THE ANSWER: XVIII

THE ANSWER: XVIII

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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FUCK.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

That’s the only thought that you’re capable of stringing together. FUCK. WHY.

Why had Yunho been there? Why had he been downstairs? Why at that exact time? Why? Is the universe against you? Is there some metaphysical reason that you can’t fucking get anything to go right? Is Hongjoong onto something about fucking parallel universes? Fuck.

You rush down the hallway, away from the cafeteria, without any real idea of where you’re going. If you open the door, will Yunho hear? 

Does that even matter? He’s going to tell someone, he has to, he’s fucking Yunho for Christ’s sake. One of the most delusional people here. God. Why?

You would almost rather that it had been Seonghwa, or even Hongjoong himself, that had found you. At least then this would all be over with much quicker. You wouldn’t have to worry about them finding out, or about your dwindling time window for escape. You would simply be stopped. Stopped how? You’re not entirely sure. But it would be better than painful prickling in your chest as your heart beats wildly against your still rather fresh injury.

The handle of the knife is digging into your back as you hurry down the hall. Did Yunho see it? He must’ve. Fuck. The feeling of the blade through the towel is almost unbearable. Not in a painful way, simply in the weight of the action behind taking it. Was it worth it? If you hadn’t gone for the knife, would you have been caught?

Why had you even thought you needed it? To defend yourself? From who? Had you planned on getting caught? In your running mind, it almost seems like you had. As if you would be able to use a weapon on someone, even Hongjoong or Seonghwa, even if your life was threatened. Did you honestly believe it would be that easy?

The hallway feels as if it is expanding, growing ever longer to prevent your escape. It’s disorientating, like a terrible shot in a horror movie that shows just how hopeless the situation is. It feels like you could turn around and be only inches from Yunho, having barely made any progress at all. The walls stretch as you hope that you’re getting closer and closer to the bend that will lead to the door. Will you ever reach it? Will you open it if you do?

After what feels like forever, you reach the front door and make your decision without even considering any other options. You pull the door open, expecting it to be much heavier than it actually is. You stumble back at the lightness, probably making entirely too much noise, but you genuinely cannot be bothered.

You fly out the door, the cool night air hitting your face as you start running without any attempt to hide yourself. For all intents and purposes, you’ve already been caught. The clock is only ticking down until they find you. Might as well attempt to put more distance between yourself and this place; might as well make it as hard as possible for them to locate you. 

Your feet pound against the ground, the shock of your weight sending a dull pain through your lower legs with each strike, but you can barely feel it. When you reach the beginning (or end, depending on your view) of the driveway, you turn back, checking for signs of… anything.

Your eyes don’t want to focus or stay still, but you can tell that there’s no movement at the door. The windows… maybe. A few curtains look to be rustling in their frames. But that could be anyone, not necessarily Hongjoong or Seonghwa, or even just your eyes and their inability to focus with the adrenaline coursing through you. 

Whatever, it doesn’t matter. You need to run. Now. And you take off once more down the driveway, running straight down the middle of the road. You’re vaguely aware of the small rocks and pebbles stirring in your wake, and a truly miniscule portion of your thinking goes toward praying that you don’t hit a big rock and stumble. The last thing that needs to happen right now is a sprained or broken ankle, not that even that would be able to completely stop you. 

The next thing your mind devotes capacity to is the realization of how dark it is. You know that there are seven foot corn stalks surrounding the road, but you can hardly even see your arms swinging at your sides, let alone five feet to your left or right. 

You just hope that your eyes will adjust as you’re outside longer. 

You continue sprinting down the dirt road, simultaneously aware of the chill in the September air and the moisture rising on your skin. That’s another realization— it must be September by now. You run for what feels like ages, hoping and praying that the distance is as far as it feels. Though you can’t see very far ahead or behind yourself, you feel that you must be out of sight of the farm, at least. If it was daytime, would you be able to see the T-shape of the end of the road? You’re not sure. How long had the dirt road gone on when you arrived? A mile? Maybe a bit more? 

As you run, there’s a tightening pain in your chest that demands to be felt. You slow your pace in an attempt to fill your lungs, but the panting breaths continue until you have to stop. You pause in the middle of the road, bending in half to rest your hands on your knees. 

For a brief moment, you wonder if you’re going to start hyperventilating. The breaths come faster and faster as you straighten back up, bringing a hand to swipe over your forehead. You let out a cough, hoping to clear some of the tightness in your chest as you try to control your breathing. In and out. Nice and slow. You focus on the sound of your breaths, realizing that they are, quite literally, the only sound to be heard. It’s soothing, in a way. 

You begin to calm down, feeling your breathing return to a semblance of a healthy pattern. You glance around, hoping to see anything that could be of guidance to yourself. While you notice that your eyes have adjusted a bit more (you can now see the small patches of grass lining the road before the corn starts), you can’t see much that could help you. 

Onward.

As you begin your jaunt down the road again, the thought of how long you have until they’re coming for you crosses your mind. It seems like it’s been a while, at least 15 minutes. Maybe Yunho hadn’t said anything? Maybe he simply assumed you were telling the truth?

No, he’s not that gullible. You can’t even let yourself hope that he would be. If anything, he’s way too far up Hongjoong’s ass to not say something. God.

What would Mingi have done if he had found you? You try to quickly dismiss the thought, obviously he wouldn’t give you up. Right? Or… would he? He wants you to stay, but… that badly? Would he have even realized that you were running? You really have no id-

Behind you, an engine roars awake, the sound tearing through the air to you.

The sound startles you so hard that you freeze, coming to a stop so quickly that you almost face-plant into the gravel. The scratching of the rocks beneath your feet almost seems louder than the engine now idling from behind you. You stand as still as you possibly can, waiting to hear the churning of rocks or the crunch of the grass or something that would indicate movement. 

Your eyes desperately scan the road in front of you as you search for an out. There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. All you can see is the road in front of you and the beginnings of the corn to either side. Though your only choice is clear, you can’t quite bring yourself to veer off of the gravel. Is it not common knowledge that corn fields are dangerous?

The engine revs from somewhere behind you, followed by the crunching of the dirt road.

Your breathing speeds up as you remain frozen, trying to form a singular coherent thought. You obviously cannot outrun a vehicle. But you very well could get lost and die if you went into the corn. But there truly are no other options. Its run or hide. There is no third choice, no way out and no way back. 

“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself, not hesitating any longer. 

You quickly dash off of the road and head to the field at your right, not considering the consequences any longer. If you get lost and die in the corn, at least Hongjoong won’t have the satisfaction of killing you himself, right? Better to die from the elements than some psychopath, right? 

You reach the first stalks, using your hands and shoulders to pry an opening as you step into the field. Your feet quickly sink into the soft dirt of the field, but you don’t let it deter you. The smell also hits you quickly, foul and distinctly manure. Fucking hell, that stench is going to linger… assuming you make it out tonight. You still press on further into the corn, being careful to watch your footfalls while also going as fast as you can. Again, the last thing you need right now is a broken ankle. Especially now that you know they’re coming.

Once you think you’re probably around fifteen feet deep into the field, you pause to listen. For a brief second, all you can hear is your own breathing and the rustling of the stalks around you. Your hands burn with small cuts caused by grabbing the plants, and you can feel your feet sinking deeper into the dirt beneath you, but the sensations are pushed to the back of your mind as you focus on the engine.

You can still hear the crunch of the road and the hum of the engine, but it’s harder to conceptualize where the sound is coming from with reference to where you are. Its behind you, for certain, coming closer. You grab onto the stalks in front of you in an attempt to stop them from rustling, desperate to hear every single hint that the sounds behind you could offer.

It still sounds as though the vehicle is quite a bit away from you, but you have no idea what the true distance is. 

Carefully and deliberately, you turn to your left. You try to keep as straight as possible, wanting to keep your bearings as much as possible. You should be pointing directly away from the farm, and the road should now be to your left, assuming you had traveled a straight path inward. Taking a deep breath, you continue straight onward. You know that you can’t outrun them, but it can’t hurt to put more distance in the way. 

You don’t run, as you can tell from the way your feet sink into the soil and the thickness of the stalks that it would only end in you injuring yourself. Instead, you try and carefully make your way ahead, deliberate with every step.

The engine only whines louder. 

The adrenaline coursing through you makes your hands shake as you grab onto the stalks in front of you, the vibrations passing along to the leaves near your hands. You can feel dirt starting to seep into your shoes, maddeningly squishing under your sock. The smell of the manure has faded to barely a sensation, but that could probably be attributed to the fact that you’re almost exclusively breathing through your mouth now, huffing from the exertion of keeping yourself upright on the uneven ground. 

The engine sounds closer, much closer now. Maybe only 30 or 40 feet from where you’re standing. You come to a halt, panickedly trying to decide whether it would be better to keep moving and risk being seen, or to stop altogether and hope that they can’t track your position. Your hand shakes as you bring it up to press against your mouth, attempting to slow your breathing that had started accelerating once again. 

The engine sounds louder, and you dare turn your head to the left. Though the stalks are much taller than yourself, you squat in an attempt to hide yourself further, allowing yourself to turn toward the road. Guess your decision is made, then. Hide it is. You peer through the stalks, trying to catch a glimpse of the road on the outside. It’s hardly successful, considering you can hardly see in front of yourself due to the darkness of the night. 

That is, until light inches toward the stalks. 

Once you perceive the light, it grows, rays getting stronger as the source moves closer and closer. The vehicle is almost ear-shatteringly loud now, quickly approaching your location. It’s close enough that you can hear the gravel tearing out under the wheels, scraping against the other rocks on the road. 

You’re shaking. You press your free hand against the hand on your face, trying your best to still the shuttering that has now overtaken you. You allow yourself to squat lower, pressing your body as small as it will condense. You hardly want to blink, wanting to see the light grow brighter and brighter, hoping and praying that it will pass you and they’ll continue on without stopping.

Please, please, please. You hold your eyes wide open, watching as the source of the light finally comes into view. Between the stalks, you can hardly see the body of the truck, but it is undeniably a pick-up. The light quickly escapes, the truck continuing down the road without so much as a tap to the breaks. The light leaves an afterimage floating around your vision, a white streak across the center of your field of view. Blinking quickly, you remove your hands from your face and let out a deep sigh. 

Well, shit. What now? Should you risk moving? Are they far enough away that they couldn’t see movement in the rearview or side mirrors? Is it worth the risk? Or do you wait until they give up, until they turn around and drive past you again? Fuck. You have no idea.

Even if you did start moving, what direction would you go? Back toward the farm? Or closer to the truck? You could go further into the corn, but that simply does not seem wise. For all you know, the field goes on for miles in that direction. You know for a fact that, if you keep going straight, it will eventually end. You turn back away from the road, so that it is once again to your left. Might as well keep your bearings straight, whether you’ll move or not.

