#the delicate mv is good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

myouicieloz · 11 days

Text

Heartbeat

Shin Ryujin x reader

Synopsis: you’ve promised to take your best friend to an awaited party, located in a nearby city. Ryujin catches your eye, and you fall right into her web of plans, with the promise of having a good time once and for all.

Warnings: mentions of gangs, guns and drugs. smut. blood. violence. nsfw.

Word count: 13.8k

Notes: i thought abt this after watching ryujin’s solo mv! it was so good <3. this was a fairly new topic for me to write about, so I apologize if it’s poorly written or unrealistic. nevertheless, I had lots of fun writing it ˆˆ. english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

You don’t mind helping out your parents by working at the family’s Diner: there usually weren’t many customers, and days went by slowly without you being bothered.

“Hey, Y/n. Can I grab another soda?” Your best friend asks, brushing her hands in front of your face to get your attention. Facing you from the other side of the diner’s endless counter, Chaeryeong looks like a hyper child, standing up from her seat to take a look at the soda machine, placed behind your frame.

You roll your eyes at her, simply grabbing the large cup she hands you and filling it up with Coke Zero, this time. “Here.”

“Awn, man, come on!” She protests, grunting. Lets her head fall back. “Coke Zero tastes like shit, Y/n! Give me something tasty, damn.” Chaeryeong turns to the few other customers, gesticulating, “What does a girl have to do to get the good stuff around here? Stop with the misery!”

She has her finger pointed at you, to which you giggle. You’ve known Chaery since your diaper days, with her living in the house in front of yours, and the two of you have been best friends ever since. Her careless, playful nature provides a nice balance to your calm, responsible one. You love her to pieces, which means you are always taking care of the dark-haired girl, in many ways.

“You’ve reached your daily quota of sugar.” You don’t even look at her as you answer, busy giving an elder woman her exchange in cash. “And don’t make those faces. I might as well just give you water, from now on.” Smiling at the customer, you ignore your friend. “Thank you, ma’am! Have a pleasant day.” Chaeryeong gulps, knowing fully well you mean your words.

She keeps her thoughts to herself, mumbling something incoherent while the loud slurps of the iced drink can be heard. Still not paying her much attention, you lean your elbows on the counter marble, sighing tiredly. Even though it was only an hour past noon, you could feel the heaviness in your eyes, the tiredness getting to you. Not having any orders, you allow yourself a few moments of rest, closing your eyes and resting your head on your hands. Just some seconds of peace, you decide.

The bell chime’s noise announces the end of your calm state of mind. In a blink, your sister is placing a medium-sized box on the counter, her usual smile directed at you. You know better than to trust her angelic looks, though — behind her rose gold hair and delicate features, Rosé is nothing but a devious manipulator.

However, she’s still your older sister, and you love her to pieces. It’s the only reason you don’t ignore her, crossing your arms and waiting for her to speak up, instead. She pushes the box towards you, smiling sneakily.

“Good morning, baby sister.” Rosé greets you. As usual, she never goes straight to the point.

You narrow your eyes at her. “It’s past noon, Rosé.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She brushes you off, winking at Chaeryeong to say hello. The girl nearly drowns in her coke, coughing violently.

Chaeryeong has had a massive crush on your sister ever since she was fourteen. Fortunately for you, Rosé has never seen her as anything apart from a little sister too, like yourself. Although the not so subtle rejection has never stopped Chaery from freaking out whenever Rosé addressed or acknowledged her.

“Good morning to you too, Rosie unnie.” She says, after finally gathering her breath. You huff, muttering about how biased she was and being promptly ignored by both girls. The package catches Chaery’s attention, ever so curious, and she pokes it with her bony fingers. “And what’s that about?”

Rosé pulls the package towards you, shrinking her shoulders down a little. For some, she might seem hesitant, but you know her too well to be aware that her movements are anything short of calculated.

“Could you deliver this for me?” She asks —tone dripping with sweetness. It always is, whenever she wants something from you. This is no different. “They asked for the pieces pretty urgently, and I’ll be off to deliver another package in a nearby city in a few minutes.”

Apart from the Diner, your father also owned a mechanical workshop, and would often sell and deliver car pieces to his clients. Rosé, being her outgoing self, dealt with them and the business part of it while you preferred to step aside, helping with the Diner instead. It was only when she had too much work to do that you had to deal with her customers, instead —and those were never pleasant experiences.

Perhaps you were just not cut for the job, or your calm aura was easy to be taken advantage of, but it was a matter of fact: you sucked at negotiating deals and making small talk. It made you uncomfortable and anxious, having to put up a superior act and bargain with assholes until you got enough profit to go home satisfied, so you avoided it vigorously.

Unfortunately, Rosé never hesitated to ask for a hand.

You eye the box suspiciously, trying to figure out the content inside without having to touch it. Even though it seems heavy, you can never truly trust appearances. After all, car pieces are not the only thing they sell at your father’s shop.

“I mean… I could.” You smirk back at Rosé, your identical smiles mirroring one another. “But I don’t want to.”

Before you even register, Rosé smacks you on the head. You’ve never been able to buck from her quick hands anyway.

“Hey!” You massage your scalp, moving your upper body forward to give Chaeryeong a push, too, since the action has her laughing loudly. “Bitch.”

Rosé giggles, too, standing on her tiptoes to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“Pretty please, Y/nnie.” She sighs, joining her hands in a prayer. “I’ll owe you one. I’ll even give you that dress of mine you love, promise.”

Chaeryeong gives you a thumbs up, biased as she’s always been.

“Come on, Y/n, let’s just do it. It’ll be fun! It’s too monotonous to be at the Diner all day, anyway.”

“See?” Rosé gestures to your best friend, pleased to be supported. “Chaery, you’re so sweet.” Your sister pinches her nose, and Chaeryeong’s face turns as red as a strawberry in a matter of seconds. She turns to you once again, then, still faking that hesitation. “Please? It’d be an outstanding deal for us. Lots of profit and all.”

You roll your eyes, still not convinced. Even though Chaery’s eyes are nearly popping off her face with how intensely she’s glaring, you refuse to give in. Rosé was stubborn, but you share the same blood, after all.

“Aren’t any of your friends available? I can’t just close the Diner and go.” Lies. You simply refuse to bulge, to relent to Rosé’s wishes as you always did.

She doesn’t even blink, though, unbothered by your lack of cooperation.

“Lisa, Jisoo, and Jennie are all busy with other work deals too, as well as the boys.” She shrugs, going around the counter to grab a beer for herself. “Trust me, Y/n: if I had anyone to go deliver this, I would… but you know how busy these past weeks have been, and we’re all so overworked. Help me out, please?” She touches the cross hanging on her chest, identical to the one you never took off.

A symbol of your bond.

You sigh, jumping off the balcony and giving in to Rosé’s orders for the nth time. “Fine.” You mumble, grumpy. “Chaeryeong can take care of the place while I go.”

“What the fuck, Y/n!” The girl jumps from her seat, suddenly interested in the conversation as if she hadn’t spent the last five minutes scrolling on her phone, all bored. Suddenly, she’s all ears, eagerly advocating for herself, “I don’t want to do the boring stuff! Let me go with you.”

Before you’re able to tell your friend to get fucked, Rosé stops you with her hands, signaling for someone to come in.

“It’s good for you to not go alone, baby sis. Chaery can make you company.” She nods, grabbing the young girl who came in by the shoulders and positioning her in front of you and Chaeryeong. “This is Rami. She’s Mingyu’s little sister, remember? She said she could handle the diner for a few hours while the two of you are at it. Such a sweetheart, is she not?”

The girl — Rami, nods energetically, looking at your sister with adoration in her glittery eyes. It was no surprise Rosé had brought one of her little fangirls to help, actually. Living in a small city for all your life, everyone knew Rosé. She’s been a notable presence since her teenage years, whether it was attending fancy balls or setting fire to the shops downtown. The blonde girl has been remarkable for as long as you can remember. She’s always been either feared, hated, or loved, but remarkable nonetheless.

Which only proved your theory that you were not going to deliver any car pieces, after all.

You and Chaery exchanged a knowing look, neither caring enough to ask anything about this girl or explain the job she’d have to take at the Diner for free.

“Very well, then.” You sigh, watching Rosé’s excited clapping and giggling. “I’ll grab my car keys.”

Chaeryeong follows you closely, also jumping of joy. You’re well aware she hates being at the Diner, always complaining of boredom, but it isn’t like she has any other friends to go out with. Behind her bubbly, chatty, and energetic personality, she’s is actually very frail and shy, which makes her an easy target for the mean fuckers your age. She struggles, and would much rather just have a single, loyal friend. And you’ve always made sure to protect her fiercely.

“Adventure!! Finally.” The dark-haired girl raises her hands, thanking God you’d go out.

“Don’t get too excited.” You warn her, turning to Rosé. Pointing a finger at the rosy-haired woman, you add. “I hate you.”

She pulls you in for a suffocating hug, used to your harsh behavior. “And I love you so, little sis. Thank you!”

Both Rami and her wave as you and Chaeryeong leave the diner, the package weighing heavily in your hands. You don’t have a big 6th sense, but something does not feel right. Although you ignore it anyway, turning the car on and driving to the address your sister texted you.

“Do we really have to do this?” She whines, closing the passenger’s door rather roughly — to which you grunt, paying her a harsh stare for not being careful with your precious car.

