THE ANSWER: XIV

THE ANSWER: XIV

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

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What the hell are you supposed to do now? Just how long are you going to have to wait in this damn closet? You sigh, reaching out to try the handle just in case. Maybe you hadn’t heard the lock like you thought you had. You grasp it in your hand, attempting to twist it. 

As you thought, nothing happens. Seonghwa isn’t dumb. He wouldn’t just leave you here, alone, with the door unlocked.

Come to think about it, are you alone in the chapel right now? Or is he outside, guarding the door? You hadn’t heard him leave, but that doesn’t mean that he hadn’t. You press your ear to the door, trying to hear anything outside of it. 

You actually do hear some scuttling. Maybe even a couple muffled voices. Are they going to be eating in the chapel? That seems like the most likely scenario, considering the giant dining table and all. Had they already eaten? And they just have to set up for you? It is a possibility, but wouldn’t you have at least seen another person on your way here if that was the case? Also, wouldn’t there be some lingering smell if they had had a full on feast in here?

Yeah, alright. You decide that they haven’t eaten yet, and that the people you’re hearing must be there to set up. Which means you have some time.

Sighing, you look around your closet again, paying attention for more details. The closet is maybe three by two feet. The three walls lacking the door are lined with shelves, each containing different things. The shelves aren’t too overpopulated. Rather, they sparsely have items resting on them, covered in dust.

That must’ve been the dusty smell. All of the old things in here, collecting dust for who knows how long. You reach a finger out to run a line on the shelf to your right, and nearly gag when you pull it back and see the accumulation on your finger. You quickly wipe it on your pants, hoping it doesn’t leave a super obvious streak on your thigh. 

Seriously, have these people never heard of dusting? Just because you don’t use a room very often doesn’t mean you shouldn’t clean it. Someone must be slacking on their cleaning duties. 

You turn your attention to the things actually sitting on the shelves. The back wall is full of books, and you don’t have to read the spine to guess what they are. They all are standing up straight, and they look to be the cleanest thing in the room. Seriously? Does someone come in here to only clean those stupid books? The books fill up all of the back shelves, from top to bottom, their embossed spines glinting at you. 

Before Seonghwa so rudely slammed opened your door, you had nearly picked up the one on your desk. You shudder now to think that you had been so close. What had you been thinking? That would have been a terrible idea. You know yourself, you wouldn’t have been able to stop reading once you started. Even if you got to know some of the ceremony, you would learn a whole host of other things that had no business making residence in your mind.

You turn away from the books to check out the other walls. On one of the shelves, there’s multiple hour glasses. Real, physical hour glasses. You reach out and flip one upside down, starting the countdown. Might as well keep some track of time. You watch the sand pour through to the bottom for a moment before turning your attention to another shelf. On the very top shelf of one of the walls, there are hats. Fedoras, like the one that Seonghwa had been wearing.

Speaking of hats, why didn’t you get one? You stand on your tiptoes to try and reach the shelf, to no avail. They’re too far out of reach. You glance around the floor for a step stool, but, again, to no avail. You wonder for a second how Hongjoong would be able to reach the hats before deciding that he probably doesn’t ever come in this closet. He most likely has someone else do it. Seonghwa would be tall enough. Anyhow, you’re not too upset about it. The hats are covered in dust like everything else, and you wouldn’t want to put one on your head anyways.

You cross your arms over your chest, turning to face the door again. Right when you’re about to give up on learning anything else, you hear the sound of footsteps and voices flooding the chapel. Seems like people are arriving for their feast. You press your ear to the door again, trying to work out any individual voices. 

Of course, it’s impossible. There are far too many people talking at once for you to discern anyone. You wonder for a second if Mingi is out there. Though you had seen him just yesterday morning, it seems like ages ago. Everything that has happened since then has extended time infinitely. Though you had gone months without seeing or talking to Mingi, these 36 hours without him have been far more difficult, for more reasons than one. You have so many things that you need to ask him. There’s so much that you need to talk about, it threatens to overwhelm you again.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts of Mingi. Whatever the case, you’ll see him soon. He has to be out there, sitting at the table. This doesn’t seem like a voluntary participation event. Hopefully you’ll be able to talk to him. If not tonight, soon.

If you’re going to be a part of this cult, they can’t keep you locked in a room forever. You assume that you’ll probably be assigned a job, like everyone else. Or will they wait until Hongjoong is sure of your loyalty? Either way, they have to eventually give you some sort of freedom. You will speak to Mingi, privately, soon, as soon as possible.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the outside door slam open and the room go quiet. It doesn’t take you long to guess who just entered the room. His aura precedes him. You can hear Hongjoong’s muffled voice through the door, getting slightly louder as the seconds tick by. He must be approaching the back of the chapel. You hold your breath, waiting to hear him outside the door, but he doesn’t come.

He must’ve stopped at the head of the table. That seems to be where his voice is coming from, anyways. Your spatial awareness probably isn’t the best it could be, considering you’re locked in a closet. 

Hongjoong continues to speak and you try to press yourself harder against the door, desperate to make out anything that he’s saying. It’s definitely got something to do with you, and you don’t particularly enjoy not knowing what’s going on. 

Hongjoong stops his monologue, and you wait for him to start again. But he doesn’t. Instead, you’re suddenly struck by the smell of food wafting through the chapel. You salivate, placing a hand on your stomach. Jeez, you really should’ve eaten that bag of chips earlier. Your stomach almost aches with hunger, and it rolls over in response to the new smells. You can’t quite put a finger on what the food is, but it definitely is some sort of meat. It must be because of how hungry you are, but, damn, it smells absolutely amazing. You sure hope that Wooyoung made enough for everyone, including yourself. 

Your hunger makes you almost more anxious. The sensation of your stomach grumbling doesn’t mix well with the anxiety coursing through your body. Fuck, can’t they just get this over with already? You just want this night to be over, but it seems like it’s going to continue dragging on; just as your day had. 

Stepping away from the door, you begin waiting again. You casually glance over to the hourglass that you had tipped, and notice that it’s nearly half-way through. It’s already been thirty minutes, how much longer is this going to take? Yeah, you definitely should’ve eaten those chips earlier. 

It’s not long before you can hear Hongjoong’s muffled voice again. That man must love the sound of his own voice a little too much. Seriously, you don’t think he would ever stop talking if he didn’t have to. You still can’t quite make out what he’s saying, and it’s starting to get frustrating. Why the hell are you locked in this closet? Aren’t you the guest of honor right now? Shouldn’t you have been the first one seated, the first one to be served? Why hasn’t anyone given you a straight answer about anything? When the hell is someone going to open this door?

You roll your eyes to yourself as you ask yourself the last question. Obviously, they’re keeping you in here so that you can’t make some giant scene. They can’t let you ruin their cute little party, can they? Best to keep you locked up where you can’t cause trouble. 

...But wait. That doesn’t mean that you can’t cause trouble in the closet. What’s stopping you from pounding on the door and screaming? That ought to get their attention. You smirk to yourself as you extend your fists to start knocking. 

Your plan is quickly foiled, however, by the sound of footsteps. Footsteps that are approaching the door. The courage that you had momentarily found leaves you as quickly as it had come, and you step backwards, pressing yourself to the back shelves. You’re overcome with the urge to crouch and hide like a child, but you resist it for now. Clenching your fists, you’re determined to not look as scared shitless as you are. 

You hear the lock click in the door and realize that the room outside has fallen completely silent. It seems like an eternity before the door swings open. There’s two people waiting for you on the other side, but you can’t quite take them in before they shove their way into the closet, each grabbing one of your arms and pulling you out.

The suddenness of their movements makes you stumble over your feet. Your shoes scrape along the floor, sounding entirely too loud. You would’ve fallen flat on your face if it hadn’t been for their steel grips on your arms. Fuck, your arms have been abused these past two days. You swing your head to your left to try and figure out who is holding onto you. The grip is suspiciously Seonghwa-like, and you want to confirm your guess.

However, it’s a bit difficult. Not only is your captor wearing a hat, but also a mask. You look to the one on your right to find the same. While you’d love to think that you can recognize most people just based on their bodies and eyes, you can’t when you’ve only met them once and everyone that it could be is wearing the same exact thing. 

They don’t stop pulling you further into the chapel while you try to take them in. Once you’ve realized that it’ll be too difficult, you turn your attention to the table in the center of the room.

Huh, isn’t that interesting. Every damn person in the room is wearing the same outfit. Granted, there are little variations in each, from the style of top to the accessories, but everyone is wearing that same hat and that same mask. You can’t see anything below the table line, but you’d venture to guess that they’re wearing the same pants and boots that you are. Their eyes follow you intently as you are pulled to the head of the table, the one closest to the chapel door.

The one on your right lets go of your arm to pull the chair out for you. Under normal circumstances, you probably would thank anyone that extended that kindness to you. Instead, you glare at him as your other guide steps around to the left side of the chair and pulls back on your arm, making you sit. Your ass hits the chair hard, nearly making you bounce. Your back hits it equally as hard, and it takes you a moment to regain any sense of awareness. 

He lets go of your arm once you’re situated, and the guy that had pulled your chair out pushes you in. They each take the seats closest to you on the sides of the table, facing towards each other in silence. As has become almost customary for you, you rub your upper arms, trying to soothe the throbbing pain in them.

You flick your gaze up from your arms to the opposite end of the table. 

Of course, Hongjoong has already been watching you. He’s dressed the same as everyone else, though he’s missing the mask and the hat. You can see his smile, as cocky as ever, well and clear. He looks more entertained than you’ve ever seen him. Even after threatening your life, he hadn’t looked so excited. Now, you can practically see him vibrating from the other end of the table. 

Hongjoong clears his throat once he catches your eyes, smiling even wider before speaking. “Welcome, (Y/n).”

You simply stare back at him in response. Whatever the hell your lines are supposed to be tonight, you will not be following them. 

Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind. “As you all know,” he glances at the nearly identical faces around the table, “we are here for a very special reason. (Y/n) will either be Chosen tonight, and will stay with us until salvation, or she will be leaving us tonight. I must confess, I would be quite upset if she were not Chosen by the Lord,” he shrugs, “but it’s not my decision. It is her soul’s alone.”

Everyone around the table remains silent and unresponsive. That seems to be what their role is tonight, simple observation. From the uniforms, you guess that the idea here must be conformity. Numbers rather than individuality. Right now, they’re just objects, here to be props for Hongjoong’s performance.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong calls over his shoulder. You hadn’t noticed, but, sure enough, there’s someone standing against the back wall of the chapel. Must be Wooyoung. “Serve (Y/n), please.”

Wooyoung gives Hongjoong a silent, curt nod before heading towards the front door. As hungry as you are, the idea of eating a meal with all of these people watching you is not a very welcome one. The room sits in silence as you wait for Wooyoung. He’s back within a couple minutes, carrying a plate and a wine glass. 

He sets the plate in front of you first, followed by the glass. You were right about smelling meat. You can’t identify it off of sight alone, but it’s clearly a steak of some kind. There’s a smattering of dark sauce over the top, and, if you didn’t know better, you might think it’s just regular barbeque sauce. But who would ruin a perfectly good steak with barbeque sauce? A fork and steak knife are balanced on either side of the plate, inviting you in.

Now your hunger is really getting to you. Your stomach growls, echoing through the silence of the room. Wooyoung leaves your side and returns to the back wall, awaiting any further instructions. None come, however.

Hongjoong chuckles from the head of the table at your stomach’s outcry. “Go ahead, eat.” He sounds kind enough, but it’s not a request. It’s a command.

You hesitate to pick up your silverware, however. A moment of clarity rushes over you, feeling like cold water running down your back. What the fuck is going on, again? You search the blank eyes around the table, looking for one pair in particular. It’s not hard to recognize them.

Mingi is already staring at you. You two make eye contact, neither able to glance away. After being someone’s friend for a long enough amount of time, you can learn to read their microexpressions. Mingi is no exception to this rule. His eyes are about as empty as anyone else's, but there’s a subtlety about them. A particular urgency. An urgency for what? Does he want you to eat the steak? Or does he want nothing more than to stop you? Are his fists clenched, shaking under the table? Is he biting his lip under his mask? What does he want?