From ahead of you, you hear the abrupt scream of worn-down brakes. You suck in a quick breath, not moving from your squat on the ground. Why had they stopped? Had you moved too much? Could they have possibly seen that? You glance upward at the stalks around you, looking for any sign that they had been moving. Besides the gentle sway shared by each stalk, they weren’t moving. Fuck. 

You bring your head down, resting your forehead on your knees and squeezing your eyes shut. Please, please, please, just let them pass. There’s no way they can see you within all of this corn, right? It’s impossible. You try to keep your breathing steady, not wanting to panic more. 

Easier said than done when the next thing you hear is the engine growing closer once more, tearing backwards down the road. Gravel flies off of the road and into the field, hitting the corn with harsh, scraping sounds. The noises only get louder and closer, until the rocks are landing mere feet from yourself. Only then does it stop, the brakes of the truck screeching in protest at the sudden stop once more. 

You lift your head and open your eyes when the engine dies, plunging you into sensory deprivation again. The night is as silent and dark as it ever was, but you know the truck is there. You can’t see it and you didn’t see it before the darkness took over again, but you can feel it. Or, perhaps more precisely, you can feel him. 

Two doors open, followed by the sounds of shoes hitting gravel, revealing the location of the truck in relation to yourself. Directly to your left. The doors slam shut, creaking in the way that old hinges do. A throat clears, and the anticipation for what’s coming nearly makes you fall over.

You stay still, not daring to move even to cover your mouth. You breathe as silently as possible, praying that the expansion of your ribcage isn’t disturbing the corn around you. You hear footsteps start on the road, though it doesn’t sound as if they’re walking toward you. Rather, it sounds aimless, like they’re circling. It’s definitely two people, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they are.

Hongjoong you can feel. His aura is unmistakable, even if your only sense of him is the scrape of his boots on the gravel. And, where Hongjoong goes, Seonghwa follows. 

If there had been any question in your mind whether or not the other set of shoes belonged to Seonghwa, it wouldn’t have lasted for long.

“Princess,” Seonghwa’s voice carries outward from the road, “I’ll ask you nicely, just once. Come out now, please.” 

You hear him walk from a place that seems closer, stopping at what sounds like the edge of the road.

“I’ll even count,” he offers, his voice sounding as if he’s angled his head away from your hiding spot. “How does that sound? I’ll count to five. If you don’t follow my voice out of that field, I won’t be so sweet when I find you.”

Seonghwa starts walking then, his voice getting farther away. “One…”

Instead of thinking of a plan, you think of Hongjoong. Where is he? You strain to hear for the other set of footsteps that you know must be there, but you only hear Seonghwa, “Two…” There’s no chance you’re leaving your spot. No matter what the punishment will be, it can’t be worse than knowing you willingly went back with them… Plus, there’s still a chance you get out of this, right? Still a way to get rid of them?

But what if they do? What about Hongjoong? He wouldn’t let Seonghwa hurt you, right? Your stomach twists as you wonder if Hongjoong’s opinion of you has changed because of the situation. Is he mad? Had you ever seen him mad? Is he one of those people with a completely uncontrolled temper? Maybe he wants to kill you himself, nevermind letting Seonghwa do it. You don’t have the capacity to question why you suddenly care about Hongjoong’s opinion.

“Three…”

Your heart is beating so hard in your chest that you swear it should be audible, giving away your position. Where the fuck is Hongjoong? Why can’t you hear his footsteps?

Seonghwa’s voice is only getting farther away, “Four…”

You wish Seonghwa would shut up. He’s counting like a mother, the way they count when they want you to do the right thing when you’re misbehaving as a child. It’s probably his point, to humiliate you by comparing you to a child. You don’t care about his motivations, instead you strain to hear Hongjoong, but you can hardly hear yourself think over the thrumming of your heart in your ears.

“Four-and-a-half.” Now Seonghwa exemplifies a mom. 

You remain planted in your spot, though your thighs are starting to burn from the squatting position. No chance. 

“Five.” It’s Hongjoong’s voice this time, and you’re surprised by the relief you momentarily feel. “You’re really going to make us go in there, (Y/n)?” His voice is clearly coming from outside of the field, in the direction of the road. You’re startled by this, realizing that you had half expected Hongjoong to be sneaking up on you.

Hongjoong’s voice is hard. And your stomach rolls as you realize that he must be mad. Had he ever used that tone with you? Moreover, you’re struck by the sudden guilt you feel. What is there to feel guilty about? Nothing, absolutely nothing. And yet… the familiar twinge whirls in your chest, mingling with the anxiety already present; enhancing the feeling. 

“I can see you, you know.” 

It’s a statement, not a question. You can clearly picture Hongjoong’s face, just off of the tone of his statement. He’s lacking his characteristic smile, the ghost of a frown forming as though he doesn’t want to reveal what he’s truly thinking. But you can tell, just from his voice, you’ve fucked up. 

Your knees are starting to burn from your prolonged squat. Your feet have practically disappeared into the soil, and half of you wonders how much longer you plan on hiding. They’re clearly going to find you, it’s just a matter of time. At this point, you’re just wasting your own time. And don’t you feel bad for making Hongjoong upset? Can you make it up to him if you come out? Would that fix things?

… Where the fuck did that come from? You resist the urge to smack yourself upside the head. You do not care about Hongjoong’s feelings. You do not care if he’s mad at you, you do not want to make it better. You have absolutely no desire to reveal yourself, and this is not a waste of time. You hope.

Seonghwa sighs. “You’re such a spoiled brat, (Y/n).” He sounds more annoyed than anything, a contrast to the coldness of Hongjoong. “It’s too fucking cold for this.” Seonghwa mumbles after, probably more to the other man than to you. 

After a few seconds, his voice comes again, only much, much closer. “I’m not playing anymore, I’m getting you and we’re leaving.” His sentence is punctuated by the shuffling of corn stalks, as he enters the field to your left.

For a moment, you’re frozen, waiting to see if he’s bluffing. How the fuck could they possibly know your position? There’s no way.

Unfortunately, only a few seconds pass before you’re forced into action. Too quickly, you start seeing flashes of Seonghwa through the stalks. You quickly jump up, your legs crying in protest at the sudden change in posture.  You barely feel it, though, as you’re instead struck by the sensation of the towel in your pants. Or, more plainly, the knife in the towel in your pants. The towel brushes against the skin of your back, the textured surface rubbing you almost raw. The pain of the friction burn doesn’t stop you for a second before you reach behind yourself to grasp for the towel. 

You easily find the handle through the towel, grabbing it solidly and pulling it out of your waistband. You hastily unwrap the weapon from the towel, discarding it as soon as the knife is free. 

Rather than wait for Seonghwa, you start moving. You hope in the direction that is parallel to the road, the original direction that you had traveled, but your sense of direction is confused now. You try to not rush, not wanting to fall and accidentally stab yourself. Wouldn’t that be a funny little joke from the universe? Seems like something that would be just your luck.

You move, but it’s too slow. You quickly can hear the stalks behind you snapping apart as Seonghwa tears through them. He clearly has less of a regard for the field than yourself, pushing the stalks as loudly as he wants. You know that he must be able to see you. 

“Isn’t this a fun surprise?” He calls out behind you, “She has a knife, Hongjoong!” Seonghwa laughs, slightly out of breath from the exertion of pushing through the field. 

You hear a scoff from somewhere ahead of you. “Is that so.” Again, he’s not asking.

Too late, you realize that you’re approaching the edge of the field. You see the truck, and, perhaps worse, you see Hongjoong leaning against the hood. And he’s already looking at you. He looks just as plain as you had imagined, his face completely devoid of emotion.

You turn your head back to get a sense of where Seonghwa is, but he’s already practically on your ass. No way out… besides, well, out of the field. 

Stepping onto solid ground, you’re able to rush out much faster than you had been able to go in the soil. The ground feels great for your sore ankles, but you can’t say that being out in the open does much else for you.

You come out onto the road about fifteen feet from Hongjoong, who's still leaning against the truck. Seonghwa quickly pushes out of the corn as well, though he bends at the waist to rest his hands on his knees as he breathes deeply. 

You look back at Hongjoong, raising your hand clutching the knife. You bring your other hand to the handle, trying to stabilize the shaking blade. “Stay away from me.” You try to sound menacing, like you could theoretically do some damage, but it doesn’t come out menacing at all. Instead, your voice shakes almost as much as your hands are, barely coming out louder than a whisper. 

Hongjoong glares at you, not moving from his spot. “Get in the truck, (Y/n), now.” 

You shake your head, catching Seonghwa moving towards you in your periphery. You swing your hands to the side he’s approaching from, pointing the blade between the two of the men in front of you.

“I’m not going back.” You say, your voice coming out stronger this time. Your hands are still shaking, but your feet are strongly planted into the ground.

Hongjoong lets out a deep breath, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead. “I’m not going to ask you again. Get in the fucking truck.”

Seonghwa tries to grab for you as you’re paying attention to Hongjoong, but you spot him just in time. You swing toward him, hoping that it scares him off enough. Seonghwa quickly has to take a few steps backward, but then he’s on you again.

He reaches out, grabbing your wrists tightly in his hand. Locking his arm, he’s easily able to stop you from being able to reach him with the blade at all. You still try turning your wrists, but the hold proves to be too tight, at too extreme of an angle. 

Seonghwa pulls you to him, wrapping his free arm between your arm and your body, pulling one of your elbows behind your back as you hit against his chest. The motion is fluid, all at once, and it causes you to lose your hold on the knife. It clatters out of your hands, bouncing once, twice, and then resting on the gravel road. Seonghwa swiftly drops your hands so that he can wrap your other arm behind you as well. 

You stare at the knife on the ground, wondering how Seonghwa had done that so quickly. His breath is warm by your ear, as he’s panting ever so slightly. He has you pulled tight against him, and you can feel his strength easily. You still try to fight against his hold, wriggling your chest and bending your legs in any attempt to sneak out of his grasp.

To no avail, however. You look at Hongjoong, who's still a considerable distance away. Despite the space between you two, and despite the heat of Seonghwa behind you, his gaze sends a chill down your spine. 

“Like I said. I won’t ask again.” He states, tipping his head back towards the truck. You expect Seonghwa to simply start pushing you forward, but he doesn’t.

He remains still. “The choice is yours, princess.” He whispers, still soundly slightly out of breath from the ordeal. 

You pull with your arms, attempting to get Seonghwa to let go of you. “Let me go, then. I’m not getting in that truck.”

