a very long time.

You’re like a small deer, obliviously grazing an open field as you saunter about your kitchen; unaware of the wolf that lurks within the treeline. Jungkook's eyes move quickly, tracing your figure with gleam. The thick hoodie falls over the majority of his face, shielding him from unwanted attention, casting him in shadows.

Just like a deer you’re skittish. The quiet creak of floorboards makes you jump, clutching the bowl of popcorn tightly in your hands, and for a second he worries that you might catch him. But naive as you are, you never do. — Deers were always on edge yet they never seemed to know where the real dangers lay.

His hot breath fogs the cold glass of your window. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that he was near panting. Blood rushes through his veins, his heart beating with demand as he drinks in your skimpily dressed body. It was like you were purposely trying to put on a show, like you were wanting to rile him up. And he would admit, it had worked.

Jungkook follows you into your bedroom. For a moment you disappear from his vision, and he scurries past the wall of your bathroom, for there was no window there. — Then he finally settles between his favorite bushes, his gaze immediately locking on to its designated target.

You move with slow and tired intentions, lazily dragging yourself onto the mattress as you allow your limbs to go limp. You don’t even bother to pull the covers over yourself. Jungkook's heart races. Oh there’s so much he wants to do to you right now, if only you’d let him in. If only.. He bites the inside of his cheek, his brows furrowing as he watches you nearly succumb to a calm slumber.

He doesn’t want to frighten you.

The scared little deer you were. He couldn’t possibly break your window and startle you like that. How could he ever explain that he was here to help? That he could make you feel so good. — Instead he’s forced to watch as you restlessly shift on your bed, his lip twitching when he sees you slip a hand between your thighs.

God he can barely conceal his excitement. Watching as you rub your legs together, your eyes screwed shut. Dainty fingers slip beneath the cotton of your panties and your jaw slacks. Jungkook so desperately longs to hear you. He wants to absorb every little sound you make, he wants to swallow your moans with his lips on yours. He…

He slips a hand down his own pants, mindlessly groping his already hard cock, biting back a strained groan as he trains his gaze to you. — The glass of your bedroom window is dirty, it sabotages his vision, something that puts him off. But it doesn’t matter tonight, not when you’re touching yourself like that for him to see.

Jungkook tells himself that he will one day deal with it, that he will one day get to see you without that barrier of glass separating you. One day.

For now, the sight of you, sprawled out on your bed, face screwed into one of ecstasy as you slide two fingers in your slick cunt - that’s all he needs for now. And fuck, you’re gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking. Jungkook knows he could make you feel absolutely delirious. He imagines his own fingers in your place. He imagines pushing them past your puffy folds, he imagines his inked knuckles getting covered in your arousal, in your love for him.

He wants nothing but to stuff you full with his cock. He’ll probably cum instantly, that wouldn’t matter, he’d still be hard, and he would make you take him as many times as he pleased. And oh you would love it. You would love him.

His hips buck against his hand, and Jungkook has to steady himself against the cold brick wall of your house. He knows you can’t hear the sinful and near animalistic growls currently being ripped from his chest, part of him wishes you did. He wants you to know how badly he needs you, how important you are to him, that only you can make him feel this way.

His fingers squeeze around his throbbing cock and he strokes himself with impatience, his lips parted as he watches your fingers spread yourself for him. Fuck he could cum untouched from the sight of you alone. — And when you flip over on your back, your thighs closing around your hand as your orgasm washes over you, he completely loses it.

With his forehead against the cold glass of your window, he finishes all over himself with a low moan, his breaths coming out jagged. It’s a warm buzz that surges through his entire body, his cock still rock hard in his hand as the images of you flood his mind, wrecking him entirely.

He emits a short breath, shaking his head, as if trying to find himself once more. Then he looks up, through dark and lidded eyes. — To his surprise, he finds you already watching him. And oh god, you look absolutely terrified.

Like a deer in headlights.

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skythealmighty · 4 months ago

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why am i just now finding out about thisisnotawebsitedotcom i feel a little stupid.. then again i dont have the Book of Bill so maybe im lucky to know about it ???

#rocket talk #gravity falls #miss this show. anyway twink cipher fuckign jumpscared me

(3 notes)

👓 the-nerdiest-glasses Follow

Why Flatland counts as an object show: an essay

Keep reading

🔧 warp-pipe-sfx Follow

Why Flatland does NOT count as an object show: a rebuttal

Keep reading

⛓️ chainsaw-massacres Follow

why flatland isnt an object show: its a book + movie you assholes

#this argument is fucking stupid its just flatland

(3,821 notes)

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020 asked: Im going to tear apart your circuitboard until its broken irreparably

🌈 super-rainbow-epic-computer Follow

lol ok have fun w that 👍

also do u know any recipes for roasted pumpkin seeds the internets failing me rn and im cooking a big dinner for me and my bf

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020

Oh yeah sure https://www.jessicagavin.com/how-to-roast-pumpkin-seeds/#wprm-recipe-container-35845

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020

Wait why am I telling you this go die I hate you

🌈 super-rainbow-epic-computer Follow

thx for the help!

☝i-date-iconic-posts Follow

Date of origin: November 3rd, 2021

(216,025 notes)

❌ mephonex-deletes-your-favs Follow

~~Welcome to MePhoneX deletes your favs!!~~

I'm mod Xav (the only mod rn - -"), here to cause trauma to your favorite characters :)! PLEASE keep in mind that submissions will take a while to get to, because I have to photoshop out the limbs + background or even completely recreate someone's object if they're transparent!

The background flag is in the header and the X (recreated from an image of MePhoneX) I overlay on top is the profile picture if you want to make your own :) just @ this blog and I'll reblog it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❌~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RULES ABOUT SUBMISSIONS:

NO INANIMATE INSANITY CONTESTANTS. I would like to avoid Apollo's Dodgeball thanks (plus it's insensitive)

No algebralien or algebralien-adjacent characters! I love those guys too I get it but I honestly don't have a good method of 'deleting' them planned. Feel free to do it on your own time though!

If someone asks me to take down a submission with them in it I will do it without questions. This is for a variety of reasons, but I think you get it.

Alright, that's it! Have fun :)

#not xed out #mod xav #pinned post #your fav is #your fave is #mephone #mephonex #inanimate insanity #ii2 finale

(681 notes)

📁 sticky-note-hit-post Follow

has anyone else wondered why this spaghetti code webbed site can connect across DIFFERENT UNIVERSES??? or is that just me

(2,416 notes)

🦀 thesamepictureofbaxtereveryday Follow

follow for the same picture of my crab every day!!!!! look at him :D

(3 notes)

anonymous asked: greeny how does it feel to be technically a higher being than most other people on the site

🟢 greenyguy Follow

sir this is a wendys

#i didnt order an existential crisis today :(

(37,102 notes)

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

todays liveblog!! B)

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

knife and suitcase made it to the finale!! hell yeah so proud of them

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

balloons talk with suitcase didnt go so well :/ i hope they can get some alone time without anyone else so they can like talk properly next time

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

mepad???

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

oh i think the finale challenge is happening

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

baseball looks worried but lightbulb's brushing him off :|

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

ojs backing away from paper??? wh

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

WHJDT THE FUCK

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

WAIT I HAVENT SEEN SOAP IN A WHILE WHERE IS SHE???

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

OH GOD

#mics ramblings #SOAP???!??

(11 notes)

anonymous asked: evil woman are so hot <3 i will do whatever you want queen

🌐 dr-who-could-never Follow

Awwww, this means a lot to me, anon! Could you find Film Reel for me and doxx him? That would be really helpful <3

#He's been evading me #It's really annoying #Hard to take over the world when I have to worry about him 🙄

(6 notes)

🥄 only-a-spoonful Follow

WHY DO I KEEP GETTING SENT ASKS ABOUT PREGNANCY?!

#I'M GOING TO QUIT TUMBLR AT THIS RATE.

(47,284 notes)

📗 journal-of-secrets Follow

if this fuckass hand keeps showing up at the edge of my vision i'm going to hit something

📗 journal-of-secrets Follow

#maybe hes in love with you

what the hell is wrong with you.

#unreality #fake dashboard #rocket talk #roc save #osc #object shows #osc community #object show community #twisted turns reboot #twisted turns #the daily object show #tdos #inanimate insanity #paper puppets take 2 #ppt2 #ppt2 osc #greenyguy

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mangocustard16 · 1 year ago

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📁....Seventeen's reaction to having an actor/actress s/o₊˚🎬📼🎥✩｡

genre: fluff warnings: pet names, cursing lmk if i missed something w.c: 970 a/n: thank you! anon and I'm sorry i won't be covering another req that asked me to write about ghostface/scream cuz i already saw someone write about it<3 sorry anon!