Too early, Mingi turns away. His eyes disconnect from yours, and that terrible guilt crushes into your stomach again. Fuck, you cannot be doing this right now.

You bring your attention back to Hongjoong. He’s not smiling anymore; rather, his eyebrows are raised and his eyes sparkle with warning. He nods his head when he sees that he has your attention once more, gesturing between the plate and you with an outstretched hand. 

Your stomach groans again as you bring your hands up to take your silverware. They shake slightly as your anxiety manifests itself. What you wouldn’t do for a Xanax right now.

The corner of your mouth twitches and you almost smile. Now is not the time for a college flashback, but your mind becomes occupied with the memory anyways. 

You had always had quite bad exam anxiety. It was a vicious cycle, you would be anxious about doing bad on an exam, which would make you perform worse during the exam, which would make you more anxious, which would make you do even worse. During a particularly stressful midterm season, the cycle had gotten to you, and it had gotten to you bad. You could hardly sleep, let alone study and retain information. This, of course, made your anxiety even worse. 

Your ever dutiful study partner, Mingi, could hardly study himself because of you. Rather than studying, he spent most of his time trying to (a) help you overcome your anxiety and (b) distract you from said anxiety. In a last-ditch attempt to help you, he paid some engineering major $55 for four little orange Xanax pills. 

You were completely against the idea at first. Xanax is a controlled substance for a reason. Mingi managed to convince you pretty easily, though, once he said that he would take one with you. How could you pass up the idea of seeing a drugged up Mingi? You both took one, sitting across from each other on your dorm bed. Immediately, Mingi had said that he didn’t feel anything. You had laughed and hit his shoulder, and he joined you. 

You two had stayed up for maybe another hour or so, waiting for the Xanax to kick in. It started to hit around the 45 minute mark, and it was well worth taking to see Mingi. Neither of you could hardly get a sentence out, your train of thought totally leaving you in the middle of each. You both ended up spending that last 15 minutes awake laughing with each other. Just quiet giggles that would fade away until more arose. 

The Xanax definitely worked, though. Mingi let you know the next morning that he had fought his own sleepiness until he saw you were sleeping. You got probably the best night of sleep of your entire college career that night. Mingi had slept on your floor, but even he shared the same sentiment. After that night of sleep, you both were able to get quite a lot of studying done, and midterms hadn’t ended so bad.

The memory crosses your mind for only a second, but it feels like you’re transported back to that time. Everything was so much simpler, so much easier and brighter. How did you get here? A dark, musty chapel, filled with strangers and one person that feels too much like a stranger.

Well, c’est la vie, or whatever. You bring your silverware to the steak, cutting it easily with the sharp knife. The room remains silent, and the only sounds are your silverware hitting the ceramic plate. You bring the first bite to your mouth, and you’re mildly surprised with the flavor as you chew.

It’s not a steak. Or, at least, not a type of steak that you’ve ever had. It tastes more like turkey, but that doesn’t really make sense. You don’t serve turkey in steak form. Whatever it is, it tastes absolutely divine on your empty stomach. You set the knife down to grab your glass, taking a sip of the liquid inside.

As expected, it’s wine. Some nasty, bitter red wine. What is with religion and wine? Why can’t cerimonial liquor be something actually pleasant? Is that the point, that you’re not supposed to enjoy it? 

“Good,” Hongjoong breaks through your thoughts, “now I will begin. As all of you know, it’s tradition that I tell our story to the Prospective Chosen.” 

You stop eating. A story? He’s seriously going to tell you a story? You really don’t want to hear ‘their story.’ You squint at your food, trying to think of a way to block out the noise. 

Unfortunately, Hongjoong notices that you’ve stopped. “By all means, keep eating, (Y/n).” He smiles kindly, nodding gently. 

This is really happening. Honestly, you slightly fear what will happen if you refuse. Plus, you’re still quite hungry. So you listen to Hongjoong, starting to eat as he starts to tell his story.

“Now, (Y/n), I know this might all sound a little strange to you, but keep an open mind. You can only be Chosen if your soul believes.” He nods solemnly. “Let’s get right to it. As you may know, there are multiple universes. Alternate universes, if you will. This is a sound scientific theory, one that envelops all of us throughout our entire lives.

“Think of it this way- every decision you make alters the course of your life. You chose to come here. When you made that decision, your consciousness remained in the universe where you made that choice. Had you chosen otherwise, it would have continued to another universe where you hadn’t come. It’s very simple, really.

“While there are universes that only differ by one single decision, there are others that differ immensely. There are universes where you are an entirely different person, living an entirely different life. These versions of us, they’re called clones. They look like us, they act like us, but they are, fundamentally, not us. They lack the consciousness that we have. Hence, they are our clones. Do you understand?”

You nod as you continue to eat. 

“Good. This is where things get relevant to us. About three or four years ago, I was contacted by my clone. My clone from Universe One, as we call it now. He came to me in a dream, looking exactly as I do now. He told me the story of his universe, and asked for my help. At first, I thought it was all simply my mind playing tricks on me. Seriously, me, from another universe, asking for my help?

“But then God Himself came to me. He made Himself known to me. He told me that this was His design, and that it was my responsibility to help Hongjoong. This made it apparent to me that he was real. So I tried to help him, but, with only myself, here in our universe, there wasn’t much that I could do. He needed help in his universe. Fortunately, though our lives are so different, there are intrinsic facts of the multiverse. If your life is connected to another’s in one universe, they will be connected to you in most others as well. 

“That is our purpose as a group. We gather in this universe to gather in Universe One, and help my clone. It’s simple, really. We have the easy life, between the two universes. In Universe One, there is constant unrest. No one is happy, no one is free. However, they have each other there, and they are working to make change. A positive change. This is why your soul must first be tried in this universe. If you are not pure at soul, you could corrupt their group. Overall, God makes the decision.

“But not everything is perfect here. God is an omnidimensional being. And there are others as well. Devils. They have attempted to corrupt me in the past, turn me against myself. For a period, I was sure that my clone was my enemy. The Devils can and will turn you against what is good and right in any dimension. But I can protect you from them, here.”

He pauses in his speech, looking intently at you. You try to hold his gaze back, but he’s… spinning. He’s blurry. You can’t focus on his face, no matter how hard you try. 

“It’s alright if you don’t understand all of that, (Y/n). If your soul is pure, you’ll be welcomed with open arms here and in Universe One. God will protect you, as I will protect you. Things will become clearer as time goes on and you learn more details of our story. This was truly just an introduction.” He nods.

Or, at least, you think he does. There’s three of him, sitting at the table across from you now. When did they get there? You try to look at the others around the table, and there’s way too many of them as well. Your head suddenly feels much too heavy on your shoulders. Sleep sounds great right now.

What’s stopping you from just laying your head down for a second? No one would mind, right? They would understand. You finally drop your silverware, and their clatter on the plate wakes you up slightly. Wait, what’s happening?

You try to remember why you’re here, but you’ve completely forgotten. You’ve also completely forgotten who all these people are. Are you supposed to know them? The one on the end of the table is familiar. He’s smiling, but he’s also spinning a little bit. He seems… welcoming. 

“Stand up.” He tells you, but he sounds far away. Too far away for where he looks like he is. You listen anyways.

As you stand, you stumble a bit. Your legs are shaking under you, and the room is moving back and forth, up and down. You catch yourself on the edge of the table as two people on either side of you rise to help you.

They each grab an arm, your arms responding with a dull ache. The pain is familiar, but you can’t quite put a finger on why. Once you’re steady on your feet, the man at the end of the table beckons for you to come to him. He uses his index and middle fingers, calling you to him. 

You readily begin your walk to him. At that moment in time, he is everything. He is all. You want to please him, you’ll do anything he asks. He feels important to you, even if you can’t remember who he is or what his name is. All that matters right now is listening to him.

The two men on your sides give you a lot of help reaching the end of the table. Without them, your journey probably would have ended very quickly. Your feet and legs are not listening to what you want so desperately. To reach him. You would scold them if it were possible to scold body parts. 

After a few moments of clumsiness (how embarrassing, to be clumsy in front of this man), you make it to him. He’s turned his chair outward from the table. He now sits facing the eastern wall of the chapel, waiting for you to join him. The two men let go of you, and your legs immediately give out. 

You’re on your knees in front of him now. Your vision isn’t spinning nearly as much anymore, and you can easily hold eye contact with him. “How are you feeling, (Y/n)?” He asks, and his voice is beautiful. More beautiful than you ever would have guessed. He is beautiful. 

You can’t even get a word out to tell him that you’re better than you ever have been. There’s a giddiness in your stomach that can’t be described, an excitement that you’ve never felt before. Though you can’t speak, he seems to understand. He’s smiling so kindly, so warmly.

He reaches a hand out to you, cupping your right cheek in his hand. He caresses your face, gazing over every inch of you. You couldn’t describe the feeling if you had all the time in the world to learn new vocabulary and study writing. He touches you and you feel alive. His hand is hot, very hot. He sends shockwaves through your body, and they collect in a ball in your chest. His warmth seems to spread from his hand through your face, all the way through your body. 

You feel like you’re receiving a blessing, getting to be touched by this man. He has a healing touch. It’s as if everything negative you’ve ever felt is long gone, and will never be back. You’re the happiest that you’ve ever been. How could you not be?

He bends at his waist in his chair, bringing his face down and closer to yours. He’s still inches away. Suddenly all you want is him, everything is him. He’s too far away. You couldn’t get close enough to him if you tried. Even if he held you in his arms, as tight as he could, it wouldn’t be enough for you. His one hand on your face is nowhere near satisfactory. You need him to touch you. You need him closer. 

You clumsily raise your hands to rest on his knees. You were aiming for his shoulders, but that quickly became too much exertion. You’re pretty tired. Anyhow, your hands rest on top of his knees, fingers resting along his lower thighs. You try to squeeze, wanting to feel him in your hands, but, again, it takes too much exertion to squeeze for long.

His smile is smaller now, but still as kind as ever. He doesn’t respond to your touch. He continues analyzing you, taking in every detail he can find. You gaze back at him, drinking in his presence. He truly is beautiful. Have you ever seen such a pretty person? You won’t bother trying to think about it. You haven’t. 

His eyes sparkle with something you can’t quite put a finger on. Excitement? But that doesn’t make sense, why would such a perfect person be excited by you? It has to be something else. He glances to your lips for a moment that seems to stretch on forever.

You pout on instinct. Someone’s looking at your lips, what are you supposed to do, not make them look better? His eyes drag back up to meet yours, and now they look different. Something is very different. You don’t want to look at his eyes anymore, so you look to his lips. They’re just as perfect as the rest of him, pink, soft, and pillowy. 

He grips your face tighter in his hand, and your eyes snap back to his. Except he’s closer now, and his eyes are closed. Oh, and he’s kissing you. Gently. Very gently. His lips are hardly grazing yours, as if he’s inviting you to engage further. 

You do, of course. This man could be a Greek fucking God, of course you’re going to kiss him. You close your eyes and tilt your face further upwards, connecting your lips completely. You have a vague memory of there being other people in the room, but you couldn’t care less. His hand on your face falls to your neck, wrapping around to cradle your nape. His thumb rests on your jaw, holding your head upward as he pulls you closer. 

You eagerly respond to his touch, and your teeth clatter together behind your lips, but neither of you seem to mind. You desperately want to move your hands from his knees, to feel his shoulders or his hair or his face, but your arms feel like they’re full of lead. The two of you move together, and you hardly hear the throat clear off to your side.

Seonghwa. Whose Seonghwa? Hmmm… You don’t know, but you know that it was him that just cleared his throat. Is that something that Seonghwa would do? Interrupt your fun? Probably. You keep your eyes shut and your lips on… whoever this is, anyhow.

You don’t let the sound of silverware on a plate distract you either. This is a once in a lifetime event, you will not be distracted by anyth-

Whomp.

