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honeyonthemind · 3 months ago

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16. Two different types of insects holding two differing meanings.

Word Count: 5.1k

Chapter Warnings: Implied/referenced sexual content, threats of bodily harm, making fun of someone’s current/past trauma, crude language.

Seonghwa remained as chivalrous as one could be when in the presence of someone they didn’t really like nor care about. Once your hair was rinsed and you had discreetly scrubbed your body clean, the man had procured a bundle of clothes that had been sitting on the ledge of a washbasin near the door. You failed to notice it upon first entry, all attention having solely been focused on the sudden sight of Seonghwa.

“Change into these. I will be outside. Knock when you are finished.”

You let out an indignant snort, “What? So you’ll stick around when I’m practically naked and help me bathe but you won’t linger while I redress. That’s quite the moral compass you’ve got there, Seonghwa.”

He looks down at you past his nose, “Mind you I saw nothing of your body nor would I want to. You lack any sort of appeal to me. A worm has—“

“Holy shit, do you ever shut up?? I get it, you find me repulsive. Trust me, I think I’ve gotten the message loud and fucking clear.” Clouded by the sudden onslaught of hurt and anger, you stand up in the tub despite your earlier efforts to remain completely out of his sight. But here you were, in perfect line of any and all scrutiny.

Seonghwa frowns at your outburst, even more at the scowl now overtaking your face. It seems he hit a nerve or two. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t mildly interesting to see.

“Try to be quick. We’ve already wasted enough time as is.” He retreats to the door without another word, leaving through it in the next second and letting it close with a soft click.

You mumble several terse words underneath your breath as you step out of the tub. Your underwear clings uncomfortably to you as you tread over to the pile of clothing. You regret keeping them on. Upon rifling through the stack do you come to the conclusion that you would not be provided the protection of panties and a bra. Rather there is a tank top provided along side a rather baggy linen blouse. Assuming you are to wear that beneath the bigger shirt. Instead of pants, there is a layered skirt of mismatched fabric long enough for the lower hem to brush against the tops of your feet. You begrudgingly settle with the conclusion that you’ll have to suffer wearing your wet underwear for the time being. There’s a shiver running up your spine at the fleeting thought of how unsanitary the ordeal is but you tamper it down quickly, just one more thing to worry over. You would ask Seonghwa if they had any to spare but seeing as none of them are women and you would rather face your fear of water again than to borrow any of their’s.

Chancing a glance at the door just in case it isn’t fully closed and an audience hasn’t gathered for a private show, you reach behind your back to unclip the clasp of your bra and let it peel off your front. It’s quickly thrown over the faucet to dry.

The tank top is a bit scratchy against your skin, the fabric uncharacteristically stiff as if dunked in water and left to dry out under a formidable sun for an undisclosed amount of time. You usher the linen blouse over your head, making sure to yank the ties close and knot them securely so that no part of your chest is seen. The skirt stretches at the waist by an elastic band— pleated and bunched— making it easier for you to tug it up your legs and onto your waist. The shirt is kept untucked, you saw no reason to try and make the outfit look more put together. Looking like an unkempt slob in face of these men provided a small safety net for you. Not that any of them seem rather keen on doing anything to you aside from the offhanded comments of torture and death.

You realize after a few passing glances around that the bathroom lacks any kind of reflective surface— no mirror in sight. The bath water was the only thing that could hold an image in it but with the lighting being as dim as it was, you wouldn’t be able to see much of yourself. And you’d rather stay away from the tub for now.

Slowly but more-so begrudgingly do you head towards the door. Only, something stops you. Your skirt catches onto something sticking out from the floorboards. Peering down once the hem has been maneuvered away none too carefully, a little tear separating the fabric into a small slit against your ankle. You kneel down, ignoring the popping in your joints to see what exactly had snagged your attention. The head of a rusty flooring nail has shifted upwards and away from the plank it’s nestled in. You reach for it, firmly gripping the area that’s stuck out and attempt to pull it up. It refuses to budge however.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze, glancing up to see both San and Seonghwa peering down at you from the entryway of the bathroom. You hadn’t heard the door open, too focused on the nail and the fleeting possibility that if it had been loose enough you would’ve had a weapon at your disposal. You clear your throat, standing up in a slight rush to appear unassuming.

“The bottom of my skirt got snagged and I was trying to free it. Couldn’t get it loose without tearing it a bit.” You shift the fabric so that the tear was visible to both men. It wasn’t a lie. It had been caught, but you weren’t in the throes of freeing it when they suddenly entered the bathroom. To which… “Thought you said to knock when I was finished.” You pointedly look at Seonghwa.

He looks away from the tear in your skirt to you, “I also told you not to take so long. Which you were, might I add.”

“Actually, you said to be quick. Which I was. I just didn’t immediately storm the door, you know, because that means I’d have to be forced to see either one of you.” You glanced between the two. There was something about being freshly bathed and draped in clean (you’ll assume as such for now) clothing that gave you the confidence to mouth off.

Seonghwa lifts an unimpressed brow, “I see almost drowning didn’t snuff out that splendid attitude of yours. Perhaps,” He takes a step forward, to which you mirror by taking one backwards. “I’ll turn a blind eye next time. Considering I was the one to pull you out. Wouldn’t be so hard to suddenly find something else to do.”

You grit your teeth, fisting the fabric of the skirt into your hands. San is watching the exchange with an indiscernible expression.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Sticks and stones, mayfly.”

San tilts his head at the moniker. He was the one assigned by Hongjoong to figure out a new name for you and yet here was the eldest of their crew already pinning one to you. Furthering that thought, he remembers something Wooyoung had said earlier when San went to retrieve you,

“A bath couldn’t hurt, firefly. You do smell pretty sour.” His nose wrinkles teasingly.

Another epithet administered by one of his mates. Firefly and mayfly. Two different types of insects holding two differing meanings. Although he isn’t really sure what Wooyoung’s correlates to but he’s aware of why Seonghwa has chosen mayfly. It’s a bit tasteless, or at least he would think that if he cared at all. But he doesn’t. In the meantime, he’ll just catalog both names for future reference.

“First meal should be served soon. We need to go to the dining hall.” San takes a step towards you but Seonghwa intercepts him with a hand to his chest.

“Hongjoong wants to see her beforehand.”

“But—“

“Captains orders. Go on ahead to the dining hall, this shouldn’t be long… hopefully.” Seonghwa jerks his head in the direction of the door. San still hesitates, looking between you and the other man before departing with steady footfall.

You watch him leave with an uncertain frown. It wasn’t like you wanted him to stay, far from it, but if you had to choose between being dragged like a rag-doll to the dining hall or facing Hongjoong— clearly the latter would win by a landslide. The last thing you wanted was to be in the presence of anyone here— let alone the captain.

“Can’t I take a rain check—“

“If you value your head remaining where it sits then no, you can’t.” Seonghwa fixes his gaze upon you, unblinking and dark. There’s no room for argument, yet he seems to find more words to gather forth with a shadow of a very coy smile. “Unless that’s what you want. Then be my guest, nobody will stop you.”

You bite back against the creeping shiver crawling up your spine. He’s fucking with you, you’re sure of that but it doesn’t stop the hair at the back of your neck from raising in alarm.

“Come on, the longer he waits the more of a pain in the ass he will be.” Seonghwa is past the threshold of the bathroom in just a few long strides. You follow after him with less enthusiasm in your steps.

Hongjoong greets the both of you at the door on the second knock, Seonghwa just barely withdrawing his hand from the wood when the door fly’s open. He’s got a very cattish grin on his face, stepping aside with a casual ‘come in, come in’.

You try to keep yourself in the shadow of Seonghwa but the man moves in elongated strides towards one of the ornate chairs positioned in front of Hongjoong’s desk. That leaves you exposed to the soul-peeling gaze of the captain. When you spare a glance towards him, he’s already looking at you. From your damp-frizz hair to the loose billow of your loaned shirt down to the patchwork skirt. Your feet are still bare, toes peeking out from the end of the hem.

His lips purse, “Not my choice of clothing. But alas, it’ll do.” He seals the door closed with a soft click.

You look at him questionably, “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong practically struts to his desk. He’s wearing dark suede pants, a white peasant shirt under a leather vest stretched tight over his chest and the same boots he wore the previous day. Jewelry ever-present on his hands, neck and ears. His hair is hand-mussed, slightly tasseled and a bit bed-kissed. You chide yourself for observing him down to small insignificant details.

Seonghwa had taken his place in the left-most chair with a heavy sigh. There’s an encroaching ache in his temples that wasn’t there before. Being in the captains quarters always put him in a foul mood no matter the reason— pain or pleasure— he’ll leave in some form of hurt or upset. Even now, he could feel his shoulders drawing taut.

“What I mean,” He drawls your name at the last second. The sound of it coming from his lips feels like the thin blade of a razor across your skin. “Is the atrocious outfit you’ve been given to wear is not what I had chosen for you to adorn. Now, I can only wonder where my belongings have run off to if they are not in your possession.” Hongjoong rolls his eyes over to the other man, looking at him lazily through thick lashes.

Seonghwa leans back into the chair with a cross of his arms, “Pining the blame on me, are we?”

“You were the only one I gave those clothes to. I doubt they could have sprouted legs and misplaced themselves somewhere on my ship.”

Your brows furrow slightly. Ship? What ship? If anything, wherever you were being held captive was merely wooden boards built into oddly fleshy walls. There was really nothing boat-like about the place.

“That may be so but mind you that your loaned clothing had been brought to the bathroom and placed on the corner of the sink. However, when I turned my back to draw the bath, anything could have happened to them.” Seonghwa shrugs, leg kicking up and draping over the opposing knee of his other. “Not like I was the only person who’d stepped foot in the bathroom.”

Hongjoong narrows his eyes, painted nails tapping in a daunting rhythm atop his desk. “Pray tell, who else had been in there? Any… watchers?”

The insinuation makes your skin crawl. Seonghwa snorts indignantly, “Nobody is interested in your type of perversions. Especially with her. They all avoid her like a fly trap.”

“Not what the grapevine says. In fact, a busy bee has let me in on a little secret.” His eyes glide over to you still standing near the door. “Tell me, how did you sleep last night? Wooyoung is quite generous when it comes to the helpless. And it seemed like after the minor inconvenience in the dining hall, his bed was just the thing to offer in a time of utter distress.”

There’s a coldness that settles heavy within your feet, like standing on a block of ice. He’s staring you down with such an intense look, dark and heavy and stirring up something wicked.

The other man uncrosses his arms, a perplexed wrinkle between his thick brows. “What are you talking about?” He shifts a bit in his chair, just a slight turn, to settle his attention also on you. “You slept in Wooyoung’s bed?”

The ice melts in an instant and a blazing flame licks between your toes and up your ankles. You glare at Hongjoong, watching the way his lips curl in the same way a felines tail would when struck by a playful urge.

“Not by my choice. He dragged me to his room after I fainted.”

That only raised more questions and Seonghwa was hellbent on getting answers if not for Hongjoong interjecting.

“Ah, a damsel in distress.”

Seonghwa chooses to ignore the comment, “That explains nothing.” He pauses, “Not that I care in the slightest but it isn’t natural to just faint out of nowhere.”

You scoff, “Of course it isn’t normal but what the hell do you expect? After being abducted, thrown into a cell for hours, interrogated not only once but twice with the first compromising my shirt in the process and the other having a gun forced against my eye while restrained to a chair, dragged around from point A to point B where I am told to sit obediently like a fucking dog and eat a meal prepared by the one person who’s responsible for me even being here— which I know you all loathe—“ You pause to catch your breath, realizing that you’ve rambled yourself dizzy but that wouldn’t stop you from rattling off the rest. “That prick dumped the food onto the floor and forced my head into it with the bottom of his fucking boot— and that asshole who brought me to the bathroom— stood there and watched it happen!”

Your shaking, under the weight of your anger or the sudden onset of emotional distress coming at you full force, you aren’t sure. But what you are sure of is that the tears burning trails down your cheeks are more telling than any emotion you could possibly pinpoint.

With a strained voice, you continue, “So yeah, what part of any of that is natural? Please, enlighten me because I… I can’t fucking tell.”

You laugh a bit to yourself. It’s watery and snotty and a hiccup breaks the pitiful sound. The room had fallen long into silence once your tirade first began and now while you tried to reign in your emotional state (because let’s be honest— you’ve begun to feel the heavy pressure of embarrassment starting to creep up on you) it still remained as such. Well, almost.

Granted it was only a few short minutes between your sudden breakdown and the sardonic round of applause to begin. Hongjoong stares at you with a large toothy smile on his face, hands parting and rejoining in his amusement. He finds your outburst to be a big joke, you’ve realized. Taking the piss out of such a low moment from you. Seonghwa was no better. Although he wasn’t joining in on the clapping, the man had seemingly lost any semblance of emotion himself. His face remained blank, eyes unblinking.

“Bravo! I don’t think even our resident crybaby could have pulled such a pathetic display as the one you just did. It was almost compelling enough to make me want to go hunt down each of my little crewmen and rip out their wings and hang them by the open wounds until they bleed out.” His head lolls to the side, smile never wavering despite his attention shifting to the other man. “Right, Hwa? Could you nearly taste the pity? It was almost as thick as honey and as—“

“Shut up.”

The words were out of your mouth without a second thought.

“Oh? Hit a nerve, did I?” Hongjoong made to move in your direction but Seonghwa decidedly took to his feet and partially stepped in the way of the captain.

“Wooyoung has offered a suggestion in place of her real name… as have I.” He keeps his voice low, calm, nearly intimate. Even reaches forward to weave his fingers between Hongjoong’s decorated ones, thumb stroking the web of skin connecting the shorter man’s own thumb to his palm.

Hongjoong’s gaze slides over to Seonghwa, preening a bit under the unsolicited affection. Watching the display made your stomach coil uncomfortably. You couldn’t imagine ever loving a man as vile as him. As if reading your thoughts, the ring on your finger suddenly feels tight, nearly suffocating against your finger. It was cruelly reminding you of the life you’d been living before you dived into the pit. But that was different— you never loved that man— but Seonghwa does, same for the rest.

“I thought you wanted no part in naming her,” Hongjoong tilts his head, “and last I checked, San was assigned to the task. Furthermore, how did Wooyoung find out about the entire thing?”

“San told me he couldn’t think of anything so I offered one in exchange and Wooyoung wasn’t aware. You know how he is, has a penchant for giving anything a name, even the dust bunnies under his and Yunho’s bed.” Seonghwa decided not to acknowledge the first part of the other man’s recollection. Despite it being the blatant truth. He hadn’t been interested in the slightest regarding the topic but dangerous territory was being treaded beforehand and for the sake of his own skin and that of his fellow mates, it was best to calm the storm before it raged forth.

“Hm.” The sound is almost dismissive but Hongjoong fixes Seonghwa with an impatient look when the latter remains quiet, “Well, go on then, I want to know now not later.”

“Wooyoung coined ‘firefly’.”

You narrow your eyes at the back of Seonghwa’s head. How he knew about Wooyoung’s sudden inclination to calling you firefly was beyond you unless San had mentioned something to him after he stepped out of the bathroom to let you redress.

Hongjoong hums, “And you?”

“Mayfly.”

There’s a snort, “A bug with a light on its butt and a bug that can swim. Clearly you two know something I don’t.”

You feel a rush of heat run over your skin. A mayfly, a bug that can swim. He only started calling you that right after the incident in the bathroom.

“You asshole.” Instead of rushing at him, you turn on your heels and storm the couple feet needed towards the door. Your grateful deep down that you kept close to the only exit, it made escaping more easier.

Seonghwa barely registers your voice nor the opening of the door and the slamming of it within the same second. He keeps his eyes on Hongjoong, specifically on the small scar peeking out from his hairline by his left temple. It’s such a small, delicate detail. Fragile compared to the splitting grin filled with pointy canines turned in his direction.

“Somebody hasn’t been playing nicely it seems. Do tell me… what’s gotten mayfly in such a sour mood?”

Nobody is out in the hallway. You almost expected San to be standing by the door despite Seonghwa having shooed him off previously. To you, he was like a guard dog attached to once’s ankle by his very own teeth. You tried take a few calming breaths, tell yourself that getting worked up will solve nothing (hasn’t so far) but to think someone would take such a vulnerable moment and make it into an insult only kept your hackles raised. It wasn’t like you thought any less of what you already did in regards to Seonghwa or any of the men involved in your captivity but to be made the butt of some sick joke made bile churn like rough waters in your stomach.

You stomp off to the right, down the hallway to some undisclosed direction. Nothing was identifiable. The walls were wooden, the floor was wooden, the ceiling was wooden and the wooden doors lacked any indicator as to what they hid or what resided behind them. You knew somewhere down the line the corridor ended and the narrow space would balloon into the wide open dining hall. You hated the idea of returning there.

But where else could you go?

Turning a corner brought you almost chest to chest with Yeosang. He looks a bit startled by your sudden appearance, however it is fleeting as his usual stoic demeanor quickly slips back into place. You aren’t swift enough to miss stubbing your toe against the end of his boot, immediately hissing at the throbbing jolt of pain.

“What are you doing out here alone?” He looks around you and down the way you came, “Where is San?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” You grumble. But you do know, Seonghwa had sent him off to the dining hall.

Yeosang lifts a brow, “He’s in charge of you, so you should care.”

You scoff, “In charge of me? I’m not a fucking kid! I don’t need someone attached to my back every damn second.”

“Not my problem.” He fists the fabric of your shirt knotted tightly against your upper chest and yanks you along unceremoniously down the corridor.

You’ve begun to assume that this was how they normally handled people— by dragging them about.

Wooyoung slumps his forehead against the sweaty skin of Mingi’s back, right between where his wings grew. If he was truly desperate for a drink, he’d stoop low into the realm of depravity and just lap at the moisture collected within the crevice of the other man’s spine. But sweat didn’t provide the same quenching qualities as regular ole water did. Mingi is huffing loudly against the counter of the island, the crate he had brought in earlier was tilted sideways from his grappling hand and the remnants of the vegetables and the single can had spilled out across the island and onto the floor. At least he managed to save one carrot, the orange elongated body held between his teeth.

He hated to be gagged but Wooyoung insisted that his moaning would only draw attention and a not-so nice tongue lashing from Seonghwa who preferred to keep the kitchen void of bodily fluids. A rule only put into place about two moon cycles ago when San accidentally made the eldest blow his load all over the food prep he had just finished washing and was preparing to cut and store away. From then on, any salacious activities were to be kept far from the kitchen.

But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And it wasn’t like Wooyoung or Mingi were very good at listening anyways. Wooyoung places a soft kiss to a stray beauty mark, his hands running delicately up and down the other man’s waist and hips. His cock was softening, spent from fucking Mingi into the counter, each calculated thrust a reassurance to the taller’s verbally expressed worries.

Mingi groans softly when Wooyoung pulls out and away, leaving his entire backside exposed to the dead air. His own cock hangs limp between his legs, the last of his cum clinging stubbornly to his ruddy tip. On the floor between his booted feet is the rest of the milky substance, splattered into goopy droplets and abnormal lines. The carrot in Mingi’s mouth is spat out, his nose scrunching at the earthy taste of it.

“Okay, princess?”

“Mhm. Feelin’ good.”

Wooyoung grins, glancing down to watch Mingi’s rim flutter and a small globule of his seed trickle out. If he wasn’t burdened as the crew's honorary chef (and currently disobeying Seonghwa’s rules) he would have buried himself right back into Mingi but duty calls and he would very much like to keep his head (and his dick).

“Come on, pull your pants up before Seonghwa comes sniffing around.” Wooyoung gives one of Mingi’s buttcheeks a teasing smack, causing the man to jolt.

The other man whines but shuffles away from the island to readjust his pants back onto his hips from their temporary position around his knees.

“Did you mean what you said—“

“Min,” Wooyoung fixes his mate with an exasperated look, “Princess, not to sound mean but your insecurity over the prisoner is stupid. She’s not going to replace you or anyone here. Hongjoong isn’t going to suddenly proclaim her as his new wing-bound and throw you out to the stags. He wouldn’t compromise what we’ve all built— what he’s sworn to keep forever entwined by his own blood before the moon herself.” He stares Mingi down as the latter shifts uncomfortably in place, sighing after a brief lapse in silence, “You doubting him is doubting our fated ties. Do you think that lowly—“

The taller of two is quick to wave his hands around, flustered by the rehashing of his self-doubts. “No! I don’t— I don’t think poorly of any of you. It’s just me… my brain, my thoughts being a dumb mess but I don’t…” His sputtering dies off into an unsure mumble, one that practically weighs his shoulders down into a slouch.

Wooyoung reaches out to tug Mingi into his arms, rubbing a soothing hand against the nape of his neck. “If I could, princess, I would crawl through your ear and into that silly head of yours and beat the shit out of that pesky brain.”

Mingi laughs, body shaking enough in the process that it rattles the other man. But it’s enough to know that things are smoothing out even if just a little. Wooyoung knows those insecurities won’t exactly go away just because he pops a joke or two or offers a distraction through sexual intimacy.

“Do you think you’d be able to hear my thoughts if you were in there?”

“Moons above I hope not. I don’t think I could survive listening to the sound of crickets chirping constantly.”

“Hey!”

Yeosang brings you exactly to the place you were simultaneously trying to avoid and find at the same time.

The dining hall.

Sitting at the tables already are San, Jongho and Yunho. Yeosang unfurls his hand from your shirt and stalks towards the tables without a single word to you. Not that you really needed him to say anything.

At his approach, San looks up first, his one eye zeroing in on the man with an unusual amount of softness. Jongho also looks up but he’s peering past Yeosang and directly at you. He’s got a dastardly gleam in his eyes. From San’s right, Yunho also has his attention on his mate, a small barely there smile on his lips.

You keep yourself rooted in place, by the entrance where escaping if needed was possible (but not achievable). Jongho still has his gaze on you, and the lack of acknowledgement from him seems to garner the attention of the other men present. And suddenly, Yeosang is signaling you over, beckoning you into the lions den. “You’re blocking the way for Wooyoung and Mingi. Better have a seat unless you want to be trampled into a pulp.”

“No point in warning her when she won’t listen to reason.” San stared at you with an unenthused frown.

“All the better for us then. An idiot isn’t worth the time or effort or wasted breath.” Yunho hadn’t once looked over at you, inclined his head a bit to the side when you were addressed but otherwise kept his attention elsewhere.

Completely different was he from the time spent as cell-neighbors. Or even before that when he was panicked over Wooyoung’s fuck-up.

His back is positioned slightly towards you, wings folded against his beige shirt. You glossed over them and looked to Yeosang, “It’s really hard to tell which of you is the bigger asshole around here.”

Before anyone could really respond, a boisterous voice sounds out right behind you. It’s enough to make you slide to the side. Wooyoung stands there with a tray covered in several steaming dishes with Mingi at his back carrying another tray with equal proportions. He’s got a wide smile, nearly infectious to everyone but you.

“Soups on!”

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21 notes · View notes

honeyonthemind · 3 months ago

Text

15. But that was only the first surprise.

Word Count: 4.7k

Chapter Warnings: Mild Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Reference Abuse, Threats, Assistance with Bathing, Mild MxM.

You weren’t expecting much in all honesty but the sight of a large round bronze tub rivaling that of some fancy jacuzzi bath more befitting of a higher class immediately snagging your attention once San flung the door open to the communal bathroom had your eyebrows raising a bit. But that was only the first surprise. The second being the less than enthused person occupying the space— Seonghwa. He’s dressed in a dark satin blouse with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and pinned back to avoid the fabric from interfering with his work. Dark leather pants fit his long legs and tuck neatly into his boots.

If you could call prepping a bath for an unwanted guest at the suggestion of the captain, without tolerance for argument, to be ‘work’. He didn’t even make it far into Hongjoong’s abode before the man, ruffled by sleep yet glowing from the previous night’s escapades had given the order between soft sighs. Seonghwa barely spared a glance downwards to see a lump hidden under the bedsheet. He wasn’t sure who it was, but it definitely wasn’t Yunho. They had already encountered each other nearly half an hour earlier when said man was just beginning to make his walk of shame back to Wooyoung.

“You can’t be serious, Hongjoong??”

There’s a satisfied hum, “But I am. Bathe her, dress her in clean clothes and then bring her back here. Simple enough— ah— that’s it—“

Seonghwa bit back a scoff, turned on his heel and left without another word.

Now here he stands for the second time, arms crossed, and hip jutted out to the side as he watches impatiently for San to shove you inside the bathroom.

You are, in all seriousness, a sight for sore eyes. Hair a grimy mess, skin smeared in filth and clothing stained into discoloration. The sight of you makes Seonghwa’s nose wrinkle. Or perhaps that’s just the smell permeating off of your haggard appearance. San still has your arm held firm within his grip, of which he uses to tug you forward. You stagger a bit, smacking a hand flat against the wooden wall to steady yourself.

Seonghwa assesses you like you're a piece of gum attached stubbornly to the underbelly of his boot, “Took you long enough.”

You fix him with a withered glare, “Oh, my bad for inconveniencing you. Should I just magically sprout a pair of wings next time so that your royal highness isn’t made to sit pretty on his ass for a measly minute?” Each word was hissed more than spoken, your lingering fatigue and mounting anxiety for being held hostage had every bit of your nerves lit like a live wire.

San digs his gloved fingers into your arm, eyes narrowed dangerously. He was doing what you knew he could do best— warn you. In fact, that’s all you’ve heard him do, aside from threaten and glare and intimidate. Not to mention be a bystander to the acts of hostility against your person by his… close company. You curl your toes just thinking of last night, the way the food felt against your face, the boot pressing into your skull. It makes you nauseous, mouthwatering uncomfortably.

The stronghold you wish to maintain while looking at Seonghwa quickly recedes. The man watches you closely despite the distance. He tuts, “Finished with your tantrum already?”

“Fuck you—“

Roughly, your jerked away from the wall and shoved forward towards the tub. Your knees collide against the lip with a sharp ‘deng’ and without stable footing, sees you falling into the gathered water. There’s a crippling fear immediately crowding around your senses. You know you’re freaking out. You can feel it. The whoosh of water around your flailing arms, the heavy weight of it rushing into your mouth and into your lungs as you try to fight against the submerging force. From your point of view, you are drowning. But from the perspective of the two men watching on with perplexed curiosity, you are merely splashing around obnoxiously. Water rushes up the sides of the bronze tub and splashes over Seonghwa’s boots.

“Hey— knock it off!”

But you aren’t listening. You continue to flounder about, sucking in more water, fighting against the encapsulation of it. Seonghwa looks over at San, equally alarmed, before rushing forward and grabbing what little remains of the back of your shirt. He yanks and tugs until you are hanging over the lip of the tub. You cough wetly, water splattering from your mouth as you heave up what had managed to get sucked in. Both men can only watch you.

San squats down, not enough to be at eye-level but just at the right height to peer at your face. He’s trying to find a reason somewhere, for your reaction to the water. There’s nothing there much to his disappointment.

“Are you scared of bathing?”

His question almost has an odd childlike curiosity to it. If it had come from anyone else, preferably someone that you actually liked you would have easily laughed it off and answered lightheartedly but he wasn’t even close, not by a long shot in the dark. You lift your head and fix him with a scathing look.

“I want… nothing more than to stab your other eye out… of your head.”

San’s hackles practically rise, registering the threat on his person (and his only good eye) as an immediate call-to-action. His hand raises up with the intention to fist your hair between his gloved-fingers and thrash you around but Seonghwa steps in with a chiding sound.

“We have rules, San. Follow them for the sake of your own wellbeing.”

The other man clenches his fist and quickly gathers himself to stand. He glares down his nose at you, finding the sight of your soggy appearance distasteful. He gives Seonghwa a displeased look before turning on his heels and stomping out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut on his heels. You're left to huff, chest hurting with each inhale and exhale. The remaining man turns his sights to you, with a downward tilt of his head. He's choosing his words somewhat carefully.

"That was quite the show. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you were... drowning." He catalogs the way you tense, a less than subtle shiver passing over your sodden form.

"What's it to you??" Your reactive response is hardly fazing him, "Let's not act like you care-"

Seonghwa can hardly contain the laughter that bubbles past his lips, its sardonic and condescending. It makes your skin heat up in embarrassment. The ring wrapped around your forefinger burns with each repeated sound. A mirrored reminder, another out of many.

He's a bit winded by the time he retorts, voice wavering around the edges as if fighting off another round of chuckles from spewing out. "Care? Don't you think you're getting ahead of yourself, mayfly?" He kneels down with a curl to his lips, "In order for me to care, I would have to like you. And we both know that's not going to happen."

You're swinging before you realize it, the surfacing of tears blinds your aim, but you can't seem to care enough. Seonghwa easily deflects your shoddy attempt of a punch with a simple grab of your wrist. His long fingers curl, applying only a light amount of pressure. You try to jerk out of his grasp, but nothing gives- not your depleted strength and certainly not his hand.

The man sighs, "You are acting rather childish right now. Perhaps you aren't done throwing your little tantrum after all."

It wasn't the wisest thing for you to do and so far, you've done a lot of things that wouldn't be considered very smart but the wad of spit flies out of your mouth and lands on his cheek faster than you can think of the possible repercussions. Seonghwa looks at you in silence, unblinking, unmoving. There isn't a trace of emotion within his dark eyes. You hold your breath. If you were to breathe and he felt just the tiniest passing of the air over his skin, you couldn't fathom how he would react.

Both of you sit there staring at each other until it seemed like whatever string tethering Seonghwa into silence breaks and the man does nothing but let a haggard exhale through his nose. He drops your wrist in the next second to wipe your saliva from his cheek, then stands up and retreats to a wooden shelf holding varies jars and bottles. You feel like you just took a chance with death, looked the formidable being right in the eyes and escaped by nothing of wit or appeasements. Seonghwa grabs a few jars from the shelf and returns to a stool kicked over into one of the corners. You watch him, still hung over the lip of the tub.

He nudges the stool until it settles right in front of you, where he lowers himself down with a soft grunt. The jars are placed by his feet- one holds the color of a sunset, another the hue of cement and the last one is an inky blue. You eye them hesitantly before looking up towards the man, already looking down at you with an indecipherable expression. He leans forward and down until he's right in your face, "Stand up, mayfly."

You frown, "No."

"Stand up or I will go and get the captain. Mind you, mayfly, he likes to watch. Now if you value your safety as much as you fight for it, I suggest you stand up." He doesn't budge, stare unwavering.