“Fine.” Hongjoong crosses his arms across his chest, his expression unchanging. “Seonghwa, get rid of her. And do it quickly, please, I’m fucking exhausted.” He turns away from the two of you, moving to get back into the truck.

It’s like you can hear glass shattering in your mind. “What?” You say, almost crying out. “No, no,” You apparently had been disillusioned. Hongjoong is pissed. You made him mad and now he doesn’t care whether you’re alive or not. But this can’t be the way you die, seriously. You angle your face in an attempt to look at Seonghwa, hoping to plead to him, but you can hardly see his face. “You can’t, you can’t just, just—”

Hongjoong freezes ahead of you. “I can’t what? Kill you?” He turns on his heel to face you and Seonghwa again, tilting his head in question. “Why is that? Enlighten me.” 

Your face twists as you try and piece together an argument. “You, you said that, that if you wanted me dead, that I would be already!” You don’t know why your mind picks that conversation as the one to use to defend your life. “Aren’t I,” you pause, not sure that you want to say it out loud, “aren’t I one of your favorites? Don’t you want me?” The question tears out of you before you can stop it, tears welling in your eyes. 

You wish that Hongjoong’s face would change. That his expression would crack and his stupid little smile would appear. But it doesn’t. “My favors change rather quickly when someone becomes more trouble than they’re worth.” He looks down at his feet, brushing some rocks out of the way with his foot, staying silent for a moment.

After a beat, he points to the ground in front of him. “Come beg,” he looks back up at you, “If it’s good enough, maybe I’ll let you come back.”

He nods at Seonghwa, and his grip is quickly off of you. You stumble forward from the sudden lack of support, your mind spinning with the choices in front of you and the absolute onslaught of emotion coursing through you. Hadn’t you, just minutes earlier, thought that dying would be better than going back? Why do you feel so guilty? Tears are running down your cheeks now, though the only way you can tell is from the cool night’s air suddenly blowing colder against your face. You feel nauseous and anxious, confused and conflicted.

You don’t want to go back. But you can’t die, not like this. You’d rather freeze to death in a corn field than let Seonghwa be the one to end your life. But fuck, Hongjoong is scary. And weird. Beg? He wants you to beg for your life? You turn behind you to look at Seonghwa. He’s smiling. And on guard, ready to grab you if you try anything.

You scan your surroundings, looking for any sort of alternative escape.

But there’s nothing. Honestly and truly, nothing. You can’t even see the main road behind Seonghwa, the road you had been hoping would be coming soon. You turn back to Hongjoong, hoping and praying that he would crack a smile or a smirk or anything that wasn’t the blankness that he had been staring at you with.

But that’s exactly how he’s standing, as emotionless as he had been. His arms are crossed against his chest, waiting. Hongjoong has always been scary, but never like this. He always had a playful lilt, a manipulative smile, some sense of sick enjoyment. But he doesn’t seem to be enjoying this at all.

Fucking hell.

You inch toward Hongjoong, not wanting to move too quickly. You want to prolong this inevitable for as long as possible. Hardly lifting your feet off of the ground, it doesn’t take long for Hongjoong to get fed up with your antics.

He snaps his fingers. “Fuck, you better have something good to say to me; every fucking second it takes for you to get in front of me makes me angrier.”

That puts a bit of pep in your step, making you scurry over to him faster. When you’re a foot away from him, you open your mouth, about to start prattling off whatever comes to mind, when Hongjoong rolls his eyes. He casts his eyes to the ground, making a show of looking between the ground and yourself. 

You take a deep breath, really not liking what he’s insinuating. But, you also don’t want to make him have to say it, which would probably only piss him off further. 

You drop to your knees in front of him, sitting on your heels. You put your hands on either side of your thighs, the gravel digging into your palms as you try and think of something to say. 

Unfortunately, the words escape you. You let a sob escape your lungs as you look up at Hongjoong, who’s steely expression hasn’t changed a single bit. “Please,” you start, coughing a bit over the words. “Please, Hongjoong,”

He blinks down at you. “Please what?”

You clench your hands, dirt going under your nails and rocks scraping against your skin. Your body shakes with another sob, and you’re frankly not even sure why you’re crying. Humiliation, maybe? Guilt? “Let me,” you hiccup, “let me come back.”

You want to take back the words as you say them, but you can’t bring yourself to stop them from flowing. “I’m sorry I made you upset. I’m so sorry, Hongjoong.” You wish he would reach a hand out to you, touch you in any attempt of comfort or punishment. “Please, just, please let me, let me make it up to you. Let me back, please. I’m sorry.” You cry, the words burning your throat as you speak them. 

You don’t mean it. You don’t. 

Blinking your tears away, you attempt to focus on Hongjoong’s face again. You can’t read anything from his expression, not a single thing. You open your mouth to let another plea out, but he cuts you off before you can start. “Get in the fucking truck.”

Another sob wracks through you, though this is one of relief. You push yourself off of your knees, shakily standing. You brush the rocks that had embedded in your hands off, quickly moving around Hongjoong to reach for the door. 

The door swings open with a monstrous creak. You scramble into the cab, wanting to be safely inside before Hongjoong can change his mind. There’s only two seats, so you just position yourself on the center console. Not like there’s any cops here that can pull you over for not wearing a seatbelt. You almost want to laugh.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa are quick to follow, Seonghwa taking the driver's seat and Hongjoong the passenger’s. Hongjoong rolls his eyes as he sees where you’re seated, situating himself in the seat before grabbing onto your arm and yanking you downward. He pulls you onto his lap, an arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady. You don’t have the energy to try and get him to release you, even though his hold is just as hot and repulsive as always.

Seonghwa looks over at the two of you before starting the truck, taking the time to roll his own eyes. “That was a pretty pathetic display, princess.” He puts the truck in reverse, turning onto the grass at the side of the road to spin the truck around.

The ride back to the farm is silent. Not a single word passes between the three of you as Seonghwa drives back down the road. The cab of the truck is warm, much warmer than outside, and the full body contact you have with Hongjoong is making you even warmer. 

You don’t dare to turn to look at his face. You can’t imagine that he’s feeling much happier, you can practically feel the anger radiating out of his chest. With each bump in the uneven road, he grips your waist harder, squeezing you down to him. You would like to believe that he’s trying to make sure that you don’t hit your head on the ceiling, but it’s probably more likely that he doesn’t want you bouncing and landing hard on his lap. Mingi used to do the same thing.

You launch into the memory before you even realize. There had been many, many occasions where your friend group had needed to fit more than five people in a standard car. We’re talking eight or nine people in a five-seat car. As Mingi was typically one of the tallest people around, he would, naturally, get the monopoly on the passenger's seat. Until he started insisting he sit with you, saying, “If you can’t wear a seatbelt, the next best thing is my arms,” and other shit like that. 

This happened many times, wherein nine people would squeeze into a single hatchback and you’d perch on Mingi’s lap, his arms securely wrapped around you. Never once did you hit your head on the ceiling when he was holding you. Until you had to get out of the car, of course, which typically required you to smack your head on something at least once. Everytime your group would arrive somewhere and a comically large number of people would escape out of the car, you would think about what you must look like to an outsider looking in. A clown car, full of college students. 

If you close your eyes, can you pretend that Hongjoong is Mingi? That you’re back, two years ago, windows down with the night air blowing across your face and through your hair? 

The answer is no. Hongjoong is holding you too tightly, the atmosphere in the cab is too tense, and you’ve probably never felt less safe in your life. You had always felt safe with Mingi.

Too soon, the corn fields break apart and you can see the farm in all of its terrible glory once again. You really hadn’t gotten very far, you realize. The drive had to have been less than five minutes, you probably hadn’t even made it two miles out. The realization makes you want to start crying again. 

Seonghwa drives onto the property, swinging the truck around close to the main building. He stops, but doesn’t park, idling in front of the building. Hongjoong releases you to open the door, not so gently pushing you off of his lap. You stumble out of the truck, hardly managing to land on your feet, and Hongjoong is quick to follow. He slams the door behind him once he’s out, quickly wrapping a hand around your upper arm and moving toward the front door of the building.

You look back at the truck in an attempt to see where Seonghwa is going to take it, but Hongjoong yanks the door open and pulls you in with him before you can get a glimpse. You turn back forward, figuring that you should probably watch as you go up the stairs, which is where Hongjoong is leading you.

You stay silent as you begin the ascent, despite wanting to break the tension between the two of you. You’ve never been comfortable with Hongjoong, but this is something entirely different. You just hope that he’ll lock you in your room again and call it a night. Maybe he’s so pissed that he doesn’t even want to look at you? That would be nice! 

Unfortunately, Hongjoong walks right past your floor, continuing up the stairs. You decide it’s probably better to not ask what’s about to happen, but that doesn’t stop a small whimper from escaping your throat. Fuck.

He only tightens his hold on your arm, picking up his pace as you get to levels of the compound that you had never seen before. When the staircase ends, he turns down the hall. The lights are off and it’s hard to see, but he leads you with a confidence that tells you he knows where he’s going. The two of you come to a stop at the end of the hallway, Hongjoong patting around his pockets looking for… a key, as it turns out. He pulls the key from his front pocket and fluidly twists it in the lock, the door swinging open once he pulls the key out and twists the knob.

Once the door is open, he finally lets go of you. He uses his now free hand to push you into the room, surprising you. You trip over yourself, your knees landing hard on the solid floor. A new vein of pain shoots through them, and you realize that you must’ve scraped them earlier. 

Hongjoong enters the room as well, shutting the door behind him and flipping a lightswitch on the wall with a familiar dexterity. The room is suddenly bright with light; you have to squint to allow your eyes a second to adjust… before realizing that, oh, this is Hongjoong’s apartment. It must be. 

He walks past you as you push yourself to your feet, still not bothering to say a word to you. You awkwardly stand in the entryway, taking in the apartment. It’s not that extravagant, actually. Besides having a living area and a kitchen (more like a kitchenette), it isn’t that much bigger than your own room. There’s a large couch facing a blank wall in the middle of the living area, pillows and blankets stacked abundantly at the sides and over the back. A coffee table rests between the couch and the wall. There’s bookshelves, overflowing with more than just books. Artwork, collectibles, textbooks, regular books, and… pictures. Framed pictures. You can’t make out the subjects, but it still strikes you in your chest for a moment.

Hongjoong was once a child. He has parents and a family, he wasn’t always the way that you’ve known him.

… What the hell are you thinking? Who the fuck cares if he has a family? Not twenty minutes ago, he had told someone to kill you and then made you beg for your life. This is not exactly a situation where empathy is necessary, right? 