#Seungcheol

He is very supportive of your career and is proud of your accomplishments. He's clearing out his schedules to attend premieres, to silently cheer you on, and is not afraid to publicly express his admiration for your talent. Would casually appear during your shootings with your favorite flowers and snacks for everyone. "Babe! Aren't you supposed to be on the other side of the country?" "No, I'm supposed to be wherever you are."

#Jeonghan

Oh boy! he's taking tips, no jokes. He's got his notepad out and is ready to jot down directions and suggestions. He is ready to polish his acting skills which will come in helpful when bluffing others during the mafia game. Bonus: he shares the prizes he wins from "Going Seventeen Mafia Games" with you. "Hannie that's the third Dyson air wrap you've won this year!"

#Joshua

Your supportive lil' boy. He helps you practice your lines and gives valuable advice. Everything flows smoothly until you reach a scene involving a kiss. joshua.exe has stopped functioning. He's momentarily frozen, and you can't help but wonder if he's even breathing. He had anticipated a kiss scene cuz you were the main lead, but it still bothered him a little to see you kiss someone else who is not him. But he's definitely not insecure or anything, just a peculiar sensation. And for the cure, just kiss the living daylights out of him so hard that he forgets the world except for you.

#Junhui

Well....he's an actor himself, so it's quite obvious that he's exceptionally proud of you. He's shamelessly promoting your movie/drama every chance he gets. Dedicates an entire Weibo live suggesting your movies and dramas to carats while explaining the plot in great detail. "You know The Dreamcatcher's plot twist caught me so hard that I almost fell off my seat"

#Hoshi

He wants to accompany you everywhere – to set, to your trailer as you practice your lines, to premieres and other events. He adores the world you live in and wishes to learn more about it. He tried out acting(a period drama) and continued talking in that manner for days. "What an interesting food this is, 'twixt two buns lies a delicacy that-" "It's just a burger calm down."

#Wonwoo

He would be so proud of you. He'll be your silent cheerleader. When the two of you are alone, he will lavishly compliment your acting and take you out to a lovely meal to celebrate the premiere. So, while it may not appear to others that he makes a big deal out of it, you'll know how proud he is.

#Woozi

Please DO NOT bring him to events – Woozi almost blends in with the numerous cameramen and women, his own phone in hand as he photographs picture after picture of you as you go into the premiere of your new film — he's a very proud boyfriend, after all. "Look here! babe. Damn you look so good"

#Seokmin

He is gonna hype you up so much omg. He like, Jun, won’t hesitate to promote your movie every chance he gets. His darling is building a name for themselves, and he'll be damned if he doesn't do everything he can to help them. He's always bugging Carats to go see the latest movie. Whenever you watch the movie alone, he will be more sincere and serious in his compliments. "No problem, carats! If you've already seen the film, you should go watch it two more times."

#Mingyu

He'd be captivated by your performance and would shove his face very close to the screen every time you appeared. And, while he may not shamelessly promote you as some of the other members do, he will certainly speak highly of you and your acting abilities to everyone he knows. That's all he talks about when he's out with his '97 liner buddies. Literally. "Y/n had to act like they had not found the killer while sitting right beside them. They are so cool!"

#Minghao

Minghao is buying the CD regardless of whether he could simply ask you for a copy of the movie you're in or even if he's seen it hundreds of times. He is one of your biggest fans; he owns all of your movies, has seen all of your shows, and knows all of your interviews by heart. "Are you watching y/n’s movies again? Aren’t you tired?" "Fuck off"

#Seungkwan

He actually got to know you during an event promoting your latest drama. He's your biggest fanboy, watching every drama/movie you've ever starred in, and bombarding you with compliments. Winces slightly whenever he sees you kiss a fellow actor on screen. "So your type is Song Jung" "Come on!! Stop sulking, we filmed that 6 years ago"

#Vernon

Leaves 15-line reviews on your movies complimenting your acting skills. He is always pulling out your movies during movie night and doesn't understand why wouldn't wanna watch your own movie for the nth time again. "Babe, we have watched Wandering Dreams more than 20 times" "So, do you wanna watch 'Written in Sand'?" *dies* Bonus: All the movies you've starred in receive an obvious 5-star rating.

#Chan

He'd be so freaking excited! It wouldn't be strange to spend endless nights practicing your lines with him. Coffee would be essential for those nights, as the caffeine would keep you up as you practiced. And whenever someone pointed out how much the critics praised you, he'd say, "Yeah, of course, my love did amazing." It's as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

BONUS:: Sends coffee trucks to the set during shooting: Minghao, Seungkwan, Jeonghan, Joshua ♡

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pyuppy · 2 years ago

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Delicate Eyes - updated for infants

These eyes by @plumbheadsims are my absolute favorites of all time!!! I needed them for my infants too!

This file includes all ages just, including infants as well! These do not count for the supernatural!

(This file is only temporary until an official update is made)

📁dl

#ts4 #ts4cc #sims 4 #sims 4 cc #infants #cc #infant cc #infant update #infants cc

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ladychaos · 7 months ago

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Hi everyone! Even if I was not really active these last months because I've been struggling with IRL stuff, I've spent a lot of time building in StrangerVille when I could. It might be the next world added to my save file, WHO KNOWS. I hope you'll like this build, it's one of my favorite I've ever created.

Take care and stay safe. 💜

Reverie Corner Cove [CC-FREE]

Nestled slightly outside of town and overlooking the StrangerVille creek, Reverie Corner Cove is an unusual house. It looks old and new, industrial and classic, gloomy and bright… In a word: timeless. When Sona Cahill purchased it, it was falling apart. The self-made inventor has been working on it for years, slowly making it a colorful home for her two daughters, whom she raises by herself. From ruins to safe harbor, this place is one made of dreams and imagination.

AVAILABLE IN MY GALLERY

Origin ID: LadyChaosWorlds

You can download Reverie Corner Cove here: [X]

You can download the CahillFamily here: [X]

📁 TRAY FILES : DOWNLOAD (PATREON, FREE)

📁 WANT TO DOWNLOAD THE HOUSEHOLD? [X]

Don’t forget to activate bb.moveobjects before downloading the lot on build mode (not from the map).

[*I’m currently redoing all StrangerVille, creating builds and storylines for the whole world. You can check my progress here.]

#ts4mm #strangerville makeover #sims4 #ts4 #s4 stories #sims 4 builds #s4 residential #sims 4 download #s4 ccfree #s4build #ladychaos #ladychaosworlds #s4 playertested

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svt-reneko · 13 days ago

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📁 — 𖥔 relationships › maknae line › hyung line

masterlist

LEE SEOKMIN

ⵌ ; ship name — ( seokmin + reneko ) renmin

⟢ ; popularity — 90%

For Reneko, DK can light up a whole room just by being there. His kind personality and positivity make him a natural at brightening everyone’s day, no matter the circumstances. From the very beginning, Dokyeom had an effortless way of making her feel welcome—he was one of the first to befriend her, along with Jeonghan, and his warmth made her transition into the group so much easier. He’s constantly checking in on her, whether they’re together in person or apart, always making sure she feels supported. Even something as small as a quick text shows how much he cares. One shake of her head or a quiet “no” from Reneko, and he’s instantly by her side, asking what he can do to help.

KIM MINGYU

ⵌ ; ship name — ( mingyu + reneko ) rengyu

⟢ ; popularity — 97%

COOKING BUDDIES!!!! Whenever Reneko visits Mingyu and Wonwoo’s dorm, she almost always ends up in the kitchen with Mingyu. Whether it’s trying out a new recipe or just throwing random ingredients together to see what happens, cooking with Mingyu is always an adventure. These two have an ability to go viral for the smallest things. Almost every weverse live together, they’ll end up going viral (especially if it involves cooking). Mingyu and Reneko share a bond that’s equal parts teasing and supportive. He’s quick to lend a helping hand or a listening ear when Reneko needs it. Reneko, in turn, always knows how to cheer him up after a long day, whether it’s by teasing him for fun or hyping up his achievements. It’s clear to everyone how much they care for eachother.

XU MINGHAO

ⵌ ; ship name — ( minghao + reneko ) renhao

⟢ ; popularity — 100%

Minghao is the member Reneko is closest to in Seventeen, and the feeling is mutual. When they first met, a language barrier stood between them—both still learning Korean—but that didn’t stop them from becoming friends. Although Joshua is also someone she goes to most of the time when she’s having problems, Minghao too, is her go-to when she’s feeling overwhelmed, always giving her space to open up at her own pace and offering quiet reassurance when she needs it most. Minghao would do anything for her: if she wants to go shopping, his wallet’s already out, and if she’s hungry late at night, he’s already in the kitchen making her favorite snack. It’s no secret to the members that they’re completely head over heels for eachother. They’ve been inseparable since they started dating in March of 2021, though they kept it hidden from the company and the public until early 2024. Now? They’ve stopped caring if anyone catches on, leaving fans and the company to figure it out in their own time.