Hongjoong hits you on the chest. That’s his name, you remember now, he hit you with a closed fist. And soon after he breaks your kiss. You open your eyes to him sitting back up in his chair once again. He’s smiling again, too. 

Fuck, your chest kind of hurts where he hit you. What a weird fucking thing to do, hit you in the middle of a kiss. It was more of a punch than a hit, too. God, what the fuck was that? You peel your eyes away from him to look where he hit you, on the left side of your chest.

It occurs to you for the first time that you may be dreaming. How else could such a perfect man exist? Why else would he kiss you? And how else would you not have felt the steak knife, now protruding from your chest, stab into you?

Its silver handle twinkles in the light. Is it really there? You can’t feel it. You would reach for it, but you still can’t move your hands. This has to be a dream. 

But there’s a lingering feeling that this isn’t a dream. That it’s sickeningly real. You suddenly get the feeling that stabbing you is exactly something that Hongjoong would do. That he’s sick. That you hate him. Why can’t you remember?

Your chest starts to feel hot where the knife is. Your rational mind knows that you must be bleeding, but you become preoccupied with the idea that it’s Hongjoong. The knife is Hongjoong, somehow, it’s him. Hongjoong is always hot. Too hot. Burning hot. The knife is the same way. He’s put a piece of himself into you. 

The room loses its silence. As in, everyone that you now remember is around the table bursts into applause. You look back to Hongjoong, and even he is clapping, with that sick smile on his face that you now remember him having.

People are cheering and clapping, and you suddenly wonder if you’re dying. Your head hurts.

And then you pass out.

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THE ANSWER: XII

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: 5,089

Seonghwa’s explanation does nothing to help the anxiety now growing within you. You continue staring at his side profile as he makes his way toward the stairs at the end of the hall. 

The first time you had seen Seonghwa, he had honestly been too imposing and intimidating for you to really take in his features. From your angle in his arms, however, there’s not much else to take in. As much as you don’t want to admit it, he’s quite handsome. His side profile is strong in the way he holds his face, but soft in its features. You can almost imagine how beautiful he must look laughing, but your mind stops you. This man wants you dead. Why are you fantasizing about his smile?

You’re happy he doesn’t take his eyes off of his path, because you just know he would make some snide comment if he caught you staring. After your realization, you try and focus your eyes anywhere other than his face. Unfortunately, there isn’t that much to take in.

You are thankful to be out of that stifling room after probably over 12 hours, but, truly, these hallways could do with some decoration. If your boss was here… 

The walk through the halls continues in silence. For a moment, you debate trying to get Seonghwa to drop you. You probably could do it, but where would you go after? You couldn’t exactly escape him. He’d simply be able to snatch you again, and probably wouldn’t be as gentle with his grasp.

Plus, do you really want to put this off? You hadn’t really thought about it, but it makes sense that Hongjoong would want to talk to you. Away from everyone, after you’ve caught the drift. That’s not to say that you’re not nervous, because you are. With every step that Seonghwa takes closer to Hongjoong, the anxiety builds in your stomach.

What’s going to happen? Will he only speak to you? Threaten you again? Punish you for trying to run? While he’s not the most physically intimidating man you’ve ever met, you don’t doubt he could do some serious damage with a weapon. You remember the look in his eyes this morning in the chapel and it nearly makes you shudder. Hongjoong could definitely be creepy, and you wouldn’t put physical violence past him. 

“Seonghwa,” you start, your voice coming out quieter than you had wanted. “Can I use the bathroom first?”

It was the first thing that came to mind. You might not be able to escape, but at least you’d be able to stall a little bit. Despite just thinking to yourself that it would probably be better to not put it off, the anxiety building in your stomach is starting to tell you otherwise.

Seonghwa stops walking, turning his head to face you in his arms. Oh God, he looks mad. “Are you fucking serious?” His voice is much louder than yours, bouncing off the walls of the silent hallway. He’s staring at you with so much anger you could think you had just personally insulted his mother.

You quickly nod your head, just wanting him to stop looking at you. He rolls his eyes, letting out a sigh before veering down one of the corridors to the nearest bathroom. He sets you down in front of the door, but doesn’t let go of your arm.

“What do you need to do?” Seonghwa holds onto you, preventing you from reaching out for the door.

“Excuse me?” Your eyes go wide at his question. “That’s way too personal.”

He sighs. “You are so sensitive, my God.” He looks around the hallway like he’s expecting a live studio audience to agree with him. Seonghwa plasters a fake smile onto his face, glaring down at you. “Princess, how long is this going to take?”

You shake your arm in his grasp, “I’m not gonna answer that, just let me go.” 

Seonghwa’s smile falls, and he rolls his eyes once more. “Fine,” he drops your arm, “don’t keep Hongjoong waiting.” 

You barely hear the last part, because you’re opening the bathroom door and shuffling in as soon as he releases you. Quickly shutting and locking the door, the lights automatically turn on. Well what the hell do you do now? 

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and realize how ridiculous you look in your pajamas. God, no wonder Seonghwa was teasing you. You should’ve asked to change. You step closer to the mirror, trying to fix any aspects of your appearance that seem out of place. Thankfully, you actually look pretty decent, considering the circumstances. 

Pacing around the small bathroom for another couple minutes, you decide that you’re probably stretching your luck a bit. You quickly use the bathroom, wash your hands, and then open the door back to the hallway.

You do expect Seonghwa when you open the door, but you don’t expect him to be millimeters away from you, which is where he ends up being. He startles you and you stumble backwards into the bathroom, jumping away from him. He lets out a single, dry laugh at your reaction before gesturing you back to him with his fingers.

You oblige, stepping towards him and the door. His hand wraps around your upper arm again, and he pulls you back to the hallway. Thankfully, he doesn’t make any move to pick you up again. You don’t want to risk it, so you keep up his pace as he retains his grip on you. 

The two of you remain in silence, making your way down the stairs and through the subsequent halls. Once you’re to the bottom floor, entering the lobby, you wonder where you’ll be meeting Hongjoong. The cafeteria? The chapel? Some sort of spooky torture room you’ve yet to see? 

Your question is somewhat answered soon, as Seonghwa yanks you to the front door with him. When he opens the door, his grip becomes even tighter. It’s starting to make your arm throb, but you’d rather not show Seonghwa any signs of weakness. 

He pulls you outside, and you quickly try to take in your surroundings. It’s now night time, and you realize how dark it is on the grounds. The only sources of illumination are the couple sconces on the front of each building, but they provide very little light for the rest of the field. The moon is bright enough to keep you from stumbling over uneven ground, and you take a look up to recognize the phase. A waning gibbous. 

Looking back around, you recognize that your car is still nowhere to be found. You wonder when they could have possibly moved it without you realizing. During breakfast? That was the only time when you had been entirely distracted, with Mingi’s outburst and all. 

… Wait. Was Mingi…? 

No. Nope. You cut off the thought before it can even finish itself. There is absolutely no way. Mingi would never. Even if he’s been brainwashed and abused, he would never do something like that. But he had invited you here… Nope! No. You are not going to think about that right now. For now, you are perfectly content with your answer that Mingi would never knowingly put or keep you in danger.

Your question about your destination is answered rather quickly, as Seonghwa makes on the path toward the chapel. Ick. So far, the chapel is definitely the creepiest place you’ve seen, and you are not too keen on returning. The way Hongjoong acted this morning in there… you do not want a repeat of the show. Honestly, he seems almost like a different person when he’s in that building.

Not that he’s not creepy either way, he just gains a different aura. 

When you and Seonghwa reach the chapel, you nearly trip over the steps due to how fast Seonghwa is going up them. He clears them in milliseconds, acting like he’s seen water in a desert. You stumble up behind him as he uses his free hand to open one of the doors. He then shoves you in in front of him, finally letting go of you.

You bring your hand up to rub the spot on your arm where he had been gripping. You lift your arm a bit, frowning when you see the red mark left on your skin. Did he really have reason to think you would try and esca- actually, don’t answer that question. 

After taking in the damage, you remember where you are. You hear Seonghwa pulling the doors closed behind you as you survey the room again. It looks pretty much the same as this morning, except now there are quite a few candles lit. They reside on each end of every pew, creating a rather nice, soft glow.

Your eyes trail along the aisle of candles, following them to the back of the chapel. Hongjoong actually isn’t the first thing you notice.

Rather, it’s the hourglass. In the candle light, the metal attains a sort of other-worldly glow. Reflections of light dance on its surface, causing sparkles that keep you from staring in one place for too long. It’s mesmerizing. 

The only reason you look away is because of Seonghwa. He’s come to stand directly behind you, putting his hand on the small of your back. He not-so-gently pushes you down the aisle, towards where you now notice Hongjoong. 

He’s smiling again. Does he ever not have that creepy ass smile on his face? It makes him look so much more deranged, and you wonder if he does it on purpose. Of course, he’s sitting on the same throne from earlier, wearing the same weird matching outfit with Seonghwa. The candle light waving over his face gives him an almost sickly appearance, creating shadows and highlights where they shouldn’t be. 

Once Seonghwa has gotten you to the edge of the stage, he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Kneel.” 

Your gaze at Hongjoong breaks to look over at Seonghwa. Did he seriously just tell you to kneel? “I’m not kneeling you psych-'' you're cut off by a sharp shove on your shoulders. At the same time, Seonghwa brings his knee up to meet the back of yours, forcing your legs to give out under you. 

Your arms instinctively fly out to catch you, stopping the fall from hurting too badly. Now on your knees, you stare up at Seonghwa and vow to yourself that you’ll get him back for this, somehow, someday. You try to shove yourself off of the ground, but Seonghwa’s hands are quick to stop you. He moves behind you and grabs both of your shoulders, locking his arms to keep you down. 

On your knees in front of Hongjoong, you finally realize the vulnerability of your situation. Here you are, alone with two men that have individually threatened your life. Two men that have authority positions in a cult. You have no means of protecting yourself, and no one with any capacity to help you in the moment knows where you are. Anything could happen.

With Seonghwa behind you, you have no one to glare at except for Hongjoong himself. He sure seems to be enjoying the show, his cocky little smile having grown wider. His eyes flit up to Seonghwa and they have some sort of exchange outside of your realm of understanding. 

“Hi, (Y/n).” When Hongjoong looks back to you, he finally speaks. “Cute pajamas.” He glances over you, and you suddenly feel much too exposed.

You blink up at him. That’s how he’s going to start this? You don’t answer him, opting to continue glaring up at him. 

Hongjoong chuckles when he realizes you’re not going to respond and leans forward in his seat. “Well, I’m sure you have questions.” He turns his palms up to the air, waving them around a bit. “Ask away.”

Your plain expression breaks. You stop glaring at him and your confusion grows on your face. What the hell does he want you to ask him and why? About a million questions come to mind. They jumble over themselves, creating one large mess in your brain. You stare up at Hongjoong, your mind trying to grasp onto a single thread. Your biggest question is why, but you can’t very well just say that one word. Instead, you ask the next best thing.

“What do you want with me?”

Hongjoong leans back again, looking away to consider your question. He brings a hand up to rest under his chin, his face scrunching up as he answers. “That’s a pretty broad question.”

“Is Mingi okay?”

Now Hongjoong looks confused. “Why wouldn’t he be?” You honestly don’t know why you asked it either, and Hongjoong gives you no further answer after his follow up question. 

For a split second, you try to not ask your next question, but end up spitting it out anyways. “What the hell is going on here?” 

“Are you religious, (Y/n)?” Hongjoong raises his eyebrows, knitting his fingers together underneath his chin. His inflection is almost joking, but you can tell that his question is serious.

You think about your answer, trying to decide what will make Hongjoong react with the least hostility. Will he be offended if you say no? Will he be offended if you say yes? Truthfully, you’re not religious. Not that you have anything against sane religion, of course; religion is simply not something that has ever been a big part of your life. 

You decide to go with the truth. “I’m not.” 

Hongjoong smiles. “I don’t suppose you read any of The Answer?” He looks at you with anticipation, and you have a feeling he’ll like your answer regardless. This must’ve been the question he was waiting to ask.

