#the whole situation is very upsetting and confusing for him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoseoksluna · 1 month ago

Text

PROMISES | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x f. reader

genre: fwb au / angst, smut

word count: 9.3k

summary: when you needed your social battery recharged by your fuck buddy yoongi, you didn't expect to have your undiscovered feelings for him reciprocated.

pin: promise / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: strong daddy issues, slight dd/lg, manipulation, tiny rough treatmeant, edging, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), teasing, mixed feelings, oc is confused abt her feelings and the whole situation, fight, yoongi counts down, unprotected sex, pussy spanks, nipple play.

note: this has to be my worst work in the whole hoseoksluna universe. i'm terribly upset, disgusted, unmotivated. i wrote this all week, hated every second, and i'm sorry to say this is my last smut for a while. i'm really struggling mentally, i'm struggling with writing, and i don't know what to do anymore. i'm posting this a day early because i can't stand this fic anymore. i can't stand smut. you're free to skip this one until i get better.

You were a folded swan, drifting upon the smooth, glittering surface of a river that led nowhere—a dead end, bearing the face of a man you’ve been casually seeing for the past few months. A man that clutched adrenaline and tenderness in his fist like a bouquet of the prettiest woodland wildflowers, on top of which perched a note signed in your name. Scratchy Latin letters, doused in ebony ink, they had more life than you did at this moment; poetry-woven experiences that had you feeling life like life should be felt—drastically, enthusiastically and delightfully. Every vowel depicted the closure of each night you spent with him: mouth parted agape, through which the sweetest moans would erupt and saturate him in a certain kind of fatherliness, pride and manliness.

It’s what you need, laying as you are on the linen sheets of your bed, dressed down to your lacy underwear that you thought would make you feel better, somehow would recharge your dead battery that was stuck on zero percent for longer than you care to admit. Father issues, dissatisfaction at your workplace, at your home life, at life itself. You were tired, your concentration running thin as you were watching your well-loved K-drama that you have seen a hundred times before. Through your vision, your own non-romantic interest would fly by, smiling down at you in your dejected state and form. Your body knows him more thoroughly than your heart, stirring erratically at the memories that would begin to flood your system. Tongue, lips, hands. His cock that he would tease you with, giving it to you and not giving it to you purposefully because he enjoyed the sight of your desperation for someone like him—a person who has seen the worst of life, its characteristics engraved upon his skin, and yet you still yearned for him, yearned for those scars. You didn’t have to tell him, but he knew.

He knew by the way you would so very often trace the scar upon his shoulder, either with your fingertips or your lips. You were friends, fuck-buddies to be more precise. You were aware that someone entangled in a special friendship such as this shouldn’t do something like that, but you couldn’t help it. Yoongi taught you many times to listen to your body and you were doing just that.

Following your body’s inclination to sink into his soul that he wasn’t too scared to let you inside of.

He allowed you to do it to such an extent that the threat of his quick orgasm would appear and he would slip out of you, distract himself between your legs, make you come twice in a row—perhaps as a playful punishment, or perhaps as a reward.

He saw you—and right now you need to be seen, folded in your forest-scented exhaustion while the river flows on, the trees sway on and everyone else passes by while you remain fixed on the same spot, stooped in your ungratified, seemingly unnamed problem.

You can text him, ask for a quick fuck, something he’s very well acquainted with, used to at this point—so much that everytime you leave his place stuffed full of his cum, he stuffs you with something else as well.

A promise for the next time.

A package of something to make you look forward to your tight-knit time spent with him. The last time, he had promised to take you to a running sushi restaurant, where you didn’t linger for long because you got fed up with the way other people would steal the sweet plates you wanted to try. He had fucked you in his car to make you feel better about your innate misanthropy and while he was balls-deep in you and you struggled to catch your breath, he promised you ice cream. With each thrust that squeezed your soul, he described how you’d enjoy each lick, the details of the flavor and how he’d buy you any ice cream you wanted. You hadn’t realized it then, within the stupor of your mind-numbing pleasure, but now as you are recollecting it, you perceive how bothered he was by the way other people ruined your night with him.

And that rips open the restraints around the butterflies in your stomach.

You want some ice cream—and more than that, you want to see him. Close your mouth around the adrenaline he’s always so willing to fill your life with.

You don’t know what he’s doing at seven PM on a Thursday night. You usually meet him on Fridays or during the weekend if he’s working the day before. You’ve never shown him your neediness—and there’s a certain dangerous feel to it, baring yourself naked in this way, despite the fact he’s seen, touched, and licked every inch of you. And it’s hard for your brain to comprehend that you yearn for him when your social, emotional and physical battery is dead. If anything, you should be resting as you are, get right in order to be at your best for the next time you see him.

But alas…

With a sigh, you turn to your other side and reach for your phone that you’ve been charging, gliding your hands down the cable, imagining it’s his arm. And with a frustrated furrow of your brows, you tap on the circle above your messages. A pinned picture of him that you took, his face caught in his gummy smile against the dark backdrop of his car interior, filtrated with the twinkling lights of Seoul’s city buildings. Another sigh leaves you, one that exasperates you because why are you so needy for him? Why can’t you be a normal girl, independent, okay with your own company shared with the fictional people that you love? You’ve spent your girlhood like this, and happily so. Why does growing up mean you need the male energy more than your own?

Biting your lip, your anxiety spikes up, but your desire for Yoongi overwhelms it, wins. And that settles a layer of calmness over it, gives the command to your fingers to type what they need to type.

what are you doing

The bubbles don’t emerge from the dark motive of your chat until a few minutes later, the green of his message brightening up your phone—and your life, too.

About to have a concert. Having a shot right now for your health.

Oh, shit. A strange concoction of disappointment and a deep, low, murmuring stimulus rises in you. The swan in you elongates her neck, interested, but still dispirited considering her options. She will have to fold back into her form, and continue on her long, somber voyage back from the dead end, dwelling on the thrill of the flirtation of the man that she likes a little bit too much.

Staring at the thick canvas of trees and shrubbery that aren’t letting you in to see him, you think about what to type, your thumbs hovering in the air. Life dislikes you; life wants you to suffer—

A ringing tone of your phone tugs you away from your distressed thoughts. The Latin letters of Yoongi’s name expand across the screen behind that picturesque and private shot of him, enlarged, stirring your heart. Silence spreads through your mind and your thumb quivers as you slide it across the bar to accept his call, placing the device against your ear.

It feels as though you’re pressing the side of your head against his, especially so once you hear the warmth of his raspy voice pronouncing your name in his accent, marked by the liquor he drank prior to your messages.

Enlivened, your body is. Just from that.

“What’s up with you?” Yoongi asks, and the swan sails a little bit more swiftly, her tucked-in wings fluttering against her feathery body. You play with your necklace, your trembling so, so terribly evident. You’re glad he didn’t video call you, but the phone call is much more intimate and pleasant.

You huff out a noise of desperation without meaning to and cringe at yourself, crunching up your features. Yoongi calls you by your name with a tiny hint of alarm and you curse yourself, silently. Your misanthropy gets pointed at you.

“Noth—”

“Should I cancel my concert right now?” he suggests, cutting in, and you can hear the drunken playfulness in his voice, the one you have enjoyed on many occasions. Even acted out on your pleasure from it by making him, physically, feel good about it. You wish you could suck his dick right now, right before his concert, so he gives out his best for his fans.

The sighs are ceaseless and you don’t bother to stop them at this point, your enlivened body soaking up in a swelling, unmet desire.

“You’re sighing,” he notes, and you discern a cube of ice clinking in his glass, then a swallow of his throat, as if the indication of your yearning got him going, got him needing that burning liquid. “Are you horny for me?”

Enlivened, your butterflies are, starting a war just from that sole question: desire versus your mental health.

And using the vanilla scent of their wings, they remind you of the fact that you’re an adult woman and that you’re allowed, and more than allowed, to do whatever your body asks for. And if it’s asking for Yoongi, you’re going to go the extra mile to get him.

Brazenly and femininely—and a little bit slyly.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m really craving that ice cream you promised me,” you say, lowering down your tone, and you play with the lacy lining of your bra. Think you can tease him with it for a good effect. “I’m wearing a nice lacy set right now.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sigh that is entirely redolent of you, making your mouth curve in a soft smile. “What color?”

Your expression of a muted joy expands as you tell him. “Red.”

He swears, raspily, and the shade of your lingerie becomes more vibrant in the dimmed yellow light of your bedroom. And there you feel it—a more intense tendril of lust slithering down your sternum, moving your body side to side against your sheets in need. And the whimper that comes out of you is more primal than it is forced.

At the sound, Yoongi pauses. You imagine him biting his lip, the gears in his brain turning, and he doesn’t disappoint you. He never does.

“Do you have a dress of the same color?” he asks, small pants escaping his mouth, and you smirk.

“I do.”

He chuckles in personal delight. “Wear it for me. The set, too. I want to see it. I will pick you up after the concert and get you that ice cream.”

Your butterflies spring to your lungs, making it hard for you to breathe. And you don’t know whether to be glad, to be happy, to jump on your bed or to get ready. All those emotions simultaneously gather in you, spreading sparks of excitement down your nerve endings. And most of all, you want to hug him.

You want to hug your adrenaline-infused angel.

“Okay,” you agree, prolonging the vowel, the muscles in your cheeks aching. “How long is the concert?”

His delight leaks out through a deep hum, one that causes you to tense your body in feverish eagerness. “Two hours. Can you wait that long for me without touching yourself?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Think you can wait however long for him, just as long as you get to see him. “I can, but my panties will be ruined. Sticky and uncomfortable.”

The hum is strangled by his strained intake of breath, turning you woozy, your fingers itching to slide beneath your said panties, knowing his noises alone would make you come in seconds. You weren’t wet before he called, but now you can feel the center of the fabric dampening the longer you talk to him.

“I’ll take them off as soon as I can. I promise. Hold it out for me.”

And you believe him. You compress that promise into your hand, warming it up with your body heat before you tuck it safely into the chambers of your heart—and you wait.

You wait for him to fulfill the myriad of his promises.

You did hold it out for him, and brilliantly so. You watched one episode of your drama with a little bit more vehemence, despite the fact Yoongi swam past your thoughts more times than you can count. You’ve never watched him perform in real life as his own private life was always kept in secrecy from his fans, but your curiosity led you to search him up online and watch a playback of one of his more upbeat songs. Dressed in a long black coat, white shirt and a tie, your mouth was wide open, as well as your eyes, as you took in his ferocious energy, enhanced by his passion, and you never looked at him the same as before. He became someone else, a figure of brutal yet tender power and it made you want him even more zealously.

The memories of that performance resurfaced in your mind every now and then, and his Agust D persona would melt into the male interest of the show, deepening your desire for him as you dreamed.

Dreamed of reaching different highs with him. More profound, more devastating.

A dream that could never come true. A promise that would never flow past his mouth.

You didn’t let that ruin your night, however. As the second hour wrapped around you and your body lacked the heat it needed, you shut your laptop and stood up to your feet, walking over to your closet. Your fingers found that red dress you had spoken about first before your eyes did, silky and sleek amidst the thick, woolen fabrics of your winter clothes. It was the only nice dress you had, one you haven’t worn before, and you were thrilled you got to wear it for him tonight.

It fit you like a second skin, hugging your curves just right, fading into the lacy linings of your lingerie. One would have to sharpen their gaze in order to notice it—and you wondered if Yoongi was going to scout it with his eyes first or with his fingers.

The unknown excited you, so much that your panties gained that stickiness you mentioned in the phone call. And when you sat down to slide your feet into your black strappy heels, the feeling was so intolerable that you cringed—and your brilliancy ended there.

How were you going to sit against your cold arousal for another hour?

The awaited text didn’t come through until you were dousing yourself in your vanilla perfume. Yoongi was downstairs, waiting for you in his car. Left my lights on for you, he had typed to reassure you because he knew how anxious it made you, looking for his parked car in the dark when you couldn’t see anything.

Your heart blossomed two times bigger when you checked it from your window. Yoongi in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, the headlights filtering through the mist of the deep of the night. You smoothed a hand down your tummy, calming your butterflies, and, reapplying your lipstick, you grabbed your coat and went outside to meet him.

He spotted you long before you lifted your head to smile at him and he reached over to the side and opened the door for you. The motor was running, keeping the warmth intact for you, and you sighed in relief when you entered it—only to realize that Yoongi had turned on the seat heater for you.

You melt into the leather, closing your eyes, the ambience of the present moment nestling upon you like the most delicate layer of snow that dissolves when you feel a swift breath along your neck and it’s Yoongi, lengthening his arm and closing the door while keeping his twinkling gaze on you and giving you a pleased smile.

The butterflies kick against your stomach.

“I was going to do that,” you say because you truly were—it’s just that the snug, comforting heat he prepared for you made you want to stop and bask in it as the short walk from your apartment building to his car numbed your bones to such an extent that you needed the time to defrost. And he quickened the process by placing an even warmer hand upon the nylon of your inner thigh that the slit of your dress and your trench coat exposed. “It’s just so cold.”

He fondles the fabric of your tights on the top of your thigh with his thumb. A gesture of comfort that diffuses life down your legs and colors your cheeks in a shade of pink that irradiates the subdued atmosphere of the car. It’s hard to breathe—and it’s hard to resist him, keep yourself cool and not swing your leg over.

Fuck the ice cream. You want something way creamier.

“It’s only right I close it for you after I opened it,” he reassures, the deep tenor of his voice puncturing right through you, looking for your core, and you shift your hips, the discomfort of your wetness not allowing you to relax as much as you need. Yoongi’s eyes flick down to your movement and he parts his mouth as that distinctive smirk of his divulges his enjoyment in seeing you so horny for him. “Are you still sticky for me?”

It’s now that you take the time to fully look at him. There’s a certain glossiness to his long hair that tells you he went home and took a shower before he got inside his car and drove through the quiet night to meet you. You can smell the rosemary of his shampoo and the usual minty aroma of his body wash, blended with his natural musky pheromones and the wood, the tangerine of his perfume. He’s the synthesis of your internal woodland, the breath of the trees that your swan inhales and a punishment, all in one; and you’re not sure if you can hold out any longer. Both emotionally, both physically.

“Very sticky,” you say, wrapping your hands around his arm, descending your fingers down the bulky, wooly material of his winter jacket like you were touching your charging cord—a temporary dream come true. You enclose your palm around his knuckles, think that if he feels how wet you are, he’ll realize that you sentimentally require more than he normally gives you—that your flesh will somehow tell him and give him the bravery to do so.

But Yoongi doesn’t move an inch. His fingers remain fixed on the inner of your thigh, digging dents into the skin as you feel the bulging of his bicep the more you push his hand towards your wetly clothed cunt. His smile falls, his eyes droop—and the energy is charged with such unnamed intensity that you let go of your pursuit, slipping your fingers beneath the edge of his sleeve as a sign of your submission.

That quickly.

“You promised to hold out for me, didn’t you?” he asks, waiting for your agreement, and you nod, feverish, dripping with perspiration, with this great need that towers over you. “Then, be like Daddy and keep your promise or you’re not getting anything.”

A shiver cascades down your spine—not merely from his authoritative voice, but from the role he dipped into that immediately puts you into yours. You begin to giggle, palming your mouth as the blush in your cheeks bursts and tears of overwhelmingness add a certain glint to your eyes that sparkles beneath the yellow-tinted car interior lights. And using this fatherliness of his, he interweaves your arousal around his long, piano fingers, announcing he’s its King.

Your essence trickles out of the confines of your panties.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whine, still giggling, you can’t help it. Yoongi takes after you, blessing you with that gummy grin of his that you adore so much. Your heart enlarges.

“What exactly am I doing on purpose?” he challenges, kneading the flesh of your thigh, and he senses his answer right away. Your essence travels to his hand, stopping there, and once again Yoongi’s smile falls, eyes plummeting to it, hand lifting—and fingers gathering that warm slick.

And it drips onto his own pants-clad thigh when he plunges his fingers into his mouth, shocking you to your core.

“Yoongi—”

He hums in titillation, interrupting you, and smacks his mouth. For a brief amount of time, he seems to be in his own world as he tastes you on his tongue. And then, he takes those same fingers, turns the key in the ignition, moves forward the shift stick, and without sparing you a glance, he drives out of his usual parking spot and doesn’t hesitate to correct you.

“Not Yoongi. Daddy.”

You clamp your mouth shut. Think you need some kind of plug to stop your arousal from flowing down your thigh. Yoongi doesn’t mention what just happened throughout the whole drive, but you do notice his semi-hard manhood poking out of his groin area. You salivate, but don’t tempt him, squeezing your thighs together so tightly that your muscles cramp.

You’ll save it for later.

You listen to him talk about his concert experience of tonight while the drum in your clit matches the beat of the songs of his playlist. He speeds down the road, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and the shift stick, and he doesn’t look at you until he halts the car at the first red light.

He smiles at you, knowingly. A dirty, dirty smile that turns your world upside down, vexes you deeply—enough for you to swivel your head in the other direction to ignore him because if you looked at him any longer like that, you’d be unbuckling his pants. But Yoongi does what he pleases. With his index finger, he whips your chin back to him, leans over and grins before he presses his lips against yours.

A gentle, gentle kiss. One that does not mirror his demeanor.

Your walls flutter, your whole body, too. Shock seizes you in its grasp at that gesture of affection and you can’t breathe—he’s stolen all of the oxygen in your lungs. The trees sway and bend, the swan in you dances quite buoyantly, despite the fact that a storm is coming.

A storm of your emotions.

He’s never kissed you like that—out of the blue, at the red light. He kisses you when he’s drunk, handsy and touchy-feely as he everlastingly is, but he doesn’t kiss you just like that when he’s sober.

“You doing good?” he murmurs against your lips, ripping away the fingers of your shock, and it feels as though you’re waking up from a dream—only to glide, boundlessly, into another one. Yoongi waggles with your chin before he pulls away, the yellow light bathing him in its shade momentarily before the green blinks and he jumps back into his own world.

Does he really think you won’t erupt in this storm? Disintegrate into smithereens and wipe everything clean that he is?

“What was that for?” you ask, softly, your lips numb and aching for more of his tenderness, one that you would, in all honesty, die for. You trace the print of his own lips on yours, feel its heavy warmth, and you might as well be drunk just from that.

You need a shot. And not just one.

Yoongi bites his bottom lip. “You’re holding out so well. I thought you deserved it.”

You roll your eyes back—not from raw annoyance, but from the pristine pleasure you receive from the dominant, fatherly energy of his words. Suddenly, you don’t know what to do with your hands, what to say, what to think. What you do know is that you surely will be crying into his pillow by the time this night is over and he’s fast asleep.

But you can’t cry much. Can’t wake up with puffy eyes. Can’t reveal to him the gravity of your feelings.

You don’t even remember the moment you realized you loved him. Think you loved him the first time you laid your eyes on him, but you buried it deeply in you—so deeply that you didn’t even recollect your feelings when Yoongi told you, straight away, that this was just a friends with benefits kind of arrangement. Truth be told, this business is the sole kind of relationship you can give him as you hate men. Always hated them. But you don’t hate him.

He’s not them. He’s different.

You may have wanted adrenaline and joy tonight, but as you dwell in this state of mind of yours, you slouch deeper into the leather and come to a heartbreaking understanding that you’ll never be happy in this life.

The night-clothed streets pass by you in soft shapes in colors, disappearing instantly out of your view. And the woodland, the trees and the swan, they disappear, too. Shrouded by the fog of your abysmal sadness.

***

Yoongi took you to such a small hotel that its luxuriousness pierced your eyes with its glorious light. You thought you were dining and ending the night at his place, but once Yoongi ordered your favorite shots of sweet rum with cocktail cherries, you perceived you were staying here. Perceived he was unknowingly giving you the opportunity to drown your feelings in alcohol as well.

You almost didn’t wait for him to take his own shot before you downed yours, but hearing the click of his tongue, you stopped midway. And to make sure you did wait, he placed his palm upon your wrist, bringing your arm down onto the table as he ordered your dessert.

Chocolate ice cream, just for her. Thank you.

He made everything worse.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to be so good for him, listening to every order of his that came to his mind. Why you wanted that validation, that praise. You could just do whatever you desired—it wouldn’t scratch your relationship with him. You could be bad and he wouldn’t mind. Hell, you think he would even enjoy it. But why is it your inert yearning to please him so much? It’s devastating—and it’s your personal ruination. Because the more you do things that caress his ego, the deeper the abyss of your feelings for him goes.

You shouldn’t. Not in the construct of your friendly relations. For the sake of your well-being.

You pry his fingers away and take that shot, watching his eyes grow large in their surprise. You never slide the cherry along with the liquor into your mouth, so once you swallow it, you open it wider and begin to chew it. His brows twitch, his own mouth parting at the sight and he leans back into his chair, completely submitted and enthralled by your act of defiance.

And it feels good, going against him like that. Living your life by your own decided rules, and not his.

You don’t hesitate to gulp down the other shot, but it’s not the slight burning of the liquid that gives you the buzz. It’s the way he seems to be completely pleased by your self-will, smiling lazily at you with his head tilted to the side. It propels you to steal his shot, too, and the brief facade of his pleasure collapses. A dark tendril of concern lines his eyes and those brows that twitched furrow, casting a dusky shadow over those slits.

Now he’s aware of it, the tornado that spins within you. But he doesn’t know the cause of it, the decadent poetry verses that cover it.

And he’ll never know—he’ll never read them. Because you’d much rather keep it in secrecy than risk losing him for all eternity. Feelings can be hidden, feelings can wander off, lose their bearings until they no longer remember that your body used to be their home. But Yoongi… he’s a person that you meet once in a lifetime. And losing him would mean that you lost not just your life, but the blood pumping in your veins as well.

It’s wrong, being attached like that to someone, regard him this way. And you’re cognizant of the fact it’s temporary—and for that sole reason, you bask in it. Because your life would be prosaic, and not poetic, if you didn’t.

That is the motto you carry in your pathetic, but strong heart.

And the darkness of his concern, it intoxicates you more than the last shot you take.

The backdrop of dining and chattering people sway, just like your past trees, behind him. Manifestations of foreign lives you’ll never witness twice in your life, that are a part of you today and will part from you tomorrow. Yoongi, in the middle, remains stable. A beacon of light, unmoving, a great pillar of fixedness and steadiness. He peers at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, his aura solemn, no longer playful. Your sighs emit out of you in a constant stream while your eyes roam at everything in motion but him and he seems to strongly, strongly dislike that.

“What’s up with you?” he asks for the second time around this evening, but the question has a loftier ring of seriousness to it. It passes through you, puncturing you until it pokes out of your back and transforms into a pair of monumental wings. Ones, upon which your feelings are mockingly hung, for his eyes to see, but not to recognize.

And the swaying of your body brings forth wetness to your eyes, for it is an anamnesis of the inner world you lost due to the comprehension of your feelings.

“Nothing,” you say for the second time around, too. A hefty blanket of silence is thrown across the table, scattered with empty shot glasses that were meant to be shared between the pair of you. Unable to look at him, your eyes drop to them, count them—one, two, three, four—and then your irises wind up at his clenched fist. At the white valleys of his knuckles that are composed only when his fingers are wrapped around a microphone. And the blanket of the silence is warmer than the warmth he has given you—a sweltering layer of heartsickness that you can’t bear. With your drunk brain, you think you should pierce it, as if with a needle, with a response to a question he didn’t ask you. “I haven’t eaten much today, that’s why I’ve gotten drunk so quickly.”

Yoongi runs a tongue down the inner flesh of his cheek. Ponders the information you have given him before he scolds you. “You didn’t eat and you drank four shots in a row. You won’t tell me what it is, fair enough, but I know you’re hiding it behind the pretense of you being horny.”

His head swivels to the side, sensing a presence. And he watches as the waitress puts down an ornamental plate of two scoops of chocolate ice cream in front of you. You don’t pay her a second of your time. You set your eyes on Yoongi, on the darkness of his energy that you are ever so slowly and magnetically pulled to.