BOO SEUNGKWAN

ⵌ ; ship name — ( seungkwan + reneko ) kwaneko

⟢ ; popularity — 92%

These two are ALWAYS gossiping together. As soon as Seungkwan hears even the tiniest bit of drama, Reneko is the first person he runs to with the details. The only time they’re not gossiping is when they’re either bickering over the most trivial things or trying to catch their breath from laughing too hard. Seriously, leaving them alone together is a guaranteed recipe for chaos. It’s funny, really, how close they’ve become. Reneko admits that while Seungkwan was incredibly kind and welcoming when she first joined Seventeen’s lineup, she was initially intimidated by him. His loud energy left her wondering how she’d ever keep up. Now, much to her annoyance, he never lets her live that down, bringing it up to tease her every chance he gets.

HANSOL VERNON CHWE

ⵌ ; ship name — ( vernon + reneko ) renon

⟢ ; popularity — 90%

Vernon and Reneko’s friendship is so laid back. They can literally sit in silence, doing nothing for hours, and still be entertained. He always knows how to make Reneko laugh, even if its through their overused inside jokes. And don’t even get me started on his “free English lessons” given to Reneko… She lets a swear in English slip infront of the members, you best believe all fingers immediately point to Vernon. He’ll end up throwing his arms in the air, jaw dropping once accused, acting like he has no idea where she’s picked it up from. These two really dont go out much together, normally finding stuff to do at home like watching stupid cat videos or just simply listening to music.

LEE CHAN

ⵌ ; ship name — ( chan + reneko ) chaneko

⟢ ; popularity — 95%

Basically all these two do together is laugh… literally. They could sit in silence and would still end up doubled over in tears. When it was announced that Reneko was joining, Dino prayed he still wouldn’t be the youngest (that didn’t work out for him). They’re only a few months apart, though, so he uses this as an excuse to say that they share the maknae role. It’s nearly impossible to not smile when theyre around. Their personalities match perfectly, so it was no problem getting to know each other once they met. And now, they rarely get into arguments because of that. They can always be themselves around each other and both of them are grateful for that.

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yun-fangz · 1 year ago

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OFMEKEJWJWJWJWKW THE END?/' AHHHH I BEED TO KNOW WHATS HAPPENING NOW EOWOAOWN

THE ANSWER: XXIV

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers ‘sect.’ pairing: ateez x fem reader genre: cult au, thriller, angst check warnings on AO3

← previous || next → || masterlist chapter word count: 10,791

“What the hell did you say to Hongjoong?”

Seonghwa is quick to start grilling you as soon as San leaves the two of you alone, glaring at you across from the dinner table. It takes you a few seconds to even remember what he could be referring to, that conversation with Hongjoong taking the back seat in your mind to everything else that had happened today.

You set your spoon down, resting your elbows on the table, “I could be asking you the same question.”

Seonghwa scoffs, mirroring your actions. He leans over the table, though, getting closer to you, “Well I asked first.”

Frowning, you look him up and down, trying to make him squirm a little bit. Unfortunately for you, he doesn’t seem to find you very intimidating. In fact, he only leans closer to you, his face basically taking up your entire field of view. “What did Hongjoong say that I said?”

Seonghwa’s eyes flit to your lips, but you pretend like you don’t notice. “He said that you told him we had sex. Among other things.”

“I said no such thing,” you glare back at him, “I only heavily implied it.”

“Why?” Seonghwa wets his lips, “do you want to get me in trouble, Princess?”

You don’t want to be the one to back down from this confrontation, but being this close to Seonghwa without him touching you might actually make you insane. His stupid fucking hot ass fucking face. It’s too distracting.

But… you’re more stubborn than you are uncomfortable. “Only if you want to get me in trouble.” He smiles a bit at that, but you continue, “if you must know, though, I had to use you as a bit of a scapegoat. I figured you wouldn’t mind, considering the lies you’re telling him about San and me.”

“Lies?” Seonghwa says sarcastically, “what ever would I lie about?” The question is clearly rhetorical.

But you answer it anyway. “You told him that San and I are together.”

Seonghwa’s smile grows, “and is that a lie? Aren’t you?”

“Frankly, it’s not Hongjoong’s business, and it’s not yours, either.”

He brings a hand up to rest under his chin, shrugging his free shoulder. “Difference of opinion. Why should I lie to Hongjoong for you?”

“Well, San and I aren’t together,” you shrug as well, hoping he’s not picking up on the fact that you’re lying through your teeth. It’s actually a bit… uncomfortable to lie about it like this. You don’t want to have to deny… whatever it is that you have going on with San, but that’s just how it is. You suck it up and hope that Seonghwa can’t see your internal battle as you spit the words out.

Seonghwa bites his lip, “is that so? So he wouldn’t mind if I…”

You do lean back, then, smacking his elbow out from under him so that his head falls, hopefully shocking him back into reality. “You wish, pervert.”

He catches his head before he actually hits it on the table, gaping at you, his eyes wide as if he can’t believe that you really just did that. Honestly, you’re kind of surprised that you did it, too. Seonghwa is so fucking tempting. But you’re stronger than that…

“Plus, what would he think,” you tip your head in Hongjoong’s direction, not surprised to see him already staring directly at the two of you. He had been congregating with some of the Followers, but his attention is now clearly occupied, a sneer appearing on his face when he catches you looking. “He already thinks we had sex, no?”

Seonghwa looks back over his shoulder to glance at Hongjoong, quickly spinning back to face you when he sees the look on his leader’s face. “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. I had the time of my life trying to explain that I had absolutely no idea what you were talking about.”

You shrug, “I needed some way to get his mind off of the fact that someone told me about Haneul. It worked.”

His eyes really go wide, then, “Haneul? Who the fuck told you about Haneul?”

“You did.” You smile, finally picking your spoon back up to eat some more of your soup. This is a damn good soup, you have to remember to compliment Wooyoung on it… if you guys are on speaking terms. You’re not sure about that.

Seonghwa groans, also resuming eating his dinner. “I’m going to get my ass handed to me, Princess. Why wouldn’t you just tell him the truth?” He pauses, dropping his spoon back into his soup, “ wait, let me guess. San told you?”

You shake your head, taking another bite, ignoring his eyes.

“Who else have you been alone with?”

You shrug again, just to piss him off.

It doesn’t work. “When San attempted to help Haseul with the escapade last night, did he have someone watch you?” Seonghwa smiles in disbelief. “He really covered his bases. Who was it?” He searches your face as if the answer will be plastered on it.

It might be, frankly. “It had to have been Wooyoung. Am I right, Princess? Wooyoung watched you? And told you? How on earth did you get that out of him?”

Staying silent, you opt to keep eating your soup. Wooyoung is the obvious choice, looking at the people that San is close enough to trust with such a secret, so it makes sense that Seonghwa would be able to guess him so easily. But you’re not about to tell Seonghwa that he’s right, so you do your best to keep your face plain.

“Oh, this is quite fun information. What else did he tell you? Did you see his back?”

That must be what Wooyoung had been referring to, where his scars are. But, again, you’re not going to ask questions or make Seonghwa believe that he’s right. The last thing that you want to do is throw Wooyoung under the bus for spilling cult secrets that he clearly shouldn’t have.

Seonghwa leans closer again, whispering, “if I promise to not tell Hongjoong, will you tell me? I’m very curious.”

You also lean in closer, putting your spoon down once more, “absolutely not. But will you tell me about Haneul?”

He rolls his eyes, leaning back into his original position. “No, I won’t. She’s quite a sore subject around here.”

… Yeah, you could’ve guessed that. “Can you at least tell me about Jongho and her?”

“No?” Seonghwa looks at you like you’ve really lost your mind, “that’s not your business, Princess.”

“Oh, so their relationship isn’t my business, but my relationship with San is yours?”

“So you admit to having a relationship with San, then?” Seonghwa smirks, pleased to have finally gotten something out of you.

You sigh, “if you’re jealous, you can just say so.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “why on earth would I be jealous of Choi San? If I wanted you so badly, you would be with me.”

You try to make yourself look disgusted at the mere prospect, “that’s bold, even for you.” You say this like the two of you had never been intimate.

Seonghwa shrugs, looking you up and down before leaning closer once more. “If anything, I’m jealous of his ability to disregard Hongjoong’s orders.” The meaning of this admission isn’t lost on you.

You can’t resist returning the look, letting your eyes linger on the way the sleeves of his shirt strain around his biceps. Personally, you don’t give a damn about Hongjoong’s “orders,” but you’re not about to let Seonghwa win this by giving into him. And you have San to worry about. You lean in closer as well, smiling at Seonghwa.

“You’re a pervert,” you whisper, keeping the smile plastered on your face.

Seonghwa smiles, too, despite scoffing at your comment, “that’s really cute, coming from you, Princess.”

“What is?” San’s voice appears from your side, making the both of you jump backward from each other.