At the mention of Hongjoong, the ghost of the gun pressed into your mouth suddenly feels far more real than just the mere shadow of it. You could almost taste the metal, old and bitter. Seonghwa could practically see the wheels in your head turning, the gears wanting to fight against your slipping resolve just by the threat of the captain being present. It was a dirty trick to use the hotblooded man, but he knew in hindsight that you weren't going to be making things easier for him- and by extension, yourself.

You swallow, shakily standing to your feet. In that moment you can't help but feel utterly ridiculous at your earlier reaction. The water now stood just under your knees, not deep in the slightest yet you had panicked as if dropped in the middle of the ocean.

Seonghwa lifts his hand and gives it a quick spin. He wants you to turn away from him.

You hesitate, knowing that with the state of your shirt and him being as close as he is to the tub, he’d be able to really see the state of your back. The puckered scars, the discoloration, the years of abuse imbedded into your skin.

He leans back, “Turn around.”

“I would rather not.” Your voice is tense, tone short and not up for negotiation.

Seonghwa lifts an unimpressed brow, “That was me being courtesy of your privacy but if you would rather remove your clothing facing my direction then by all means— go ahead.” He leans back a bit on the stool, arms crossing over his chest. Nothing gives away what he’s thinking as he sits there watching you, waiting for you to make a move.

You fix him with a frown, “Could you just… turn away? It’s not like I’m going to make a run for it or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He scoffs, “I hardly consider that worthy of worrying about.”

Yet he obliges after a short moment, turning around to give you his back. It’s a short reprieve from his unblinking stare, from being pinned on the spot like a specimen. You shifted a bit, the water around your knees sloshing around softly. There’s a debate within your head— turn to mirror him with your back facing his way so that your front can be spared even the tiniest of possibility of being seen or remain facing his way so that your back is away from scrutiny. Sideways was not an option, he would be able to glimpse both your back and front even if just a little. It isn’t a risk worth taking.

There’s a faint sound of his fingers drumming against his upper arms, his patience seemingly pulled taut by the lack of progress behind him. You were only slightly stalling.

“Mayfly, I don’t have all hours of time to sit and wait for you. The bandaid that you are choosing to avoid will be ripped off one way or another. Best to get it over with now.”

“This is— what you and your friends— are doing is inhumane.” You glare at the back of his head, adding as a second thought, “And stop calling me that. I have a name, use it.”

Seonghwa rises from the stool, keeping his back facing your way. “I see this is going nowhere.”

You watch him move towards the bathroom door, paced casually as if he was in no real rush.

“Where are you going?”

Seonghwa pauses, head tilting over his shoulder just enough to be able to see your outline in a blur of muted colors. “Did you not hear me beforehand? If you aren’t going to cooperate then I will go get Hongjoong and he can take care of your little rebellious streak.”

Once again, you feel inclined to protest at the mention of the captain. “No— No that won’t be necessary.”

He’s careful about letting his little smile of victory be seen, especially after he turns to face you. You’re looking at the far wall instead of him, brows furrowed and fists balled at your sides. Clearly you don’t like the fact that you are stuck between a rock and a hard place— either you undress and let Seonghwa, one of your captors, bathe you or be thrown into Hongjoong’s path. Both situations suck and you would rather throw yourself off the landing if given another chance.

“Well? What’ll it be, mayfly?”

You swallow, swipe your tongue across your dry lips before lifting both hands up to grab at the front of your shirt. Seonghwa watches blankly, seemingly uninterested at the slow progress of your undressing. The tattered shirt is plucked up and off of your chest, hanging like a worn rag from your grip. You look over at Seonghwa before dropping it just outside the tub, it plops onto the floor with a wet splat!

He eyes it with a poorly veiled look of displeasure. Yet it beckons him back to the stool. You hesitate now that he’s closer, your upper half on full display with only a sodden bra to hide your breasts. The padding in the cups feel heavier with the water trapped in them.

Seonghwa plops himself down onto the stool, gives you an impartial nod before turning around. He’s granting you a semblance of privacy once again, something he could very well have chosen not to after you refused to accept it beforehand.

With a shuddered sigh, you unfasten the button holding the flaps of your jeans together and then pull the zipper down in its wake. The sound of the teeth being separated reverberates louder than expected causing you to cringe outwardly. Seonghwa remains unfazed, not having moved in the slightest since turning around.

Your jeans cling uncomfortably to the flesh of your legs, like a second skin you roll them down until they are submerged beneath the water where you step out of each leg, free of their constrictive hold. Your underwear remains where they sit around your hips.

The jeans join your shirt on the floor with a heavier and denser sounding plop. That’s when Seonghwa finally moves, tilting his head to the side but not at all chancing a peek. You decide within an instant that you wouldn’t remove the rest.

You clear your throat, the walls of it feeling tighter than before. The man takes that as the signal to turn around. He looks at the clothing pile first then draws his attention to you, standing amidst the now cool bath water. His eyes don’t linger, rather they focus solely on the faint glint of the ring on your finger. It’s gold, nearly lackluster under the warm lighting provided by the string of lights draped along the seam connecting the walls and ceiling together.

“Jewelry doesn’t fair well in water. It would be better to remove it if you wish to maintain its—“

“The fucking ring stays on.” Your strained retort cuts through his words, leaving them unfinished on the tip of his tongue.

Seonghwa’s gaze flicks up to yours, “Very well. Sit down and turn around, I’ll wash your hair first.”

You aren’t sure why you felt defensive about the ring— you loathed it and everything it represented. Yet the thought of parting with it has your hackles rising. Quietly, you lower yourself down into the water, keeping your back out of Seonghwa’s sight until the water lapped at your shoulders. It was then that you quickly turned and pressed your back flush against the side of the tub.

Seonghwa leans down to pick up the jar filled with blue liquid, twisting the metal top until it parts from the glass. You listen and wait, feeling jittery with him not in your direct line of sight.

“Try not to move so much.”

In the next second, you feel a light pressure gliding across your scalp. You jump at the sensation, tension gathering along your body while his hands thread through your hair, blunt nails scratching along the expanse of your head. He’s silent as he works through knots and matted clumps sealed together by caked on dirt and filth.

You hate how nice it feels.

Wooyoung opens the door to the kitchen to find Mingi mid-stride with a wooden crate nestled between his arms. He quickly looks over, failing to see the edge of the island and clipping it with his side. Mingi yelps and the crate wobbles a bit in his hold. Wooyoung snorts, reaching his side in a slight skip to steady the crate from toppling over.

“Good morning, clumsy.” Wooyoung raises onto the tips of his toes and places a fat smooch on the taller man’s cheek.

Mingi smiles, setting the crate on the counter of the island before lowering down to reciprocate the kiss— except his aim for Wooyoung’s cheek was intercepted when the latter refused to turn his head. Their lips were varying degrees of chapped but it didn’t feel any less pleasant. Mingi sighs and the kiss ends. Wooyoung turns his attention to the crate, peering down to access its contents. A few heads of cabbage, discolored from dirt with carrots to match. There’s an undisclosed can right beside the vegetables, whatever label that had been on it completely removed.

“What’s the stock look like?”

Mingi also looks inside the crate, “Two cans of something and an onion… that’s sprouted a bit.”

Wooyoung sucks on his teeth, head shaking. Their reserves are essentially nonexistent which means a run to scavenge is direly needed. The lack of food brings the scene from last night in the dining hall to the forefront of his mind. Seeing his hard work splattered across the floor was already a knife in his chest but knowing that every bit of food counted and to have it so carelessly wasted because Jongho felt inclined to terrorize you just dug and twisted the imaginary dagger further into his person.

“Youngie?” Mingi is looking down at the other with an open curiosity.

Wooyoung hums, reaching into the crate to pull out the ingredients for what’ll be a very meager breakfast.

“Is Seonghwa really going to give the prisoner a bath?”

He pauses, eyes flicking up to look at the taller of the two. “Seonghwa?”

“Yes. I overheard him and Hongjoong talking about it this morning.”

Wooyoung purses his lips, “I guess so. Thought San was going to do it. He came to get her from mine and Yunho’s room earlier.”

Mingi’s eyebrows are practically touching his hairline, lips fallen apart as he watches Wooyoung continue to place cabbage and carrot onto the countertop.

“She was in your room?! Why was she in your room— was Yunho there??”

“Jongho and San were tormenting her last night in the dining hall, she passed out after I swooped in and saved the day like the honorable moth that I am but there was no place to put her so I just brought her to our room. And no, Yunho made his accommodations elsewhere.” His small tangent ends on a bitter note, not at all lost on Mingi.

“Sannie was standing outside of the bathroom when I left for the kitchen. He didn’t seem very happy.”

Wooyoung shrugs, “Probably just jealous that he isn’t getting to chew on captains new toy.”

Mingi frowns, not at all amused by the implication. “Hongjoong wouldn’t let a prisoner join the crew… let alone have a relationship like that with them.” He moves away, running a flustered hand through his hair. “Right, Youngie? He wouldn’t— couldn’t. He has us… he has me. What could she possibly give him that we don’t already have?”

The shorter man wasn’t sure where the hell Mingi’s sudden crash out was coming from but it seemed that it was holding far more space in his mind than was necessary. Wooyoung is quick to grab ahold of the other’s forearm, yanking him back to his side where he turns them so that Mingi was pressed to the counter with Wooyoung’s arms blocking him in.

“She has nothing— is nothing, to him or to us. What he’s doing now, biding his time or just playing around with his food for entertainment, isn’t because the rest of us— or you for that matter— aren’t good enough for him. That’s nonsense, Mingi. You know captain better than that. As if some unimpressive nobody could ever compete with us.” Wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows, a catty grin pulling at the corners of his lips. Mingi looks down at him wearily, not completely convinced by his words.

“Hongjoong has only one wing-bound. That’s you,” He presses a finger to the center of Mingi’s chest, where his white linen shirt is parted to reveal the canyon between his pecs. There’s a cheeky peeking of the swell of his chest, something that draws Wooyoung’s attention like a fly to rotting fruit. “He has seven mates that are loyal to him, that love and adore him. We give him everything he could possibly want, and then some.”

Mingi sucks his lower lip between his teeth when Wooyoung leans forward to press his lips against that patch of skin, eyes remaining connected with the taller’s.

Wooyoung whispers just as his hands slither to attach themselves to Mingi’s hips. “What more could he ask for, hm?”

The question serves as both rhetorical yet unsolicited. There’s an answer that could be given but isn’t exactly needed. Neither one is in a position to give as such, quickly devolving into wandering hands and hushed exchanges. The crate and its contents are swiftly forgotten.

Seonghwa’s hands had worked deftly at your hair and lightly at your skin. In fact, his touch was more akin to a fleeting whisper. He hardly remained in one spot, never applied any sort of pressure and skimmed the cement colored liquid across your flesh that was reachable. Seonghwa avoided anything below the water, rather passing the jar to you to clean the rest of your body as you see fit. While you tended to your legs, raising them up above the water and keeping them propped by the curl of your toes on the opposite side of the tub, the man had returned to your hair with the sunset colored concoction nestled within his hand.

“What is this stuff? Smells like jasmine and ash.”

“More or less. Blades of grass and jasmine are crushed into paste where honeydew is added for consistency sake. Ash provides the color and mutes the more unpleasant smells. Plus,” He pauses to pick out a leaf that had kept itself hidden amongst your tresses. “It helps remove gunk from the skin.”

You raise an eyebrow, “And how would you know that?”

“I heard it from somewhere.” He purposefully yanks your hair hard enough for you to yelp. “Oh, my fingers got caught.”

The man offers no apology and you refrain from any further inquiries. Clearly he did not want to be questions about where he learned certain things— his knowledge of beneficial ingredients for skin care being one of them. It makes you suspicious, as if you weren’t already. Seonghwa looked down at your head, the blue and sunset goop mixed into a muted purple that only reflected at certain angles at the turn and tilt of a head. He’s sure when it washes out that it’ll make the bath water turn brown. It already appeared milky from the cement colored wash.

“Not to alarm you but you will be needing to rinse this out of your hair.”

“If I move forward and lean my head back will that be good enough for you?”

“You want me to wash it out? I figured you’d want the opportunity to do it so that you don’t find yourself waterlogged again.”

“I would rather not leave myself vulnerable.”

He hums, gathering your hair into his hands before leaning forward to position his mouth parallel to your ear. “A bit late for that, mayfly.”

His breath is uncomfortably hot and damp, making you twitch away.

“You never told me your name.” You say after a fleeting moment.

Seonghwa nudges you forward, of which you slightly scoot, still on edge of showing your back. The water had grown cloudy and provided a veil of privacy that you figured would be enough to keep your skin concealed.

“I had no reason to plus I’m sure you’ve heard it said by some of the others. Shouldn’t be hard to put two and two together.”

You both are silent as he grasps the sides of your head and tilts it back. He’s in your view now, upside down but still perfectly visible. “It’s not a proper meeting if we haven’t introduced ourselves.”

You aren’t sure why you are insistent on him telling you his name. It won’t hold any value to you, just a name to a face of another terrible person aiding in your captivity. You despise him no less than any of the others, no less than the captain.

He’s cupping water into his hands and splashing it over your head from your hairline to the ends.

“Seonghwa.” He says after a brief pause. “Park Seonghwa.”

“I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you but I would be lying.”

“Likewise.”

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honeyonthemind · 3 months ago

Text

14. They felt like little icy pinpricks along his skin.

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter Warning: Mild violence, sexually crude language.

The first thing you notice upon slipping into consciousness is the soft surface beneath you. The second is the smell of it when you shift your head to the side— like jasmine and rainwater. It tugs a sleepy sigh from your lips. Until the steady creeping of a nagging realization comes in the form of a full body ache starting from your scalp to your very naked toes. You’re up in one fell swoop, having rolled off to the side and over the edge of the bed. Not only does it further startle you out of the sleepy haze you were just under but it also seems to cause the only other person occupying the room to scare.

“Great moon’s above—“

Wooyoung has a hand clutched over the right side of his chest when your eyes settle upon him, draped over a rather worn leather armchair situated next to the opposite side of the bed.

You zero in on him like a buzzard to a rotten animal, “Where the hell am I? What did— What did you do to me?”

“Should be pretty obvious that you’re in a bedroom,” He gestures to the bed you had just scrambled off of, “And I, did nothing but drag you here, which mind you was pretty difficult. Do you know how much you fucking weigh? I thought those scrawny limbs weren’t just for show but I guess not. Also, you should be thanking me, you know, offering an abundance of gratitude considering it was my bed you were sleeping in and my pillow you were slobbering all over.”

You look over at the bed, at the pillow, then back at him with a frown. “Because of you.”

“Huh?”

Suddenly you were halfway across the bed with the intent to clobber the man with everything your fatigued muscles could offer. Wooyoung yelps, attempts to right himself in the recliner and scramble out of your reach but you ended up launching yourself from the rumpled blankets and squarely into his lap. The added weight deposited so suddenly causes the chair to rock backwards. You have him by the scalp, dirty fingers threaded between thick clumps of hair, yanking and tugging his head around without mercy. Wooyoung hisses, smacking at your arms while trying to hike his leg up high enough to kick you off. The chair groans, thumping about while you continue your manhandling.

“Let go— let go dammit!”

“You are such an asinine prick! Thank you?! If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here in the first place!”

One miscalculated yank to the left has the recliner, you and Wooyoung toppling off to the side. Your shoulder hits the ground first, alongside Wooyoung’s head causing both of you to simultaneously retract from each other. That’s when the door opens to the bedroom.

Admittedly, Yunho wasn’t sure what he’d be met with once he arrived back to his shared room. He knew Wooyoung was aware of where he went. Where he promised he would return from— if he had been telling the truth from the very beginning. A ‘walk’ had merely been a poorly veiled lie for going to warm their captains bed.

When he stirred, nestled between rumpled sheets, a pillow over his head, Yunho could do nothing but bite back the cloying taste of guilt. Hongjoong laid beside him, on his naked front, fawn hair thrown over the throw pillows bunched beneath his head. Yunho looked over the sight of his bare back, the faint bruising from his lips, his teeth, his obsessive need to please. What had started with the captain in his lap, bouncing freely on his cock bled into Yunho blanketing himself across Hongjoong’s back, hips hardly parting from the older man’s flesh long enough to realize that hours had passed between their coupling. He was drugged, in some kind of way, tunnel vision holding him captive by the hold of his teeth imbedded into Hongjoong’s skin.

His clothing had slipped along his skin until every bit of evidence was lost to the prying eye. Hongjoong had only shifted once during his haste to redress, sighing softly but remained just as dead to the world. A cat he was, happy and fat and lazy and smitten by getting what he wanted in the end. Not that he had intended for what transpired between the two to happen but his sick cravings were tampered back down. Sated is the beast.

Yunho slips out of the captains quarters quietly, door shut with a soft click.

“I want to say that you are better than this, but I would be lying boldly through my teeth.”

When Yunho turns, startled for a singular second, Seonghwa is standing just shy of beside him. His arms are crossed over his chest, still dressed in his sleepwear, hair mussed into wild protrusions. But despite how soft he technically looks, Yunho isn’t blind to the hardened way the other man gazes at him.

“I—“

“Save it for Wooyoung.”

Seonghwa resumes his shuffling, his initial destination being the communal bathroom just a few doors down from Hongjoong’s private dwellings.

Yunho is left to let his shame gnaw at his bones, following him as he makes his way to his shared quarters with Wooyoung. When he reaches the door, he pauses, immediately honing in on the sound of displaced racket beyond the wood. There’s the faintest exchange of voices before a loud thump. It wasn’t right to feel bitter after what he spent the night doing but the thought that Wooyoung decided to have one of the others warm his side of the bed, to warm it with their body, to remain until he came back put a hard to swallow lump in his throat. Yunho’s fists balled. Yet he didn’t do anything with them, instead he unfurled one of them to wrap around the brass knob and gave it a slow turn. The door opens easily and he pushes himself forward until he’s standing just a foot beyond the frame.

Immediately, he’s floored.

The recliner usually shoved into one of the bedroom’s corners is toppled onto its side by the bed, Wooyoung is laid out on his side with a hand rubbing at his head while you lay so utterly close to him. You’re also rubbing at an area on your body, shoulder to be exact. But Yunho is more focused on the way both yours and Wooyoung’s legs are tangled together, like vines curling against each other.

“What… What the fuck is going on? Wooyoung?”

You look up and over at the source of the voice, seeing Yunho standing rigidly near the door, gaze unwavering. It causes you to shuffle away, legs kicking away Wooyoung’s in the process to create space.

Wooyoung doesn’t even lift his head, merely laying there in the aftermath. “Not much.”

Yunho’s brows furrow, immediately clocking the almost bored tone in his mates voice. “Not much? Didn’t really look like that to me,” His eyes shift to you, now far enough away from Wooyoung, “What is she doing here in our room?”

There’s a huff followed by a sardonic chuckle. “What do you think, Yunnie?” Wooyoung rolls onto his side, head propped against his palm. “I felt oh-so terrible about getting the poor thing into this mess that I decided to fuck her silly in our bed until our blankets smell like nothing but her sopping wet pus— ACK!” You’ve got your hands around his neck before he could finish whatever depraved lies he felt compelled to spew. He’s floundering a bit, gaping like a freshly caught fish on a riverbank, smack and clawing at your forearms.

“Shut up— Shut up— Shut up—“

Wooyoung was beginning to turn a rather angry red when you were suddenly yanked off of him and thrown harshly to the side. Your same shoulder from before hits the floor and the settled ache flares into a stronger eruption of pain. Yunho stands over you like a beast in the darkest corners of a dreary forest. His shoulders are squared and broadened by his anger, chest expanding with each strong breath— in and out— but nothing compared to the utter distain in his eyes. He hardly looked like the man you initially met, not unkind but definitely weary of you. Now he appeared as someone with a deep seated hatred, aimed at you, only for you.

Wooyoung’s coughing from the side, rolled back onto his back and wheezing towards the ceiling.

“Touch him again and I’ll fucking throttle you into the ground.”

You freeze, the pain in your shoulder almost becoming a distant thought. There’s something almost familiar about this situation— you on the floor, hurt in some shape or form, the shadow of something foul hovering over you. You’ve been in this exact position for years now, down to the way your body ached and fingers grew cold at the tips. Surely you’ve swallowed back the fear enough times for your throat to grow raw. Just like now, how many times did you swallow just in the couple of seconds it took for him to grab you and throw you to the side and his pointed threat?

Wooyoung gained his bearings enough to grab at one of Yunho’s ankles, grip firm enough to have the tendons located on the top of his hands to bulge under the thin layer of skin. He’s glaring upwards, panting slightly, not quite recovered.

“Don’t— Don’t act… like you care… bastard.”

Yunho tears his gaze away from you to look at his lover, there’s a veil of hurt in his eyes that he refuses to let you see. It’s bad enough you got to witness the captain tearing into him. But things like vulnerability when it comes to the emotional bonds between him and his mates especially Wooyoung— he’d rather tear his own wings out than let you ever see into that aspect of their lives, of his.

“I do care—“

“Bullshit—“ Wooyoung looks over at you from beyond his lovers leg, something unreadable in his expression. “Say, firefly… what kind of lover does one make when they abandon their heart for a piece of temptation?”

You swallow for the nth time, something bitter bubbling up into your throat.

~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door, and the faintest carry of a voice beyond the wood fills the room.

“Wooyoung, you can’t keep her hoarded in there.”

Yunho retreats back to the door with heavy footfall, practically yanking the poor piece of wood off its hinges and revealing a perplexed San with his fist raised. He was in the process of delivering another knock. San’s head tilts a bit at the sight of Yunho, not exactly expecting him to be there. In fact, Wooyoung wouldn’t have brought you here if the taller man was present so him having dragged you away last night meant that Yunho hadn’t been around. The thought doesn’t raise any eyebrows but what does is the tension expanding from one point of Yunho to the next, Wooyoung still very much on the floor with their assigned recliner tipped over and you just a foot or so away from Wooyoung looking completely frazzled.

Just what had he interrupted?

“‘Morning. I’m here for the… human.” San peers up at Yunho with a singular eye, hand lowering to his side.

The uncomfortable expression surely plaguing your face melts into a glare, lips weighed down at the corners. Wooyoung shifts a bit until he's sitting up. “Talk about impersonal.”

“Shut it, Wooyoung.” Yunho warns, still not over… well, quite a bit of things.

“Oh great, back to that.”

San looks between the two before settling onto you, still openly glaring daggers his way. They felt like little icy pinpricks along his skin.

“Are you finished using her?”

You blink, brows furrowing farther than they already had been. Using you? What is he talking about? You get to your feet in a less than elegant manner. “Use me? What the fuck do you mean by that?”

San just stares at you, “I figured Wooyoung took you back here to…” He trails off before shrugging. “I guess not, my mistake.”

Wooyoung let’s out a rather forced laugh, scrambling to his own feet and nearly tackling San. His sudden weight doesn’t faze the bulky man in the slightest, not even when Wooyoung throws an arm around his wide shoulders and digs his fingers into San’s meaty bicep.

“What a funny guy! I swear Sannie here says the most hilarious things— ha-ha , right Yunho?” Wooyoung turns the both of them to face the taller man. Greeted by an unreadable expression on Yunho’s face, Wooyoung feels himself shrink a bit.

Yunho chooses to wordlessly leave without shutting the door. His footsteps fading down the hall.

San adjusts the eyepatch over his eye before shrugging Wooyoung off. “You should know better than to upset Yunho.”

Wooyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Right,” He moves to the recliner, grabbing it by the one arm and tugging it upright. Once it had settled onto its feet, he plops back into it, nearly sending it over once again. “Because Yunho is the only one whose feelings should be spared.”

You aren’t sure how to react, feeling more and more like an outsider looking in on a completely off kilter world of screwed up individuals. The soap operas that used to play on the old clunky box tv didn’t hold a light to the dynamics of these men.

“That’s not true and you know that.”

“Whatever.” Wooyoung shifts his gaze to you.

“Looks like our time is cutting short, firefly. Too bad we couldn’t have spent it doing something a bit more… strenuous.”

Your upper lip curls in disgust at the salacious way he runs his tongue over his upper row of teeth. “Pretty sure me pulling your hair and choking you would classify as strenuous enough.”

San stiffens at the admission of you harming his mate but Wooyoung is unfazed. “Don’t remind me otherwise I’ll have to give myself a little helping hand.” He snickers at his little innuendo especially when you scoff.

“There’s something genuinely wrong with—“

San interjects by stepping closer to you, a warning in his singular eye. “I’ve been instructed to take you to the bath. It would be in your best interest to come with me without resistance.”

And suddenly it felt like you were facing the events of the previous night. Ordered to comply, threatened into following, warned against stepping out of line.

It’s a cold rush of water over your nerves and you feel yourself taking a step back and another and another until the end of the bed is pressed against the backs of your thighs. Wooyoung watches on with his chin held in his palm, feet lightly kicking about.

“A bath wouldn’t help, firefly. You do smell pretty sour.” His nose wrinkles teasingly.

You narrow your eyes at him. San takes your momentary distraction to latch onto your upper arm and yank you roughly across the room. You try to dig your heels into the floor but it’s useless.

Wooyoung doesn’t even try and help, simply waving you off with a lazy grin.

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honeyonthemind · 6 months ago

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12. Fire and ice, oil and water, love and hate.

Word Count: 1.7k

Chapter Warning: Mild violence.

“Seonghwa, since you seem to have a lot to say on things not requiring your input. I’ll let you decide on her new alias.”

Those were the only departing words given and they weren’t even spoken to you. Rather, you weren’t even there. Not entrapped to a chair by shackles within the walls belonging to eight devious men. Not even your dreams could conjure something as outlandish as them. Wings, moths, birds, stags— why had the walls felt so alive?

Whatever Seonghwa replied back with sounded like running water, which clogged your ears in a loud rush. The door opening again was faint, far away and the shackles holding you bound to the ornate chair groaned lowly back into their hidden compartments. You wished your head would right itself, silence the pounding growing erratic in your temples. Gloved hands latched onto the tattered fabric that remained strong at your shoulders, and in the back of your buzzing mind did you register that it must be San.

"I would rather not. No part of me wants to have anything to do with her."

"So be it. San!"

It was a cold war raging behind that wooden door once it closed on your wary heels. You were glad to be spared of its bite.

San guided you without a word, grip firm in the remains of your shirt. He refused to even look at you, one eye obscured by a black eyepatch and the other remaining forward. You hated how completely helpless you felt. That taking the leap to escape what you thought was the biggest threat in your waking life only placed you right into the awaiting maw of something possibly far worse. Only difference was the exchange of one for eight, and the zero chance of finding a way out. How could you even return to the surface? Nothing but the distance from the pit's mouth to the city of glittering lights stretched close enough to the opening.

Abruptly, San stops in front of an unmarked door. You barely catch your bare toes into the flooring, narrowly running into the wings drawn closed on his back. But you were close enough to see the wispy hairs on them, a light fuzz that looked soft to the touch. He doesn't turn, instead speaking to you from over his shoulder. "Wait here."

His tone had every bit of warning in it. You didn't give him a reply and he didn't spare a second to wait on one, disappearing behind the door and leaving you alone in the corridor. A waft of something aromatic and warm danced on the air shoved out from the swinging wood, the scent alone causing your tongue to tingle. It reminded you of your father— actual father. When he’d spend autumn nights roasting a rarely purchased pig over a bonfire until crisp and golden. You hadn’t tasted or smelled nothing like it since you were seven, a life long gone. The memory makes the metal band on your finger burn. A phantom reminder of every day after binding you closer to the hell you’d suffer.

“What are you doing out here?” Seonghwa’s voice rattles you enough to turn away from the door San had gone through, eyes immediately zeroing in on the bloody spot on his lower lip. It hadn’t been there when he first came down during your interrogation or when he sought out Yunho in the cell next to yours. Not even in the captain's quarters did he appear anything but well-kept. However, as he stood with a good berth between you both, you could see not only his long black hair was disheveled but the dying traces of a lovers flush gracing his cheeks and neck. But his eyes didn’t give off any secret affections that might have been the root cause to his shift in appearance instead they burned with a nasty acidity aimed solely at you.

Before you can answer, he cuts through with another question. Just as potent sounding as the first.

“Where is San?”

You frown, jerking your head in the direction of the door. “In there.”

As if he had been pressed against the door with his ear pressed to the wood, San reappeared with a plate and a small serving bowl balanced in one hand while the other held the handle of a mug. He looks up once he’s cleared of the doors path, one eye widening just a smidgen upon seeing Seonghwa. His gaze flits to his lip and a knowing look overtakes his surprise.

“Your lip—“

“Hongjoong decided that you will be shadowing her while she is here. You are also responsible for naming the thing. If you catch wind of suspicious behavior, then you are to report to him immediately. Word of advice, “ He gives you a glare, one that you equally match. “Keep your new pet on a very short rope.”

Seonghwa rounds on Hongjoong the moment the door closes, and it is just them filling the space. He knows that the other is far from ignorant, but he can’t help feeling like a bystander to the shenanigans of a rightful fool. Not only did the so-called discussion fall way-side to Hongjoong’s taste for power but now you were here to stay— temporarily if he had anything to do about it.

“You must have gone completely mad if you think for a single second that her being here is a good idea.”

Hongjoong tilts his head, a coy little smile stretching across his lips. “Nothing new.”

It irked the dark-haired man even more when faced with the teasing nonchalance of his lover, for his worries held little significance to his captain.

“No, being out of your mind isn’t anything spontaneous but making absolutely stupid decisions without at least entertaining the only voice of reason you have here makes it painfully obvious that you lack anything above your shoulders, captain.” Seonghwa knew he was dancing close to the ring of fire surrounding them, its invisible flame growing wild at each oil-induced word.

Hongjoong wasn’t smiling so much as he was downright sneering, dark eyes narrowed into the sharpest of blades. He was, and the other knew it, coiled like the very serpent lurking in the darkest corners of his heart. But Seonghwa wouldn’t stand down, cower off with his wings enveloping him in a self-soothing manner. He was stubborn because he cared, and his caring nature made his stubbornness nonnegotiable even in the face of danger. Hongjoong was— is dangerous.

“You’ve grown yourself a pair of wings far too large, perhaps I should snip them a bit to remind you of your place, love.”

Fire and ice, oil and water, love and hate. Both men tiptoed such fine lines where in their passion lies a great hatred. Both knew that both understood one another down to the very marrow of their bones.