Yes, he sees the problem, but doesn’t recognize it. He sees the shape of your wings, but he can’t recognize their color.

The solidness of his call-out quivers. You’re not sure if you’re hiding it; you’re no longer sure about anything at this moment, but you don’t care. You have to stick to your secrecy, you have to keep your feelings safe and tucked away, no matter how far on the edge of the cliff they are.

“I’m not hiding anything. I was horny,” you retort, not caring that the waitress is still present, picking up your shot glasses. Yoongi gives you a look while you tip your chin down and gaze at him through your long lashes—just like he did. A taste of his own sweet poison. And then you lift your foot and rest it between his outstretched legs, the sole of your stilettos pressing lightly against his soft groin.

This is fun. This is the adrenaline you were seeking. Who would’ve thought you would be your own provider of that.

Surprised by the abruptness of your act, he doesn’t let it show on his face, but his hands drift upwards from his thighs before he settles them around the bridge of your foot. He waits for the waitress to finish her job and, sensing the pressure, she scurries away without asking if you wanted to order another round.

And in her absence, Yoongi begins to touch you.

He sails his fingernails from your toes up to the thin strap of your shoe, wrapping them around your ankle. He squeezes your limb once, warning you about something you don’t know, his eyes tiny, tiny slits. Perhaps if you keep up with this, the night won’t end so prettily like it normally does.

But you don’t believe it. You refuse to. And to be frank, you can’t.

You shall have your fun.

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” he orders like the father he is, pointing at the dessert with his irises.

You look at it, at the bits of the chocolate bars jutting out of it, then back up at him. “Feed it to me.”

The slits break, his eyes enlarging. His reaction spreads all across his face—brows curling upwards, mouth parting, his thumb absentmindedly swiping across the skin of your shin, exposing how much he liked your request. Such an intimate place for that to happen.

Then, he examines his surroundings. Then, he gets up from his chair and sits next to you on the booth, taking a hold of the spoon and your leg simultaneously, hooking it over his thigh. Scoops the ice cream and turns to you, his arm suspended in the air.

“Open,” he rasps, and your eyes wet first before your mouth complies, opening wide for him. Yoongi slides the spoon into your mouth with expert gentleness, careful not to hurt you, and your first tear of the night cascades down your cheek when your mouth closes around the silver, your tastebuds cheering due to the chocolate flavor that overwhelms them.

Yoongi, the man that could never disappoint you. Yoongi, the man who has given you more fatherly love than your own father ever did.

How could you not love him? How could you not want more from the casualness of your relationship with him when he treats you like this? When he prepares a warm faith in men within your chest, a wet soil—out of which the tenderest sprout of joy shall grow?

The second tear cascades down. The ice cream melts on your tongue. You swallow.

Yoongi sighs, dropping his hands, the corners of his eyes rounding in an emotion you’ve never seen upon him. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

Your wings, swan-like, flutter behind you, ruffling the hair on the crown on his head. “The ice cream tastes good.”

You brush away your tears, lamenting your foolish mistake, and fold your hands on your lap. Give him a teary smile that you can’t hide and open your mouth for him again. Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he continues to feed you and frown at you, not until another waitress comes and asks if you wish to order another round. His anger is evident in his voice as he turns her down, stating you won’t be drinking any more than you have.

And again, he makes everything worse when he wipes your mouth clean after you finish the dessert. Pats your head to reward you.

You hold your tears, watch him pay for you, give him your hand when he leads you towards the elevator up to the room where you’ll be staying tonight.

Him, completely sober; you, drunk out of your mind.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, even as you and him stand side by side, the silence as thick as death. You can’t stand it, can’t do anything else but to break it all over again. Though this time, you don’t do it with words.

You do it with your actions.

Stumbling on your feet like a freshly-born fawn, it’s only then that Yoongi looks at you. Holds you steady as you move in front of him to face him. He doesn’t swim along the current of all these brown shades of the elevator, but you can see a deep emotion waving through his ice-cold eyes that heat up, melt and droop when you envelop your arms around his neck and press your face against the side plane of his, kissing him there a hundred, a thousand times. You sink your fingers into the hair at the nape, tracing circles along his scalp and Yoongi shudders, breathes evenly against you, and it reminds you of the wind that swept past your woodland—the one that made your trees sway.

All of that is gone because of your mistake.

And something tells you that nothing will ever be the same. That something groundbreaking awaits you once these elevator doors open.

And they open too quickly.

Breaks your wordless actions that speak your gratitude for his fatherly behavior by gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of the elevator. Doesn’t let your aching feet touch the ground until the snugness of the tiny room welcomes you in. A queen-sized bed, a mirror across the wall that faces it, a round table by the balcony. It would be stifling if you were here alone, but Yoongi, somehow with his domineering energy, enlarges the room—makes it his.

He empties out his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. A white lighter and a pack of cigarettes. His jacket follows next, hooking it around one of the chairs, and once he notices your wavering feet, he sits down at the edge of the bed and sheds your trench coat, throwing it over his own jacket. Bends at the waist and takes off your heels, one by one. Only then, when you’re comfortable, does he set you down in the center of his lap. And you realize that the mirror is right in front of you.

You watch him through it. Watch his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck; watch your own form disappear into the buffiness of his body as his hands begin to roam. His watch glints in the dim light of the room and his own being coalesces, becomes one with the murkiness.

You want to do that, too. Forget who you are. Forget what you’re feeling.

Tears prick at your waterline and you let out a pained sigh. Another foolish mistake of the night, one you’re about to pay for.

“Talk to me,” he begs, a wisp of a tiny whiny weaving into his voice inconspicuously, but you catch it—and it vibrates through you, weakening you. It makes it so much harder for you, his unyielding need to know what’s troubling you, but how can you tell him? How can you risk never seeing him again?

You remain silent, painfully so.

Yoongi lifts his head from your neck and stares you dead in the eye through the mirror, chilling you down to the bone.

“You truly think I’m just a guy you fuck?” he spits, his anger on full, unabashed blast that you should’ve seen coming with your restrained behavior, but it’s better to take his anger than to take his absence—and you shall devour that emotion of his. His question causes a hiccup to ensue in your chest, the secrecy of your feelings leaning over the edge of the cliff. Dangerously, dangerously close. “That you can’t confide in me? You think I’m just gonna fuck you and pretend I didn’t see you cry?” Your eyes dart away, a heavy load of agony settling over your heart, but Yoongi prevents you from looking away. Makes you look at him by grabbing your chin and keeping your head still, facing the mirror. “Is that what you want? You want me to be this kind of asshole?”

You bite your lip, not knowing what to say, not knowing who you want him to be, not wanting to be in this situation at all. But Yoongi can’t stand your silence. Can’t stand the privacy of your trouble, as if he inertly knows that it has something to do with him.

He softens his touch, but he doesn’t do the same with his voice.

“Answer me.”

You cry out in unnamed desperation, which propels Yoongi to lift your head up to him, so you can look at him—so you can see how much this matters to him. The emotion in his eyes vivaciously thumps, urging you to speak to him. He holds you to him like this, gripping your cheeks with the littlest amount of pressure, sucking in small breaths and you can’t. You’re going to explode if he keeps at it, and you’re going to die.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tiny cries emitting out of your throat, and it’s almost a cry for help. You bunch up his T-shirt in your trembling fist, seizing the solidness of him like your fear seizes you, and you don’t know whether to run or stay put on his lap like this. You’re appalled about where this is going and you’re certain that the same dead end is impatiently seeking you—

Yoongi shushes you. Averts his hand and caresses your hair down. Kisses your forehead, where he lingers a few long seconds that subdue the expression of your storm. Waits until your breathing evens out, so he can unravel the words swelling in him.

“Even if you asked me, I couldn’t be this kind of asshole to you,” he reveals against that plane of your face, punctuating his sentence by pressing his nose against yours. And you can’t believe his actions, you can’t believe the kind of affection he’s bathing you in; it lessens your fear, slashing it apart until there’s nothing left of it. “Something is hurting your heart and that bothers me. And what pisses me off most of all is that you think I can’t help you.”

You sniffle and slide your hand upwards to his neck. Try to memorize every inch of this paintwork that your life is graced with as tomorrow won’t have the same paints, the same brushstrokes—

“I’m not gonna fuck you. If you want to be touched, I’ll touch you, but don’t think for a second you’re coming tonight, not if you won’t talk to me,” he murmurs and you gasp, lowly, your wings slumping limply.

The promise of him fucking you was your only salvation for tonight. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, your mouth falling agape, unbelief clutching you at the intensity of his stubbornness.

And you want to know the meaning behind it.

“Why?”

He scoffs, kissing your cheek as if you were a baby he’s cradling, and you can’t take it anymore. You untangle yourself from his grasp and stand up to your feet, your back against the mirror. Yoongi peers at you disapprovingly and then he shakes his index finger at you. Your legs mimic the same movement, trembling, weakening at that.

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he says and flattens his lips, pauses before he opens his mouth again, but you stop him, despite how much you like it.

“No, Yoongi. Why are you treating me like this?”

He props his knuckles against his thighs. A powerful, powerful stance. Curls his lips around his teeth. “Like what?”

You reflect him. “Like I’m something more.”

Yoongi chuckles, humorlessly, at that. You spewed it out so rapidly that you don’t realize what you said until he lets out that noise that returns the drum to your sensitive parts. And briefly, as if you uttered something stupid, you grow smaller and smaller—until his following words change your life once and for all.

“Because you are and because you always have been,” he rasps, the corners of his mouth downturning for a split second, exposing his own secrecy that brings you to your knees. They scruff against the white carpet, stained by time, and Yoongi’s eyes flash with light to see you in this position.

Your heart hammers with more life than it ever had, with a kind of adrenaline it never felt before, and wetness clouds your vision, misting this situation in a cloud of disbelief. Your lungs fail you, shuddering underneath his hard gaze, and they swell greatly when Yoongi clasps your face in his hand, the one that pointed at you so fatherly, so devastatingly.

“You’re not just a girl I fuck and I know I’m not a guy you fuck. What we have is irreplaceable, what we do has always been something more, beyond the label we gave it and I regret it,” he lets out, a pained sigh—just like yours—wafting over your features, and Yoongi leans over, propping his elbows on his knees, his other hand joining your face, fingers gripping your hair on each side. “I should’ve treated you more properly, with respect. Take you out on dates. Get to know you. Wait before you let me touch you… because that is what you deserve. You’re not a girl to mess around with. You have a dignity that needs to be taken seriously, that needs to be respected and I wish I had done that. I wish…” he trails off, clicking his tongue in ultimate regret, and you break. You break, break, break. Sob in his hands that hold you so steadily, that give you life, adrenaline and a new meaning to your whole being. Suffocate under his watch, the earth-shattering notion that this has changed the course of your trajectory of your relationship with him forever constricting your throat. “I wish I had allowed myself to court you like you deserve. I wish I had been better mentally, but I’ll make everything right if you want me to. If you want me as much as I want you, I’ll make it right. I’ll try my hardest.”

Your own words, your heartstrings tangle up in a complex manner. Your tongue twists, your speech held back, and you have no control over what comes out of your throat. You’re crawling through a limbo that has no end and each movement you make, the way back gets erased. You need to keep going before it swallows you, but you need him to lead you. You need him inside your skin, inside your heat, inside your mouth. You need to be connected to him in a way you’ve never been connected to him before. You need his breath in your lungs—and your attachment to him bursts in flames.

Sated, elated, magnificent.

“Fuck me and make me yours, Yoongi.”

He sucks in a breath as if he didn’t expect you to accept his favor. The light in his eyes soaks his irises in wetness and his mouth trembles in a tender emotion before he smashes it against yours. And within that lip lock, the swan in you is reborn.

A baby swan, learning how to sail upon this new, new river—needing her father more than ever before.

The kiss is hard and the kiss is catastrophic. Yoongi moves his mouth against yours, sucking every bit of your old life out of you to fill you up with newness. Lifts you up and sits you back on his lap. But the kiss is too brief and you soon perceive that his anger hasn’t been shunned out.

Wet and blue flames lick over his black pools.

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you. What I said still applies.”

The zipper slides down, the straps follow suit—and your silk is ripped away from your body that Yoongi turns over and moves to his preferable position, cradling you sideways like a child. And there—as he gives you a once over, studying the red lace of your lingerie, the swell of your breasts, the little valley of fat upon your tummy, the ruination of your panties and the stickiness of your thighs—there you realize that he’s as punishing you as much as he manipulating you into telling him.

And it’s as arousing as it is bad.

His free hand begins to roam while the other one holds you close, wrapped around your back, preventing you from running away. It ghosts over your breasts, causing your spine to arch into his palm and his throat to emit a delicious groan that drenches your panties. His fiery hand ventures down, his tongue gracing you with little praises of how beautiful you are, and when he reaches the V-line of your private parts, he discovers how much his deep voice and his touches affect you.

He lifts his fingers and catches them glistening in the orange light. And this time, he doesn’t plunge them into his mouth. No, he sinks them inside your own. You swirl your tongue around them, coaxing that throaty noise of his that makes your hips buck up. Your tangy sweetness stupefies you and your so-loved woodland is remolded by that intimate act. By your connected gaze that could start a foreign war and bring the world down.

“Suck on them,” he orders, and you comply. Hollow out your cheeks, make sucking noises as you find everything you ever searched for in his eyes. Stability, warmth, a father. Switch, cutely, between sucking them and dancing your tongue around them. His index and pinky fit just right between the elongated clefts of your cheeks and he coos, grows hard underneath you, kisses the tip of your nose, onto which he whispers: “Such a good little girl.”

You moan and he reacts so trenchantly fast, withdrawing his fingers and using them to slide your panties to the side, placing them on your clit and not moving.

“So swollen,” he comments, kissing you for a beat of time without closing his eyes, without missing this moment. “I like it when you’re like this. Swollen, dripping and so horny for me. Like I’ve never taken care of you before.” He glides his fingers down, past your lips to your hole before going back up, rooting on your throbbing clit before starting over. He etches desperation into your veins, stirs your butterflies to madness, and you breathe heavily. “No one will ever see you like this. No one, you hear me?”

Your nod is automatic, thoughtless, and he’s pleased to the core. Enough that he begins to massage circles on your clit, your wings fluttering, no longer limp, but full of zest. And he can sense it—and it touches him so much that he deepens the pressure while the circles remain agonizingly slow. Your body writhes. Yoongi smirks down at you, grins fully when you clutch the nape of his neck and make little noises into his T-shirt. And just as soon your vision begins to blur and you reach the cusp of your orgasm, he stops.

“What’s hurting you?”

He reciprocates your feelings, so you have no reason not to tell him. It’s more of a problem with your speech. You’re so fucked out that you can’t speak.

Yoongi waits for a few seconds before he spanks your pussy. Maneuvers you so you can look at yourself in the mirror, your back against his chest, and he collects your arousal while he pins back your thigh, drifting all four of his fingers along your femininity, stimulating you and punishing you at the same time. Then, he lets you see your slick trickling out of his digits.

“Look how wet you are, don’t you want to come?”

He’s a dark figure behind you while you are a small creature, spread wide, drooling, dressed in a sinful shade of red that doesn’t indicate her purity, whose smeared red mouth leaks loud, whiny whimpers when he sticks one of those fingers inside your heat, adding another one right away once you accommodate around him. He fucks you with a force that reverberates throughout your whole body and his name that pours out of your mouth like a prayer is a cry for help all over again. He pumps his fingers and pulls away, edging you in such a sinister way that drives out your tears.

He worsens your condition—like he invariably does. But the rapidness of his pace, it unlocks your mouth, it untwists your tongue, and you begin to babble.

Incoherent words, nonsense noises; sounds that blossom in volume when he withdraws ultimately, pushes the lace of your bra away from your breasts and kneads them with wet fingers.

And you erupt, at last, when he flicks your nipples. You flood his pants-clothed thighs and knees, your slick streaming all the way to the carpet. And the river continues on with his words.

“I know you want this cock. I know you want it deep in you. But you’re not getting it if you don’t tell me right now what it is you’re using me to forget about,” he whispers into your ear, tweaking your nubs, his hands descending down your body and pinching your clit. You cry out, the aftershocks of pleasure dizzying you, his manipulation technique in full effect, and you’ll give it to him. Because of his cock, because of his affection. “You have three seconds. One, two, three—”

“I love you,” you confess, screaming it out of your lungs, and his eyes enlarging and his mouth parting in shock is all you see before you’re thrown on the bed.

Before your panties are ripped in half and flung behind him.

Before your pussy is eaten and fingered in a way that makes you come in four heartbeats.

Yoongi’s skilled tongue flicks your clit, his fingers curl in that special spot that bespeckles your vision with the stars of the night sky beyond the hotel room window. And you don’t latch onto the fact you’ve drenched him with your juices until he straddles your thigh, arches over you and kisses you with love-drunkenness, his fingers sliding back inside.

And he doesn’t start fucking you until he confesses something, too.

“I love you, too.”

His digits drill you, his eyes pierce your soul and your orgasms are countless like this, not bound to time, not bound to anything at all. You squirt on him, bathe him in the newness of your relationship, cleansing off the old. And then he’s inside of you, murmuring reassuring words against your mouth about how that shouldn’t be troubling your heart. And you cry, you sob, you scream, overtaken by it all, your mouth numb by his constant hard kisses and if you ever belonged to him in the past—you didn’t. Because at this moment, as he stuffs you full of his cum, you’re interwoven into his DNA for all eternity.

One that he nurtures as he holds you in his arms and asks you about how long you’ve loved him. And he in return tells you that he loved you the moment you first had a taste of what he could give you—laughter, guidance, and orgasms. All from the first date.

And when you kiss him for the last time before sleep steals you away, you know that you’ll never lack adrenaline in your life ever again. As long as you’re with him, you’ll be on the receiving end. And his unchanging promises will make you look forward to each day, your batteries charged and green—like your blooming woodland.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

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princessbrunette · 3 months ago

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you knew you shouldn’t be doing this. it was embarrassing. you were like a drunk cat mewling on toxicex!johnb’s patio instead of going home and dealing with your feelings like a big girl.

you’d been on a date. kind of. well not really — he stood you up. you were all dressed up too, ready to rub it all in john b’s face that you were moving on. you’d planned it to a T — snap a little picture for your story that would make it clear you’re on a date, or maybe subtly bring it up in conversation next time you saw your ex. all that scheming and plotting, just to end up in tears on his patio.

you were actually planning on leaving. you thought maybe coming to the chateau would ground you enough to remind you of why you were broken up in the first place. however, you’d let one pathetic mewl out just a bit too loudly and out came john b, staring in confusion at you perched on his patio with your head in your hands. he clears his throat.

“hey. uh… you can’t be out here… okay? skeeters.” you think he’s going to shoo you away, give you something else to cry about — but as he speaks you feel his coarse hand wrap around your arm, gently hauling you to your feet. “c’mon. inside. there ya go.” he purses his lips, following you in before walking past you.

“so what’s it gonna be today? hm?” he deadpans in the warm, croony voice that would usually make you wanna melt right into his arms.

having gotten yourself into quite the state, you violently wipe your snot and tears away with the back of your wrist, shaking your head as you suck in a wobbly breath. “i can’t!” is all you manage to squeak out and he sighs.

“look, i wanna help you, because crazily enough i do still very much care about you — but i can’t help you if you don’t tell me. not a mind reader.” he shrugs, hoping the casual attitude would coax it out of you as he wanders over to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water. you follow him like a lost puppy, and when the glass is full he holds it to your lips. the physical contact calms you enough to behave in a more subdued manner.

“i got stood up.” you croak, defeated. john b places the glass down on the side before staring at you for a moment.

“is that it?”

“what do you mean is that it— it hurt my feelings, god you’re such a jerk john b—” this only inspired a fresh batch of tears as you turn away, heading to leave but he stops you — hands on your shoulders, resisting an eye roll.

“i was literally just asking. take a breath. let’s go and sit down and talk about it.”

for whatever reason, you end up beside him on his bed. you truly couldn’t believe yourself, one little thing goes wrong and you’re immediately off to go and snitch to your ex boyfriend.

“can i ask… why you came here? like… did you want me to beat this guy up or—”

“—no—”

“‘cause look, sure he’s a douchebag but he could have his reasons you know? i don’t know if i wanna —”

“thats not why i’m here!” you silence him, visibly upset and he quietens— leaning back against the headboard in silence as he waits for an explanation. “i was gonna leave.” you speak after a pause, fiddling with the familiar bed sheets you’d seen one too many times. “i guess i just… i needed to ground myself. this is a familiar place. i just wanted the comfort for a moment and then i was gonna go home.”

“the chateau is like,” he holds out a hand in gesture. “way… way out of your way home. so… that can’t be why. just saying.”

you don’t know what to say. you truly don’t, so you choose to stay silent, glancing up at him through your lashes all pouty and sorry for yourself. he tilts his head to the side, eyes softening.

“you wanted me to fuck you about it. didn’t you?” he rasps just as softly, but the question makes your heartrate spike.

“what?”

he presses his lips together, shaking his head in disapproval of the whole situation. “so you came here… after you got stood up, dressed all cute, just to sit on my patio? ‘that what this is?”

“well— i don’t know—”

“you wanted me to fuck you and make it better. no, it is — okay, that’s what you always want.” he fixes the cap on his head before holding his hands up in defence, avoiding your eyes as he literally argues with himself. “look— we talked about this. it just can’t happen anymore. it’s not good for you, and it’s not good for me, and i can promise it’s not gonna fix any of your wounds.”

“okay! that’s fine! i never said i wanted you to fuck me, john b. just came up with that yourself!” you huff, crossing your arms sulkily.

“good!” he shakes his head, eyes wide and brows raised as he stares at you. you hold his gaze for a moment before staring at your own hands again. so what did you want?

you feel john b soften, a gentle sigh leaving him as he continues to gaze at you. a minute or so passes of this pensive silence before he speaks. “come here.” its kind, warm, like he used to be and he opens his arms to you sympathetically. you don’t miss the opportunity to hug him, bask in his heat and comfort. he was just being there for you, comforting you after you got stood up after all.

you sit like that for a moment, his arms around you — and when he pulls back, he looks at you different. you stare back, and soon — you’re kissing.

a kiss turns to tongues rolling over eachother languidly soon enough, and like clockwork — you feel him tug at the waistband of your skirt.

“take this off, yeah?” he mutters against your lips, and though you know you should walk away, you simply don’t have the strength.

#john b prompt #toxicex!johnb

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nymph-ette111 · 6 months ago

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Hi, could i ask for some headcanons for Toby, Ej and Ben with a S/O who gets easily lost, like even getting lost in the most absurd places

(♡) Authors note; my first request LET'S GOOO 💪 I'm still not used to writing headcanons but I really want to, and I realized that I started quite blindly :') I should've made some character analysis or aus beforehand but oh well. I'll do it another time but for now, here you go <3 also not proofread so ignore any mistakes

TOBY;

- this man is the embodiment of attachment issues. It took a pretty long time for him to crack open his protective shell, and once he did he swore to never leave your side.

- I imagine this happening whenever you two are outside, which rarely happens. I mean...he finally found a lover, he won't risk them running away because let's be honest, he probably kidnapped you but that's another story.- you two were just taking a stroll in some area and then all of a sudden you're gone. Completely out of sight.

- low-key panics once he realizes that you're not beside him anymore.- will literally search the whole entire place for you, calling out your name multiple times. He doesn't care if some passerby hears him. He will find you.

- once he catches a mere glimpse of you, he's immediately running over. It's clear that he's upset, he really thought you took the chance to run away since he finally warmed up to the idea of going outside and not keeping you locked up in his stinky ass cabin (please get this man a proper home he really needs it)

- good luck convincing him that you just wandered off because he would not believe you. After a while he might let it go but best believe the little walk you two planned is cut short. He's taking you back to his place as soon as possible.