Seonghwa keeps the nasty smile on his face, looking up at San, “perfect timing, San. If you’d left her alone with me any longer…”

San gives you a puzzled look, sliding onto the seat next to you. He doesn’t get himself a meal, which is… a little strange, but you ignore it, going back to eating your own.

He ignores Seonghwa’s comment easily. “I couldn’t miss the announcement, could I?” San asks Seonghwa, smiling tightly across the table.

“Announcement?” You ask, looking between the two of them.

Seonghwa holds a hand up before San can start explaining. “You’ll see, Princess.” He smiles at you like you’re not going to like this announcement at all. “But, San, pray tell, where did you just run off to?”

San gives you a sideways glance, and you can only imagine that he probably was doing something that you wouldn’t exactly care for. “I had a conversation that needed to be held, privately.”

Seonghwa raises his eyebrows, “is that so? What ever about? Whomever with?” He asks these questions as if he knows perfectly well their answers, but wants to hear San admit it anyhow. “Why couldn’t your dear (Y/n) be in attendance?”

You honestly aren’t really sure what San means, but the only explanation that you can think is… he apologized to Mingi? That would honestly make you rather happy, though, so you’re not sure why he wouldn’t want to say it in front of you. Maybe Seonghwa truly doesn’t know, and he wants to keep it that way? You’re honestly not too bothered by the fact that he doesn’t want to say.

Before San can respond, the cafeteria falls completely silent.

You twist in your seat to face the front of the room, not at all surprised to see Hongjoong standing there, his hands folded behind his back. He still has that weird outfit on, the ties of the robe dangling down, brushing against his knees with each small movement he makes.

He looks to you, then, giving you a sideways smile before turning back to address the room.

“It is with great joy that I make this announcement tonight.” The cafeteria is just as silent as the chapel. You look around, not at all surprised to see that not a single pair of eyes aren’t on Hongjoong. “Finally, we are prepared to start our harvest season.”

A gentle applause starts, much like the kind you would expect at some sort of… gala, or something. Hongjoong holds a hand up and it immediately halts, everyone in the room once again waiting with baited breath. “Of course, this indicates the start of prosperous times for our group,” he gives you another glance, “but it also invites upon us some of the most troublesome ceremonies and events, as well as opening the door to… unwelcome possibilities.”

… Yeah, whatever the hell that means.

“As harvest will commence in the morning, our first event will happen during our morning gathering. I expect everyone to be in attendance, including children and those otherwise excused. It’s important that we are united as a group, as you all very well know.”

Everyone? Does that include Haseul? Surely it does, even if she hasn’t had a Choosing Ceremony. You want to believe that you’ll get to see your friend, but… You’re not sure. Hongjoong probably will keep her from you as long as he can; keep you on his little leash until he’s decided that you’re obedient enough again.

He waits, holding the attention of the room for a second longer, a tense look on his face. “You all must know that I don’t say these things to scare you. But the harvest season is trying for the Sign, and our connection is in peril every second that…” Hongjoong clears his throat around the words. “That we leave it unguarded. Those participating in the morning ceremony will be notified tonight.”

With that, he turns away from the center of the cafeteria, eyes locking onto your table. Conversation picks back up as he strides toward the three of you, a smile replacing the tenseness.

“Let me guess,” you say to neither Seonghwa nor San in particular, “I’m about to be notified of something?”

Seonghwa smirks, “you can be so bright sometimes.”

“(Y/n)!” Hongjoong calls your name when he’s a few feet away, closing the distance enough to rest a hand on your shoulder before asking, “Are you excited for your first harvest?”

You blink up at him, amazed that he still even bothers, “you just made it sound like something to be weary of, rather than excited for.”

He shrugs, squeezing your shoulder once before releasing you to sit next to Seonghwa. “We haven’t covered the Guardians yet.”

“The what now?”

Hongjoong waves his hand in the air to dismiss your question, “you’ll learn in due time.”

For a second, you think that Seonghwa even rolls his eyes, but that would be truly unfathomable. You’re happy enough to write off whatever the fuck the ‘Guardians’ are. The last thing you want right now is another lesson in cult lore.

“Anyhow,” he clasps his hands, resting them on the table. “You’ll be participating in the ceremony tomorrow. Its a fun one, too.”

You look at San, though he’s looking anywhere but at you. Turning back to Hongjoong, you ask, “do I get to know what this ceremony entails ahead of time, or are you going to surprise stab me again?” You’re honestly surprised by how bold you feel, given everything that’s happened. Maybe seeing him cry reduces him a little bit… no, that’s not it. Whatever it was, you’re just not feeling particularly intimidated by Hongjoong at the moment, surprisingly.

Hongjoong waves a hand in the air, “there’s no need to be so dramatic, (Y/n).”

Honestly, you still think it was a fair question. But you feel lucky that he’s clearly in the bantering mood as well.

“You’ve already been Chosen; you won’t have to prove yourself again,” San offers, albeit rather quietly and more so to himself than to you.

“I feel that its best that you’re prepared for the ceremony,” Hongjoong ignores San’s comment, “Seonghwa can cover it with you.”

Seonghwa jerks his head toward his leader. “I can? I thought I wa—”

Hongjoong smiles, stopping Seonghwa in his tracks. “You’ll do as I say.”

He only nods in response, turning away from Hongjoong. To your relief, he doesn’t lay a glare on you once more, returning to his meal instead.

“San, let’s talk privately for a moment,” Hongjoong rises, beckoning San to follow him. San furrows his brows, but stands anyway, following Hongjoong until they’re out of earshot from your table.

You turn your attention back to Seonghwa. “Let me hear it.”

He drops his spoon again, looking annoyed at the prospect of having to spend anymore time with you. “I need a copy of The Answer to properly explain it.”

“You’re telling me you don’t keep one on yourself at all times?”

Seonghwa blinks at you. Leaning back, he unbuttons his jacket, reaching a hand to the inside pocket. Low and behold, he pulls a copy of The Answer from the interior pocket, gently placing it onto the table between you two.

You had been half joking.

He buttons his jacket again, sliding his tray away from himself. Wordlessly, he picks up the book, flipping to the back pages before landing on whatever page he was searching for. He turns his wrist, showing you the page.

Highlighted in yellow and underlined maybe five times is the title:

HARVEST PRACTICES

The chapter that follows is broken into a few different sections, from what you can see on the pages in view. The first subtitle reads:

INVOCATION AND PROTECTION

“Your hand is shaking too much for me to read that,” you complain, grabbing the book from Seonghwa’s hands. You slide your own tray away, setting the book on the table to read.

The text continues.

Perhaps one of the most strenuous times a year comes during harvest season. Though the crop can be bountiful and the blessings many, there are also dangers that follow. This implicates the necessity to instate a protective guard around our group; a ward to protect ourselves so as to protect our Clones.

On the first day of the harvest, the following ceremony must be conducted to insure safety throughout the season. The steps are outlined here; however HONGJOONG may adapt these provisions as he sees fit per the requirements of the year.

Typical ceremony regalia should be worn by all Followers. Ten Followers are chosen at random to participate in the ceremony.

Participation is mandatory once selected; certain Followers may be required to participate every year due to their given role in Universe One.

At 6 A.M. The ceremony begins. The ten Followers link hands in a circle.

They recite the following incantation, taking three steps to the left following each break.

On this day we make our vow.

The Answer is near; we shall not wonder or fear.

I myself am mighty and true. My blood will protect and provide anew

The barrier is weak.

United, we cast away the evil that would do us harm. We uninvite the spirits that dance between this Universe and the next.

Following the incantation, each member shall raise their hands. The ceremonial blade is presented, and each Follower shall gently open their left palm, letting the blood drop into the center of the circle while reciting:

I offer this vessel of myself for the betterment of the community. My blood banishes the evil from them, and calls it toward me. I swear this today and everyday.

At the completion of each vow, the final words will be said:

We call upon you to stay away.

The Sacrifice will then be presented. It is to be left on the altar for one day.

This is the conclusion of the ceremony.

This ceremony is not infallible. Should trouble arise before, during, or after, HONGJOONG and designated Followers will resolve the issue.

You stop reading, looking up at Seonghwa. “Sacrifice?”

He nods.

“That’s, like, pretty cliche,” you frown, “and that rhyme sucks.”

“Be more respectful.” Seonghwa mirrors your frown, “Hongjoong isn’t a poet, he’s a prophet.”

“Really? I thought he was God?”

Seonghwa only gives you a more exasperated look, rolling his eyes.

You scan over the ceremony again, trying to make sure you’re getting the details correct. “What’s this about ‘calling the evil towards me?’ And the blood? Is that really necessary?”

He glances over your shoulder, a relieved expression gracing his features, “San, you have a knack for perfect timing today.”

You turn to look back and, sure enough, San is approaching your table again.

San looks between you, Seonghwa, and the copy of The Answer in your hands, putting the pieces together. “Questions?”