She realized the whole thing would be anything but fun sometime mid the 40-minute journey to the abandoned warehouse you were currently walking into. Besides, once you reminded her that Rosé’s request would put off her wishes of going out and partying for a few hours, that little pout of hers hasn’t left her lips. Now, Chaeryeong is all regretful to have supported the older girl in her wishes.

“Not really.” You pay your friend no mind, walking towards the place that was falling into pieces. Seeing you weren’t backing her up, her pout deepened.

“It’s my birthday.” She argues, kicking rocks along the way.

“I already bought you a cake. And milkshake, and fries.” You roll your eyes, remembering how you’d all chanted your best friend happy birthday at your parents’ Diner, during breakfast. “And a shit ton of booze, throughout all these years of knowing you. You haven’t paid me back once.”

Chaeryeong sighs, hurrying to your side, defeated. You keep walking without waiting for her, making it harder for her to catch up — truly opposites, the two of you.

“Fine. But let’s do this quickly. You promised we’d still go to that party.” She decides, playfully bumping into you. Any other time, her actions would’ve helped you to be at ease, but you’re unable to relax this time. You know this is some serious shit.

“Yeah, let’s do this quick.” You repeat her words, entering the abandoned place at a slow, nearly languid pace.

Let you both be out of here in no time. You wish, once again sensing the bad omens.

The warehouse, although old, mistreated and nearly falling into pieces, is not unsettling to you. It’s merely the place Rosé sometimes treats business, and you’ve accompanied her once or twice, before. The wooden beams are rotten, and the flooring has long disappeared, fading into dust that clings to your combat boots. You’d have to clean them later, and that somehow annoys you more than the situation itself. The place is empty, with walls that were once covered by big, expensive windows, yet all that remains are tainted, broken glasses hanging wherever you could look. Machines are still forgotten in random locations inside the building, a ghost of times when the government tried to rebuild the massive area. None of that was successful, obviously. Now, this ghost of a place belongs to your father, your sister, and the other people who were also part of the darker side of this shitty town.

Only a single table hangs in the open area of the first floor, clearly meant for dealerships and businesses. Upon arriving, you notice 5 — no, nearly 10 people waiting not so patiently. Wearing dark, shabby clothes, none of them seem welcoming, to say the least. Rosé had told you’d be doing business with Wendy, a familiar customer from another small town nearby, in hopes to ease down on your nerves. It worked, in a way: having met with Wendy a few times prior, you weren’t all nervous about the upcoming meeting. She was intimidating and oh, so pretty, but you got along well with the auburn-haired woman and her business partners, from previous experiences such as charity dinners and dealerships alongside your sister’s presence.

The woman that stands in front of you, however, looks nothing like Wendy. You know her, naturally; it was impossible not to. Jinsoul’s troublemaker fame was much different than your sister’s — while Rosé’s actions, even though batshit crazy at times, are dreadfully calculated, Jinsoul’s insanity comes with the sole purpose of enticing chaos. Her unstable nature is much of a pain, you’ve personally experienced so from watching herself prove her influence on a crowd by torturing some poor girl who accidentally spilled champagne in her dress at a ceremony, or setting fire to a man’s car at one of the car rifts you often attend. Out of all the girls from her gang, Jinsoul is the least pleasant one to set off deals with.

Naturally, Rosé and Jinsoul hate each other with a passion, being two different flames of the same fire.

With all of that knowledge, you fix your posture, observing Chaeryeong do the same with your peripheral vision. Even though you absolutely despise it, you’ve been taught well how to keep a powerful, imposing façade. Standing tall, you tower over Jinsoul and her subordinates.

“I see Rosé sent her little minion, instead of herself. Must be really busy, of course.” Jinsoul doesn’t greet you, as expected. Her tone is dripping with venom as she examines you and your best friend with harsh eyes.

Now that you’re in front of her, you’re no longer hesitant or scared. Instead, you’re bothered, irritated that you have to deal with your sister’s cheap copy instead of Wendy or Joohyun. Taking a step towards the young woman, you curse Rosé under your breath, fully aware the eventful encounter is not a misunderstanding.

“Nice hair. I love the new color.” You say, leaning your head with a knowing look. Jinsoul’s hair falls a little past her shoulders, in a strawberry-blonde tone that is exactly like Rosé’s past one, from a few months prior. “I’ll tell Rosé her oldest, most faithful fan sends her regards.”

Your words seem to stir something inside the leader in front of you. She scoffs, gritting her teeth. “This is too tedious. Give me the shipment we agreed on, I’ve got better things to do anyway.”

Rolling your eyes, you gesture for Chaeryeong to drop the box on the ground. She does as told, the metallic sounds of the guns moving inside. It echoes in the empty place, as the box falls onto the ground.

Jinsoul remains stoic, hands resting neatly inside her pockets, while her guards reach out for the box. Before they can touch it, though, you step on it, preventing anyone from moving.

“Give us the money first, Jinsoul. No funny business.” You stare right into her eyes, remembering the times you’ve caught her fooling around in her deals, leaving other people empty-handed. “Then you can check as much as you want.”

She laughs, knowing you’re no fool. “I see you’ve gotten wiser, Y/n. Well done.”

In a second, she’s handing you another small, compacted package. You take the money with your delicate hands, not in the least made to deal with such dirty stuff. You count it, already feeling the blood in your veins boil. Chaeryeong breaths are heavy beside you as you say. “This is not what we agreed on, Jinsoul. Stop being a whore for once and give me the other half of the fucking money.”

You and Chaery don’t need words to understand each other. She grabs the box back from the ground as soon as she sees you go rigid, holding on to it with the same look of disdain you bear.

“Oh, my dear.” Jinsoul stands close enough to grab a strand of your long fringe, knuckles brushing your jawline with feigned affection. “Your sister should know I am only faithful to the people I treat business with… and I didn’t discuss anything with you, precious.”

Turning your face, you hold Chaeryeong with one arm to prevent her from jumping on Jinsoul and beating her up.

“You bitch!” Your friend screams at her face, her voice muffled by Jinsoul’s hectic laughter as she walks away, back turned to you and Chaery in a clear show of disrespect.

Before you can go to Jinsoul yourself, her guards strike, going straight to the two of you. You manage to buckle and give them a few punches — causing a fair amount of trouble for someone who didn’t practice often at all, honestly. However, you were outnumbered, and soon enough you find yourself on the ground, punched and disheveled.

Coughing violently, you turn to see one of them kicking Chaeryeong in the guts, a few meters from you. The sight of your friend, cheerful and pure Chaery, being hurt enrages you to the core. You spit at their feet to gather all the attention to yourself.

“Don’t touch her, fucker!” You scream, breathless. They pay you no mind, having the time of their lives.

You feel something on your jacket, then. When you look ahead, Jinsoul has poured a thick, horizontal line of a viscous liquid through all of the massive warehouse. Other guards help, with gallons, but you know most of it is her doing — she loves to get her hands dirty in the business. There’s fire in her eyes, and by the time she lifts the lighter dramatically, you’re already well aware.

Gasoline.

“Goodbye, dearests! It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.” She chants, before throwing the lighter and walking away, without any rush.

You have to use both hands to stand on your fours, then on your knees. Your jacket is long thrown elsewhere as you grab Chaeryeong by back of her neck, much like a kitten. “Let’s go, and quick. Are you badly hurt?” You murmur, looking for any bad bruises on her porcelain skin. The girl shakes her head, running her hand through her bloody nose. She whimpers, and you know she’s trying her best to be strong in front of you. You give her a hug, as well as a kiss on her dirty cheek, in hopes of bringing her a little comfort. “Good. Now come.”

You hated — no, you despised Rosé for always deceiving you. Only this time, she’d pay.

Leaning on each other, the two of you go back to where you’d parked your car, in a hidden area a few minutes away from the warehouse, just as you’ve been taught to do. You take a deep breath, appreciating the humidity and the nature that ruled the place, a forgotten piece of the city. It had rained while you were inside, and you were glad for that. You loved the smell of rain, especially in nature.

On your way to the car, you spot a water tap nearby. You take Chaeryeong’s arms from your shoulders, then, opening the tap and turning to her. “Clean yourself up.”

“You’re so bossy.” She mumbles, but is quick to do as told, grabbing a hold of the water and splashing it on her face, cleaning up the dust that gathered. Chaeryeong nearly drenches her whole head, too — her pitch-black hair all shiny within minutes as the color slowly returns to her face.

While she takes the dirt off her arms and legs, you look around to check on the fire. It is still lively, a bright beacon as the night falls by, but you know it won’t spread. The place was all rotten by rust, with barely any ceiling left, so the rain would most likely put it off.

Still, Jinsoul’s message was clear, and it stung on your pride.

At least she’s always been like that, never presenting herself differently. Much different from your sister, who tells lies for breakfast.

Your mind is still clouded by troubled thoughts when Chaeryeong lets out a tired laugh, smiling once you kneel to clean up yourself. “They beat up our asses hard out there, you know.”

As much as her statement annoys the shit out of you, you’re grateful to have her cracking jokes again. Your best friend’s delicate features suit the red color on her mouth, a sign she’s well and ready for the next one.

You feel the dust gathering under your fingers and all over your skin. It’s all over you, so intensely your honey hair can be misguided as black, with how much of it is covered by dirt.

“I’ve barely noticed.”

Chaeryeong chokes in her saliva to keep herself from laughing, knowing your patience’s running thin. Even if you have the softest spot for her, she decides not to push it.