- it might take him some time to let you go outside again since he's still a little suspicious. And now he's even more clingy but hey, we're not complaining. Who wouldn't want Toby by their side 24/7?

EYELESS JACK;

-quite similar to Toby, this cannibalistic demon finally found someone who actually loves him (which he still doesn't get what you see in him) let's just say...he wouldn't be very happy about the situation.

-would also think you were running away from him. After the whole failed cult sacrifice thing and him losing his vision, his other senses are now heightened. He'd use that to his advantage to find you.

-which isn't too hard for him, you didn't wander far since he probably heard you as soon as you walked away.

-he isn't angry, just worried. He starts to look after you more often, always keeping an eye out Incase you get lost again (...he doesn't have eyes:3)

-it becomes a little thing where whenever you start to walk off, he's dragging you back by the collar of your shirt so you don't get lost again.

BEN;

-this isn't much of a problem for him, sure he'd be quite confused at first because where the fuck are you going?

-this little fucker probably finds it amusing, not even doing anything about it just to see you get lost.

-eventually guides you back to wherever you two were originally. Like I said, it isn't a problem for him and he won't panic like the others since he is literally a ghost...he could just teleport to you whenever.

-most of the time he drags it out to see you get scared once you realize you wandered off again and can't seem to find your way back but he'll still help you. Just after a long time because he's an asshole like that.

#♡⁠˖⁠꒰nymphette writes #divider by pommecita #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby x reader #tobias erin rogers #ticci toby creepypasta #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #eyeless jack creepypasta #ben drowned x reader #ben drowned #ben drowned creepypasta #headcanon

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picturejasper20 · 4 months ago

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So, about that scene at the end of the episode with Dev getting angry with Hazel and Peri.

Dev finds out that his father Dale has barely been paying attention to him at all, as he almost never sees him, because Dale has been studying Hazel and trying to find out why the Lost and Founder's festival went wrong. He gets very emotionally devastated by this, seeing that his father has been paying more attention to his friend than him.

He points out that Dale has been studying Cosmo and Wanda yet he can't seem to notice that Dev has his own fairy under the same roof. As the dialogue continues you can feel the jealousy and bitterness from Dev, getting more and more angry as he speaks.

Hazel tries reasoning with Dev and explain to him that Dale is the one that has been doing all this. In the middle of the conversation she accidentally confesses that she made a wish to understand Dev better in ¨A New Dev-elopment¨ but doesn't explain herself well and Dev misunderstands the situation, thinking that Hazel has been faking being his friend all this time.

In this scene Dev is very confused and upset, he seems to be having what would be close to a trauma response and ends up closing himself off. He says that ¨Dimmadones don't make friends¨ (probably something that Dale taught him) and his trust issues get the worse of him, telling Hazel that he can't trust her and insulting her. Hazel leaves sadly, wishing Dev a happy birthday and goes with Cosmo and Wanda.

Later Peri tries cheering Dev up, he asks for the kid if he wants to wish for something, which leads to Dev to cry and lash out at Peri. He gets angry at Peri for not being there when he needed his help earlier when Vicky was making them all miserable and probably for not telling him about this room where Dale has been all this time. He wishes for Peri to leave him alone and Peri, confused and sad, makes the wish, disappearing from Dev's view.

This makes Dev explode and cry as he leaves marks all over Dale's computer, crossing out anything that is related to fairies and Hazel. He stops for a moment to observe the mess he left on the screen and then leaves the room to what would be cry in his room.

The last moment gives the idea that Dev seems to hate anything related to fairies and Hazel now, as he blames them for ¨stealing¨ his father's affection from him. The problem is that he still doesn't fully realize that Dale wouldn't care about him even if he wasn't busy studying Hazel and the fairies magic. But he believes this is all Hazel and her fairies' fault regardless.

What we see here is Dev having what would be his response to how he deals with his own abandonment issues, which is pushing others away when he gets hurt by something or someone. We have seen him have similar reactions before but, in this episode, it is where this reveal really got the worst of him and now he finds himself alone again like he was at the start of the season, along with an huge hate for Hazel and fairies as a whole.

Some have been theorizing that Dev; now being a vunerable position he is angry, confused and, on top of that, isolated again; could be easily manipulated by an anti-fairy in the upcoming episodes and used for evil plans.

#fairly oddparents #fop a new wish #dev dimmadome #hazel wells #peri fairly oddparents #dale dimmadome

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strwberri-milk · 2 months ago

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Hii!! I love your writing for LADS 🫶🏻🙈 may I request you write for Sylus talking to the most famous or beautiful woman of N109zone or of princess mafia in a exclusive event while the reader is watching them afar with her jealous energy? Then right after; the reader feels needy, possessive, wanted love and smutty 🔥, don't want to talk to Sylus, and it leads to miscommunication/don't get the wrong idea trope. You can add Luke and Kieran as cameo to make the situation worse telling the reader about Sylus and the girl's history together with a sense of humor that doesn't make the reader feel any better then Mephisto there CAW CAWLING over the fact seeing the reader turns red in frustration 😡😂 I really appreciate and love your work! Hope it be a little long word count (with bulletin points) if you write/accept this request! 🙏🏻

this is so booktok coded and you can interpret that however you wish bc i have Strong opinions about booktok and the current state of media literacy - but unfortunately i am a sucker for the trope and even if this isnt super duper smutty i do love a good jealousy plot - just as a heads up as I say w longer requests - i wont do everything and smut is harder for me to write so in interst of you not waiting months for a request we're gonna go a little off of what your reuquest was bc i also got confused reading it - which is why i always recc not to be too detailed bc then i get pigeon holed and focused on the wrong details :( - ive also combined these two requests bc theyre p similar to me!

You are fully aware that Sylus needs to work with a lot of people for his job. He's got powerful connections because of these events and you've never had a feeling that he was unfaithful. However, that doesn't mean that you can't help but feel insecure when you see how beautiful some of the people he works with are. You know that he loves you and he makes it very clear with his actions but the way he easily smooths things over with that dulcet tone of his.

You're resigned to having to spend the evening with Luke and Kieran - not exactly a punishment but also not the greatest as they give you the whole scoop on everyone Sylus talks to. The way their breaths catch and the quick darting of their masks to you lets you know that there's something else you're not being told but they refuse to let you in, citing respect for the boss' privacy. You know that you won't be able to get them to snitch on him at this rate, forced to watch as he continues to butter her up for whatever reason. You saw the way that others looked at her and for a moment you wondered if he was looking at her the same way, trying not to overthink things because you're also aware of how much he loves you.

You watch angrily as Sylus wraps his arm around her, whispering something into her ear that makes her laugh. The twins look at you and despite being unable to see their eyes you know they're just as confused as you are. They don't stop you when you get up to leave, deciding to follow you. They know his personality well and know that it seems a little out of character for him to be so forward during a meeting.

You decide to go back to his home, locking yourself in the bedroom as you deliberate on what to do. You know you could confront him if you really wanted you but part of you doesn't even want to do that - you feel like you'd be more content to see him grovelling and begging for you to forgive him but you also know he really isn't like that. So you decide to ignore him.

He comes home later that night, fully intending to explain himself but when he sees you fast asleep he simply decides to slide into bed with you. He holds you through the night, not knowing how upset you are with him. In the morning you're gone and he finds that he can't seem to reach you. You run around with your tasks for the day, barely saying hi to him in passing. He knows you're not that busy so it makes no sense to him.

He ends up having more meetings with the woman, much to your anger. After an especially long meeting he finds you standing outside of his office, an angry expression on your face that he just can't take seriously as he finds you adorable. He leans down to give you a kiss and you end up yelling at him about how you know he's giving her more than just his business.

You actually didn't know anything - just that he was far too friendly to her and you wanted to see what he would admit to. He immediately starts to set the record straight, telling you that there's no way you seriously believe he's looking at anyone that isn't you. You cross your arms stubbornly, telling him that isn't going to work on you.

It ends up not mattering when he picks you up to throw you onto his bed, covering you in kisses as he digs his nails into your hips. You can't escape his hold, bent this way and that way as he teases you for really thinking that he sees anybody that isn't you. He calls you possessive names, moving against you in ways that make you see stars over and over again.

Safe to say your new silent treatment to him is not because of you not wanting to speaking to him. Your voice is hoarse, body barely able to leave the silken sheets on your skin as he continues to dote over you with reminders that it'll always only be you.

#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #lnds sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader

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zephyrchama · 7 months ago

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Vampire MC part II - with Mammon heads up - this one's a bit angsty and there are descriptions of pain

(intro/masterlist can be found here)

Mammon was having a rough time.

He was put in charge of you from the very beginning. You were his responsibility, his human to watch over. He blew it.

Nobody had been allowed near the castle to see you since the incident. Mammon got his ass severely handed to him by Barbatos every single time he tried visit. So for the last month, the second-born spent his time either locked up alone or out at the casino. Though, no amount of winning hands and jackpots could ease the knot of guilt tangled in his gut. He hardly ate and hardly slept. The Avatar of Greed wanted to see you.

Yet when you finally came home, he couldn’t bring himself to knock at your door. What could he say? Pretend like he didn’t royally mess up by letting you out of his sight?

Despite all you'd been through, you had to be the one to reach out. You tapped on his bedroom door with a hesitant "Mammon? Can I see you?"

There was a thud. He might have fallen out of bed in haste. No sooner had the door swung open than you were in Mammon’s arms. He tugged you into a tight embrace, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Man, I am so sorry.”

He feared letting go, he wouldn’t let you disappear again. It was sweet and welcoming and you felt his heart racing. That's the demon you knew.

Mammon clung to you so tightly. He dug his fingers into your sides in a fervent attempt to be closer, but there was something more. A hot sensation. As if boiling water was seeping through your shirt and dripping down your skin.

You hesitated, wondering if it was all in your head. “Wait… Mammon, that hurts.”

“Deal with it.” A whole month of loneliness, all his regret and despair, was packed into this hug. It was an important moment to him.

As the seconds ticked by, the pain grew. It couldn’t have been your imagination. It was searing hot, like a poker fresh off the flames. You pushed back, squirming in pain and confusion, desperate to suddenly escape his grasp.

“Let me go.” You began to panic. “Let me go, Mammon. Now.” You struggled to get away. Right before resorting to the pact, Mammon dejectedly released you, slowly loosening his hold. He gazed at you, pitifully upset.

“What…? Didn’t you want to see me?” His voice quivered.

You sucked in a sharp breath and winced, too preoccupied with rubbing the pain away to listen. It wasn’t getting any better, but at least now it wasn’t getting any worse. It just throbbed.

To investigate, you rolled up a section of your shirt. Around your waist where Mammon had gripped the tightest were deep red rashes. Such spots had not been there before. You didn’t want to touch them. You were starting to feel lightheaded and thirsty and didn’t want to make the situation worse.

“The hell!? I didn’t do that!” Mammon scrambled to your side, uncertain. Afraid to touch you again. “…did I?”

He wanted to do something, anything, to heal you and make you feel better, but what did he even do? He fixated on his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. Were they the issue? They were well-kept, as usual. His nails were trimmed neatly. His skin was flawless. He hadn’t been cursed as far as he could tell, nor had you, aside from the whole vampirism thing.

He stared intensely. Maybe it was one of his new rings. That morning he hadn’t even paid attention to what he put on, anything had been fine so long as it was attention-grabbing and gaudy enough to make him feel influential. A cheap distraction. Mammon flipped his hands, trying to figure out what was wrong. His face contorted into a loathsome scowl as he realized the error of his ways.

With a barrage of swears, he angrily yanked off every last ring.

“Damn it! Can’t believe I did this!” Some of the weaker stones and bands crumbled to dust in his clenched fist. The rest broke when Mammon pelted them at the wall at full force, leaving dent marks in the paint. He patted himself down, frantically emptying his pockets and ripping off a necklace.

You didn’t like seeing Mammon so agitated. It scared you. “What? What’s wrong?” The demons were terrifying when they got angry.

“Silver.” He practically spat the word out, and suddenly it all made sense. Surely Lucifer warned all of his brothers about this as part of your homecoming preparations. Whether they properly listened or not was another story.

A little silver ring could hurt you that much?

“Oh.” You fell down onto Mammon’s couch, dumbfounded that such a common thing was now so dangerous. You probably couldn’t wear some of the jewelry the brothers had gifted you anymore. You laid your head back. The ceiling lights were so bright and dizzying.

"Hey." Mammon knelt on the floor, hands on his knees, eyes level with yours. Close, but not touching. "Tell me what I gotta do to make this right."

"Right now?" You mulled over what would make you feel better, what could distract from the silver burns and make you feel normal again. "I just want you."

Mammon gently scooped you up with one arm supporting your back and the other hooked under your knees. "I've been waitin' so long to hear that."

His grasp was much more tender and he leaned you against his chest while awkwardly stepping up onto the couch, then turned around to sit and lowered you onto his criss-crossed legs.

You slowly draped your arms around his shoulders, listening to the beat of his heart. Mammon smelled amazing, and not just from whatever scent he chose to wear that day. It drew you to him. You tempted yourself with a closed-mouth kiss to his collar, slowly inhaling the pleasant aroma. This intimacy might be dangerous. You exhaled, keeping your lips locked against his skin as they parted just a sliver.

You felt too shy to glance up and meet his eyes. They were so fond of you, so full of relief and love, even though in that exact moment all you could think of was pushing him down and taking a nice meaty bite.

“Y’know… A lot of people’ve tried real hard to get even a single drop of my blood over the years. A lot of ‘em. For lots of reasons.” He reclined back into the couch cushions, leaning you on top of him with his arms gingerly wrapped around your ribs. Mammon put himself in quite the vulnerable position, neck within easy reach. “I always turned ‘em all down. But this... it’s a small price to pay if I get to hold you like this.”

#tumblr makes long posts shorter now right? this isn't gonna take up half of someones dashboard right? aaaaa #i struggled because i know mammon's a fan favorite hgahjgadjk #obey me mammon #obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd mammon #omswd #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #obey me x reader #obey me vampire au #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me angst #ask request #obey me fluff #obey me x mc #obey me x gender neutral reader

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berryunho · 4 months ago

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THE ANSWER: XXVIII

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: 14,305 chapter warnings: alcohol consumption

Your month drags on. Despite the heightened activity around the farm, nothing much changes in your day-to-day schedule. You wake up at the same time, listen to Hongjoong ramble for the same amount of time, eat the same meals with the same people, and eventually sleep at the same time. Even book club is monotonous, barely even happening— but that might have more to do with the fact that Seonghwa (who conducts most of your lessons) seems even less enthused about having to spend an hour talking to you than you are.

Which is strange— ish. Not that you expected much different from him, but you had thought that… or, well, at least, you weren’t feeling such a burning hatred for him anymore, so, maybe…

But that’s silly. Of course Seonghwa still doesn’t give a rat's ass about you, why would he? All you’ve ever done is be a pain in his side. Even when he’s… comforted you in the past… its been to relieve his own discomfort or guilty conscious, not to actually help you. Probably.

You truly have no idea. Seonghwa is an enigma.

In a way, though, you’re glad that he’s at least mostly off your case. Maybe due to your slight mental breakdown after seeing the… thing… Seonghwa seems to be less eager to poke fun at you. Not nice by any standards, but he’s certainly less devious around you.

Which also means that he hasn’t been prying into your personal life. Thankfully. With the secret of your escape looming over your every thought, it would be just like you to accidentally slip-up in front of Seonghwa and blow the whole thing.

Instead, he keeps things very formal. He doesn’t put his hands on you, he doesn’t stare at your face with that scrunched-up look, he doesn’t ask questions about you or your day or San or anything else. He talks to you about The Answer and lets you leave after.

Though the arrangement is a bit startling at first, you get used to it quickly. Hongjoong appears less and less at these meetings, not even making an appearance in the last two weeks of the month. You have no idea what he could possibly be so busy doing, but you’re not complaining.

Over the course of the month, there were several more rituals, similar to the tune of the one that you had participated in. Luckily, you were not called to participate in any of them, and no more— and your hesitant to even give whatever happened a name, but— Guardians appear to confuse and scare the everliving fuck out of you.

More and more, you find yourself absentmindedly reaching to touch the pins on the collar of your shirt, fiddling with them whenever your hands are free. You want to think that it has nothing to do with Hongjoong’s bullshit about the Sign protecting you… and it doesn’t! Not at all! That would be crazy! It’s just a habit. Like spinning a ring or twisting a necklace.

… You’ll go with that, anyways.

Occasionally, you still have nightmares about your encounter. What a horrible night that all was. Obviously, there still is nothing in you that can believe that Guardians are real. That would be silly. And insane. But it’s only natural that you’re still upset about the whole situation. Whatever had happened, it had scared the shit out of you. It affected you— it makes sense that your subconscious would be fixated on such a traumatic memory.

Right…? Or maybe you’re still actively thinking about that night and what the fuck had happened. Could it have been what Hongjoong said? Could he be right? Or were you blitzed out on some mysterious drug and everyone else was just lying about what they saw? Could Hongjoong manage that?

He probably could. It couldn’t be that hard for him to convince the entire cult into gaslighting you into believing that they had all seen the thing, too. But San… He wouldn’t lie to you about it, right? You find that very hard to believe.

Thinking on it, San had, of course, never outright said that he had seen the same thing as you— you had never spoken in detail with him about it… But he was disturbed enough to set your escape into motion, which must count for something. Maybe he had seen a Guardian and was terrified enough to run.

These sorts of thoughts dominate your month.

You had volunteered to help out with the harvest, almost pleading with San for something to do. You were sure that Wooyoung would take your help back in the kitchens, but Hongjoong denied you any opportunity that seemed to come your way. He wanted you with San, where he could see you.

Which is stupid, in your opinion. Hongjoong has the Followers, all of whom are incredibly devoted to him; any of them would give you up in a heartbeat if they saw you trying anything that you shouldn’t. He could assign literally anyone to watch you while you did a task, and it would achieve the same thing as having San at your side. But no. You were forced to rot in your apartment, glancing over San’s shoulder to his laptop on occasion, hoping to see something that could brighten your mood (or give you more information).

Most of the time, you watch out your window, hoping to snag another glance at Mingi. There are a few times when you can see him in the field, but the Followers make quick work of the harvest nearest the compound, and move farther and farther away as the month rolls onward. Sometimes, you swear you can see his hair in the distance, reflecting the sun so brightly. It gets harder and harder to remember why you fought. Why you were holding a grudge. Could you really blame him for having your best interests at heart?

Sure, he had been a little possessive and freaky, but, like, he was kind of telling the truth. And he was just trying to make sure that San wasn’t hurting you.

You’re probably just making excuses for him, now, as you miss his company. Here you were, a cult member, locked away in an apartment, all for him— and you don’t even have him. You can’t even speak with him freely. The irony isn’t lost on you.

Anyways, it doesn’t come as much of a shock when Hongjoong announces that the harvest is complete. Though the month might have been one of the longest of your life, watching the field workers get farther and farther away everyday at least gave you a sense of time passing. When even their tractors were tiny specks that you could hardly see without squinting, it was clear that the work was almost finished.

The announcement is met with much fanfare, though you’re not sure why. From what you make of it, Halloween is always the date on which the harvest celebration occurs. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise that the harvest is over, especially with the date looming so soon, but the Followers all seem overjoyed. Maybe they’re all just ready to relax after a long, toiling month.

That said, the day itself comes much faster than you anticipated. Hongjoong made the announcement of the end of the Harvest on the 25th of the month, leaving six days between the sermon for celebration and the actual ceremony itself.

Which left you with six days to finish your mental preparations for your escape.

San had refined your plan over the month, including making a timeline of the night and the places you should find yourself. He took over the entire plan, which you really couldn’t be more thankful for. His knowledge of the farm and the workings of the cult provided a level of security that you would have never been able to achieve on your own.

In essence, the plan remained the same. When the ceremonial party began at 6pm, you would have nothing to worry about… besides socializing for the next nine hours. Just follow the vibes, and you would be okay. San was sure that you would have free reign during the party, that you’d be allowed to be away from a higher-ups side once the alcohol was flowing. At three, you would meet with San near the front doors, trying to not be seen, and make your way into the woods beyond the compound, where San will have stashed your car in the days leading up to the ceremony (it was as he was telling you this that he admitted to having the keys to your car in his office this entire time).

Despite the simplicity of the plan, you figured that it would probably work. As long as you didn’t raise any suspicions in the coming days, and as long as everything went smoothly on Halloween, there was no reason to dwell on the possibility of it failing.

Another failed escape attempt was unlikely to be something that you would survive, you knew this. Even with Hongjoong’s delusional belief that you are someone important to him and his religion, you weren’t sure he could tolerate this level of disobedience— at the very least, it would be disastrous if you failed. At worst, you would be leading San and yourself to early graves.

Maybe Hongjoong’s twisted dependence on you would mean that he couldn’t kill you… But you weren’t going to count on it. He had threatened your life in the past, and you were quite certain that he meant it. He would be able to reason out a way that killing you made sense, if you pissed him off enough.

So. You simply had to make sure that you did not fail. Because you didn’t want to find out what Hongjoong would do with you if you did.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Much like the rest of the month, the few days leading up to Halloween also fly by before you can appreciate the gravity of your situation.

Your stomach churns all morning. You chalk it up to nerves, the most obvious explanation for an upset stomach, but part of you wonders if there wasn’t something wrong with your dinner last night.

Hongjoong announces the party to be held that evening during the morning service, like San had said that he would. You wring your hands together at San’s side, avoiding Hongjoong’s eyes. There’s a small part of you that is so sure that he would be able to figure you out entirely if he got a glimpse into your eyes. You just try to focus on the activity at hand, listening to Hongjoong with an impassive look on your face.

You must do an alright job, as Hongjoong allows you to leave the chapel with San at the conclusion of the service. You’re even able to eat breakfast in peace, which actually does surprise you. Though Hongjoong had been exceedingly busy over the month, he still typically made time to freak you out most days.

But San and you are able to sneak away after breakfast, back to your apartment, without a word from anyone.

As soon as San shuts and locks the door behind him, he asks, “Are you still feeling alright? Up to this?”

You blink across the room at him, hardly needing a moment to assure him that you very much still are ready to make your escape. You ask if he’s feeling the same way, to which he agrees.

“Just a little nervous, I guess,” he explains, shrugging. “That’s normal, right?”

“Of course it is.” You’re sure that San is no stranger to Hongjoong’s wrath; you don’t need to wonder why he’s nervous. Once again, you’re struck by emotion as you realize what San is doing for you, what he’s risking and what he’s giving up.

He smiles. “What should we do, after we’re out of here?”

You sit down on the couch, thinking through your answer, “I think we should just show up on one of my friend’s doorsteps and freak the shit out of them.”

San laughs, rolling his eyes. “I meant more long-term, but we can do that, too.”

Oh… Long-term. You still hadn’t broached the subject about… well, blowing the whistle on this place again, ever since San flipped out when you suggested it. You certainly still planned on doing exactly that, and you really don’t think that you need San’s approval to do so, either. Like, if you escape and just let this be, aren’t you basically an accomplice to all of the crime?

The last thing you plan to do with your life is go to prison for Hongjoong, so you’re very much resolved in what you have to do… whether San agrees with you or not.

“Well,” you start, “when’s the last time you saw your parents? Where did you live before you came here?”

San sighs dramatically, making his way to sit next to you. “Sheesh, don’t remind me. They’re gonna kill me.”

“They’ll be happy to see you, I’m sure.” You think of your own parents, who will probably also be a little upset… but hopefully mostly pleased that you’re still alive.

San agrees with you easily enough about his parents, before adding, “Is this a bad time to mention that the Followers have been paying your rent since you went missing?” He asks, “So everything should still be there.”

You gape at him. “Are you serious? How?”