“A few,” you mutter, suddenly not very interested. You don’t mind pestering Seonghwa for answers to all of your questions, but you aren’t keen on asking San the same way. “But it can wait. What did Hongjoong want?”

San takes his place next to you again, shrugging as he does so. “He was just letting me know the plan for tomorrow.”

Seonghwa reaches for his book, plucking it out of your hands before you can respond to San. “I trust you won’t be needing my copy, anymore.”

Resisting the urge to mock him, you respond to San instead. “Such as…?”

“When to be there, how to help you dress, so on.”

So on… Why does it feel like there’s a lot more emphasis on the ending of that list? They had been gone for a good five minutes, there had to be more than that, surely. Why wouldn’t San tell you the whole truth? What good would that do for him?

You stay quiet, trying to ignore your suspicions. If you can’t trust San, who can you trust?

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

It turns out that you have to wake up significantly more early than usual.

San shakes you awake at four, ignoring your pleas for five more minutes. “I waited as long as I could, (Y/n).”

You grumble and moan, but find it in yourself to get out of bed. For Haseul. That’s what you tell yourself. All of this is for Haseul. Your cooperation is for her. Had she not been here, you’d be kicking and screaming the whole way.

But, unfortunately, Hongjoong figured out how to play you like a damn fiddle. So here you are, tugging on the same black dress pants that you had put on… what, three weeks ago? A month ago? Longer? You have no idea.

You manage to button your shirt correctly this time, though your face burns at the memory of Seonghwa having to help you dress. What had happened to you? You never would have thought that the day would come where you would voluntarily wear this… cult regalia.

San watches, already fully dressed by the time that he woke you up. You have to admit that he looks handsome in all black, the clothes clearly tailored to fit him. Two or three silver necklaces hang down his chest, matching rings gracing his fingers. He hasn’t put his mask on, yet, or his hat, leaving his features exposed in the security of your apartment.

“Let me help,” he offers, squatting to his knees to help you tie your boots as you pull them on. He ties your right shoe as you tie your left, lacing them with the deftness of well-trained hands.

Of course, he finishes before you do. He takes over tying your left shoe, smiling up at you as you yield the laces to him. “Thank you.”

He only pats your knee, standing back up and offering his hand to you. You take it and rise as well, glancing at the clock. 4:29.

The ceremony starts at 6. You’re not really sure why you have to be in positions so early, but… whatever. You’re not going to fight it. You can do this, you’re sure of it. For Haseul, you’ll do it.

San opens the wardrobe, grabbing your two hats off of the top shelf. Had you ever noticed them sitting there? You’re not sure. Maybe someone had brought them in.

He hands you yours, swirling his around on his finger instead of putting it on. “How are you feeling?”

You put the hat on. “Fine.”

“You sure?” He sounds genuine enough, and you don’t doubt that he’s at least a little worried for you. And, obviously, given the circumstances with Haseul…

“I just hope I don’t fuck up.”

San frowns, reaching for your hand. You let him take it.

“Everything will be fine,” he promises, rubbing your hand with his. “It’ll be over before you know it!”

Forcing a smile, you nod. He’s probably right. If you just grit your teeth and bare it, the whole thing will be over as quickly as you can say the stupid little incantation. There’s no reason to be afraid or worried.

… That’s what you really want to believe. But you can’t bring yourself to think that it will actually be that easy. Something is going to happen. Something bad. You’re sure of it, now, in this moment. You’re more sure of it than anything else.

Hongjoong won’t just let this happen. He won’t just let this pan out easily. He has something planned, and you’re sure that it’s something terrible…

The sacrifice mentioned in the steps… you had never had the chance to ask about it. Something is going to happen then, you’re sure. At the moment of the sacrifice or the moment that it’s presented, it’s going to be something beyond even your imagination.

Hongjoong’s insanity knows no bounds, and that is something that you know for a positive fact. He can’t just have something go well or normally when you’re involved. He will have to stick his fingers in the pie, have to meddle to make something happen.

Your stomach flips as you consider the possibilities. You suddenly feel woozy.

“Hey,” San calls your attention back to the moment at hand, grabbing your other arm with his free hand. “Are you alright?”

You blink at him, “Just a little lightheaded is all.”

“Do you want something to eat?” He starts to pull you toward the kitchenette, but the thought of eating only makes your stomach feel heavier.

Planting your feet, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m fine. I just want to get this over with.”

You’re not lying. If something is going to happen (when something is going to happen), you would rather just have it be done and have it be over.

Whatever it is, you’re sure that you can survive it. You’ve made it this far without losing your wits or dying, you’re sure that you can make it through a ten minute ordeal. Even if it is particularly nasty or horrible.

Fuck, you just hope the sacrifice isn’t a person. You’re, like, sixty percent sure that it won’t be, but… that forty percent is still a question mark. At least you know it won’t be you.

That’s probably not the right mindset. But, hey, that’s life, isn’t it?

San looks between you and the clock, looking disappointed. “I guess we don’t really have time, anyhow. I’m sorry.” He apologizes, dropping his hands from you.

You brush off the apology, following him as he leaves the room and approaches your door.

“You’re sure that you’re okay?” San asks again, pausing by your front door. “I can make up some excuse if I have to.”

You don’t have to force a smile, this time. “I’m going to be fine as soon as this is over.”

He nods in acceptance, opening the door and holding it open for you.

The two of you head to the chapel in silence, other Followers wearing their all-black regalia crowding the hallways and stairwells. A few people smile and wave at you, though you can’t really say that you recognize them.

As you squeeze through the halls, you wonder where Haseul is being kept. In one of the single rooms, you’re sure, but which one…

You almost have the urge to start knocking on every door on the women’s floor, jangle each doorknob and greet each person until you find her…

But that would be silly, and you know that. You’d only be punished if you went looking for her. Worse, she would probably be punished for your stupidity, too.

That’s not going to happen.

So you fight the feeling, just as you fought your panic. Your stomach is still a wreck as you follow San. You don’t hold his hand, not in public, but you wish that you could grab him for some semblance of comfort.

He would take your hand if you tried, you realize. Clearly, he doesn’t have much of an issue speaking about your relationship, at least with Mingi.

The memory of their argument brings a sour expression to your face. You’re still not very pleased with how San had acted, or with how Mingi had, either. Even after the apology…

And San never confirmed that he apologized to Mingi. Well, you had never asked him.

But whatever. That has to be a problem for another day, for another you. Or at least for the you of three hours from now. You can’t go into this being pissed at basically the only two people that you like here.

That doesn’t give much credit to Nayeon or Yunho or Wooyoung or Yeosang, you realize, but whatever. You don’t need to be debating who your friends are and who your friends aren’t.

After what happened with Wooyoung, anyways, would you really consider him a friend? Had you really processed any of what he had told you? What the fuck.

Your head swims with the reality of everything that has been happening to you in the past couple days. You’ve experienced enough goddamn trauma to let Dr. Phil run another 12 seasons on you alone. Fucking hell. Literally what the fuck.

You finally reach the big doors, relishing the feeling of stepping into the cool outside air. The hallways had been stuffy with the weight of all of the Followers, and the sudden breeze is refreshing; especially given your fucking outfit.

The sun hasn’t even poked above the horizon, yet. You wouldn’t even call it dawn. But you don’t have to squint to make out the chapel in this distance.

The sea of Followers in front of you lead the way to the holy place, a swarm of black across the farm.

You wonder how many of them there really are. If Hongjoong said that everyone had to attend this ceremony… fuck. There’s a lot of people. Just the people you can see outside seem to outnumber what you would have originally thought.

How in the world had Hongjoong recruited so many people?

How many of these people actually believed every word that he said? You’d have to assume most of them. What would they do to make him happy? To keep him happy?

The thought sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine, only making your stomach worse.

The walk isn’t long, and you soon find yourself passing the doors that are being held open by the swarm of people crowding through them.

It’s fuller than you’ve ever seen it, the chapel. Some people are already seated in the pews, chatting with their peers. The majority of the Followers, however, are still standing, mingling in the aisle.

You follow San’s lead, presuming that he’ll take you wherever you need to be. He goes about halfway to the front of the chapel, stopping in a less-populated area of the aisle in what you assume is an attempt to make you calmer. You’re not sure that it helps, but you appreciate the gesture, anyhow.

You wonder who the other Followers that were chosen for the ceremony are. Will anyone that you know be up there to comfort you? It probably wouldn’t make a difference, but at least one familiar face would be welcome.

As you glance around the room, you find your eyes tugging toward the Sign of the Answer, the huge one on the wall. Hongjoong’s chair is gone in preparation for the ceremony, so you’re able to see it in all of its glory. Per usual, the chapel is lit by candles, and the light glints off of the Sign exactly how you remember it looking the night that you had been Chosen. The memory makes you more nervous.