“Of course not.”

Hongjoong nods, his smile growing. “I figured as much, it normally takes a bit of a push,” he waves a hand, pushing the air in front of him. “Since you seem particularly uninterested, let me give you the gist of it.” 

You can’t help your expression as it turns into one of disgust. The last thing on planet earth that you want right now is to have Hongjoong explain his little cult to you. As you’re about to open your mouth to give him a stern ‘no thank you,’ he starts speaking, stunning you into silence with just his first sentence.

“Cutting to the chase, I’m a prophet.” Your jaw goes slack as you stare up at him. No fucking way is he serious right now. “God speaks to me and I pass on his messages here.”

You can’t help it. You start laughing. As your body starts to shake with your laughter, Seonghwa’s grip on your shoulders increases. You hardly notice, however, too caught up in the hilarity of the situation in front of you. You bring a hand up to cover your mouth, trying to stifle the noises. “I’m sorry but,” a fit of giggles cuts you off. “But you’re joking, right?” Obviously, it does make sense to you. Not the prophet part, but Hongjoong claiming to be one. But it’s so funny to hear it said out loud. It almost makes you hysterical.

Instead of Hongjoong answering, Seonghwa does. “Does it look like he’s joking?” He has to raise his voice to be heard over you, and it almost is enough to make you stop laughing entirely. Almost. 

A few giggles continue to escape as you have to move your hands to your eyes to swipe tears of laughter away. At this point, they might be tears of hysteria, but you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. You chance a glance up at Hongjoong, who is no longer smiling at you. Rather, he’s staring at you with a look of such plain indifference that you bite your lip to stop any further laughter.

“I don’t care whether you believe me or not,” he says, his expression unchanging, “but you will respect me.” For perhaps the first time, his voice is lacking the lilt of arrogance that you’ve come to associate with him. It’s plain and hard. He doesn’t make an attempt to charm you. “God commands it.”

The tone of his voice stops you from laughing again, though that last sentence nearly gets you. This man is off his rocker.

Despite wanting to give him a piece of your mind, you can’t think of a response. You are simply too dumbfounded by the level of insanity. Instead, you continue staring up at him, waiting for whatever he says next.

“I’ve been through this countless times, (Y/n), and every single one of you has come to praise my name.” Hongjoong continues staring with steely indifference. The tone of his voice growing only harder by the second. “I expect you to be no different. Whether it takes a week or a year, you’ll bend. They always do.”

His newest statement leaves you with even more questions. Is every single person here a kidnapping victim? Did everyone have a similar situation to the one that you are in right now? Christ, did Mingi go through this? 

It doesn’t even seem possible. It’s hard to imagine that every person you’ve seen, every person you met, was once a strong-minded, free-thinking individual. There must be personalities that have a predisposition to brainwashing. You refuse to believe that they were all in the same position as you. 

You have to decide now if you’re trying to survive, or if you’re trying to be a pain in Hongjoong’s side. If you make some snide comment now, you can’t imagine he will take it lightly. But, if you suddenly start acting entirely different, will he notice? Does he want you to disobey him? 

“Let me just get this straight then.” You can’t stop your curiosity. “You, Hongjoong, are a prophet.” You speak slowly and carefully, trying to not sound too offensive. “God speaks to you... and you made a cult out of these messages. You’ve kidnapped, what, forty, fifty people... and forced them to live on a farm and worship you.” So much for that plan. “Is that right?”

Hongjoong’s expression finally cracks. A smile casts along his face, evidently liking your reply. “That’s quite right, with two minor exceptions.” His smile only grows bigger. “We are a sect, not a cult. And we don’t kidnap people, we save them.”

“Plus,” Seonghwa pipes up behind you, “A lot of them come willingly.” His voice is low, but his grip on your shoulders loosens as you feel him bend down behind you. He brings his head down to nearly rest on your right shoulder, his face ghosting along the side of your head. You turn your head slightly toward him, your eyes darting over his face as he starts smiling. “Like our dear Mingi.”

He whispers it, but it’s certainly loud enough to hear. Seonghwa starts laughing as your eyes betray your shock. Hongjoong joins him, clearly enjoying your reaction as much as Seonghwa.

Well, guess that answers that question. But why in the ever loving fuck would Mingi come here willingly? What made him think that dropping everything and joining a cult was the only way to go? If he had gone willingly, why hadn’t he brought you with him?

Maybe he’s lying. No, he has to be lying. 

Their laughter dies down as your face becomes resolved. “You’re lying,” you whisper, staring at the ground. Whether you really believe what you’ve said or not, you don’t know. You just know that you can’t deal with Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s laughter ringing in your ears, bouncing off of the walls of the chapel. 

“What makes you think that?” Seonghwa asks from beside you, his face still next to yours. You peel your eyes off of the floor to look up at Hongjoong. He’s looking right back at you with exaggerated curiosity. His eyes are wide, his eyebrows raised, with just a hint of a smile. 

You don’t know how to answer Seonghwa’s question. You don’t even know if you truly disbelieve him. You quickly try to think of something that would disprove Seonghwa, searching the edges of your mind for something that would mean Mingi had been forced to join. “If Mingi came willingly,” you turn your face back toward Seonghwa, “he would have brought me, too.” 

You watch as a smile cracks along Seonghwa’s face once more. “Do we tell her?” He asks, looking up to Hongjoong. Your eyes snap up to Hongjoong, who is now trying to contain his smile for once. He’s not doing a very good job at it, either. 

Tell you what? Certainly something you don’t want to hear. What could there be, pertaining to Mingi’s disappearance, that you wouldn’t want to hear? You search for the answer for only a second. Just as your mind makes the deduction on its own, you see Hongjoong nod and hear Seonghwa’s reply.

“He was trying to get away from you.” 

You don’t really process the way that Hongjoong and Seonghwa start laughing again. Rather, your mind spins with the revelation. Of course, that would be the only thing that would make sense. If Mingi had come willingly and not brought you with, that must mean that he hadn’t wanted you to come. He didn’t want to have you with him. He didn’t want you. 

Why? What had you done? You’ve racked your mind for months, wondering why Mingi had left. Wondering why he hadn’t told you. Wondering what you could have done differently. You hadn’t been able to find a single explanation in the months past, and you can’t imagine that you’ll be able to find one now. You have absolutely no recollection of doing anything to Mingi that could have made him want to leave you. 

If Mingi had come here to get away from you, then does that make it your fault that he’s here, in the clutches of a cult? Does it make it your fault that you’re also in this situation? All the more reason you have to get him out of here.

But, then again, that begs the question. Would Mingi even want your help? Why had he invited you if he wanted to stay away from you? Is he actually happy to see you? Had he invited you because he felt ready for you to be in his life again? Or is this just some plot to recruit more members for Hongjoong? 

You want to believe that Seonghwa is lying to you, but, for whatever reason, you know that he’s not. That Mingi had some reason, even if it was so insignificant that you couldn’t remember it. There was no other explanation. He would have had no other reason to leave without telling you anything about it.

This realization almost sends you reeling, but the enormity of the situation before you keeps you somewhat in your right mind. You can’t afford to cry now, you can’t afford to lose your cool or even begin to comprehend what has just been revealed. At hand, the most important thing is to get out of this room before Hongjoong or Seonghwa causes you physical harm (or, at least, any more physical harm). The mental wound is enough. 

You need to get out of this place.

“Hongjoong,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of the floor in front of you. You don’t want to see his face as he hears you beg. “Please, just let me go.” You feel wetness appear at your eyes for what feels like the upteenth time today, already knowing what his answer will be. So much for not crying again.

You blink and watch as a tear escapes your eye, falling to the floor. Without looking up, you see Seonghwa rise from your side. He stands before walking behind you, retaking his spot directly behind you. You hear Hongjoong stand, his shoes clicking down the stairs before you. In the silence of the room, the various medals hanging off of his jacket clink together and make sounds that seem impossibly loud. 

You don’t look up until his shoes appear in your line of sight, and he stops directly before you. Your angle on the floor makes him tower over you, blocking your entire line of sight until everything is him. The candles glow in your peripheral vision, making it seem like Hongjoong himself has a golden aura. The light reflecting off of the hourglass behind him has the same effect, and Hongjoong gains a halo above you. His face is cast in shadow, but you can still see the sneer plastered on his face. 

Hongjoong bends his knees before collapsing onto them in front of you. His face goes slack as he mirrors your position, folding his legs underneath himself before raising his hands up to you.

For a split second, you worry he’s going to grab your neck. Instead, he rests his hands on either side of your face, locking your head into position. His hands are burning hot, so hot you could swear he must have a fever. You instinctively try to jerk your face out of his hands, but he strengthens his grip and is able to keep you in place.

“Don’t cry.” Hongjoong coos to you as he wipes your tears with his thumbs, nearly identically to the way Mingi had only a day earlier. Has it really only been a day? More tears begin to brim over your eyes only to be immediately wiped by Hongjoong’s searing touch. “God is here for you.” 

You don’t know if he means metaphorically or literally, if he’s referring to himself or not. You can’t find it in you to formulate a response for him, instead opting to cry harder. Sobs begin to heave out of your chest and, to your horror, Hongjoong pulls your face closer to his. 

He angles your head downward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips are just as hot as his hands, if not hotter. The sensation burns, and you’re quickly scrambling to pull away from him once more. He lets you pull away, but he doesn’t let you get far. Wiping your tears one last time, he lets go of your face and wraps his arms around your body, tugging you close to him. 

You process his heat before the fact that he’s hugging you. Wrapped in his arms, his warmth is nearly overwhelming. Anywhere he touches, your skin itches to retract away. But he’s hugging you. Hongjoong, a supposed Prophet, is crushing you to his chest. Hongjoong, cult leader extraordinaire, attempting to… comfort you. 

You continue to shake in his arms, mentally begging for the moment to be over. He’s so hot. Even in spots where there are layers of clothing, his touch is burning. Your face is pressed uncomfortably into his shoulder, his long hair tickling against your forehead. Your arms hang limp at your sides and Hongjoong squeezes you tighter, and you pray that he drops you soon. 

If there is a God, he must hear your prayers. Hongjoong releases his grip on you shortly after, retaking his place on his knees in front of you. He completely lets you go this time, and you revel in the feeling of the air touching your skin where his body had been. Your tears cease almost immediately; you’re not wanting to give Hongjoong another reason to get that close to you ever again. 

You paw at your cheeks to wipe away the remainder of any of your tears. Hongjoong grins, watching you intently as he rises back to his feet. You maintain eye contact with him and he resumes his position, until he breaks it to look back at Seonghwa. 

After a brief glance, Seonghwa’s hands leave your shoulders for the second time. Hongjoong reconnects your eyes before extending both of his hands to you. You blankly stare at his palms before realizing that he means for you to take them. 

As little as you want to touch him again, you decide you’d rather have Hongjoong gently help you up rather than have Seonghwa yank on you again. You lift your arms, placing your hands into his and starting to unfold your legs from beneath you. He gently lifts you, pulling up on your arms until you’re standing before him once more. 

He doesn’t let go of your hands. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?” He’s not smiling, but he sounds genuine enough. 

The only question you can think to ask slips out. “What are you going to do to me?” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence, making you sound more afraid than you feel. Honestly, fear is not the emotion at the forefront of your mind. Its sadness, betrayal.

Hongjoong chuckles. He brings your hands up so that they’re resting between the two of you, at about stomach height. He adjusts his fingers so that he can reach the backs of your hands with his thumbs, and rubs them as he had rubbed your face. “Wouldn’t a surprise be more fun?” His response is nothing you want. 

You shake your head, not able to stop yourself. Hongjoong’s smile grows wider as you pull your hands out of his, leaving his hands floating in the air, cradling something that no longer remains. The dancing light of the candles make his hands shrink and grow, and his picture before you is almost grotesque. He almost entirely blocks the hourglass from his position, but he still doesn’t block its reflected light. While he is in shadow, he glows.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong nods, using his hands to gesture you away.