You know for a fact that your rent could only be paid through a pain in the ass portal with a very specific and strange ID and password.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “You had the info saved in your phone… so…”

Puzzled. You are puzzled. Why would they go to such lengths to just keep your shit in your apartment? You had long since assumed that your landlord had probably broken down the door and left your stuff on the curb.

Well, you remind yourself, it actually hasn’t been that long. Though it feels like you’ve been on this farm for the better part of your life, it has really only been… what, two and a half months? Maybe your landlord would give you some leeway, but… no need to worry about it, you guess.

But why would they even do that? It’s not like your rent was cheap. What would they gain from keeping your apartment intact? The illusion of life?

That’s probably it, you realize. Just a front to make it look like you, in fact, weren’t a missing person. Part of you wants to freak out at San, realizing that he must be the person that orchestrated all of this, but you’re too far past that. If you start being mad at him for doing his job, you’re going to have to be mad about a lot of things. Things that you can look past for the fact of what he’s helping you do tonight.

“Speaking of my phone, can I get that back?”

San, relieved that you don’t seem mad, smiles. “I’ll grab it tonight.”

“Can’t I have it now?”

He hesitates at that, inclining his head in question, “any particular reason?”

You shouldn’t need to give him a reason, so you shake your head.

“It’s probably best to keep it where it is, in case someone goes looking for it.”

… Ominous. Who would be looking for your phone?

But he’s probably right. And it’s not like there would be much to do on it, anyways. You’re not going to call the cops now, not when your escape is looming closer and closer with each minute that passes. You can’t jeopardize it now.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

You’re a little surprised that dinner carries on as normal, without any extra fanfare. Though no one had mentioned one, you had kind of expected there to be another ceremony of sorts. But, no, dinner is normal. You sit with San and Wooyoung, the rest of the table almost awkwardly empty as the three of you eat in relative silence.

How is Wooyoung going to react when he wakes up tomorrow and you’re both gone? He’s going to be pissed. But, maybe, he’ll realize that you wouldn’t leave him here. Surely, after what he told you, he knows that you wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t have it in your heart to let him rot here, knowing what Hongjoong did to bend him to his will… or, at least, having an inkling of an idea.

Before you know it, Hongjoong is standing at the head of the room, commanding the attention of the cafeteria. The room falls into a hush, no one speaks as Hongjoong starts his speech.

“Everyone,” he addresses the room, “Loyal Followers of the Answer, it is with great joy that I officially conclude our harvest season.”

The room bursts into a polite applause, smiles shared around the tables as the Followers celebrate their leader’s message.

“Despite a rocky start, we were very fortunate to remain safe for the duration of the month.” Hongjoong, for the first time that day, finds your eyes. “I put my thanks in the faith of our Followers, those who kept our protections strong all month long. Though it may seem that there was no danger at all, this is only thanks to their courage.”

San reaches across the table to squeeze your hand, giving you a small smile.

“As always, we will celebrate our safety and our bountiful harvest— which Jongho assures me will last us through the winter and beyond— tonight. Everyone of age shall participate; I do not expect anyone to hold back on anyone’s account, especially not my own. This success is as much yours as it is mine.

“Please, imbibe freely, socialize freely, celebrate your victory over evil. We start now, and we will not stop until dawn.” Hongjoong grabs his glass from the table behind him, saluting the room with it before downing the amber liquid.

Again, the room applauds, though more raucously. Wooyoung excuses himself from your table, headed back to the kitchens. Soon after, Followers emerge with trays and trays of various specialty glassware, each filled with their respective (you assume) alcohols. Not long after, Wooyoung exits the kitchen with a rolling cart filled with, perhaps, more bottles of alcohol than you have ever seen in one place at one time (which was saying a lot, considering the bars you had frequented with Mingi in college).

Without anyone’s encouragement, Followers begin congregating at the front of the room, helping themselves to the multitude of drinks available. You’re even surprised to see that someone brought out a case of Coke, presumably for mixing. When was the last time you saw coke? They must’ve made a run into town recently, you realize, though it couldn’t have had the same importance as when San went.

You shrug it off. Not like it matters much, anyhow. San stands, offering his hand to you. You take it, graciously, prepared to get this night started.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

There is an attempt to pace yourself, considering that you’re going to need to be at least a little coherent later tonight, but… well… it’s been a long time. And you are well aware of the fact that you have, like, basically 10 hours. That’s enough time to get drunk and then sober, if you play your cards right.

So play them, you do. San sticks to your side like glue for the first couple hours, watching you carefully as you put away more than your fair share of drinks. He drinks, as well, but nowhere near at the speed or quantity you do. You’re vaguely aware that you probably should slow down, but why would you, when you’re surrounded by… like, tons of dudes that would protect you, and you include Hongjoong in that count.

By nine, you are positively drunk, blissfully unaware of the worries from the morning. What is there to worry about? You’re having the time of your life, do you even want to leave? Why would you leave? The thought makes you laugh, not surprisingly.

You flit around the cafeteria, having lost San a while ago. Or maybe it was only a few minutes ago… It doesn’t matter. You talk to a lot of people, introducing yourself and smiling when they tell you they know who you are. It almost makes you feel a little guilty, but it mostly makes you happy. So many lovely people know your name and your face and they know that Hongjoong thinks you're so important. How amazing! Tomorrow, you probably wouldn’t be able to repeat a single one of their names, but that doesn’t matter.

The time flies as you keep talking to new people, your mind completely distracted from the plans you have for later. You do slow down your drinking, eventually, though that’s more so due to the fact that you’re too far away from the bar table to bother going back to it than anything else.

More than a few times, you find yourself staring at Mingi, and, more often than not, he’s staring at you, as well. Maybe he’s worried about you…? The thought makes you blush. Mingi… Oh, Mingi. He looks so handsome tonight, too. His hair is still red, still bright, and his outfit is beautifully fitted to his bulky body. Phew. You almost need to fan yourself.

Eventually, sometime, you’re not sure what time, you end up talking with Yunho. He is clearly not even a little bit drunk, you might even say he was stone-cold sober if not for the glass in his hands. Though you thought that he hated your guts, he still seemed a little amused by your presence, a small smile on his face as he has to catch your forearm a couple times. The drunk part of you wonders if you could get away with feeling his biceps, he’s just so tall and so handsome, but even you know it would probably be wrong to feel him up.

You couldn’t repeat a word of your conversation to anyone, not even seconds after it happened; not that you think it particularly matters. After Yunho, you find Wooyoung and Yeosang, and you can distinctly remember thanking Wooyoung for the incredible selection, but… yeah, that’s about it.

While you’re about to go talk to Jongho, who looks like he could use some company, a hand wraps around your elbow, tugging you backwards. Not one to argue, you spin around, ready to follow whoever it is. Seonghwa stares down at you, an incredulous expression on his face.

“Hi, Hwa,” you smile up at him, grabbing his free hand with yours.

His expression morphs from confusion to disgust. “Do not call me that. How much have you had to drink?”

You shrug, swinging your conjoined hands back and forth. “Enough to have a good time. What about you?”

“Certainly less than that,” he tugs you back toward the cafeteria tables that had, apparently, been mostly moved out of the way at one point. “Trust me, you don’t want to bother Jongho tonight.”

You hadn’t planned on bothering him, just keeping him company, but you figured that Seonghwa wouldn’t see it the same way.

“What time is it?” You ask him, only remembering that you’re wearing a watch after the words leave your mouth.

“10:44. Got somewhere to be?”

“Nope,” you pop the p sound, following his lead as he ushers for you to sit down at the table.

Time continues to fly by, though Seonghwa isn’t as good of a conversation partner as the other people you’ve been spending your time with. He also doesn’t let you drink anymore, instead insisting that you drink water, refilling your glass every time you empty it. Lame.

As the minutes pass, though, you can feel yourself coming back to reality. You definitely aren’t sober, very far from sober, but the lights stop being bright and you stop being amused by everything that Seonghwa says and does pretty quickly. You also excuse yourself to the restroom more than a few times, though you dutifully return to the same table each time.

The night progresses, and you find yourself making eye contact with Mingi more and more. Like, seriously, basically everytime that you happen to look at him, he’s already looking at you. Besides the one time you look over and see him engaged in conversation with Hongjoong, you appear to have his rapt attention.

You try to look around the room for San, but there are so many Followers and it’s kind of dark and you’re still not in your right mind, so you give up pretty quickly. You have no idea what it is that he could be doing, besides preparing for your escape, so you just let it be. Better to not ask after him and then have the others asking the same questions.

Though he had stopped you from drinking, Seonghwa had not stopped himself. He paces himself much better than you had, but he keeps drinking as the night wears on, eventually starting to open up a bit more with you. He also lets you get another drink, which you happily allow yourself, as you start to feel much too aware of your situation once more.

“You know,” Seonghwa mutters, leaning closer to you, “this is, essentially, Hongjoong’s birthday party.”

You pull away from him, confusion evident on your face. “It’s his birthday?”

“In a week.” He sips his drink, grimacing at the taste. “But he doesn’t make a big deal of it on the actual day, so here we are.”

You’re actually rather surprised to hear this, and from Seonghwa no less. It’s strange that Hongjoong doesn’t want his birthday to be a huge thing considering his, you know, enormous ego and narcissism issue. Maybe he doesn’t like everyone knowing how old he is. Kind of takes away the appeal, knowing that he’s… how old is he? He can’t be much older than you, just given what you know about him and Seonghwa (who you know to be the same age). You’d ask Seonghwa, but it kind of seems like he wants you to ask, so you’re not going to.

Instead, you sip your own drink, trying to look like you’re thoughtfully processing and tucking this information away for later. Why would you ever need to remember Hongjoong’s birthday, especially after tonight? Your stomach rolls over as you have this thought, the reminder of your plan being truly nauseating.

“When's your birthday?” You ask instead, propping your elbow onto the table.

Seonghwa looks momentarily taken aback, but responds easily enough, “April third.”

“Far away, then,” you frown. Another realization hits you. “You’re older than Hongjoong.”

He shrugs, “Believe it or not.”

For whatever reason, this is, in fact, slightly disconcerting.

But you ignore that feeling, opting to look around the crowded room. Hongjoong himself is mingling with Yeosang and Wooyoung, both of whom look incredibly pleased to have their leader's attention. Wooyoung is not shy with his hands, clutching the Hongjoong’s arm close to his chest as they speak. Vaguely, you wonder if he’s feeling okay. You’re still not sure how he can be so loyal to someone that apparently had him… what? Tortured? Who even knows. Stockholm syndrome is a real thing, you guess. For once, Hongjoong doesn't sense your gaze, staying completely unaware until your eyes shift away.

Immediately, perhaps unsurprisingly, at this point, you make eye contact with Mingi. You hold it this time, tilting your head in question as if asking him if he needs something. He’s certainly acting like it, with all this staring, but he looks away from you, resuming his conversation with a Follower you haven't met before. Like everyone else, he still sports a drink in his hand, dutifully sipping it every lull.

“Princess, can I ask you a question?” Seonghwa speaks across from you, calling your attention back to him. You incline your head in the affirmative, and he asks, “Why did it take you so long to come after him?”

The question takes you off guard, probably for the fact that you wonder it yourself. You take another drink, looking down at the wood grain on the table.

“Too personal? I figured.” Seonghwa takes your silence as an unwillingness to respond.

“No,” you're quick to deny him, “it's not that. I just don't know the answer.”

As horrible as it sounds, the real answer to the question is simply… you were busy. Life happened. You didn’t have any reason to suspect that he disappeared due to malicious circumstances. Finishing university was your top priority— plenty of your friendships fell to the wayside as you wrapped up your degree. And, by the time you graduated, it didn’t seem pertinent. You always figured that, if you reached out, he would answer. Hell, his mom told you where he was, if she knew about this place, at least to some extent, you couldn’t blame yourself for not knowing what it would end up being.

If you had known the truth, you think, you would’ve come sooner. Of course you would have. There is no universe where you let Mingi go through this terror alone… though that’s essentially what’s happened since your argument and the rift in your relationship.

Whatever the case, it seems silly to worry about now. You're here. There were a few months where Mingi was here alone, and the idea of those few months horrifies you. Knowing that Mingi went through a Choosing ceremony without any kind of internal support system makes you feel sick… but, you have to admit, he did pretty alright. Sure, he's traumatized and changed and brainwashed, but at least he has friends and a purpose and, well, he seems happy… ish. There's nothing you could've done if you had been here earlier, so it's no use dreading on it. You still would've been kept apart, and there still would've been the same circumstances.

You take a look at your watch, sighing as it informs you that the time is 11:52 p.m., not nearly as late as you were hoping that it would be.

Seonghwa huffs at your non-answer, tucking his hair away from his face to stare at you harder. “Sometimes I feel like I can hear your thoughts just from watching your expression change. Mingi wasn’t better off before you got here, if that is what you were thinking.”

It wasn’t, but, like, that’s kind of close.

You shake your head, sliding your drink across the table between your hands. “It’s not that I think he was better off… Just that he did alright for himself in the meantime.”

His face twists, though you’re not sure what emotion he’s trying to convey. “Do you even remember what happened when you tried to leave?”

Your eyes meet his.

“He had you back for, what, two days, and then completely broke down.” Seonghwa glances back over at Mingi. “I don’t think he’s been the same since you did that.”

“You can’t guilt trip me into forgetting my need for self-preservation,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray any sense of, well, guilt.

He rolls his eyes, looking back at you. “In case you haven’t noticed, Princess, you are very much still alive.” He mutters something else under his breath as he picks up his drink, taking quite a few consecutive swallows.

You mirror his actions. Hopefully, you can keep it that way.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

In a stroke of luck, Seonghwa let you keep drinking until you found yourself teetering between tipsy and drunk, again. He kept drinking, but he didn’t really keep entertaining you, instead wandering off to do his own socializing. You do try to keep yourself under control, though considering that it’s almost time.

You take a look at your watch, surprised to see that it’s already 2:15. Blinking through the haze of your tipsiness, it sure seems like 2:15 is an okay time to get a move on, right? Like, surely no one will notice if you slip out now instead of in, like, twenty minutes or whenever you and San had agreed he would grab you.

Plus, if anyone did notice, you could just say that you needed some air. It wouldn’t be hard to believe, looking at the state of you. You would quite enjoy a nice breath of fresh air. You could always come back inside if it felt like it was too early, or if you got a bad feeling. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to sneak off for just a moment.

In a brief look around the room, you don’t find anyone paying any particular attention to yourself. In fact, you can see Hongjoong and Seonghwa engrossed in conversation, about as far away as could be. Seonghwa’s hand rests on Hongjoong’s shoulder, a demure smile on his face as he listens to Hongjoong speak. Most of the other Followers in the room all seem significantly more drunk than yourself, with hardly a person meeting your eyes for any longer than a second.

No one will notice, you’re positive.

As you begin your attempt to shuffle your way through the crowd toward the hall, a hand grasps your elbow, stopping you in place, for the second time that night.

Despite the looks that he had been giving you all night, you’re still a bit surprised to see Mingi looking down at you when you spin around to see who the hand belongs to. Your plans to go get a breath of fresh air fall out the window at the sight of him. Why would you need fresh air when Mingi is standing in front of you? He has just about the same effect on you.

At first, he doesn’t seem to have anything to say, but, if you know anything about Mingi, it’s that he yaps when he’s drunk. And he clearly is, judging from the rosy tinge of his face and the awkward smile he wears as he looks at you, a smile that sends you straight back to college. It’s as if he’s completely forgotten everything that’s happened in the past couple months, forgotten the arguments and the anger and the time that has passed.

“Hey,” he greets you, having to raise his voice over the din of the party.

“Hey,” you greet him in turn, politely waiting for him to continue.

“Can I—” he stops, opting to lean his head closer to yours so that he can talk into your ear. His hand stays on your elbow, locking you in place (not that you would’ve moved away from him, anyways, being tipsy and all). “Can we talk in private?” He asks, his voice deep in a way that you had almost forgotten.

Nodding, you allow him to retract himself and lead you away, toward the hall that you had originally been aiming for. When the door shuts behind the two of you, the party sounds fade; the two of you isolated from the rest of the world.

Well, the two of you and a few other Followers that linger in the hall, but close enough. Mingi doesn’t seem bothered by their presence, and you really aren’t either. You’re sure that you haven’t had a truly private conversation with Mingi since before he went missing, given that he apparently seeks Hongjoong’s advice for everything. Anyways, the presence of a few stragglers doesn’t worry you.

Mingi drops your arm, awkwardly smoothing his dress shirt. “You look nice. Pretty.”

“Thanks,” you smile, leaning your back against the wall— partly in an effort to keep your balance. “What did you wanna talk about?”

He shrugs, observing the hallway like he had never seen it before. “Just wanted to talk. We haven’t talked in a looooooonnngggggggggg time.”

Part of you wants to ask him who’s fault that is, but that would be cruel, so you don’t. “It has been a while now.” You agree instead, glancing at your watch. 2:22… which is basically 2:25, which is basically 2:30… already. Nerves wash over you again as you clench your hands in front of you.

“If I’m being honest— and I always want to be honest with you, you know— Hongjoong said that I should talk to you because he thought it would be good for you to hear my thoughts about the situation and also because he said that he thought that you seemed bummed out that we haven’t been talking and that made me sad so I’m taking his advice and talking to you.” Mingi says after taking one deep breath, not stopping for a moment. “Also Yunho said that you still seemed kind of mad and I can’t take the thought of you being mad at me anymore so basically what I wanted to say was that I’m sorry.”

Blinking, a pout forms on your face at his explanation. He had been worrying about you and your relationship. You could’ve reached out to him at any point in the last month, but hadn’t out of fear that he was still upset with you. And here he was, apologizing.

“Mingi,” you wring your hands harder together, “it really isn’t important anymore. I stopped being angry a long time ago.”

He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “It is important, (Y/n), I don’t want this to go unsaid. I’m sorry for confronting you and acting like a douchebag, I’m sorry for scaring you, I’m sorry for questioning you about San, which was absolutely none of my business, I’m sorry for yelling and fighting him and ignoring you for weeks and sending San dirty looks whenever I saw him.” He pauses. “You probably didn’t know about that last one, but, still, I’m sorry.”

Your frown only grows deeper with each apology, your eyes starting to sting. You don’t want to cry, not when you’re sure that this night will steal plenty of tears already, but Mingi is making it hard. If you had known that he was beating himself up equally as hard as you had been, you would’ve apologized a long, long time ago. If you had known… isn’t that just the statement of your life?

“When you were attacked at the start of the month, I was terrified.” He swallows. “I wanted to be at your side, but Hongjoong wouldn’t allow it, and I was sure that you would be pissed if you woke up and I was there, so I left. But that solitude left me a lot of time to think, to think about who you are and what you mean to me.

“You might not think of me as your best friend anymore, but I value our friendship more than anything else in my life, (Y/n). More than Hongjoong, more than The Answer, more than all of this; you are what I thank God for everyday. If something happened to you, I don’t think I would survive it.” Mingi swallows again, harder, tearing up himself. “I’m so glad that you’re here. I know you still are on the fence about Hongjoong, but I need you to trust me when I say that he loves us and he lives to make us better people.”

Finally, you allow a few stray tears to spill onto your cheeks. Mingi’s confession is touching, truly, making your stomach do all sorts of gymnastics, but Hongjoong. How does he weasel his way into absolutely everything? Again, you’re struck by the thought that Mingi will be plagued by Hongjoong for the rest of his life. This… grip he has on Mingi won’t disappear overnight.

Thankful for the wall behind you, considering your dizziness, you lift a hand to wipe at your cheeks before responding. “Mingi, no matter what happens or how much we fight or if I’m here or not, you’ll always be my best friend.” You smile weakly, hoping that he doesn’t read too deeply into your words. “Nothing can come between us for long.”

Mingi wipes at his own tears, sniffling. “Can I hug you?”

Before you can fully nod your head yes, Mingi is pulling you away from the wall and into his arms, crushing you to his chest. You’re quick to reciprocate, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, savoring the feeling. You hadn’t been able to hug him in ages, but his arms feel just like you remember them— if not a little bit more muscled. Inhaling deeply, you rub your face against his shirt, probably ruining the crisp-ness that he had been trying to preserve. His tears wet your scalp, but you don’t mind as you only squeeze him tighter.

The moment could not be more perfect; reconciling with Mingi fills your heart with such a certainty that you’re doing the right thing. Knowing that he isn’t upset with you, isn’t harboring any ill-will any longer reassures you that it will all be okay. He knows that you wouldn’t just leave him behind— he’ll know that you’re coming back for him (if he ever even finds out that you’ve left).

That is, of course, ignoring the bit of his speech where he encouraged you to stay and adapt to Hongjoong, but, like, whatever. It’ll be irrelevant in a few hours, now. He’ll be thankful, eventually.

But no moment can be perfect and last forever.

A throat clearing from behind Mingi calls your attention back to the world. The two of you separate, though Mingi puts a hand on your cheek as you pull away, wiping away your tears with a tight smile.

San looks behind Mingi’s shoulder, his face hard as he watches the two of you. You could almost chuckle at his jealousy, but the seriousness of the situation suddenly rises into your awareness once again.

“I'm sorry, Mingi, you'll have to excuse us,” San says, despite the fact that Mingi hasn't acknowledged his presence.

Mingi leans close to press a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he says, quietly enough so that you're the only one who hears.

Nodding, you untangle yourself from his arms, taking a few steps towards San before offering your hand to him.

He takes it, offering no final remarks to Mingi as he pulls you further away from the cafeteria. Further away from Hongjoong and Seonghwa and Mingi and the rest of them. Closer to the forest and your car and freedom.

Your heartbeat picks up in your chest again. Had you lost track of time talking with Mingi? Were you running behind? Why does it seem like San is in such a rush to get you away? It’s almost hard to keep up with his stride, your boots feeling heavier with each step that you take.

Vaguely, you find yourself worrying over if Mingi will get in trouble for being the last one to speak to you. Surely not… How would he know what you were planning? There wouldn’t be a way for him to… unless they suspected that you had confided your plans to him.

Which you hadn’t done, but if they were desperate enough to need a scapegoat… No. Hongjoong wouldn’t go that far. He may never even find out that you had the conversation in the first place. Mingi might mention it, but he probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to in the chaos that is sure to ensue when your absence was realized.

They were bound to figure out what had happened easily enough; they wouldn’t have to interrogate your friends to come to the most obvious conclusion: that you and San had run away in the night, without outside help.

Before you know it, San is opening the front door, ushering you into the night.

As you had suspected, the cool air does feel amazing on your skin. Lacking a coat, you know that you’ll grow colder the longer that you’re outside. It’s almost November, now, the air is almost strikingly cold after the stuffiness of the cafeteria. Even the hallway had hardly felt relieving compared to this.

Taking a few deep breaths, you allow San to continue wordlessly leading you forward. If you weren’t still rather tipsy, maybe you would question his silence. But it doesn’t bother you very much, if you’re being honest. He probably just doesn’t want to risk drawing any unnecessary attention…

He had assured you that there would be absolutely no one outside of the compound at this point in the night, though…

But, still, he has his reasons, you’re sure. Instead of continuing to walk in front of the building, he veers dramatically to the right, walking the distance until you both turn the corner to round to the side and eventually the back.

Though you had never seen the woods at the back of the compound directly, you had known it was there. The ancient, old-growth trees loomed from behind the building, their leaves able to be seen from a far distance, even from the road. To actually be in front of them was a new sensation, a new emotion. The sight of their trunks startled you into realization.

This is real. You’re doing this. You’re running. You’re getting out of here.

San stops at the edge of the trees, finally turning to address you in a low voice, “You still want to do this?”

Nodding, you squeeze his hand in yours, bringing your free hand to grip your joined hands as well.

He looks at the dirt, kicking a loose pebble at his feet. “Don’t look too hard at anything you might see in these trees, (Y/n).”

However foreboding that is, you agree with his request, “I won’t take my eyes off of you.”

San allows himself a small smile, squeezing your hands back.