San puts a hand on your arm, calling your attention back to him. You glance at his face first, only to see him looking ahead as someone approaches. For a split second, you’re worried that its going to be Mingi.

But it’s only Wooyoung, you realize.

He stops in front of you, two glasses in his hands. “Hello,” he greets you, looking between the two of you.

San returns the hello, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. Something about the sight of him disturbs you. And the glasses in his hands.

He gets straight to business.

“Drink this,” Wooyoung holds out a champagne glass filled with something that is decidedly not champagne. Instead of sparkling, yellow liquid, this is a flat, blood red.

You hesitantly take the stem, tilting the glass to watch the liquid move. Thankfully, it doesn’t actually seem to be blood. You take a sniff, not all that surprised to smell the familiar red wine scent.

“It’s just wine. For the nerves.”

Shrugging, you take a sip. He’s not lying, but… “Last time you fed me in this room you also drugged me.”

Wooyoung mirrors your shrug. “Don’t drink it then.”

You glance at San, who also shrugs.

“Well fuck it, then.” In an action reminiscent of your college days, you down the glass; ignoring the bitterness as best you can.

Wooyoung takes the glass back from you. “Good luck, then.”

He excuses himself, wandering back into the crowd with the other glass. You assume that he’s handing them out to all of the participating Followers, but you opt to stop watching him to look back at San.

“Do you think that was drugged?” You ask San, rubbing your palms on your jacket.

His eyes go wide, “I wouldn’t have let you drink it if I thought it was!”

“I’m not sure I trust Hongjoong that much.”

“I do.” San puts a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it gently. His words don’t offer you any comfort, but the hand is pleasant enough.

Well, you’ll know soon enough, anyhow. Maybe this would all go a lot more smoothly if you were drugged, somehow. Your heart feels like a damn jackhammer in your chest.

You try to look around, wanting to spot any familiar face in the crowd for any sense of comfort. It’s just so damn hard with everyone dressed like the fucking grim reaper. You think that you spot Nayeon, briefly, her long brown hair contrasting beautifully to the fitted black of her coat.

Yunho is hard to miss, his height only exaggerated by the hat atop his head. You’re not entirely sure where you stand with him, though, given your place with Mingi. If Mingi’s still pissed at you (which, to give him credit, you’re not sure if he is), Yunho probably is too.

Speaking of Mingi, he approaches Yunho, his own height rather hard to miss in the crowd. He grabs his friend’s shoulder, exclaiming something that’s a bit too quiet for you to make out. But you know Mingi’s voice when you hear it.

After this, you have to talk to Mingi. Even though you might be a little… upset? Disappointed? At his outburst and his childish behavior, you have to make things right by him. Yunho, too, you suppose.

You still hold out hope that Haseul will make an appearance, though you’re sure Hongjoong made arrangements to keep her away. Though… if Mingi is here, who's watching her? It probably wouldn’t be hard to find someone else, but someone else that Hongjoong trusted that much… that’s a different story. You know that you should probably just drop it, but there’s something in you that feels like she’ll show up… you certainly have a lot of feelings, this morning.

A hand wraps around your elbow, startling you. You don’t have to look to recognize Hongjoong, his touch alone enough to identify him, burning hot even through your jacket.

“(Y/n),” he purrs, holding you close to him, “how are you feeling?”

You try to pull your arm away, to no avail. “Like I’m going to be sick.”

Hongjoong laughs, “you’ll be completely fine. You’re not the sacrifice.”

That doesn’t do anything to calm your nerves. That’s not what you’re worried about. And you’d rather not have to play one of his stupid games. “I have a sense that some anvil is about to fall on my head.”

“Hmmm,” he hums, “maybe. Maybe not. It depends on what you’re picturing.”

“I’m picturing what you wrote in The Answer.” You force the words out through gritted teeth. It’s so fucking annoying when he does this; when he doesn’t just speak his mind. You’d much prefer him telling you that, yeah, you’re about to be grievously harmed than have him just dangle the thought in front of your eyes.

“Well, either way, I’m sure you understand what will happen if you disrupt the ceremony.” Hongjoong’s voice is laced with that sickening smile of his, “or if you fail to complete your part in it.”

He’s right, he doesn’t need to remind you in the slightest. You can only imagine the fear that Haseul is in right now, but your own fear for her must be ten times worse. The idea of Hongjoong putting his hands on her makes your gut churn.

The fact that he backed you into such a perfect corner is almost sickening. It pisses you off to no end. Why did he have to bring her into this? Not that you would want him to use this treatment on Mingi, but, like, fuck, he at least already had him here. Was it really necessary to involve a completely innocent girl?

If you didn’t care what happened to her, you might just spit in the man’s face at this very second.

“I get it, Hongjoong.”

“Then you’ll do great!” He releases your arm, opting to pat your shoulder a couple times. “Simply stick to the outline. Do your part. And it’ll be over quickly.”

You take a deep breath, “Hongjoong,” you hope that saying his name will make him listen to you, “can I see her, afterword?”

His hand stops on your shoulder, squeezing. “Let’s see how you fare, first.” His voice seems harder with these words, more sharp. Hopefully that wasn’t some sort of huge overstep to him.

He cuts off the conversation at that, leaving your side to rejoin the crowd of Followers. He’s wearing the same outfit he had been wearing yesterday, the shiny material catching the light of the candles ever so as he moves.

“San,” you turn toward where San was standing, only to find him gone. You whirl around in a circle in a way that must look comical, searching for where he could have gone off to. He doesn’t appear to be in your near vicinity, somehow completely, wordlessly disappeared.

Dread swirls in your stomach. You were going to ask him if he knew what the sacrifice was going to be, finally reminded.

As if commanded by some outside force, the majority of the Followers suddenly stop their conversations. The room falls silent as people make their ways to their usual pews, sliding silently into their seats.

Per usual, you’ve been left out of the loop.

Without San to guide you into place, you really have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing. You look toward the front of the chapel, expecting to find Hongjoong glaring at you, but not even he is there to tell you what to do.

Looking around to the other Followers that are still standing, you’re mildly surprised to see Yunho only a couple feet away. He catches your eye, tipping his head toward the front of the room in signal. He starts walking, so you start walking.

You’re hyper aware of the sound of your footsteps on the wood floors, your boots clicking with each step. Yunho’s do, too. The steps are the only sound in the chapel.

With bated breath, you reach the front of the room. You glance toward your usual pew, hoping to see San sitting in your spot. He’s not, however, only making the rock in your stomach that much heavier.

Yunho steps up onto the little stage, offering you his hand to help with the step up. You take it, joining him and turning toward the congregation of Followers. From this angle, you can see… it takes you a second to count the heads… eight other Followers approaching the stage. You try to find Hongjoong among them, but he’s not there. Neither is San.

After what feels like forever, Yunho and yourself are joined by the others. You read this part, you feel okay about it. Well, not okay okay, but, like, you know. At least you know what to expect.

Yunho grabs your left hand, as someone you can’t recall the name of takes the place to your right; taking that hand into theirs.

The ten of you link into a circle, hand-in-hand.

You had kind of expected there to be more guidance from Hongjoong in this process. A narration or a sort of sermon over the top of your actions, but Hongjoong remains unseen and unheard as the Followers around you start their recitation.

“On this day we make our vow,” you don’t jump into the speech until the next sentence, unsure of how they knew that it was time to start. “From henceforth we pledge ourselves.”

You take three steps to your left. The Sign of the Answer twinkles in your peripheral vision. The Followers in the pews have their heads bowed.

“The Answer is near. We shall not wonder or fear.”

Three more steps.

“I myself am mighty and true. My blood will protect and provide anew.”

Three more steps to the left. This time, you almost step on Yunho’s toes. You try to look at the other Followers in your circle, but their heads are similarly bowed. You look back down at your feet. You’re lightheaded.

“The barrier is weak.”

Your hands float upwards, along with the rest of the circle’s. Still connected, everyone’s hands hang in the air of the center of the circle.

“United, we cast away the evil that would do us harm. We uninvite the spirits that dance between this Universe and the next.”

Someone, you’re not sure who, breaks the circle first. Your eyes are closed, you realize. You open them only when Yunho’s hand leaves your own; barely hearing his hushed whispering at your side. Before you know it, the knife is in your own hands.

It’s already sparkling with blood. At least Yunho’s. The lowlight makes it hard to see, but the Sign of the Answer does a beautiful job of illuminating just enough to reawaken your nausea. What the fuck is happening, right now? What the fuck are you about to do?

Yunho’s blood drips down the blade and onto your hand. It’s warm.

You’re sure that you’re going to faint.

But you hold the blade to your left hand, anyways, saying the words as quietly as you can. Surely, this is all just some batshit insane cult ceremony, but the weight of speaking them outloud is still sickening.

“I offer this vessel of myself for the betterment of the community. My blood banishes the evil from them, and calls it toward me. I swear this today and everyday.”