As if to prove your point, his voice harshly cuts through the silence in the apartment. “Sit down.” He commands, pointing to the couch. “We’re going to have a conversation.” 

Not seeing any alternative option, you shuffle further into the apartment, keeping your eyes on Hongjoong as you sit in the middle of the couch. He stands between the couch and the coffee table, which you can now see is so covered in papers and books that you can hardly see the wood it’s made of. You almost wish that you could spend some time alone in Hongjoong’s room, snooping through his stuff. He must have some interesting things, no?

You fold your hands in your lap, feeling as though your shakes are coming on again. Hongjoong does not need to see your shaking hands. You stare up at him, trying to gauge his anger. He’s not looking at you, instead scanning the room as if he’s the one that’s never been there before. He rests his hands on his hips, letting out a deep sigh before locking eyes with you.

“Let me ask you something,” he starts, “have you ever thought of anyone but yourself?”

The question takes you off guard, and Hongjoong leaves you no time to respond. “Do you know how many lives you would have ruined if that little escapade had been successful? How many people would’ve had to die? While you might think that I’m some sort of unfeeling, uncaring, sadistic bastard, which— I don’t know, maybe you’d be right— I know I don’t feel the same way other people do; that’s beside the point I’m trying to make.” He shakes his head a bit, as if to clear his thoughts. “What I mean is that I do care about the people here, in my own way. The people that put their faith in what I say. I don’t want them to have to die. Do you want that?”

You shake your head no.

“You could’ve fooled me!” He exclaims, his voice raising. “We have a sensitive system here, and it doesn’t work if someone leaves. If we hadn’t found you, everyone would’ve had to go. How would you have felt, hearing about that on the news? Good about yourself? Do you not care about Mingi? Or the children we have? Would you have been happy to see me dead? Seonghwa?” Hongjoong is yelling at this point, not giving you a second to get a word in. “I cannot tolerate such reckless behavior! You cannot behave like a petulant child anymore. You are lucky that you’re still alive. If you had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have even had to tell Seonghwa to kill you. Do you understand that?”

His eyes are wide, a vein popping in his forehead as he pauses. “Speak!”

You blink, trying to think of a response. You’re almost surprised to realize that you’re not crying. “I, uh, yes?” You think for a second, “Well, no, I don’t. But I guess I understand what you’re saying.”

Hongjoong laughs, then. “What is there to not understand?”

If you weren’t so scared, you might laugh with him. “I still don’t get why you think I’m so special. You don’t even know me.” Your reply comes barely louder than a whisper. “I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I want nothing to do with this place, which you clearly do not appreciate. So I don’t get what you want from me.”

Hongjoong’s face falls back into an expressionless plain. “Who said I don’t know you?” He shakes his head. “Do you think we invite just anyone to join us? With no planning? No forethought, no investigation?”

Oh. 

Your surprise must show on your face, and Hongjoong must be able to read your mind. He answers you before you can even ask your question. “I know you. You’ll understand that part eventually.” His voice is still hard, but at least he’s not yelling anymore. “Do you understand that you are only alive because of me?”

You slowly nod your head.

“I need you to say it.”

“I’m only alive because of you.” You hold your eye contact with Hongjoong as you say it, not wanting him to find some flaw in your delivery of the sentence.

He nods his head, “And you’re, what?” 

… You try and think of what he wants you to say, eyebrows furrowing. “Thank-ful?” You break the word into two syllables, questioning if that’s what he wants to hear. 

“And?”

And what? You wrack your mind for something the statement is missing. “I’ll make it up to you?”

Hongjoong nods again. “Good enough. I’m glad you understand the gravity of your actions.” 

To your surprise, he squats down to be at your eye level, letting himself drop onto his knees in front of the couch. He quickly reaches for your hands, wrapping them up in his own. “Now it’s my turn to be selfish.” His head falls as he looks at the floor by your feet, staring at your dirty shoes. “Do you know how worried I was? How scared I was that you were gone?” His voice cracks with the word ‘gone,’ and your confusion only grows.

He looks back up at you, and you're dumbfounded to see his eyes sparkling with tears. “I’m sorry for, for yelling and for being mad. And for making you get all dirty, and for making you cry. I’m sorry if I scared you.” Hongjoong squeezes your hands tight in his, pouting slightly.

He rests his chin on your knees, looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Please forgive me, please (Y/n), understand. I was so relieved when I saw that you were okay.” He pulls your hands closer to him, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “It hurt me so much to have to treat you like I did. Do you forgive me?”

You nod before you can stop yourself. You’re so shocked by the scene that you can’t even question your reactions.

Hongjoong squeezes his eyes in relief, tears dripping down his cheeks. “Please… st-stop crying.” You stutter out, the sight of Hongjoong crying being way too much for your overwhelmed and exhausted brain. You pull a hand out of his to place on his head, awkwardly patting his hair. 

“Can I,” he leans into your touch, “can I hold you?”

Again, you’re agreeing before you even realize it. Genuinely, politely, what the fuck is happening? This whole scene feels like a dream, and you vaguely wonder if maybe you had fallen asleep somewhere. There’s no way this is actually happening, right?

Hongjoong quickly stands once again, pulling you to stand with him. Once you’re off the couch, he lets go and easily flops into a lying position, turning to his side and holding an arm open for you. You stand there, blinking at him, for a few seconds. 

Is this really a dream? In what universe would you willingly let Hongjoong be your big spoon? 

Hongjoong blinks up at you, a whine rising from his chest.  Yeah, definitely a dream. Hongjoong just whined. 

You shake your head to yourself as you turn your back to Hongjoong to lay down. He quickly wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. His breath tickles your neck as he wiggles his face closer to you. 

You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be comfortable. If it’s a dream, then there’s no harm in snuggling up with Hongjoong… Right… The most harmful thing about it would be the psychoanalysis of yourself that you’ll have to do when you wake up. If it’s not a dream… then you’ll deal with it later. You’re too tired to do anything, anyhow. Assuming it is a dream, you reach for Hongjoong’s arm around your waist. You rest your hand over his, weaving your fingers together.

He sighs, his warm breath blowing over your neck. “You know that I would never let anyone hurt you, right? That I would never hurt you?” He whispers the questions.

You make an affirmatory noise in your throat, not having the energy to think about the questions. 

“You will always be safe with me.”

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THE ANSWER: XIII

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: 6,583

The next morning, you wake up tired. Not that you had really slept, anyways. 

Seonghwa had dragged you back to your room, not saying a single word all the while. It seemed almost out of character for him, but he must’ve been just as tired as you were after that charade. 

After nearly going out of your mind analyzing every word that you could remember Hongjoong saying, you had dragged yourself to bed and attempted to shut off your mind. Unfortunately, this plan hadn’t worked out too well.

You spent most of the night tossing and turning, neither asleep nor awake. Rather, you were caught in that in between, the terrible portion on the sleep spectrum that leaves you more tired than rested. 

With the morning bell, you gave up trying to sleep, despite not having anywhere to go.

Since the bell rang, you’ve been sitting in bed, waiting. Waiting for Wooyoung to bring you breakfast and hopefully give you some more information. You glance over at the desk, quickly spotting the book still laying at an angle. 

Despite wanting to know more about this dreaded situation, you still can’t bring yourself to even touch the thing again. Hongjoong wants you to read it. So, as far as you’re concerned, the thing doesn’t even exist. You’ll read that book over your own dead body.

...But your curiosity is starting to get the better of you. If it could help you understand what’s going on better, shouldn’t you read it? Don’t you want to be armed with all of the knowledge possible? If you know their tactics, would that make them easier to resist? Or would reading it only make you more susceptible to the claims?

It’s like a riddle that you can’t solve. What if you decide to read it and accidentally believe a single word it says? Or what if you don’t read it and then lose yourself to their brainwashing techniques? You want neither of these outcomes.

But what if you read it and it can help you out of this? What if it does make it easier for you to withstand any of their tactics and escape? 

These thoughts run circles in your mind. There are too many arguments for and against reading the book. For now, however, you decide to continue avoiding it. Whatever possible good could come from it is outweighed by the possible bad.

You just need to focus on getting out.

It’s Monday morning now. You were scheduled to open The Bean this morning, so someone must have noticed your absence by now, right? You once again glance around the room, looking for a clock that isn’t there.

Well, whatever the time is, it’s definitely after opening. Your boss doesn’t normally swing by right in the morning, but he’ll come by eventually and realize that no one has opened. Hopefully he’ll realize something is wrong. 

You bite your lip in an attempt to restrain your hope. It’s not that you don’t trust your boss to realize something is up, but he might let it slide for a few days before he actually gets concerned. The man has been known to disappear for days at a time himself.

But even if your boss doesn’t notice, Jungeun will. Haseul will. You told them where you were going and for how long. When you don’t text them today, they’ll know. Honestly, they might know just from the fact that you hadn’t texted them last night. Afterall, they thought you would be back by the afternoon. A smile tries to grow on your face, but you continue restraining it.

You shouldn’t get your hopes up. Even if they realize something is wrong, it could take time for them to contact the police. If they contact them at all…

Christ, you really hope they don’t come looking for you alone. If that were to happen… 

You shudder to think of your friends, locked up like you are in this moment. It’s a terrible thought, one that you never want to come to reality.

There’s no way that you would be able to escape with the help of outsiders. Anyone that shows up here gets wound into the madness. Maybe a squadron of police officers could help, but anything less than that will end with nothing except more guilt for you.

Ugh, the guilt. You’ve been trying to not think about what Seonghwa and Hongjoong said about Mingi, but here it comes. Mingi came here willingly, and he didn’t bring you. He didn’t bring you because he was trying to get away from you. Meaning, technically, it’s your fault that he’s here in the first place. Fuck.

Ignoring the hollow sadness that radiates from your heart, guilt is all you can comprehend. You are responsible. Truly, it’s difficult for you to process the feeling. It weighs so heavily on your mind that you can’t navigate through it. It sits in the center of your brain like a tumor, growing with every minute that you spend dreading it. 

How could you let this happen? How had you not noticed that Mingi wanted to get away from you? 

You agonized over Mingi’s disappearance as soon as it happened. When it was still fresh in your mind you had groped to find an explanation, and had come up empty. It’s highly unlikely that you’ll be able to find one now. But it still plagues you. What had you done? Why hadn’t he told you? Sure, Mingi had never been one for confrontation; but he had always been able to be serious enough with you about serious things.

If you had done something so terrible that he wanted to cut you off completely, wouldn’t he have told you what it was? Wouldn’t he have talked to you like an adult? For heaven’s sake, you two had been best friends for years. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t talk to you about. And yet, he still decided to leave rather than tell you. 