“Yes, obviously.” She nods. You think she’s finally going to be quiet, but it’s your best friend you’re talking about. Naturally, she continues. “Let’s go to the party, please?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you finish washing up, feeling refreshed and no longer too bothered. “Yes.”

You both arrive where the car is parked before she adds. “And we need fighting lessons once we get back home.”

“Chaeryeong.”

“It’s true, sorry! It is.” She raises her hands as if to keep herself from being attacked by your rage.

You limit yourself to giving her a harsh stare, and she shivers under it. You can be quite intimidating when you wish to be, especially since you’re not exactly a chatterbox.

Turning the car on, you indulge your friend’s wishes as you drive towards the party she’s been nagging you about for the whole week.

The night’s already taken over the sky once you park on the crowded street, after hours of speeding on the free road. As you hop out of the car, your thoughts go to your sister: you know the meeting with Jinsoul had been arranged all along, with her words about Wendy being merely for you to agree on doing as told. How could she fool you like that? As if you were nothing more than another dischargeable person, like many of her toys.

It’s not the first time Rosé has sent you and Chaeryeong to some skimpy situation, but knowing she was well aware of it being a clear trap all along leaves you absolutely outraged.

Even though she knew of the risks, she still sent you. You would’ve never gone, had you known it was a situation like that, and that’s the reason she didn’t warn you beforehand.

You hated Rosé’s guts.

Chaery rushes to your side once again, side-eyeing you with as little discreetness as possible — unlike yourself, she’s never been good at hiding her expressions. You don’t even attempt to smile, still mad about your earlier encounter and all that went wrong.

Not even your bubbly, cheerful best friend can lift your spirits, at the moment.

“Don’t tell me you’re still pissed, Y/n.” She shakes her arms, sighing. Her tone is serious, and you know she means it. “Come on! Live your life, and stop being so strict all the time. You deserve to have fun.” Chaery grabs you by the shoulders, lifting your chin so you’ll stare at her. “So have fun! I know it fucking sucks, but it’s done! Let’s just enjoy the night and deal with the whole problem tomorrow morning.”

You roll your eyes, knowing she’d never comprehend your feelings. As much as you love how carefree she is, you also know your personalities are too different.

You allow her to interlock your hand with hers, though, as the two of you pass the sea of cars in the direction of the crowded mansion.

“You could use a little fire within yourself too, you know.” You murmur, examining the place with harsh eyes.

The front garden alone is already impressive. Its deep green lawn is impeccable — clearly trimmed and well cared for, aligning with the lavish fountain that stands in the center and all the animals sculpted in the bushes. A cupid stands in the middle of the marble fountain, water flowing smoothly from its carved bow. You recognize the modern styling of the mansion, with plenty of massive windows that cover both floors of the house. With its wooden walls, the place has a rustic yet cozy surface. There is no doubt whoever owns such property has a great sense of style.

Even that front area is crowded, too. People nearly having public sex, others throwing up vigorously while being helped by friends, a few others just passed out on the lawn… although you’re surprised to see many groups simply drinking and chilling, leaning on their cars, too — most likely seeking an escape from the vivid music and the heat wave that must be inside. You already feel the energetic music echoing through the whole atmosphere, the rhythm reverberating through the walls and on the ground. You bite your cheek to suppress a smile, not wanting your friend to notice yet. To you, there was something appealing about attending such crowded spaces. Amidst the sea of people, you were no one: known by no one, cared for by no one. It was strangely comforting, as if a weight was going off your shoulders, and you liked it.

Interrupting your thoughts, Chaeryeong shrugs, “I mean, it’s Rosé we’re talking about. Did you seriously not expect the deal to be suspicious, to say the very least?” She sighs hard, adding. “That lying, dreadful hot bitch. I’d go to as many sneaky warehouses as she commands me to, sorry, Y/n.”

Her tone is truthful enough to have you shaking your shoulders in laughter, squeezing her hand to make her stop walking through people so fast. As a matter of fact, Chaery’s fat crush on your sister isn’t by any means new to you — going on for many years already, but it always surprises you to hear her say stuff like that.

You find it hilarious, actually, that Chaeryeong is, to this day, one of your sister’s fangirls.

“I seriously can’t believe you sometimes.” You say, although youthful spirits have been lifted. Your best friend smiles brightly at you, her button nose scrunching adorably.

“You just love me so much.”

You leave her at that, and stand by the door, making your way to the main, open area — the living room. Chaeryeong is smart and attentive, which also helps to access the whole place rather quickly. Soon enough, both of you have some kind of fancy drink in hands, and you stare at the dark-haired girl rather hesitantly.

Her bright humor and the room’s energy, bustling with excitement are enough to have you feeling much better, even a little happy yourself. Still sensing your hesitation, she brings the cup to your mouth with her small hands, both of you downing your drinks within seconds.

“Okay,” She says, looking around for anything interesting. “Now the real fun begins.”

You laugh, knowing she’s going to find some source of entertainment for the night — whether it is a pretty girl to lose herself in or a newly discovered gossip to watch and comment over like a TV series.

Chaeryeong disappears and comes back with another fancy-looking drink, stumbling and nearly falling in the process, and you quickly grab the one she hands to you, taking a small sip this time. She’s already had a handful of hers and stares at your choice of savoring the liquid with playful eyes.

“What? I would rather not pass out. That’s your role.”

“You never forget, do you? It was once, Y/n. Once. And forever ago, too! I’ve never done that again.” She huffs, bringing her free hand to her chest in a fake display of resentment.

You giggle as you hug her sideways, shutting off the older girl’s whines. She quickly steps aside, though — not wanting people to think she’s not seeking some fun, and you take the opportunity to look around, observing the inside of the mansion properly.

It’s a beautiful house — a mansion, indeed — and the first floor is nothing but lavish. The bar, where you and Chaeryeong stand, is nearly the size of the one at the Diner, filled with expensive drinks and crystal cups as the bartender — not at all like the junk places the two of you usually attend— mixes drinks with experience.

It also pleases you to see how such a person is not afraid of spending money to host a good party, even if the people enjoying it are complete strangers. The lively atmosphere of young people having fun, mixed with the grand decor of the place balanced each other well, giving a lived-in aspect to said gorgeous place.

The open area has plenty of windows, allowing you to watch the gardens and the pool, outside — even though it’s massive, there’s barely any space left in between the waters, making you gulp with disgust. It was hard for you to understand how that many people would muster the courage to get in, with so many germs and fluids certainly dirtying the once crystal-clear waters.

Looking back inside, you’re able to observe the planned furniture, which is clearly well thought out, with the wooden ceiling and the thick, marble columns. There are rugs lacking, you notice, but it is surely so they don’t stain or anything.

You wonder what the place is like during a quiet, common day. One where the only noises come from the birds, chipping and singing while flying through the trees, and the running water that drips on the pool fountain.

Besides that, it is absolutely crowded. Nearly every single space is occupied by either a couple kissing like there’s no tomorrow or people screaming and dancing, yet everyone seems to be having a nice time. The atmosphere makes you smile, surprisingly cozy on this chaotic yet lively night. That’s how you feel, specially after the prior encounters: alive.

You have to make that feeling worth it.

Time goes by fast once you’re trying to have fun.

You quickly learn so, as you drink, smoke, and dance with Chaeryeong. Even with the alcohol leaving you happy, you’re still uneasy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re being observed, no matter how many times you tell yourself that’s absolutely insane — there are people in every possible corner of the place, and no one’s paying attention to you.

However, Chaery also seems to be opposed to the logical part of your brain.

“I think you should go for it,” Your best friend tells you, after long minutes of heavily flirting with a barbie-like girl from afar.

You’re nearly sure you know that girl, actually. She’s from your hometown, most likely; her heart-shaped mouth and cherubic features are impossible to miss.

There’s nothing more like Chaery than going to a party located 2 hours away just to fuck around with the same people you’ve known since elementary school.

Your best friend turns around, filling up both of your drinks, even though yours is only halfway empty.

You frown. “Go for what?”

It’s Chaeryeong’s turn to be annoyed at you. She throws her free arm on your shoulders, gesturing to the middle of the living room area, where four good-looking girls stand with critical looks, acting like they own the place.

Which, judging by their style and the way they carry themselves, they might as well do.

Chaeryeong points in their direction with her head, never in her life subtle. “The one in the middle has not stopped staring at you ever since we’ve arrived. Ryujin, they say it’s her name.” Your friend’s excited tone grabs your attention, and you finally take a look at the small group she’s so enamored by. “I think you should go get her.”

Your friend has always had a good taste in women, and this time’s no different. They are beautiful, crushingly so, all hanging out by the long couch, circled by many people who seem to fight for an ounce of their attention. They stay disinterested, though, not paying them as much as a quick look.

One has sharp eyes, listening attentively to what a jumpy redhead and a blonde girl have to say as she sips on her Marguerita. At last, you observe the raven-haired girl Chaeryeong mentioned: she stands powerful in the middle, her sharp features giving her an intimidating look. To your surprise, she’s already staring— her dark eyes examining you with such hunger your heart starts beating rapidly as if there were no one else in the room. Electric shocks fly through your body upon her piercing gaze, and you look away immediately.

“She’s creepy.” You take a long gulp of your drink, in hopes of washing away the urge of sneaking her a glance once again.