You swipe the blade across your palm, handing it off to the Follower next to you as fast as you can manage. You close your eyes again. Your hand burns. You almost think that you can hear your blood, dropping from your palm and hitting the floor.

At some point, the last person finishes. The knife clatters to the floor, the only sound in the chapel. You know to take three more steps to the left. And to finish the words.

“We call upon you to stay away.”

The scream makes you open your eyes.

Disorientated, you realize that you’re facing away from the crowd, staring directly at the Sign. But it’s not glowing anymore.

You turn around, blinded. Every candle in the chapel has gone out.

Was that the source of the scream? The lights going out? What the fuc—

The door behind the stage slams open. You jump again, spinning back as though you’d be able to see anything, anyhow.

Someone in the audience wails.

Are they seeing something that you’re not? Your heart pounds hard, so so hard. Is this panic? The spell? A heart attack?

You need to sit down. Yunho grabs your hand before you can stumble off of the stage. He pulls you behind him, keeping the arm behind his back to hold you there.

You fist the back of his coat, probably soiling the material with your blood, but it’s all you can do to keep yourself standing upright. The urge to vomit hits you again, but you prevail, closing your eyes as tight as you can.

Is this supposed to happen? This wasn’t in the outline. Are you meant to feel like such shit right now?

How did all of the candles go out?

Who the fuck is interrupting?

Something, or someone, drops in the middle of the circle.

You open your eyes again, peering around Yunho. The rest of the circle had stayed in place.

At the center of your circle, now, is a head.

Not a human head, thank God, but a pig’s. Your stomach still revolts, still tumbling over and over itself as you slide back into your spot in the circle. You clamp onto Yunho’s hand like its the only thing that you’ve ever known, grounding yourself the only way that you can.

Its still so dark. You close your eyes again

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do now. Is it over? You hope to God that its over. You can’t take another goddamned minute of thi—

You open your eyes at the same instant that Yunho yells. Everything happens so fucking fast.

Yunho falls backward, off of the stage. You process this secondly. Chiefly, however, your attention is caught by the figure now in front of you, where the pig head had been seconds before.

It’s huge. You can’t comprehend it entirely, what it is that you’re seeing. It doesn’t even look human. It grabs your now vacant hand, pulling you away from the Followers.

There’s a collective scream behind you, and you’re not surprised to realize that you’re also screaming.

You try to look into the face. But it doesn’t have a face. It’s nothing. Is this death?

You’re falling backwards, now. Before you know it, you’re on the ground, curling in on yourself.

Someone turns the overhead lights on. You cradle your hands to your chest, aware of the fact that you’re crying. The tears are hot on your cheeks. The blood is hot on your hands. The feeling of that, that, fucking thing making you want to retch.

What the fuck was that? What the fuck?

Hongjoong appears at your side, his face blurry. From your tears, from the panic? You’re not sure.

He asks if you’re okay. You can’t answer him. You close your eyes again.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

In your sleep, you see it again.

Even in this instance, you can’t tell what it is. It’s shaped like a person, but you can’t look directly at it. You know that if you look, it won’t have a face.

In your dream, it’s even bigger than it was. It towers over you, grabbing you over and over, your screaming and begging doing nothing to appease it.

You can see its hands as they reach, as they latch onto you. They’re white. But they’re not skin. It’s cloth, you realize, gloves.

The rest of it is white, too. But it certainly doesn’t look like clothing. You couldn’t ever explain it to someone if they asked, and you’re much too terrified to go digging into the details.

All you know is that it doesn’t have a face. It’s not natural. Every part of you hates every part of this thing.

You want to wake up.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

And so you do, in the infirmary.

The first thing you see are the familiar ceiling tiles. The second thing is Hongjoong.

You startle awake, twitching in on yourself as you try to sit up.

Hongjoong sucks in a breath, though he doesn’t get to his feet to help you. He’s still wearing that outfit.

You’re still wearing yours, you realize. The pants rub uncomfortably against the blanket laying over you. You’re able to sit up easily enough, and you’re relieved to realize that nothing hurts. You feel fine.

“So, do you believe me now?” Hongjoong asks once you’re up, but he’s not smiling in triumph as you would’ve imagined.

“What the fuck was that thing?”

Hongjoong sighs, “Exactly what I was trying to protect us from. A guardian.”

You blink at him, dumbfounded. There’s literally no fucking way in hell that Hongjoong has been right about any of this. He’s insane. He is fully, entirely, batshit insane.

You can’t explain away whatever the fuck just happened, but you’re not about to accept that he’s been telling you the truth. That there are alternate universes and demons that can jump between them. That’s not real life. That’s not how the world works.

Whatever just happened, whatever that was, there’s a reasonable explanation. Surely.

Though you can’t imagine what that explanation would be, it must exist. The last fucking thing in the world that you’re going to do now is believe in Hongjoong. Like, what the fuck? What the fuck? Why would you fucking believe in a fucking religion that has fucking faceless demons fucking running around freely? You wouldn’t. You refuse. You will not.

Even if that is the only explanation for the thing in white, you are not going to believe it. You would sooner believe that you have a hallucination disorder than accept that Hongjoong is right about anything.

Thinking about it, you probably would have to have some sort of psychosis to accept any of this. But, then again, this is exactly the sort of thing that would trigger psychosis…

You’re thinking way too fucking hard about this. It is simple. Hongjoong is a freak.

“Where’s San?” The question is natural.

Hongjoong raises his eyebrows, “Interesting follow-up question. I thought it best to separate you two for now.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he stands up. “How is your hand?”

You had honestly forgotten about it. Holding it up, you examine your bandage. “Fine.”

The two of you stay in silence. Hongjoong seems mad.

“Is that really all you’re going to ask?” He asks, almost sounding whiny. Like a child.

It’s certainly all you’re going to ask him. He’ll only lie to you. “Can I see Seonghwa?” You ask instead.

Hongjoong scoffs. He brushes his hair back, looking around the room as if he’s expecting some live studio audience to empathize with him. “I know you’re not fucking him.”

You shrug. “Are you okay, Hongjoong?”

His face falls flat. He crosses his arms over his chest, turning to fully face you again. “I’m great.” The words are strained. You’ve never known Hongjoong to be a bad liar.

“You seem kinda pissed.”

“I am not—” He closes his eyes, bringing a hand up to his forehead. “I’m fine. I’ll have Seonghwa come visit, since you clearly won’t be speaking to me.” He says this like he expects you to apologize. But what the hell would you apologize for?

Hongjoong leaves without another word once it becomes clear that you won’t be giving him what he wants. You’re sure that he expected more crying, more fear, more begging and pleading for answers.

You save that for once you’re sure that he’s gone.

Trembling, you pull your knees to your chest. Your fingers twitch with fear, your hair feels foreignly heavy, your wrist burns and burns where the thing had touched you.

You refuse to believe that it was real. It cannot be real. None of this can be real. There was some trick, some show, some plan that you weren’t privy to. Seonghwa will tell you. He’ll have to tell you. He’s honest, most of the time. He’ll explain it away, he’ll tell you how Hongjoong did it and why it seemed so real.

Where was its face?

How had they done that? Where the fact should have been, there was nothing. You couldn’t even say that it was a color. It was a void. An emptiness. There was nothing there.

The memory makes you dizzy. You lean back against the pillows, praying to God that you’re not going insane. Had you really seen that? You couldn’t have. Because that’s just not something that’s possible.

If Seonghwa can’t explain this, you might go crazy. You might. What else is there to do? It wasn’t real. But the fear that you’re feeling now certainly is.

What if it comes back? What if they make it come back? What was it? Where was its face?

Even though whatever the fuck that was wasn’t real, the memory certainly is. You’re going to be lucky to sleep soundly one night for the rest of your damn life. What the fuck.

Seonghwa lets himself into the room only a few minutes after Hongjoong had left.

“You like me so much that you ask for me now?” He smirks, approaching your side.

His face falls flat when he takes a good look at you. “Stop that. Why are you crying?”

“Seonghwa.” You feel that it’s quite obvious why you’re crying.

He only blinks at you.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice shakes with the question.

“I—” He starts, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “Its complicated.”

You cover your face with your hands. “Was it real? Just be honest.”

You can’t see his reaction to your question, and he doesn’t answer it, either.

“What was it?” You moan, hardly able to even spit the words out. To basically admit to Seonghwa that you were scared.

“I think it would be better if you talked to Hongjoo—”

“I am not talking to Hongjoong!”

You take your hands away from your face, needing to look at him. You hate him. You hate him more than fucking anything. Why can’t he just be honest? Why is he Hongjoong’s little fucking doll? Why does he worship him to such a degree when he’s this fucking evil? Where would he draw the line?

Seonghwa is stunned into silence. He only stares down at you.

“All I can say is that I didn’t know it was going to happen.”