That’s why Seonghwa refused to duck away when Hongjoong fisted the front of his blouse between two ring-clad hands and shoved him hazardously onto the surface of his desk. Papers toppled over and fluttered to the floor, neither caring about the mess when Seonghwa buried his slender fingers into Hongjoong’s fawn-colored mullet, his grip tight and snagging, tugging his lover forward into his scowl-drawn lips and bared teeth. Hongjoong met him with an ugly force, the greeting of calcified bone sharp in their ears. Nothing tender resided between their snapping maws, not even the desire for carnality sparked a low blaze in their blood. No, this was malice in all its hunger to ruin.

Seonghwa yanks away when Hongjoong sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and tears through the skin until blood pools without restraint. His breathing is labored, skin hot enough to be suffocating. Hongjoong looks no better with the hurried rise and fall of his chest and hair mussed wildly. Then he sticks his tongue out and drags it across the remnants of Seonghwa clinging to the front of his upper teeth.

“You make me sick.”

“And yet you will still flutter back when the only light in this world is in my hands.”

The taller is quick to shove the other out from the space he claimed between his legs, moving to an unsteady stumble that didn’t cease even as he reached the door. Seonghwa refused to look back, knowing that if he did, the fight he has put up would fall wayside.

“Inform San that he will be taking our newest little charge under his wings. And do stress that his eyes and ears are my own. If I dare catch wind of even the smallest of infractions,” Seonghwa stares at the wood of the door, handle in hand. He could feel the tar-pools of Hongjoong’s gaze heavy on his back. “Then I will skin that puny creature from her scalp to her toes and make a flag out of her peeled flesh and whoever aids in her mutiny will be nothing but bone-dust.”

Seonghwa opens the door and swiftly closes it, his stomach churning in his throat.

“He said something horrible to you, didn’t he? Threatened you? Harmed you?” San knew when his mate was troubled by something and more often than not the aforementioned trouble tended to be Hongjoong and his malicious behavior.

Seonghwa scowled, “Mind your own, San.”

You shifted out of the way before Seonghwa could bulldoze you over, watching from the corner of your eye as he stomped down the corridor until he was out of sight.

“Lover's quarrel?”

Turning to look at San, you were met with a stony expression and a jaw that clicked with every tense clench. He settled a sharp eye on you, “Follow me.”

He swiftly moves around you and without a word, follows the same path as Seonghwa did with you hesitantly in tow.

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honeyonthemind · 6 months ago

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⌜It started with one unlucky volunteer with each new year, chosen from a folded slip of paper piled within an old ball cap. A retriever of answers, the bringer of solutions, messenger of the unknown— whatever false title the mayor could pin to the heads of the chosen only served as empty rhetoric. To you, at least. Everyone else soaked up the verbiage like sponge-brained sheep, crowding their trustworthy shepherd in a state of blind trust against the strange and unusual. It felt stupid to follow, and while your intentions weren’t to do so; the nosedive you take into the gaping mouth of the pit while trying to flee the hands of a real small-town monster only made you half as rash and just a quarter-inch naive.⌟

Current Word Count: 25k

Warning/Tags: Rain-Moth!Ateez, Hybrid!Ateez, Pirate!Ateez, Steampunk au, Science Fiction/Fantasy, poly!Ateez, Slow Burn, Abuse, Trauma, Kidnapping, Angst, Slow burn Romance, Eventual Smut, Human!Reader, Torture, Underground World, Explicit Language.

Chapters↴

It appeared in the spring.

A means to an end.

You were positive they were wings.

Another casualty to the pit.

It was a fantasy you couldn't understand the appeal of.

Maybe it will be if you survive.

Except there was no waiting.

Death was definitely in your foreseeable future.

You needed to get out.

Why should you listen to him anyways?

It's his game and nobody else's to partake in.

Fire and ice, oil and water, love and hate.

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honeyonthemind · 11 months ago

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— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [nine.]

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

— pairing; ot8 (general); 2.78k

— chapter warnings; death, death mentions, murder mentions, slightly descriptive almost-drowning, murder (?)

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

FIC WARNINGS: murder, manipulation, blood, blood drinking, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping. this series is very dark, if you're uncomfortable with the subjects listed do not read. warnings will change but be listed in each chapter. there is no tag list for this series.

Chapter 9:

You never really considered how it would feel to freefall from a cliff. Movies described it in such a way that you thought it wouldn’t be as terrifying as it actually is.

The descent seemed to be as long as it was short. The wind tears at your clothing, air pulled from your lungs as your body whips around through the gusts. The noise fills your ears, breaths barely taken. There is no time nor chance for fear at this point. You can’t even scream, the world spinning around you, chest tight as you plummet further and further into the raging waters below. The speed seems to quicken almost instantly, your legs breaching the surface of the water first. Almost instantaneously, the water engulfs your body, the impact pulling you further and further beneath the dark depths of water. Your hands claw at the waves, desperate to pull yourself back to the surface. But your impact just continues to pull you further and further below the depths, the sky just above the surface darkening the further you’re dragged down.

Something grips your ankle, and you look down. Her face is beautiful, scales shining up at you, eyes a clear luminescent color as she smiles, her mint teeth sharp. Her fingers wrap around your ankle tighter, dragging you further and further beneath the water. A sweet tone fills your eardrums, whispers echoing in your head. The pain of being unable to breath subsides, a warmth flowing over you despite the cold temperature of the water. You can feel yourself succumbing to the salty water that fills your mouth, your eyes fluttering as you're dragged further and further beneath.

A bubbling pain shoots through you as your eyes flutter, a screech in the water forcing your eyes open again. You look down at the mermaid, her pretty face twisted in pain, red blood spilling from her chest as she drops your ankle from her grasp. The pain swallows your body whole, as if it’s on fire beneath the surface of the ocean. You’re not controlling yourself entirely, your legs forcing you to bullet through the water, breaking the surface of the ocean. You don’t quite get the chance to cough or breathe air, lines of pain shooting out of your back, ripping skin. Water sputters from your lips as your body flies through the air and finally hits ground again, harshly, water spat against the sand as your fingers - is it your fingers? - grip the earth beneath them.

Your body is still burning as you cry out, tears forcing themselves down your cheeks.

You gasp, sobs echoing around the small beach, the pain unbearable in comparison to drowning. But just as it comes, it disappears almost as fast, the tension in your body completely disappearing. Your throat is still dry as you cough, but you can breathe now. You look down at your hands, your fingers back to normal, as if nothing happened at all. Your mind is trying to catch up with what just occurred, but nothing comes to head. Nothing that can explain what just happened to your body.

You look back at the water, mind moving back to the mermaid. Could she be dead? You see nothing at the top of the water floating, no evidence of what just happened. Your mind thinks back to months ago, a dead Seelie’s blood covering your fingers, your memories gone just as they are slowly disappearing now. Seonghwa’s warning seems more serious, more real now. Has he truly been right this whole time?

“You survived.”

Your head whips to the side, Hongjoong strolling closer and closer to you. “San” is not far behind, the corpse-like man showing a bit of color in his skin. His eyes are still empty, not truly there as they stop in front of you.

Hongjoong crouches down, his eyes roaming over your body. “You are alive-”

Your hand reaches out, fingers gripping his neck as you stand. Your mind is panicked, something else controlling you as you hold his body tight, strength unlike your own unwilling to let him go. Hongjoong’s grin only widens, eyes flicking between yours as you hold him.

“You seem upset, kumiho.”

“San” moves closer to Hongjoong, but the Unseelie holds up his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

A deeper tone, almost alien like, escapes your lips. “You are not wise, leader of Unseelie.”

“I wanted to see if you were truly real, kumiho. If your spirit truly has taken this human as your vessel.”

You feel your lips turn, the voice continuing. “You tread on thin ice, young one, meddling into matters that you do not belong in. You are lucky she is fond of you, or I would have pulled your soul from your immortal body long ago.” Your hand drops him to the sand below. “I allow her to be with your clan for her protection, leader of Unseelie. Do not provoke me again.”

You feel your body become your own again, exhaustion rolling through you. Hongjoong’s laugh echoes around the area, his head turning to San.

“Did you see that?” He tells him. “Kumiho are truly real,” he laughs again, running his fingers through his hair. “And it has allowed us to be in the company of her vessel,” Hongjoong’s eyes flick down to you, roaming your face. “Why are you so special to hold such a sacred one inside of you, y/n?” He murmurs to himself.

“Fuck you, Hongjoong,” I say.

His lip lifts higher. “The kumiho said you are fond of me, y/n. It is inside of you, in your mind, it couldn’t possibly be lying. No need to pretend to hate me.” He leans down, eyes flicking over your face. “You are quite a human, aren’t you?” He glances at your back, shaking his head. “Your clothing is barely hanging off of you, the wings truly ripped your shirt to shreds. San,” Hongjoong turns to him. “Carry her back to the house.”

San barely blinks as he lifts you from the ground, his cold grip on your body causing you to shiver as you’re pressed against him. Your eyes flick up to his, but there is nothing there - no emotion, nothing. Your throat tightens, unable to speak as you’re helped off the beach.

—

You stare at yourself in the mirror, turning around and glancing over your shoulder at your back. Two thin lines, barely visible, stretch from your shoulder blades to just above your pants line, look back at you. It is not painful at all, but seeing it there, knowing that wings ripped from your skin… it only makes your stomach twist.

Should you speak to Mingi about it?

You grab your shirt and pull it over your body, covering up the skin. Hoping to somehow push the thoughts away. Hongjoong and San disappeared just as you hit the tree line, the other Unseelies surprisingly not leaving their rooms as you enter the house. A part of you wonders if Hongjoong would ever tell any of them what happened on that cliff, or if he would keep it to himself. Though you doubt the latter - he’s too cocky to not say that he was right about you.

A soft knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts, the door opening before you can ask who it is. Yeosang stands there, his eyes flicking over you before glancing away. His face is unreadable as usual, black locks covering most of it as gaze flickering to the floor as he speaks. “Do you have a moment?” he asks.

“Yes-”

He enters the room just as you open your mouth and shuts the door behind him, whispering a cantation as it locks. He turns to you, eyes roaming over your body before landing back on your face. “Hongjoong told us about your… trip.” He says simply.

“About him almost killing me?” I say, scoffing.

Yeosang’s expression does not change, though you think you see his lip twitch slightly. “Seonghwa heard about it, he still wants us to get rid of you.”

You’re not too sure as to why Yeosang is bringing this up, his sentences seemingly unrelated to one another.

His eyes watch yours carefully before he speaks again. “Mingi has given you healing potions.”

You’re sure if it were possible, your face would be in the shape of exactly three question marks right now. “What are you getting at?” you ask.

“Have you used it?”

I shake my head, pointing to the sack on my desk. Yeosang walks over, opening the sack and examining the bottles. He opens it, dipping his finger in it before smelling it. He hums, turning to look at you. “Seonghwa changed the potion. This would have killed you.”

My brows furrow, “What? How did he-”

“Seonghwa wants you gone,” he says, taking the potions and spilling it on the floor. It seeps through the wooden boards, a hiss echoing around you. “You need to be careful, he will take any chance he gets.”

You watch him curiously before speaking. “He is part of your spark, you respect him. Why do you care what happens to me?”

Yeosang’s eyes rest on yours, a flicker of pain passing through. “Because San did, and I will not allow his death to be for nothing.” He places the potions back in the bag, putting it back on your desk. “Be careful with what you eat, and I will do my best to prevent an untimely death.”

This Unseelie is curious indeed.

The familiar voice echoes in your head, your own mind pulled away from you. The moment barely lasts a few seconds, the intrusion gone.

Yeosang’s eyes widen softly, and you suddenly remember what he said a few months prior: “I can only hear what you want me to. It’s quite complicated. No one but me can pick up on stray thoughts, if you were worried about any of the others somehow picking up on what you’re thinking. That one I heard just now slipped because you were so in tuned to me.”

“You did not say that,” Yeosang states, eyes flicking between yours.

You nod.

He keeps his gaze on yours briefly, before looking away. “I do not want you dead, y/n, despite how much fear I may have for your existence. And… Hongjoong is right. You are important and valuable to us, we cannot hand you over to anyone else. So I will protect you, and the kumiho within you to the best of my ability,” He turns to you, expression solemn. “That I can promise.”

—

His fingers grace over the thickened, scarred skin. Tough and rubbery, cold. Nothing like what he once was – lively, warm, full of happiness. Now the Seelie – can he even call him that? – in front of him is merely a shadow of what he once was. Empty eyes, solemn stare. He has attempted to get words out of him, to make him speak, but nothing. His eyes do not even blink. He listens to Hongjoong’s commands, sure, but that is all. He is nothing. An empty shell, almost.

Hongjoong cannot show him to the others. He is not afraid of their reactions. He just would rather not deal with the dramatics of his choice. Necromancy is a skill he has never quite mastered, once that even San himself has told him would never end up the way one desired. But… he could not just leave him dead. Not after everything. It is selfish to pull his soul back, but Hongjoong is an Unseelie. The leader of Unseelie, in fact. Selfishness is embedded into his very soul. What kind of faerie would he be if he ignored it? A smaller part of him wonders if he has forgotten to put the soul back into its vessel.

“Speak.”

Hongjoong stares, waiting for something. Anything. But San only looks at him, his eyes glazed over, mind empty. Hongjoong grips the wooden table beneath the corpse, withered beneath his endless pounding of his fists in frustration.

“You are San,” Hongjoong says, eyes flicking between his. “You need to become him again. This is not a request, it is a command. Speak, San.”

San does not even twitch at his words. Hongjoong rubs his forehead in mild irritation, stepping away from the table. He has tried it all – potions, incantations. He has even poured dead Seelie blood down his throat. But nothing. His eyes flick over the body. He is ashamed to say it, but he did test the pain tolerance level of San. He even sliced a finger, but nothing. Not even a wince.

Hongjoong stares down at him, willing him to speak. To say something. But there is nothing behind those eyes. He thought necromancy would work better, that maybe he’d have to have San feed on living beings to survive. But nothing like the person that is in front of him now. Not so… nothing.

He leaves the shell behind, locking the doors with a flick of his hand before entering the common area. Mingi has you training with him again outside, Hongjoong eyes roaming to the two of you. Yunho watches as well, leaning against a pillar, deep in thought.

“You should assist him,” Hongjoong says, stepping next to him. “Surely he needs help taming that kumiho.”

“You have hidden information from us.” Yunho says, his gaze still cast on the training. “When will you spill your secrets?”

Hongjoong’s face reveals nothing. “I hide information from all of you all the time. You would have to be a bit more specific, Yunho.”

Yunho's gaze shifts to the shorter man. “What were you doing while we were fighting for our lives? What could have possibly been so important that you did not come?”

“That is my business.” Hongjoong hides his relief, his biggest secret locked just behind a few wooden slabs and spells.

“You do not trust us with it?” Yunho inquiries, his voice tense. “How much longer will you do this?”

“Until I need to.”

“We are your spark, your chosen mates. Why do you continue to distrust us? Is it because of Yeonjun–”

“You have been educated on his name only being brought up when necessary. Do not speak it again, Yunho,” Hongjoong's lips are tight.

Yunho’s eyes flicker across his face, taking in his expression. Hongjoong is ever so neutral, not even a flicker of emotion crossing his face. Another would think that he is just upset, maybe uncaring. But Yunho has been with him for hundreds of years - he knows when one’s face of neutrality is something deeper, harsher. Yunho steps closer to him, his height a head higher than Hongjoong’s. He has never used it this way - to intimidate, to threaten. But now, with the thought of such a decorated secret being hidden from him, he cannot help himself.

“Fine. Keep your secret, Hongjoong,” Yunho says after a moment. “But do not expect us to trust your words ever again.”

“I cannot lie, Yunho-”

“You have lied to us plenty, Hongjoong. Not releasing the truth, not speaking about it, is one of the biggest falsehoods of all.” His hand drags along Hongjoong’s jawline, sliding down the curve of his neck. “You will regret this conversation.” He pulls his hand away, glancing once at Mingi and you sparing, before leaving the room.

Hongjoong’s swallow is a bit shaky, his feet cemented in its spot.

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honeyonthemind · 11 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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honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

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— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [eight.]

— pairing; ot8/reader (mingi/f.reader & hongjoong/f.reader focused); 7.1k

— chapter warnings; death, death mentions, murder mentions, slightly gory

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

Chapter 8:

The heat is all consuming.

Your moist grip struggles against the metal chains digging into your skin, slipping as you attempt to get a firm grasp. The dried blood isn’t exactly helping you, chipping off each time you attempt to pull. You can feel Wooyoung’s eyes on you. He hasn’t stopped telling you that it’s nearly impossible for someone of your strength to break it, but you cannot help but try. You can’t let yourself succumb to whatever those creatures are planning to do to you.

“Solaris, you’ll exhaust yourself.”

You shake your head, hitting the metal against the floor. It does not make even the slightest dent, rattling. “We’re not going to die here, Wooyoung.”

“We will if someone catches you trying to escape,” he breathes, lids heavy. “Just sleep for a bit, I’ll throw something at you to wake you up if someone comes.” You look around the two of you, the cell completely empty. Not even a single rock decorates the floor. His chuckle is strained as he observes the confused look on your face. “Joking.”

You let go, attempt in vain. Your gaze roams over Wooyoung instead; body completely covered in tightened rope, feet outstretched but bound to metal hoops welded into the floor, arms lifted above him, fingers spread with smaller hoops keeping them from moving. Likely bound so tightly he is unable to even flick a finger. It is as if they have molded him into the wall, only his head free.

“You’ve never looked at me with such worry,” he notes. “Perhaps I should find myself on the brink of death often.”

“Did they hurt you?” You ask, though the answer is obvious.

They hit a blunt object against your temple as you entered the cell, Wooyoung already trapped when you arrived. His head was limp, hanging forward. Though now he is speaking, you can see the wounds on his body, clothing wrinkled and torn. The creatures barely touched you. Your fabric is slightly ripped, but it is meager in comparison to him.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says simply, avoiding the question entirely. You lean yourself back against the wall, desperate to push the thoughts of San from your mind. You have seen too much death since knowing them. Seeing one of them die, though, that was the last thing you ever expected. Your own chest aches with the loss. You could only fathom how Wooyoung has fared.

“It didn’t look too painful, right?”

“Hm?” You look at him.

“San. It didn’t look painful when he died, did it? Do you think it hurt badly?”

You press your lips together. He looks exhausted, but his eyes never leave yours, flicking down to the movement of your lips. Swearing soon follows, head shaking softly. “He didn’t deserve it. He cared so much, so so much. All he wanted was to belong, to care for us. But we let him down.”

He closes his eyes. “I could feel it. His soul being ripped from mine. It felt like someone dug a dagger into my chest and pulled out each rib. It was so painful, I could only imagine what it felt like for him.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I never saw San cry before.”

“I'm sorry,” you say softly. That's all you can say. Seeing someone you love so violently gone - You could barely hold back your own tears as he died below you.

He hums, a dry laugh leaving his lips. “Can't wait to kick his ass when I see him again. He promised he wouldn't die before me,” Wooyoung huffs, shutting his eyes. “They never explained how much it would hurt.”

You're unable to respond, comforting words lost. If you could at least hold his hand you would, but your restraints prevent it. All you can offer is silence.

“He did like you. Had an odd way of showing it, but he did. He talked about you while we were alone when you were gone. Sure, most of it was scolding and jabs, but he only does that with people he cares about. Did, that.”

Wooyoung’s head lifts, lips tight.

You follow his gaze, eyes widening as your head tilts up.

“Shouldn't a creature of Lilith be in the pits of hell torturing wretched souls?” Wooyoung spits, face distorting into disgust. “You decide to waste your time on the two of us instead?”

The creature's mouth opens, a foul smell scorching the air. “A burden that Lilith brought to me. Your bodies should have been disposed of long ago.” Its bulbous eyes shift to you. “Especially one of her kind.”

“Fuck you,” he hisses between breaths. A violent crack echoes through the air as you try twisting around the creature to see. Your heartbeat rattles against your eardrums, panic settling in. He can’t die, he can’t.

The creature stares down at you, his hand wrapping around your neck. It’s large enough to cover your mouth as well, strained breaths through the wrinkled skin that holds you captive. If you could tell Wooyoung to stop talking you would, but the hand seems to melt your lips shut as it snarls down at you, the tugging of your hands doing nothing to help. The touch her you die moment isn’t really one you’d prefer being in - the creature could easily snap your neck.

“Shit,” Wooyoung curses. There’s a bit of space between the creature's shoulder and head for you to follow the noise. Wooyoung struggles to pull against the metal, blood dripping down his restraints as he grunts. “You’re messing with a kumiho, you worthless cun-”

The metal prison door flies across the room, bending against the concrete walls. The creature turns around, but it is not quick enough. Its hand is violently pulled off of you, thrown against the same wall. You squint through the action, trying to catch who exactly has entered.

“Mingi?” Wooyoung says loudly.

Mingi shifts in and out of existence, wings tendons strained as he attacks the creature. The sounds are disgusting, flesh torn, bones cracking. Mingi’s thrown to the ground near you, covered in a blackened substance. His eyes shine, iridescent. His fingers sink into your flesh, and you gasp. He glances back at you briefly, an apologetic look in his eyes as he shields you from the onslaught. He grunts as his back is beaten. The sound of tearing skin is not unfamiliar to you. You cannot do anything but stare, this time completely defenseless with your hands tied. A brief reprieve in the attack allows him to move swiftly, his grasp on you gone. You see his hand sink into the creature before anything else. Darkened crimson coats his fingers as he pulls it back. He grunts, his free hand twisting into paws, sharp tendons cracking in the air. He grips the creature by its neck, tossing it through the open doorway. He glances between Wooyoung and yourself, running over to Wooyoung first. Mingi hisses when his hand touches the metal.

“Foxglove.”

“Why’d you think I've been stuck in here so long,” Wooyoung murmurs.

Mingi rolls his eyes, closing his eyes as he whispers a cantation. The strange glow to the metal seemingly dissipates. He pulls on the welded metal against the wall, ripping out chunks of the surface before doing the other.

“I didn’t need saving,” Wooyoung tugs on the bolts, relief spreading across his face once they drop from the wall. His bones crack as his once shapeshifted arm goes back to normal, fingers outstretched as he sighs. He takes a slow breath, before looking at the two of you. “Oh sh-t, your wings, Mingi.”

You can hear the dripping of blood as Wooyoung points it out.

“It’s nothing. Looks to me like you did need me,” Mingi crouches next to you, glancing over your restraints. He pauses as he touches it, a distressed look passing over his face. You expected him to flinch back as he did with Wooyoung’s, but his fingers wrap around it easily.

No foxglove.

“Mingi-”

“It’s fine, Wooyoung,” his tone seems final. Wooyoung stares at him before sighing.

“Hongjoong didn’t come?” Wooyoung’s voice is soft as Mingi grips the metal and rips it from confining you. He shakes his head slowly, hand brushes against the metal burns on your wrist. You wince at his touch, his eyes meeting yours briefly before looking back at Wooyoung.

“He’s been preoccupied as of late,” Mingi holds out a hand and you grasp it, steadying yourself on two feet. “But he informed us of your location. You can further discuss it with him when we arrive back. Can you create a path? The energy in here should suffice.”

“But…”

“They’ll find us if you delay any longer, Wooyoung.”

A grumble leaves Wooyoung’s lips but he nods anyway, quick whispers spilling from his tight expression. The air tightens then expands, a gust of wind nearly unbalancing your already unstable stance. Mingi grips your forearm, eyes flicking down to your lips before moving back to your gaze. The last time you were pulled through, San kissed you. It’s likely not too different now. Mingi opens his mouth to speak but Wooyoung interrupts, pushing himself between the two of you. Mingi’s grip on you is gone, gaze wandering for a moment before he enters the pathway, leaving the two of you alone. You only catch the gruesome look of his backside briefly before he’s gone.

“Ready?” Wooyoung asks, and you nod. His lips press against yours, and you’re pulled into the portal.

—

He’s pulled from you right when you leave the portal. A groan and laugh echoing around the house as he’s pulled into someone’s arms. Yunho’s grip is tight as he holds him, his body trembling. Teasing leaves his face as he sighs, pulling him closer. It is intimate enough that you look away, watching as the others greet him coming back. You feel odd, their attachment to one another something you yearn for. You spot Jongho amongst the spark, a relieved look on his face as he studies you. A pitiful part of you expects for him to walk over and embrace you but he does the opposite, leaving the room entirely. Everyone is occupied enough that you decide to walk around the others, making your way to your room.

You feel his gaze before you see it, eyes flicking down the long hallway. Seonghwa stands there, arms crossed against his chest. He barely glances at you but you can see how his gaze lingers on your wounds, lips tight and jaw strained. Once you blink he is gone. It leaves a strange taste in your mouth, your hand wrapping around the brass knob before pushing your door open.

Exhaustion swarms your body once you enter your room, slumping against the wooden floors, narrowly missing a wide crack. The chaos that was once in your room is now gone, the blood coating the floors nowhere to be found, wooden boards put back in their place. The only evidence of there being any sort of fight lies in the hole in the wall, wood piled beneath it. Likely to board it up temporarily. It looks like no one has gotten the chance to do much - nails and bolts piled along with it. It was likely Yunho or Jongho who cleaned up your room enough for it to be livable - you remind yourself to thank them at some point in the future. Once things have settled a bit.

The stench of sweat and blood still simmers in the area, nose wrinkling. Your eyes move over to your doorway, the final moments of San with you spreading across your mind. His death is not forgotten. A few painful swallows of spit later, you shakingly crawl to your bathroom, shutting the door behind you. The weight of the past few events almost cripples you, your eyes shut as you struggle to hold back your tears.

You’re not sure how much more you can handle. The isolation is getting to you - you used to have Soobin to grieve with. And if it weren’t him, it was your mother, your family. They kept you from spiraling, from sinking further and further into yourself. But you have no one. You look at the reflection of yourself. The bruises on your neck are darkening, deepening the longer you stare at yourself. The urge to call your mother vanishes the longer you stare at the mirror. Subjecting her to the possibility of this happening - you gag at the mere thought. You don’t want to involve anyone else. No one you care about.

It is a strange feeling, the amount of people in this home should be suffocating. And yet, you just feel so lonely.

—

The bowl beneath you distorts. Your vision blurs as you stare, fading in and out of focus. You can hear the birds chirp as they glide through the thickened forest in front of you. You look up, a chill brushing against the raised bumps of your arms.

No one has told you why Wooyoung and yourself were taken. The others have been busy. Hongjoong has not left his room, preoccupied. The horrid look in Mingi's eyes when he pulled you from your cell still haunts you. It was almost soul crushing as his nails dug into your flesh, the wounds are wrapped in gauze still.

Chopsticks slide through your lips, grains of rice mush. You haven’t the energy in you to protest as Seonghwa slid it to you, disappearing before you could thank him. The fear of hatred in his eyes stops you from ever meeting his gaze. He warned them all of what you being here would do. Of what was to come. The two of you haven’t discussed it amongst yourselves but you can feel the blame being spat at you whenever you are in the same room. Enough so that you promptly leave before a word gets out.

No one has really spoken to you since you came back. Even Jongho could barely muster a greeting, words murmured as he left you alone. All you’ve felt is alienation. Leaving was at some point an option, but now, after everything that has happened, it’s the last thing on your mind. San’s sacrifice would have been for nothing if you waltzed out of this home and into death a town away.

It makes sense why you’ve been left alone. It just doesn’t make the feeling go away knowing that.

You force the last scoop of rice into your mouth, swallowing dryly as you stand. The eerie sound of the hallways greets you as you enter, your steps swift and sure.

You walk past Yeosang’s room. The others’ words ring true – it is shut, not a breath of sound escaping through the thin cracks around the door. You'd never attempt to open it. You grieved on your own even though San only began caring for you at the very end. Yeosang and San though, they were attached. Every room you walked in they were always in deep conversation, lightened with laughter. Yeosang's annoyed expression was often softened by the warm look in his eyes when they spent time together. They are all mates but there was just something special between the two. Something you noticed with Yunho and Mingi, Wooyoung and Hongjoong. A bond unlike any other. Your gaze lingers only for another second before you leave, hands wrapped around the rim of the bowl. Wooyoung hasn't left his room either, not even to mess with you, which was fine.

You just can't get used to the silent hallways.

The kitchen is thankfully empty. You waste no time scrubbing the bowl, praying that no one enters while you are alone.

A low groan as you place the bowl in the cabinet fills the silence. You turn, almost stumbling back at the sight.

A blue tint coats his fingertips as he grips the counter. You're unmoving, staring at the carcass of what he once was. A groan escapes blackened lips as he stumbles forward, falling to his knees. His fingers let go of the counter, instead gripping his grayed hair. You can see himself in him if you ignore the obvious signs of decay. His clothing is what he wore that night, stained with his blood and yours. You dare not squint to see if the hole is still in his body, stomach twisting.

“He is still not alive, not fully.”

It's no surprise that Hongjoong follows, his eyes trained on San's crumbled body. There's a strange gleam in his eyes as he watches him. As if he's proud of what he turned his dead mate into. You cannot see anything in San but horror. He oddly does not smell like death, but you dare not get closer to see if he… it… does.

“Do the others know?”

His gaze meets yours. “I wouldn't give their hopes up for something like this. He may turn up dead again.”

“Hongjoong…”

“He is quite marvelous, isn’t he?” Hongjoong’s hands brush his hair tenderly, warmth in his gaze. “He is not himself, but he will be soon. If it all works, this would help the others see reason. They won’t be as upset anymore. We all can be happy again.”

“This, that isn't San. San is dead–”

Fingers wrap around your neck before you can utter another word. His eyes are solid white as he tightens his grip, jaw clenched. You gasp for air, fingers clawing at his hand, desperate for him to let go. Your bruises throb against his fingers. He only tightens before loosening. You suck in a long breath, cupping your neck as you try to regain your sense of self. He seems to catch himself as he rests his eyes on yours.

“San is alive. Not fully but he will be. He must be,” Hongjoong looks back at him. “I'm taking him to your town. He is still a Seelie, unfortunately. He will need their positivity to gain enough strength to live again. I would have forfeited your life, but you reek of pessimism. Delicious for me, but repulsive for him.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“You aren't going to kill them, are you? The townspeople?”

Hongjoong laughs. You see his arm raise but your momentum isn't enough to stop his touch. He holds your chin between his fingers. “What do you want from me, girl? You hope for reassurance, for something other than this, than us?” his grip only tightens as his harsh words drip from his lips. His eyes seem to darken the longer he looks at you, steady on yours. “I will kill them all for San to live if I must.”