Seonghwa’s grip returns on your upper arm, but you don’t look away from Hongjoong. Seonghwa yanks you around, but you turn to keep your eyes on Hongjoong. You feel too vulnerable, too exposed. He watches as Seonghwa pulls you toward the door, bringing a hand up to wave to you. 

“Goodnight, (Y/n),” he calls from the end of the room, “sleep well. You have a busy few days ahead of you.”

Seonghwa opens one of the doors as the two of you approach, and the cool night air blasts into the room. He pulls you outside, leaving the door to swing shut on its own behind you. You watch in slow motion as Hongjoong is blocked by the door, inch by inch. The door slams shut, but you can still see his afterimage on the white paint. 

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pairing : Choi San x (f) reader

genre : angst , fluff (squint like really hard lol)

summary : all you needed was his love.

ib: pretty flower , @zurimochi

wc : 1.3k || warnings: mentions of blood and death

first, it started off with just a cough, you being the naive person you were, just assumed it was a seasonal cold and it would go away eventually; at least that's what you told yourself. but the vomiting started, that's when you began worrying. you weren't throwing up food or anything of that sort, but instead, it was flower petals. and that's when you found yourself at the public library, searching through multiple books, trying to figure out what was going on with you. then you saw it, what had been said to be your condition.

a few weeks passed and your coughing wasn't so bad as before, you were starting to believe that maybe it was just a seasonal cold and you were being a bit dramatic. that was until you found yourself throwing up again, but instead of petals, it was an entire flower; a rose at that, one of your favorite flowers. and the sizes would differentiate, they started off small and then became bigger as the time passed on. you swore you were able to feel a growing sensation inside your lungs; which was making it hard for you to breathe at times, the pain was just unbearable.

you were sitting in your living room, a glass of warm tea being held in your hands. your apartment wasn't too small or too big, which left you with enough comfortable room since sometimes you found yourself to be claustrophobic, but it always gave you enough space for all of your personal belongings and house decor. the ending credits for The princess and the frog played on your TV screen, you tended to watch Disney movies whenever you felt upset or if you were sick, they always made you smile and laugh, putting you in a better mood. reaching out your arm to grab your remote, that was sitting on the glass table in front of you and your sofa, so you were able to change the movie, you suddenly heard your doorbell ring and then a knock afterward.

sitting down your glass of tea on the table gently, you slid on your bedroom shoes, you didn't like the way the tile floor felt against your bare feet, you made your way over to the door. pushing yourself onto your tiptoes to look through the peephole, you did this out of caution. unlocking the deadbolt on the door, then the lock on the door handle, you twisted and pulled the knob opening up the door, to be greeted with a pleasant and sweet smile from your neighbor.

you didn't look quite presentable today, you honestly just planned on trying to relax most of the evening; if you even could, these symptoms you had were starting to become a horrid pain. you were still dressed in your night clothes, which honestly just happened to be a pair of shorts and usually an old tank top in the back of your closet. leaning against the door frame you returned the smile to your neighbor. "Hello, San. it's nice to see you again... I hope you enjoyed your tour, I heard about it on twitter and elsewhere." The man let out a chuckle, using his least dominant had to push his away from his face in a backward motion. "It's nice to be back and Thanks... I did enjoy it.. the fans were sweet as always" nodding in response to his little rant, you stepped aside from the door, with what was hopefully enough room for him to come through, given his much bigger body frame and height compared to yours. "Would you like to come In? I could make you something" "That would be great" San walked into the familiar apartment, making himself comfortable like he usually did, you didn't mind though.

you'd barely even made it to the kitchen section of your apartment before you felt the need to cough again, knowing trying to hold it in wouldn't be the best idea, so you let it out. this cough was harsher than the ones before and it hurt like hell, you held your hand to your mouth as you did so noticing this time there was blood, you were coughing up blood. panic began washing over you, making you totally forget that there wasn't just you in the home. having heard all the noise Choi found himself waking to where you were, worry filed his facial expressions when seeing the sight in front of him. you'd been laid out on the floor, there was some blood on your hand and what looked to be like small petals of a flower, Choi was confused about what was going on and he wasn't sure what to do. 

you weren't sure how long you'd been passed out exactly, but whenever you woke up you found yourself in a hospital room, looking around the room you saw your neighbor, sleeping on the small couch beside your hospital bed. he looked peaceful, making a small smile form on your lips. a knock was heard at the door, that was closed before it was being opened by; who you assumed was the doctor with test results since she was holding a clipboard to her chest. the woman gave you a smile before she spoke to you, in a soft and calming manner. "Hello, Miss l/n. I'm doctor Chavez, I'm here to talk about the condition you may have" you felt your heartbeat race, which appeared on the screen that kept track of your heart rate, the doctor thought; to calm you down and assure you, which lowered the racing of your heart, but not too much. "The symptoms you are having are the form of a rare disease, the Hanahaki disease.. is what it's called. It's when one is facing a one-sided love, and I believe miss l/n, that is happening to you." 

one-sided love, that's all that played throughout your head when the woman left, but you just didn't understand, who didn't love you the same way you loved them. then it clicked, it was San. you'd loved him for as long as you could remember even before he became a member of Ateez. you loved his smile when he would stay at your apartment for hours and binge-watch both his and your favorite shows together when he would sometimes bring you along with him on tour or to his performances but with all of that you couldn't help but feel sadness wash over you every time he introduced you as just a friend. maybe it was better off telling him, to let yourself free of any more pain to come. "Choi San.." his gaze turned onto you, he knew you only called his full name when something was important; like at this moment. his hand held onto yours, but out of concern and pity. "Yes sweet?" you always loved when he called you names like that, they made your heart warm. your eyes looked into his, yours filled with sadness and love. "i.. i love you Choi San, not as a neighbor, not because of your fame, and not as a friendship kinda love. and I've wanted nothing more than for you to love me in the same way I do you, but as I see it now that will never happen." Tears had already begun forming as your eyes never felt his. he opened his mouth to speak "y/n.. i.." you put your finger to you lips shushing him before you continued speaking. "I hope one day you realize how much I love you, but until that day comes.. ill wait, even if it may mean I'll never recover" those were the last words you told him that day, and the last words he'd ever hear from you again. as he watched your eyes close and a smile form on your face, the one that always made his day, tears swelled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, but he felt his own heart drop when he heard the flatline. you were gone, and all you needed was for him to love you.

reblogs are very appreciated <3

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The One (C.S)

Final part of the Subtle Variations of Heartbreak series

summary: Who would’ve thought that Choi San, the dimpled heartbreaker you have known since you were merely fourteen years old, would be the one you’ve been looking for all this time?

warnings: smut, cursing, only slight angst, a little bit of pinning and maybe slow burn, death, sad yn

wc: almost 25k

a/n: hello everyone!! here is the final part of this extremely depressing series 😭 i want to thank all of you for joining me on this journey, this is the first series i wrote on tumblr so i was very nervous about it. thank you for all the sweet messages and feedback i’ve gotten so far it means the world. i hope you enjoy the last part as well. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SANNIE ❤️

taglist:  @itbtoblikethatsometimes​ @alecanal93​ @jaehyunsonly​ @binniesbf​ @mechanica-lmomma​ @yeosangteef​ @diorwoo​ @yeolsnini​ @hhj-00​ @purenjuniverse​ @joonsthethicc​ @hyvn-jaeee​ @becauseiloveyunho​ @chittaphonstar​ @uzumakioden​ @hwaist​ @kpopnightingale​ @princessongminki @baguette-atiny​ @gyuyoungie​ @knucklesdeepmingi​ @whatdoudowhennooneseesyou

You are twenty five years old when you start to think that maybe you just weren’t made to be loved.

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THE ANSWER: XV

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: 5,830

Waking up does not come quickly or naturally. It takes fucking forever and it’s a fully fledged, god-dammed work out. 

You’re not exactly conscious of the fact that you’re waking up, but you still feel the pull of the waking world drawing you out of the darkness that feels as though it has been endless. There is effort required to start dragging yourself through those layers. The darkness stretches on in all directions, briefly disrupted by bursts of… something. 

As you become more aware, you realize that the something is, in fact, excruciating pain. Why does it hurt so bad? Why is there so much darkness? The confusion is disorientating, and you let your mind fade away into it once more.

When you’re next aware, it’s because of that pain. That terrible, red-hot pain. It’s not centralized, but rather radiating throughout your being. The pain stabs through your senses, making you much more aware than you desire. You wish you could shy away from it, that you could run out of your skin and put distance between yourself and it. Unfortunately, it sticks with you; your eternal friend. 

The pain makes you more aware of your surroundings. Details begin to come into focus. You realize that you’re dreaming. But you’re also awake. Why can’t you bring yourself to open your eyes? You try, but all that remains is the dark. Honestly, you’re not even entirely aware of yourself, of your body. You’ve come to enough to remember that you are, in fact, a living being with a physical form. At least, that’s what the pain is signalling to you. However, you can’t actually conceptualize this form.

Time passes, but you have no idea how much. Presently, you are finally aware of yourself. While you still can’t manage to open your eyes, you’ve realized the sensation of the mattress beneath your back. You can feel a blanket resting on your chest, a steady and welcoming weight evenly distributed over your body. Your fingers are cold. You can hear a steady drip, drip drip. 

You can actually hear more than simply the drip, you realize. It takes a fair amount of effort to focus your brain onto the topic of processing the information, but you begin to be aware of voices. People! Relief rushes over you, relief that you hadn’t known you had needed. The knowledge that there are people with you, people watching over you, people taking care of you. 

If only you knew who the voices belonged to. Or what they are saying. Is it only one, or are there multiple? It’s impossible for you to say. The effort of processing the noises was already too much for you. You’re not going to bother to figure that out. 

With this new, comforting knowledge, you let yourself drift off once more.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Oh, oh fuck. You’re aware again. The pain is back and worse than ever. You try to move, try to wiggle, try to run away, try to do anything to provide some sort of relief. It seems that you are still too weak, however. You can’t move and the pain does nothing to subside. Though it was once uncentralized, now it definitely is. The area below your left shoulder is on fire. It’s burning. With every beat of your heart, it spreads throughout your chest. It’s almost relieving, right up until the next second, when your heart beats again. The pain is completely incomprehensible. It doesn’t have any rhyme or reason to it. 

Why the fuck does it hurt so bad? What happened? You rack your mind in an effort to understand why, but nothing comes. Fuck, if you’re going to be in so much pain, you should at least get to know why! 

This is unfair. How can you be in so much pain without understanding? You have a sense that, in the back of your mind, you do know why you’re in pain; but you can’t quite reach the memory. It frustrates you further, almost amplifying the pain with your anger. Without quite realizing it, a groan comes from deep in your throat, so deep that it nearly rings through your chest. 

Only a few seconds later, you become aware of a vice grip on your left hand. Whoever is grabbing you must be trying to crush your fingers to distract you from the pain in your chest. Whether or not you want to thank them or groan again is a question for another time. 

You recognize that these new sensations are a blessing of a sort. The new feelings mean that you are nearly there, or, at least, you feel like you’re nearly there. Back to the world of the living. Your ears had been shut off once again, it seemed. You’re quite suddenly aware of them working once more, as they’re quickly overwhelmed with new information.

There are definitely multiple people talking, you can tell that for sure. There’s someone close to you, on your left. That must be the person holding your hand. Come to think of it, that voice… sounds almost like… 

God, what’s his name? 

Ugh, whatever. It’s unimportant. All that is important is the fact that you at least recognize the voice. You know who it belongs to, somewhere in the recesses of your mind. That alone is a consoling enough fact.

There is also another voice to your right, and you’re sure that you recognize that one as well…

The grip on your hand losens. As if it were a tether, you feel your mind loosen with it.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Next thing you know, your eyes are open. With exactly zero effort on your part, they had simply sprung open. There is quite a bit of sensory overload that comes with this entirely new input.

With your eyes open, your mind seems to finally catch up as well. You’re on a farm. You’re in danger. Mingi is in danger. Something bad happened. 

Ah, yes. Of course. How could you forget the lovely new reality that you’ve found yourself in? 