Chaeryeong rolls her eyes, nudging you. “Just how you like them.” She scoffs, then, when she realizes you won’t answer — not in the mood to indulge her little monologues. “Please, Y/n, for once in your life just—“

You interrupt your friend, taking a step back and giving her a fake smile. “I need to use the bathroom, but I’ll catch up with you soon, Chaery.” Getting away from her as fast as you can in such a crowded space, you’re still able to hear her voice as you ascend the grand staircase, screaming while raising her cup in your direction to prove her point.

“YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME, Y/N! IF YOU TAKE TOO LONG, I’LL COME AND GET YOU.” You can’t help but laugh, fully knowing she means it.

Even though you escape her lecture — hearing that same discourse at least once a day ever since you can remember, you know Chaeryeong means well. It’s a matter of fact: you’ve always been the responsible one, caring and supervising others, to the point people always referred to you as “lame” or “boring”. Whether it was at the Diner, with your reckless family, or dealing with your friend’s spontaneousness, you’re unable to help it: being careful comes naturally to you, always thinking about countless opportunities for every situation possible.

Before opening many doors — the place was indeed massive, leaving you to wonder how many rooms there are — you finally find a bathroom. Without rushing, you take a deep breath, washing your face in hopes of easing your mind, too.

For the first time in many hours, you have time to truly think about the events of the day. Weariness infiltrates your bones as you grip both sides of the sink, not daring to look at yourself in the mirror. Looking at your face, your features, means staring at your sister, too. At your father, the whole dirty business you do for a living and how you’re also to blame, no matter how much you avoid taking part in it. You belong in this world, there’s no denying it.

Only you so wish you weren’t.

Sitting on the toilet, you hug your knees, waiting for the tears to come. They never do; you only feel an emptiness inside your tainted soul. Somehow, you’ve already gotten used to this entire mess. Crying and pitying yourself won’t change anything.

The door opens, and Ryujin is standing in front of you before you can make yourself look presentable. She’s as intimidating as she was from afar, her thick boots making her look taller.

“Sorry for taking so long, I needed a moment. I’ll go now.” You get up quickly, trying to brush past her as you murmur excuses for keeping the bathroom all to yourself, even though she doesn’t seem to mind.

With a hand brushing your waist, she says, tone low and husked. “It’s ok. I can take you to somewhere quieter if you’d like.” Her posture is relaxed and patient, waiting for you to answer. “Listening to loud music for too long can be a bother.”

You don’t exactly know why you agree; perhaps it’s her voice, soothing and sensual — even though you somehow know her invite is not one seeking sex, or her dark eyes, staring at you like she could undress your soul and be aware of your deepest secrets. Regardless of the motives, you feel drawn to her, almost as if she’d cast a spell on you, luring you in. So you nod, allowing yourself to enter the labyrinth of corridors as Ryujin walks by your side, without rushing. Only when the two of you stop by a black, wooden door, she turns back to you. You step inside, as the world behind you suddenly turns quiet.

You’re fully aware of the risks you’re taking. She’s a stranger, and you know nothing about each other. You should be jumpy, wary in the least.

Instead, for the first time in many years, there’s not a train of thoughts running through your head, thinking about millions of possibilities and outcomes of every little thing you’ve ever witnessed.

As you walk into the middle of the spacious room, you feel nothing but calm.

Ryujin has good taste.

You’re not stupid: you know the bedroom you’re currently in belongs to her. The walls are made of wood, carved in light brown, and most of the furniture is black, a true portrait of how she presents herself — all dark and mysterious. Her bed stands appealing in the middle, the covers undone and inviting, while numerous papers rest neatly on her desk, but it’s the content on the wall that catches your attention. A map of the country, covered with red strings and pins linking numerous places. There are names written, too, as well as keywords and small texts.

“I’m a good listener. If you’d like to, naturally.” She takes a blunt out of her pocket, gesturing to you. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” You give her a small smile in acknowledgment. “It’s your room, anyway.”

She laughs. “Smart girl.”

“I’ll pass on your invitation to listen, though.” You continue as you stare at her closely, curious about how she’d react. Her blazer made her shirt ride up, revealing part of her toned abdomen, and you can’t help but ogle, mouth dry at the sight.

God, she’s so hot, sitting casually like that. “As you wish. No problem.” Ryujin doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, which provides you with enough confidence to start looking around again.

A black wooden bookshelf catches your attention, standing on the opposite side of the windows and the balcony, and you’re appalled by how vast it is. It nearly occupies the entire wall, with numerous books. It’s the only part of the room that has any color besides black, brown, or white, and the books all seem pretty worn out. You brush your fingers through the shelves, lost in paradise.

“Do you expect us to fuck?” You don’t turn to face her as you ask, without shame. Strangely, you feel like you could tell her whatever you wanted to.

She shrugs, adjusting her pillows so she’d lie comfortably, looking rather small in the massive bed. The words leave her mouth so casually like nothing was ever complicated. “If you'd like to, maybe.” Her eyes travel to your body, and you shiver, once again feeling exposed. “You’re pretty. You have a beautiful body, too. So, sure.”

“Why did you bring me here, then? If not to fuck.” You murmur, eyeing her as your fingers brush a specific book, waiting for her permission.

You take it from its place once she nods, freeing the smoke from her lungs. The Waves, highlighted and annotated.

“You looked as if you had many thoughts going on in your head.” She runs her hand through her shiny, pitch-black hair, casually. “This is my quiet place. I figured you could use a little peace for a while, too.”

She was so right. From the time you entered her room, you felt nothing but peace, as if your emotional turmoil had cooled down for a few moments.

Maybe it was the calming energy Ryujin emanates or the way she looks at you so curiously. Anyway, you decide she’s worth it.

You were not exactly fond of meeting new people, much less welcoming them into your life. You didn’t feel the need to add anyone — you could barely keep up with the amount of drama you had, with not that many people. You have a best friend, a father, a stepmother, grandparents, a sister, and her friends who were your acquaintances. Not a massive crowd, but just enough for you.

However, you feel the need to let this girl in, too.

Jumping on the bed, you don’t stop until you’re near enough to feel the warmth of the blunt Ryujin holds. You lean on your elbows, facing down whilst she’s facing up, hands behind her head to support herself as she stares at the ceiling.

“I’m Y/n, nice to meet you.” You say, determined not to feel threatened by her piercing gaze and those midnight eyes that carry such mystery.

Ryujin laughs, shaking the hand you offer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/n. I’m Ryujin.”

She stares back, her eyes undressing you as if she’s the keeper of all your secrets. You look away. She laughs again.

Your mind wanders to Chaeryeong’s words, always eager to talk about how you should take more risks and live freely. Perhaps she’s right; you should stop worrying too much and overthinking every single thing.

You snuggle yourself even closer to Ryujin, still deciding. “But are you good?”

She frowns, turning to you. “Probably. But good at what, exactly?”

“In bed, obviously.” You roll your eyes. “Are you a good fuck?”

Being so close to her allows you to see the switch your words provoke. Her eyes darken, and she fixes her posture, no longer carefree and unbothered. No… the girl whose eyes roam over your body is far from inviting or calming. She’s powerful, just as you watched her present herself downstairs, earlier at night. With strong hands, she grabs one of your thighs, bringing you so close you’re able to play with the collar of her silk shirt.

“Why do you ask, Y/n?” Ryunjin’s hands brush your neck in a careful motion, tucking your hair away so she’s able to run her nose through your skin. One look at her, and you know she enjoys toying with you like that too much.

As she must do with anyone, you suppose.

“Well…” You look down, although still leaning at her touch. “‘Cause I want you to fuck me, of course. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking.”

She doesn’t mind your impatient tone but doesn’t touch you either, even after your words. If anything, she just keeps staring at your body, as if imagining all the things she’d do.

“And how would I do that, exactly?” You roll your eyes, ready to give her a defiant answer when she grabs you by the chin, ever so gently. “Make sure to be clear with your words, my angel.”

And it’s that tone once again — so low-pitched and raspy, that makes you gulp, barely breathing under the enchanting, mysterious girl’s touches. Besides being in control at all times: when you’ve decided to accompany Ryujin to her bedroom, when initiating this battle of desire… you finally come to realize how different it is, this once. This time, Ryujin’s question presents itself as a warning, its meaning loud and clear even though it was unsaid. If you agreed to this, she would be the one in control. She’d take as much as she pleased, however, you wished her to do.

Something that is so appealing to you. Not because you feel the need to let go; no, you’ve done much of that throughout all of your life — being your family’s pawn, toy, and little doll to show off to other powerful families, making a profit over the image of perfection.

No, Ryujin’s offer is appealing simply because you’re curious to see what she’d do to you. You feel drawn to her, with a sudden urge to be under her touch, to have her inside of you.

You want her to do the most unspeakable, filthy things to your body, bringing you enough pleasure to fuck you dumb, until all of your worries are washed away and long gone.

Her. You want her.

So you stand on your knees, taking your time with unclasping your bra and throwing your shirt off the ground, long hair flowing gracefully as you move, cascading down your hips. It’s only once you’re done that you speak, long after letting her watch as you make a show out of the small act.

“I want you to pleasure me.” You say, with a voice just as lustrous as hers. “I’m sure you’ve been spoiled enough in sex. Prove it to me, then. And if you’re good enough, maybe I’ll satisfy you, too.”

She smiles, exposing her canine teeth as she watches you crawl to her. Within seconds, you’re between her legs, her mouth hot and wet on your clavicle — then wasting no time to go to your breasts, as she kisses and sucks on your skin. Making sure to bruise, to mark her presence. Territorial.