“Let me go.”

“I am not letting you go. You are not leaving. You will never leave.”

“Hongjoong–”

His eyes flutter close, a slow breath entering his throat. He opens them again, grin slowly growing on his face. “We will be your final hope, kumiho. You are ours. Not those soon-to-be-dead humans. Grow to care less for them, it will be better for you in the end once you see their graves.”

He leans forward, eyes steady on yours. “You are mine. Even if you yourself do not believe it. Come, San.” He reaches out his hand. San's hand touches his as Hongioong entwines their fingers. “Time to feed.”

He is gone with a blink.

—

Mingi's strikes are harder. He does not stop in his attacks, immediately swiping his opposing sword when you block one. Your breaths are rapid as you desperately try to keep up with his moves. They soon grow faster, your vision blurring trying to keep up.

“Mingi–” you grunt, dunking with another wide swing of his sword. It slices through the air, the sound audible. Fear grows as he continues, eyes seemingly glazed over. This is no longer a practice for you. “Mingi!”

He does not flinch at your shouting, sword raising again. This time you grab the pole he gave you, immediately throwing it against his chest. A loud boom surrounds you, your hands flying to your ears. Mingi's sword drops from his hands and to the mats. He’s thrown back several yards, body hitting a large tree behind him. Your eyes widen, stumbling to your feet. You leap over scraps of wood to get to him, panicked. His breaths are struggling as you crouch next to him, holding your hand against his chest.

“Mingi? Mingi, are you okay?”

He begins to laugh, head lifting. A bruised lip and swollen eye greet you, the pit in your stomach tightening at the sight. You cup his face, turning his head to the right. Cuts cover his skin from the splintered wood. All he does is chuckle as he watches your worried gaze.

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” you say.

“You did what you needed to do, nymph,” his hand encloses yours, lifting it from his face. He lets it go, touching his skin. He winces, sighing. “It wasn't your full strength, but it was enough. We might not be at a dead end with you after all.”

“You did that on purpose?” You stand, speaking slowly. “I thought you were losing yourself.”

His expression is aghast as he examines you. “Never. I have too much to protect to let my mind wander in a match.”

Frustration cannot help but rise in your body as you look down at him. The longer you stare, the longer your own mind wanders. The way San's eyes looked at you, slowly glossing over. The resigned look on his face. The blood. The Seelie dead beneath your fingertips. All of the blood.

You shut your eyes, taking a breath. You turn, leaving Mingi on the ground as you go back to gather your things. You hear him standing from his spot but you ignore him entirely, the horrible thoughts growing. The same face that has haunted you each time you've closed your eyes. Your own mind begins to mold it into the faerie just behind you.

“Are you truly this upset?” Mingi stops you from zipping your bag, hand covering the opening. Your hand wraps around his wrist to tug him away, removing it when a small grunt leaves his lips as you grip too harshly on a new wound.

“I hurt you, Mingi,” you say. “And you laughed.”

“You were supposed to hurt me. That's how you get better at fighting. It's what we do.”

“You should have told me.”

“You wouldn't have fought as hard if I did.”

You turn around, meeting his eyes. His wounds are slowly healing, but the ill feeling has yet to leave your body. “You should have told me.”

His eyes rest on yours. “I won't coddle you. Weakness will not help you, nymph. You saw the way San fell. I’m doing this to help you protect yourself, and to stop one of us from intervening when we see you being targeted. A few cuts and bruises shouldn’t stop you from practicing. We aren’t done.”

He will never understand it. It is his nature - violence, chaos, blood. For a time you thought there to be something more there. And maybe there is. But right now, as your eyes follow his movements, the empty look in his eyes, all you see is nothing. Eerily, the longer you stare, the longer you feel that same odd feeling as the last time you spoke to Soobin.

Like he is not entirely himself.

“I’ll practice with someone else.”

“Who?”

“Why are you so insistent with this, Mingi? We’re done for tonight,” You tug on your bag again, but he does not let go. “Mingi.”

“Do you think we do not think of San every waking moment? Do you believe us faeries to be so heartless that we do not grieve his absence?”

“I never said that.”

“But you stare at me as if it’s true. I am doing this for you, for us, kumiho. And if you were the least bit less selfish you would see what my intentions are. He died protecting you. Do you expect me to just stand back and watch each of us continue to die because we are shielding you? Do you think it fair that our lives are lost because of you?”

Your thoughts move back to Wooyoung, his hands cupping your face, head pressing against yours. It’s not your fault, solaris. Sometimes things just happen, and we cannot do anything to stop it. Don’t put this on yourself, please.

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“And yet here we are,” he lets go of your zipper, pushing the bag against your chest. You stumble slightly, and he grips the bag, steadying you. Mild disgust coats his face, “Take a reprieve. We start again after I feed.”

—

Sweat drips down your body, soaking your clothing as you heave against the mats. Mingi is not too far away, humming to himself as he packs the training gear away. He has not asked you once if you were alright and you do not blame him. You cough, blood splattering against the mats.

“Shit,” you mumble, hands roaming for your water bottle. You grab it with shaky hands, swirling fresh water in your mouth before spitting it in the grass near you. It’s fine, just a bit of dry mouth. Nothing alarming. Your chest tightens as you shut your eyes, trying to calm your own heartbeat down.

A hand appears in front of you, a small bottle. The liquid inside almost glows, thickened as you take it from him. “It’s revivify. It will only take a few minutes to help. One sip is enough for now.”

“Thanks,” you open the bottle, glancing inside. The stench is a bit sweet, though your nose does not quite agree with it. Swallowing it is a struggle in itself, your throat pulsing, threatening to regurgitate it back to the mats. But you force it down, a rumble echoing.

“Keep the rest.”

“Are you sure?” You struggle to your feet.

“We have no use for it since it cannot work on Unseelie. It wouldn’t work on us even if we desired it. It is supposed to work on humans, and although you are not one, it doesn’t hurt to try,” He glances at your bag sitting on the bench, grabbing it. “I will leave this outside your room.”

“Thank you.”

He looks at you. “I am doing this for your own good, you see it, no? It is destiny, just as it was for us to meet you, for San to die. It all was supposed to happen.”

“You believe in destiny?” You raise your brow. “You seem like the last person in your whole house to believe in it.”

“All faeries do,” Mingi shrugs. “It is fate for us to meet, just as it is for you to come to your city, to leave your partner, to be out here with me now. Even as we speak it is words that were already ingrained within us.”

“Makes it feel like we don’t have freedom of choice.”

His brows furrow. “How so?”

“If it is all predestined, how could we decide how things go? How this all ends? Why even try when we are forced along a linear path?”

“Ah…” he nods slowly. “You still have the simple mind of a human.”

“Doesn’t answer the question,” you frown.

“I said it is all fate, but I didn’t say that fate is linear. Each path we take is what we choose, but it is fate that brings us together, just as it is fate if we are brought apart. But that is too difficult for you to comprehend now.” He looks at you strangely. “How are your wrists?”

You look down, finger brushing against the forgotten wounds. It isn’t welted like before, but it’s scarring over, a deeper color contrasted against your skin. You’ve all but pushed that experience from your mind, too tortuous to dwell on amongst everything else. “I haven’t thought of it.” You admit, glancing at him. “Too many things going on right now for me to cry about something like this.”

His eyes rest on your wrists, before glancing away. “I pushed you farther than need be today. I overestimated how much strength you have in this human form.”

“I understand.” There’s an apology between his words, somewhere. You glance at his back. The pure horror that crossed Wooyoung’s face when he saw it in the imprisonment. Your quick glance was enough to see that it was painful. Horribly so.

“Are you okay?”

He furrows his brows, “I told you I was fine before.”

“No, I mean,” you hesitate. He closed off when Wooyoung questioned it, there’s no doubt he’d do the same to you. But you cannot help but try. “Your wings, your back. Are you okay?”

His eyes widen only minimally before resting. “Fine.” His steps are fast, not waiting for even a moment to hear what you have to respond. You stare at the potion in your hand, thoughts scattered. Perhaps he does care, in his own strange way.

Later that night, you find a small bag containing a potion hanging on the doorknob to your room with a scrawled note. The loneliness feeling shifts as you read it.

For your wrists. -M

—

Your gaze is unable to shift from your hands. Numb, cold from the breeze escaping through the gaping hole in your room. It's partially boarded up, a box of nails and wood slacks resting beneath it. Humorous given the situation – you don’t doubt the faeries you reside with have some sort of fix it spell on their roster. But you've insisted on doing it yourself. Splinters dig into the tender skin, your thumb rubbing against the risen surface. It is not enough to make you feel half of what the others felt, but it helps. You press your thumb into the small wooden splinters, pain ringing your nerves as you bleed.

Your new door flings open, nearly breaking off its hinges. You flinch, moving away from the sound. Hongjoong stands there, gaze scanning the room swiftly before resting on you. The once cocky Unseelie looks oddly haggardly, skin oily, hair no longer neatly styled. As if he just awoke from a slumber, clothing barely thrown on his figure. He sighs, fingers pinching his nose.

“You are not hurt.” He murmurs.

You raise your palm to him, before dropping it, picking up the tweezers near you. “Nothing a few hours of picking at my skin wouldn't fix. You almost broke my door, by the way.”

“I smelled blood.”

There's a light film of blood on your palm, but it's barely a teaspoon. “The wood pricked me.”

“Could you be even a bit more careful, kumiho?”

You laugh dryly, “No demonic creatures breaking through the walls again, if you were worried about that.”

His oddly concerned expression soon disappears. He grips your doorknob, ready to swing it back into its place. Just before he closes it, his eyes flick to you. “Caring for yourself shouldn't be such a feat.”

“It was a mistake, that’s all,” you murmur.

“Why lie? Remember where you are and what has happened. Unseelie may not care as Seelie do, but an ounce of sympathy would work wonders.”

The door shuts. You watch as the knob drops from its place, rolling against the wooden floor.

—

Your existence is not forgotten in the room. Body cemented into the loveseat as the discussion, fingers brushing against the potted plant San once cared for. Their words are heated, speaking in a language you cannot understand aside from names. Yeosang is not in the room as you predicted. Seonghwa paces back and forth, arms gesturing wildly, pointing at you every so often. Wooyoung’s tempered voice responded with a bit of annoyance, his presence far away from you not unnoticed. In fact, it seems that Jongho is the only one who could even stand your presence, passing you a novel before sitting on the armrest of your chair.

“Death is something we cannot overcome by merely forgetting it,” Hongjoong’s words ring, speaking in a language you can understand, looking at you briefly. Seonghwa does not attempt to hide the annoyance in his expression. “We must do something, or others may think we are weak.”

“They can try,” Yunho says, leaning against the archway. “Their attempts will be in vain.”

“Them trying is what I am actively avoiding.”

“We are Unseelie, Hongjoong. Someone attempting to take over happens every few centuries. They have likely found out about San’s death already, and Wooyoung being taken. It is only a matter of time before a group enters the meeting place. And they have questioned her presence already,” Seonghwa looks at you. “She should be removed.”

“And taken by Seelie? Is that the wisest thing to do?” Hongjoong scowls. “Once she is able to use her abilities without forgetting and they have control of her, we will all die.”

“She has already caught the attention of Lilith. We must kill her then.”

Your hand stills on the leave your brushing against, turning to Seonghwa. His back is facing you as he says it, waiting for Hongjoong to reply. He’s greeted with silence instead, a loud sigh escaping his lips. “What use does she have to live? We remove any chance of her growing to learn her skills and killing us, or leaving and finding herself in the hands of another group of fae. It is the best solution.”

“You would allow San’s death to be in vain, Seonghwa?”

All of you turn to the voice. Yeosang’s hands grip the doorway, eyes narrowing as he stares at him. Though the Unseelie is far, you can see the glimpse of a knowing smile on Yunho’s lips. Seonghwa looks pained as he meets his gaze, a slight step forward. “Yeosang.”

“Answer me.”

“It is the best solution.”

“You have not answered.”

“San would see reason in my choice if he were in my shoes.”

“You have endlessly criticized Hongjoong for his choices and yet make a selfish one of your own.”

“I am thinking of us. I have always thought of us. How can you not see that? Why don’t any of you see it? All because of this… thing?” He points at you. “It’s my fault for not killing her in the beginning. I allowed all of this to happen. We would have already moved on from this town, far away enough that even the thought of her would never be. But I have accepted that I made a bad decision. I wish that you all accept my words when I say keeping her around is a bad decision.”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “San’s death is not yours to take blame. It is not that simple-”

“I don’t want to see any of you die again.” The angst in his voice is palpable, strained. He grips the table near him, eyes glued to the floor. “I want you all to live. Please, please consider this. I won’t ask for a vote because I know where it would lead. Just, please.”

Hongjoong’s hand reaches out to touch his arm, but Seonghwa pulls it away from him harshly. “I’m tired of having these pointless fucking meetings when everyone dismisses my words. I am tired of it all. Do what you want, I don’t care anymore.” He leaves, shoulder harshly pushing through Yunho’s body as he exits.

Yunho reaches out a hand as Yeosang stumbles, murmuring words you cannot understand in his ear. He nods slowly, reaching an arm around his neck. The height difference is steep, but close enough for Yunho to help him out of the room. The others seem to leave not too long after, Hongjoong standing in the same spot once it's just the two of you left. The idea of being alone with him is uncomfortable enough that you begin to follow the others out. Until he speaks.

He never quite shuts up.

“We’re not killing you,” Hongjoong says. “We’ve decided on that already.”

“I feel so much better now that you say it,” you mumble. “I don’t fault Seonghwa for wanting to get rid of me. You’ve all been through so much since we’ve known each other.”

You exit the room, the soft steps of Hongjoong not too far behind. You expect him to stay behind when you walk outside, but he follows well. You stop walking, turning to look at him. “What?”

“I wouldn’t be able to kill you,” Hongjoong explains. “Many of them may hate me if I arrived without you with me. But if you made the decision on your own, it would be no fault of mine.”

“You want me to kill myself?”

“No,” he says after a moment. “I still cannot find the reason for their fascination with you. But I do not want that. Do you want to die tonight?”

You’ve been brave. Leaving them behind once before, dealing with that Seelie before San came to save you. Before, you thought you’d be able to survive without them by your side. But now? Even with the weapon that Mingi gave you, doubt settles within you. Your eyes flick up to the house. To the barely boarded up hole on your porch.

“No.”

“Then why are you not trying hard enough in your training? You have overcome danger before – we all saw the aftermath ourselves. Or, maybe…” he pauses, a strange look crossing his face. “Maybe your body knows that it is not a life threatening emergency, enough so that you would show your true form. Perhaps you just need a push.”

Hongjoong’s hand grips your arm, dragging you deeper into the forest. “I can test it now.”

“What the hell are you doing?” You grip his hand, but it is in vain. His nails dig into your skin as he pulls you, your pace struggling to keep up to the quickness of his. His gaze is lost as he paces through. “Hongjoong this isn’t funny.”

“Unfortunately I’m not trying to be humorous,” he glances down at you. “I will need to attempt to kill you in order to see if it works.”

The forest begins to dwindle, and soon you hear the sound of waves. You’ve been out in this area with Soobin before, know that your town rests near large cliffs. You visited it more often than not, standing at the treeline as you looked out into the ocean. He drags you to the edge, ignoring your pleas. Your hand digs into his sleeve, begging him to not do this. To realize what he's doing is wrong.

“Hongjoong please,” you say desperately, voice hoarse. He grabs your hand, ripping your grip off.

“I don't want you to die,” he says softly. “But this… this could help. This could show us your true potential, y/n. Don't you see it?”

Your name rolls off his tongue like a curse. The word is strong enough to stun you for a brief moment. But just the pause in time for him to dangle you over the ledge. His gaze is far gone, his free hand brushing against your cheek. Black pupils stare back at you, his brown hair a sheer white. His touch grows colder and colder as he touches your cheek, hums echoing around the forest. You grew unafraid of them all since you've been with them for months – thinking that your life was safe enough. But the blank gaze of his, the eerie tune that falls from his lips, it is not caring. It is not human.

“The others will know.”

“They will forgive me once you come back alive.”

“This isn't humane–”

“Neither of us are humans, kumiho. We do not need to follow the morality of human law. Can't you see it? I'm saving you. This is me saving you.” His lips brush across your cheeks, indecipherable Latin whispered into your ear.

He lets go.

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honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

Text

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [7] (M)

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find. it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, focus: jongho x reader, wooyoung x reader; mingi x reader; 9.7k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: MCD, murder references, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, lying, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore

Chapter 7:

Sweat sinks into the mats below you, your skin sticking to the rubber. Your hands waver, struggle against the wooden pole gripped in your fists. A slight misstep and you doubt you'd be able to stop it from breaking your neck. He stares at you. His body is not like yours – unmoving, relentless in his hold. You should be a bit proud that you made him sweat at all. There's a bit of perspiration coating his forehead, shiny against the backdrop of darkness. His wear is much more firm that what they usually wear – wispy sheer cloth now a darker, workout-like clothing. He wears nothing on his feet still, blonde hair slicked back, only small strands escaping the style. If it weren’t for the situation you’re in at this very moment, you’d loosen your hold and admire him.

“You will die, nymph, if I pressed even a fraction more.”

Your hold trembles, “I have told you all already that I'm not strong compared to faeries–”

He pulls it from your hands entirely, throwing it to the side. It splinters against the stone wall, you turning your gaze away from smaller pieces flying over. He does not flinch at all, reaching down to grab another pole. This one is more flimsy, plastic as he coats it with powder. You slowly lean forward, desperate to catch your breath. Body aching, you rise to reach for the small bottle of water you brought with you. He looks at you.

“Another.”

You pause in the middle of gulping. “We barely had a break.”

“I never told you that we were pausing. This is not for your comfort. This is to test your limits, to see you turn into a kumiho. To help you defend yourself until you're able to control your own strength at will. Your exhaustion now is mental, nothing more.”

You look down at yourself, body coated in sweat. “Doesn’t look mental to me.”

Mingi merely sighs. “Again, nymph.”

“What happens when I figure out how to control my other self, or whatever you want to call it?”

“We use it to our advantage. We defend against the Seelie, against any who may attempt to dethrone us.”

“And if I don't want that?”

He glances at you, amused. There is no answer to your question but it is an easy guess. They will end your life. Without as much as a second thought.

Not much time has passed since Seonghwa told you what he believed you were. You still vehemently disagree with his assumption, but the others don't. From his guess led you to rarely being left alone with one of them now, except for Mingi, oddly - though you do not doubt one of the others is somewhere around, peeking through a window or hiding in the thickened forest.

Mingi lifts his hand, words mumbled beneath his breath as he stares at the broken stick. It mends itself slowly, morphing into smaller, perfect chips of wood. He flicks his hand, tossing it into the grass. He voted for you to die. Neither of you have brought it up since your life was spared, but you cannot help but wonder. Why did he want you to die? Is it because of Seonghwa, whatever he may have said to him? Did he see your presence as so much of a threat he needed you gone? His personality hasn't changed at all – indifferent, slips of his true personality shown whenever he let his mask fall. From what you can gather from those moments and how he speaks when he doesn't see you around, he's kind. Funny, a bit loud. Endlessly teased by the others. Blunt and honest. A bit more closed off than what you’ve seen before, but it would make sense since he did say he wanted you dead.

You believe you two would be great friends if it weren't for the circumstances surrounding your stay here.

“We leave tonight,” he tosses you the metal stick, and you barely catch it, balancing it between two fingers. “Seonghwa and Jongho will be around. Yeosang and San are hunting but will be back soon, just before we leave. Our house is secure, but it will be more vulnerable while we aren't here. You won't become an expert in Seelie weaknesses in an hour, but this next brief lesson will be enough for you to survive for a few minutes, at least. Until one of us comes to help.”

“How reassuring,” you mumble.

A small smile peeks out. “A brief refresher might be needed. Seelie and Unseelie are similar in many ways, and different in so much more. To put it simply – they thrive on light, on goodness, luck, wealth, care, etcetera. We feed on terror, fear, life, chaos. We may seem evil, of which we are to a certain extent, but our kind are both faeries. Our weaknesses are similar. Seelie in particular, though, has a greater one. How joyous we as Unseelie are when we find someone in despair is quite comparable to how aroused they are when they see pure happiness. It is their greatest weakness.”

“Hate to break it to you Mingi, but there’s little for me to be happy about right now.”

He snorts, the smile breaking out into a wider grin. “That I know. This is just for information purposes. They can tell it is fake just as we can tell when you are truly afraid. It is part of our nature,” he points to your palms. “The metal that you hold in your hands now is blessed by gnomes. It holds in the wielder’s emotions, whether it be negative or positive, and exemplifies it. Right now from where I stand, I can feel the anxious energy emitting from you. With that in your hand, I can feel it tenfold.”

“And this could help…?” Your doubt is evident in the dragging of your words, peering at Mingi. He nods simply.

“When you are happy, hold that. Magic casted on it helps store it inside. It will lure Seelie to you.”

“And I would want that for?”

He takes it from you, pointing it farther away from the two of you. A spark lights, flying through the air. The crack of the tree crumbling beneath the impact echoes around the night, your own eyes widening at the sight. What once was a lively tree is now a crumbled mess of wood and sticks, flames flickering in the night. He whispers against his hair and blows, the fire dissipating.

“For that.” His eyebrow lifts, passing it back to you. “Use it wisely.”

–

“Yeosang can listen to it. Her thoughts, that is.”

“A bit peculiar,” Seonghwa mumbles, flipping through his book. “Perhaps it is because his gifts have always leaned towards it. He was the first of us to excel at tormenting human minds, it makes sense that he is the only one who can somewhat hear what she thinks.”

“But she is neither a human nor a faerie. It makes less sense that he can do it at all.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“That you will figure out why, at least.”

“There is no reason to anymore.”

Jongho observes him silently, his own thoughts scattered. “You were interested in here before – what changed?”

“Her being a threat to us changed, Jongho. Why would I want to dig deeper into it when I have already told you all that it wasn't a good idea to have her around? One day it will happen. One day she will hurt one of us. Or cause one of us to be hurt. There will be no room for me to say I told you so because we’d be long past that.”

“Then it should be imperative that we start digging deeper into what she can and cannot do.”

Seonghwa turns over his book and flattens it against the wooden desk, peering over his glasses. “And then what? She is already resistant to many of our strengths aside from physical. If I tested her further, it's possible that I may awaken something that's been long buried. I do believe that she doesn't believe she's a kumiho. It's best for us to not trigger her true nature at all. Kumihos are legends – having one rise on Earth now can lead to its destruction.”

“Is it such a good idea to ignore it, though? We would need to know eventually. It’s better for it to happen now rather than later.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes as he stares at his mate. “Has Mingi started his training again? Why that tree is destroyed in the front yard? Is this why we're having this conversation so I won't be furious once I find out?”

Jongho’s lips remain shut, quickly getting to his feet when Seonghwa stands. “Wait, you have to understand why we're doing it. It is to protect us from Seelie, from other faeries. Having someone like her on our side will be an advantage.”

“Then so be it. Do what you'd like. Don't expect me to endorse it, because I won't,” he avoids Jongho’s touch, shaking his head slightly. “I care for you all dearly, and I would listen to any of your opinions on something this serious without as much as a blink. This situation, this woman, how most of you have thrown my words to the side–” He takes a breath. “There's no use in dwelling on it further. Tell Mingi to meet them at the edge of the Rowan trees. They will be waiting.”

Seonghwa walks to his coat rack, raising his finger slightly to slide the clothing over his body. He does not bother looking back at Jongho, knowing well what expression he'd be showing him now. In a different situation, Seonghwa would follow their words, their instincts. Even if he were wrong, completely, having his words disregarded because of lust –

He cannot fathom how he will continue going on like this.

–

Mingi lifts the hood over his head, face disappearing beneath the shadow it forms. Yunho, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung wait at the edge of the trees, as Jongho said. Yunho places a hand on Mingi’s shoulder as he moves just behind Hongjoong. None say a word. Their leader closes his eyes, dead leaves trembling beneath their feet. Though there are no markings, they stand in an old cemetery, long decayed bodies dust beneath the ground in wooden caskets. They watch as the forest speaks to them, warm air gusting, pulling the hoodie off of Mingi’s head. Hongjoong’s reaches back, Wooyoung taking his hand, Yunho taking his, and Mingi taking Yunho’s last. Within a blink they’re gone from the rowan trees. Mingi stumbles slightly as his feet land on unholy soil, Wooyoung whistling as he pulls his own hood off his hair.

“Hells, I’d never get used to that,” he grins. “Is everyone here yet?”

“A few more stragglers, then we’d be able to speak to everyone,” Hongjoong says, their steps identical as they follow him up the stone path. It is silly to consider the building in front of them Unseelie headquarters, but it is where the leaders meet for pertinent discussions. Rarely do any of them ever enter the palace, its essence being cared for by chaos itself. The hall remains empty as Hongjoong swings open the door with a nudge.

“Bothersome, the blood still seeps into the carpet from years ago,” Yunho murmurs, glancing down at the stains. It looks fresh, as if they’ve just slain a creature moments ago. This is what they consider the in-between - this place never really changes. That blood could be from someone who hasn’t existed in this realm for over a hundred years ago and it’d still be fresh. Time does not truly exist where they are, though it passes in the realms beyond.

Mingi barely gives it a glance himself, tucking himself further into the cloak he wears. Wooyoung jumps up slightly, wrapping his arm around the taller Unseelie.

“You’re the one that did it Mingi, no need to feel ashamed!” He touches his back, rubbing it lightly. “Remember how you struck down those Seelie? We haven’t even seen those wings in so long.”

Mingi's back aches, the ribbing of his wings straining against his sealed skin. He hasn't let them breathe for months. They yearn to escape his body, to lift in flight. But for some reason unknown to himself, he cannot, no matter how hard he tries.

“Enough, Wooyoung. We have things to do,” Yunho pulls him away from Mingi. Though neither meet each other’s eyes, Yunho can see how Mingi’s tense body relaxes just a bit, the two Unseelie disappearing down the hall. Leaving Hongjoong and Mingi alone.

The last time this happened was just before Hongjoong asked him to turn into your human partner to break things off permanently with you. His body aches at the thought of molding himself into something else again. But he would do it if Hongjoong asked. Without thinking twice about it.

“They will look to us for answers, Mingi,” Hongjoong says, walking slowly as he follows. “Most would want to start a war.”

“Would you allow it?”

Hongjoong thinks for a moment, “No. Not yet. What you’re doing with the girl, training her. It is smart. It may caution her to pause if she turns on us in the future. Perhaps even our livers will remain intact.” Hongjoong pats his stomach, a dry laugh escaping his lips. “At least for the moment anyway.”

“Is this the path we are going to take? Allowing her to continue training, keeping an eye until the very last moment?”

Hongjoong shrugs, “Do you have anything else to suggest? It was not unanimous, but we voted on keeping her around and alive. At least for now. It’s better to strengthen rather than not. Having a Seelie take her away while we’re in the middle of bonding with her would be unfortunate. But that is not all you’re asking, right?”

Mingi cannot come up with another response, mouth opening and closing. Hongjoong stops walking, turning on his heel to look at Mingi. "It is unbecoming of you to hide your own feelings, Mingi. We all witnessed how your body tormented itself when you turned into her dead partner. It rejected it so violently, because you desire her yourself."

Mingi's frown deepens. "Don't start with this."

"You like her Mingi. I never thought I'd see the day." The teasing look spreads across his face, smirk deep enough to show the small curvature of his dimples just above his lips. Mingi tries to ignore the look as much as he can, but Hongjoong only sits in anticipated silence. Very likely waiting for the words of confirmation.

"Why does it matter if that were true?"

Though it is not a certain confirmation, it is enough for Hongjoong. He hums, "We make our decisions as a spark, Mingi. I won't leave any of you behind as I observe this y/n. I want to know how each of you feel before I offer a choice to all of you."

“We said she will stay alive.”

“Momentarily, yes. But that’s not the choice I was speaking to.”

"Then what choice will that be?"

Hongjoong’s canine peeks out, sinking into his bottom lip. "What would be the fun in telling you that?"

–

Jongho bends the spine in half, wincing slightly as he hears the book’s glue crack. San would be furious seeing him treating the book this way, but alas, he could care so very little. Most of the editions he has on his shelves are what San has gifted him, likely due to how Jongho treated the writing. Books are meant to be read though, he would hate to see unworn copies lining the shelves. His ear twitches, the familiar steps of yours passing his room and down to your own. He never had his door closed until you arrived, many of his spark popping in every now and again to say their greetings. Frankly, he would have kept it open even with your presence if it weren’t for the look Seonghwa threw at him when you first arrived. Now, only the main areas are left open, doors to each of their chambers closed. He knows why Seonghwa worries, why he listens to every conversation someone has with you, why he has carved spells everywhere in the home. The reasoning does not go past him; he is keeping a close-eye on you in the event that you snap. Wooyoung is the only one that has removed the spell on his room though, after his … well, his late night caress with you.

“Your mind always wonders with those tales,” San enters his room, shutting the door behind him. “Mindless enough that you didn’t pay mind to my knockings.”

“I thought you were out hunting with Yeosang?”

“It was brief, there were Seelies hanging around,” San sighs, throwing himself into Jongho’s bed. He glances over, a frown slowly forming. “Yeosang thought it best that we only bring in one miserable human rather than two. So whoever is in dire need of feeding, it’s in the basement. I placed a spell on it to subdue its hysterics temporarily.”

“Basement…” Jongho’s nose wrinkles. “Why do we hide it? She knows we kill humans. In fact, she should encourage it since she is a kumiho.”

“A reformed kumiho, from what we understand. No longer feeding on the livers of men, unfortunately. He thought it best we keep it away so she doesn’t stumble across it.”

“What about you?” Jongho asks softly. His frown slips away as he takes in those three words. “What will you feed on?”

“What I have already done so far, it is enough for now.” “San, that Seelie you ran into while in town with her, he was right. Pushing away your true nature will only make it harder for you to control yourself. You should take his – Hongjoong’s – words into consideration.”

“I am not leaving this spark. I chose this, I chose all of you. Hongjoong knows that, Yeonjun knows that. You know that.” His words carry a sense of finality, leaning up. “I've fought for this, for us to be together as we are now. I gave up everything. And I’ve said that it isn’t up for discussion. I will not leave unless you all kick me out. Is that what you want, for me to be removed?”