As your mind catches up to your body, you take in as much as you can see. Which, as of yet, is pretty much just ceiling tiles. In your peripheral vision, you can see what looks to be a heart monitoring screen, as well as the pile of pillows that your head is sunk into. The ceiling is white and pocketed. It’s the kind of ceiling that they use inside of a school, with removable squares that open to a mysterious darkness. You wiggle our eyes about, trying to get a better sense of everything around you. 

You can see the edges of your bed, the bars holding your body on the frame. It must be a hospital bed, which would make sense. Not that you can yet quite remember what the fuck had happened to land you in said hospital bed… But the rest of the information that you have gathered makes it add up. Looking to your right, you can barely see the top of a wooden side table. You can see the rim of what you think is probably a glass of water, along with a pitcher beside it. Your throat shrivels up at the thought of the water. How long has it been since you’ve had a drink? Christ, it feels like an eternity.

You decide to test the limits of your waking body by trying to raise your right hand toward the water. Instead of your arm floating into the air as you would expect, your hand barely rises above the surface of your bed. Hey, at least it’s a start!

Speaking of your hands, your left one feels quite a bit heavier than the right. Focusing your attention onto this left hand, you quickly conceptualize the familiar feeling of a hand in yours. It’s not gripping you with as much desperation as the last hand-hold you remember, but you’re willing to bet that it belongs to the same person.

There’s a steady rise and fall of breath coming from your left. Your mystery guest must be sleeping. 

Nevermind the sleeping. Before stopping to consider whether or not this guest needed their beauty rest, you become determined to wake them. You start by wiggling your fingers. It’s kind of hard for you to tell if they’re actually moving, or if you’re just imagining the feeling of it. You sure hope that they’re moving. 

But your guest shows no sign of waking.

You move on to try moving your entire hand. You had gotten your entire right hand to lift off of the bed, so you should be able to do the same with your left, no? 

You don’t have to ponder the no. Your hand lifts ever so slightly into the air, the hand of your guest rising with it. You tilt your hand, making the one atop yours slide into the open air and fall onto your bed. Hopefully that’s enough to wake the visitor, otherwise you’re not sure wha-

Your thoughts are entirely cut off by the guest immediately springing into the air and leaning over your face. You blink once, taking him in in all of his glory.

Mingi stares down at you, eyes weary with sleep and lips slightly parted. His hand is instantly back in yours, gripping each of your fingers so tightly that they feel claustrophobic in his hand. 

Though you’re not sure why, your eyes begin to water the second that the two of you make eye contact. Mingi’s lips part wider and then clamp shut. He’s rendered utterly speechless, it seems.

His free hand appears in your peripheral vision, coming to rest on your cheek. His thumb rubs the area directly below your eye, wiping any wetness that has managed to escape.

You two go on like that, staring at each other, for God knows how long. It feels like all eternity as much as it feels like only a couple seconds. No matter how long it lasted, Mingi, too soon, breaks the silence.

“I will be right back, I promise.” 

His voice is the sweetest thing you can remember hearing. Though the words themselves are not ones you would’ve wished to hear, they still sounded lovely coming from him. He takes his hand off of your face first, and then withdraws his hand from yours. There is slight relief now that your fingers aren’t being squeezed so tightly, but you still wish that he hadn’t let go. Mingi backs out of your line of sight, and you curse the fact that you aren’t sitting up.

You hear his footsteps recede, as well as the sound of a door sliding open and sliding closed. 

Now that you’re alone, truly alone, you gain almost a surreal sense of yourself. The pain that had been so terrible what felt like mere seconds ago had dulled to a (still painful, but) calm throb. It doesn’t feel so unbearable any longer, and you’re left to ponder the question of where the pain had come from in the first place.

It’s on the tip of your tongue, only more like on the tip of your brain. You can feel it looming in your subconscious like a shark in the ocean, but it just will. not. come. Jesus fuck this is annoying. You squint your eyes in an attempt to dig through your memories, but, try as you might, it keeps slipping from your grasp.

True to his word Mingi returns before you can get too pissed off at your inability to recall the memory. He leans over you once again, and asks if you feel like you can sit up. 

You nod before you really think about it. You have absolutely no idea if you’re well enough to sit up or not, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. You sure hope that someone has been taking the time to turn you so that you haven’t developed any bed sores.

Gently, Mingi places a hand under your head and lifts you in order to move your pillows. In this new position, you have approximately one second to comprehend the company that Mingi had brought back with him, and you’re not fond of it. But, before you can dwell on the view for too long, Mingi lays you back down, letting you know that he has to scootch you and that it may hurt a little bit.

A little bit is an understatement. In order to move you up, he has to grab your torso rather forcefully. One of his hands is entirely too close to that source of your pain, though you rationalize that it must be quite far away in reality. Still, it makes the pain reawaken. You groan involuntarily, your face squeezing in effort to get through the waves. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Mingi says softly, biting his lip in concentration. He rests your back onto the pillows that he had adjusted, leaving you… well, almost sitting up. More like leaning up. You can still see considerably more of the room than you originally had been able to, but you have a sense that your back will begin to ache if you’re left in this position for too long. 

Your back is the least of your concerns, however. The most of them is standing at the foot of your bed, grinning like it’s Christmas morning and you’re the presents under the tree. 

It takes about one second for you to realize that Hongjoong is wearing pajamas. “I’ve never been giddier to have been awoken in the dead of night, (Y/n).” Behind Hongjoong stands the least put-together version of Seonghwa that you’ve ever seen. He’s also in his pajamas, and his hair is sticking out in about fifty different directions. You find it ridiculous that Seonghwa had gotten out of bed to visit you as soon as you woke up, but wherever Hongjoong goes… Seonghwa must follow! Despite his haggard appearance, Seonghwa still stares at you with as much spite as usual. 

Hongjoong moves from his spot at the foot of your bed, coming around to the right side. He reaches out with both of his hands to grab yours, but you quickly pull it away, as if on instinct. His grin doesn’t fail, “Don’t be like that, now. This is a happy occasion!” He catches onto your hand as it hangs in the air, pulling it toward him once more. “You’ve been Chosen, (Y/n), congratulations.” You stare in awe as he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a reverence you’ve only ever seen others give him. 

Seonghwa scoffs. As if you want Hongjoong to be kissing your hand right now. You pry your eyes off of Hongjoong to look at him. Seonghwa certainly does not look nearly as thrilled as Hongjoong does. You have a feeling that that man could not care one way or the other if you had lived or died. Honestly, he may have preferred the latter. 

…Hold on. Seonghwa couldn't have cared whether you… lived or died? Where the hell had that thought come from? Had you been close to death? Come to think of it, you must've been. Considering the pain above your heart, the eternity of darkness, and the intense disconnect you had experienced from your body… that must've been the case. But why?

Your eyes fall back to Hongjoong, who is lowering your hand back onto the bed. His gaze flicks up to yours, and it's like a switch flips in your head.

The floodgates open, and you're suddenly remembering details of that night from however long ago. The closet, the story, the food, the… drugs? You must've been drugged. That's the only explanation for the haziness that clouds the rest of the memory. Something else must have happened, you landed yourself in the hospital for Christ's sake. 

You continue to stare at Hongjoong in perplexion as the memories flow back to you. Clearly, you can remember enough to recall that Hongjoong is literally the last person on the entire planet that you want at your bedside. This is his fault, whatever this is. That short bastard.

You must not do the greatest job of hiding your emotions. In your defense, you did just wake up after who knows how long, so controlling your facial expressions is not something that comes as a second nature. “Are you alright?” Hongjoong takes notice of your confusion. “Is something the matter?” 

You can almost hear Seonghwa’s eyes roll. “You act like you didn’t just stab the wretch.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and, if you had been looking, you couldn’t have missed the utter disdain in his eyes.

You imagine that your head and Hongjoong’s turn toward Seonghwa in perfect sync. What did he just say? You quickly turn back to face Hongjoong once more, and you’re surprised to see an entirely new expression on his face. Bewilderment. It’s not very becoming of his image, you decide. “Seonghwa,” He starts, but is quickly cut off.

“Seriously, Hongjoong, is this necessary?” Seonghwa gestures toward Hongjoong’s hand that is still holding yours. “We all went through this, it’s not like she’s special for being Chosen. You don’t have to coddle or congratulate her on anything. This is the bare minimum.”

You definitely cannot help the shock that displays across your features. Has Seonghwa ever spoken to Hongjoong like that? From the look on Hongjoong’s face, you’re willing to bet that he hasn’t. 

Hongjoong is quick to fix his face. As if he had never been shocked in the first place, his attention is quickly back on you. “Don’t take that to heart, (Y/n). It is something worth congratulating. It means that your soul was deemed pure, and that is something very special.” He pats your hand as he says this, smiling all the while. 

Seonghwa scoffs again, and actually turns to leave the room. “I’m going back to bed.”

He slides the door open and silently leaves the room, leaving the door wide open. 

Mingi clears his throat from your left side, and it nearly startles you. You had almost forgotten that he’s also there. “(Y/n) should probably get some more rest, wouldn’t you think, Hongjoong?” He says timidly, looking at yourself rather than at Hongjoong. “I’m sure that you’re tired as well, it is the middle of the night.”

You look from Hongjoong to Mingi, and then back to Hongjoong. Whether Mingi had meant his statements as hints or not, it seems that Hongjoong is going to take them. His smile grows a bit wider, his eyes crinkling into half moons. “How thoughtful of you, Mingi.” He pats your hand once more, stepping away from your side and at last heading toward the door.

Before leaving, however, he turns to look back at you. “Again, (Y/n), congratulations and thank you. I’m not sure what crawled up Seonghwa’s ass and died, but all of us are truly happy with this outcome.” He turns his attention to Mingi. “You should get some rest, too, Mingi. When’s the last time you slept in your own bed?” You peek at Mingi in time to see him flush. “Anyhow, we will speak more in the morning. Goodnight.”

And with that, Hongjoong leaves, shutting the door behind him.

With the party gone, you and Mingi are left alone. When Mingi doesn’t say anything, you elect to speak yourself.

“Wha-” your voice breaks. “What just happened?”

Mingi shrugs his shoulders. “Those two have a strange relationship.”

“Some people might say that we have a strange relationship.”

Mingi considers this for a second. “Maybe. I don’t think we do, though.”

If your chest didn’t hurt so bad, you might giggle. As you have commonly found yourself in the past few… days, you guess, you’re struck by the absurdity of the situation. You followed Mingi to a cult. That seems like a strange enough relationship to you. Also, speaking of absurdity, apparently you had been stabbed! By the looks of things, very close to your heart! And you survived! 

“Mingi,” you start, on a more serious note. “What all… happened? Can you remind me?”

His head tilts to the side in confusion. “You don’t remember what happened?”

You shake your head. While Seonghwa’s little outburst had given you some clarity, you still couldn’t exactly remember. 

“Well, um,” He looks toward the ceiling in what you assume is intent to search through his own memories of the occasion. “What do you remember, exactly?”

You explain to him that you can remember everything up to the end of your meal, but that the rest is too foggy.

“That’s pretty common!” He smiles, “The same thing happened to me, but, don’t worry, the memories will eventually come back! But I’ll still explain a bit. After the Meal, Hongjoong summoned you to him. You kneeled before him, and he completed the Ceremony.”

… And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Mingi answers your question before you can ask it. “As in, like Seonghwa said, he stabbed you above the heart. And you were only out for five days, can you believe it? Your soul must be particularly worthy! That’s probably why Hongjoong is so excited.”

Mingi’s nonchalant manner is almost disturbing. How can he say such twisted ideas in such a calm voice? He even seems excited! Come to think of it… 

“Mingi, Hongjoong… stabbed you? At your own ceremony?” You ask, raising your eyebrows. That’s sure what it seems like, given what Seonghwa had said earlier.