Fuck. If only you could talk to Mingi. If he would just visit you, you could ask. Whether or not he told the truth or even wanted to talk to you about it at all remains up in the air, but it would be better than this incomprehensible fog. 

That brings up another question. If Mingi had been trying to get away, then why did he invite you here? Why was he being so kind to you? Why had he had a meltdown when you tried to leave? 

He must have gotten over whatever it was that had caused him to leave you. But that doesn’t seem right. If it had truly been something so bad that he didn’t even speak to you about it, it shouldn’t be something that he could get over to quickly. 

God, you need to stop thinking about this so hard. Your head is starting to hurt with all this worry. 

Thankfully, it’s at that precise moment that a knock comes at your door. You step off of your bed and walk towards the door as Wooyoung calls out that it’s just him.

You sit in front of the door, waiting for the slot to open and for breakfast to come through. Wooyoung quickly delivers, his eyes smiling at you through the slot before sticking the tray out for you. You quietly thank him as you take in the food on the tray this morning.

As you start eating, Wooyoung scoots back and leans against the opposite wall once more. Seeing him in the familiar position makes you remember what he had told you last night, before all the real commotion started. The ceremony… the Chosen… what the hell was up with any of that?

As you eat your meal, you find yourself wondering how Wooyoung came to be on this farm. Had he been kidnapped? Did he have friends and family desperately searching for him? Or had he come willingly? If he had, why? 

You glance out of the slot to take Wooyoung in. He’s still simply sitting across the hall from you, playing with his fingers. He looks bored. Briefly, you wonder if Wooyoung and you are close enough for you to ask him your questions. But then you wonder if maybe those are questions you don’t ask even your most dear friends… 

“Wooyoung, “ seeing how bored Wooyoung looks, you decide to ask anyway. “How long have you been here?” Not exactly the question that you were looking to ask, but it’ll get you in the door.

Wooyoung’s head perks up, and he’s looking at you once more. “Like, at your door? Maybe five minutes?” He looks genuinely confused, but you can’t help but feel like he knew what you meant.

You give what you hope is an understanding smile, despite being slightly annoyed. “I meant here,” you gesture around with your arms, “at this farm, with Hongjoong.”

Wooyoung’s eyes go wide before he breaks out into a smile. “Ohhhhh,” he giggles, “Um, around two years, maybe a little more.” He nods, happy with his answer.

You nod with him, processing his answer. Two years? That’s a long ass time. If Wooyoung had people looking for him, had they given up? It had only taken you a few weeks to stop your desperate search for Mingi; you can’t even imagine how tired someone looking for Wooyoung would be by now. They probably had given up. Or, at least, the police had. 

You try and think of a casual way to ask Wooyoung if he had been kidnapped, but that’s not exactly a casual question. If you asked him if he had been in your position now, would he even tell you? You realize for the first time that Wooyoung could straight up lie to you at any moment. Wooyoung isn’t your friend. For all you know, he could simply feed you false information straight from Hongjoong. Either way, you know he won’t tell you that he was forced to join, even if he was. He’s too deep now.

You settle on a question that might be just casual enough to not raise suspicion. “How did you find out about this place?” You shovel another bite of breakfast into your mouth before you can say something else you’ll regret.

Wooyoung ponders your question for a moment, and you can see him searching his mind for the answer. Will he tell you the truth? “Jongho approached me at school and invited me to stay for a weekend.” 

Jongho? That’s not at all what you had been expecting. You quickly swallow to ask your next question. “Did you know Jongho before?”

“Not really,” he says, shaking his head. “I had seen him around campus, but never really talked to him.” He shrugs his shoulders.

If he hadn’t really known Jongho, then why the hell had he agreed to come here with him? If Jongho recruited Wooyoung, had he recruited Mingi? These past two days, you had been putting the blame on Hongjoong, but you suppose it makes sense that someone else has to do the recruiting.

When you had met Jongho, he seemed unassuming enough. Sure, he had been kind of brash, but you guys had interrupted him at a not so great time. Still, you would think that someone that recruits other people to a cult would have to be a bit more welcoming than Jongho had been. What could he possibly tell them that would get them to agree to spend a weekend on a farm with some stranger? Did he threaten them? Bribe them? 

You will probably never know, seeing as it wasn’t Jongho that recruited you here. You make a mental note to stay away from Jongho (as much as possible) knowing this new information. If he’s able to convince complete strangers to come here with him, who knows what he would be able to convince you to do. 

You nod to Wooyoung, not entirely sure what to say next. That kind of answers your question as to how he got here. Wooyoung’s case might’ve been similar to Mingi’s. Maybe he had something (or someone) to get away from, and he came voluntarily. For Wooyoung’s sake, you hope it’s that way. Though you can’t entirely trust anyone here, you still wouldn’t wish for any of them to have gone through what you are now. 

For a hilarious second, your mind becomes preoccupied on the results of the trauma of your situation. How long will you need therapy? Will you ever be able to cope with what’s happened to you? Will you even have the opportunity, or will you flat out die first? 

You quickly decide that now is not the time to be worrying about things like that. For now, you really just need to figure out how to survive long enough for the police to find you. 

But… a disturbing thought comes to mind. If Wooyoung had people that looked for him, why hadn’t the police been able to find him here? Surely he had told people where he would be going, as you had. There had to have been someone that knew something was off and told the police about the farm. Why hadn’t they come, then? 

Your mind creeps to the thought of your phone. Who has it right now? 

Your food suddenly loses all of its appeal. You set the tray off to the side, pushing it away so you don’t have to look at it anymore. Wooyoung gives you a questioning look through the slot, but you can’t bring yourself to give him even a fake smile.

For certain, your phone was taken from you so as to stop you from communicating with the outside world, that’s a given. When San had asked for it, you honestly hadn’t even thought of it; but it’s obvious now. However… there are other reasons they would take your phone.

You feel a rush of blood drain from your face as you make your conclusion. With a single text from ‘you,’ anyone that could be concerned by your disappearance could be pacified. Your stomach rolls over and you regret eating your breakfast so rapidly. If this is, in fact, a reason that your phone was taken; it’s entirely possible that no one will realize you’ve been kidnapped. 

What could it take? A single text to your boss, saying you quit. A text to the group chat that you’ve decided to spend some more time with Mingi. A text to your parents, telling them that you’ve gone out of town. As long as your rent checks kept clearing, your landlord wouldn’t check on you. You really don’t have all too many friends, and Jungeun and Haseul would tell anyone that asked about you that you were sticking around with Mingi. 

But texts couldn’t placate them forever, could they? Or would they eventually stop worrying about you once they figured that you would be staying on this God-forsaken farm? They would have no reason to ask questions. They would have no reason to come find you. 

The realization is truly too sickening to even bring tears to your eyes. Rather, you stare through the door to Wooyoung. He stares back at you with the same concerned look. You wonder if he genuinely cares, or if he’s only worried that you’ve figured them out.

You grab your tray, taking care to not look at the food for too long. The last thing you need is to be more nauseous. You maneuver it through the slot, telling Wooyoung that you’ve finished. 

He looks more surprised, but he takes it from you nevertheless. He must sense that something is off, because he hardly gives you a goodbye before shutting the slot and heading off down the hall. 

Hah. He’s probably running to tell Hongjoong that he might have spilled some beans. But which ones? He wouldn’t know. 

You let yourself fall back onto the floor in front of the door. With your back pressed against the cold ground, you bring your hands up to rub at your face. What are you supposed to do with this information?

There’s no way to confirm that they’ve really done this besides waiting, which was pretty much the original plan anyways. If no help comes… ever… then clearly someone is posing as you with your phone. If help does come, then someone clearly figured out that something is wrong. 

Logically, you know that you have a password on your phone. Yes, it is Mingi’s birthday, but they wouldn’t know that! ...But they could probably guess pretty easily. Damn, why didn’t you have some cryptic, meaningless password? You squeeze your eyes shut, mentally scolding yourself. 

Whatever. It’s pointless to worry about now. If they did it, it’s done, it can’t be undone. Not unless you can get your hands on your phone, but you highly doubt there’s anyway that’s possible. 

You almost feel like laughing. Just, what, thirty minutes ago? An hour ago? You had hope that someone would realize you were missing. It is possible that they haven’t contacted your people, but they most likely will. How else would they be able to operate?

Thinking of all the people that are here, every single one of them has to have at least one person that cares about them. Just looking at the odds, one of their loved ones would have haved to worry enough to look into their disappearance if they hadn’t been reassured somehow. You can take a guess that someone must be sending regular communications to these people. There’s no other way, or they would have been found out by now. 

Jesus Christ.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

The rest of the morning passes without event. It’s a weekday, so you recall that there won’t be a specified lunch. You vaguely wonder if someone will bring you a snack or not, but you don’t mind either way.

You still don’t have much of an appetite. Imagine that.

You’re actually surprised when a knock comes to your door once more. You had peeled yourself off of the floor after a few minutes, but gone right back to laying down in bed. Overthinking is becoming an extreme sport for you, but, hey, what else are you supposed to do?

You stand up out of the bed, but have to catch your balance on the wall when you get a head rush. When the dizziness subsides, you walk to the door, plopping yourself in front of the slot.

You don’t have time to ask who it is before the slot slides open, and you’re greeted by San’s smiling face. 

You blink. Great. Just the guy you wanted to see. You don’t return his smile, you simply wait for him to say what it is he needs to say. Considering that it’s not Wooyoung at the door, you find it unlikely that you’ll be getting lunch. Why would anyone else bring it? 

“Hi!” San greets you, fully sitting down on the hallway floor. You continue to stare at him in silence.

He seems to be waiting for a response as he gets himself comfortable, resting his hands on the floor behind him. Once he seems to realize that you’re not going to respond, he gives you an awkward smile. “Alright, I- uhm- brought you lunch.” He holds up a single serving bag of chips and keeps giving you that uncomfortable smile. 

He slips it through the slot and you let it fall to the floor in front of you. His smile gets even more awkward, if that’s even possible. “Are you alright?” San asks hesitantly, his eyebrows furrowing in half-confusion half-concern. 

You blink back at him. Are you alright? Are you fucking alright? Christ on a bike, how many times are people going to ask if you’re alright?

And the audacity of San asking if you’re alright. Again, it’s almost enough to make you laugh. Was San not the one that took your phone? He is just as complacent in this as anyone else. For all you know, he could be the texter. He could be the one convincing everyone’s families that everything is just peachy-keen down here on the farm. That there is absolutely no reason to worry. 