Jongho closes his book, “That is not at all what I’m saying, San.”

“For a spark of Unseelie, all of you worry too much about things that do not affect you.” San ignores the look Jongho gives him, waving him off. “I know, no need to give me a talk about how much you all care. I’ve heard it dozens of times.”

“And it seems like it hasn’t sunk in yet despite that.”

“Jongho please,” San closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I love you all, more than you could ever believe. I will protect you with my life if need be. This is a choice that I have made. I will not leave in the face of distant peril. I will not leave because I haven’t grown accustomed to feeding like you. I am here. I’d rather not discuss this again, at least with you. You know where I stand, no?” Jongho’s hand reaches for San’s, and he takes it promptly, lifting it to press his lips on the back. “Promise that you will not discuss this with me again.”

Jongho looks at him, the darkened skin beneath his lids, the redness of his eyes. His inner struggle has not gone unnoticed by any of them - most worried for his well-being. Going against your own nature, it is almost impossible to do. He is only concerned that it may go too far before any of them can help.

“I cannot promise that, you know that,” Jongho says softly. “It may need to be dealt with in the near future.”

“Then promise to not bring it up unless absolutely needed.”

“I promise.”

He leans forward, lips moving from his hand and brushing lightly against Jongho’s lips before moving away. “Alright.”

—

Jongho can see a bit of the appeal of you. Your otherworldly form, though hidden, could be one reason. But despite that, he can see why Wooyoung so desperately needs your presence. It almost makes sense as to why they all somehow enjoyed you around, even if it were a miniscule amount. That is what kumihos do. It worried them all after it was revealed. Most needed firm assurance from Seonghwa that you aren’t far gone enough for them to worry. Despite how much Seonghwa wanted to hide it, he agreed. At least, for now.

Jongho sits on the single sofa chair, eyes flicking over to you.

Your body is mostly covered with the blanket that rests on the couch, a small book beneath the coloring one that you have. It hasn’t been touched since they’ve come here - none desired to rest in the main living space. After you’ve settled yourself in the room, the space has transformed entirely. Spellbooks thrown on the table in the middle, several potions lining the walls, baskets of supplies scattered about. Oftentimes they all spent their free time in the area, chatting about unimportant things even while you weren’t around. It feels more lived in the more he looks at it. He wonders if the rest noticed the change as well.

“You guys love to stare,” you note. He looks at your face, your gaze amused as your eyes flick back down to the page, marker shading the characters. The blanket is wrapped around your head, face barely peeking from the shade it brings. “Is that what you do to lure people to their demise? Watch them until they notice?”

“Most are too occupied with other matters to pay concern to how we hunt.”

“Hmm.” You continue. “Are you on duty now to watch me, then? Seonghwa put you up to this?”

His nose wrinkles. “He hasn’t told me to do anything.”

“That you’re sure of? Because this is the first time I’ve been alone in a room aside from my own, and you haven’t said anything except to stare.”

“I am just curious about you.”

You raise a brow, gliding your marker across the pages. “I’m an open book. You can ask.”

You’ve spent time with each other, small chats turning into a friendship, even if it’s only the beginning of one. He hasn’t pried into your personal life, only commenting on surface level things that wouldn’t get you agitated. Asking what he is curious about may sway what you two have built. It makes him nervous, which is humorous in itself.

“Is it wrong to say that I expected you to turn into a kumiho and run once Seonghwa told us?”

You snicker softly, closing your marker and grabbing another. “It’s not wrong to say, but it’s a little funny. I don’t believe in myself being this nine-tailed fox you talk about. It would be cool if I were, though. I’d feel less defenseless.”

He nods slowly, “You still don’t believe Seonghwa?”

“How could I? His little speech was based on theories, and everytime I try to talk to him about it he leaves the room. I get not wanting to be around me but it’s a bit much, don’t you think? I did one thing that happened months ago and nothing has happened since. He didn’t even take into account the first time I was almost killed by a Seelie in the bookstore. Nothing happened then.”

Ah, he himself forgot about that. “That is what you believe? That you’re not a kumiho?”

You nod, holding a marker between your lips as you dig for another. “I do.”

“Then so do I,” he agrees simply.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Even if everyone else doesn’t?”

“Since when did our thoughts have to align? I am my own being, y/n, even if you don’t think it true. So if you believe that you’re fully human, then I believe it as well. It shouldn’t be a hard concept to comprehend.”

You pause. None of them so easily believed anything you’ve said to them, even Wooyoung. You can’t quite decipher what Jongho’s end-goal would be - defying everyone else’s beliefs would only cause him trouble in the end. This would hurt him, listening to your words. Why?

You look back down at your coloring sheet. It’s a simple hobby - you rarely indulge due to your busy life. Now that all you do is wake and train then sleep, it fills in the hours of nothing. What you stare down at now, the deepened orange of a sunset, the wide stretched m birds along the horizon. It used to help distract you, calm yourself. But all you can feel now is fear. Endless fear of what is to come.

“I’m a slightly wrinkled book, but you can ask me anything you’d like.”

You let your feelings subside briefly, eyes flicking up to him. “Everytime I ask Wooyoung about other types of fae he doesn’t even let me ask.”

Jongho laughs, “Because he’s stubborn. But I wouldn’t mind. What do you want to know?”

“Which ones are real.”

“Alright.”

Still suspicious, you continue. “Gnomes.”

“Real.”

“Elves.”

“Real.”

“Selkie?”

“Not the term we use, but yes. Real.”

“Sirens.”

“Real.”

Your eyes widened, “So pirates were telling the truth?”

He nods simply, “Yes. But they’re numbers have dwindled. There is likely less than fifty left in this world.”

“If Sirens are real, then-”

“Mermaids are real too, yes,” A cheeky grin crosses his lips as you stare at him in shock. “A small colony is not too far away from us. I can bring you one day if you’d like.”

“This is where you two have gone,” San enters the room, lip twitching into a frown slightly as he observes you. You stop coloring, sliding the markers back into the small box and standing. “Wait, no need to leave because I’ve entered-”

“Not leaving because of you,” the lie falls from your lips. “Leaving because I have to practice with the majik pole Mingi gave me.”

“Majik… pole…?” He watches as you leave the room, eyes meeting Jongho’s. “Is this a human word that I don’t know? I should know, I watch plenty of their cinema.”

Jongho merely snorts, shaking his head.

–

It is not often they attend these meetings. It is usually done with all eight of them in attendance - showing power in numbers is what temperaments Unseelie. Sparks vary in size but rarely do they contain over five Unseelie. Hongjoong’s spark, consisting of eight, is a large factor in his position rarely being threatened. His existence as their leader has not shifted in hundreds of years due to it. So standing now, with only three Unseelie behind him, well, it is not ideal. Mingi can see it well - how they look upon them, the sneers that are hidden usually, displayed on their faces. Sparks of two to five stand beneath them, thoughts elsewhere as Hongjoong speaks. Mingi’s gaze shifts to one group in particular. Decades prior their leader attempted a coup, one that ended in her death. None have been tried since, but it has been long. Soon, the Unseelie will grow tired of Hongjoong’s rule. Soon, their rule may end.

“Seelie have always stuck themselves in places they didn’t belong,” One retorts in the crowd. “It was deserved for some to die. But they have killed several of us, while we have done barely half of ten. We should strike instead of hesitating, it makes us look weak.”

Hongjoong laughs at the suggestion, “Then you venture forth yourself, Hanbin. Tell me how it works out.”

“Are you joking with me?”

“How could I not? Their numbers surpass ours by almost double, they can function at night and during the day. We ourselves cannot use majik as well in the daylight. We are at a disadvantage and have always been. It would be nonsensical to venture down the path of death. But if you'd like to, I won't stop you. Your death will be in your own hands.”

It is a jab, even if it is small. Hanbin’s lips pursed, gaze flicking away. Mingi, Wooyoung, and Yunho do not offer any additional points, knowing only to speak when spoken to. Especially at events like these.

“What do we do then?” Another asks from the crowd.

“We wait.”

“For how long?”

Hongjoong's gaze moves to the one who questioned him, eyes narrowing. “Until it is time.”

–

“They are growing uneasy,” Yunho notes, head covering slipping from his hair. He rests in the chair adjacent to Hongjoong’s rubbing his temple. “Your words will only satiate them momentarily. They will need to know further explanation before trusting in you.”

“They’ve trusted in me for hundreds of years, doubting me now will only bring their peril.”

“We haven’t interacted with the Seelie in hundreds of years too, so there was no need for an uprising. Now that we’re moving closer to a war, it would make sense that they become wary,” Yunho notes, gesturing for Mingi to sit near him. “And we do not have many faerie allies. It makes sense that they worry.”

Mingi ignores the movement, eyes glued to Hongjoong’s. “We should have killed her or given her up to Seelie.”

Hongjoong’s laugh is boisterous, “Give her up? She is a weapon, Mingi. It would be foolish to pass her over. A rare commodity like her cannot just be given away at the inkling of possible chaos. Is that not what we live for?” He moves closer to him, reaching up to pull a loose strand away from his cheek. “Have you grown bored at your old age?”

Mingi steps away slightly, in tune to how Hongjoong’s smile slips. There has been a barrier between them since his last stint, his recovery from the transformation rough. The air thickens a bit in the brief period of silence, Mingi’s eyes anywhere but where he stands.

“I don’t agree with you wanting her dead, but if she is truly what she says she is, would she eventually grow to hate us? It is in her innately,” Wooyoung murmurs, fingers twisting a loose string between them. “She just began to care for me.”

“It’s not impossible, but I’ll try my best not to let it happen,” Hongjoong grabs his overcoat, head flicking to the door. He does not acknowledge the lull in conversation, and neither does Mingi, shifting closer to Yunho. “I have another meeting to attend, but you all can head back. It’s best not to keep our land in such low numbers for so long.”

“I will go with you,” Yunho says, fingertips light against Mingi’s arm as he stands. The touch is brief, Mingi’s breath hitching. “Mingi and Wooyoung can go back.”

“Yun…” Wooyoung whines, stopping once he sees how unsettled Mingi looks. He stands, arm wrapping around his center. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.”

–

You can barely catch your breath, almost dry heaving into the dirt beneath you. Getting away from them to train yourself as hard as you have wasn’t the greatest idea. But you could hardly stand being in a room with more than one of them right now. You wish you could be back in your apartment, or maybe in your bookstore. The smell of old books was much more comforting than being here. Agreeing to staying was not an easy choice to make.

You just didn’t want to die.

You slowly stand, wiping away the small pebbles that indent your knees and palms, flicking them back to the ground. The evening sun burns on your back as you grip the water bottle.

“Fuck this place,” you murmur to yourself. You lean to grab your bag, stopping in place. Not too far off, deep within the darkened forest, something stands there. It does not say a word, but you can see how the silhouette is hidden behind the thick trunks. It does not move. You can feel your heartbeat pick up its pace, your fingers wrapping around your bag tightly as you stare at it. Something tells you not to turn around, not to give it your back.

“y/n?”

Jongho moves into your line of sight. Your gaze flicks over to him only for a second, but when you look back, the figure is gone. His brows furrow at your cold expression, following your gaze. “What’s going on?”

“There was someone there watching me, Jongho,” you move closer to him, fear riddling your body. “I swear there was.”

He nods slowly, recognition crossing his features. “No need to worry, just pixies.”

“Pixies?” Your voice is incredulous, glancing back at the spot. “I thought no one else could enter this land?”

“Pixies aren’t allowed to enter our territory, yes. But they live in the rowan trees. That lining that you see around us, it’s the barrier between us and them. They haven’t been really active when you’re around, so I’m a bit shocked that they showed themselves to you anyway,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seonghwa isn’t going to be happy they're still hanging around.”

“Are they…?”

“Will they hurt you?” Jongho asks, and you nod. “No. They’re curious faeries, a bit mischievous, but they only care for the trees. Maybe they will make you trip over a branch or fall into a fit of laughter, but that’s all. They’re just curious about you - not many see kumihos in person.”

“How do they know about that?”

“They listen to the trees speak, y/n. For us, our home is a giant one.” He winces at something you cannot hear, turning toward the house. Though your senses aren’t as heightened as Jongho’s, you can hear doors opening and shutting loudly, a familiar voice erupting throughout. “An Unseelie is running through the halls to look for you. You should go and meet up with him, less of a chance he’d break something.”

“Maybe later,” you say. Jongho looks a bit surprised, brow raised. “Believe it or not, sometimes I do want to spend time with people other than him.”

“Me?” His cheek lifts, eyes flicking between yours. “Wooyoung has monopolized you. I just thought you enjoyed it.”

“I do enjoy him, but I also enjoy hanging out with you.”

Jongho does not respond. His cheeks lift at your words, glancing at the house before resting on you. Though no words are exchanged, he turns and walks toward the woods, your steps following him close. There is little hesitation as he holds out his hand, your fingers easily sliding into his palm. Just as you hear the backdoor of the house creak, Jongho and you disappear into the brush.

–

“Has she not had enough of him?” His voice is sour, disgruntled brows seemingly permanently furrowed. Seonghwa merely rolls his eyes, shifting another box into the corner with the flick of a finger. It has barely been an hour since you left with Jongho, and Wooyoung has decidedly glued himself to Seonghwa’s quarters. He’s not as used to Wooyoung seeking his advice, the Unseelie often only letting Hongjoong’s whisper sweet words to him. More recently, though, despite his stance on your presence in their home, Wooyoung lets himself into his personal areas more often than not, pestering him about you. “She’s spent most of her time with him idly by, she should miss me more.”

“Overcrowding her isn’t going to help her seek you, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa mumbles, glancing over his work. “Has Hongjoong arrived yet?”

“But she likes me more,” he insists, glaring at his mate.

“Stop acting like an unruly pixie and give her space. Where is Hongjoong?”

“It isn’t fair, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Wooyoung, I’ve asked the question twice already.”

Wooyoung sighs, rubbing his head. “He stayed behind a while longer. Yunho stayed with him just in case.”

“And Mingi?”

“He came back with me then left, saying something about seeking refuge outside this home. You know how he is, with his pretty words.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes, thinking. “Did any of them say when they’ll be coming back?”

“Likely not until tomorrow. But for Mingi, who knows. Maybe Yunho or San can find him meandering the unholy lands.”

That is the one he is worried for. Seonghwa steps to a window, gaze resting upon the thickened forest. Jongho knows better than to keep you in the rowan trees after dark, so Seonghwa isn’t too worried. Nothing is out there now that could stir something within you. Wooyoung steps near him, hand wrapping around his limp fingers. He squeezes it once, lips pressing against his jaw before stepping away and out.

Seonghwa rubs his temple. Whatever Hongjoong may or may not be up to, he knows well enough that it’s not good. He hates the unnecessarily lavish mansion, and hates appeasing Unseelie to stop a revolt. Politics is something none of them enjoy. So his stay after everything has been settled is just odd in itself.

He does not like this feeling.

Not at all.

–

Jongho holds a finger to his lips, looking back at you. You nod, shifting closer to his body as you look ahead. The lake is vast. These woods surprise you with the amount of differentiation of ecosystems hidden. Likely due to it being filled with faeries and other magic. You do recall the townsfolk speaking of avoiding venturing deeper into the forest. The festival that you attended months ago was another way of preventing anything nefarious from sneaking out from the leaves. You didn’t believe it at the time, but now it makes sense. Though it did not stop Seonghwa from seeking you out.

Jongho lightly touches your shoulder, guiding you to sink further behind the large bush. You do not see it at first.

The water shimmers, current swirling. The lake seems to bubble, large fins rising from its depths. You hold a hand over your mouth as you gaze ahead, heads appearing one by one. They’re too far for you to see clearly, but Jongho warned you that this was a safe enough distance. He could protect you if it ever came to it, but he preferred to not start another quarrel that wasn’t needed.

The mermaids aren’t what you imagined. Heads covered in scales, luminescent. Their laughter flows through the air and into your ears. Like bells chiming as wind flows through them. They’re alluring - beauty behind what your mind could conjure up by itself. Jongho’s hand reaches for yours, fingers entwining. His whisper is barely heard, but you can see the water moving. The mermaids turn to where Jongho and you are, but they do not move. The current grows wild, thrashing against the shoreline. He pulls you away from it all, your head turning back for a last glance.

Though they’re too far away for you to see details of their faces, their stare unsettles you.

As if they are warning you.

–

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you closer,” Jongho explains, sending you a small smile. “Seonghwa would kill me if I let something happen. We already have enough happening to last a lifetime.”

“I’m thankful you brought me here, anyway,” you say, letting his hold help you over a deep hole. “What spell did you cast, just before we left?”

“High tides,” he grins. “They began sensing someone was watching. Unlike the mermaids from the tales, they can breathe on land. But they much prefer the coolness of water. I stopped them from getting closer to us as we left,” he glances up at the sky. “It’s getting late.”

“Is San going to yell at us?” you joke, and he laughs lightly.

"Believe it or not, he’s quite adventurous in comparison to Seonghwa. He loves so tenderly, there has never been one kinder," Jongho says softly. "He praises me like I'm the most, but we all know it is him. Not one of us matches his devotion."

You’re not too sure how to respond to that, San’s resolute anger at your presence only waning slightly. You’re sure he’d prefer if you weren’t here at all, even though he voted to save your life. But Jongho believes you when you say you’re not a kumiho, so you’ll believe him when he speaks of San.

"You're my favorite human friend," Jongho whispers, gazing at the branches that hang over you. "I'm sorry that I want you to be more than that."

Now this is surprising. You stop walking, hand leaving him. He looks at you, cheeks flushed. “Ah, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

"More?" Is all you can muster to say.

His soft gaze resting on yours. It's hard to keep your eyes steady on his, the feeling leaking from the heavy look more than what you've ever experienced before. With Wooyoung, with Soobin. They looked at you lovingly, sure, but Jongho? Your stomach twists the more you hold his gaze.

"I'm sorry that I am so desperate to be your lover."

The breeze whispers through the leaves, hairs resting on his forehead lifting back from his skin. A scar from the banquet hall fight months prior shines at you. A reminder of what he's done, what he did, and what he will continue to do, as long as the others agree to it. It's overwhelming, these strange feelings appearing with them all. All unique and different, but still quite new.

"Why are you trying to go where I can't follow,?" He asks softly after the brief quiet.

"I'm right here."

His lips curl into a soft smile, "You were in that mind of yours. I can't go there."

You swallow. "I'm scared, Jongho."

"I know," his eyes soften, lids heavier. "It's a lot to say when we haven't known each other for that long. And it frightens me even more that I feel this way. You don’t need to do anything about my feelings. I’ll be fine as I am now."

His eyes flick to the sky, “But we should probably head back. Seonghwa must be furious.” He holds out his hand, and you take it, letting him pull you forward through the path you took.

–

Furious is an understatement.

Seonghwa paces back and forth on the edge of the woods, hands crossed against his chest, angered eyes unmoving as you two enter the clearing. Jongho lets go of your hand, opening his mouth to speak. Seonghwa does not allow it though - frown deepening as he waits for you two to come closer.

“I lost track of time.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. You expect seething words from Seonghwa, but he only sighs, waving him off.

“Go inside. I need to speak with her by myself.”

Jongho gives you a pitiful look before disappearing from sight, leaving the two of you alone. As alone as you can be, with the watching eyes of everyone in the home behind you. He rubs his forehead, long, exasperated breaths continuing to leave his lips. His expression is pained as he meets your eyes, lips downturned.

“You continue to cause more trouble than you are worth.”

“What a nice thing to say,” your tone drips with sarcasm, crossed arms resting against your chest. His gaze roams over you. It is nothing sensual, mute annoyance at best. “Good thing I don’t plan on being here so long.”

“Oh?” Seonghwa’s brow raises. “What will you do without us?”

“Once I have trained enough, I’m leaving. I’ll take care of myself, far far away from here.”

“I have no complaints about that,” Seonghwa shrugs. “I just wonder if the others would be as amicable.”

Wooyoung. And now, Jongho.

“They will live.”

There are questions in his eyes, likely because of the ‘they’, but he does not probe further, sighing. “I just want everyone to be safe, kumiho. Especially Wooyoung. He has grown into our spark, mended himself with ease. There is reason why he feels that he must be loved by us all without as much as a slight worry. His insecurities on being the last have not gone away, despite the years. Hongjoong has tried to reassure him endlessly. Giving him leeway on things that happen, using his punishments as just time to reflect. But sometimes his inner turmoil catches up to him.”

“So he thinks he cares for me this way, but it's not the case.”

Seonghwa hums, likely choosing his next words carefully. “I wouldn't speak for Wooyoung, but we've all experienced these moments with him. I am sure he cares for you tremendously, but what comes into question is how much. Is it because he truly truly wants you to be his, or is it because he wants you to not reject him? That worry hasn't gone away and it's been hundreds of years. I doubt it will suddenly mend itself now. I am concerned, and I know it's wildly unserious for an Unseelie to, but I do. I hope that you will care for his heart.”

His lips lift slightly. “Perhaps it would have been better if you were a human, after all.”

“Well I am, and nothing has changed.”

He does not say anything, looking back at the house. “I will kill you if you hurt any of them. Kumiho or not.”

“You will try.”

His expression breaks, smile growing. “Haven’t you gotten bold?”

–

He watches you, how your laugh erupts from your lips. Eyes closed, hand over your lip muffling the sweet sound. His fingers grip the cup, eyes roaming to your body sinking into Wooyoung's side. How you do it with such ease, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you closer. He barely gives you a glance as he does so. Seonghwa knows his own affection is opposite to his mate's. He knows that he's aggressively avoided each chance he has had with you alone. So the bitterness itching the back of this throat shouldn't be there. He wanted you gone – not killed, just far away from them. For their safety, for their protection.

He hates this.

Wooyoung presses his lips against your temple, your lashes fluttering at the soft caress. Seonghwa places his cup down, the click of the ceramic against the marble catching only Mingi's attention. He meets his eyes. Mingi does not say anything, but he does not need to. He could see the uneasiness spilling from Seonghwa even if the others could not. His curious eyes only confirm it.

Seonghwa looks away.

“Nymph, training.” Mingi says simply. Seonghwa sees how you tense at the word. Wooyoung does as well, thumb rubbing your arm before letting you go. The rest carry on their conversations as you follow Mingi out the room, Wooyoung's eyes lingering on the empty doorway.

Just as the doors close behind them, Wooyoung leans forward. “You could hide your jealousy just a bit, hyung. I could feel you seething before seeing it.”

“Don’t say things that make zero sense.”

“A lie within truth, you’ve become an expert at it,” Wooyoung waves him off. “Worry not, I'm jealous too.”

“I said –”

“And I chose not to listen,” he grins, poking his side before stepping away.

–

A few days have passed since then. The others slowly came back, Hongjoong still away for a while. Mingi barely acknowledged after the small training session with you, Yunho sending you a smile before the two disappeared into their respective rooms. You’ve spent some time with Wooyoung, the silence filled with his tales of the in-between. He didn’t notice how your face contorts as he explained their feasts, bodies piled as the Unseelie celebrated. Their feeding habits are not unknown to you, but listening to how much he enjoys killing only makes your chest ache. A vivid reminder of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Your face is twisted,” he points out after a moment. “Is something disturbing you?”

“I’d rather not hear about your murders, if you don’t mind.”

He laughs. “I am an awful being, solaris,” his smile slips. “There are things that you will never know, never fathom. You may never look at me the same if it came out. That is what worries me, what keeps my mind open at night. It is why I’ve rarely rested since you’ve come here. Why I cannot leave you longer than a few days because I am desperate for you to yearn for me the same. And I know that is impossible, due to your true nature,” his fingers shake as he takes yours into his, “And despite my being of chaos, I do not want it to fall on you.”

“You can tell me what you’re hiding, and I will listen, Wooyoung.”

He shakes his head, “I cannot.”

“This, between the two of us, will end if you do?”

His breath hitches, eyes meeting yours. “It will.”

The fear of not knowing would linger if he never says it. And he knows that. He will not utter it, even if you pry over and over. Even if you leave. Because he is still an Unseelie. And he admits that he is selfish. You could be letting out your last dying breath, and he wouldn’t say it.

Oh, how that scares you terribly.

“You expect me to stay after you’ve told me this?” It is a genuine question, one that you really need answered.

“I expect you to trust me when I say you being here is the only way we can protect you. I expect you to understand that once you leave, you will be taken by the Seelie. And we may never meet eyes again.”

You love him. You do. But what you’ve learned since your last love leaving you is that you can love again. It will hurt terribly, leaving them, but you will live. You will grow. Perhaps the look in your eyes makes him panic, his fingers tightening in their grip. You have seen him angry, hurt, confused. The way he looks at you now frightens you more than any of those times. It is something he has only slipped when you’re in bed together, but seeing it now, it leaves you utterly cold.

Obsession.

He will not let you go. So your next question is fairly straightforward.

“Will you try to kill me if I leave you?”

His eyes widened. “Not… I…” He pauses. “You have to understand the others and their position, solaris. We are not good. But, San, San is good. He is innately good. He has never been like the other Seelies, he has always been different. He has always cared differently. Faeries are selfish, we all are. But he, him, there is not one faerie who can surpass how much care he has in him. And I so desperately want to,” Wooyoung stares at his hands, slowly curling his fingers into his palms. “I want to be good like San. Will you love me, then?” His eyes seemingly glow in the dim light, “Or will I have to always be second to him?”

“There isn't a ranking here, Wooyoung.” And what is he speaking to? Neither of you have ever brought up San in conversations. You don’t even love San, let alone like him. Has someone told him something you haven’t?

“Oh, but there is. You hate Hongjoong, that is what I am sure of. You care for Jongho, for Yunho. But me… even though we have been together, you do not care for me as I do you. I can feel it. I can feel your hesitation when it comes to me.”

“Enough.”

You pull your hand from his, his grip limp. He stands just as you do, eyes flicking behind you. There is no need for you to turn and see who it is, his resolute tone enough. His body is close enough that you must feel the heat emitting from his skin. His fingers lightly brush against your forearm as he moves to get to Wooyoung. You are not unaffected by the brief contact, sliding down your sleeve to get rid of the feeling.

San makes his way in front of his lover, sliding onto one knee. “What are you speaking of to her, Wooyoung? When was the last time you fed?”

“Just days ago, San. I’m okay,” his tone is insistent, eyes flicking to you. “I won’t do anything, I just want to speak with her.”

“Have you heard yourself?” San asks, shaking his head. “This isn’t good for you, letting your thoughts roam like that.”

The way he speaks to him is strange. How his hand is tight around Wooyoung, the other pressed harshly on his shoulder.

As if he is restraining him.

Their words are quieter as you watch, your attention moving to just behind them, on your porch. Your eyes begin to widen.

Something rests on the railing, the same eyes that stared at you through the forest only nights ago. The ones that Jongho insisted were just pixies. The creature grips the railing, large feathered wings draping against its back, gaze still on yours. You stand up quickly, San and Wooyoung looking at you.

“San–” You can barely let his name come out, their heads turning to look back. There isn’t enough time for any of you to register what is happening, the creature breaking through the glass. Its claws sink into Wooyoung’s shoulders, its grip pulling him away from San and out through the broken paned doors. The scream that erupts from San is agonizing, but everything happens too quickly. You can hear crashing downstairs, likely the same creatures attacking everyone in the home. A firm grip on your arm pulls you back. You look to see Mingi, blackened blood smeared on his body as he steps in front of you. His clothing is shredded, barely held together. You left your practicing gear outside, and you’d doubt you’d be able to reach it before one of these things grabs you. All you can do is stand behind him as he moves forward, panic rising in your body. San is fighting off the creatures with ease - oddly none have targeted you just yet.

They seem to be able to fight each one that appears through the crumbled wall with ease, until more and more pile inside. You hear his scream before you see it. San’s body is thrown across the room and into you, the two of you tossed out the room and into the hallway. Mingi yells, but he cannot reach you. You struggle beneath San’s body, struggling to lift him off of you. He grunts, pulling himself off of you.

He stumbles onto his feet but cannot seem to hold his own body weight up, falling to his knees. You’re able to grab him before he hits the floor face first, blood coating your fingers. You rest on your bottom, holding his upper torso on your legs. You look down the hallway, the blur of bodies fighting off the creatures. You don’t have the strength to drag him and you’re afraid to, the gaping hole in his chest stopping you from attempting.

It is all so dark. His blood covers every inch of your palms, seeping through the cracks of your fingers as you desperately press the cloth over it. It is of no use – it bleeds through, dripping to the wood beneath your feet. It splatters against your cheek as he attempts to speak. A shh escaping your lips. You can see how the others fight, their gazes moving to San beneath you, yearning to help and be by his side. Their loud shouting occupies your ears, how they ache, unable to stop the fight even briefly to pull San away from it all. To help him live. To save his life. You are useless in saving him. You haven't the knowledge or spells to mend the deep wound. His fingers wrap around yours that hold him, a soft smile showing the blood that reflects against stained teeth. He will die soon, and you can only look at him in grief. Until, that is, until Mingi's words sink into you.

“Seelie and Unseelie are similar in many ways, and different in so much more. To put it simply – they thrive on light, on goodness, luck, wealth, care, etcetera. We feed on terror, fear, life, chaos. We may seem evil, of which we are to a certain extent, but our kind are both faeries. Our weaknesses are similar. Seelie in particular, though, has a greater one. How joyous we as Unseelie are when we find someone in despair is quite comparable to how aroused they are when they see pure happiness. It is their greatest weakness.”

You look down at him. Your fear, your hurt, it should be able to help him now. To let him feed, gain his strength back. But your angst seems to not affect him at all - the blood continuously pouring from his lips, his body barely holding on. Unseelie wouldn’t hesitate to use you to help themselves. But San, he does not seem even the least bit phased.

You remember when San saved you from the Seelie at the train station, the words uttered to San odd, but not notable enough for you to inquire about it at the time.

“You have forgotten yourself, San. There is only so much you can do before she knows as well.”

San is not an Unseelie.

He never was an Unseelie.

You use your free hand to wipe your tears away, forcing your eyes shut. The idea is likely hopeless, your sadness might be too deep to push away, but you can’t sit here and let him die. Your fingers wrap tightly around his hand, willing yourself to think of something happier. You haven’t thought of Soobin in a while, but it’s the only warm memory you can think of. You look at San, how his eyes stay on yours. How the pulse of his heart seems to slow down, blinks following suit. You will yourself to focus on happier memories, letting one hand go to push his hair away from his face. The memories are not enough, though. His hold loosens on your hand, steady eyes glossing over.