“Your wish is my command, angel of mine.” She murmurs, breath warm on your skin.

Ryujin’s taste is bitter, much like poison. Still, her lips are addicting, and it’s easy to lose yourself in between the sultry kisses you share. Your skin, your insides — you’re on fire, so turned on it burns.

Her hands, skilled and lithe, wander through your body, squeezing and groping as she pleases. Such a tease, she is. You can easily tell how delighted she is to be able to take her time, caressing the insides of your thighs as you huff, impatient. She’s so close, yet so far from where you need her. Your cunt aches, sticky and needy for something, anything.

Yearning for release after such a stressful day, you feel your body trembling with anticipation. Soon enough, you’re under her, both of your clothes long thrown on the ground. It’s hard not to blush with how she’s looking at your naked body, licking her lips as she spits, a long trail of saliva going from her fingers to your wet cunt.

You need more of her. Desperately.

Tugging her hair, you let out a loud whine. “You’re so mean, Ryujin.”

“I am.” Her answer comes immediately, as she lowers her body until her mouth is close to your pussy. She brushes the hair away from her face, eyes still heavily focused on your dripping cunt. Ryujin cups your ass, one of your legs resting on her shoulder as she brings your sex as close to her face as possible. Her eyes are starstruck, long-lost in your body as she parts your folds before giving your cunt a messy, wet kiss.

Her actions are more than enough to turn you into a withering mess: her mouth is everywhere, working her way inside of your walls with such vigor you feel so full, your troubled thoughts long forgotten. She works wonders, her tongue teasing your entrance and alternating between lapping on your clit, circling your hardened bud as you moan, squirming almost desperately. You’ve never been this sensible, yet Ryujin reverberates all of her actions through your body harder than usual — even the mere brush of her fingers has her holding your thighs firmly, to keep you from moving so much and closing your legs away.

Incoherent words leave your mouth so fast that you’d be ashamed if you were able to think about anything. Your long nails scratch her bare back in random patterns, leaving her skin so red you close your hands in a sudden wave of consciousness, shy as you bring them to your chest.

She stops too, ignoring your whines as she looks up to you with a serious face, her mouth swollen and glistening with your juices. “If you stop, I’ll stop.” She grabs your hands, placing them on her once again. It’s so sweet, somehow delicate how she handles you, much different from the way she acts with anyone else. “Don’t hold yourself back.”

You nod, gulping. She has two of her fingers aligned with your slit, spreading your juices through your pussy with that little smug smile of hers before easing them inside. They slide in easily, the gushing sounds filling the room along with your voice. “Ryujin… oh f-fuck!”

“Touch your nipples.” Ryujin commands, mouth closing against your clit once again. She licks and applies a weak suction, not yet enough to overstimulate you. You’re long gone, though, incapable of forming any thoughts on your pretty head, let alone following any commands. She knows it, which is the reason her hands grope your tits with strength, massaging. “You’re sensitive, angel. Touch them for me, will you?”

It seems to work, this time. You mumble a response to her patient tone, hands going straight to your nipples as you cup your breasts. They weren’t exactly big, but certainly not small either. If you squeezed them tightly — as you were currently, doing, you could fit them in your hands. Biting your lip, you flick your thumbs through the hardened buds, circling your areolas as your fingers twist and pinch your nipples.

The action sends a shock of electricity through your body, and you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Good girl, Y/n. God, your tits are so pretty. You look so pretty like this, doing so good for me.” You barely register her words, although it doesn’t seem necessary; if anything, Ryujin seems to be speaking to herself. She lifts her head, fingers thrusting in even deeper as she judges the bruises on your hips with hard eyes. Her voice is different, too, serious as she adds, “Must’ve been a tough day, hm? You’re all bruised, my love. And I haven’t given you any of these.”

“Something like that, I guess.” You murmur, closing your eyes to focus on how good she is making you feel.

She kisses each one of your bruises with delicacy, looking somehow annoyed. Her brows are furrowed, and her lips are pouty, making it easy to tell she’s lost in thought. Because of her reaction, you lift her chin, cocking your head to the sides as you try to figure her out. It seems to wake her up from her trance, instead. Ryujin takes your fingers and sucks, staring at you while her tongue wets your index and thumb just as she was doing to your pussy, moments prior.

This girl’s going to be the death of you.

Her attention returns to your cunt, swollen and red, as she fastens the thrusts on your slit. It hits deep, each movement bringing you closer to the orgasm you ache for. A third finger is added, then, and you feel yourself close to the edge. Ryujin must’ve felt your muscles clenching, too, since she’s quick to give your clit one last, deep suck.

It feels like there’s no air left in the room. The pleasure that was building up in your lower abdomen explodes, with violent waves of pleasure erupting and giving you the best sensation you’ve ever felt. It’s ecstatic, as if thousands of fireworks live in every little space of your body. You feel spectacular, but more than that, you feel alive. With a high cry, you cum, Ryujin’s fingers still working their way inside, helping you ride out from your orgasm. She’s careful to not touch your clit, just staring at your fucked out face as your chest moves rapidly, trying to even your breathing.

After a few minutes, you squirm, expecting her to distance herself and stop touching your cunt.

It’s not what happens, though — in a blink, she’s all over you, working her way up your body with wet kisses until your lips meet once again in a messy kiss.

“You’re relaxed now, right?” She says, sucking on your lower lip. “And you were so perfect, angel. It’s my turn. Can you give me one more? Do you think you can do it for me?”

Suddenly, you’re all hot again, as her fingers thrust into you deeper and deeper. You’re dizzy, more than happy to drink on her and let her drive you into pleasure as she says so.

“R-ryujin…” You chant her name, clinging to the girl.

It doesn’t take you long to cum, this time. The orgasm that drags through your body is strong but slow, leaving you full in more ways than you’ll ever be able to describe.

“So good.” She says, hands tight on your waist and caressing your abdomen, with no rush at all. “You’re doing so good, Y/n.”

Your cunt feels empty without her fingers inside, pussy swollen and pleased. Even though she’s right by your side, you miss her, reaching out for her touches. She’s more than eager to comply, holding you close as she kisses the top of your head, brushing the long strands of hair away from your face.

The two of you stay like that, wrapped up in a warm bubble that has you completely in peace. Your muscles relax, and you feel the tiredness in your bones, pleading for sleep. It’s easy to get lost in Ryujin’s arms, forgetting your duties and obligations until your mind is filled with her.

Just as quickly, you’re thrown back into reality by the doorknob — it’s forced from the outside, although the door doesn’t move, thankfully locked. It’s most likely someone drunk, searching for a place to have fun with someone, but the action is enough for you to remember the reason you’ve attended such a party: an energetic girl with dark hair and the worst sense of humor you’ve ever seen, who was probably worried sick about you and cursing your entire existence.

With that in mind, you get up, grabbing your dispersed clothes on the floor and putting them on. Ryujin’s stare is attentive, following your every move. She’s still comfortable in her bed, not bothering to cover herself as she reaches out for the blunt on her nightstand.

“You can stay, if you’d like.” Her voice has a special effect on you. It makes your body relax instantly, and you breathe in. “Enjoy the quietude. There’s no need to run away.”

“I’m not running away.” You frown, somehow bothered that she thinks so. Grunting, you clarify, “I’d like to… hum, continue this. But my friend’s been waiting for long now. She must be going crazy, thinking I’ve been kidnapped or something. I have to take care of her.”

“Why so?” There it is. That smirk, the air of superiority that adds to Ryujin’s strong façade. It’s almost as if she’s mocking you, playing with her words. “Is she a child? Or just so stupid she can’t take care of herself…”

Your face reddens, and you finish tying your shoes just as quickly as you turn to her, both hands gripping her bed frame so you’re able to jerk your body forward. “Chaeryeong’s not stupid. Watch your fucking mouth.”

People could say anything they wanted about you. In fact, they already did — ever since you were little and your mother had left, people judged and made assumptions about your life. It was impossible not to be a target, with a family like yours, handling the business that you do. It did hurt, at the beginning, but you’ve eventually figured it out: people talked about everyone, and you weren’t special. They were so miserable and uninteresting that they’d criticize every single little thing, no matter how invisible you tried to be. It’s just how they were.

However, any words directed at your best friend are enough for you to get into messy fights. No one was allowed to talk shit about her. Not cheerful, bright Chaeryeong, who had the biggest, cutest smile and the purest intentions in her heart. You’d never allow it.

Seeing how serious you were, Ryujin’s smile dropped. She tapped her blunt in the ashtray, careful to not let the dust spill. “You’re right, she’s not. I apologize.” Although she doesn’t look sorry at all. It’s as if everything is a big joke to her; which, with such a lavish house, you know it most likely is.

Rich people are always assholes.

Humming, you roll your eyes as you try to fix your hair, failing terribly. It’s still as wild as ever, stubbornly fighting your fingers when you run your hands through its entire length, in attempts of detangling something. The subject’s been brushed off when she speaks again, breaking the silence without any awkwardness. “Yeji is keeping an eye on her, anyway. So you don’t need to fry your neurons and die of preoccupation.”

It’s awkward — you’re awkward, meanwhile, the girl looks completely at ease as she takes another hold of smoke into her lungs, naked in all her glory. God, she’s so hot; her muscles are defined, and she’s simply beautiful, like a fallen angel. It takes all of you to not fall down on your knees immediately, begging to eat her out and make her scream in pleasure like she’s done to you. But you’re also tired, and you really need to let your friend know you’re alive and well. There’s nothing more that you hate than being a bother, so you can’t let her alone, wondering if you’ve forgotten about her presence.