San seems to realize that you’re not in a talking mood. “Okay… well…” he gulps, “besides bringing you lunch, I came to tell you something.” His eyes dart between you and his hands. Your demeanor must really be making him anxious. “Hongjoong set your Choosing Ceremony for tonight…” San trails off, staring up at you waiting for your response. “He was going to have Seonghwa come tell you, but I figured I’d save you the pain of that guy telling you.” He tries to laugh at his reasoning, but it comes out too rushed to be natural. He returns his gaze to his lap, apparently waiting to see if you’ll have anything to say this time.

Oh, you have things to say alright. Lot’s of them. San thinks that he’s doing you a favor? By, what, giving you terrible news? That you’re going to have what you can only imagine is some type of indoctrination ceremony, tonight? Wow, thanks a lot, San.

A little voice in your head begrudgingly admits that you’re much happier that San came to tell you rather than Seonghwa, but you ignore it for the moment. San took your phone. He is at least partially to blame. Even if he isn’t the one that sends the messages, he very much is at fault. He knew what he was doing. 

Even if he looks so sheepish now. 

San is still waiting for you to say something. 

“Thanks for lunch.” You monotonously say, reaching for the bag of chips without taking your gaze from San. He perks his head up at your response, facing you again. A smile lights up his face, his eyes crinkling shut with happiness.

“You’re welcome!” He exclaims. Jeez, why had your three words had such an effect on him? He continues smiling while you try to workout if you need to say anything else to him. He doesn’t make any indication that he’s going to leave. You hope he doesn’t want to stay and watch you eat, because you honestly still have no appetite. 

Though you had engaged the awkward silence the first time, now you’re the one that’s uncomfortable. Why the hell is he still smiling so big? “Uhm,” you mumble, trying to think of something non-offensive to say. It’s harder than you might think, but you do have an honest question. “What’s going to happen at the ceremony?”

San finally stops smiling to answer you. “Well, the Chosen have a feast, then you’re invited to the table. Once you eat your portion, God decides if your soul is pure enough to be Chosen, which I’m sure it will be!” He sounds serious as he explains it, but his tone picks up with his ending statement. 

That’s all fine and good. But what happens if you aren’t chosen? Honestly, what happens if you are? There are way too many questions regarding this damn ceremony. Why is this happening again? Oh yeah, because you just had to go looking for your missing best friend. You couldn’t have just let bygones be bygones?

You realize that San seems to be waiting again for a reply so you simply nod your head in understanding, despite not understanding even a little bit. Whatever gets him off your case. Seriously, the way that he’s just sitting there, intermittently staring and smiling at you is getting to be kind of unnerving. If Seonghwa had come to tell you, he would’ve just yelled at you through the door and left. 

“Well!” San claps his hands in front of him. “I have to go help with preparations. Enjoy your lunch!” He smiles at you a final time, not waiting for your response before shutting the slot.

You remain in your spot on the floor, finally looking down to the bag of chips in front of you. They’re still not appetizing.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

You’re not sure when to expect this ceremony thing to happen. San had simply said ‘tonight,’ which is what it now is. The sun has nearly set outside your window, which means it has to be later than normal dinner time. The dinner bell had never rang. Your stomach rumbles, and it seems that you’ve found your appetite again. 

You pace around your room, biting on your thumb nail absentmindedly. You’re getting rather anxious, honestly. What if some really fucked up shit is about to happen? Not that what you’ve already gone through hasn’t been fucked up, but this is a literal cult indoctrination ceremony. Who knows what’s going to happen to you?

If it’s any consolation, you figure that everyone else here has gone through it. And they’re all alright. For the most part.

For the upteenth time today, your gaze wanders to the book on your desk. There has to be something in that book that can prepare you for what’s going to happen, right? There’s got to be some section on ceremonies. Especially on the one that is probably considered to be the most important one. 

You find yourself walking to the desk, your hand falling to your side as you approach. It wouldn’t be so bad if you only read a little bit, right? Only the part that could prepare you for what you’re about to go through. It couldn’t hurt. You swallow hard as you reach out for the book, but you’re quickly interrupted.

Before you can really process it, you hear the lock turning in the door followed by the sound of the door slamming open. It makes you jump out of your skin, and you retract your outstretched hand faster than you ever have. 

You stumble backwards to the center of the room, aligning your sight so that you can see the person at your door. Not that you really need to see him to know who it is.

It’s obviously Seonghwa, but it does take you a second to recognize him. He’s wearing something completely different than you’ve seen anyone wearing since you got here. 

The most striking aspect of the outfit is the fedora. Closely followed by the knee length jacket that he’s wearing indoors. In August. Under the jacket, he’s simply wearing a black button down and black straight-leg pants, with black (imagine that) combat boots. He’s also adorned in silver accessories, decorating his otherwise plain outfit.

You take this in fast, too fast to notice the black stack in his hand before it comes flying at you.

“Get dressed.” He says as the stack hits you and bounces off of your front, splaying across the floor. You look down to see that he’s just thrown clothes at you. You probably could have intuited that from his statement, but your first instinct had been to see what the fuck he had just thrown at you. 

You give him a puzzled look. “Right now?” You don’t know why that’s the question that comes out, but it is. 

He stares blankly back at you. “Yes, right now.” 

As you bend to pick up the clothes, you realize that your hands are shaking. You try to steady them before Seonghwa notices, but you doubt that’s truly possible. He’s staring you down like a hawk watching a mouse. He probably thinks that you’re going to try and make a run for it past him.

Wait a minute… 

You finish collecting the clothes in your hands, straightening back up as you do. Without thinking very critically, you decide that you will try to make a break for it. You look past Seonghwa to your wide open door, bracing yourself to start running.

If you get past him, you can get outside. If you can get outside, you can run. Who needs a car? You can run and hide in the corn fields. They won’t be able to find you. How would they? 

In what you hope is a sudden movement, you look to Seonghwa and throw the stack of clothing back at him, aiming for his face region. You don’t wait to see if you hit him accurately or not. Instead, you start running.

You have to crouch to get around him, and you’re surprised to find that you actually do. You reach out and grab the edge of the doorway, trying to use it to propel yourself out of the door. Shit, this might just wor-

Seonghwa’s arms wrap around your waist before you can even finish the thought. The clothes must not have distracted him as much as you hoped they would. You yelp as he pulls you back into the room, slamming you into his chest. His necklaces dig into your spine as your body snaps to his.

“You stupid bitch.” He spits as he spins you around to face him. Before you can note how close his body is to yours, he’s forcing you backwards, further into the room. At the foot of the bed, he shoves you away from him, sending you back onto the bed. You bounce from the impact before setting yourself up on your elbows, ready to attempt to jump off again.

There’s no time for critical thought. You turn and set your feet onto the ground at the side of the bed, preparing to run again. Seonghwa meets you there, however. He steps his right leg between yours, locking you in place. Looking up at him now, you notice that you must’ve hit him with the clothes, because his fedora is gone. His hair is askew where his hat once was, and boy does he look pissed. 

You glance over to where he was standing and, sure enough, his hat is lying upside down on the floor. You’re still staring at his hat when you feel his hand. He grabs your chin forcefully, pulling you until you’re looking at him again. He grips you in such a way that your cheeks smoosh together, curling your lips outward. He squeezes harder than necessary, and again you’re struck by the look in his eyes. They somehow convey his pure hatred of you and his absolute adoration of the situation at the same time. You try to match his hatred of you with your own eyes, but you know that you probably look more scared than angry.

You are angry, but this is way scarier than it is infuriating. 

Seonghwa bends forward, making you lean further back against the bed. He puts his free hand to the right of your head, compressing the bed. He doesn’t let go of your face as he gets closer and closer to you. His chains are dangling so low they’re almost touching your chest. “When I let go of you,” he starts, leaning only ever closer, “you will dress yourself, or I will dress you. Nod if you understand.”

You want to spit on him. He’ll dress you? What a fucking pervert. You try to shake your head in his grasp. He chuckles at the feeling, but he doesn’t sound amused. He drops your chin. “That wasn’t a yes or no question, princess.” He stands back up, straightening himself to his full height. You sit up with him, not liking the power dynamic of him standing over you lying in bed. “Stay.”

He steps away from the bed, walking to the pile of clothes you had thrown at him. He picks his hat back up and settles it on his head once more, and you have half the mind to try and jump him from the back, but decide against it. You would end up right back where you started. He gathers the clothes in his arms and turns back to you, dumping the clothes next to you on the bed. “Put the clothes on.”

“No.” You defy, staring at him from your spot on the bed. 

Seonghwa smiles his unamused smile again. “Okay.” He quickly walks back around to where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, repositioning himself between your legs again. His hands dart out quickly, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it upward. 

You cry out once you realize what’s happening. He wasn’t fucking kidding about dressing you. On instinct, you clench your arms to your side, keeping your shirt from rising too far. You attempt to swat his hands away with yours as you keep your arms at your sides, but you can’t do too much. “Let go!” You yell, preparing to start kicking if you need to. 

“Are you going to dress yourself?” Seonghwa replies darkly, keeping the hem of your shirt in a vice grip.

“Yes! Fine! Just fucking stop!”

With that, he lets go of your shirt and steps back from the bed. You quickly smooth your shirt down where it had rode up, trying to calm yourself down. You take a deep breath, grabbing the first piece of clothing on the pile next to you. Coincidentally, it’s the shirt. 

You stare at Seonghwa, who is still just standing in front of you. “Can you leave?” He shakes his head. “Can you, like, turn around?” You groan. He shakes his head again. Wow. “What a fucking pervert.” You say it out loud before you can stop the thought. Your eyes go wide as you realize that you’ve just insulted him to his face, and you wait for his response.

Seonghwa laughs. He starts laughing. This time, it’s no unamused chuckle, either. It’s the same laugh that you heard in the chapel. He’s genuinely laughing at you. “(Y/n), trust me,” he pauses in his sentence to laugh some more. “I would never lower myself to the likes of you for sexual release.” He brings a hand up to dab at his eyes. 

Ouch. Not that you actually care, but damn, that was cold. He keeps laughing as you begrudgingly pull your shirt off, quickly yanking the next one on and buttoning it up. It’s a long-sleeve, black button up, much like the one Seonghwa seems to be wearing. You roll your eyes as you stand up to do your pants. 

Seonghwa keeps quietly laughing to himself as you turn around to change your pants. If he won’t turn, you will. You don’t care what he says, it’s perverted to watch some girl you hardly know change; even if she is your hostage that just tried to escape. You change the pants as quickly as you can, and, once again, note that they are quite similar to Seonghwa’s. 

As you button them, you briefly wonder how they could know what size pants you wear, but the thought quickly leaves your mind. You turn back around to face Seonghwa and sit back down to put the socks on. The last thing in the pile is a black blazer, which you quickly pull on. 