No.

“y/n, move!”

You turn to the side, one of the creatures holding Mingi against the wall. He grunts, elongated limbs thrashing against its face. He cannot break free.

“San…” You whisper, “Please.”

His smile slips, grip loosening completely. You’re unable to leave his side, no matter how much the voices shout at you to go. To leave San behind. Claws dig harshly into your shoulder blades, pulling you away from him. You try reaching for the framing of your room, but the creature is exponentially stronger than your own grip, ripping you from the home, out the gaping hole they took Wooyoung through.

328 notes · View notes

honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

Text

[3] sector one: post-apocalypse au + mingi + "you're safe in sector one."

a/n: 3.4k words, gender neutral reader, mingi x y/n, post apocalypse/dystopia typical violence, baker!yn

part 2 | series masterlist | part 4

you'd gotten up extra early the next morning, the morning chill creeping under your skin as you wrapped your arms around you. You walk through dewy grass, arriving upon the main building. sector one was built by hand and you could tell. the wooden structures were put together rather shoddily, but they held up and joy had a team constantly repairing and working on the buildings, making them stronger. the sleeping quarters were built in the back of sector one's walls, right next to the commune's meeting rooms. one of the meeting rooms is used as a daycare-slash-school-room of sorts, where the children too young to contribute elsewhere would spend their days. it was filled with old toys and books and colorful chairs. the normalcy of that room alone often made you want to bury your face in your hands and sob. you avoided that room often. it felt unsafe, for a child to grow up in a world like this, or even worse, be born into it.

the other room was curtained off and used as the medical bay. joy showed it to you briefly, and it seemed well-stocked, but incredibly understaffed. sometimes, there was a line of people waiting to see a medic, and the line would go out the door.

joy's quarters sat separately down a side hallway, away from the noisy children and the people lingering in the medical bay hallway. it reminded you of the little managerial offices your bosses would clack away on a computer at during your restaurant jobs back Before. she had an open door policy and everyone called her little sitting room the counsel room.

as you step into the side hallway, you can see that joy's door is cracked open. so you knock once before slowly letting yourself in. joy is leaning over her wooden desk, pouring over a map laid out across the huge table. you recognize it immediately as a map of South Korea, but you don't understand the dozens of red X’s scattered across the map means. joy rounds the table, stepping into your view, and her soft voice echoes throughout the counsel room, "what's wrong, y/n?"

"sorry for interrupting," you say, though you're not sorry, "i'm just...i want to know why you didn’t let me know where we got those chocolate chips from."

joy frowns, "what do you mean?"

"they're from one of the newbies. you should have told me."

you'd spent all of yesterday ruminating over what wooyoung said. sure, he'd was an asshole for his actions, but when it came to precious resources like chocolate chips, it was always finders keepers. it was an unspoken rule, you thought.

"why?" joy continues frowning, her airy voice quiet.

you say, "i wouldn't have used it for everyone then. that's not fair."

joy shakes her head, and her expression grows extremely gentle. kind, even. for some reason, it angers you. she looks at you like you're one of the little children tucked away in the school room, throwing a tantrum because you don't understand something.

"sector one is a commune, y/n," joy says. "everything we bring into these walls is to be shared with everyone."

"i don't think that's fair." you say, flat out ignoring her kind, frankly condescending tone.

joy shrugs, "it's every person for themselves beyond this wall, but if we want to build a healthy community then we need to share our resources. we can't be so individualistic. we must survive for the future of humanity."

she's not wrong, annoyingly enough, but the way joy's eyes soften with her words makes you frown still. you sigh. she won't budge in this, and you still don't want to cause any waves - not with joy. you concede, "i'd appreciate if you tell me where you got it from next time at least."

so you don't get blindsided by another angry newbie next time.

"sure," joy says, and her tone grows an edge to it that is unexpected. almost as if she's holding back an eye roll. you'd done that often with annoying customers back before to catch it in her voice. joy says, "did you want to know where every single bag of flour comes from, too? a map of every neighborhood and every house each team has raided just to find a single can of condensed milk? do you want a debrief of what we found in each of those houses along the way? maybe you want pictures of the families that lived there back Before?"

you blink at her tone, bristling. you did not imagine the contempt, clearly. you should not match her tone or her energy. you've always told yourself to remain calm, to maintain a demeanor that kept you out of trouble, but perhaps staying here has softened your rules for the worst. you bite out in the same politely cutting tone, "if you think it's necessary, then why not?"

joy meets your steady gaze from across the room, and there's a tick in her jaw that you would have missed if you were not looking. she lets out a long drawn out sigh, and says, "it's early, y/n. we'll talk later. and," joy smiles and her gentleness, softness, returns, "i'll consider your request, alright?"

you know what a dismissal sounds like, so you nod and say, "thanks."

~.~.~.~.~

your annoyance grows as you head to the kitchens. you walk past the training grounds - it’s closed off to the rest of the commune by wooden fences that are chest height. the showers are accessible from the training grounds and from the rest of the communes, though you doubt one could call them showers really, since it was just a giant room with a dozen shower heads installed all across one wall and bathroom stalls on the other side. there were allotted times for certain genders and age groups to shower and it was heavily enforced by both joy and the people themselves. it still lacked privacy, nothing but a measly hooks separating each shower head that was meant for you to hang up your own towel for privacy, but it was better than nothing. you'd gone months without a proper shower before sector one so you really could not complain about these, especially because sector one somehow had hot water.

you sigh as you head past the courtyard that held all the dining tables - benches lined up side by side like a picnic camp ground - and through the bustling kitchen. joy was never quite so abrasive with anyone, and you wondered if she'd bristled at your request, or because of something else entirely.

the kitchen is hard at work on breakfast already, the head chef - kyungsoo - shouting instructions over to his bustling aids. the main kitchen is huge, with scratched up industrial steel tables, an oven, and a gas stove with blackened coils. everything is mismatched and broken in some way, but it's all the scavenging crews could find. tiny potatoes are piled in boxes in the far corner. an aid calls, behind you! and you step out of the way as they stumbled past with an armful of canned vegetables. another one follows with a couple large knives. you’d worked with kyungsoo during your first week in sector one, and you did not enjoy it. he was particular about everything, and ran the kitchen like the military. being late was not tolerated, and messiness resulted in punishment - usually hand washing the dozens upon dozens of dishes after meals, and getting more water from the wells. he'd despise the way you ran the baking kitchen, and you knew that was why he never crossed the line to your kitchen unless absolutely necessary. kyungsoo was also awful at baking, apparently.

kyungsoo tips his chin in your direction and you wave back before you slip into the back hallway, kyungsoo's shouts and the banging of pots and pans echoes behind you. the dark hallway is used as storage for both your kitchens, and serves as a small pathway leading to your bakery. there are a decent amount of flour bags lined up along one wall, and some small containers of cooking oil on the other. cooking oil is a precious resource these days and the main kitchen had priority over yours when any food hauls came in, so you often had to improvise with your recipes to substitute oil. sugar, though, was the hardest to replace, and often you had to look for natural sugar alternatives, or worse, go sugar free until the next food haul.

the lights to the bakery are on. you wonder if yeri arrived early to prepare all the dough left to rise overnight. unlike kyungsoo's kitchen, you did not get very many assistants assigned to your kitchen. it was a small space, and bread was really deemed the most necessary of baked goods that came out of your kitchen. everything else is a luxury. a treat.

you are startled when you step into the kitchen, and you're greeted by a deep grunt in response. that is certainly not yeri.

you pull your knife that you keep hidden at your hip - you cannot help it - spinning in the direction of the grunt.

you blink.

mingi has both arms up in the air in a placating manner, his eyes wide. he tries to make himself look less threatening but his height does not help.

"shit, sorry," you say, dropping your arm to your side, sheathing the knife quickly.

mingi shakes his head as he slowly lowers his arms. he says, "you're better with a knife than fists."

you frown at him. he cracks a small smile. it lights up his face, though you notice his smile does not reach his eyes. you've seen it quite a bit in everyone's faces, the dim look in their eyes, but his eyes are something else. something sallow. broken, maybe, like cracked bread or all those crushed picture frames you'd seen since the world went to shit or the way your heart shattered when you left your parent's house for the last time.

mingi peers around the kitchen, and you break the silence first, shaking yourself from your thoughts, "why are you here?"

he says, "i've been assigned to help here."

his deep voice helps expel your spiraling thoughts. broken eyes are common these days. nothing was worth fixing unless it helped you survive, especially people.

"really?" you ask, surprised. kyungsoo hinted a while back (with infuriatingly gleeful audacity) that your kitchen would only get one kitchen aide, and you and yeri had grown resigned to the fact.

"i used to work at a bakery back..." mingi trails off, shrugging, "i guess someone told joy."

the way his voice curls around someone makes you think mingi knows exactly who told joy. he's nonchalant still, unbothered in a way that makes you wary. where yeosang is guarded and, frankly, angry, mingi is calm and unbothered. you don't know which is worse. one put his cards out on the table right away, and the other felt like a mysterious ticking bomb.

"you have more experience than me, then," you say, laughing a little as you grab two aprons from the hook beside the counter. you toss him one, and he catches it easily.

mingi shakes his head, "i was just a cashier."

"even better," you say, tying off your apron, "my head baker position is secure."

a beat of silence passes between you both as you pull out dough left to cool in the fridge overnight by yeri during your day off.

then, mingi says, voice soft, "for now."

you look up at him. mingi grins once more, and his face is softer, his shoulders less stiff. you can't help but laugh. his grin grows a little wider.

you think mingi is easy to like. that makes you a bit wary.

~.~.~.~.~

you can't sleep. it's difficult to ignore what night brings, even if you are supposed to be safe in sector one.

nights are always quiet in sector one. days are often filled with chores, and the hustle and bustle of getting things done. the older compound members would sit under one of the three shade structures built along the three walls of sector one that did not hold the training, dining, and kitchen facilities, the canopies made of mismatched wood and plastic, sandbags holding the posts down, and they would weave baskets, sandals, plates, and other necessities, or scrub laundry. your first few months, you found the way they hollered at each other or howled in laughter jarring. but now, it was comforting. stronger able-bodied folks would carry pails of water in from the wells, or spend time in the greenhouses and gardens. the scavenger teams and patrol parties would walk with purpose, busy whispering to each other of their plans. an occasional child would run about, weaving through groups of people and kicking up dirt and grass. it was overwhelming when you'd first arrived. especially with how quickly the atmosphere changed as night approached.

once the sun set, everyone retreated back to their quarters. there was a large common room, with couches and ratty cushions and board games missing half their pieces and unfinished puzzles on the floor, and the hallways to the individual bedrooms and family rooms were lit up with dim torch lights, but conversations remained hushed, and no one dared to step outside. despite joy's promises, despite the fact that sector one truly did seem safe from the black fog and whatever lurked outside at night, everyone remained cautious, quiet.

perhaps, it was indication enough that the survival instincts from beyond the wall still lived on in these people. it made you feel less strange for still being wary. but the switch from lively to dead silence made it difficult to sleep.

this particular night, you wander outside the common room. oftentimes, you would not be the only one sitting quietly in the common room. a pretty boy with dark freckles and kind eyes always sits in the corner and reads under dim candlelight. he never says anything to you, and you to him, but you find his presence reassuring.

tonight, however, you step outside. the boy looks up from his book as moonlight douses him. he frowns, opens his mouth, but does not say anything. you shut the door quietly behind you, the wooden door clicking shut softly.

it's cold outside, and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. it feels as if there are eyes on you - there very well might be. whatever attacked humanity, whatever hung between the moon and stars and caused the black fog and horrible screams at night, is probably watching you walk around like a goddamned idiot.

you clutch your sweater closer as you pass by the training fences.

the grass slopes off into a short hill, that leads down to the courtyards and the kitchens. at the top of the small hill sits a familiar figure. he is awash in moonlight, and his pretty features are almost ethereal like this. he's staring up, presumably at the moon.

you still don't have the guts to follow his gaze. he's brave. you've looked up at it once, just briefly, and you still remember the tiny reflective silver objects flitting in and out between the clouds, darkening the whites of the moon. you still remember the way your stomach sank at the sight, as if your instincts knew there was something very, very wrong. it was a deep-rooted, evolutionary fear that curled under your bones and never really left you.

a burning ember sets yeosang's face ablaze, orange mixing with white moonlight. the smell of cigarette smoke is strong. you didn't know those still existed.

he looks back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes widening slightly at the sight of you before he looks away as if he is disappointed.

you step closer, plopping down uninvited next to him in the grass.

yeosang rests his hands on his folded knees, the cigarette burning out between you both. one of his knees are shaking.

after a moment of silence, yeosang speaks.

"sorry for being a dick earlier," yeosang mumbles, "and for disappearing."

"thanks," you say, fixing your gaze on the gates straight ahead. "appreciate the apology. appreciated the silence a bit more though."

yeosang snorts as he sticks the burning cigarette in a patch of dirt, grinding the end until the orange ember sputters out.

you look at him. yeosang looks tired. you say, "can you tell your friend wooyoung to apologize though? he beat me up because of you and a bag of chocolate chips."

yeosang laughs then, and the sound is unexpected. it's pretty. softer than his walls. "wooyoung is an idiot."

"that doesn't excuse him trying to dislocate my arm."

"yeah," yeosang mutters, frowning suddenly, "it doesn't. i'll tell him."

the silence afterwards is tense. you have no idea why. you want to ask, but you also don't care to know.

suddenly, yeosang says, "i heard mingi is helping you now."

"yeah," you say, "he said he used to work at a bakery."

"i met him there."

you raise a brow, "oh, back Before?"

"no, during the Invasion," yeosang cranes his neck as he peers up at the moon. you don't dare to follow his gaze. he says, "mingi killed someone who tried to kill me. was still wearing his apron and everything."

he speaks so casually, as if that day is not still a sore spot for nearly everyone you've ever met.

"you've been together ever since?"

yeosang nods.

you can't help it when you ask, "how?"

yeosang frowns at you, "what do you mean?"

how were you meant to explain that with longevity comes attachment? that survival in this world meant to remain detached, and therefore protected? that you thought him ridiculous for judging the way these people coped when he clung to mingi for so long you were sure he'd lose his mind if something ever happened to the other man? that level of commitment was insane to you. maybe yeosang was not brave, but rather insane, and that was why he could so easily look at the moon.

yeosang's eyes flickers between yours, waiting for a response. you shrug, "i don't know. i've just never stuck around with the same people for -"

a loud screech cuts you off. it's clearly from beyond the walls, triggering a chorus of shrill bird caws and the rustling of leaves. the keening sound is piercing, and you wince. you've heard that sound often when you were beyond the walls, when you were holed up in a stranger's home or some abandoned shed.

yeosang jumps to his feet, bristling like a startled cat, his gaze fixed in that direction beyond the walls.

then the keening abruptly stops, the same way symphonies stop with a conductor. the same way screams stop when someone puts a hand over the person's mouth. you'd seen that once, with one of the groups you'd left after just a few hours.

the silence afterwards is utterly engulfing. the crickets do not chirp. the breeze does not blow. it is as if the world has stilled, and even a single breath or a single twitch of your fingers will bring whatever was beyond the walls back.

you open your mouth. you want to say something, but you are struck once more by that primal fear, the kind that has every cell in your body begging for you to run.

grass crunches behind you, the softest sound turned into a blaring horn in the silence.

you spin, knife in hand. yeosang's head snaps over his shoulder.

joy stands illuminated by torchlight, soft yellow-orange lighting up her rounded features.

she's staring at both of you, eyes flickering back and forth, back and forth.

you say, "did you hear that?"

joy holds the torch higher, and she says, "it's nothing to worry about."

you glance over at yeosang, and he frowns, but he doesn't say anything. your heart slams against your ribs, still injected with fear.

"we're safe in sector one," joy says gently. "there's nothing to worry about. just breathe, y/n."

her voice is soothing enough. you let yourself breathe.

joy gestures back to the sleeping quarters, "you both should go inside."

"okay," yeosang says after a beat of silence. "fine."

joy's smile is reassuring, but her eyes are fixed above your head. behind you.

"everything is fine," joy says, once more. "you're safe in sector one."

41 notes · View notes

honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

Text

[2] sector one: post-apocalypse au + mingi + "it's for my friend."

a/n: 3.2k words, gender neutral reader, mingi x y/n, post apocalypse/dystopia typical violence, baker!yn

part 1 | series masterlist | part 3

you liked baking focaccia. dimpling the bread calmed you.

you also liked learning combat. just in case you needed to run. just in case. combat was not as calming as the hours you spent baking, but it was important. complacency would be dangerous, and that thought remained a nagging voice at the back of your head.

for weeks now you attended ms. hyori's combat training sessions on your days off from the bakery, but ms. hyori had an accident where she'd slipped from one of the watchtower ladders and broke her ankle so she's been stuck on sewing duty - she hated it, if her constant, very loud groaning that could be heard throughout the compound was anything to go by.

unfortunately for sector one, the medic was a temporary replacement after the previous one had died on a medical supply run, and sector one still had not found a medic with actual working medical knowledge. this had been a problem since before you'd even entered sector one. unfortunately, training people who spent years spent within the walls of sector one with a measly tattered medical textbook only created a group of medics that could treat nothing worse than cuts, scrapes, and sprains.

injuries such as hyori's were treated mostly with bandages and strict rest orders to ensure that they healed properly; at least this was what yeri had told you the other day as you both worked on a round of focaccia bread from possibly expired yeast scavenger crew three found near a rundown gas station. broken bones often did not heal right before the Invasion; you could not imagine dealing with one now.

when you arrive at the training grounds, everyone else is already discussing who would replace ms. hyori, their hushed voices mixing with the early morning chirping from the birds. despite everything, nature kept on, and you always figured that was how the end of the world would go. hearing it and seeing it firsthand, though, was still jarring.

"morning, everyone," joy's soft, airy voice fills the training grounds. though she isn't loud, her voice echoes, and it seems to capture the attention of everyone instantly. even the early morning birds get quieter. joy strides to the front, people stepping aside to make room for her. there were two people trailing behind her.

joy has a bright smile on her face, her eyes sparkling, as she turns to face the group. the two unfamiliar people at her shoulders - one tall and the other shorter, but both angular, made rugged by their days beyond the wall, no doubt, with matching knitted brows, watchful eyes, and an air to them that you knew meant they were New - merely loomed behind her, like a brewing storm.

joy gestures to the two men beside her. the tall one towers over her, a looming figure with a quiet, intense aura. somehow the shorter one is scarier, his features sharp. he looks like the type of man that would have been casted in a television show about gangs.

the tall one, though terrifying in his height and stoic demeanor, appears almost docile in nature, gentler, in comparison. he keeps his distance from joy, you notice, but his eyes flit over the class attendees, lingering on each of you as if he is making mental notes in his head. he is rightfully wary, but he did not seem explosive or impulsive, which was hard to come by in this new world where many attacked first and asked questions last.

"as you may have already heard, hyori is out indefinitely until she's fully recovered. luckily for us, a couple newcomers have enthusiastically agreed to help with combat training during this time slot."

joy waves at the two men. neither of them look remotely enthusiastic.

"hyori has given them her approval, so i'm sure they'll do great. everyone, meet san," joy gestures to the shorter, sharp-featured man. his name suited him, his demeanor jagged like a mountain. joy turns, craning her neck to look up at the tall man, smiling brightly as she points at him, "and mingi. i know you all have things to do, so i won't keep you any longer. i hope you all treat each other kindly. san, mingi, if you need anything you know where to find me."

joy waves as she leaves, her personal guard following behind her. you stare at the two men.

mingi. back Before you would have thought this was merely a coincidence, but the world was truly small nowadays so coincidences no longer existed, at least not with names. this had to be that mingi. chocolate chip mingi. yeosang's friend.

yeosang comes by at least three times a week to request pastries. it was not the norm, really, and the kitchen head often looked down upon such a thing, but you allowed it. you liked the company, and he seemed more relaxed with each visit. it fascinated you, watching him open up to you so slowly. unfortunately, you didn't have chocolate chip cookies, as that last bit of chocolate chips was devoured quite quickly by dinner time the very same day you met yeosang, but you you still referred to yeosang's friend as the chocolate chip man. yeosang's friend who was named mingi. who is here in front of you. you you could finally put a face to.

yeosang never really bothered to bring mingi around.

"i swear you only come around here so you can get first dibs on any fresh batches," you muttered after you swatted yeosang's hand away when he tried to pick at a scone you'd just pulled from the oven.

"it's for my friend," yeosang said, "he's sad."

"yeah, yeah, yeah," you'd rolled your eyes, "i'm starting to think this sad chocolate chip man isn't real."

yeosang had laughed, but he did not say anything to refute your half-assed joke. you still gave him an extra scone before shooing him away from your kitchen.

you'd started to think you might have liked yeosang's company.

most importantly, you started to think his friend did not exist. perhaps yeosang needed company himself, and had no idea how to ask for it. you understood that need; you've had plenty of newcomers linger in your kitchen in search of someone to listen as they rambled on and on. yeosang mostly lurked in your kitchen in silence though. so clearly, this mingi was not real.

except now you know he is very much real.

mingi's eyes meets yours over a few heads, and you find yourself quickly looking away first, shuffling from foot to foot as you focus your attention on san. you feel as if you know him, when he likely has no idea who you are.

"...start with a few simple stretches and then i want you to show me your defensive st..." san's voice drones.

~.~.~.~.~

the rest of the session is quick, and on par with hyori's level of skill, though san and mingi clearly lack her positivity. san does not smile once, and mingi did not speak. somehow, san's intimidating, piercing stares and one-worded corrections as he walked around the training field is motivating though, because the class seemed much more serious this morning than you've ever thought it'd be.

when you first arrived at sector one, the disregard in everyone's demeanor had put you off. it was disconcerting, to think that you'd spent so long living in constant vigilance, while everyone here treated important things such as combat training like it was a boxing class at a local gym.

even after so much time in sector one, the nonchalance still bothered you. you could not shake the fear and anxiety, despite everything. san's stoic demeanor brings with it a sense of urgency in the other members of sector one that you often did not see. perhaps it was more present in those who did supply runs or worked outside the wall, but not in classes like this. it's as if his wariness is contagious.

where san is stoic, his directions short and his patience shorter, mingi does not say a word. he merely taps on shoulders, taps at incorrect points in someone's form, and demonstrates the correct form over and over until the person understands. he certainly has patience, and his presence draws command, despite his inability to speak. you find your eyes drifting to him, even as you try to keep your focus on san.

after class, you sit sprawled in the grass, fanning yourself. the sun has gotten hotter over the last few days, and sweat drips down your back at the simplest of tasks.

san and mingi are talking quietly as the other sector one training session attendees disperse. you didn't think mingi could speak, but it seemed he could, but he chose not to.

"hey, mingi, san!" a familiar voice calls. yeosang appears, waving at mingi and san. so, this is chocolate chip mingi. "do either of you want to -"

yeosang cuts himself off when san walks away mid-sentence, disappearing into the shower rooms at the edge of the training field. he did not look back or acknowledge yeosang. yeosang stares after him, a long look that has you scrambling to your feet, suddenly feeling as if you are intruding on something that was none of your business.

being nosy, though tempting, only spelled trouble, Before and After. besides, the secondhand embarrassment curling at the pit of your stomach as you watched yeosang's shoulders droop and his smile slip from his face was enough to have you scurry to the showers as quickly as you could.

~.~.~.~.~

"it seems this mingi character is in fact very real," you say to yeosang moments after he appears like clockwork at the door of your kitchen the next day.

"what?"

"so it turned out my new combat instructor's name is mingi."

"oh," yeosang nods. "yeah, joy's forced us all to take up hobbies."

there's scorn in his tone as he spits out the last word. you laugh and he scowls at you as you say, "so what does she have you doing?"

"take care of the livestock," yeosang mutters.

"that sounds nice." it did. sector one only had a handful of cattle and chicken, but they were sweet. joy mentioned during your tour that the cattle would not be used for meat unless absolutely necessary, as their manure and milk were more beneficial to the compound. the chicken were used solely for their eggs. it was as if joy was giving you reassurance, as if you were allowed to get attached to these animals if you wanted to, because they would remain. she listed it off as if she'd repeated the same sentiment time and time again.

"well, it's not nice." yeosang rolls his eyes, "it smells like shit."

"sounds like cuddling a cow or two would do you some good, yeosang."

yeosang glares at you, "that is exactly what joy said."

"and now you have a second opinion."

yeosang's glare deepens, but he keeps his mouth shut.

you cut the sourdough loaf in front of you into thin slices. the crunch as you slice into the bread with your dull knife fills the room for a long moment.

"it's so fucking stupid."

you look up at yeosang, "what is?"

yeosang gestures around you both, "all of this. everything is so...nice, and it's fucking insane. how do any of you...why is everyone so..."

yeosang's frown only deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"normal?" you finish for him.

he nods, "it's fucking insane."

you'd thought the same thing, when you were alone in your little cot in your tiny room - it was a little brick room that fit a small cot, a tiny rickety chair, and a scratched up table that you were sure they'd swiped from a school. your clothes were stacked neatly in a woven basket you'd made yourself the first few weeks after you'd arrived. it wasn't much, and you figured the single rooms were so tiny so no one would spend all their time in their rooms - you spent countless nights staring up at the stone ceilings, counting scratches on the brick or missing pieces in the grout, and wondered the same thing. how was this sane? what if the compound was attacked? would anyone be prepared? what if none of this was real, and you'd succumbed to some kind of madness? how was everyone okay with pretending things were normal?

you still wonder the same thing. but the thing is, more often than not you find yourself looking forward to your shifts in the bakery. you watch exhausted smiles stretch across the faces of people - fellow survivors - as they bite into fresh bread or a sweet treat you'd made, and you understand it. it feels like living again. you hadn't had the chance before the invasion, really. everyday, rumors spread of new couples dating. two pregnancies were announced during your time here. it's insane, and you think everyone around you knew it as well. yet you congratulated them anyway. you kept an escape bag under your bed just in case. yet you returned to your kitchen shift like clockwork. you understood it so well. was that naive of you? of all of you?

you wipe your hands on your apron and you say, "why do you come here everyday asking for sweets for mingi?"

yeosang frowns, tone harsh, "why the fuck does that matter?"

you glare at him, matching his harsh tone, "do you think you're the only person in this entire compound that comes here asking for fresh bread or something sweet for a friend? everybody is just trying to cope. is it a little insane? probably, but who the hell are you to judge when you're the same?"

yeosang maintains his scowl, his lips pressed into a thin line. he says, "i don't trust places like this. you're an idiot if you do."

"do you think i do?" you snap back.

yeosang scoffs, "whatever."

you watch as he rolls his eyes, turns on his heels and storms off, a whirlwind of anger, and you wonder if yeosang had a bad experience with settlements like this before. you'd ran from a previous group when they started plans to settle. yeosang did not seem like the type to run from things before they got difficult, at least not the way you did.

~.~.~.~.~

"partner up!" san calls out, clapping his hands as he looks around expectantly. "we're going to practice one-on-one now."

there's been an influx of participants in this particular class ever since last week - likely due to whispers of the new instructors. yeri had mentioned to you how dreamy the newbies were, especially the tall kind medic who she assisted the other day. you did not blame them, really. san is handsome, in an angst-ridden sort of way - a rugged mysterious man whose serious demeanor leaves everyone wanting to know more. mingi was a chiseled handsome, more sad than anything else to you, and, frankly, you found it fascinating how quiet he was. but most of all, you liked that he seemed gentle, like he would not even hurt a fly. his presence made you more comfortable than san's for that reason.

"you're the baker right?" you turn at the voice.

a man with longer black hair, tanned skin, a stocky build, and twinkling eyes crosses his arms over his chest as he peers at you.

you frown, "yeah, i am. why are you asking?"

"let's partner up," he says, ignoring your question. he does not smile as he holds a hand out, though he does keep talking, "i'm wooyoung. i'm new."

you introduce yourself, and his expression twitches. you watch as he settles into a fighting stance, fists in front of his face, legs solid and wide. you settle into your own fighting stance.

san calls for you all to start, his voice ringing through the training fields.

wooyoung says, "so you're the one who's upset yeosang."

he says it more as a statement rather than a question. you blink in surprise. you hadn't seen yeosang since he walked out. you wondered where he was - maybe you even worried a bit - but at the end of the day you and yeosang were not friends, so did it really matter if you checked on him or asked around about him?

"i..." you frown at wooyoung, "he upset himself."

wooyoung's eyes narrow. suddenly he lunges at you. you're unprepared for when he easily side swipes your limp hands and pulls your hands back, shoving you into the ground. you certainly eat dirt. wooyoung lets go of you pretty quickly. you glare at him, "what the fuck was that for?"

wooyoung shrugs, says, "you should have been ready."

you get to your feet, swinging at him as soon as you do, but wooyoung is ready. he's too good at hand-to-hand combat. it pisses you off. he grabs your wrist and twists it until you're turned with your back to him. then he jabs you in the knees and you collapse. he lets go of you, stepping into your view.

you rub your twisted arm, bewildered, "are you serious? is this because yeosang is upset?"

wooyoung hums, "nah that last one was because you used up my entire chocolate chip stash."

before you can say anything, someone clears their throat behind you. wooyoung's flick up behind you and you turn from where you are still sitting on the floor clutching your arm.

mingi looms over you, nearly blocking out the sun. he is a shadowed outline, his chiseled features softened by the shadows he casts. his hands are stuffed into his pockets, and he does not say a word. he just holds out a hand towards you. you take his hand, and he easily hauls you up to your feet.

wooyoung rolls his eyes, "i'm just having a bit of fun."

"you're being mean." mingi says. you startle at his voice. it's a deep rumble, a little raspy. you look between mingi and wooyoung, as they both seem to have a conversation with only their eyes, leaving you to stand awkwardly in silence between them.

wooyoung throws his hands in the air, "whatever, i'll spar with san."

you watch wooyoung stalk away, and all you can think about is that those chocolate chips must have come from the newbies. from yeosang and his friends. why didn't joy tell you when she gave you the bag? all you can think about is wooyoung clearly being pissed at you because yeosang was upset. protectiveness like that was normal these days, though you found such codependency dangerous. you were with a group once who would kill people just for looking at them the wrong way. it was dangerous and strange, and you were never one for codependency, even back before the invasion.