“You really are good.” You stare at your hands, letting out a faint giggle. It’s amazing how suddenly shy you are, given how you were begging just minutes prior. “A good fuck, I mean. You are.” In a blink, you’re by the door, gripping the doorknob with an unnecessary amount of strength. “I hope to return the favor, someday.”

“Someday.” She says, tone enigmatic as ever. You’ve noticed she’s annoyingly good at hiding her expressions, always with a bored look on her face. “See you, Y/n.”

You don’t say anything else as you leave the room, losing yourself in the labyrinth of corridors without looking back.

Turns out Chaeryeong is still at the same place she was when you left, thankfully. She jumps into your arms as soon as she sees you, sighing in relief. “I’m going to kill you! Where have you been? I looked everywhere!”

You hold her firmly by the waist, her voice a few quarters higher than usual. Chaery might not be tall, but in this drunken state, she’s heavy, nearly dragging both of you to the ground. She laughs uncontrollably, happy to have you by her side once again.

“The bathroom line was too long.” You lie, taking the drink from her hands as you take a sip. It’s strong, provoking a nauseous sensation that you ignore as you swallow it down.

The lie comes naturally, not because you feel like you have to hide what happened from your best friend, but simply because you find yourself too tired to explain. She’s going to make you repeat yourself as soon as she sobers up again, anyway.

She knows it, though. “Liar! You were doing something.” The girl narrows her eyes, a confused expression on her face as she brushes the hair away from your neck. “Where’d you get a new necklac— Y/n! You dirty whore!”

You can’t help but laugh as she examines the hickeys Ryujin left on your skin, mouth opened in a big “O” — slightly pushing her off you. Chaeryeong stumbles, hitting the wall with her shoulders as she tries to gather her balance.

“I’ll tell you about it later, okay? M’ too tired right now.” You promise, not giving her drink back once she reaches out for it.

Chaeryeong doesn’t seem to mind, jumping up and down in excitement. She grabs you by the shoulders, shaking your body with a smile that nearly covers her entire face. “My girl’s getting some game, wow! I’m so happy for you, Y/n! You have no idea. Do you know how many times I wished you got someone? I seriously thought you were going to turn into a nun or something.”

“Hey!” You protest, “I’m not a prude! The last time I had kissed someone was like, last month or something.”

Chaery stops jumping, thankfully. She pays no mind to your grumbling, twirling, and moving along with the blasting music’s rhythm. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

You eye her with narrowed eyes, but she stops all of her movements before you can give her a sneaky response. Her face pales, and she gulps deeply.

“Are you okay, Chaery?” No response. Chaeryeong’s eyes are fixated on the wall behind you, the colorful lights and blasting music from the living room surely doing nothing but overwhelming her even more.

“Yeah.” She looks up, sighing. “Just felt this sudden urge to t—“ The way she covers her mouth is enough of a sign, for you. Acting quickly, you pull her to the gardens, as Chaeryeong tries her best to not jerk her body forward. It’s immediate: she throws up as soon as she finds a bush to lean on, the effects of the alcohol, adrenaline, and visual stimulation from the party getting to her organism.

“I guess you kept your drinking game high while I was busy?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood. It works, you can tell Chaery’s laughing by the way her small shoulders move. She gives you a thumbs up, too, her face still shoved in between the leaves. “Okay. Are you good to be by yourself for a few moments? I’ll get you some water, then I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” Your friend manages to say, lying down on the grass. Her hair is all messy, and her face remains pale. “I’m fine now, though. 100%.” “I’m still getting you the water.” You get up from where you were kneeling, too, rushing towards the kitchen entry with hurried steps.

You’re not too worried, though. This wasn’t exactly an unusual situation — sometimes Chaeryeong would drink too much, too fast… sometimes you would. It was a pain in the ass, naturally, and you’d always wake up deeply hungover the next day, but it wasn’t something to be deeply preoccupied with.

Humming to yourself, you open the fridge, in hopes of finding a bottle of fresh water. It was better than going to the bar set in the lively living room and asking for one, anyway. You barely notice a girl standing next to you, handing exactly what you’re looking for. She’s one of Ryujin’s friends, you reckon — her sunset, pin-straight hair compliments her features effortlessly, as her hypnotizing eyes stare at you attentively.

You know a judgmental look when you see one. This one’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“For your pretty friend.” She says, waiting patiently for you to take the bottle from her hands. You do, still silent, yet your lack of enthusiasm doesn’t scare her away. She keeps babbling, not minding you at all. “I hope she feels better.”

It’s as though she knows something you don’t, and the hidden mockery in the air leaves you uneasy.

“Thanks…” You murmur, playing with the bottle in your hands. Before you brush past her to return to your friend, she adds.

“—Yeji. That’s my name.” Yeji tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, waving you goodbye with feigned innocency. “Bye, Y/n. Make sure Chaeryeong arrives home safely.”

Chaery’s had an eye on her earlier, nearly fucking her from afar while you were in your own world, lost in thoughts. They probably had some fun before you came back to your friend, that’s all.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you lean next to Chaeryeong again, trying to ease the knot in your stomach as you give her the plastic bottle.

“Here, don’t drink it all at once.” You say, chuckling as the girl nearly drowns herself in the water, desperate to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth. “It’s been a long day, Chaeryeong. Let’s go home.”

She gladly takes the hand you offer, groaning as she shakes the remains of grass from her pants. “I had fun, though. Today was a fun day, Y/n. Did you have fun too?”

There’s mischief all over her face, making it impossible for you to feel down. It’s her gift, being able to lift your spirits with her lame jokes and energetic nature.

“Of course, Chaery. I always have fun when I’m with you.” You nod.

Your words please her, and she leans her head against your shoulder as you make your way to the car, side by side.

It’s late, and you’re tired. You’d handle it all in the morning.

Despite the weariness that penetrates thick in your bones, you’re punctual as always, doodling in your journal by the counter as the sun fights its way up against the messy fog of the morning. It’s a routine you’ve been doing ever since you were a teenager: going out, partying, and going to so many places until dawn, while still showing up to work at the Diner in the following morning.

You’d get some rest, eventually. For now, the four hours of sleep you had were enough to keep you up, somehow Besides, Saturday mornings are always some of the slowest days at the place, with hardly anyone coming for breakfast. People liked to sleep in, trying to gather all the hours they’ve lost from having to wake up early for work, you guess — which is why the place is empty, no customers to be seen.

There’s a hard slam on the corner, and you lift your eyes to follow the sound. You’re greeted by Rosé: her baby-pink hair is even messier than usual, and her leather jacket seems to be the only thing protecting her from the chilly weather. It does little to ease her, though — Your sister’s shorts expose her legs, dirty and scratched. At least her crop top is thick, the black clothing making her seem even more intimidating. And she smells of smoke, instead of her usual cologne.

“You look like shit.” You’re the first to break the silence, as your eyes return to your sketch. It’s not an easy thing to do, but you try your best to act indifferent to your sister’s piercing stare. “I’m taking you haven’t had any sleep at all.”

She’s fuming, you know that. Somehow, Rosé’s cold attitude is much worse than her red fire. Her quietness scares you, as it should. It’s never a good sign.

“Have you ever been anything other than useless, all your life?” She spits, and her words hurt, no matter how long you’ve mentally prepared yourself to have that talk, ever since you left the warehouse. “I asked you to do one thing, Y/n. One fucking thing, and you managed to fuck it all up! God, you’re such a failure.”

Your mouth is dry, all of your courage going down the drain as you stare at the woman in front of you. Suddenly, you’re a little kid again, playing your part as Rosé’s little doll so you’d receive a smile, a praise, anything from her. You’d do anything to get her to acknowledge you, having to fight for her attention like everyone else.

But not anymore.

She hits the counter again, visibly enraged. You shove your finger at her chest, fighting back before she destroys you with her words — like she’s so good at.

“And you’re a fucking liar! Fuck you, Rosé. You fucking lied to me, saying we’d meet Wendy because you knew damn well I’d say no to dealing with Jinsoul. And you know what? I was fucking right!” Saying the words out loud is enough to give you courage. When you speak again, your tone is low, sharp like she’d taught you. “We could’ve gotten seriously hurt out there, Rosé. And you were fully aware of that when you sent us into that fucking trap! You’re in no position to demand anything.”

Rosé runs her hands through her hair, and you can tell she’s exhausted, too. She’s always hidden things from you, so it’s impossible to know what’s going on in her life. Although you can’t bring yourself to care, anymore.

“We need that money, Y/n!” She shouts, exasperated. If her stare could burn, you’d be long dead. “How do you think things work, huh? Who do you think is paying for that fancy college of yours — our house, the food we eat every day? It’s me! I provide for us, with that dirty money you hate so much. So wake up! Fucking idiot. Stop being such a burden and help, for once.”

You know it’s true. Even though your father is supposedly the one in charge, Rosé is the true leader. Needless to say, you’re grateful for all of those things.

Which doesn’t make Rosé any less of an asshole.

“You’re a shit sister.” You lean on the chair, your icy tone placing a blunt contrast to her fiery screams. “And an absolutely horrible person. I despise you.”

A flash of hurt passes through Rosé’s arms, so fast you wonder if you’ve imagined it. But as fast as it happens, it’s over with. Instantly, her defenses are up again, and your sister looks down on you, rolling her eyes as she crosses her arms in the middle of her chest.