Seonghwa has finally stopped laughing by the time that it’s on. “Shoes are downstairs. Come.” He orders, motioning for you to follow him as he turns and heads for the door. 

You roll your eyes again. Why must he order you around like a dog? You stand and follow him into the hall. He’s waiting for you there. As you expect at this point, he wraps his hand around your upper arm and begins dragging you through the building. Fuck, your arm really is going to bruise.

Once you reach the bottom floor and the door to the outside, you spot the boots easily. Now how in the hell did they know your shoe size? Was that something that Mingi remembered? Wait, is Mingi going to be at the ceremony? Will he talk to you? Fuck. Mingi. You shake your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts of him. You need your wits about you right now, you can’t be worrying about Mingi running away from you.

Seonghwa lets go of you in order to grab the boots, telling you to sit on the stairs. You listen, waiting for him to hand them to you.

To your genuine surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he kneels in front of you and slides your left foot into its boot before lacing and tying it for you. You want to ask why the hell he’s putting your shoes on for you, but he beats you with the answer. “You won’t be able to do it right.”

You scoff. “I think I’m perfectly capable of tying my own shoes.”

Seonghwa glances up at you, giving you a scoff of his own. “You didn’t even button your shirt right, princess.” He slides your right foot into the right boot.

You look down at the buttons on your shirt, and you’re pissed to see that he’s right. You had skipped a button on the top and your shirt is, consequently, hanging askew. “I’ll fix that, too.” He says as he finishes lacing the right shoe.

He reaches up to your shirt, popping open the first button before you realize what he’s doing and swat his hand away. “I can do it, perv.” If he’s going to keep calling you princess, he’s going to get a nickname of his own. You quickly unbutton and rebutton your shirt, hoping no one decides that this is the time they must walk down the stairs. 

Thankfully, no one does. When you’re finished, Seonghwa stands once more, waiting for you to follow. You do, allowing him to grab your arm again. For the first time, you wonder where your ceremony will be taking place. The cafeteria seems like the likely candidate, considering the feast aspect that San was talking about. 

But Seonghwa quickly proves that theory wrong. He opens the front door, pulling you outside with him. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where you’re headed.

Your path quickly heads for the chapel, and you’re there before you know it. Considering the fact that you aren’t struggling, it must make the walk go faster. It sure seems that way. 

Seonghwa eagerly climbs the steps with you in tow, and throws open the door. 

Instead of the usual pews, you’re greeted by a giant dining table. Seriously, this table must be big enough for 50 people. All of the pews have been cleared out to make space for the table and its accompanying chairs; where they went, you have no idea. There’s absolutely no trace of them. The room is otherwise empty, besides, of course, the throne on the stage and the golden hourglass behind it. 

Seonghwa guides you around the table to the far back wall, on the right side of the stage. Before you can realize what you’re looking at, Seonghwa opens it. A door. The inside is dark. A dusty smell radiates out with the open door, wafting over you and nearly making you cough. Jesus, when was the last time this door was opened? Before you can think about it too much, Seonghwa pushes you into the room, letting go of you in the process.

“Stay.” He tells you, smirking. Almost as soon as the word leaves his mouth, he closes the door in your face. You fumble around, trying to feel for a lightswitch. You hear an outside lock clicking into place as you find the light cord in the middle of the room.

You pull it down and light floods the room. You take in your surroundings quickly, and find yourself locked in a simple storage closet. 

Fuck.

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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: IV

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: 2,076

You let the thought simmer in your mind for a few days.

You and Mingi continued to talk and catch up, and he seemed to be getting more relaxed and like himself as time went on. Its been about two days since you got into contact. Now, its Tuesday night. Mingi is urging you to come visit on Saturday. He keeps telling you how badly he wants to see you in person and, if you’re being honest with yourself, you desperately want to see him, too. It had been so long, and you could probably kill for one of his hugs.

That’s how he used to always greet you, with a hug. His signature style was the pick-up-spin. He’d tightly wrap his arms around the lower part of your waist and hoist you up, spinning the both of you until you were dizzy. Then he’d set you down and give you that big smile, his eyes shrinking as his smile grew larger and larger. Sometimes, he’d leave his hands on your waist and you would simply stand there, admiring the feeling. Thinking back, you wonder why you had never appreciated the greetings more. 

Anyhow, you still have your reservations about visiting Mingi. Sure, you have the weekend off and it wouldn’t be a big deal to go. However, you have to take into account the fact that you are a single woman, and it probably wouldn’t be that hard to kidnap you. Then again, you find it very hard to believe that Mingi would ever willingly put you in danger. If he thought that you would get hurt, there is no way he would be inviting you. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

While you’re at work later that day, you still are laboring over your decision. You even find yourself about to ask your boss; but he seems busy, as he had bought another painting to hang up. Though this painting he had purchased was not another ass naked lady, it wasn’t really a step above her. It was an ass naked man. Your boss had happily proclaimed ‘we have an Adam for Eve’ when he showed it to you when you arrived for your shift. Great. Just what you wanted. Another nude portrait to stare at for hours at work. 

You try to at least look busy, despite your mind being occupied and there being absolutely no customers in the shop. You’re about to make sure that the coffee makers are hot for the tenth time today, until you hear your phone ding from your back pocket. Looking up to make sure your boss is still preoccupied with ‘Adam,’ you quickly pull your phone out to see the message.

To your surprise (and mild disappointment) its Jungeun. Apparently she’s got a group of friends from school to agree to hang out tonight, and is wondering if you’ll join. You think about it for a second. Do you really want to go out drinking on a Tuesday night? When Mingi was on the forefront of your mind? You would probably end up embarrassing yourself, but you decide that you should go. Plus, then you can tell them all about your dilemma. For a second, you wonder who all will be there, but decide against asking. You really shouldn’t be on your phone in front of your boss.

“(Y/n), come over here and let me know if Adam looks crooked,” your boss says unnecessarily loud, beckoning to you from behind the corner. You sigh as you move out to join him on the floor. At least you have something to look forward to tonight.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

The place that the group of friends had decided on was one that had been popular amongst you all when you were in school. The bar is technically named ‘Wonderland,’ but had been affectionately nicknamed ‘Dirt’ by students long before yourself. The nickname was given because the place was ‘dirt’ cheap, a necessity for any university student.

When you arrive at Dirt, you sit in your car for a moment. Do you really want to go in? Really? Wouldn’t it be better to just go home and seriously think about visiting Mingi? Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you remind yourself that you deserve this. Your whole life didn’t need to revolve around Mingi… right?

Grabbing your bag from the passenger’s seat, you open your door and step out of the car. You’re immediately greeted by the loud din coming from the inside of the bar, but its almost a comforting sound.  The cool, nearly-autumn air soothes some of your nerves. When was the last time you had gone out? It had to have been before graduation-- before Mingi left. 

You walk into the bar, stepping over the threshold and taking in the familiar sights. The long, wooden bar that ran from end to end on the left side of the room; the circular tables with mismatched chairs; and the walls plastered in pictures of patrons past. As soon as you glance to the ‘Wall of Fame,’ you can’t help but walk over to it. The ‘Wall of Fame’ was devoted to every and any one that was able to finish the signature ‘Wonderland Meal.’ The meal consisted of a quadruple cheeseburger, 12 chicken wings, a serving of tater tots, and a literal half gallon of Corona. Since you had visited last, there clearly had been more winners. New students that you didn’t recognize peppered the walls, mostly uninteresting frat boys, but you knew what you were looking for. Now surrounded by a cluster of others, was the photo Mingi had had taken of him when he completed the challenge. 

He had insisted on you being in the picture with him. His arm was flung over your shoulders, holding you close to him. You were looking up at him, holding a hand up and trying to hide your face from the camera while he was smiling radiantly at it. The flash had been on, and the background surrounding the two of you hadn’t developed in the picture. It looked like the two of you were completely alone, with only each other in a black abyss. Mingi looked so happy.

And he had been happy, until the next day. He was so sick that he couldn’t even get himself out of bed. Fulfilling your duties as his best friend, you hadn’t gone to any of your classes that day so that you could take care of him. He moaned and groaned the entire day, whining about how you could have let him do this to himself. You consistently reminded him that you had told him it would be a terrible idea, and how he had ignored your advice. He still blamed it on you, though. 

“Hey, (Y/n), you in there?” 

You’re immediately pulled out of the memory by the feeling of a hand on your shoulder. You turn to face the owner, and find Jungeun standing at your side. “I called your name, like, three times. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” You assure her, trying your hardest to put a genuine smile on your face. It doesn’t work very well. “Is everyone here yet?”

Jungeun removes her hand from your shoulder to gesture over to one of the tables behind you. Sure enough, its full with a few others that you had known from school. Changbin, of course, along with Haseul, Juyeon, and Soojin. You can’t help but feel the usual ache in your stomach when you comprehend Mingi’s absence. Changbin is the first to notice that you’ve turned around, and he waves at you happily. The others quickly take notice and start to wave you over. 

Blushing, you make your way over to the table with Jungeun in tow. You two take the only two empty spots at the table. Once the awkwardness of your semi-late arrival passes, the evening takes off.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

“Wait, (Y/n), tell them about the Mingi situation,” Jungeun giggles, leaning back in her chair so hard that it almost tips over. 

Everyone at the table bursts out laughing in response that you almost forget what she had said by the time everyone cools down. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, and the pleasant warmth coursing through your body does nothing to stop you from blurting it out.

“Well, remember Song Mingi?” You ask, bringing your glass up to take a sip as the group watches you. “How he dropped out? Apparently he joined a commune,” you cut yourself off with a laugh. A commune! Everyone joins you in your laughter.

“A commune? Who joins a commune in 2021?” Haseul manages to choke out, laughing so hard that she looks like she’s struggling to breathe. 

“That’s what I’m wondering!” Juyeon yells, perhaps a bit louder than he anticipated.

“Shhhhh guys, wait until you hear the rest,” Jungeun brings a finger to her lips, exaggerating her motions. 

Once you’ve caught your breath again, you resume, “He invited me to come visit.”

This inspires an entirely new bout of laughter, and you suddenly feel dizzy. The weight of reality settles on your shoulders again. You set the glass in your hand down, pushing it towards the center of the table. God, you are so going to regret this tomorrow.

Your mood must influence the table, because everyone is suddenly as quiet as you are. Haseul glances at Soojin, who glances at Jungeun, who glances at you. 

“Why the sour mood all of a sudden?” Changbin asks, his pink cheeks serving to make him look only more confused. Juyeon, sitting on Changbin’s left, pinches his side, but he does not take the hint. “Oh yeah, (Y/n) had a thing fo-”

He’s cut off by Soojin slapping him upside the head.