Whatever it is that San doesn’t want you seeing, you don’t think you ever had any hope of being able to see in the trees, anyways. It’s pitch black outside, the moon doing little to help you as you walk deeper and deeper.

You’re almost kind of amazed that he’s able to lead you so confidently. He must not have consumed anywhere near the same quantity of alcohol as everyone else. Which actually makes quite a bit of sense, considering you hadn’t seen him very much at all following dinner. What had he been up to? Was Hongjoong not suspicious of his absence? He must’ve made something up… explained it away…

More than a few times, you stumble over a tree root or loose brush, twigs snapping underfoot with each step that you take. San holds you steady, slowing his pace when you need it.

After what feels like forever, but is probably more like a couple minutes, you reach a clearing. At first, you think that you spot your car right away… but then you realize that you can’t be sure. In the clearing, there’s no fewer than twenty vehicles, of all makes and models and sizes. Some look like they haven’t run in years, a thick, dusty coat over their windshields that you can even see in the dark.

San doesn’t pause to let you take in the clearing for very long, however. He quickly pulls you along with him, between a row of cars, before you’re able to find your own. It looks just as you remember it, albeit a bit dirty. Your heart leaps as you realize what this means.

You’re at your car. Your car. It’s right here, right in front of you. You’re going to fucking get out of here. Holy shit.

San lets go of your hand, fishing into his pocket before pulling out the keys and handing them to you. “We don’t lock the cars, but…”

Clutching the keys in your hands, you can’t help but smile. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

He awkwardly mirrors your smile, glancing behind you before pointing it out. You turn to look, not all that surprised to see that the clearing opens to a dirt road, leading back off into the trees. “We’ll go that way. It meets up with the main road after a couple miles.”

Nodding, you turn back to your car, almost giddy as you approach the passenger’s side door. Gently, you pull on the handle, hoping the door doesn’t creak too loud as you do so. Thankfully, it’s no louder than normal, and you eagerly sit yourself down in the seat. San stands in the door, his hands resting on either side of the opening. “Ready, then?” He chuckles as you settle yourself into the seat, adjusting the recline to lay back.

“Let’s go.”

He gives you a thumbs up, pushing himself off of the car before patting at his pockets.

His smile falls, his face paling.

Your heart drops into your stomach, “What is it?” You ask, sitting back up. “Is something wrong?”

San blinks, twisting to look back the way that you came. “I have to go back.”

“What?” You almost shout, “Are you crazy? You can’t go back!”

He shakes his head, leaning down toward you. He grips both of your shoulders tight in his hands, looking in your eyes, “It’ll be fine. I will be right back, I promise.”

“San, no,” you gape at him, “what could possibly be so important?”

San closes his eyes, shaking his head at your question. “It’s hard to explain, I— Just, I,” his eyes open as he squeezes you one last time before dropping your shoulders. “I’ll be back, I swear.”

“Let me come with you,” you plead, attempting to grab one of his hands as he pulls away. “Don’t leave me here, alone, please, San.”

Shushing you, he shakes his head again. “You’ll slow me down. I swear, (Y/n), it will be fine. I’ll see you in a minute.”

He takes a step back, shutting the door before you can come up with a response. You’re too dumbfounded to even attempt to open the door again, too confused to try and follow. What could possibly be so important to him? What if someone finds you here? How are you going to explain that, huh?

But the possibility of that is so remote. No one knows that you’re out here, how could they? Even if someone notices your absence at the party, they’ll just assume that you’ve retired to your room, right? And even if they feel inclined to check, that’ll take a few minutes, in which time San should return to you and get a move on.

Still, you find it very hard to swallow your panic.

What if this is it? What if you die because San had to go back for something that he wouldn’t even tell you about? Your breathing grows shallow with each new terrible thought that invades your mind. You can see it now, Hongjoong walking into the clearing, rage in his eyes, knife in his hands. Making you grovel and beg and plead with him only to end it right then and there, anyways. San would come back and find your still-warm body, soon to join you in death.

You try to blink away the images that flit across your mind, realizing that your eyes burn as if you’d been crying. Your hand flies to your cheek, unsurprised to find it wet. Taking a deep breath, you do anything you can think of to distract yourself.

The air in your car is so stale, your months old air-freshener doing little to help the dry, bitter smell. You fumble with the glove box, pulling it open while praying that there is anything in it that can distract you from the horror of the moment.

Papers spill out as you indiscriminately pull everything out, ushering it onto your lap. You throw aside the car manuals and your outdated insurance, searching for just one thing, anything that could remind you of what you were enduring these terrors for.

A brochure for The Bean slides out, your own face smiling from behind the coffee bar. Adam can be seen in the background. It almost makes you sick, that horrible reminder of the life that you had been forced to give up. You keep sliding the papers around, cutting your finger in your desperation.

Sucking your paper cut into your mouth, you realize that you're not going to find anything in the glove box. You make a half hearted attempt to shove everything back inside before deciding that it's not worth it.

Tears still pouring down your face, you reach for the driver's side sun visor, flicking it down to reveal the photos you kept in the sunglass clip.

On top is a picture of Jungeun and yourself, embracing with your faces pressed together. You quickly slide it back, knowing for certain that you have a picture of Mingi in the stack.

Seeing the picture will wake you up, you're certain. It will give you the courage to keep going.

Finally, a polaroid emerges. It's the first picture you had clipped to the visor, a testament to how much time had passed before you started looking for Mingi. How had you waited so long? You pry the polaroid free, it having stuck to the metal after so long.

Though your hands shake, you don't really need to see the photo in detail to appreciate it. Mingi stands in the center, a peace sign next to his eyes. He's not smiling, rather giving you a sour look. He wasn't pleased to be the first test subject of his gift to you. The second photo was of yourself, taken by him, you remember. The third was a selfie of the both of you.

You don't have either of the other photos, but you have this one. Something compels you to protect the picture, to keep it on you, so you slide it into your waistline and pray that your pants don't distort it too much.

A knock on the window almost kills you on the spot, with the way your heart leaps into your throat.

The shock of who you see through the window makes you gag.

No sooner after seeing his face does he open the door, falling onto his knees next to the car to be eye level with you.

Seonghwa is drunk, much more drunk than he had been when you were with him earlier, you realize this very quickly with the way his voice wavers as he asks, “What are you doing?”

You have no response. You open and close your mouth a few times, but only choked sounds of fear come out.

He grabs your hands, holding them in your lap. “Why are you crying? Are you leaving?”

He sounds so sad that your heart nearly shatters. Your heart should shatter, now, knowing that escape is impossible. But you can only focus on Seonghwa, on his knees, in front of you.

His bangs brush his eyelids. “You're leaving?” He asks again, “without me?”

Seonghwa hiccups, frowning. The question is so absurd you can't pay any mind to it. Why would you bring Seonghwa with you? His forehead comes to rest on your thigh.

“Seonghwa, go back to the party,” you manage to get out, clearing your throat after.

“I can't,” he pouts, “Hongjoong is mad at me. I can't tell why.”

You think Hongjoong always seems a little mad at Seonghwa, but you're not going to say that to him now.

“Please, Seonghwa, go.”

He shifts his face and blinks up at you, his eyes reflecting the moonlight so prettily it almost hurts. “Come with me, then.”

Seonghwa gets to his feet, but he doesn't release your hands. They dangle between the two of you, the height different causing yours to float up. “We can fix this. Just come with me,” he says.

You're shaking your head before you realize it. “I can't go back. I can't do this anymore.”

Seonghwa bites his lip, looking around. “This isn't going to end well; please,” he looks back at you, “just come back with me. I won't say anything, Hongjoong will never know, we'll both be fine. We'll be fine. Nothing has to change.”

“I can't go back.” Your heart beats wildly in your chest, you can feel its thrum. When San returns, what will he do about Seonghwa? How will he possibly get past him? Seonghwa won't let you leave, but you have to. To what length would San go to get you free?

You don't want Seonghwa hurt. You realize now, staring up at him, that you care about him. More than you would've ever thought you would. Who is Seonghwa if not the ultimate victim? Is he not just a reflection of yourself?

“Get in the car, Seonghwa.”

He frowns again, pouting his lower lip. “I can't leave Hongjoong.”

“Yes, you can. Get in the car.”

You don't give a second thought to your proposition, nodding your head toward the back seat.

“I won't leave Hongjoong.” Seonghwa clarifies, dropping your hands. They smack down onto your thighs, stinging.

You'd question him, start yelling at him if you could. But you can hardly form a coherent thought and every word feels like risking the contents of your stomach coming up. Instead, you frown, looking down at your lap rather than at his confused face.

“You can't leave Hongjoong, either,” he says. “Even if you run, he'll find you, always. You'd come back on your own, you won't know how to live without him anymore.” He tells you this eerily flat. “Just come back with me, he doesn't have to know about this.”

Seonghwa is speaking nonsense. Even your flurried mind understands this.

“Please.” He begs. “(Y/n), please.”

You shake your head.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as singular tears run down his cheeks. “I'm sorry. I tried to help you, I did.”

Seonghwa turns away from the car as the sinking feeling in your stomach solidifies into a rock of dread.

Of course, you knew what it meant to see Seonghwa out here. There was never any chance, not after he had found you. If he knew where you were, Hongjoong did, too. Surely, he wouldn’t risk you getting away. He would drag the moment on, though. Making Seonghwa come here, making him plead with you, what sort of torture was that? What was the point? Isn’t he just going to kill you, now?

Why is it that, when Hongjoong enters the clearing, you aren’t scared? You hardly feel anything. You knew this was coming. You knew that this would happen, didn’t you? There wasn’t any other possible ending to this night. You wanted to believe that it was possible, that you could escape, but it was futile. It was never a possibility. Even with San’s help. You knew it, deep down.

Like Seongwha said, there is no getting away from Hongjoong. You were foolish to think that you could, and you know it, now.

Instead of watching Hongjoong approach, you watch Seonghwa slink away. He doesn’t go far, stopping to rest his head against the roof of a car a few down from your own. You can imagine how good the cool metal must feel.

You snivel, wiping at your eyes as Hongjoong stops in front of you, standing where San had stood, where Seonghwa kneeled. He’s silent. You don’t look up at him, instead focusing on his hands as they hang at his sides. They’re empty, though clenched into tight fists.

“You have ignored every. Single. Opportunity. I have given you.” He emphasizes each word. “Chances I gave you to make the right decision.”

It’s not even worth your energy to respond, is it? Obviously, you should’ve known that the various conversations you had over the night were warnings. How else would everyone manage to bring up something that would make you want to stay? And Seonghwa…

How humiliating.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Hongjoong says, and it’s so much worse than if he had been screaming and violent. “I thought you were starting to fit in.”

You glance at Seonghwa, who still has his back turned to you. He seems to be shaking, but you find it hard to believe that, even in this scenario, he would cry for you. This has to be part of it, right? Part of making you feel guilty?

Looking at him is a mistake, though. Hongjoong harshly grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Look at me when I'm speaking to you.”

You still have no idea what to say to him. It all seems so stupid, in retrospect.

It's only as you look up at Hongjoong that you start to wonder where San is. If you asked, you'd surely get your ass handed to you. But the terrible feeling in your stomach only gets worse. What if he comes back to this scene? How will he react? Poor San, he was so desperate for you. How will he feel, with the plan destroyed? Does Hongjoong know the depth of his involvement?

So, you break your silence. It couldn’t get much worse, could it? “Where is San?” You ask.

Hongjoong lets go of your face, but only to bury a hand in your hair, yanking you into standing. Instinctively you bring your hands to his, crying out in pain. He only smirks, releasing his grasp on you.

You collapse onto your knees, catching yourself with your hands at his feet. Your nice pants, they're dirty, now, you catch yourself thinking. Like that's the biggest issue right now.

“Where is San?” He repeats your question, spitting the words out like they leave a vile taste in his mouth.

Reduced to a heap at his feet, you can't bring yourself to look up at him. This night has turned up just as your last failure had. You're not all that surprised when Hongjoong's boot comes down on your hand, though not hard enough to hurt. “Look at me.”

You do. From even further beneath him, he looks more Biblical than ever.

“Who do you think told me where you were?”

Ah.

Of course.

That makes sense.

Your face contorts, though with what emotion, you’re not sure.

You want to think that there might be an explanation, one that doesn’t involve San betraying you to a homicidal maniac, but you know that there isn’t. Instantly, you know.

He never meant to help you. He never cared about you. He had laid a pretty trap for you, at Hongjoong’s request, and had sprung it just as planned.

And he couldn’t even be here to see the fruits of his labor. Pathetic. Your mind swims with everything you had told him, everything you confessed to him, the times you had been warned about him. You fought with Mingi over him, you defended him to Mingi.

“Yes,” Hongjoong smiles down at you. “All of this has been planned since the day I made you live with him.”

You nod up at him, realizing that he must want something else from you.

“You must understand, (Y/n), that I control everything. You can’t trust in anything besides this fact.” Hongjoong kneels to meet your eye line, inadvertently crushing your hand under his foot as his weight shifts.

Gritting your teeth, you suck in any sound of pain that threatens to escape. The last thing you plan on doing tonight is letting Hongjoong realize the depths of your pain.

He tilts his head in question. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”

Even in your haze of emotions, you can hardly resist spitting a few choice curses at him. “Fuck you.”

He grimaces, though he’s clearly not actually affected. “Not what I was thinking, Princess, but I’ll give you a pass.”

His hands are suddenly gripping into your shirt at the shoulders, yanking you onto your feet. He hardly allows you to catch yourself before he begins dragging you across the clearing, away from your car, into the trees, away from your last shred of dignity.

There isn’t a single thing on your mind as he pulls you through the trees and eventually back around to the front of the compound. He’s groveling under his breath, probably cursing you out in any and every way that he knows how. And you deserve it. You deserve every stumble of your feet, every tear burning your cheeks, every horrible thing that Hongjoong can fling at you.

You failed. Not only yourself, but everyone stuck here in this cult. You’ve utterly failed. No one is going to be rescued, no one is going to be saved. You cling onto Hongjoong’s blazer as he guides you to the barns, having no idea what could be waiting for you there.

Maybe this is it, huh? Maybe he has finally realized that you’re more trouble than you’re worth. For a second there, it had looked like he was going to keep you alive, but maybe not. That was probably just wishful thinking. He’s probably delivering you to Jongho, too disgusted to even deal with you himself.

Hongjoong releases you to throw open the barn doors. You have to catch yourself on the siding to remain standing, but Hongjoong quickly returns his grip on you, hauling you further inside the barn.

It’s the animal barn. He walks you into the center aisle, dropping you unceremoniously. You fall into a heap at his feet. Again.

You can hardly hear Hongjoong over the general animal sounds, but especially over the oinking of the pigs. “I’m going to leave you here,” he starts, glaring down at you. “When I come back, you’re going to still be in this building.”

Sniffling, you nod in agreement.

He scoffs. “You’re lucky, (Y/n), very lucky. If you had made it even an inch down that road, what do you think would’ve happened to you? To Mingi? Haseul?”

There isn’t anything for you to say. The pigs fill the silence.

“Selfish. Utterly, disgustingly, selfish.” Hongjoong spits. “Stay here— before you try and lure anyone else to their certain deaths.”

With that, he turns on his heel and exits the barn, shutting the door behind him. The overhead lights remained on, but you barely even found yourself capable of caring. The dark wouldn’t make any difference. You failed.

And Hongjoong was right. You are selfish. Even though you knew the truth about San’s intentions now, you hadn’t known before. You had thought he was risking his life to help you, and you had been fine with it. What was wrong with you? Why is this just occurring to you now? Had you really been so desperate as to involve another person? What’s the matter with you? Have you no shame? No consideration? Were you such a narcissist that you would put your freedom above someone’s life?

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you wipe your cheeks with your hands. The sensation is calming, allowing you to take a few deep breaths as you collect your bearings. As hard as it is, you should try to keep your head on straight… there’s still no telling how the night will end, and something tells you that it’s far from over.

One thing you know for certain, though, is that you cannot do this again. You can’t. No matter what. Something else will have to give. There is no more escape. There is no more saving yourself. How the fuck could you, after this?

Standing, you brush your hands off on your pants. Hongjoong hadn’t said anything about not moving from the spot. Might as well look at the animals. Animals can be calming, right? Therapeutic? Maybe?

Wishful thinking.

Your tears keep flowing, but you find your breathing to be coming back to your control. You stumble with your first step, but quickly regain your balance, tottering over to the nearest animal pen— which happens to be the pigs.

This is where you had confronted Jongho about Haneul. How long ago was that, now? That horrible confrontation lingers as you grip the metal fencing keeping the pigs in place. The bar is cooling, demanding your attention. You realize now that the air itself, though warmed by the animals' presence, is getting rather chilly, as well.

Tugging your sleeves lower over your hands, you peer down at the animals. Some of them are sleeping, but most of them aren’t. Each sow is separated from the next, in neat, orderly rows. Last time you had seen them, there weren’t individual pens. Jongho had been feeding them in one huge, disorderly mess. It had been rather disgusting.

You had also fought with Mingi, that day. About so many things that just seem stupid, now. What was there to even be mad about? Mingi is just Mingi. You can’t fault him for being a victim.

And the fact that he was just looking out for you, and, in fact, turned out to be absolutely correct.

As you turn to walk to a different pen, the feeling of the polaroid at your waist recaptures your attention. Stopping in place, you fish it out of your waistline, cupping it in your hands.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be damaged. You stare down at it once more. It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes since you had put it in your pants, and, yet, here you are. Completely changed.

Mingi’s face frowns up at you, but your eyes catch on something outside of the photo. Your own expression melts into a frown as you lower your hands, shoving the picture back into your pants.

Wiping your tears again, you kneel down to the ground next to the pen.

What had caught your attention was a scrap of white, so starkly bright against the packed dirt floor of the barn.

You reach out to grab it, suddenly overcome with an even worse feeling of dread. Your scalp goes cold, a shiver spreading across your body as you touch the… fabric.

Fabric.

Blinking your tears away as fast as you can manage, you pull, feeling your stomach drop as the piece grows into a cuff. Buttons and all. A white cuff.

There’s nothing that you can do to stop yourself from thinking the thoughts that come— attacking you at nearly instantaneous moments.

It’s Haseul’s. This is from Haseul’s shirt. What did Hongjoong say would happen? About the pigs? The pigs? Haseul? This is Haseul’s shirt? It can’t be. She’s in her room. She’s been in her room this whole time. This could belong to anyone. This could’ve been cut off of anyone’s shirt. It doesn’t have to be hers. It could be anyone’s. Why would it be hers? It isn’t possible. San said she was fine. He failed, but she was fine. Hongjoong said she was fine. Mingi said— what did he say? Did he say something? Anything? It doesn’t matter. San said—

“You shouldn’t be in here,” a familiar voice calls from behind you.

You fall onto your butt, forgoing your pants. They were ruined, anyway. Clutching the cuff in your hand, you don’t even reply to Jongho’s warning. Your breathing is out of control, again. Each breath you take is tighter, harder, less satisfying, more panic inducing. The fabric in your hand burns with the tightness of your grip.

Jongho grabs your shoulder. “Can you even hear me?”

A fully-fledged sob leaves you as you look up at him.

His eyebrows furrow in some emotion— probably disgust— as he frowns at you. “Get out of here.”

Shaking your head, you try to say even a single word about Hongjoong telling you to stay here, but you can’t get anything out. If anything, you cry harder, shaking your head back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, shutting your eyes as tightly as you can.

This cannot be real. This can’t be happening. It can’t be Haseul’s shirt. Even if it is, it doesn’t mean that she’s—

No, you won’t even think it. You just keep shaking your head. It can’t be. It cannot be.

Jongho’s hand leaves your shoulder.

“This is your punishment, (Y/n).” Hongjoong’s voice booms from behind you. It’s so shocking that you open your eyes, spinning around in the dirt to face him. He’s not alone. Seonghwa and San are with him, both of them looking incredibly uncomfortable.

Seeing San doesn’t relieve you at all. Seonghwa’s face is puffy, his clothing disheveled and dirty. Neither of them look at you, instead looking at the ground in front of them. Jongho remains at your side, seemingly caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You don’t know what Hongjoong means, though. Or, rather, your mind completely refuses to see what is in front of it until it is irrefutable. There is still hope, now. There is hope. The cuff doesn’t mean anything until Hongjoong says that it does. There is nothing in you that can accept this until…

“Haseul is dead.” Hongjoong says. “And San killed her.”

The wind is completely knocked out of your lungs as you fall onto your hands, heaving.

Though you can’t see San, you can hear him. His protests are immediate, “What? Hongjoong, why would you say that? I didn’t do that. I didn’t even touch her. I swear, (Y/n), why would I lie—”

“Not to mention that he orchestrated your entire escape attempt at my request,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through San’s pleas to be heard.

The reminder calls you back into your body. Hongjoong had to say it in front of San, you realize, he had to make sure San knew that you knew of his betrayal. You look up at the three men in front of you as you gasp for air. The cuff lays in the dirt before you, momentarily forgotten.

San is gaping at Hongjoong, his hands outstretched as if he was in the middle of trying to reach for you. “Are you fucking crazy?” San barely squeezes out in his apparent anger.

“I am, in fact.” Hongjoong replies, though he doesn’t bother to address San. He smiles down at you instead, watching your facial expression change from one of despair to one of hatred.

Your eye twitches as you stare at San, who starts to plead for you to hear him out once more.

“I swear, (Y/n), it wasn’t like that! You heard him! He’s crazy! He only has something to gain if you don’t trust me, right? Why would I ever do that? I love you, you kno—”

San had been crouching down to your level as he made this speech, which was probably a horrible idea. Using your hands as your leverage, you launch yourself at him, toppling him over into the dirt.

Pinning him to the ground with your weight, you stare down at his (very surprised) face.

It takes you all of five seconds to realize what you couldn’t in the past month.

Hongjoong is right. Again.

Your tears drip down onto his own face. San tries to speak, but evidently can’t think of anything to say to you.

Hongjoong laughs at your side.

You pull your hand back, bringing it back down and slapping San as hard as you can muster across his face. The smack rings through the barn, your hand stinging all the way up your forearm.

San tries to clutch his cheek, but your knees keep his arms at his sides, and he instead looks up at you, stunned.

“Say something.” You demand, finding your voice.

He opens and closes his mouth, grasping for anything to say. “He’s lying to you— I swear it, I had nothing to do with Haseul, and I would never set you up, I would never, you can’t trust him, can’t trust anything that he says, (Y/n), really—”

You hit him again. This time, he exclaims in pain as you feel your hand go numb. Seonghwa flinches in your peripheral vision and Hongjoong laughs once more.

“Fuck you.” You blink, more tears falling. “Fuck you.” You lean back, freeing his arms, which immediately come up to rest on your waist. “Hit me.”

San’s face contorts, confused, “why would I hit you?”

Absurdly, you smile. You smile wide. “Hit me. Do it.” You hit him in the chest, though lighter than you had his face. “What? Are you a coward? You can kill my best friend, but you can’t hit me?” Your voice raises, reaching a shrilling quality. “Come on! Hit me! Do anything!”

San’s hands remain holding your waist, not moving.

“Hit me so that I don’t fucking kill you! Hit me to show you at least think your miserable life is worth living! Hit me! Hit me! Hit me! Hi—”

“That’s really enough, (Y/n),” Seonghwa’s voice cuts in as he grabs your arm, keeping you from landing another blow to San’s chest. “You’re being childish.”

You scoff, but it devolves into a laugh. “Childish? I’m being CHILDISH?” You wrench your hand out of Seonghwa’s grip. “Tell me, Seonghwa, please, how is someone supposed to react in this situation? What is the normal reaction? Enlighten me, please!”

When Seonghwa doesn’t respond, you stand, turning your full attention to him. San’s hands easily slide off of you, though you remain hovering over him. He finally starts cradling his red cheeks.