“You’re tiring me.” She huffs, her tone making it clear she is done with the conversation. Rosé leans on the counter and shoves your shoulders on a punch before storming away, slamming the entry door loudly. “I’m going out, to clean the mess you’ve made. Like always.”

Tears start to cloud your vision as you watch her hop on her car, the roaming of the engines making her feelings clear enough for anyone to understand. She’s an asshole, you know it; but it’s hard to not be upset by her lack of care towards you. You long for her approval and affection, getting anything other than that is enough to leave you deeply hurt.

It’s frustrating, to feel like that over such a shitty situation. You don’t even know if the tears you shed come from sadness or from anger, as you brush them away from your face.

A lithe figure hits the window to grab your attention, and you’re deeply surprised to see Ryujin barging in, walking towards you in confident steps. She chooses the table closest to you, resting her arms over the chairs next to hers.

“Good morning, Y/n.” She says, completely comfortable.

“Morning.” You can’t help but frown, confused. At least her presence offers enough of a distraction from your actual problems. “What are you doing here, Ryujin?”

Ryujin smiles, her eyes small and dazed, so pretty it should be a crime. The rays of weak sunlight brighten her face, making her seem almost innocent. Much different from the night prior. “I heard this place had great food, so I came to check. I woke up pretty hungry, you know.”

“Sure.” You hum, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I’ll have some waffles, pancakes, and coffee. Black, and with no sugar, please.” She says, after looking at the menu. You nod, making your way to the kitchen as quickly as possible, in hopes of escaping her intense stares.

It’s unsettling, how you’re able to feel her gaze burning holes on your back. The sensation takes you back to the night prior, a tingling sensation looking for a place in your core. You push it away, opening the double doors of the cooking area.

“Yoona unnie?” You look for the woman, watching her put her phone down to pay you attention. Smiling, you hand her a small note. “We have a customer.”

“Oh, so early! No one comes on Saturdays.” She mumbles, peeking out behind you to spot Ryujin, who stares at the road in boredom. “I’ll prepare it quickly. Meanwhile, you can go entertain her.”

You laugh at Yoona’s suggestion, shaking your head. “I’d rather wait here, with you.”

Yoona’s face turns serious, as she points at you. “No one is allowed in the kitchen while I cook. Goodbye, Y/n.” You grumble, having no choice but to go back to Ryujin while the woman pushes you out the doors.

Having coffee without any sugar is a trait reserved for psychopaths, which you think suits Ryujin well. You pour her drink in your favorite mug, before returning to her table.

“I thought you also cooked.” The raven-haired girl stands when you approach, promptly pulling the chair in front of herself.

She gestures for you to sit, and you frown, ready to argue that you are still working. The knowing look she gives you is enough to make you sit down, obedient.

“I can’t cook to save my life.” You explain, giggling to cover the shame of having to admit such a fact. “Yoona does it effortlessly, though. Her pastries are the best.”

Ryujin nods, scrunching her nose as she looks around. “And where’s your friend, may I ask?” Her smirk turns playful, pointy canines exposed at you. “Are you not taking care of her right now?”

“She’s not a child, right? She can take care of herself.” Although you play along in her game — repeating what she’d told you the day prior, you’re also quick to add. “Besides, she’s sleeping right now. Chaery always sleeps until late after a party.”

“Lucky her.” Ryujin whistles, and you agree. You wish you could sleep like your best friend, too. Not only did Chaeryeong often sleep until late at noon, but she’s also the heaviest sleeper you’ve ever met, unlike yourself. You envy her ability to sleep through literally anything possible.

Yoona calls for you to get Ryujin’s order, which you quickly do. The dishes look impeccable once you place them on the table. Yoona never misses.

It wasn’t rare to have customers who came by themselves, with the desire to have a moment of peace and enjoy their meals. With that in mind, you motion to leave, leaving Ryujin alone to do just that. She surprises you by grabbing your hand, ever so gently.

“This one’s for you, actually.” She pushes the pancake plate in your direction, hand still holding on to yours. Her fingers trace gentle circles in your palm. “Would mind joining me? I hate to eat alone.”

Leaving you without words is, apparently, one of Ryujin’s many talents. Once again, you feel drawn to her, incapable of saying no. It’s something in her eyes, you suppose; the way she stares at you, attentive, from the moment you first met each other. She acknowledges every little detail about you, and most importantly, she listens. You didn’t know someone could understand you entirely like that — it’s both thrilling and scary, to know you’re so aligned.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” You murmur, and she shakes her head, in a clear sign that you don’t.

The two of you eat, soon engaged in lively conversation. It’s a pleasant surprise, to know Ryujin is much more than a pretty, intimidating face: she’s smart, funny, and very attentive. You both enjoy the same books, and she’s respectful and mindful when sharing her perspective about topics you disagree on. Time flies, and you find yourself comfortable in her presence.

Getting you to talk about yourself is difficult — even Chaeryeong has to ask repeatedly to get information from you. You just can’t help it: being raised to be a discreet, private person has created the habit of bottling up your emotions, and hiding things until you couldn’t handle them anymore.

However, the words flow freely with Ryujin. You want to share about your life, your hobbies, the people you love… it’s just somewhat easy when it comes to her.

And she doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Far from that, Ryujin drinks from you: acknowledging every little detail about yourself, enchanted and marveled.

You barely notice how quickly you’ve eaten breakfast, not even a small bite left. Ryujin is surprised, too, to not have noticed either. You’ve distracted her and knocked down her defenses without even meaning to do so.

“Okay, so I might’ve come here with a purpose…” She says, and you shake your head. Of course, she did. “In my defense, I found this on my bedside table, a little after you left, and it looked pretty fancy to just keep to myself.”

In her hands, there’s a cross necklace, shining in bright silver. Your fingers go to your neck unconsciously, in hopes of touching the one you kept with yourself at all times — only to hold on to the air, instead. You grasp, bile bundling up in your stomach at the thought of the hours you’ve spent without your precious necklace.

As soon as you reach out for it, Ryujin holds the jewelry away from your hands.

“May I?” She unclasps the lock, gesturing to where it should be rested.

You nod, eager to have your necklace back. Holding your hair away from your face, you turn around, waiting for her. Her breath is hot on the back of your neck, and for a moment, you think she might kiss you. Instead, she takes a step back, a proud look on her face as she runs her thumb against the bruises on your collarbone. “There. All done, angel.”

“Thank you.” The words that leave your mouth are sincere, and you can’t muster how grateful you truly are. “I… Thank you, really. This is so important to me. How can I repay you?”

No matter how much you might hate Rosé at the current moment, that necklace means everything to you. It reminds you of a time when things were less complicated. When you were too young to understand what was truly going on in your life, lost in the innocence of childhood.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ryujin brushes it off, getting up quickly. She drops some money on the table, definitely much more than what she’s ordered. “We’ll see each other soon. Bye, Y/n. You look beautiful, by the way.”

Just as fast as she appeared, Ryujin’s gone. Leaving you to wonder what’s underneath all that mysterious façade, you go back to your chores, unable to brush the raven-haired girl off from your thoughts.

—

Rosé’s been having one hell of a week. Weeks, or even a month.

As if dealing with her family’s business wasn’t enough, with people constantly waiting for an opportunity to betray her and plan their downfall, this new gang that’s been stealing all her clients and supplies has been pissing her off in ways she didn’t deem possible. And now, she has your stupid feelings to worry about. God, you’re so damn sensitive it drives her crazy.

“Rosie?” Lisa’s voice reminds the woman she’s in the middle of a meeting — one she called herself. “What’s going on? You’ve been distracted ever since you walked through the door.”

“Yeah. This fucking sucks, but don’t fret too much. It’s not like we’ve not dealt with situations like those before. Those bitches will get what they deserve.” Jisoo says, in an attempt to soothe Rosé’s nerves. Her tone is excited — perhaps too much.

She’s always been a little masochist.

They’re right, which only makes Rosé more frustrated. She should be planning her revenge, not pouting over a stupid fight.

“I know, it’s just—“ She sighs. “Never mind. Let’s get this over with.”

They all nod, chatting vividly, but Rosé’s phone lights up before she’s able to join the conversation. There’s a message from an unknown number, which is unusual.

The content of it is what unsettles her the most. Her mouth dries and the air runs from her lungs as she stares at the image sent — A picture of you, boobs covered by someone’s arms and bare waist filled with bruises.

The message under it says Thank you for the guns and the snack. I’ll make sure to come back for more, later.

It doesn’t have a slight indication of who sent it, but Rosé doesn’t need a confirmation. She knows exactly who did.

“Jennie!” She screams, even though the girl is not far away from herself, sitting by the long table in the dining room. “Grab the stuff immediately. We’ll do this in my house, instead.” And so she turns, barging orders as she goes.

No one’s going to use her little sister as bait and live.

This newcomer might’ve had a few strikes of beginner's luck, but Rosé’s patience had run thin. She wouldn’t tolerate any insolences anymore, no.

She’ll have Ryujin’s head.