He looks blurry through your tears, only making you angrier as you recall Hongjoong looking the same way.

“Stop bullshitting me, please, Seonghwa,” you beg. “I think I’ll go insane if you don’t fucking answer me.”

He turns away from your bed, striding to one of the medicine cabinets in an attempt to look anywhere but your face. He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead momentarily.

“What do you want to hear?” He asks, turning back toward you, though he keeps his distance. “Would you rather know what Hongjoong is capable of or would you rather keep the comforting thought that he’s right? Wouldn’t that just be easier for everybody?”

“You’re saying that Hongjoong can do things scarier than the thought of fucking interdimensional demons being real?” You throw your hands out in front of you, almost yelling in frustration.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying! Yes!” Seonghwa matches your tone. “He’s only going to come at you harder. He exists to make you break! Just fucking accept the truth for what he says that it is, and everything will come easily!”

“I’m not going to do that!”

Seonghwa laughs bitterly. “I’m sure you believe that, too, Princess.”

You stare back at him, sure that you look insane. “Can you be genuine for one fucking second?”

His face contorts into a scowl. “I’ve never been anything but genuine with you. You’re the one that deludes yourself.” He strides back to the door, freezing in the frame. “Is there anything else you wish to fling at me?”

“I’m taking this to mean that it wasn’t real.”

“If that helps you sleep at night.”

Seonghwa leaves.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Can you bear some girl time? You’re not sure as Nayeon lets herself in, walking casually into the room as if the literal antichrist of her religion didn’t just make a physical appearance before her.

“How are we feeling?” She asks, dragging out the vowel sounds in her question.

“Uhm,” you look at your hand, the only injured part of your body, “fine, I guess.”

“Perfect!” She smiles, reaching out to put her hand under yours. “The bandage looks fine. I don’t think it’ll reopen.”

Nayeon had found time to change her clothes. She’s back to her usual farm girl outfit, smiling and happy.

“Are you alright, Nayeon?” You ask, curious to know what a regular Follower made of what the fuck happened.

She frowns, and then shrugs, and then smiles again. “I mean, it was, like, a bit scary. But Hongjoong made it go away, and he’s always with us, so it’s not like it can come back to hurt us. I was definitely scared at first, but then he showed up and I knew it would be okay.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, slowly. Nayeon has always been a valuable source of information for you.

“It was just so valiant; do you remember how he saved you?” She giggles, “he still has it going for you. It’s amazing.”

You shake your head. “I can’t say that I remember much…” Other than the fucking maw of emptiness.

“Oh, well I got you.” She pulls up one of her rolling stools, sitting herself down right next to your bed. “So the ceremony went great. Textbook, really. But as it was finishing… I guess I’m not really sure how it happened, either. Like, one second everything was fine, and the next Yunho was on the ground— he’s fine, by the way; wind knocked out of him, but yeah, anyways— and the Guardian was there and everyone was screaming, it was so scary. I guess it grabbed you… and then Hongjoong appeared and it was like his presence just scared it away. I didn’t see what happened exactly… but the next thing I knew you were on the ground and Hongjoong was hollering for my help.”

She shrugs.

What you gather from that is that she didn’t see how it got there or how it left. Good signs, probably. She’d certainly remember seeing something… appear out of thin air. You almost want to smile. What a silly thought, that that could have all been real… haha… ha… yeah, funny…

“I see…” You respond, not sure what you’re supposed to say, “how much time has passed?”

Nayeon looks at her watch, “like, three hours.”

Great. Perfect, actually. It would be very unfortunate to find out that you had been unconscious for a week again, especially given the circumstances with Haseul. She’s probably already freaking out, but not hearing anything from you for a week…

Is Hongjoong going to let you see her? After your brush with death? It wasn’t your fault that… whatever happened happened. Like, he planned that, not you. Surely he can’t hold this over your head. If anything, you basically almost just got kidnapped into a parallel universe, he should be treating you very kindly, right?

Asshole. He’s probably going to bitch and moan for the next week about you not being scared of him. Fucking asshat.

But… God, ugh, this is all so frustrating. On one hand, you’re pissed at him for, you don’t know, literally everything that he’s ever done to you, maybe? But on the other, you know that you’re going to have to play by his rules to get him to leave Haseul alone. Or, well, at least as alone as he can.

When is she going to have a Choosing ceremony, you wonder? Yours didn’t take very long…

Well, if he doesn’t let you see her after this, at least you have that to… tentatively look forward to… ew, you don’t even want to be thinking like that.

Nayeon stands at your side, bringing you back.

You don’t realize why until you look behind her, only to spot Yunho standing near the doorway.

He’s changed out of his clothes, thankfully. But just seeing him is enough to flood your mind with the thought of the thing, your stomach lurching over again as he welcomes himself into the room, clearing his throat.

Nayeon pats his shoulder as she walks past him, excusing herself. Yunho stops at the foot of your bed.

You have to admit that he might be one of the last people you would have expected to visit you, now. You had been thinking it before everything happened, but you don’t really think he has any lost love for you, given your circumstances with Mingi.

“Thank you,” you break the silence, forcing the words out before you can think better of them, “for, uhm, trying to help me. And, I mean, actually helping me, too.” You can’t forget that he had kept you standing when the sacrifice was presented. How ruined is his coat?

He awkwardly looks at his hands, which are gripping the rail at the end of your bed. “Don’t mention it.” His voice is so meager that you barely can hear him.

Yunho doesn’t look up. You’re not sure what else to say. So you speak without thinking, again. “How’s Mingi?”

He peeks up at you, but then goes right back to staring down. “He’s… uhm, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He pries his hands off of the rail, but then stares at them like he’s unsure that they’re even his hands. Tucking his hands behind his back, he continues, though he still doesn’t look straight at you, “I, uhm, yeah. Mingi is worried about you, and I think his worry came off the wrong way to you and San.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, slowly, and semi-sarcastically. You could’ve guessed that. “He has an interesting way of showing it.”

Yunho takes a deep breath, “He doesn’t know that I’m here. I just thought that I would try and explain his side of things. From his perspective, he is the reason that you’re here and he feels guilty for that; but he’s also pissed that you’ve gotten close with San so quickly, because he doesn’t like him and he feels like you won’t take his concerns seriously.”

“I don’t see what there is to be concerned about,” you plainly state, “do you have something against San, Yunho? Any reason at all to believe that Mingi could have reason to suspect that he’s not what he shows me?”

Yunho startles when you say his name, like someone barely inhabiting their own body. “I mean, no. I think Mingi is probably just projecting his fear onto San, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“Exactly. So why should I have to cater to Mingi’s ego?” The words sound harsh even as you say them, but its a genuine question. You don’t have much reason to believe that San would ever do anything to hurt you… besides him being someone that Hongjoong clearly trusts, but, like, you’ve been over that a million times before.

Yunho just shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought that maybe you would hear me out, since I know it’s hard for you to be alone with Mingi.” He stops his nervous fidgeting, finally looking directly at you. “I wasn’t nice to you because I harbor any sweetness towards you, for the record. I don’t even care that you’re the new object of Hongjoong’s affection. I only tried to help because I knew that, if I didn’t, Mingi would have.” His voice is harder than you’ve ever heard it; a shocking contrast to how he had been speaking just moments earlier. He maintains eye contact with you, his eyes dark.

You’re the one to look away, this time, disturbed by what he said. What a very random and slightly disturbing thing to say.

When you look back up at him, Yunho is already nervously looking around the room. His hands are in front of him again as he plays with his fingers.

“Well,” you clear your throat, “thanks anyways, Yunho.”

“Yep,” is all he says before leaving your room, basically running.

… That was strange. Very strange.

Nayeon doesn’t return. You’re left alone, puzzling over that entire interaction.

What… what was the point of that? Like, okay, sure you can get him wanting to try and vouch for Mingi. But… uhm??? The last part? What? Why was that so ominous? Huh?

You had never known Yunho to be particularly timid… or… rude… This all is just very weird. Maybe even weirder than the fake demon situation.

No, scratch that, definitely not any weirder than that. That one is gonna keep you awake for a while. A good while. But Yunho’s behavior was definitely not his usual, which is almost concerning. Almost… only because you suppose that you don’t really know him that well. Maybe he’s only really nice and outgoing to strangers…

That wouldn’t make sense, either.

Whatever, you really can’t be worrying about that right now. You have priorities.

Priorities of which you would list, at least in your head, if San didn’t come barreling through the door the next moment.

You startle, shocked by his sudden appearance. He’s changed, but he doesn’t look great. His hair is a mess, his lip is split, his shirt is untucked in places.

He reaches out for you, and you reach him halfway, grabbing his forearms as he grabs yours. Wordlessly, he looks over your face hastily, pressing his lips to yours before you can ask what happened.

Your lips part, and he puts his forehead on yours. “We need to get out of here. As soon as possible.”

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