Seonghwa looms over you, his back to Hongjoong as he stares over his shoulder at you. You feel guilty for lashing out at Seonghwa, somehow, but it doesn’t stop you from fanning the flames. There’s nothing that could stop you, not in this moment, from bringing anyone else to your level.

You make eye contact with Hongjoong, who has his arms crossed nonchalantly, an enormous smile on his face. You imagine that this night is just going peachy for him. Just how he wanted it to. Maybe, just maybe, you can ruin his fun.

At Seonghwa’s expense. You hardly feel bad about it, though, as your eyes snap back to Seonghwa’s.

“Without turning around, take a guess. Is Hongjoong watching you, his perfect little whore, or me, the spoiled brat who doesn’t behave?”

Seonghwa sneers, a small laugh escaping him. Of course, he plays right into your hands. He exhales one shaky breath before grabbing your shoulders, using the grip to shove you as hard as he can, sending you falling back to the floor. You practically land on top of San, your legs resting over his waist, but you can only laugh.

Seonghwa falls onto his knees in front of you, crawling until he can reach your legs. He grabs you by your calves, pulling you off of San until you’re practically underneath himself. You’re sure that he’s planning on strangling you, there’s a sweet little look in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know.

And you’re excited, you want him to kill you, you realize. Your laughing becomes intermixed with your sobbing as Seonghwa puts his weight on your stomach, the fury in his eyes blazing harder with each sound you make.

Before you can truly get your way, though, San is grabbing Seonghwa by the back of his shirt, using all of his strength to pull him off of you. You hear the fabric rip as Seonghwa sprawls onto his back in front of you, and San takes the same position that Seonghwa had just had on you.

You can’t find it in yourself to sit up, so you opt to just turn your head until you can see San. Vaguely, you can hear the sound of him hitting Seonghwa as you had just pleaded with him to do to you, and this only makes you cry harder.

You turn your head in the opposite direction, and you’re greeted with the image of Hongjoong, still sitting contentedly. He glances down at you, but he doesn’t betray anything.

“Can’t you just kill me?” You whisper to him, hoping the others can’t hear it, “won’t you please just kill me?”

Hongjoong frowns, then, slowly rising to his feet to come to your side. He holds his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t at first, opting to continue looking pathetically up at him. From this angle, with the blurriness of your tears and the extreme perspective, Hongjoong really does look… ethereal. Angelic. Godly. Whatever the word is. You take his hand, allowing him to heave you into a sitting position just in time to see San land the punch that you’re sure breaks Seonghwa’s nose.

It’s only in this moment that you realize San is screaming at Seonghwa, mostly incomprehensible phrases of anger. Seonghwa is trying to fight back, his hands clenching onto San’s shirt, slapping at his shoulders and face, thrashing underneath him, but San is too pissed to let any of it stop him.

Hongjoong squats at your side, resting one of his knees on the floor. He doesn’t drop your hand, instead using it to pull you closer to him. He puts his face next to yours, making sure you’re watching the scene unfolding in front of you.

“Doesn't this make you feel good? Seeing what San would do for you? Even after it’s all over?” He whispers so close that his breath tickles your ear. “It could always be like this. Everyone could love you like this.”

Love? This is love? Your ploy to upset Hongjoong by including Seonghwa failed. If there isn’t love lost between the two of them, then what on earth about this is love?

Still, your heart skips a beat.

You had completely forgotten (or, maybe, ignored) Jongho’s presence until Hongjoong turns to give him some sort of look that must tell him to stop whatever is going on. In the next moment, Jongho is resting a hand on San’s shoulder, barely having to pull at him to get him to cease his movements.

Seonghwa turns his face toward you and Hongjoong, blood pouring from his nose and split lips.

A sob escapes him, this time, before he turns to face the other direction.

You really hadn’t meant for Seonghwa to get hurt from this. You just wanted to goad someone into giving you what you wanted, and he was easiest. You avert your eyes from him, wanting to give him the privacy he clearly desires.

Hongjoong doesn’t care. He drops your hand, standing to go to Seonghwa.

You look at San and Jongho. San is also sobbing, his knuckles torn to shreds in his lap.

You don’t feel bad for him. You don’t feel anything for him. You’re sure the upset will come in the next few days. The bomb will drop, the emotions will explode, but now, in this moment, you couldn’t care less if he lived or died.

Frankly, you couldn’t even care less about your own life. Haseul is dead. She’s dead. And she’s never coming back. You’ll never see her smile again, never text her that you’re bored at work, never hear her complain about her parents arguing again. Her parents. Her own parents. They’ll never see her again, and it’s your fault. Entirely.

You look back at Seonghwa and Hongjoong just in time to see Seonghwa slap Hongjoong’s hand away from him, groaning as he turns his body to fully face away from his God.

That can’t be a good sign.

Hongjoong sighs, crossing his arms over his chest before turning on his heel to come back to you.

Great. Just what you wanted.

“Is she really dead?” You can’t help the question, squeezing your eyes shut as they fill with more tears.

Hongjoong sits beside you, taking both of your hands in his this time. “She is.”

“For how long?” You don’t open your eyes.

He takes a few seconds to answer, as if contemplating whether you should hear the truth or not. “She died the day she arrived.”

You’re not sure if this is the best or the worst news that he could’ve given you. You’d believed lies for weeks, but at least she hadn’t been suffering the entire time, like you pictured.

“Was it really San?” You still had a hard time believing it. Could San kill? Had you really shared a bed with him for over a month, not knowing that he had killed Haseul himself, believing that he hadn’t?

“No,” He admits, letting go of one of your hands, using his newly freed hand to rest on your cheek. You open your eyes, feeling your lips quivering with… every emotion on this goddamn planet. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Whatever. “Jongho killed her, and humanely at that. But San helped with the mess. I didn’t want it to be like this, (Y/n), I warned you.”

And what could you say. He warned you. Very plainly. And you had disobeyed him. And look at what it cost.

Hongjoong moves his hand away from your face, using it to wrap around you and pull you back into a hug.

There's nothing to do anymore. Nothing to say. You cry into his shoulder, finally wrapping your own arms around him in acceptance.

He rocks you, there, on the ground. “It might be hard to understand now, (Y/n), but everything I do, I do for you.”

You nod. “Please don't make me see him again.”

Hongjoong knows who. He strokes your head, smoothing your hair, “Of course, love. Of course.”

Though you know that this is all because of Hongjoong, you still find his words comforting, his embrace grounding. You squeeze him tighter to you, appreciating the feeling of having at least one person on your side. He’s right, he’s so right, you can’t trust anyone else, not when this is how it turns out.

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#ateez angst #ateez series #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #park seonghwa x reader #jeong yunho x reader #kang yeosang x reader #choi san x reader #song mingi x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #choi jongho x reader #the answer #update

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rafesbunny · 4 months ago

Text

oops- r.c and jj 🎀

where r is sleeping with both jj and rafe and they find out

you had been sleeping around with rafe for a few months now, it was fun, exciting and it was a bonus that he would sometimes buy you gifts. although you were “just fuck buddies” you two would act like a couple, no one knew about this arrangement except the two of you, it did upset you a little bit that you couldn’t show him off. but who cares!? you were young and wanted to have fun. plus he was very easy on the eyes, so there were no complaints on your end. you know who else was extremely hot? jj maybank. so it was just fantastic that you also had the pleasures of messing around with him. your situation with the blonde was exactly the same as the one with the kook prince. there was just a little problem though, they had yet to find out about each others involvement in your life. it wasn’t your fault! it wasn’t exactly an easy conversation to have, what did people want you to say? “oh by the way i’m also fucking your arch nemesis!” so you thought it was easiest to keep it all a secret, what they didn’t know can’t hurt them. however it wouldn’t be long until they did find out.

it was the annual bonfire party, where kooks and pogues all come together to get drunk and have fun, forgetting about their differences. you were technically a kook but you didn’t believe in all that and heavily disagreed with the feud. you were friends with people from both classes, everyone on the island loved you. you were kildares sweetheart. you were bubbly and friendly and also ditsy and a bit naive. these traits only escalated when you were drinking. it was a few hours into the party, and being the animal you were you’d already had three cans of cider, four glasses of some carton cocktails and nearly a quarter bottle of vodka,to say you were waisted was an understatement. so jj took you under his wing and sat you down on a log, nursing you back to at least being able to say your own name again.

you could now semi form a full sentence, so decided you were ready to go out and mingle. jj stood opposite you, hands on your waist, “okay sweets, if you wanna go back out there do it. but just know i’m going to be by your side the whole time, okay babe?” he said gently rubbing your sides. and as you were about to turn around to go back to the other a strong familiar hand landed on your shoulder, and a voice you knew all too well spoke, “he bothering you babe?” rafe moved to stand between you and jj but you lightly shove him so he’s next to you instead, “rafe no- he was just looking after me”. jjs face showed he was nothing but confused, “babe? just a word of advice buddy, never call a girl that again if you don’t know them” with a faux brotherly hand on rafes chest, really pushing the boundaries. rafe just chuckled in amusement at jjs lack of knowledge, “thats my girl, pogue. go back to your own side of the island, okay?” jj looked at you before looking back to rafe, “nah she’s mine” now it was rafes turn to be confused. they just started at each other in silence trying to process what the other had just said, the only sounds that could be heard was the crashing of waves and distant conversations and music from the party. and also your drunken giggles. “something funny kid?” rafe questioned. “yeah something you wanna say, girlie?” jj also asked. their tone was intimidating but your giggles continued. as they stood on either side of you, you put a hand on both their chests and confessed, “you’re both my boyfriends, sillies!” with a big grin, while drunkenly and happily walking away back to the party, while rafe and jj continued to stand in silence figuring out what to do next.

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sadokasochism · 7 months ago

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For me, the most heartbreaking aspect of Ivan is that the poor clueless bastard didn't have the tools to express his affection in any way that didn't involve violence or manipulation, or weren't too inscrutable, quiet, or unseen to be picked up by Till.

I definitely interpret Ivan as autistic for several reasons, a big one being their Segyein teacher's notes about him:

It's just. Classic ND behaviour to me.

Not only does expressing emotion and communicating the way other kids do not come naturally to Ivan, but it's not as if he's been given a great example of coping with this from the Segyein.

Ivan managed to mask in a way that made him popular with other students, and got him in the good graces of their captors. He did everything expected of him to survive and thrive in this environment.

Then he meets Till, inscrutable and very different to the other kids, just like Ivan is. Except, Till doesn't mask. He doesn't change or try to endear himself to their captors, and he doesn't bend to anyone, no matter how much he is hurt and punished for it.

This is a new situation for Ivan, and he's never had anything to compare his feelings to. He also can't figure out how to communicate with Till, every interaction, no matter how well meaning, seems to end in failure.

I bring your attention to the cheer up comic, and how, again, autistic this interaction feels:

There could be many reasons why Ivan chose to say what he did, but to me it feels like ND bluntness not being received well. And that's fair! From Till's perspective Ivan is being a jerk for no good reason.

Instead of responding with glee towards Till laying him out (as we see from Ivan when they're a bit older), Ivan justs seems... really confused. Like he didn't expect that statement to upset Till that much, and he didn't expect Till to respond in the way he did. Everything was fine a second ago, what went wrong?

Then, Ivan uses the phrase he learned from Till in an attempt to self sooth. It might have been the first example of comfort after an injury/hurt he had ever seen, given how he defaults to it. And it was from Till trying to cheer up a flower.

This also shows some of Till's blindspots. He has grown up having to be vigilant, because violence and hurt have been a core part of his upbringing. This leads to anything he doesn't immediately, clearly understand being perceived as a threat or a slight, and so he reacts violently to Ivan's statement.

I'll also draw your attention to this comic where, as far as we know, Ivan is simply stating a true fact in a blunt manner:

In my interpretation, these types of interactions keep adding up, and Ivan is grasping at straws the whole time, trying to be closer to Till and failing every time.

Eventually, the only surefire way to get Till's attention is to piss him off, provoke him, manufacture scenarios to talk to him. I'm not excusing this behaviour, but I understand where Ivan could be coming from, from the perspective of both an emotionally immature/stunted child and/or an ND child.

Despite how much they fight and bicker, at every moment it really mattered, Ivan was there for Till. It was always Ivan coming to free him, to take off his collar or gag, and it was Ivan who led their escape.

Ivan couldn't leave Till behind when he went back for Mizi. Even with the confirmation that Till would choose Mizi over Ivan every time, Ivan couldn't leave him.

The miscommunication goes two ways though. It's insane to think that Till didn't care about Ivan at all. They were close as kids, and I doubt Till ever forgot about the escape he gave up.

We have the graduation messages, where Ivan is able to write something that could be reasonably interpreted as affectionate or fond towards Till.

Meanwhile, Till's message-

If we're being charitable with our interpretations, we can say this was Till's way of saying 'of course I remember you' and attempting to communicate that Ivan HAD left a lasting impact on him.

However, how could any reasonable person be expected to get THAT out of 'you stole my fucking pencil'? Ivan could have taken this one of two ways:

1) Omg he remembers me 🥰

2) he leans into his 'i will never be loved back' bias and thinks that Till really doesn't care about him at all

Who the hell knows what goes through that weird little brain of his. But given how Round 6 went, and what Ivan had to say in the confession comic, he obviously didn't think his impact was significant enough.

Then Alien Stage happens, and in Round 3 Ivan is FINALLY communicating his feelings in a way that is vulnerable and might even have a chance of being understood as love and yearning!

Till is unconscious through it until the very end.

Then in the next round, Mizi goes missing, and Till can't care about anything anymore.

Ivan finds him after the private performance, takes off his gag, and just holds him. Again, Till is unconscious for all of this.

Then, in Round 6, not only is Till distraught from the disappearance of Mizi, but he's given no time to process what the fuck is going on before Ivan is dead at his feet. Till might have finally had a chance to really understand where Ivan was coming from, how he really felt all this time, and Ivan DIES.

And still, Ivan's most transparent act of affection? It's delivered with violence. He's kissing a distraught Till who tries to push him away, and neither of them are happy. He puts his hands around Till's neck, not really hurting him, but it's enough to look convincing for the cameras, and it's enough for Till to go limp and wait for death. Ivan's final loving act is to give Till a soft look with blood pouring out of his mouth, that Till still does not see, and then let go before falling to the ground.

It's just a collection of failures. We see from Ivan that he truly loved Till, made a lot of selfless decisions for his sake, was filled with so much longing and affection, but he just couldn't get it across in a way that doesn't seem fucking deranged from an outsider's perspective. And when he DID manage to communicate his feelings more clearly, it was to a Till that was unconscious, or too distracted/dense/traumatised to see Ivan's actions as ones of love.

There's no guarantee that Till would have reciprocated even if Ivan had managed to communicate his feelings in a healthier way, but there was at least a CHANCE. At least Ivan could have gotten some closure, even if he was rejected.

Instead Ivan died thinking he was completely unloved by the person who he cared about more than anything else, and his last ditch effort to make Till understand was deeply flawed and uncomfortable.

If these kids had grown up any other way, maybe they could have had a chance. Unfortunately, the world they were in didn't equip them to not hurt eachother in their attempts to grow closer.

#alien stage #alien stage ivan #alien stage till #alnst #alnst ivan #alnst till #ivantill #tillivan #alien stage round 6 #if you saw me edit this a bunch of times trying to link the masterdoc post no you didnt

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gh0st-in-green-c0nverse · 11 months ago

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burned

percy jackson x gn! reader — you’re all alone in an alley in NYC. what could go wrong??

tw — violence

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You’re cold.

You’re cold and afraid, shaking in an alley somewhere in downtown New York.

You try to think about camp. About the rolling hills, the sweet strawberries, the campfire. About your friends, about target practice, the climbing walls.

Percy should be here. He should’ve been here— you check your watch — fifteen minutes ago. But he’s not, and your thoughts are running wild.

The wind howls louder. You shut your eyes.

The wound on your leg stings. You’re coiled around it, hunched forward in a meager attempt to shield it from whatever. Meet back here in 30, you’d told him. He nodded; you drew your dagger and he lifted riptide out of its sheath. And then you went separate ways, a desperate attempt to get the monsters off your trail, to confuse them by being in two places at once. It’d worked, partially, and you would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he’s not here. So you’re not fine.

There’s a commotion at the mouth of the alley, and your head snaps up.

A woman stumbles into view, smartly dressed with long blonde hair down to her waist. She notices you, and you freeze.

“Excuse me, do you have a map? I just can’t seem to—”

“y/n, no!”

Percy’s voice echoes off the walls, and your heart drops at his audible panic.

Her smile turns from airheaded to sinister. Fangs peek over her bottom lip.

Multiple things happen at once.

You lunge forward, dagger in hand, but she grabs your wrist with a vice grip. She squeezes, and squeezes, and you’re certain she’s going to snap your wrist in half when Percy rushes in, almost runs headfirst into the brick wall.

She wrenches the knife from your hand and turns it on you. Percy lifts riptide. You stumble backwards; the tip of riptide shines through her chest.

Two blades are thrusted forward. Twin gasps of pain meet your ears.

One of them sounds suspiciously like you.

The woman dissolves, dust flaking away to reveal Percy, breathing hard. His face is bruised. It’s upsetting, even though you really should be used to it by now. You just wish he would get hurt less.

Something throbs under your ribs. It feels like a cramp, but it gets worse and worse until it burns, You’re burning—

Your knees buckle and Percy runs to you. Your head doesn’t hit the ground, so you assume he caught you.

The entire left side of you is on fire. You can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips.

The delicate skin around his eye is blooming an angry red. You reach out for it weakly, and he winces when your knuckle brushes the bruise.

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly.

Percy gently grabs your hand, lowers it from his face. “I’m okay,” he soothes. “I’m right here.”

Why does he feel so far away then?

His hands move again. You’re still cold.

Your eyes flutter, tongue lead in your mouth. You realize with dim fascination that he’s cradling your face. It’d be quite intimate if your vision wasn’t darkening at the edges.

“You’re gonna be okay. They’re almost here. Just… just stay with me.”

You have so many questions. Who’s they? Why are his hands so warm?

Percy’s looking at you with a fear in his eyes that shakes you to your very bones. His eyes rake over your face as if he’ll never see you again. You still don't understand. All you know is the sinking feeling in your chest, the creeping nothing in the corners of your eyes, and the dull ache in your side.

You don't remember closing your eyes, but you do remember Percy shaking you.

“y/n,” he pleads, voice trembling in a way that you haven't heard before. “It’s alright. Just open your eyes for me, yeah? Please— please.”

He’s shivering. You feel absolutely horrible about the whole ordeal, despite your very limited understanding of the situation. You want to assure him it’ll probably be fine, that you’ll bounce back because you guys always bounce back, but this time you’re not sure.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp, the words sandpaper in your throat.

The darkness swallows you whole.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

lmk if I should write a part two? I dunno if anyone will read it

#percyjackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fanfic #pjo #percy jackson fics #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #Percy Jackson

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jaemna · 8 months ago

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and again. » ljn

genre | angst with fluffy ending, jeno x reader, college au

word count | 2.7k

summary | you hadn’t seen jeno since you had broken up, but a new year’s party brings you back together again, physically and emotionally

warnings | argument, small mention of past relationship issues and insecurity, light swearing, teeniest alcohol mention, flashback where jeno is a dick to reader, one female pet name (pretty girl) but i think its pretty gn aside from that

tonight marks roughly one year.

it’s been an entire twelve months since the big fight that had ultimately caused the downfall of one of the most fawned over relationships on campus. in one year, you’d surprisingly- impressively, even- managed to avoid talking to him or seeing him in person at all.

which really, was your biggest motive for desperately wanting to skip out on the party tonight. you knew jeno would be there, despite the numerous attempts by all of your friends of trying to convince you otherwise. but you knew that you couldn’t bail on everyone who hadn’t seen you since you arrived back from visiting home. not to mention, everyone was going to be there. it’s new years eve, and no one misses the new years party. so you just had to swallow your pride and attend.

the fact that it was the very same party that drove you apart the year prior, however, is another major reason you’d rather just stay home.

even as you sat in your best friend’s car, you weighed your options.

“do we really have to go?”

“are you really asking me that when we’re already half way there?” ningning asks, but its less of a question and more of a statement. “i can drop you off on the street if you really want me to,” she jabs.

you groan, your head falling against the headrest and your hands sliding down your face.

“who’s to say he’s even gonna be there anyway?” karina asks from the backseat.

“stop giving me hope, everyone is going to be there.” you sulk, crossing your arms and sinking down in the passenger seat.

“then what are the chances you'll even run into him? more people more distractions, right?” giselle consoles. she had a valid point, but even the slimmest chance made you want to rip your hair out.

ningning parallel parks her car on the side of the residential road, and the house party practically lights up the entire night sky. your girlfriends chatter excitedly as their heels clack on the sidewalk, all the while you’re hoping, praying that karina and giselle are right.

but as fate would have it, not even three footsteps in the door, you spot him. and unfortunately, your presence doesn’t go unnoticed either.

jeno is stood by the fireplace, deep in conversation, but sees you almost immediately upon your arrival, like the universe was on a timer, counting down to the exact second that your eyes would meet again, not a moment too soon or too late. his lips are parted like he stopped mid sentence, and you stand dumbfounded in the doorway, staring stupidly at him as people shove past you to enter.

renjun taps jeno’s shoulder from beside him, most likely trying to bring his attention back, but jeno’s eyes never leave yours, and you see him mouth your name in response to his confused friend, making your heart flip. renjun follows his eyes, adding to the unwanted attention that’s been placed on you. jeno then suddenly takes a few steps toward you, squeezing through the dense crowd, but before you think it through, you scurry off in the other direction.

“y/n, will you stop pouting about it already?”

you enter your apartment with jeno trailing behind you, your mood extremely sour as you open the door and let it slam against the wall.

“i’m not pouting, jeno. i’m upset, do you not get that?”

“you’re so dramatic,” jeno scoffs. he kicks off his shoes and drops his jacket over the back of your couch, so nonchalant about the whole situation that it makes you even angrier.

“she was all over you!” you cry out in desperation. you’ve repeated this what seemed like a hundred times already, but no matter what you said jeno wouldn’t even attempt to understand.

or maybe, he just didn't care.

“you couldn't even bother to just tell her to stop!”

jeno rolls his eyes. “i told you, y/n, i did tell her to stop. she wouldn’t listen.”

“then that's when you walk away, jeno. push her off of you, ignore her, anything! actions speak louder than words.” your arms flail wildly as you speak. “why do i even have to explain something like this to you? i’ve told you about what’s happened to me before and-“

he’s not even looking at you.

“are you listening?! do you even give a shit about how i feel right now?”

“not when you’re acting like this, y/n.” he drones, tapping away at his phone screen. “maybe if you’d just calm down and acted a little less crazy i’d be more inclined.”

all you feel is red. red from the sting of tears muddling your line of vision. red from the prick of your nails digging into your palms as they grip into fists at your sides. red for the old wound he’s just slashed open.

your voice is low and calm when you speak again.

“get the fuck out of here, jeno.”

only then does he decide to look at you.

“babe-” the smallest hint of guilt crosses his eyes, but he’s burned the bridge already. he reaches a hand out toward you, but you step back as if he’s venomous.

“get out!” you screech, not even caring that it rattles the walls. jeno flinches back. with a huff, he grabs his things and stomps out the door, slamming it behind him.

against all odds, everywhere you look, he’s there.

you see him when you’re seated by the tv watching a tipsy group of freshman struggle to get through a round of a dancing game; he’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, laughing when they stumble.

and again, when you’re outside soaking in the fresh air; he’s got the attention of everyone lounging in the hot tub, telling them stories behind the constellations visible from the deck.

and again, when you’re reaching into the fridge for another drink; he’s pouring shots for swooning girls at the kitchen island.

always suspiciously close, yet just far enough away.

you initially thought it to be just an unfortunate coincidence, but the house was much too big and had too many other places to be. he’s attracting way too much attention to himself in such ways that it’s impossible for him not to be pining for yours in particular.

enough is enough. you decide that if jeno wants a show, you’ll give him a show.

the basement is the one place left in the house where you hadn’t seen him. its a cozy little space, with sports banners and posters of swimsuit clad models cluttering the walls, and along with the pair of couches there's a large pool table. you watch as your friend jaemin stands beside it, twirling his pool cue in his hands, laughing at something haechan had said. you swirl the liquid around in your red solo cup, an idea brewing in your mind.

right on time, you see jeno descend the staircase. you stand, walking over to jaemin.