Everyone looks over to you, trying to gauge your reaction. Honestly, you don’t even know how to react. You’re dizzy, the light above the table is too bright, and Changbin isn’t making sense at all. You feel your lips melt into a frown. This isn’t right. You know what Changbin was going to say, and it just wasn’t true. You place your elbows up on the table, leaning your head down to rest your face in your hands. You feel like crying.

“Are you going to go?” You hear Haseul ask from your right. She says it so softly that you almost don’t hear it. 

You take your head out of your hands and notice the wetness left by your eyes. Huh. You had started crying. You turn to face her, the wetness on your cheeks turning cold as the air moves over them. She looks serious, the flush of her face completely gone. 

“I don’t know.”

“I think you should,” Jungeun cuts in.

Now you turn to look at her. Similar to Haseul, a solemn expression has come over her face and she seems to have sobered up. 

“I really want to,” you start, but a sob works its way up your chest and cuts you off. For a second, you wonder if other people in the bar are watching. “But, wha- what if its dangerous?”

Jungeun scootches her chair closer to yours and reaches her arms out to wrap around you. She crushes you into a hug, petting the back of your head. To your side, you can hear Changbin start to ask another question, “What if its a cul-” before he is once again cut off by something you can’t see with your face buried in Jungeun’s shoulder. 

After a moment, Jungeun extends her arms and pulls back from you, making sure she can look in your eyes. “Do you think Mingi would put you in danger?” You sniffle and shake your head, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears from your eyes. 

“Then you should go.” You hear Haseul encourage from behind you. Jungeun nods in agreement and lets go of your shoulders. You lean back in your chair to take in the consensus of the group.

Soojin and Juyeon are also nodding at you. Changbin looks a bit doubtful, giving Soojin a nasty side-eye. You feel Haseul rest a hand on your right shoulder, and when you look at her, she’s smiling brightly. 

You scan over your friends’ faces, and think about how wonderful it would have been if Mingi had been here tonight. He was the only person you truly wanted to see. Nevertheless, you smile at them all. They had helped you reach your decision.

“I’ll go.”

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THE ANSWER: I

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: 2,016

Opening shifts are always the worst.

For the most part, the entire shift consisted of cleaning, opening, and then waiting two hours for any actual customers to show up. Occasionally, an early riser would pop their head in to start their morning, but they only appeared every 45 minutes or so. Why the owner insisted the shop open every morning at 5:30 AM was beyond you, but you sometimes appreciated the time alone.

In order to open at 5:30, you had to be on the clock by 4:45; meaning that you had to leave by 4:30, and that you had to wake up by 4. The best part about morning shifts was that you got to awake with the world. The silence when you first rise is always soon replaced by the sounds of birds. The darkness turns to dawn, and dawn to morning. It's beautiful, really, but you would probably appreciate it more if you weren’t so tired.

The absolute emptiness of the shop did nothing to help your tired mind. The quiet hum of the machines and the boredom of waiting for customers that seemed like they would never come could just lull you back to sleep. One day, you’re sure that you will awake to find that you had been sleeping on your feet, finally overcome. 

Today will not be that day. You look up and around the coffee shop. You had been working at The Bean since college, and here you still were; four years and a bachelor's degree later. The field you had chosen had been pretty tight since you graduated, and you were still struggling to find a career-worthy job. The Bean would do until then. The owner liked you, your coworkers liked you, and it paid well enough to keep your apartment. 

The Bean was nothing special. Just a few small tables and some eclectic interior design. Why your boss still had a giant painting of an ass-naked lady hanging on the wall, you would never know. When he first bought that thing and brought it in to hang, you had thought he was joking. He was not. The windows at the front of the shop faced perfectly east, allowing the sun to shine directly onto her figure every morning for a few hours. You could only hope that the sun would fade the colors. While the painting wasn’t bad, it wasn’t the best sight to have to look at for the hours that your shifts would last.

The rest of the interior was rather unremarkable. A bookcase sat in one corner, holding some of the owners favorites. Occasionally, customers would slide out a book and read while enjoying their coffee, but it was becoming more rare. People rarely came into the shop to actually sit these days. On particularly slow mornings, you would allow yourself to choose one of the worn down and stained books to read a couple chapters out of. Unfortunately, the boss wasn’t too keen on seeing you stand around, not doing anything, so you saved it for when you had absolutely nothing to do.

Deciding that you should probably at least try and look busy, you turn around to face the multitude of coffee machines behind you. You check for what could possibly be the fiftieth time that each of them is running and hot; then you move onto the fridge to check the status of the cold brew that you had made earlier. Still there. You then came out to the front of the counter to check on the food display that you had also set up earlier. Everything still looked perfect, considering you hadn’t touched a thing. 

Right as you’re about to check and see if the garbage needs to be taken out (it wouldn’t), you hear it. The gentle ting ting ting of the bell atop the front door. A customer had finally come to put you out of your misery.

You walk back around to stand behind the counter, waiting for them to make their way to you. It's an older gentleman, maybe around 70. He looks to be dressed in his best, a nice set of suspenders clinging tightly to his chest over a blue button down. As he approaches, his footsteps are slow but steady, and very light. He hardly makes a sound.

Once he’s finally up to the counter, you notice the deep smiles lines by his eyes. He displays this very smile to you as he greets you good morning.

“Good morning to you too, sir,” you welcome, “what can I get started for you today?”

He continues smiling as he simply states that he would like one large coffee, for here.

“Great, your total is going to be $2.25,” you let him know, “and could I get a name for your order?”

“Mingi,” he simply states, preparing to swipe his card in the terminal.

Mingi. Now there was a name that you hadn’t heard in a while. You look up at the man, shocked at the reminder of your old friend. You watch him finish his transaction with great care, typing in his pin number delicately. The receipt printer beeps at you, alerting you to the completed transaction. You tear it off, handing it to Mingi before moving to prepare his drink.

Just a simple large coffee in a mug. Your Mingi would have hated that. He always had a pension for the sweeter side of things. In fact, you can even remember when he would come visit you at work, giving you something to do in the early mornings. He would always order some super complicated, obnoxious drink, only so that he could fill up five minutes of your morning. He would then proceed to drink it all while sitting at one of the tables, staring at the painting every time you had to help another customer. Whenever you were free, the two of you would joke around, talk, or do whatever to fill the time. 

The sound of the coffee maker snaps you back out of it. It had beeped to let you know that it was ready. You poured old Mingi his large black coffee into one of the mismatched mugs that The Bean used. Today, you were giving this man his coffee in a mug that jovially exclaimed “I survived Southern Florida!” Had your boss really visited southern Florida? Who knows. After handing Mingi his coffee, he went to sit down at one of the tables, with his back facing the painting.

The reminder of your Mingi made you smile. Mingi had really been a great friend in college. Though he was a year below you, you two made quick friends in one of your required history classes. Neither of you were the greatest, but you sat next to each other on the first day of the semester and immediately took a liking to each other. 

For as long as you knew him, Mingi had been one of the happiest, kindest guys you had ever had the pleasure of getting to know. He was genuinely a great person. After the history class you shared ended, you two started to hang out a lot more outside class. You never had a romantic relationship, no matter how many rumors flew about it. It simply wasn’t like that. You two got very close through the years, until Mingi had dropped out last year, during your senior year.

You never got to ask why he dropped out or where he was going. He was simply gone one day. It had really torn you up, you were sick with worry and nothing could have made you feel secure. After a few weeks, you had gotten a single text from him: Sorry to leave, I’ll miss you.

It really hurt, having probably your closest friend up and leave you like that. For months, even until after graduation, you had missed him. Time had made the pain fade, and, honestly, you had a lot of other things to worry about eventually. You had been curious as to what had happened to him, but it left to the back of your mind as all other thoughts of him had.

Looking out into the now semi-occupied coffee shop, you recall the memory of a very slow morning, not unlike this one. As usual, Mingi had come to visit you and order something that would take a few minutes off your hands. That morning, he had ordered something iced despite it being the dead of winter and freezing outside. As one could imagine, having a giant caffeinated beverage over the course of less than an hour had led Mingi to be quite hyper that morning. Meanwhile, you were still trying your best to not fall asleep.

In his attempt to simultaneously keep you awake and entertain you, Mingi had pulled you out from behind the bar and tried to get you to dance with him. Of course, you resisted at first. How could you dance in a coffee shop at 6 AM? But Mingi had insisted, resting his hands on your waist and guiding your hips to sway with the nonexistent music. Mingi was so tall, there was no way you could reach behind his neck, so you had settled with resting your hands just barely at the tops of his shoulders. 

And you two danced. In a coffee shop, in the dead of winter, at 6AM, to no music at all, you two danced. It was probably one of the best mornings that you and Mingi had had together. Had you not been interrupted by your boss, maybe it would have gone somewhere. Unfortunately, you never found out. 

You’re pulled out of your memories by the Mingi that occupied The Bean at that specific moment. He had risen and waved a hand to you, before steadily making his way back out the door. Watching Mingi go makes something rise in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, suddenly hyper-aware of the pain of losing Mingi again. Quickly swiping at your eyes, you resolve to try your hardest to find Mingi after your shift. He had to be out there somewhere.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

The rest of your shift had gone by even slower. The anticipation of waiting was suffocating. As soon as you’re in the back room and clocked out, you call one of your closest friends from school that you still talked to, Jungeun. 

Jungeun had been in your same major program with you, so you shared many of your classes. She was your closest female friend at the time, and is currently the best friend that you have. Because of your close relationship with Mingi, Jungeun had met him many times and you were sure that she had considered him a friend as well. She was nearly as concerned as you were when he went missing, but she had quickly become employed after graduation and Mingi had slipped her mind just as he slipped yours.

Jungeun picks up after only a couple rings. “Aye, whats up?”

You almost let out a laugh, her greetings were always so carefree. You two exchange pleasantries before you get to the point of the phone call.

“Say, Jungeun, you remember Mingi, right?”

She very quickly and enthusiastically ensures you that she remembers Mingi before asking why you’re wondering.

You explain the situation that you found yourself in at work, and Jungeun lets you know that she will definitely help you look for him.

“But, (y/n), are you sure?” She asks, sounding a bit concerned. “He did kind of just… leave. Like he didn’t want to be found.”

You think about it for barely a second. Yes, you’re sure. The tears that had come up earlier made you certain. You need to know what happened to him. 

Jungeun and you agree to meet up the next day, as neither of you have to work. As you walk out of the shop, you desperately hope that your combined brain power will be able to find him.

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a/n: hehe i am finally crossposting! i've been writing this fic for like. over a year on ao3 but i decided to start posting here as well! i promise that chapters get longer and much more intriguing pretty quickly hehe just bear w me!

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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