"thanks for that," you say, after a beat of silence.

mingi just shrugs.

the silence lasts another moment before you add, "i'm y/n."

mingi smiles then, even as he says, "the baker."

you nod, unable to help your own smile. his smile is infectious, all gummy and sweet, adding an unexpected charm to his expression. you laugh a little as you say, "yeah, the baker."

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honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

Text

second hand𓆸

words: 509

characters: c.s. ft. k.h.

genre: drama thriller

sum: A boy on the search for something he had before. (But he doesn't know that!)

⚠: slight gore & mention of death

(Inspired by 6_teh fanart! Specifically, the post captioned with 🌼🌼🌼 on their Instagram)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･♡ ̆̈°✰⋆˚˖°𓆤𔓘

You win some, you lose some!

Grandma's wisdom echoed in my skull as I felt the excruciating pain of my arm being torn to pieces. The raging beast I had defeated had gotten its last laugh.

As I held my bleeding wound, I took the moment to admire the sky. The lightning blue heavens with its ivory clouds. The afternoon sun was off to the corner of my vision. Shining happily despite the traumatized screams from the spectators. Oh, what an interesting day this was. Grandpa and Grandma will surely be proud, to some extent.

It wasn't long before the black spots overcame my sight. Obscuring the once in a lifetime view.

Wait, I'm not done seeing!

Then my body relaxed, taking my eyelids with it. I awoke three days later. To my surprise.

My grandparents took the responsibility of reviving me. They stopped my profuse bleeding and redirected fresh blood into my veins. My flesh was a lost cause, so Grandpa sawed off the destroyed matter. With a sincere heart, my Grandma designed a prosthetic for the missing limb. Using spare parts from the garage, they constructed my forearm and hand.

The first time seeing the masterpiece was unnerving, to say the least. Grandma reassured me that I'll get used to it in time. She was always right.

In the months to follow, I would no longer be bothered by the fake. Save for the occasional phantom pains, it wasn't so bad. In the years to come, when I was to lay my grandparents to rest. I knew they would always be a part of me. Yet leaving was still the hardest thing to do. I shed my tears while grief gripped my heart. Now I must find something, I don't even know what it is.

From Fallen City to Lone Wolf. I kept marching on. By any means, food and shelter was mine. Even for a little bit. In a particular stop, I stood in a field of blue flowers. I picked out a few to keep in my gloved hand. I spent my whole day there. Enjoying the calmness of it all. Once in a lifetime experience.

The next day, I was almost run down by a pile of speeding metal. A guy with hair the color of the sky poked his head out.

He seemed odd but was kind enough to make me comfortable. It seemed I had found what I needed. A friend.

As the weeks dwindled, we became more familiar. I gave him permission to decorate my body. A brow piercing, trimming my hair(he also snipped off most of his ends), to tattooing tiny doodles across the bridge of my nose. The result was impressive. I was shown the parts of me that I didn't love.

He respected my steel arm and only complimented my grandparent's work.

It made me cry for a long time. He was quite awkward but caring about my outburst.

I was determined to give him as much love as I could. He needed more than he denied.

#choi san #short one shot #dystopia #family #loss #platonic relationships #survival #kim hongjoong #ateez fanfic #ateez au #alternative universe

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honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

Text

the captain𓆸

words: 478

characters: k.h. ft. c.s.

genre: drama thriller

sum: An intro to the boy who would be captain in the end of the beginning.

⚠: mention of death

(Inspired by 6_teh fanart! Specifically, the post captioned with 🌼🌼🌼 on their Instagram)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･♡ ̆̈°✰⋆˚˖°𓆤𔓘

Time... is a pain in the ass.

An illusion created by humankind to keep us from going mad. Yet, I cross the junkyards of broken things without caring if the days have passed by. It's safe to say that I have loose screws rolling around in my head.

But as I catch flowers and chase Blue Wings. I am reminded of the good in time. Every high noon to every twilight. Down to the seconds of my beating heart. I understand now.

Time is precious.

I tie up my hair. Overgrown but freshly dyed an aquamarine. I should have also searched for something sharp. I jump over the hood of my chunk of metal. Landing onto the other side with ease. The land surrounding me is lifeless. A thick fog of dirt and disease hover above. I recall my many stops before this. All similar. Dead.

I kick at the ground, sending rocks and dirt into the air. Frustrated, I pull at the tie, undoing my hair.

Strands of my dyed hair disturb my eyes. I huff. I walk back to my car and slip through the broken window. My hands grip the wheel. I breathe, trying to put out the fire that threatens to be unleashed. My temper is like a firecracker. Lit quickly, and I will explode into a rain of sparks.

I wonder back to the past. I wish to be there when my hair was less of a mess. Sucking on a cherry pop with a cap worn backwards. Starting new ideas and having the world at my control. Always with my backpack over spilling with lilacs.

When I was bored I would mark my belongings with skulls and Blue Wings. Better than writing my whole name.

Hongjoong.

I can sometimes still hear them. My lost family. They cry to me in my dreams. Scare me awake. The smokey scent lingers in my nostrils and throat.

I miss them some days.

I get out my head opting to start the car again. It roars to life, sputtering a bit. I put the gear into drive. Going forward, avoiding the poison gas. My orange tint goggles sway from their spot around the rear view mirror. They steal my attention for a millisecond.

When I dismiss them I am quickly caught off guard. I stomp on the brakes. A loud shrill fills my ears. I watch in horror as the vehicle stops inches away from the man. He slams his hands onto the rusted hood in surprise.

My heartbeat races while the kicked up dirt settles. I stick my head out of my window.

"Any serious damage?"

"You're years too late."

"Huh?"

The stranger raises his right arm. I gawk at what I'm seeing. Where flesh should be is replaced with steel parts. The man throws up a peace sign.

"Need a ride?" I nonchalantly ask.

#kim hongjoong #drama #dystopia #alternative universe #survival #friendship #platonic relationships #choi san #short one shot

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honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

Text

Desiderata

𓇢the captain

𓇢second hand

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･♡ ̆̈°✰⋆˚˖°𓆤𔓘

#ateez fanfic #ateez au #platonic relationships #dystopia #mature theme #kim hongjoong #choi san #song mingi #kang yeosang #jeong yunho #jung wooyoung #park seonghwa #choi jongho

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honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

Text

The City of Angels

𓇢pressing on bruises

𓇢to be a swan

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･♡ ̆̈°✰⋆˚˖°𓆤𔓘

#orginal character #original work #supernatural elements #angel #short one shot

0 notes

honeyonthemind · 1 year ago

Text

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [6] (M)

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm (this chapter); yeosang x reader, wooyoung x reader; 12.7k

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder references, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, lying, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore, smut

Chapter 6

You've grown to notice that it is never truly cold in the forest around their home. It feels as if it’s a warm bubble, unaffected by outside elements. None of the faeries ever mention it, probably accustomed to the odd temperature. You yourself are not, jacket wrapped around your waist as you walk through the small path Yeosang has taken you on. His clothing is loose, steps gliding along the slow breeze. All of them are quiet when they walk, barely the sound of a leaf crunching beneath their feet. He does not move as fast as San did when you arrived. In fact, there's little space between you, his skin close to brushing against your own.

Since you have known him, he has been indifferent to your presence. Oftentimes mulling in silence whenever you two spent time together, or glued to whatever object was around at the time. Being alone with him didn't happen often – most occasions he'd have San tied to his side, fingers wrapped around his waist, moving where he moved. Or Wooyoung lingering around you. So you're quite surprised he even wants you out here alone with him. You aren't close at all.

“The house could be quite a nuisance,” he says softly, hand sliding in yours as you climb around a protruding rock. Now that you know he can feel what you're thinking, the coincidences of him answering your thoughts aren't so shocking anymore. You expect him to let go once you’ve steadied yourself but he doesn’t, fingers entwined. “Everyone is watching your every move. San unwilling to leave your side for even a breath,” he smiles, slightly toothy grin. “Now you know how I feel.”

“It’s like he’s attached. Each time I leave the room he follows,” you say, and Yeosang snorts, nodding.

“Seonghwa warned him that he is to keep his eye on you. None of us know when you’ll–” he snaps his fingers on his free hand– “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’m not going to do anything.” There’s little ground to defend yourself on, but still. You can barely remember what happened then. It was a life or death situation. You doubt it'd happen now. “Just don’t try to kill me or anything.”

“Is that a threat?” he teases, brow raised. “Not to worry. I doubt any of us would do such a thing. We have morals, you know. Even as Unseelie.”

“San was explaining that to me. Between the chaos there is comfort. I can see it when you're around each other. You tease, but you do care. In different ways.”

“We do. Our inane element of chaos is fairly simple. We reign terror on human lives. It has lessened over the years now since humans aren't as inept as before. It takes time for us to ruin their lives,” he glances at you from the side. “You may witness it in person eventually.”

“Just like how you've caused it on mine?” You barely speak above a whisper, but Yeosang catches the irritated murmur, laughing softly as he helps you over a fallen tree. The sound is a bit eerie under these circumstances. You are trapped and he knows it so clearly. His laughter is evident enough of that.

“Precisely. We are almost there, human. Watch your step,” he pulls you closer to him, arm wrapped around your body, fingers light against your waist. Oddly it reminds you of Wooyoung – neither of the two's actions in consideration of the person they bother. In a way you believe that while Wooyoung touches you whenever he likes on purpose, Yeosang fails to realize there is an issue at all. He lets go when you enter the field, gracefully crossing his legs as he rests on the flower petals. You sit next to him with far less elegance, taking in your surroundings.

It is strange to see anything like this in the forest nearest your town. A small waterfall and a body of water sit in front of you, the sound of the liquid splashing filling the night. You pay no mind to how Yeosang watches you, your interest in the natural structures in front of you. A group of deer bend their necks, drinking the freshly cycled water from the pond.

“Hongjoong showed me this place when we first arrived,” Yeosang explains, head resting in his hands. “He told me that I can come whenever I like to clear my mind or hide away. He hasn't shown up here since, I'm sure out of respect for me. If you'd like I can come with you here whenever you need. I thought it would bring you some comfort amongst everything else.”

It does. Your emotions weigh heavy on you. Missing your family, mourning your lost relationship. Hurt sitting inside you with everything that's happened. You haven't gotten the chance to really let that feeling settle because you haven't had time to yourself. Though now you technically still don't, Yeosang doesn't speak. He doesn't interrupt the silence. No, all he does is stretch out his fingers, a book appearing on his palm. He flips through the pages, filling the air between the two of you.

“Thank you.”

The grass beneath you is comforting as you lie back, eyes closed. The sound of a page flipping continues.

“Thanking me is not needed.”

—

“Where did you take her?”

Yeosang barely looks up from his literature, a sigh escaping from his lips. Perhaps the two of you should have stayed out much longer. “Welcome home.”

“You can't just take her out of the house, Yeosang. We have to keep an eye on her at all times. You can't be alone without any of us near.” Seonghwa's voice is frustrated as he opens the fridge, digging through the drawers. “If she attempts to kill you we're too far away to stop it. You have to think these things through before committing to it.”

“The human isn't going to kill me, hyung,” Yeosang murmurs, frowning as he reads the next line. “Oh what a pity.”

“What?” Seonghwa turns, seeing his mate staring at the book.

Yeosang looks up, pointing to the page, “They died before meeting. They've been waiting years but they both died. It's horrific,” he shakes his head, continuing to flip through. It only gets Seonghwa more frustrated, frown on his lips soon to permanently embed itself in his face.

“You are not listening to me–”

“Oh, but I am listening perfectly, Seonghwa. I just wonder when you will finally let one of us know what's on your mind. And why you continue to lie about her to us,” Yeosang hums. “Maybe then I will give you my full, undivided attention. But for now, since you will likely respond with another lie, I will continue to read.” he looks up from his book, eyes resting on his. It makes the lump in Seonghwa's throat grow. Disappointment. Yeosang isn't like the others in that sense. He's hidden with his emotions, only letting his frustration or irritation through individual talks. Never letting another person around hear it. So now, even though they are both alone at the moment, it hurts Seonghwa to see that even with this privacy, Yeosang does not let his true feelings slip out. His hurt must be larger than he can comprehend.

It's not like Seonghwa doesn't want to say it. But solidifying his suspicions without being one hundred percent sure would only be useless. Turn them in a direction that they don't need to be in right now. They should be focused on the growing threat of Seelie entering their land, not you. You would just be a distraction between it all if you are human. And if Seonghwa is right about what you really are, then you're an asset to their team. If his spark all can fall under your charms without much effort, the Seelie are sure to fall for it. And they could finally subdue them once and for all. The only glaring problem with his plan, that is, is if you turn on them. It is the main reason why he dislikes whenever you’re left alone with just one.

“It is for a reason, Yeosang.” Seonghwa holds the tangerine in his hand, slowly peeling off the skin. “I hope you can understand.”

“We don't hide things from one another,” Yeosang says, writing into the pages of his novel. “So if you expect sympathy from me you've gone to the wrong mate. Perhaps Hongjoong, or Jongho will give you what you desire.” His brows furrow, frustration etching itself into his skin. “Now you can go. I'm getting distracted.”

Seonghwa places a tangerine in front of Yeosang's folded legs, leaving the room altogether. Once he is gone, Yeosang grabs the fruit. He stares at it, thumb running along the surface. It pierces the skin, juices sliding down his skin, spilling onto the book that rests in his lap. He sighs in frustration, tossing the fruit into the sink several meters away.

“Everything would be solved if she were dead,” he murmurs.

—

“Three.”

“Nope.”

“Less than that?”

“Much less.”

“It can't just be me, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung grins, palm holding up his head as he looks up at you. “It's surprising, no? But it's true. All I've ever wanted, no, desired, was other faeries or creatures beyond your comprehension. Humans are only playthings to me. Meals at the end of the day. Nothing more.”

The thought makes your stomach want to fold in on itself. “You're joking?”

“Unfortunately no,” he sighs, letting his head flop down to your sheets. “Your scent is all consuming, solaris. No other human has affected me in such a way. And it wouldn't make sense to have a human partner when all I'd do is just kill them in the end.” His eyes shift to you. “I wouldn't do that to you though, I like you too much.”

“How wonderful,” Sarcasm drips from your words as he laughs. Easily speaking of killing humans, as if he's talking about playing a game. Some things you'll never get used to when hanging out with Unseelie. Their lack of care for living still makes you feel queasy. Your one murder haunts you every night, but he, no, they, thrive in it. You just cannot imagine it.

“You've overstayed your welcome,” Yeosang stands on the outside of the door, arms crossed against his chest. He nods at you, expression surprisingly warm. Since that night, Yeosang often spent time with you. He hasn't said much, as usual, but he sought you out for quiet. Wooyoung being here right now is likely the opposite of what he wants.

Wooyoung's head rolls to the side, eyes narrowing at his mate. “You bother her too much. Give solaris some space.”

“You're in her room every night,” Yeosang deadpans.

“Yes, and? She enjoys me around her, I liven up the place! Don't you enjoy me?” His pout matches the whiny tone of his voice. In the beginning it was mildly irritating, but you do enjoy it now. Not that you'd admit it to him. He'd never leave your side at that rate.

“No.”

“Solaris!” He whines, tucking himself further into your sheets. It would be humorous if it weren’t for the look Yeosang gives him.

“Leave,” Yeosang says, his voice firmer now. “Mingi and San need you.”

“On a scale of not needed at all to they're currently dying, where does the need of my presence fall–”

“Go, now.”

Mingi. You haven't seen him in a while, assuming that he was on a mission. Knowing that he's around makes you wonder a bit. He hasn't greeted you since you've arrived again. Was he afraid of seeing you? No, that couldn't be. You were afraid of him, not the other way around.

Wooyoung painfully drags himself off your sheets, sending you a quick look before moving past Yeosang. His hand reaches out and grips Wooyoung’s bicep, their eyes meeting. They often communicate without speaking, gazes flicking over one another’s before Wooyoung leaves down the hall. Yeosang turns to look at you, exhaustion easily lining his gaze. Still you envy their connection, unlike anything you’d ever experience yourself. You wouldn’t want to become an Unseelie, but their devotion to each other is formidable. If only your kind were the same. Perhaps if humans were equally bonded to one another, there’d be less infighting and more respect spread across the Earth. But of course, just wishful thinking.

“Hongjoong asked for you,” Yeosang says.

“The man of the hour,” you murmur, sighing. “Why can’t he just come here himself?”

“Believe it or not,” Yeosang smiles. “He is a bit more busy than you think. He didn’t technically ask for me to come find you, but I doubt he would find the time to leave himself. And Yunho is too preoccupied to come here. I’m the only one free at the moment.”

You lift yourself up from your seat, stepping past the small gap between Yeosang and the doorway. He shifts slightly, arm brushing against yours as you make your way around. He does not follow you promptly. You turn to look at him, his sight glued on yours.

“Something the matter?”

His expression changes, and he merely shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ll lead the way.”

—

Yeosang leaves you with him, fingers brushing against the back of your hand as he disappears down the hall. He did not try to start a conversation as you two were walking alone, briefly glancing at you from time to time. Whatever you did moments ago must have bothered him enough to not even attempt to dissolve the awkwardness resting between both of you. But you didn’t either, so there’s that.

You slowly enter, your steps echoing as you move further inside. You’ve been inside Hongjoong’s office once before, but never in his room. It is nothing like you expected it to be - no torture devices hanging from the walls. Instead, vinyls resting on clear displays, cds in between each one. In fact, there were several instruments decorated all about, some you couldn’t even recognize yourself. Many likely hundreds of years old. This is his place, his mind. The thought of peering into his personal space, his mind, even if ever briefly, makes you anxious, goosebumps rising on your skin as you take yourself further in. It can’t be that bad.

He at least tolerates you enough to have you still around.

“Why are you here?”

You turn to the side, Hongjoong hunched over at his desk, pen dragging across stationary as he writes. He does not look up so you can only assume he heard your loud steps enter his room. The notebook he writes in is well-worn, corners curved in and cover peeling. His eyes briefly meet yours after you don’t speak, brow raised in expectation. “Well?”

“Yeosang told me you wanted to see me.”

He rolls his eyes, staring at his writing before ripping out a page, crumbling it up and snapping his fingers. The paper engulfed in flames before flickering into ashes, sliding off his table and into the bin beneath. “Yeosang tells everyone a lot of things, that does not mean it’s true. You’ll learn to not listen to his words after a while. He’s quite mischievous,” he murmurs.

“Then I am not needed?” You’re thankful, really. Being in his space, his scent, creates a strange feeling within you. There’s a reason you avoid him, more than just being afraid.

Hongjoong stands, throwing his notebook off his table. You take a step back just as he moves forward, too fast for you to leave his sight. His hands grip your body, pulling you close to him.

“Personal space is a thing, Hongjoong.”

“You want me to speak to you, truly?”

You try pulling away but his hold only tightens. So instead of fighting a losing battle, you speak through tight lips, “Say what you have to say.”

“What is it you want me to say? That I would follow you everywhere, until your steps become my own, until your breaths mingle with mine? There's no need for that. There is no where you will go that will be where I am not. It is all but that simple.” He cradles your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing against the skin. It takes everything in you not to flinch. “That is all I need, and it is all you’ve wanted. We will no longer be separated; you won’t be left alone. Is that what you want?”

What is he even saying? The more he trails on, the more fear begins to circulate your veins. He does not seem to notice it, so he continues when greeted with silence. “Soobin is no longer an issue since he’s gone. You’re free to desire whomever you want without him holding you back.”

His name pulls you out of your confusion almost instantaneously. “He was my partner, Hongjoong,” your brows furrow. “He’s the reason I’m even in this town in the first place. Why would he be holding me back? I love him.” And it’s true. There has been a bit of wavering in your love, and he broke your heart not too long ago. Mourning a love lost is one thing, but losing that love for him completely is entirely different.

You don’t see the way his mouth twitches at the word love. What you do see, though, is the way his eyes narrow. “He’s gone.”

“Love doesn’t just disappear when I no longer see him.”

“Then how will it? Must he come to you and say he hates you? Will he have to attempt to hurt you for it to go away? Why do humans continue to love someone who’s left them? Why can’t you let him go?” What else does he have to do? Should he have manipulated the human’s mind before they killed him? Made him break your heart? He thought Mingi’s appearance was enough to stop your mind from lingering on him. But it seems like it has done little.

You stare at Hongjoong as he loses himself in his thoughts. You’ve believed in inherent goodness, but there’s always been this underlying fear of them, just for the nature of them being Unseelies alone. Knowing that despite all of what they say, it’s something they can’t change. It’s something you’ve settled with. But hearing his words, the way his eyes shake as he looks at you… something tells you that he’s off. That despite their comfort and sympathy, they know what happened to Soobin.

An even smaller part of you believes that they’ve done something to him.

“Why do you care?”

He does not respond, waiting for you to continue. In the position you are right now, it’s hard not to.

“It’s hard to,” you explain, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve known him since we were children, and even if I didn’t love him in the romantic sense, I still would love him as a former friend. It hurts to just lose a friendship like that.”

"If I killed it would you forget him?"

You still. His touch is ever so delicate as he waits for your response. Eyes warm, blinking slowly. It's as if he didn't just say he'd do something so heinous, so unthinkable.

"What?" Is all you can respond with.

He leans closer to you, barely a breath away from your lips. His eyes flick over your face, before landing back on your eyes. "If I killed your weak, miserable, disgusting, incompetent, lackluster ex-partner, as you call it, will you forget then? Will you mourn its loss then come into my arms? Will you love me as you love it?"

It. Perhaps his mask slid down just a bit.

"You're out of your mind."

"I am very much sane, y/n. It's a simple question with an even simpler answer."

"No."

"No…?"

"I wouldn't forgive you if you killed him, Hongjoong."

He rolls his eyes, a huff echoing around the room. "How boring and mundane. I thought you were more amusing than that." He moves away from you now, grabbing his notebook he threw across the room. “Yeosang was right, I did want to speak to you. Not yet, but I suppose I have little reason to keep it to myself. Seonghwa suspects that you are not human.”

He moves on from the moment as if it never happened, as if he did not threaten your old partner. The subject change easily distracts you though, the idea so otherworldly that you scoff. Hongjoong snickers at the sound, standing up. “You make that incredulous sound but Seonghwa has rarely ever been wrong in his findings. You may not be as human as you think.”

“I’m only human, Hongjoong. There’s nothing else to it.”

“That you know of,” he adds, placing his book back on his table. “You’ve lived as a human your whole life you know nothing other than that. Of course you’d think the thought silly.”

“What do you want me to say? First you threaten my old partner and now you say that I’m not human? Do you want me to beg at your knees and tell you that it’s not true?”

“The thought of you on your knees in front of me isn’t unappealing,” he chirps.

“You’re,” you hold your tongue. It’s not the smartest thing to do - insulting an Unseelie in their territory. Hongjoong is unhinged already, no need to push him further into his madness. But you cannot help yourself. “You’re disgusting.”

He shrugs, “That’s not the worst insult I’ve ever heard. You've overstayed your welcome, you can go.” His hand waves you off, giving you his back completely. Though you expect nothing less from him, it still feels humiliating. But there's nothing you can do. Not now. You decide it's best to just leave completely, door slamming behind you as you exit the room. Yeosang lingers outside, book closing when you walk past him. He reaches out for your arm but you shove his touch off, making your way to your room.

You don't quite notice how hard you’ve pushed him, his body thumping against the wood. Yeosang looks down at his hand. How his fingers curl into themselves. You pushed him off. Strength formidable to his own with just a spike in your anger. He does not follow you but instead, enter the room you just left.

—

“He is an Unseelie. It is not unlike him to thrive off of your anger and frustration. It's tantalizing, the energy oozing from humans. It is fun for us,” Wooyoung's laying on your bed once again, arms folded beneath his head, eyes on the ceiling. “It tastes wonderful, though not as good as fear.”

“Doesn't really ease my nerves,” you say, flipping through the book he handed you. It's something he grabbed from Jongho, the scrawny writing etched into the pages. You snicker at the jabs he adds in, his notations growing more humorous as you turn pages. It's distracting enough for now. A hand covers the writing, Wooyoung's pout forcing you to stop. You shut the book, placing it on your side table. “He is annoying, Wooyoung. I don't think I'll last here long with him constantly saying shit and me not being able to say anything back.”

“You can argue with him, solaris. He won't kick you out.” He sees your expression, sighing. “We all do it, and none of us have left yet–”

“You are his mates, his spark. He wouldn't throw you out because of an argument. I have nothing left if I leave, Wooyoung. My family would be in danger, Soobin would be in danger, right when I step outside someone is waiting to kill me. It's exhausting to think about.”

“You have to learn to put yourself first instead of worrying about others,” he says. “And your family is as safe as they can be right now. They do not remember you, and you’ve been pulled from their lives. If a Seelie truly digs for it they will find them, but we will know before anything happens,” Wooyoung presses his finger against his temple. “I’ve got them on my radar.”

“You’re only confusing me more.”

“A spell, solaris. I’m keeping my eye on them every second. You’ll know if anything is amiss. Unfortunately though, I’d rather not update you on mundane things. It’ll make letting them go harder to bear.”

You do not agree with his method of lessening your worry, but you’d rather not argue with another Unseelie, too distraught from the last conversation to probe any further. You sink yourself deeper into the seat, closing your eyes. His silence is enough to make you open a lid, meeting the eyes of the Unseelie who continues to stare. You shake your head, closing them once more.

“Taking a picture would be better than you just staring.”

“Is that a joke or can I really take a photo?”

This time both of your eyes open, moving to him. He hasn’t moved from his spot, the devilish grin still on his face as he laughs. “I was kidding.”

“How unfortunate.”

You hum in agreement, eyes closing again. Since Wooyoung is often lingering around your room and having time to yourself is only reserved for late nights, San hasn’t really come around anymore. Sometimes he’d show here and there, but only for a quick once over and disappearing back to wherever he spends his time. It’s why you’ve grown used to Wooyoung threatening to tear your door down if you don’t let him in. Sure, it’s a bit concerning and mildly threatening, but he hasn’t done anything nefarious. Flirting here and there, maybe a bit of annoying banter, but you enjoy it. He’s one of your only companions that you have, even if you were essentially forced to live with him.

Your mother wouldn’t let you out of her sight if she knew.

“Do you like me around, solaris?” he asks after a moment.

“No.”

“If that is truly what you think, you don’t have to say yes and allow me to enter your room if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Nope. You don’t want this conversation to happen now. Not when you’re still figuring this out, trying to decipher what your feelings are for him. “I’m… fine with you being around, Wooyoung. You’re fun to hang around with.”

“As friends?” He asks. You hear the creak of your bed and immediately open your eyes. He sits on the edge of it, eyes looking through the open porch door. He does not look at you and yet, you feel like his attention is focused on the beats of your heart, the sound of your breaths. “Do you consider me a friend?”

“I don’t know.”

And it is true. You’re not sure how to classify your relationship with him. You’re friends, maybe. But it would be a lie if you were just that. He’s open with his own feelings, how much he wants you to want him. You just… don’t understand how he could want you so badly when he has seven other mates to focus on. And from what you know, despite Hongjoong’s slip of information, you’re a human. There’s nothing truly special about you aside from your little blip a while ago.

“Are you afraid of me?”

This is one you can answer with ease. “Yes.”

He turns around to look at you. It’s hard to see his face, the sun shining on the back of his head draping his face in darkness. You can barely see through the rays yourself. You watch as he stands, a slight step towards you. You follow his movements, though making no move to back up or go forward.

“That’s good, to be afraid of me,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you are not as clueless as we’ve previously thought. Being on guard around us, holding your feelings close. It is good.”

“What are you getting at, Wooyoung?”

“What I’m getting at is that you fear us, I can see it. I see how you interact with everyone, with me. But we both know how you feel about me. Even if you cannot say it yourself.” he moves even closer to you. But instead of standing in front of you, he slowly goes down on his knees. “If I am so terrifying to you, will this change things? My submission to you?”

He reaches up, his hands slowly holding yours in his grip as he places them on either side of his cheek. His eyelashes flutter once they touch his skin, a slow, clear groan escaping his parted lips. “It could be so easy for us. You could be mine, and I yours,” he whines.

“You have mates, Wooyoung. There’s no need for me.”

“They do not mind my yearn for you, if that is what you are worried about. None of them do. We all love each other differently, in different ways. My care for you is nothing like my care for them, but it does not have to be. You are different.”

Oh no.

You hold his face in your hands, fingers shakily stroking the tan of his skin, brushing against the mole beneath his eyes. They remain focused on you, lips trembling beneath each caress. You can hear your heart in your ears, pumping violently against your ribcage. It is familiar. A feeling you haven’t felt in a while.

You might just be in love with him.

And it is terrifying.

The revelation is alarming, swelling. It frightens you each passing second. You love him dearly. How has he worked himself into your heart? Is this coercion? Maybe he’s manipulated you to the point of no return. It is reasonable to think so. Before you were terribly frightened of his presence around you, aware that at any moment they may decide to drag their lengthened nails into your chest, killing you. And yet here you sit, Wooyoung crouched beneath you, his nails leaving indents in your thighs from how desperate his hold is, his warm, aroused eyes flicking between yours. The gasps leave your lips as his hands travel closer and closer to you. Right now you are not as afraid of him, not completely.

How could you love someone so easily when you lost the man you thought you were going to marry not too long ago? It should have been harder to fall for his charms. It shouldn’t have happened so quickly at all; and yet here you are.

Your thumb presses lightly into his lips, the flick of his tongue eagerly dragging on the pad of it. Never in your life have you seen such desperation from a partner, such eagerness to have you. It is a wonder you’ve held yourself strong for such a long time when he is so willing under your touch. Is it sinister to want this to continue? Knowing who he is, who they are.

“You are pretty,” the words leave your mouth without much thought. His body shudders at your words, leaning forward, head pressing into your stomach. His hands leave your thigh, wrapping around the curve of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Am I?” His breaths hitch, yearning lining and enfolding itself around two simple words. You have yet to kiss him, to taste his mouth, and he is distressed for you. Touch on your skin, but it is not enough for him. His head tilts up, pupils covering his irises completely. “Am I pretty to you?”

He slowly rises, warm, trembling body moving closer and closer to you. His hands stay on your hips as he hovers over your body, chest rising and falling quickly. Your hands leave his face and cup his neck instead. You are not unaware of how his breath hitches as you hold him. He leans forward, lips lightly brushing against your chin.