Mingi smiles. “Of course,” he grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it down to expose the upper left side of his chest. Running across the top, a couple of inches below his collar bone, is a moderately sized, healed scar. It has a raised surface that almost compels you to reach out and touch it, but you control yourself. The scar can’t be much bigger than an inch, but it’s significance is great. Mingi had survived a fucking murder attempt. You had survived a murder attempt. What in the ever loving fuck? “We all must go through the Choosing Ceremony to find the good from the bad.”

Now there is a revelation. “What happens if someone’s… soul… isn’t Chosen?” You ask, afraid that you already know the answer.

“They pass on.”

Of course.

“Have you ever seen someone not get Chosen?”

Mingi nods.

Of course. Not only has Hongjoong killed people, Mingi is an accessory. Isn’t that just the absolute cream of the crop? Isn’t that just the sweetest slice of apple pie? Could this place get any better? Ahahaha. 

You have way too much that you need to think about. There’s been so much information gathered in the few waking moments that you’ve had, and you desperately need time to process it all. You don’t think you can get very far, either, with Mingi staring at you like you’re a miracle on legs.

“When was the last time you slept in your own bed?” You ask him, tilting your head like he had moments ago.

He flushes anew. “Uh, well, it’s been a few days, I guess.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking absolutely anywhere besides your face. “I didn’t want to leave, so that I could be here when you woke up.” 

As touching as this is, of course, you don’t have time to ponder the implications of Mingi staying at your side for five days. That is something that can wait until you process all the other outlandish shit you’ve learned. 

You reach out and grab Mingi’s hand. “Thank you for staying all of this time,” you say softly. “You should really get some rest.” 

Mingi looks a little surprised. “Are you sure? I’m fine with staying here; what if you need something?” There’s a slight disappointment in his tone, and you realize that this is the first time you’ve been alone with Mingi since the little revelation Seonghwa and Hongjoong let you in on. Now is definitely not the time to bring that up (you’re honestly not sure that there will ever be a time for that), but it still bothers you. How could this man, the one that stayed by your side as you were presumably in a coma for five days, have completely disappeared from your life? Willingly? 

As you stare at Mingi’s face, the questions only keep mounting. There’s so much that you wish that you could say; ‘Did you really leave because of me?’ ‘What did I do?’ ‘Did you ever regret leaving?’ ‘How could you stay with me now when you couldn’t so long ago?’ 

Instead, you merely nod your head. “Sleep in your room, I’ll be alright until the morning.”

“If you’re sure.” Mingi shrugs, giving your hand a squeeze. “If you need anything, absolutely anything, yell. Someone is always monitoring the infirmary. I think it’s Nayeon right now.” He turns to look out the door, before realizing that it’s still shut. 

He coughs out a laugh. “I’ll get going then.” But he makes absolutely no move to leave. Rather, he continues staring at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Quickly, so quickly you’re almost left wondering if it actually happened, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Goodnight.”

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

After Mingi is gone, there are so many things on your mind that you have no idea where to even begin. Your near death experience is probably the most pressing, but, honestly, the fact that Hongjoong has actually murdered people is also quite concerning (to say the least). 

Are you truly surprised, though? One of the first things Hongjoong ever did was threaten to kill you. It was quite upsetting at the time, of course, but now it’s almost worse. It’s one thing to threaten to kill people; it’s an entirely different thing to actually kill people. This fact raises its own plethora of issues. What did they do to the bodies? How has no one put this together? People disappear to a farm in the middle of nowhere and are never seen again; but it raises no suspicion on behalf of the police? Is this a regular occurrence? How many people have died in pursuit of this fake religion? Were they true believers, or were they just like you?

You honestly have no idea. Honestly, though, are you surprised? No. You’re almost more surprised by the lack of shock that you feel. It’s like your mind is numb when it comes to this place; when it comes to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You had pretty much expected this, no?

Also disturbing to you is your lack of fear. Is that possible? That you could not be scared? It goes without saying that you’re definitely worried, definitely upset, definitely disturbed… but scared is not the word that you would use. You had survived the ceremony, that has to be the most dangerous part of this place, right?

...Thinking on that for about one more second makes you realize that it is not.

Anyhow, enough on that topic. What the hell is wrong with Seonghwa? It’s a question that you’ve asked yourself before, but he truly was in weird form tonight. He called you a wretch! And was actually helpful for once! He basically defended your pain to Hongjoong (and then did totally discredit it, but whatever). Why had he even come? He clearly had been sleeping. 

Seonghwa is a complete enigma. You still cannot understand what has made him hate you so much. What had you ever done to him? 

Whatever. Why should you care what he thinks of you? You don’t like him, either! 

God, anyways. You turn your attention to five nights ago. Now that Mingi had explained what had happened, you try to dig through your memory to find those specific moments. You get the sense that Mingi had definitely left out some of the details of that night, whether to spare your pride or because he thought they weren’t important. Either way, you’re determined to remember what happened. There’s a lingering feeling that Mingi had left out a huge detail, that something else… important had happened. But what was it?

Considering that you had been stabbed, you realize that you are in a remarkably small amount of pain. This is when you notice the IV stuck in your right elbow. Aha. They’ve still got you on drugs! But, honestly, you feel pretty clear headed. Despite the haziness of the night that landed you here, you, at present, feel pretty mentally sound.

You had, however, just declared to yourself that you’re not afraid of a God honest serial killer, so… maybe not so much.

“Nayeon?” You raise your voice to call out, before really conceptualizing what you’re going to say. You almost just want the knowledge that someone is, in fact, here for you. If you’re drugged out of your mind on painkillers, you’d feel much better knowing that the person drugging you knows what they’re doing. 

Outside of the infirmary door, which Mingi had closed on his way out, you can hear a chair scraping on the tile. The door opens soon after, and a young woman sticks her head into the room.

“Everything alright?” She asks, quite cheerily, you may add, for someone awake in the middle of the night. 

“Yeah, but, uh,” you try to think of something to say. “Could you tell me what kind of pain medicine I’m on?” 

Nayeon slides the door open further and steps into the room, weaving her way to your side. “It’s just IV acetaminophen, Tylenol.” She explains, looking at your IV drip. “This saline bag is nearly empty, let me replace it.” She twists the tube connected at the bottom of the bag, disconnecting your line. 

You sit in silence as you watch her cross the room to a large storage cabinet. “Can I ask you something?” You say as she squats down, searching for more saline.

Without turning to look, she agrees. 

“You were at my Ceremony, I assume?” 

She nods her head.

“Did anything… out of the ordinary happen? Any… strange details? Anything that didn’t happen at yours?” 

For this, she does turn to look back at you. “We aren’t really supposed to talk about it.”

Dejected, you bite your lip. Who are you supposed to get the facts from? Hongjoong would certainly make something up, Mingi is keeping something, and you don’t exactly have other friends here. Maybe Yunho? Seonghwa? Seonghwa would certainly take the opportunity to tease you for anything embarrassing that you had done. 

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t talk about it!” Nayeon giggles from her spot on the floor. She turns back to the cabinet, finding a new bag and quickly making her way back to your side. “It was kinda funny, if I’m being honest.” 

She starts explaining as she replaces the saline. “See, you were clearly on something. That in itself was already funny. If I wasn’t scared of Seonhwa punishing me with cleaning duty or something, I probably would’ve giggled.” Her smile spreads wider across her face as she turns to you. “Not that I’m making fun of you, I promise!” 

“No, I get it, keep going.”

“Okay, so first of all, you could hardly walk, but you were very determined! You had to be helped down to Hongjoong. Like I said, though, you were very determined. You were looking at him like he was the only man left on planet earth, not that I blame you, I mean,” she raises her eyebrows, smirking a little bit. 

Jesus, this is already embarrassing enough. Does it get worse?

“Anyways, you got to him and instantly went to your knees. Which is what you’re supposed to do, but still. You were very compliant! There had been rumors going around that you were quite feisty, so it was a real surprise. Then, he tried asking you how you were, and you just giggled at him.” 

Giggled? You giggled at Hongjoong? What kind of drugs did they put in that food? 

“Of course, then Hongjoong got all dramatic with it. He has quite a flare for this stuff. He leaned in all slow,” she leans close to you as she says this. “And literally made out with you in front of all of us. Which definitely does not happen often. This is where I nearly started laughing for real; I have never seen Seonghwa look like that before.”

“Sorry, what?” Had you just misheard her?

“Yeah, Seonghwa was freaked. Like, he was wearing a mask, but seriously, it was so obvious. I don’t get what his problem is, though. Just because he’s known Hongjoong for so long, he has some claim on him? I say good for you, girl.”

… “I meant the other part, sorry. Hongjoong kissed me?” You ask it as calmly as possible, which is not very calm at all.

She nods, giggling quite exactly like a gossiping high-schooler. “He was very enthusiastic with it, as were you, I might add.”

Fucking hell. 

“Anyways, while this was all going on, Seonghwa was clearly fuming. And, for a second, I thought for sure that he was going to be the one to break the silence, not me. But Hongjoong grabbed the knife pretty soon after, and, yeah, you know the rest. You fainted pretty quickly, but we all clapped for you!”

You blink, trying to form a singular coherent thought. Hongjoong kissed you. And you kissed him back. What in the ever loving of all that is holy fuck. Does this mean that, on some, subconscious level, you’re… attracted to… No. You will not even consider it. Not a possibility. 

While that all in itself is quite concerning, you find your thoughts turning back to Mingi. Why hadn’t he disclosed this fact to you? Had he not wanted to embarrass you? Did he not want to think of it? To be fair, you don’t want to think of it, either. And it probably would’ve been horrible to hear that all from Mingi. He probably would’ve made it some noble, religious thing, and acted like it happens with everyone. But, clearly, it doesn’t.

So why had it happened? Why had Hongjoong kissed you, when he normally doesn’t kiss others? 

And why do you feel so guilty? 

“Um, thanks, Nayeon. That helps.” You awkwardly get out, not entirely sure what to say to her.

She smiles. “Anytime! Do you need anything else? More medicine, maybe? Something to sleep?” 

You shake your head, telling her that you’re alright. Really, you aren’t, but that’s not her issue to deal with. 

She tells you that she’ll be right outside should you need anything else, and then leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

You try to close your eyes to rest, but you know that you will definitely not be getting any sleep after that. What. The. Fuck.

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THE ANSWER: Do You Love Me?

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

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"Do you love me?" 

It’s a difficult question, and yet it still should have a relatively simple answer.

Sitting on the edge of Hongjoong's bed, shirt unbuttoned and hair messy; Seonghwa waits for his answer.

Hongjoong's back is pressed against his headboard. Seonghwa can't see his incredulous stare, or the way his lips are slightly parted. Hongjoong is rarely pressed for words, but the question genuinely has caught him off guard.

"Why would you ask me that?" Hongjoong doesn't whisper his response. He says it as he does everything, dripping in charisma, but his question is also accusing. Hongjoong knows that Seonghwa is aware of his answer.

Seonghwa turns his head to look at Hongjoong's face. He merely scoffs when they make eye contact before returning his gaze to the wall in front of him. 

"You know I don't…" Hongjoong pauses, considering his words carefully for once. "You know that I don't have those emotions." He's being honest. Seonghwa knows that Hongjoong doesn't feel like everyone else does. Why Seonghwa would ask him such a ridiculous question perplexes him. He reaches out to touch Seonghwa anyway, trying to offer the comfort he knows he should.

Seonghwa shrugs off Hongjoong’s hands. He nods his head, his already messy hair flopping about with the movement. "Yeah. Right." His tone matches the accusatory tone Hongjoong had used earlier. 

He turns to face Hongjoong again. "How do you explain your little obsession with (Y/n), then?" Seonghwa practically spits the question at Hongjoong, not caring about repercussions or punishments. 

Hongjoong almost smiles. Almost. It's cute, the possessiveness that Seonghwa has over him. The little complex that's grown in his mind over the years. Hongjoong knows that he should have nipped it when it first started growing, but the idolization was too much to resist. It's a natural consequence of making yourself irresistible. When people hang off of every word you speak, they're bound to fall in love with you. They're bound to become jealous of anyone you pay attention to that isn’t themselves.