“help me with something,” you whisper into his ear. he gives you a curious look, but when your eyes flick over to jeno, jaemin understands immediately and gives you a subtle nod.

it’s no secret to you- or to anyone, really- that jeno is watching you. you can feel his eyes on you, burning your skin as you grab the cue from jaemin’s hand and lean over the bright green table to shoot a striped ball into a pocket. jaemin gives you a charming smile, complimenting your technique. his bubblegum hair reminds you of the color jeno’s was before the breakup. it’s never bothered you before, but your heart involuntarily twists at the thought.

you hum, rounding the table to stand right beside your pink haired friend, scanning for the right ball to shoot in next. you lift your cue to point at the number ten ball, turning to jaemin, tilting your head.

“i don’t think i can get this one on my own, do you mind helping me out?” you ask smoothly, dragging your fingers up his arm. your friend picks up quickly, smirking down at your innocently pouty expression.

“sure thing, pretty,” jaemin hums with faux flirtation. he does a flawless job of dragging his hands along all of the parts your body that were jeno’s favorites, and you can almost feel his stare burn hotter. you not-so-subtly bite down a grin as jaemin leans over you, breathing heavily down your neck as he guides the cue through your arms, shooting the ball directly into a pocket.

after watching from the corner for a while, jeno begins to make his way towards you, telling you that he’s had enough of staying arms length away.

“you’re not subtle,” jeno says bluntly. its directed at you, but he’s glaring at jaemin.

you scowl, casually chalking up the tip of the cue you hold. “a bit narcissistic to think this is about you, don’t you think?” you hadn't expected those to be the first words you’d spoken to him in a year.

“do you mind?” jaemin interjects, his hand resting on your hip. “we’re in the middle of something.”

the tension in the room rises.

“well, whenever you’re finished,” jeno spits through his teeth. he shifts his eyes down toward you then, his gaze just a little bit softer. “i’d be really grateful if you’d meet me outside. i wanna talk to you, if you’ll let me.” and with that he’s gone.

after serious contemplation, you do decide meet him outside, despite a very sensible voice in your head telling you not to. as soon as you slide open the glass door and step out onto the grass, he’s leaning against the side of the house, closer to you than he’s been all night- all year. this close up view of him makes your heart flutter more than you’d ever be willing to admit in the moment. his hair is a shade of brown you’ve never seen on him, but his eyes glimmer just the same as they always have when he looks at you.

“long time no see, baby,” he greets you, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a small somber looking smile.

“that’s not my name.”

“it used to be,” he replies. you roll your eyes.

“what do you want, jeno?” it’s harder to say his name out loud than you thought it would be.

“i know you’ve been thinking about it, too,” he says softly, a very sharp contrast from the vibe he’s been presenting to other partygoers the entire night. the bass thumping upstairs is synched with your heartbeat. you still can’t bring yourself to look directly at him. “there’s no other reason you’d pull a stunt like that. jaemin is handsome, sure, but he’s not your type.” you fold your arms, slumping a bit. you hate that he’s right; that you haven’t changed enough during the time that’s passed and he can still read you like an open book.

“doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

jeno swallows, his head bowing forward to fix his eyes on his feet.

“i wanted to say i’m sorry.”

you turn to look at him then, your brows raised. “isn’t it a little late for that?”

“you blocked my number,” he says; you’d almost forgotten you had, in fact, blocked him on just about everything. “i couldn’t get a hold of you in person, either.

but i didn’t know what to say even if i could. there’s no excuse for what i said to you, and an ‘i’m sorry’ doesnt cut it.”

the look jeno is giving you is so genuine that its hard to breathe. all of a sudden your facade begins to crumble. “i can’t- i’m not doing this, not right now,” you tell him dolefully, turning around to slip back into the house, but he catches your elbow; his grip is soft, unthreatening, unmalicious.

“please, please just listen to me, i’m begging you.” when you turn around he’s on his knees, looking up at you with a pleading look on his face and your hand is clasped between both of his own. you despise how he looks so beautiful in the dim moonlight.

“jeno.” you blink your tears away. “don’t beg for me, please.”

he tugs lightly on your wrist, and reluctantly you sink down to kneel in front of him on the grass.

“i haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a year. every time i dream, its about you. believe me y/n i've tried so hard to let it go but the things i said to you still haunt me.”

his eyes flicker across yours, glistening with tears of his own, searching for something he can grab onto. the floodgates holding your emotions in begin to crack at a rate that’s too quick for you to keep up with. “you, you knew how i felt, about things like that,” your voice stutters, your lip quivers. “you knew, and, and you still-“ you choke on a sob.

“i know. y/n i’m so sorry,” he gingerly lifts a hand to your face, pausing for a moment, but when you don’t lean away or swat at him, his thumb brushes your cheek to wipe a tear away that’s just fallen from your lashes, tenderly tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “thinking about how i made you feel that night makes me so disgusted with myself. i never ever wanted to hurt you, but the fact is that i did and i can’t forgive myself for that.”

a moment of quiet passes between you. you wipe at your face with the sleeve of your sweater over and over but your tears don’t stop and the runaway drops fall onto your bare knees.

“do you remember when we won king and queen of prom court in high school?”

his sudden question puzzles you. you look up at him, and you see the real jeno. your jeno, soft and simple and so full of love.

“we went out for ice cream after the dance. it was the first night i told you i loved you.

and again, when we went to your sister's wedding together. you accidentally spilled red wine on my favorite white dress shirt. you were trying so hard not to cry, but i told you it didn’t matter, because i loved you.

and again, when we took your little brother and his friends out to that laser tag place for his birthday. we played one on one, and when you asked me why i let you win, i told you it was because i loved you.

and again, when you broke your wrist falling off the old tire swing in your front yard. you asked me why i came over every night to feed you dinner, even though you didn’t need the help, and i told you it’s because i loved you.”

“what are you doing?” you cut him off before he can continue any further, your voice small and trembling.

“i’m telling you that i still love you.”

he scoots forward on the ground, his body now so close to yours that you can feel his warmth. “i know i don’t deserve it, but all i’m asking for is another chance to love you right, the way you deserve to be loved.” his fingers cling tightly to your hand he still holds as he speaks.

“i don't know where you stand, so you’ve got all the power in your hands right now. stay here with me, and i’ll know we’re on the same page. turn around, and i’ll leave you alone, and you won’t see me again. it’s your choice, and i won’t judge you either way. your word is the final word.”

you feel heavy. his sweet words and the smell of his familiar cologne are intoxicating, but you do know you have the ability to get up and walk away right now if you want to.

but… do you want to?

the painful racing of your heart reminds you that no matter what, no matter how long you’ve been apart, you love jeno. you always have you and always will.

you raise a hesitant arm, placing your shaking hand lightly on his shoulder, and he draws in a breath. your fingers dance upward, contemplating, lips parted slightly with hazy breaths. cupping his jaw, you lean upward, brushing your lips against his in the lightest kiss, testing the waters.

you ignite. suddenly you’re full of such a serene feeling of home, a feeling you hadn’t realized had been absent from your life from the second you pushed him out of it. all the memories you’d tried so hard to keep at bay come rushing back with the image of a soft and smiley jeno; one who’s never had anything but love for you. jeno sees your eyes light up, and he smiles dreamily at you. in an instant, you’ve never been more sure of anything.

you press yourself up against him, pulling him down into your lips, and he wraps you up in his arms. even though the house is filled with the sounds and heat of other people, it’s only you and jeno in the entire world. you pull away when you can’t control your cries anymore, burying your face in his neck instead.

“i’m sorry,” your voice wobbles as you let out the words, but jeno sweetly hushes you, rocking you back and forth in time with the rhythm of the muffled music.

“no apologies from you, pretty girl. none of this is your fault.” you feel the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders. he presses a gentle kiss to your temple, resting his chin on top of your head.

“i love you,” he reassures you. and he does again, and again, and again.

#lee jeno #lee jeno angst #lee jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno fluff #lee jeno drabble #jeno drabble #jeno imagine #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream drabble #nct dream x reader #judah.doc

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01zfan · 6 months ago

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anything 4 u pt. 2 | j. sc

boyfriend!sungchan x fem reader | 5k words

omg this counts as an ooc fic almost i think…sungchan please get mad at meeeee…no smut (leaving that for the next part if you guys want it hehe) BUT it is a little suggestive

contains: drinking, parties, slight toxic behavior?

anything for you: confident | one | two

sungchan feels his phone vibrate next to his head. part of his mind is still asleep, he’s convinced what he’s hearing is a dream. but when the ringing and vibration persists, sungchan turns completely to his side of the bed to haphazardly reach towards the source of the sound. when sungchan lifts his head he sees 3:42 staring back at him in red digital numbers and has to squint to make sure it’s real.

when he grabs your phone he has to squeeze his eyes shut a few times to make sure he’s seeing everything correctly. your caller ID and contact pic he has set up for you take up his whole phone is very real. sungchan quickly turns to your side of the bed, running his hand over your spot in the dark to only find you missing, a small crater in the mattress left behind. instantly sungchan sits up in the bed, feet pressing into the ground as he accepts your call.

“hello? hello?” the speaker on sungchan’s phone is almost blown out as you yell into his ear. he pulls the phone away for a second before bringing it back. “—i told you he’d answer” you yelled on the other side of the line.

sungchan looked to the time again, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose. he suppressed all of his anger, speaking through clenched teeth when you finished talking.

“where are you?” he asked.

your laugh crackling through the speakers told sungchan all he needed to know. he remembered the conversation you two had only a few hours ago about that party. sungchan remembers telling you he couldn’t go because he had work in the morning, and he remembers telling you that you shouldn’t go either. sungchan also remembers you agreeing, and you talking about how tired you were before falling asleep first. so when sungchan heard you laugh and he heard the loud music behind you he had to close his eyes as he tried to remain calm. the fingers that pinched the bridge of his nose went to his temples, trying to massage out his incoming stress migraine.

“at the party.” you said simply.

you could barely hear sungchan’s quiet voice over the party that raged around you. trying to find a secluded quiet place for a phone call was impossible, the closest you could get to having a private conversation was going to a dark corner and plugging your other ear with your finger.

“the one i told you not to go to?” sungchan asked.

even if he attempted to keep his voice even, you could hear the annoyance lined in his words. the alcohol in your system that made you want to call your boyfriend only made you mad now, anger shot through your body as you dissected sungchan’s every word. your hand plugging your ear dropped to your hip and you narrowed your eyes, as if sungchan was right there in front of you. you even tilted your head in faux confusion as you held the receiver closer to your face.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do.” you said.

hearing sungchan’s irritated sigh on the other end of the line only made you more upset. maybe you imagined it in your drunken state, how upset he sounded on the other end of the line. but being treated with the brief silences from sungchan made you feel irate. the alcohol in your system made your hairs stand on end.

sungchan was still silent on the other side, trying to figure out how to approach the situation.

“okay.” you can practically hear sungchan rubbing his temple as he lets out another sigh. “just send me your location.” he says.

he wanted to come and take you away from the fun. he wanted to take you away from the loud music and the puking teenagers and whatever that was in the corner next to your feet. after you were so nice to call him in the middle of the night to tell him about the great time you were having. what a fucking buzzkill.

“no.” you say, crossing your arms.

sungchan is quiet on the other end of the line. you imagine him sitting in the dark, phone pulled away from his ear as he tries to collect himself. if he wasn’t so high-strung and let loose after work like you did he wouldn’t be so irritable all the damn time. before you can tell him this, your thoughts are cut short when you hear him vexed on the other side of the line.

“i’m not in the fucking mood for this.”

you can’t stop your eyes from widening. if you weren’t so drunk, you would’ve played off of his annoyance by throwing a joke at him, or you would’ve submitted and sent your location while still being on the phone. but you were three shots past your limit and you saw your friends coming up to you with more, and the loud energetic music around you made your adrenaline rush. the shock from sungchan's words turned into fire, and the short fuse you had was lit. the alcohol was running through you. as you tried to mirror sungchan by using the silence as a buffer to control your anger you were getting closer and closer to anger.

when you tried to summon what little self control you had left, sungchan cursing at you rings in your ears. the anger bounces off the walls of the party, louder than the music everyone dances to. so your self control is wasted as you draw your lips to your teeth to make sure all of your words are punctuated for your boyfriend.

“fuck you sungchan.” you seethe.

sungchan hears you curse at him and he can’t get a word out before the call drops. he hears the two defiant beeps of you hanging up, and sungchan keeps his phone to his face from the pure shock. the massaging did nothing as he feels the pulsing behind his eyes, brought on from working constantly and the headache he calls his girlfriend. he stays like that for a minute, mouth agape as he tries to figure out what just happened. the irrational anger makes sungchan almost shake, he lets out a laugh to himself in his dark room as everything sinks in.

sungchan still laughs to himself as he pulls his phone away to see the time. the phone brightness blinds sungchan, and your smile on his lockscreen illuminates his face. he lets out a sigh when he sees the time, how late he’s up because of you. he just got cursed out by the smiling cute girl on his phone. you are a pain in his ass, the reason for the blossoming migraine behind his eyes, and the love of his life—it’s hard to put it into words. if sungchan had to choose between all the riches in the world or having you listen to him, you’d be beside him in bed right now.

his anger and annoyance almost makes him roll over and go back to sleep. sungchan wishes he had the ability to be mean to you, to make you figure out your way back home. you’re more than capable, and you arguably deserve it. he did try it, laying his head back on his pillow and bringing his covers up to his chin in a huff.

“if she found a way to get there, she can find her way back.” sungchan whispered to himself.

it almost worked. sungchan swore his words almost worked before he turned back to check the time on his digital clock. he couldn’t stop himself from imagining you walking around lost and worried, with a dead phone and a boyfriend that wasn’t there for you.

if she found a way to get there, she can find her way back.

sungchan turned on his back to face the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut one more time to try and go to sleep. he turned to your side of the bed, eyes still shut. when he made the mistake of opening them to see your jostled pillow and you missing he pushed the covers down the bed quickly, letting out a sound of annoyance.

if she found a way to get there, she can find her way back.

next, sungchan let out a loud groan, all of his frustrations from work and you bubbling to the surface. the whole day was heavy on his shoulders, and now this was too. sungchan knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he wasn’t even tired as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed again to stand up.

“four in the fucking morning.” sungchan says under his breath while running his fingers through his hair.

sungchan is quick navigating his phone, his previously groggy mind is on alert as he looks through your messages. he finds the flier for the party you were at in the attachments. sungchan’s quick fingers press into the glass of his phone as he inputs the location on his navigation app. thirty minutes to get to you in the middle of nowhere.

sungchan’s anger heats his whole body as he gets dressed. in his haste he only throws a jacket over his shirt and puts on sweatpants over his boxers. he runs his hands through his hair one more time before throwing on a baseball cap backwards, pushing back his bangs so it’s a snug fit. sungchan gets dressed in the dark, trying to not waste anytime to turn on the light. he doesn’t care if his clothes are on backwards or if he looks crazy. he plans to be in and out quickly, not being seen by anyone else but you and your annoying enabling friends. maybe if he’s mad enough maybe he’ll lecture them too.

as sungchan leaves the bedroom he turns on the living room light. he flinches from the light and instinctually yawns as he shuffles through his apartment. even the anxiety sungchan feels for you being so clearly drunk turns into anger. the argument of you not taking your low tolerance into consideration has been a topic of debate (arguing) between the two of you for as long as he can remember. “i don’t drink to get tipsy. i drink to get drunk.” sungchan felt himself getting even more upset as he recalled your absurd philosophy when it came to drinking.

his anger made him move fast, so fast that sungchan almost left without his phone. he had to circle back to his bedroom to slip it into the pocket of his sweats. as he was leaving the room he saw your jacket resting on the desk. sungchan swore he felt his eye twitch at the thought of you in the cold without your jacket. he snatches it from the desk and scoffs at your keyring that rests underneath it.

“act first, think later.” sungchan says as he grabs your keys.

he carelessly slams his door as he makes his way down the stairs of the apartment complex. his slides grind on the cement with each long stride, and sungchan clears two steps at a time. he makes his way to his car in the parking lot quickly, and he sees your car sitting pretty in the spot next to his. sungchan imagines you ordered an uber with your friends, none of you were responsible enough to have a designated driver.

sungchan pulls at his door twice but it doesn’t automatically lock.

“nobody is fucking listening to me tonight.” he says while grabbing his keys from his pockets.

when sungchan can finally get into his car he slams the door, so hard that it causes his vehicle to shake. sungchan is sure he wouldn’t have cared if the window broke from the force, he thinks his anger could make him split the car in half. the only reprieve he gets is the white-knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel as he looks towards the map on his phone. occasionally he tells the robot on his phone to call you—each time you let it ring to your voicemail. sungchan has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying things he’ll regret. he only jabs the end call button before repeating the process over and over again.

when his navigation app leads him closer to you, he finds himself at the end of a road that abruptly cuts off. he’s surrounded by parked cars, and sungchan can see people on foot heading down the hill and some people coming back. he’s absolutely sure he’s in the right place, his headlights show people in revealing clothes excited as they talk about the party. they pass by his car without a care in the world, and sungchan has to peer over his dashboard to make sure he doesn’t hit anything.

when he finally parks his car and takes the key from the ignition he calls you one last time. sungchan knows there’s no way you’ve come to your senses, or that you’re ready to apologize but he lets his phone ring in the palm of his hand one last time.

“you have reached the voicemail box of—“

before the automated voice can finish, sungchan hangs up. he looks outside one last time, thinking he still had the chance to leave and wait for you at home. maybe you had already left with your friends to go to a different party. sungchan lets all the options float through his head, and he regrets when he was blissfully unaware of the world around him when he was sleeping. he presses his forehead to the steering wheel, mentally preparing for the loud noises of the underground party and ironing his resolve. sungchan breathes deep before letting it out. remain calm he repeats it to himself over and over again. he looks out the passenger side window to follow the crowd that disappears past the hill.

sungchan undoes his seatbelt and unlocks his door, heading down the hill to follow the music.

“you got this sungchan.”

he repeated that phrase to himself all the way to the party. it was uncomfortable, being outside in the cold with music he didn’t have a taste for playing so loud that he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. all sungchan could think about was how this wasn’t your crowd at all, and this wasn’t the type of music you even liked to listen to. the more he thought about it the angrier he got—he didn’t understand why you were so adamant on going to a party that wasn’t your style at all.

when sungchan looked through the crowd of people he saw you in a huddle with your friends. the same people you see nearly everyday stood off to the side, not even dancing or acknowledging the party that raged on around them. sungchan even saw one of your friends grimace at someone who bumped into her while they were dancing. sungchan felt his face heat up and his hands clenched at his sides. there was no reason for you to be here, no reason for any of your friends to be here either. he recognized all the girls faces, and he knew their attitudes well. when sungchan thought about the fact that you and your friends were here solely because someone told them not to be he found himself pushing through the crowd of people, making a line straight to you.

you didn’t notice sungchan coming through the crowd. you blamed it on the alcohol, and the riveting conversation you were having with a complete stranger. all you knew was that one second you were ignoring your boyfriends nth call of the night and the next he stood in front of you, interrupting your new friend mid-sentence.

“put that on.” sungchan tossed your jacket to you, and you almost missed it with the drink in your hand. “we’re leaving.”

you look at sungchan standing tall above your friends, the alcohol in your bloodstream makes him appear like a dream in front of you. you can see the boxers he wore to bed peaking over his pair of sweats and his loose hoodie makes his white undershirt visible. he sticks out like a sore thumb, the casual outfit so different from the revealing clothes everyone else wears. he couldn’t be bothered, and you could tell. he didn’t care to keep up the appearance of the sweet doting boyfriend in front of your friends, he didn’t even spare them a second glance as he kept his eyes trained on you.

the shock of seeing sungchan only lasts a second before you find yourself falling into your role. your friends were confused but you instantly could read sungchan, his hands that were balled up into fists and his tense shoulders. you still stood there relaxed, not moving an inch as your friends started looking between the two of you. you only are only focused on keeping eye contact—burning and intense as you two engaged in the silent battle of who can be more annoyed. you had to resist the urge to lick your lips or look sungchan up and down underneath his stare. you looked past sungchan for a moment to see all the people having fun behind him—that could be you you thought.

you can feel your friends eyes flicker and wander from the palpable tension. even if your girls were drunk they could feel the thick atmosphere between you both. you feel a moment of sobriety as you think about the hell sungchan probably went through to come and get you. so you break first, smiling and uncrossing your arms as a sign of peace.

“i have an early morning tomorrow anyways.” you still have to maintain some sort of upperhand in the situation. sungchan would just have to understand that you have a reputation to upkeep. you push yourself off the wall and take time hugging each one of your friends. “i’ll catch you guys later.” you smile.

sungchan is still stoic when you turn back around to face him. you let your smile drop when only he can see it, and he makes sure you can see him roll his eyes as he turns around. sungchan doesn’t waste the time to tell your friends goodbye before he’s guiding you the way you came with a hand on your back.

usually in crowded spaces sungchan would be gentle with his hand, like a suggestion on where you should go. but is hand now was pushy, almost making you collide with a few people. you lightly hit his arm each time, but he still pushed through. he didn’t bother to look down at you, his eyes fixed on the exit. you wish you could be angry, you were well within your rights to be upset at a man essentially pushing you through a crowd of people. but feeling of sungchan’s hand pressing into your back makes you reminiscence, and the strength behind his hand makes you feel light. you find yourself purposefully falling behind just so he can press the pads of his fingers into your back a little harder to move you forward.

once you made it out of the party sungchan lets go of your back. instead of grabbing your hand, or offering to carry you to the car he started walking ahead. your uneasy feet in the heels didn’t stand a chance, and it wasn't long before you fell behind. while trying to catch up you remembered the other person you called about the fun and how he would be helping you right now.

sungchan walks so far in front that you have to yell after him. he wishes the music was loud enough to drown out your voice when you called out to him.

“taro—”

“you can talk to your brother later.” sungchan interrupts.

sungchan doesn’t turn around as he continues to walk. the last person he wants to be thinking about is shotaro. he just needs silence. he needs silence in this shitty parking lot and he needs silence in the car on the way home. he may even need silence for the rest of the week while he calms himself down.

“you’re not listening—“ you start.

before sungchan knows it, he turns around and closes the distance between your two bodies. he’s so close to you that you can feel the anger coming off of him in waves, and you can hear his heavy breaths. the gentle calming aura of your boyfriend is the complete opposite as he puts up a finger of caution. your wide eyes flicker from sungchan’s finger to his face. in the split second of silence sungchan uses the patience he has left.

“you woke me up in the middle of the night after you told me you weren’t going out. i have to be up for work in four hours and i’m playing your babysitter.” his words are quiet, coming through clenched teeth almost sounding like a hiss.

the moment of satisfaction sungchan feels by bringing you to silence only lasts for a moment. the second you take in his words your eyes widen. you look to his finger again and your own teeth become clenched.

“you think you can just talk to me anyway you want?” you bring your own finger up to him. “get your hand out of my face.” you say.

sungchan suddenly finds out he has no words left for you. the same feeling of amazement comes over him from when you hung up the phone. he lets out a single dry laugh before turning and walking towards the car. you stand there for a moment before he hears you start to walk quickly trying to catch up with him.