“Am I?” There is a pause in his movements. His unwavering despair to have you is not unknown, but he pauses. As if waiting for your approval to move further. A bit humorous how now he is holding himself back when he is so close to having you. “I want you to say it to me, solaris. Tell me.”

“You’re pretty, Wooyoung.”

His lips waste little time in covering yours, tongue entering your mouth immediately. His lips tremble as he tastes you, hands moving to the back of the chair to hold himself steady. The freestanding furniture slides against the floor, hitting the wall behind it as he pushes himself closer and closer to you.

You are overcome with the feeling of not knowing him, of not knowing his touch, his desperate breaths mixing with yours, his teeth sinking into your lips, begging for reprieve. He almost swallows you whole with his eagerness, hands wrapping around your body, pulling you into him. His strength lifts you from the seat entirely, your legs wrapping around him as he presses you against the wall. He lets his lips leave yours, tongue tracing down the slide of your neck, moans loud. It is not surprising he is a vocal lover, and for a moment embarrassment settles within you at the thought of one of the others entering the home, hearing his voice echoing down the halls.

“I do not care,” he murmurs against your skin, “Let them listen to me worshiping you.”

You're unable to speak.

“Would it bother you? For them to hear me kiss you from your neck to your feet, everything in between? Is it so wrong for me to want my palms to burn beneath your touch?”

You laugh at the suggestion, “I am no God that you’d be burned by my touch.”

He smiles against your skin, “How is that possible if I pray to you each night? Do they not say to worship in the low light?” his lips press against the tips of your fingers, teeth dragging across the skin. “You should have heard my prayers, solaris. I am an extremely devoted servant to you.”

“Wooyoung,” Somewhere in between sacrilegious and obscene, his chest rises with laughter.

“For you alone I am weak, solaris. For you, I will crawl, I will beg,” his lips leave your fingers, “San is not the only Unseelie who is violently devoted to the brink of utter obsession, solaris. Can you not feel mine?” His tongue drags against the skin of your collarbone, your body trembling beneath the wet touch. His hands have never left your hips, nails digging into the skin. You are too involved to feel how they slightly puncture, his longing words distracting. “Can you feel how devout I am to you? How gloriously blessed I am to be touching your skin?”

His hands release you for the briefest of moments, wrapping around your torso as he moves away from the wall. The walls around you shift, your mind lost for a moment. You blink, only a moment to glance around and see that you're in fact, no longer in your room. That he pulled you through the thin threads of reality into his. Wooyoung is ever so impatient, letting your body fall against his bedsheets.

“I think I prayed enough,” he continues, staring down at you. “You might have finally heard me beg to see you like this. How lucky I am to be the one to see you like this,” he leans over, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “But I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay,” you say. The words come out with certainty you didn't know you possessed for him, breathless and accepting of anything he may suggest. His lips lift, but you see that it does not entirely reach his eyes. You lean up, and he sits back down on the floor. Looking up at you. Just as you're about to sit yourself next to him, his hand stops you, shaking his head.

“I need you to tell me what to do to you.”

“Tell you what to do?”

“I can't do it myself. I can't do anything to you myself.” The tone of his voice is strange now. It is as desperate as before, but there is something else between the words. You do not know him well enough to even guess what it may be, why he truly needs you to guide him. But his despair is apparent, the way his hands tremble as they begin to hold your thighs, tears coating the brim of his lids. It is merely a guess, but it feels like he can only move further with your exact words. Your precise permission.

It should not frighten you how much control, even if facetious, you have over him.

“Please solaris.”

“I have to?” You whisper, and he nods.

“It is as I have said. I follow your word.” His hold is lighter now as he waits. “I cannot indulge in your sweetness without permission.”

You grow weary as he continues his explanation.

“The corruption is not merely just a surface level. None of the Unseelie can, not without word from the other partner. Though we reign in chaos, we cannot do activities like this without explicit permission. I need you, I do. But I need you to need me too.” His touch is claw-like, fingertips tracing the marks upon your skin, lips tantalizing as they drag over your knee, breathes tickling the small hairs. “Do you need me?”

You have only been the sun to him. It is no wonder he is so vehement on you aching for him a tenth of how he craves you. You can see it in his eyes, the darkened gaze settling on you, the cage preventing him from moving further. The thought is comforting perhaps, though you'd never suggest that he'd do such a thing, but knowing that Unseelie are unable to force themselves upon someone. Nature is still balanced.

You are the sun to him, his solaris. What he is to you…

You have yet to figure out.

He nods at your question long forgotten, hands unmoving as you lean down. He holds his breath as you place your hand at the bottom of his chin, tilting his head up to entirely look at you. Submitting to you.

“I want you all over me, Wooyoung.”

His hands drag your legs forward, thighs spread apart. His body could crack a hole in the floor with how much he trembles in anticipation. His fingers change, nails lengthening. You watch in awe as they turn into claws, easily sliding through the material of your shorts, tossing it to the side.

“I've thought endlessly of how I would have you beneath me,” the words are barely let out as he pulls you closer to him, arousal dripping from his words. “Your lips desperately pleading for me, wanting me. How you would let me do anything to you.” His words are coated in lust, lips hovering over where you desire him most. “Can I taste you, y/n?”

“Please.”

His lips cover your clit, smacking together from the wetness that clings to them. Your fingers glide into his soft locks, tugging lightly as his tongue enters you. His moans into you are loud, the tug in your stomach tightening, worsening when you feel his fingers gripping your thighs, tongue finding your most sensitive point with ease.

You attempt to lift your head to see him, your gaze falling on his helmet of hair between your thighs, nestled. Soft whines spilled from your lips as you place your head back down on the sheets, the silk forcing your touch to only grip him. Your thighs tighten as you beg him for something you’re not sure of, his movements continuing until you tug a bit harder on his hair to pull him away. His shadow slides up your form, “I’m not just done with you, solaris.”

He lifts your head, pressing a light kiss just beneath your ear. “I haven’t had enough of you yet. You are godly, and yet I cannot help but sin,” his breath was hot as he exhales onto your skin, goosebumps left in his wake as he moves back to where he once was. His fingers tremble slightly against your skin, his hooded eyes resting on yours as he leaned back down, lips wrapped around your clit once more.

Wooyoung’s hand grips and tugs at your thigh. You blink once more, a field of clovers beneath the two of you. The evening sun is low in the sky, peeking through the trees, the sunlight leaving a streak across his cheeks, brown eyes lighter. He practically glows, eyes shining with need, tongue between his lips to softly flick over your bud. The pull in your cunt grows once more, stronger and stronger as his eyes flutter close. Leaves rustle, a warm breeze brushing against your skin.

“My solaris, how do I shine for you?” he whispers. The simple sentence along the return of his lips to your lower ones make your muscles grow tight, a soft moan vibrating up your throat once relief and warmth began rushing beneath your skin. Wooyoung holds you close as you tremble, lips still wrapped around you as you climax once more, unable to let your grip on his hair go, pressing him harshly into you.

His eyes are warm as they look up at you, your body covered with your shirt, chest rising and falling slowly. His lips are slow, peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh, “how are you? still with me?”

You swallow slowly, struggling to find yourself after what happened. A few seconds pass before you can speak, “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

He laughs, continuing the seemingly never-ending drag of his soft lips up her stomach, his fingers pushed under your shirt to glide it up. They’re soft, warm as your lift your hands away from his hair and up, allowing him to see all of you. The last person that’s seen you this vulnerable was Soobin, and before that… not many. His eyes are glazed over as he takes in your exposed chest, his index finger tickling your skin as he lightly moves around the flesh of your breast. “Just for me?” He leans forward, cheek pressed against the soft flesh, trembling. “You’re more than what I’ve ever imagined.”

“Wooyoung…” Your mouth is dry as you let his name leave your lips, the word coming out rougher than you intended it to. He groans, shaking his head slightly.

“I would never tire of hearing you say my name like that,” he murmurs. “It is a shame the others cannot hear since we are so far.”

You look around as he slips his fingers into one of your free hands. The field is small, likely near where Yeosang brings you every once in a while. The thought makes you wonder – he did say that no one knew of the place aside from Hongjoong and himself. How could Wooyoung know to bring you here?

“Your thoughts move elsewhere, are you alright?” His eyes are coated with concern, hand lifting to brush a thumb against your cheek. “We can stop if it’s too much for you.”

“No, no everything is fine.” It may be that Yeosang let this private place slip his tongue while speaking with him. And perhaps Wooyoung found it as beautiful as you did and decided to bring you here. You let those thoughts settle within you as he leans down, his lips pressing against your jaw. A hum vibrates against his lips, your moment of confusion slipping away once he lines himself up and pushes forward, just enough to have your eyes widening almost immediately. You expect the impact to at least ache, but it feels warm and soft and full.

“So warm, my solaris. Made just for me, yes?” His entrance is slow, his hand that cradles your face sliding to your shoulder. “I need to ask, solaris.”

He leans forward, lips pressing against your forehead as he pushes deeper. “We… I feed on life. On human life. And you are full of it, pretty. So so beautiful and holy and bright.”

His words make no sense, a question still not uttered. “What are you saying, Wooyoung?”

“Can I taste you?” His hands slide down to your waist as he finally fully enters. They glow a dark orange against your skin, his eyes on yours. “It would be just a small taste. It wouldn’t kill you. It will feel good, solaris. You will feel good.”

The question is still vague, but even with you clouded mind, you can pick through the mess of words. A low moan comes from you as he pulls out slightly, entering again. “You want to eat my soul?”

“A sliver, it will barely be missed.”

“…Okay.”

The fear disappears once his lips cover yours, tongue entering your mouth as his hips set a steady rhythm. “You’ll love it.” You begin to keen under him, feeling wave after wave of heat surrounding the two of you, the sound of birds above you chirping as he takes you. The ache entering through you from the pleasure his cock pressing in and out of you and the sensation of being beneath his torso. His fingers gripping your waist break skin, and then you see it. The orange light that you presumed was spilling through his fingers was not him, no. It is you, your aura surrounding the two of you. Wooyoung’s pace almost doubles at the sight, the smell woodsy and sweet. The mop of black hair seeps into a orange color as it swirls through the air, eyes matching. It is a sight to see between pleasure, you, yourself, seen in an unknown light. Just as he pulls away from your lips, your soul enters your skin again.

His brows furrow, but he does not comment on it, instead, lifting up onto his hands to find another angle, sighing in relief it once your knees were up at his sides, feet hooked around his waist. The question as to why he cannot feed on you lingers.

“Perhaps my sin is too much for a soul like yours,” he whispers, dropping his weight down onto his elbows, then further, arms wrapping around you. “I will enjoy you nonetheless.”

“What are you–”

His hips press harshly into yours just as you begin to speak, watching as your eyes roll back, lids fluttering. You’re not quick to notice a hot tear falling down your cheek, rolling down your temple, lost in the darkness as his cum seeping out of his tip slowly but surely began melting your senses into nothing. The sound of skin begins echoing in the air and trees, his knees sliding up to push his thighs against you, pressing him deeper. You slowly lose your sense of the world you, focused on his cock pressing into you, his arms around you as you writhe with each thrust.

“So pretty,” he murmurs. “You always shine brightly, solaris, and yet you shine even moreso. How am I to keep my hands off you now that I’ve finally had you?” The sound of his voice is lost in between the sounds of skin slapping, the way he rocked into her body.

“Then don’t,” you say.

His eyes widen briefly, the orange fading as they meet yours. You somehow find the strength to keep focused on him despite how intensely your climax is coming. It’s the first time you’re unable to read his expression, perhaps a tint of wonder if you could focus. After a few seconds your thighs tighten, gasps leaving your lips. “Wooyoung–”

“Just like that pretty, just for me.”

Your head falls back, straining to let out the moan that clawed its way up, vise forming around his cock until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hell,” he grits, hips stilling as he cums, stuttering with each succeeding one. Your breaths escape your lips, lids heavy as you feel his own lips press lightly against yours.

—

“It has been hours since they were together, and he has still not let her leave his room. Should she not eat?” Yunho murmurs. They can see how his annoyance has gathered around him, hand gripping the apple between his fingers tightly, brows furrowed enough to become one. He is right – neither you nor Wooyoung has left his room. Seonghwa and maybe San could break the barrier that he has placed around his resting place, but neither wants to. Only making Yunho grow more irritated.

“They were together, Yunho. Let them simmer in it before they're told the news,” San rubs his arm, presses a soft kiss against his temple. “It is soon to be ruined once they enter a shared space.”

“He’s not going to move on from this,” Hongjoong sighs, eyes closed as he tucks himself further into the couch cushions. “I’m not ready to hear him boasting everyday about something I don’t care about in the slightest. San you might have to whip up a spell to shut him up.”

“I doubt he’d say anything outlandish-”

“Good afternoon~” His warm voice echoes through the room as he enters, almost floating as he glides along the tiles to the fridge. He presses his lips against Yunho and San’s cheeks while he passes by, the ghost of his magic roaming over Hongjoong’s arm and squeezing it. “Lovely day.”

Hongjoong’s lip twitches, but he makes no move to respond to Wooyoung’s words, annoyance already riddling his features. Yunho glances at Wooyoung, watching as he sings a song, pulling ingredients from open drawers and cabinets. No one says a word in response aside from San, easily wrapping his arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his mate’s temple.

“We haven’t seen you in almost a day.”

“Busy. And solaris is hungry, and I assume the rest of you are,” he places his utensils on the counter. “Ready for some human food?”

All of their faces wrinkle in disgust at his words, a chuckle draping his lips as he rolls his eyes. “It wouldn't hurt you to feed on things other than humans.”

“It tastes of chalk and sadness,” Yunho mumbles, watching as he coats the pan with butter. “And smells rancid.”

“Whatever, you're missing out on the joys in life. Sweets aren't the only thing that tingles the taste buds.”

“You would know,” San is barely heard as he bites on the apple slice, but it is audible enough for their joint laughter. “I'm surprised you haven't spilled your secrets yet. Not often do you keep your escapades to yourself.”

“I’m not going to brag, I would never kiss and tell.”

Yunho’s eyes narrow. “You do, in fact, kiss and tell. That’s all you do actually, I’m surprised you were even able to let that lie slip.”

Wooyoung sticks out his tongue, tapping the pepper into the pan. “Well not now. Solaris is too special for me to discuss things like that around you all. A star that glows like her demands privacy.”

“Did she threaten you?” Hongjoong snickers, peeking out a lid when he doesn’t hear an immediate response. “Oh? She did?”

He frowns. “Not necessarily. I would just like to keep it quiet. It's not just between us eight now, she’s different. Humans are more private. I don't want her uncomfortable.”

“Honorable,” Yunho notes. “Perhaps you have grown.”

“There’s barely a hundred years between us,” Wooyoung deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not as young as you think I am.”

—

“They were together.”

“Correct.”

“And you have no qualms with that?”

“They are not young and we are not responsible for their actions, Seonghwa. I don’t care what they do in their free time. You’re just upset that she wasn’t with you first as all. She likely would have if it weren’t for that disgusted look you give her every time you’re in a room together.”

“She’s not a commodity to be passed around, Hongjoong. I don’t care if she is with me first or not at all. All that I’m saying is, it’s irresponsible to ignore it.”

If Hongjoong’s eyes could roll further back they would. He closes his notebook slowly, looking up at Seonghwa. “What do you suppose we do, then? Place a chastity belt on Wooyoung, perhaps cuff him to his bed so that he cannot move near her? Ship him off to Yeonjun himself to deal with?”

“That is not what I’m saying at all. You treat this like it’s a joke,” Seonghwa frowns.

“What you’re suggesting is a joke. I’m not stopping either of them from indulging in one another. I didn’t expect Wooyoung to win her over so soon, but it was inevitable. You hid your suspicions from them, but even with it, it would only make it more enticing for him. He does not back down from a challenge. Especially one he is so obsessed with.”

“You told me to keep it to myself,” Seonghwa rubs his temple, breathing deeply. “I was going to tell them-”

“You still could have. You still can. What I said was a suggestion, nothing more.”

There is no use in arguing with him, Seonghwa thinks. Hongjoong knows what his suggestions are - oftentimes there are threats hidden beneath them. And though he loves him more than life itself, he cannot stand how nonchalant Hongjoong can be. Even if the human, you, does not know your true nature yourself.

“Fine.”

Hongjoong smirks, “That was much easier to deal with.”

“I will tell them tonight. All of them.”

Hongjoong’s smirk twitches. Seonghwa is not looking at him directly, so he does not see the slight dip in his expression, “You will?”

“As you said, it was merely a suggestion. Perhaps their minds will change once they all know of her true nature. And we can finally kill her.”

“You want her dead?”

Never. The thought forms bile in his mouth. “I’d rather not touch her at all. But what other choice do we have? She will kill us all if we let her stay. It is the best decision right now.” He found you, he tracked you down. If he killed you in the beginning despite the resistance to their powers, perhaps it would have saved him from the guilt that begins to riddle his body. He should not care for a creature like you, knowing it is what you do. And still, with knowing, he cannot stop it from happening. Which is why he needs to tell the rest of them.

“They won’t let you kill her. Most have already succumbed to her charm.”

“... I will do what I must to keep us safe.”

Hongjoong shrugs, “Then so be it. You have no objection from me. I’ve grown wary of her being around anyway. Humans are too… irritating.”

“Not a human.”

“Right. I won’t let the others know of my opinion and side with the majority.”

“Sometimes, they would like to hear what their leader thinks, Hongjoong.”

He pauses for a moment. “It will influence their decisions too much for me to say what I want.”

“And you think your thoughts do not influence mine?” Seonghwa asks, genuinely curious. Hongjoong laughs at the question, shaking his head.

“Seonghwa, I've known you for hundreds of years. You’d rather throw yourself in front of a deadly attack than take my opinion over your own. It is settled.”

—

You sit near the back of the room, Wooyoung’s presence wrapped around the headrest of the chair you occupy. No one else has approached you, though you sensed the lingering eyes of Yunho to the side of you. He gave you a smile when you entered, the slight downturn of his lips as he met Wooyoung’s gaze obvious. It did make you nervous that it was somehow your fault he looked furious. But the expression was gone with a blink.

“Mingi won’t be joining us, but he already informed me of his opinion prior to our meeting,” Hongjoong says, sliding past the rest and sitting in the loveseat farthest away from the entrance. His eyes bore into yours, oddly twinkling. “It will be kept in mind as we’re voting.”

“And what is it that we’re voting on?” Yunho asks.

“It has taken me a while to consider what has been going on the past few months, and how it affects all of us, including y/n,” Seonghwa does not meet your eyes as he speaks, staring at an unoccupied couch. “Our voting today is to decide if she lives or dies.”

Silence falls over the room. Your own chest tightens, palms growing moist as the seconds tick by. Kill you? Has what you’ve done destroyed their relationship with other faeries to the point of no return? Seonghwa’s reluctance to even be near you was not only for disgust like you thought before, but something deeper. Hongjoong wasn’t lying when he told you that they believed you to be not human. But you’re not hiding anything yourself. Being anything but human just feels impossible.

“You’re joking?” Wooyoung stands up from where he is behind you, slightly stepping forward. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

“She killed Beomgyu, Wooyoung.”

“So? I kill faeries and humans all the time! Why should that matter?”

“You know why,” San speaks this time, shaking his head. “It has caused us many problems. But Seonghwa, killing her? What use is that to us?”

Seonghwa sighs. “She is not entirely human, that’s why.”

Their gazes all meet yours from across the room. Even Wooyoung, his valiant effort to coax them into saving your life, expression drops slightly, confusion coating his gaze. As if questioning the validity of everything you’ve told him. Somehow that look makes you feel utterly guilty, despite not believing in his claim.

“I am a human,” you retort. “That, whatever happened at that time, it wasn’t… it was me, but it was a fluke. An adrenaline rush.”

“How can we assume she’s not human just because she killed a Seelie?” Yeosang asks. His expression remains neutral, potion book placed face-down on the counter. “Strength like that is not uncommon in humans.”

“Correct, but we all know that a human cannot tear apart a Seelie, especially the way Beomgyu was. His body was unrecognizable, torn to shreds. Someone with her size and strength, even with a burst of adrenaline could not take a Seelie down like that. She would have to know weaknesses, have weaponry-”

“It is unlike you to say allegations without undeniable truth,” Jongho interrupts him. “So I believe what you’re saying, hyung. What is she, if not a human?”

It’s interesting how despite being in the same room with them, they all ignore your presence entirely, speaking amongst themselves. Likely because you can lie with ease and without restraint. They won’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth, anyway, except maybe Yunho or Wooyoung.

“Now this may bother you all. But there is no other explanation. She is a kumiho.”

“That’s impossible-”

“It isn’t,” Seonghwa interrupts Wooyoung before he begins, holding up a hand. “We are real, so it is not too far gone to believe in something that was once unreal to us. There are still beings out there that we do not know of. Her strength, the claw marks on the dead Seelie. She has not turned on the full moon and her blood does not contain any sort of wolf characteristics. Kumiho can blend amongst humans the easiest after they have lived over a thousand years. It is not unrealistic to assume that she has moved past that point and become a human woman.”

“She hasn’t even attempted to lure any of us.” Wooyoung narrows his eyes. “Nor has she eaten human flesh.”

“That we know of.”

You can only scoff, shaking your head. “This is unreal.”

“There is no other explanation. Your strength is formidable to our own. Likely, the feline creature hiding inside this human appearance in front of us has prevented itself from remembering what it was. For protection or otherwise - we have yet to find out.”

Wooyoung’s gaze wavers the longer he listens to Seonghwa’s explanation. In fact, it seems that each of them believes everything that comes from his mouth. But it is impossible. What would be the reason for hiding your true being from yourself?

“Now we vote, then,” Hongjoong starts. “Mingi has voted yes to kill her. Seonghwa?”

“It is what needs to be done, yes,” Seonghwa agrees.

“Yunho?” Hongjoong asks, turning to him.

His gaze is on the floor, thinking. After a few seconds passed, “No. I don’t think she’s a threat to us. We keep her alive.”

Hongjoong looks at Yeosang.

Yeosang ponders the thought as everyone discusses loudly amongst one another. His eyes meet yours across the room, just being Wooyoung as he seemingly protects you with his body. You look afraid. Your eyes move to each person as they speak, your nerves palpable enough to be tasted in the thickened air. If he himself agrees to your death, it is likely that San would agree. Neither of them truly differ in opinion on things like this. Jongho would soon follow out of mere respect. And you would be killed promptly. It is what he has wanted since you’ve arrived here, turning everything sideways. So why, as he looks at your pathetic cowering behind Wooyoung, why does he feel such pity for you?

He looks at Wooyoung again. Though his fascination with you is beyond his capability of understanding, he can see it. How his eyes look at his spark desperately, pleading with them to save you. How Yunho’s jaw clenches, quietly observing. He wanted you here, wanted you protected by them. Though you aren’t exactly the pitiful human he once thought you to be, he still cares for you, strangely.

“Well, what do you want to do?” San whispers into his neck. Useless, since they all can hear what he’s saying aside from you. “Kill her?”

His next words will change everything. Yeosang meets your eyes across the room. His own widen slightly at your expression, flicking down to read your lips. The words mouthed to him are enough for him to decide.

Please help me.

“There’s no reason to kill her if she does not hold any threats to us right now.”

Seonghwa whips his head to Yeosang. Anger expressed along the vein on his neck, the set of his brows. He will not say it outright, but Yeosang has just betrayed his trust. Perhaps Seonghwa thought he would allow the woman to be killed just because … well, because he wanted it. But he cannot now, not when things are turning out so interesting.

“You are sure of this?” Hongjoong asks. His eyes sparkle. “Truly?” Despite only being the fourth oldest, his words hold weight for the rest.

“I am,” Yeosang says simply. The tense gaze of your expression has not dropped. Probably because you don’t realize that San would follow his lead, then Jongho. Your hand wraps around Wooyoung’s arm that traps you behind him. “If need be in the future with reason, sure. But now, no.”

“This is a mistake-” Seonghwa begins, stopping once Hongjoong flicks his finger. His mouth is shut in an instant, the feeling of magic swirling through the air.

“Hasn’t he spoken enough tonight? There are three remaining votes. As always, I will side with the majority. San, you’re next.”

“No need to kill her,” San agrees. Hongjoong’s smile grows louder, eyes flicking to Wooyoung.

“Your answer is obvious, but please Wooyoung, give your vote.”

Wooyoung covers your body almost completely as he speaks. “Of course, I will not kill her.”

“What does our youngest think?”

“I enjoy her being around, I can’t imagine her not being here,” Jongho smiles at you from across the room. “She can stay.”

“Well, as with the majority, y/n’s life is spared. Apologies to Seonghwa and Mingi, but as you know, it has now been decided. Take all the time you need to process this.” He flicks his finger again toward Seonghwa. The room expects him to roar his complaints, but he only looks around, tiredness seemingly flowing off of him.

“I trust you all and always have. And I assumed that you trust my words as well. But as Hongjoong has said, majority rules. I hope that you all keep an eye on her, and make sure that with the slightest change in behavior, monitor it. It can come at any time since she cannot control it herself,” Seonghwa looks at you, eyes meeting. “And I hope, y/n, you listen to my words yourself. Leave if you feel the change happening.”

He leaves the room, Hongjoong disappearing from his spot, likely following Seonghwa close behind along with Yunho. Leaving the rest of you alone.

Wooyoung’s body seeps into your figure the way he embraces you so tightly, lips pressing against your temple lightly. “I’ll be back, pretty.” His touch disappears as well. Jongho glances at you sympathetically, eyes glazing over yours for a moment before he too, blinks away. The instantaneous disappearing bodies is not something you’d ever get used to.

It does not distract you enough from what Seonghwa said, though. You are not human, despite how you’ve lived, how much you have insisted. A kumiho? As he further explained it, it still made entirely no sense to you. You’ve lived your life plainly, rarely if ever dated once in a while. Soobin was your second official relationship, the first lasting no more than a couple of years. The way he looked with such disgust as he explained it, how your age superseded everyone’s in the room. How your true nature was hidden from even yourself - it is impossible to think of.

“It is interesting to look at you, knowing what you are,” San says, looking around Yeosang to peer at you. “Do you have the urge to bite me?”

“I don’t feel anything, San,” exasperation coats your words. “I don��t even believe it myself.”

“Seonghwa is rarely wrong,” Yeosang murmurs. “That is why we take his word as the truth. Since you are kumiho, your training with Mingi will be much different now. Likely more intense.”

Your arms ache at the thought. You have yet to see Mingi yourself, but the training from before was strenuous. You look at Yeosang, remembering he expression on his face as he peered over at you, the tired eyes filled with curiosity as he voted to keep you alive. You are grateful, nonetheless. But the question lingers the longer you look at him.

“Do you want me dead?”

Yeosang pauses at the inquiry, straw resting between his lips. Eyes flicking to yours. There is little to decipher when it comes to him since he rarely tells what he may be thinking, and you're not with him often. But something in the way he looks at you. He does not respond right away – an indication that he may twist his words to satisfy your question.

“In the beginning I thought it'd be best to get rid of you before it escalated. Even more recently, I thought the same. But now I am not so sure,” he places his drink on the counter. “Most of us do enjoy having you around, human or not. Though I am not as enthused as Yunho or Wooyoung with your presence, I no longer hate it. So I have grown to tolerate it. Until I cannot.”

“You will kill me?”

His smile is strange, hollow. “If I must. Your life isn't that important. Or I'll wait until it has run out itself. You may only have a few more decades left, anyway. They will get over it – their fixation will move to something more interesting eventually.”

How casually he talks about your life. Like it is nothing. He does consider it as nothing, as he has said. None of the Unseelie is this house told you do directly as he has done. You should feel a bit wary around him now, knowing he could change his mind in seconds and kill you. Even now, as he reads the spellbook resting on his thighs, he could kill you. And San, sitting nearby, would only help.

So feeling comforted at the thought is unusual.

“Thank you for being honest,” you say, and he snickers. “Not much of that going around here.”

“Sure.”

San leaves a bit after that. The silence echoes around the small room, eyes moving to the doorway at the sound of the door clicking open. The sight nearly startles you, seeing him for the first time in months. Mingi is followed closely by Yunho, bodies brushing against one another as they enter. Yeosang takes that as a sign to leave you, closing his spellbook and gracefully hopping off the chair. His fingers drag across Mingi's arm as he leaves.

“Oddly quiet around here,” he notes, opening the fridge. Yunho sits where Yeosang just was, smiling at you. “Have you been getting along well despite today?” He asks, thanking Mingi as he passes him an apple. “Wooyoung said you've been making progress adjusting, but I rarely take his word for it.”

“It's been better now,” you say. “It's not one hundred percent yet, but I am getting used to being around here. I hope it just ends soon.”

“I heard your life was spared. It should make you happy. Ah,” he snaps his fingers. “They haven't told you yet,” Mingi sits on the opposite side of you. “We will have to leave soon.”

“We?”

“Half of us. Yunho, Wooyoung, Hongjoong, and myself. Seelie requested our presence. We would have all went, but with these circumstances, it may be best to leave half of us here.”

Circumstances meaning you. Mingi does not further explain and you do not insist on him doing so, instead sinking further into the chair you rest on. “So I am left with the rest of you.”

“Left is a strong word,” Yunho mumbles into his cup. “More like babysat.”

Your frown deepens, and he laughs. “It is but a joke. You can take care of yourself. They won’t do anything to you while we’re gone. Yeosang and San will likely stay to themselves now that Seonghwa has relieved him of his duty to watch you. Jongho will be entertaining enough, no?”

“She is older than us all, no need to treat her as a faerling,” Mingi murmurs.

“She thinks she’s almost three decades old, Mingi.”

“Time to see reality.”

They banter back and forth about you, clueless as to how you’ve already left, steps quiet as you make it to your own bedroom. Seonghwa’s words, no matter how convincing, is not something you believe to be true. He says you conjured up this false reality of your life to blend into the human world, but it makes no sense to you. Nothing, none of it does. You remember your parents, you remember your family life. How you so easily deluded yourself into thinking that it was real when it’s not is beyond your comprehension. Likely because you don’t believe it at all. Why would you hide it from yourself? There is no reason to block your own mind from it - even if you are as he says you are. Jumping to such a conclusion is ridiculous.

No. You’re not a kumiho.

You enter your room, shutting the door behind and locking it. Surely Seonghwa can easily create a spell to allow the others into your room, but he won’t. Not if he so vehemently believes that you’re a creature that he didn’t even think was real. You settle yourself into your sheets, ignoring the lingering feeling in your mind that he might be right.

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