Still, he's not fond of the accusation. He's not obsessed with her. "How many times do we have to have this conversation, Seonghwa?" He asks, nearly raising his voice. "I'm not obsessed with her."

Seonghwa's eyes water. He quickly blinks away the tears, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Hongjoong is right, they have had this conversation too many times. Everytime, it ends the same. Hongjoong isn't obsessed. Because he says so. End of story. And Hongjoong lures Seonghwa into forgetting his unsatisfactory answers with soft kisses and sweet whispers. Not today.

"But you are. Clearly." 

Hongjoong sits up further in the bed in order to reach out and touch Seonghwa again. His hand lands on his forearm. Hongjoong gently tugs on him, urging him to climb further into bed. Hongjoong lightly smirks. "What brought this on? You know that you're the only one." He doesn't believe himself, but he knows that Seonghwa will. He always does. It's in his nature, an unwillingness to accept second place. An unwillingness to believe that he could come after another. Not that Hongjoong truly has favorites.

Seonghwa shakes Hongjoong's hand off of him, and Hongjoong's amused expression quickly fades. "I don't know that." Seonghwa has to fight the tears away again. "You could have let her go, you know." He whispers.

If he did cry, it wouldn't be like that would be his first time crying in front of Hongjoong. Hell, it wouldn't even be his first time crying in front of Hongjoong because of Hongjoong. He doesn't want to cry because he knows Hongjoong would like it. He wouldn't say anything, he wouldn't show any external signs, but Seonghwa would know. He does know. As much as he tries to look away, as much as he tries to ignore it and make up excuses, Seonghwa knows Hongjoong is sick.

Seonghwa knows that he's sick, too. He's hyper aware of this. He knows that he must be less disturbed than Hongjoong, at least. Seonghwa feels regret. He feels remorse. His stomach flips every time he remembers an atrocity he's committed on Hongjoong's behalf. He knows that Hongjoong's doesn't.

Hongjoong considers Seonghwa's words for precisely zero seconds before responding. "I could have let her go?” He scoffs, genuinely amused by Seonghwa’s reasoning. “She knew something was up the second she stepped foot in this place. We knew she would. She was never going to leave, Seonghwa.”

The two men sit in silence. For once, Hongjoong doesn't know what Seonghwa wants to hear. He can't conjure up the right words, can't think of a way to tilt his tongue into Seonghwa's forgiveness. 

Hongjoong has long been confused by the complexities of relationships. For the longest time, he had thought that things like love and fear had been invented for movies. That there were mere props meant to make stories more dramatic. He never knew that people actually felt things for or about each other until he was a teenager. When he met Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa quickly understood that there was something fundamentally wrong with Hongjoong. He tried his best to fill in Hongjoong's gaps, to teach him what he never knew, but it was a high task for a child. The damage had already been dealt. It seemed to Seonghwa like these feelings people have for each other must have to be taught in young childhood, or they’re lost forever. 

Seonghwa did help him learn. Yet, Hongjoong can not recall ever feeling something for someone. He's felt things at people and because of them, mainly anger, but never for someone. Hongjoong could never quite understand the things Seonghwa would describe to him. Why would you feel sad when someone else is sad? Why would you hurt when they hurt? How could you love another person, be willing to sacrifice for them? He never knew. 

Seonghwa had quickly become obsessed with Hongjoong. He needed to help him, needed to fix him. When he realized he couldn't, he only became more attached. Hongjoong thrived off of the attention. 

Though Hongjoong couldn't understand love, he knew from then on that receiving it was like a drug.

"Why did you kiss her?" Seonghwa's question breaks the silence. Seonghwa knows about Hongjoong's lack of understanding. Seonghwa has seen him kiss other people hundreds of times. But the way he had kissed (Y/n) was unlike those he had seen before. 

A certain hesitation, a certain question of consent. It showed care that Seonghwa hadn't known Hongjoong had. Had he ever kissed him like that? When Hongjoong kissed him, it was hungry. It was desperate. A means to an end. Hongjoong had kissed her for something else. It lacked the lustful desire and need that Seonghwa was used to. 

But it wasn't completely void of feeling, either. That's what upsets Seonghwa. When Hongjoong kisses others, they're typically empty. Something to sooth the receiver. Hongjoong himself gets nothing from it, and gives nothing to it besides his lips.

When he kissed her, he got something from it. That's what's bothering Seonghwa. That's what nearly made him break the ceremonial silence. 

Hongjoong lets out a dry laugh. "That's what this is about?" He asks. "Fuck Seonghwa, if you just got to the point imagine how much faster our conversations would be." Hongjoong finds himself annoyed with Seonghwa's question. He frequently kisses his followers, it's just something he does. Not everything he does needs to be overanalyzed by Seonghwa.

Hongjoong puts it to the back of his mind that he knows it was different. He doesn't understand why he felt so compelled to kiss her, and he doesn't want to think about it. Normally, he would reserve the kisses for the faithful, for the devoted. But the way she had sat so eagerly on her knees for him, how desperate her eyes looked… 

"Don't belittle me, Hongjoong." Seonghwa doesn't know what comes over him, but he's suddenly fuming. "You know it was different, and that scares you! Because it means I'm right and you're wrong! You are obsessed with her!"

Hongjoong is taken aback by Seonghwa's sudden hostility. "How dare you speak to me like that? Must I remind you who I am?" 

Seonghwa hardly let's him finish his question. "How dare I? Hongjoong, we have been inseparable since we were fourteen! I'm not talking to you as the founder of a religion right now! I’m speaking to you as a loved one when I say that your obsession with that girl could be dangerous!” 

“I am not obsessed with her!” Hongjoong is shouting now, throwing his hands out in front of him in explanation. “I don’t understand where you’re getting that idea from!”

Seonghwa laughs. “Where am I getting that idea from? I have eyes, Hongjoong. I can see the way you look at her, the way she gets under your skin, the way you desperately need to get under hers. I saw the way you kissed her and the way you nearly hesitated to complete her ceremony!”

Hongjoong is utterly bewildered. Seonghwa has gotten mad at him in the past, of course, but never like this. Never in such an irrevocable way. For a split second, Hongjoong doubts if he will stay at his side after this argument. But it’s only a passing thought, born of a brain used to abandonment. Seonghwa would never leave him, could never leave him.

Though Seonghwa has talked to him about the intricacies of relationships before, this whole argument makes no sense to Hongjoong anyways. Why is it Seonghwa’s problem if Hongjoong wants someone else? Not that he wants (Y/n), of course. The notion is absurd. Even if he did, why should Seonghwa care? What claim does he have? Seonghwa has to know by now that Hongjoong is not and will never be his. Hongjoong belongs to Hongjoong, and that’s that. 

And what’s this about hesitating? He has stabbed her, hadn’t he? Maybe it took a second longer because he had to fumble to find the knife, but, fuck, his eyes were closed! The fact that Seonghwa could genuinely believe that Hongjoong would hesitate… he doesn’t like it. It holds even more accusations and implications.

“I did not hesitate, Seonghwa.”

“You did. Everyone sitting at that table saw it.” Seonghwa has returned his voice to normal volume. He speaks his sentences as straight statements, devoid of emotion. “We all saw you jump when she put her hands on you. How gently you ran your hand down to her neck. How softly you pushed your lips together. And how you held the knife above her for seconds. That was hesitation.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “You’re delusional. I didn’t hesitate, and might I remind you that I am not your boyfriend? Or maybe that I don’t experience romantic attraction?”

“Sexual attraction is still attraction.” Seonghwa brings his hand up to rub his forehead. This argument is bringing on a headache.

Hongjoong splays his hands out in front of him. “My God, Seonghwa, what do you want from me? To blind myself? To become celibate? What?” Seonghwa is being ridiculous. Every single time Hongjoong even looks at another person, he falls off the deep end.

“I want you to stay away from (Y/n).”

“No.” Hongjoong crosses his arms in front of him, very aware that he must look like a child in the midst of a temper tantrum. But if either of them are having a tantrum right now, it’s Seonghwa. Hongjoong still can’t quite grasp what the hullabaloo is about. Why is Seonghwa so pissed off about (Y/n) in particular? He’s shown interest in many people before, but Seonghwa has never reacted like this. Anyhow, no matter how Seonghwa feels, he doesn’t get a say anyways. He can’t control Hongjoong, he can’t give him orders. Hongjoong is the superior.

Seonghwa just shakes his head, turning his head to look up at the ceiling. Why can’t Hongjoong get it? Why did Seonghwa, of all people, get stuck being the one to teach Hongjoong everything about being a person? Seonghwa loves Hongjoong, but this was not what he signed up for. 

The jealousy stings in Seonghwa’s stomach. It burns. But there are other reasons to worry about Hongjoong having an obsession. It could quickly lead to favoritism, which could quickly lead to upset members. He could be swayed by her opinions and actions, and change himself to match her ideals. He could lose everything because of this stupid girl, and he just doesn’t understand it. 

Hongjoong watches on as Seonghwa starts buttoning his shirt. “What are you doing?” He asks gently, though he doesn’t feel gentle at all. He’s still pissed. But he doesn’t want Seonghwa to leave.

Seonghwa doesn’t answer, merely moves to stand up. Hongjoong quickly shoots his hand out, reaching to grab Seonghwa’s arm. He catches it, and, this time, Seonghwa doesn’t shake him off. “Hey, don’t leave.” Hongjoong honestly hates how little control he has over the situation. It makes him feel weak, watching Seonghwa not listen to him. Feeling weak makes him more angry.

Seonghwa stares at the hand on his forearm. For a split second, Seonghwa has an epiphany. Hongjoong is just a man. With five fingers on each hand. He counts them. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. His hand looks small and soft, gentle and kind. But the man it’s connected to doesn’t fit that vocabulary.

And yet, Seonghwa knows that he can’t leave. Not when Hongjoong sounds so vulnerable, and not when he’s so helplessly in love with him. His anger simmers so quickly, it feels as if it almost wasn’t there in the first place. Seonghwa’s gaze turns from Hongjoong’s hand to his face. He looks scared. It could almost fool Seonghwa into believing that he is. 

Hongjoong sees the change in Seonghwa’s eyes as soon as he decides to stay. A smile breaks across his face, and he knows that he’s won Seonghwa over. With just three words and a soft tone. How pathetically easy. Hongjoong’s stomach still threatens to boil over in anger, but the triumph does slightly help his nerves.

With a gentle tug, Seonghwa rejoins Hongjoong on the bed. Hongjoong helps him unbutton his shirt again, carefully and deliberately undoing each button. He slides the button up off of him as he finishes. He leans down and, as he’s about to press a kiss to Seonghwa’s stomach, Seonghwa grabs him by the chin, making him look up. “I’m still mad at you.” He doesn’t really mean it.

The feeling is mutual in Hongjoong’s eyes. Hongjoong was pissed before, but now the vulnerability of Seonghwa’s hand holding his chin up is making it worse. Instead of reacting, however, Hongjoong smiles. One of his teasing, fake smiles. Seonghwa can’t tell the difference. “You love me.”

“I do,” Seonghwa sighs. “Can we just hold each other tonight?”

Hongjoong could almost scoff. Cuddling. Another weird relationship thing that he could not understand. What’s the point? Wouldn’t a real couple just have makeup sex in this situation? But he presses a chaste kiss to Seonghwa’s chest and scootches back up his body anyways. One thing Hongjoong does understand is compromise. Though he’s not a big fan of it.

They slip under the covers together, anyway. Seonghwa wraps his right arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders, encouraging Hongjoong to rest on his chest. He obliges, pressing an ear flat onto Seonghwa and wrapping his right arm around his waist.

Hongjoong quickly dozes off, the argument having not affected him too deeply. He won, so it doesn’t matter. Though hearing Seonghwa’s heartbeat in his ear does, for a brief second, make him wish that it would stop. So he could be free of the standards Seonghwa holds him to.

Seonghwa doesn’t fall asleep so easily. Why had he just let Hongjoong get away with that? Why can’t he stand up to him better? Why does he have such a strong effect on him? Why does he feel the tiniest urge to strangle him in his sleep right now? Fucking hell.

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