“don’t ignore me!” you complain.

sungchan stuffs his hands into his hoodie as he continues to walk.

“jung sungchan, i know you hear me!” you yell after him.

sungchan smiles when he hears the anger in your voice. the silent treatment is actually kind of fun when he’s not on the receiving end. he even laughs to himself when you call him an asshole. when you finally realize it’s no use you’re silent. sungchan twiddles his thumbs in his pockets, enjoying the silent night.

sungchan looks over his shoulder once when he hears you slow down. you no longer look at him, instead your eyes are on your heels as you fumble with the straps.

“my shoes.” you grumble.

sungchan turns fully around to see you trailing dangerously far behind, you are barely stable on your feet in your heels, the uneven terrain and your intoxication only makes everything worse. sungchan stands in place, watching you walk like a newborn deer in the darkness. even your hands are panicked in front of your body to try and give you balance. the thought of making you rough it in your heels flashes through sungchan’s mind, and sungchan feels somewhat at peace at the thought of temporarily putting you through hell. so he closes the distance between the two of you before you can take another step.

when you look up to sungchan he can see the outline of your face and the whites of your eyes. you almost look apologetic from up here, sungchan swears he can see a sorry on your bottom lip before you bite it. sungchan rolls his eyes at your attitude and he hopes you see it.

when you don’t move, he puts his hand on your bicep. he can see your fingers move by reflex, the jewels embedded into your acrylic nails catch the moonlight. sungchan thinks about how expensive the intricate set was as he lightly pulls at your arm, forcing you to walk a few steps. sungchan can’t stop the satisfied smile as he sees you try to push against his pull to only stumble and almost fall to the ground—the only thing that keeps you upright is the grip he has on your arm. he even hears the surprised sound you make when you realize a beat too late you’re falling.

he knows he’s being evil. sungchan knows it’s not right to mess with you while you’re drunk and stumbling in your heels. but you have messed with sungchan for as long as he could remember. you have also arguably done worse to him—like waking him up in the middle of the night when you know he has work in the morning. even now, when you know you’re wrong you still look at him like he did something awful to you. if you only let a drunk little sorry fall from your lips, one that you could even take back in the morning when you’re sober sungchan would stop being so mean. but you don’t, so sungchan turns on his heel and begins pulling you behind him as he purposely lengthens his strides.

he can hear your feet kicking up rocks as you to stumble to make up for his large steps. he smiles straight forward as he has to pull you to keep up. sungchan doesn’t change his speed, he doesn’t stop walking until you slip your arm from his grasp.

“you’re going too fast.” you yell.

sungchan turns back to face you. when he takes in your expression and the irritation in your voice he understands why you push his buttons so much. you make it too easy, the alcohol is making you feel everything tenfold. he can see the inability to walk the way you want and your boyfriend being mean nearly frustrate you to tears.

sungchan knows he must be sick at how the sight before him makes him feel. he feels the satisfaction and something more churn in his stomach as your eyebrows furrow before they soften. when you pull in a deep breath to try and calm yourself, sungchan does the same mockingly. when he tilts his head and taps a finger underneath your chin, you move away from his touch. he can’t hide the smile in his voice when he talks down to you.

“want me to carry you?” he asks.

when you only nod your head sungchan comes close to you. he puts his finger underneath your chin again and this time you let him, forcing eye contact. he can see your pupils shake, how bleary they are from the drinking and how tired you must be. sungchan sees your pout, for the first time in his life he’s mostly unaffected by it.

“just say you’re sorry and i’ll carry you.” sungchan says it simply.

your stubbornness keeps you from apologizing. all you do is shake your head lightly, chin still being held up by sungchan’s fingers.

you don’t know why he’s being so mean to you and you don’t know why you like it so much. the smile sungchan has on his face is mocking, and he looks down at you like you’re stupid. the fake sympathy makes you want to yell at him and it makes you want to fist his sweatshirt and bring him down to you. you look at sungchcan’s lips, his smile turned into a pout that mirrors yours. you have to atleast try to maintain some of your pride.

“i didn’t do anything wrong.” you mumble.

sungchan sees the way your eyes bounce from his lips to his eyes. he can see the switch that flipped inside of you, how you’re batting your long eyelashes at him. he doesn’t even know if you mean to, but he tsks at you regardless. sungchan doesn’t even think he’s mad anymore, he’s just wants to see how far he can wind you up. he comes closer to your face, so close that his lips ghost over yours. your hands go to his shoulders on instinct, and sungchan sees your face flash in pain as you go to your tippy-toes.

“you sure about that?” sungchan whispers.

he smiles again when you part your lips, and laughs at your closed eyes while you wait for him to kiss you. he can smell the liquor on your breath when you let out a tiny sigh, and he can feel your tightening grip on his shoulders. sungchan looks to your closed eyes then down to your parted lips again. he does the same thing as you and lets out a small whine before laughing. he undoes the grip you have on his shirt and he pulls away from you completely. he sees you open your eyes, and he can see the tears threaten to break past your water line. your eyelashes are already clumping together, and your pout deepens.

“why won’t you kiss me?” you say quietly.

sungchan takes his hand away from your chin but you keep your head tilted towards him. he can see your eyes, red and wet from all your conflicting emotions. sungchan almost feels sorry for you, but then he remembers how peacefully he was sleeping in his bed before you called him. he taps your chin affectionately before he turns around and bends his knees, lowering his body for you.

“because you’re drunk and i’m mad at you.” sungchan says over his shoulder.

you don’t say anything else, but sungchan feels you press your hands to his back as you wrap one of your legs around his waist. sungchan puts his arm around your thigh, and then the other when you regain your balance. when he feels your chest pressed against his back he stands up.

“i’m sorry.” you slur into his ear.

it’s barely above a whisper, and he’s almost sure you’ll deny the apology when you’re sober. but sungchan takes it, a small smile creeps across his face as he looks for his car. readjusts you on his back, trying to get the best grip he can on your legs.

“whatever.” sungchan says.

“i’ll make it up to you later.” you say it with a smirk, and sungchan has to stop himself from laughing. when you start licking the shell of sungchan’s ear he has to bend his neck to hide his ear in his shoulder. you only go to his other ear, your breath fanning his skin as you laugh at him.

"i think i like it when you're mean to me." you giggle into his ear.

"you're a freak." sungchan says over his shoulder.

sungchan pulls his keys from his pocket and presses the unlock button. he can already feel you slouching against his body, your head pressed into his shoulder blades as your breath begins to steady. he sighs again when he realizes you’ve fallen asleep, and he grabs your purse before it hits the ground from your weakening grip. sungchan readjusts your sleeping body on his back again as he starts heading towards his car.

before he can start walking towards his vehicle, he hears someone’s shoes kicking up rocks as they head towards him. it happens too quick, sungchan barely recognizes someone is heading straight for him until the footsteps abruptly stop. sungchan is too busy listening to the cicadas and your light snores to notice the person that’s behind him.

“sungchan?” he freezes in his place, not taking another step towards his car. “what are you doing here?”

“and why is my sister on your back?”

#seriez: anything 4 u #01zfan: sungchan #sungchan smut #riize smut

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byunpum · 9 months ago

Text

Safe heaven | Part 3

Pair: Neteyam x Human!reader (sully family, others na'vi)

Warning: Neytiri being a bit(a lot) controlling, forced pairing, cozy moments, comfort moments, All characters are adults.

AVATAR MASTERLIST | Ko-fi

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4[final]

Neytiri could not believe it, she was so upset and frustrated with her eldest son. He had a great future, a future that for a while was changed for the good of the family. But now that he could regain all that he had lost, ruining it with a horrifying idea. Why yes, the idea that neteyam was interested in a human, was something she could not understand. How could this situation be possible, right now she couldn't even see her own son. She was very upset, walking as fast as she could away from the hut. Not realizing that she was about to crash into Jake. "b-babe?" jake tries to stop neytiri, but she pushes him away and continues on her way. Leaving a confused jake, what must have happened had to be very loud. Jake walked to the hut, entering carefully.

He found mo'at comforting his eldest son. Jake swears it's the first time he's seen neteyam cry…never since he grew up has he cried. And now he's holding his knees to his chest, head buried in his legs. While mo'at hugged him, and took care of him. "Hey…what's wrong?" asks jake. Approaching one of neteyam's sides, sitting down next to him. "nothing" says neteyam in a clipped voice. Jake notices that his son doesn't want to look at him, jake looks at mo'at and she signals for them to go talk away from neteyam. They both get up and leave the hut, "What's going on? Why is neytiri so upset?" jake is confused, neteyam has never done anything to upset his mother like this before. Mo'at clears her throat and takes a deep breath. "Jake… neteyam has already decided who he wants to pair up as a mate," mo'at says. Jake dries up a little, throwing his hands up in the air. This is not bad news. "So what's going on? That's supposed to be good news" jake can see the look of frustration on mo'at's face. "The partner he chose is Y/N…that's the problem" mo'at says.

jake's face falls in shock, he could not believe what mo'at was saying. He was surprised…but not upset. You had always been very close to his family, Jake considered you as just another daughter. But he had to admit that the whole situation of a na'vi and human…being a couple was very strange. He could see why neytiri was like this, she must feel betrayed. "jake I want to tell you…that my position right now is to support neteyam and y/n" mo'at says. "But…don't you think" jake was speechless, you didn't know what to say in this situation. "I know from experience…that things shouldn't be forced and if eywa has allowed this relationship to get to this point, it's for a reason" mo'at speaks, she knew this was crazy. But she could feel the sincerity in neteyam's voice, she could tell he loved you. And she was sure you loved him too. She was not going to be the cause of their separation. Jake entered the hut, he wanted to talk to his son. But he found an empty hut. "Where did he go?" jake looks at mo'at, the woman was behind him. Looking everywhere, but nothing. "He went to look for her, didn't he" jake speaks, shuffling his head in frustration. Mo'at only replies with a "hmm" as they both stare at each other thinking about what was going to happen.

On the other hand, you had just left the lab, you were in front of the facility setting up some boxes. When you hear the familiar voice of neteyam. "Y/N!!!" shouts neteyam, you look up and begin to feel worried. His voice was desperate and he was running towards you. When he was finally close, you could see how agitated he was and you could tell he had been crying. "Neteyam what's wrong?" you speak, taking his hand. You wanted him to calm down, the boy was looking all around, as if he was seeing if no one was following him. "Neteyam?" you raise your voice a little to get his attention. Neteyam looks at you with concern, "everyone already knows…I want- I need to talk?" neteyam couldn't form a complete sentence from how agitated and nervous he was. "Hey…come on let's go inside, shall we?" you invite neteyam into the lab. You knew he wasn't a fan of the lab, but it was the safest place now. Following in your footsteps, as you dragged him inside. Taking an oxygen mask, placing it around his neck. To let himself be guided to a chair. "I'll get some water…easy" you let go of his hand, running to the kitchen.

You quickly reach for the giant glass that norm always uses when he's in his avatar body. Filling it with water, you run to neteyam. To your surprise, he was already calming down. He's slouching a bit in the chair, and looking down at the floor. While his tail was wagging anxiously, taking a breath of air from his mask. "Here it is" you offer him the water, watching as he hurriedly takes it. You place one of your hands on his chest, near his neck. Stroking his skin a little. "Hey…easy, you can drown" you chuckle a little, watching as his ears twitch a little towards your response. After he calmed down…you drag a chair to stand in front of him and let him tell you everything.

And so he did, neteyam told you everything that had happened in the last few hours. And how he had disappointed his mother, how he didn't have the courage to speak up and defend their relationship. He felt he had failed. He as your partner was supposed to stand up for you, to protect what you two had and he didn't have the courage. "I don't know what to do…that's why I came to see you, you always know what to do" says neteyam, looking up waiting for you to say something. And for the first time you didn't know what to do… this whole situation was very difficult. "I don't know what to do either…" you speak, seeing how the whole room fell silent. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but one of frustration. You both wanted this to be solved…but how.

Neteyam keeps looking around, but his attention is drawn to the human clothes you were wearing. It's been a long time since he saw you with it on, it was strange to see you like that. Stretching out his hand, he quickly grabs your shirt. Pulling it up a bit, revealing a bit of your breasts. "And why are you wearing this?" he asks, turning his head to the side. "You don't like the na'vi outfits I made for you anymore" neteyam says, looking at you with frustration. You laugh a little. "Ahh this…it's too cold here and this is warmer. But if you want…I can change" you speak, and you see his ears fall back. "Oh, why are you sad again?" you ask, rising from your seat to stand between his legs. To hold both sides of his face with your hands. "You see… here the problem is me. You are capable of changing everything about yourself, just to make me happy. And me…I can't even tell my family how much I love you" neteyam lowers his head, if you can feel and hear how he starts to cry. "No…honey calm down!!!" you try to comfort him. "You're not a problem…don't ever say that again, ok?" you scold him…watching as he wipes away some tears.

alarm

You look back recognizing the sound, but neteyam is a little surprised. "What's that sound?" he asks, looking over to where the strange device was making the noise. "It's our alarm" you walk away, walking over to the table to turn it off. "Pandora's hours can be a little strange…and sometimes we forget the times. It's time to go to bed" you speak. Turning off the alarm and walking back towards neteyam. "But I've shown you how to tell what time it is in the day" neteyam speaks, watching you laugh. "It's a bit complicated!!!" you complain, feeling neteyam take your hand pulling you into his body to hug you fully. "Can I sleep over here?" asks neteyam. "Here…with me?" you pull away a little to make sure he was serious. "Yes" neteyam can see a smile appear on your face. "Sure…but mmmm we have to do some things, come!!!" you stand up and take his hand leading him to your room.

Neteyam had a hard walk, because the road to your room was very difficult for him. And if you count that he was bent all the time. But he didn't care, you were so happy. You opened your door, and walked in with him. Your room was small. It had a small circular window, your bed in one corner and a lot of things stuck on the wall. Many of them were photographs and objects of memory. Many of them neteyam had given them to you, there were pictures with them and spider, even of your parents. It was cozy. "Well…I'll have to make you a bed, on the floor. Because my bed is too small" you speak. Neteyam smiles at you, watching as you pull some boxes out from under the bed. Taking a fabric, placing it on the floor. Creating a kind of bed.

After a while, everything was settled. Neteyam was sitting on the sheets, and you were next to him. He couldn't stop looking at you, always trying to make him comfortable, always thinking of him. There you were calibrating his oxygen machine, so he could sleep with it on. "Ok, all set… now you can sleep comfortably and not die" you speak, seeing how neteyam let out a laugh. Taking the machine. There is a small silence, until you speak. "Neteyam?" you ask, seeing how he looks at you carefully. "You…you're going to see that girl? Will you do what your mother told you?" you ask. "No…I won't, I already chose with I want to share my life with…and I will do anything to be by your side" neteyam takes your hand, to give it a squeeze. You laugh a little, adjusting your hair a little. "Well…let's rest!!!" you speak, starting to get up from the floor. But you feel neteyam hug you tightly, pulling you into his arms. "Ah ah you stay here with me…both of us in the uncomfortable bed" neteyam teases, laying you down next to him, as he gives you multiple kisses on your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his neck, to look at him for a second. "You know I would do anything for you…anything" you speak. "I know…and I would for you" neteyam gives you a quick kiss on the lips, to snuggle more. "You're right" neteyam says. "About what?" you look at him. "It's cold in here" neteyam says, hearing you laugh. Feeling you squeeze him tighter. "Well, I'm going to make you a lot warmer" you joke, knowing that you barely covered a piece of his body.

On the other side of the camp…

Neytiri had been out all day, and returned home very late. Meeting Jake outside the hut, he was looking at his weapons. Pretending he hadn't been waiting for her all afternoon. He wanted to talk to her, and find out how she felt about the situation. He knew this had to be difficult for her. Neytiri approached, sighing loudly. "I imagine you already know what's going on," Neytiri says. Watching as jake drops the gun, and looks at her. Jake sighs a little, he already knew neytiri wasn't going to be happy with his answer. "Yes…and I want you to know that I agree with whatever choice neteyam makes" jake says, getting up from the ground. Noticing how neytiri pulls away from him a little and pouts. "You're losing your mind… she's a human. Our son wants to mate with a demon-" neytiri paused, and lowered her head. "So was I…and you still chose me." jake speaks.

He was too tired to argue with life's destiny any longer. He didn't want his children to see him as the enemy, he wanted to give them his support. Sure… this was crazy. And who knew if this was going to work, but Jake was going to support him. "Jake…you were a na'vi" neytiri reaches over placing her hands on jake's chest. She was frustrated, for once in her life she wanted everything to go right. "Hey, baby look at me" jake takes neytiri's face. She was teary eyed, it was neteyam they were talking about. She wanted a great future for him, for him to take the place that once belonged to her father. Things were getting back to normal and boom, this was happening. "Neteyam will be fine…y/n she's a good girl" says jake. "I don't care if she's good or not…. she's not a na'vi. And she never will be" neytiri walks away from jake. And starts to walk into the hut, but not before stopping and turning to look at jake. "I'm never going to accept her as part of this family…never," says Neytiri, leaving Jake alone. What was Jake going to do with Neytiri, she couldn't control everything… she had to understand her son. Otherwise she was going to lose him. Jake took one last look into the distance, to see if neteyam was coming. But he knew he wouldn't see him again until the next day. Norm had told him he'd seen neteyam go into the lab, so Jake assumed he was with y/n.

The next morning…

You two were up early as usual, you had barely opened your eyes when neteyam was leading you out of the lab. He loved being with you that night, but it was driving him crazy how confined and small the place was. You're stretching and leaning back when you notice the sun rising between the entrance to the camp. "What a beautiful day" you speak, looking at neteyam. He had a worried look on his face, he knew he had to go back to face everything with his family. Barely paying attention to you, you squeeze his hand. "Hey…if you want I can come with you?" you suggest, but you see how he refuses. "No…I don't want anything to happen to you" says neteyam, kneeling down so you can get closer to him. "Are you going to go see my grandmother?" neteyam would rather she be in a safe place, and being with mo'at is best. He knew his grandmother supported him and she wasn't going to let anything happen. "Yeah…but you're going to go see me" you pout, watching as he laughs. Giving you a kiss on the crown of your head. "Sure baby…I'll come see you. But promise me you'll stay in mo'at's hut" neteyam makes you promise and you make a cross on your heart. "Promise" you speak, neteyam is relieved and stands up saying goodbye to you and starts walking his way home.

Neteyam already knew what was in store for him, an argument and a lot of complaining. But this time he was not going to keep quiet, this time he was going to stand up for what he felt. He was tired of having his life chosen for him. It was time for him to decide his own life. Neteyam was approaching the hut, on the way he could see the figure of his father approaching. He stops, expecting his father to start arguing, but is surprised when jake approaches silently. Placing his hand on his son's shoulder, tapping him a few times. "Neteyam…are you okay?" asks jake, neteyam only replies with an uncomfortable smile. " Dad…I want to talk to you" neteyam was about to start talking and be able to explain everything to his father. But jake interrupts him. "Son, I know what's going on…about your mother and the situation with y/n" jake speaks up. "Dad I'm not going to change my mind" neteyam pulls away a little, but jake now places his other hand on his son's shoulder to reassure him. "I know…and I'm not going to oppose anything, I will support you in whatever choice you make" jake speaks. The truth is that Jake was tired of trying to control his sons life, he was looking for some peace of mind now. He also didn't want his relationship with his children to be damaged. After arguing for a while, and setting the record straight. Jake says goodbye to Neteyam. But not before saying "You need to talk to your mother" says Jake. He knew that neytiri wouldn't accept anything, but neteyam was still his son. Sooner or later she would understand.

Neteyam decided to stop by the family hut for a moment, he had to get some things for the day. As he arrived and approached the entrance. He can see his mother, neytiri was sitting there fixing some jars. She knew that Neteyam had arrived, but she didn't even look at him. Neteyam didn't speak either, he just walked over to his area and started to pick up some things. He had planned to stay with you until things calmed down, but now he wanted to join you. The best thing was for him to leave and start his life with you. "I see you're already packing up your things," says neytiri, as she continues to work. "Yes… I am leaving with my partner" says neteyam, he is a little scared when he hears the thump of one of the jars being hit hard to the ground. "You know she can't bond with you…only a na'vi, accepted into the clan. Joined and introduced to eywa can be your mate. If not…it's all in vain" says neytiri, she was getting furious. But she hears neteyam's footsteps approaching. "Then I will solve it…but I will bond with her, because I love her" neteyam looks at his mother, seeing how she looks up. She was teary eyed, and upset. "Goodbye… when you want to talk to me I will listen to you mom" neteyam leaves the hut, with her things. Neytiri slams another jar on the ground, out of anger…she couldn't believe all this was happening.

On the other hand, minutes later neteyam arrives at mo'at's hut. He knew he would find you there and he was right. You were sitting next to his grandmother talking. When you see him enter, you smile and get up to greet him. But you stop for a moment, seeing that he had some bags in his hands. " So what's that?" you ask, and watch as neteyam laughs awkwardly, leaving his things in the corner of the hut. "Don't tell me you're leaving your parents' hut," speaks mo'at. "I have to…the atmosphere is awful" says neteyam, taking your hand to join him in sitting down. He sits across from his grandmother, and you sit next to him. "Well, you can sleep here…I don't have any problem. Besides…" mo'at pauses, taking some fruit to offer him. "I think you'll be able to live together soon," the woman says, noticing how both young ones look at each other curiously, then glance at her. "How?" you ask. You were aware that the pairing process was complicated.

In order for two na'vi to mate, they must both be accepted into the clan as useful members. They must also be accepted and introduced by eywa, and she would decide if you were worthy of joining her circle. All this was a ritual, which could be performed in large or in private. But always with the tsahik of the clan. Mo'at already knew what she was going to do…she had a plan. But she wanted to make sure you were completely sure. "Grandmother, how is this going to be possible?" asks neteyam. "Listen… there is a method. It's a rather complicated ritual, but I want to be sure that y/n is ready," says mo'at looking at you, she could see the nervousness in your gaze. "And what should I do?" you speak, looking quickly at neteyam, while he holds your hand tightly. "Well… the first phase is already done, you have grown up here in the clan. And I'm sure every member accepts you" mo'at pauses. Noticing how neteyam coughs a little, it was clear that he was thinking about his mother.

"But the second phase…it must be done with caution" mo'at swings forward a little, to take your free hand. " I want you to know…that once you present yourself to eywa, you will no longer be part of your species. You will still have the same human physique…but your soul…your self, will be na'vi. Only if eywa accepts you" mo'at is speaking seriously. Neteyam was looking at you all this time, he knew this was a difficult choice, he could see how your eyes were moving nervously. And he could feel you trembling. "I…" you try to speak, but mo'at interrupts you. "This is a choice you have to make calmly… think about it, yes?" mo'at comes over and kisses you on the forehead. She wanted you to do this… this ritual would bond you to her people, bring you closer to her. Mo'at considered you as a daughter…but she wanted you to make the best decisions.

After a while…Mo'at had left you alone, she had gone out to do her daily chores. Neteyam had you sitting on his lap while he ate some berries. Meanwhile you were playing with some beads of your clothing. You couldn't stop thinking about what mo'at proposed to you. You wanted to do it…but you were afraid. Neteyam looks down and notices you lost in thought. He takes a berry and places it on your lips, making the 'ahhh' sound and you open it and start chewing it, but you don't even speak. "Are you still thinking about what mo'at proposed to us?" speaks neteyam. You look up and look at him with concern. "baby…you don't have to, I don't want you to do anything for me" neteyam holds your jaw, patting your skin. " yes I do…there is nothing in this world that I want more than to be with you…but I'm scared" you speak, watching as neteyam chuckles softly. "how about we start with everything…and if you feel uncomfortable, we stop and look for another solution" says neteyam, seeing how you nod your head. He didn't want to force you, he wanted you to accept…but this decision was yours to make. He knew you had your doubts…maybe he wasn't worth it.

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