130 notes · View notes

the7thcrow · 2 years

Text

toxin | psh

pairing: historian!seonghwa x (fem) goddess!reader.

wc: 9.4k

genre: meet-ugly. angst. suggestive. magic au. god/goddess au.

summary: having fallen victim to a rather bizarre betrayal by a colleague, seonghwa finds himself in an even more bizarre situation. that being the unexpected success of their summoning ritual that leaves him subject to the will of a fertility goddess, as well as his own intemperate desire.

warnings: cults and cult activities, character death, religious tones (although any relation to a real religion is strictly coincidental, this is entirely made up), guns and violence, blood, mild gore, elements of mind control, heavy making out, aphrodisiac of sorts (?), generally dominant and submissive tones.

a/n: that’s.. a lot more warnings than i originally intended there to be. lmao oops. maybe i’m a tad insane for this, but if you’re also insane and prepared for a wild ride, strap in and enjoy. twas inspired by the ponzonya mv by purple kiss.

... .. .

“Something about this seems… off,” Seonghwa whispers, voice low so that only the man next to him is able to hear. The reasoning for his hushed tone is abundantly clear, eyes darting around the room to ensure that none of the others might be listening. That none of them are aware of his hesitancy, of his nervous reluctance.

Fortunately, they don’t seem to notice. The cave bustles with activity, the different men dressed in dark robes busying themselves as they prepare the room for the ritual. Dressing the once dreary cave with items of luxury, they carry large silk tapestries and golden decor, dragging in velvet furniture and barrels of expensive wine, so that the room appears fit for royalty.

Although Seonghwa supposes that in a way, after all, it is. Although the subject may be considered to hold far grander superiority than any earthly king may hope to achieve.

“Are we certain this is a good idea?” He presses a little further, nudging the man next to him, who’s name he’s learned is Hongjoong. Although eccentric, he seems to be a tad more understanding than the rest of his colleagues. After the past few weeks of this mess, he’s the closest thing that the historian could consider as a friend.

Although the fact stands that for all the kindness and sympathy the small, delicate man seems to offer, he also is the head of this organization.

“Cult,” Seonghwa reminds himself, because organization is simply too light a term to define exactly what he’s gotten himself caught up in. “He’s the head of a cult.”

“Don’t fret, Dr. Park,” Hongjoong replies, accompanied by far too easy of a smile, as his hands dust along the altar before him, tracing the carved runes with his fingers. “It will all be worth it, you’ll see.”

“I just,” Seonghwa starts again, swallowing deeply as he glances around the room. There’s an itch under his skin, one that screams for him to stop this whole disaster, that something is undeniably wrong. “I’m just not sure about this.”

The smile on Hongjoong’s face falls almost immediately, eyebrows furrowing together in concern. “You’re not telling me that you’re getting cold feet now, are you?” He asks, and although his tone is far more worried than accusatory, there is something of an edge to them, an unspoken warning.

The underlying message that hints if Seonghwa really were to be having cold feet, then the sweetness of his words and their friendship could quickly turn sour.

“No, of course not,” Seonghwa rushes quickly, nails digging into his palm in a desperate release of panic, as he plasters a smile onto his face. “It’s just that the air feels a little different today, don’t you think? A little off?”

Hongjoong nods in agreement, although the gesture shows far more eagerness and excitement compared to the sick nausea Seongwha feels.

“I feel it too,” Hongjoong states, before clasping both his hands on Seonghwa’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “It means we’re about to do something extraordinary.”

With that the man leaves his side, most likely to check that everything else is in order. That all artifacts and sigils for the ceremony are in the proper place and planned to perfection.

Artifacts. Seonghwa can’t help but chuckle at the word, at the entire foundation of his life's work that has led him to this moment.

As a historian and archeologist, he always liked to believe that his work would bring him to new places and adventures. That he’d get to travel to ancient lands, and dig up the remnants of their history and beauty, to walk with past societies as if they were his own.

Well, he supposes that the universe may have taken these wishes a little too literally.

When Hongjoong first arrived at the historian’s makeshift office a few weeks ago, nestled deep within the forest and about a mile’s walk from the nearest village, he was in search of an artifact that Seonghwa had recently added to his collection of study. Upon first meeting, the historian had found the man delightful.

They’d talked over brandy for the utmost of three hours, discussing the ancient religion native to the area, and their different perspectives and findings. Hongjoong, he learned, was very well-versed in the identities and roles of the many different gods and goddesses, and had plenty to offer that Seonghwa had yet to discover in texts of his own.

Of course at the moment, Seonghwa didn’t know why Hongjoong was so well acquainted with this myth. If he had, perhaps he would have kindly said goodbye to the younger man, before proceeding to usher him out of the office and lock the door behind him.

But Seonghwa did not know this at the time, so instead - after an entire evening of pleasant conversation - he accepted Hongjoong’s invitation to view his own collection of artifacts and ancient texts back at the man’s apartment the following night.

And so one evening turned into two, and then two into three, and over the next couple weeks it was safe to say that a certain level of trust had been established between them. This was Hongjoong’s plan after all, to establish a bond before he started to introduce the more… eccentric parts of his research.

This being his cult. Although he didn’t describe it as such, after a few visits to their annual meetings - which far more resembled the attempt at rituals compared to scholarly discussion - Seonghwa quickly recognized that what he stumbled into was simply not a research team.

Between ceremonies to attempt making contact with these mythical beings of the past, and discussion of how to more completely devote oneself to these deities for greater success, everything about their inquiries fell strictly under worship compared to study.

Seonghwa, however, was a scholar. Perhaps a fatal flaw in this instance, as instead of abandoning the strange and increasingly dangerous pursuit, he only grew more curious.

Curious as to who these people were exactly, and how they could possibly believe in the deities of this long deceased religion. He wanted to understand why their devotion ran so deeply, how extreme they were in their ceremonies and practices.

To a historian, it almost felt like a blessing, to be able to study an ancient society as if he were living as one of their own.

Which is why Seonghwa finds himself here now, in the caves of a mountain roughly a day's journey from his office. Remote enough so that if something does not go exactly as planned, there is enough time and seclusion for it to be “taken care of.”

Hongjoong’s words, not his own.

Speaking of the little man, now that he’s left Seonghwa to himself, the historian takes his time to settle his building nerves. Staring down at the altar that lays before him, at the carved runes nestled deeply within its stone - runes he himself had helped dig up in the depths of old religious texts - that burning sensation tears through him once more.

The sinking, dreaded feeling that what they are about to do is going to go horribly wrong.

“Move,” a man says from behind him, shaking Seonghwa from his thoughts. Taking a step to the side, he recognizes the boy with ease. His name is Wooyoung, a close friend of Hongjoong’s, although a few years younger. However, their friendship with Hongjoong is where their similarities appear to end.

Wooyoung does not like Seonghwa. As to why, Seonghwa is oblivious, considering he’s helped them complete and polish damn near every part of this summoning ritual. But the boy does not seem to miss an opportunity to make a teasing, or even just plain rude remark at the historian’s expense. Whether it be a sharp shove to the back here or a not-so-subtle roll of the eyes there, the younger doesn’t seem to ever bother holding himself back.

“Here,” Wooyoung says suddenly, taking a break from scanning the altar to dig something out of his pocket, handing it to Seonghwa.

It takes the scholar only a moment to recognize it as a clovis point. Or in other words, an ancient sort of knife. The historian stares at it for a moment, mind blanking as he turns the stone around in his hands, struck at a loss for words.

Because why the fuck would Wooyoung be handing him a knife?

“Sorry, why are you giving me this?” Seonghwa asks, to which Wooyoung lets out a snort. After a moment of silence however, the man’s expression furrows into confusion, and he faces Seonghwa fully.

“You really don’t know?” Wooyoung asks, crossing his arms. When Seonghwa shakes his head in response, a slight smile creeps its way onto the boy's lips, sinister. He steps a little closer, uncomfortably so. Taking a step backwards, Seonghwa’s lower back presses up against the stone of the altar, but the younger boy simply laughs.

When Wooyoung speaks, his tone is condescending. “You’re going to be our lamb, Dr. Park.”

Seonghwa’s gut sinks like a stone.

“You’re mistaken-” Seonghwa starts, but Wooyoung is already walking off, an extra bounce in his step as he does so. Gaze darting around the cave, Seonghwa’s vision lands on Hongjoong, who is conversing with an older gentleman next to one of the many barrels of wine.

“Hongjoong,” he calls, making his way over with quick strides. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to notice him, so with a rather firm grip on the shorter man’s shoulder, Seonghwa spins him around.

“Dr. Park, what-” Hongjoong begins to ask, eyes wide with surprise, but Seonghwa does not give him the chance to finish.

“When were you going to tell me I was the lamb?” Seonghwa spits, raising the clovis in the air. Hongjoong’s open mouth falls shut, as he glances between the ancient blade and the historian. His eyes are analytical, as he decides what to do about the situation.

Eventually, he smiles.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he says easily, reaching to place his hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder, who quickly slaps it away. Eyes flashing with annoyance for only a split second, he continues as if nothing happened. “It’s an honour, after all.”

“An honour?” Seonghwa laughs, a mean and angry sound. “Are you kidding?”

Now Seonghwa doesn’t know exactly what it means to be the lamb, or for a clearer term, the sacrifice. In all of their studies of texts and old scripture, it seems conveniently left out of what exactly happens to the one brave enough to take the chance. After the lamb cuts into his palm, and his blood drips onto the altar, there seems to be very little information regarding anything that might happen.

But frankly, that was none of his business. If one of Hongjoong’s men was devoted enough to take that risk, then that was his choice. Who was Seonghwa to interject? He was simply here on research, not meant to take part in the bizarre ritual, but to simply observe. Take notes, and then when most likely nothing significant happened, take more notes on how the men reacted to this failure.

But now, with the way the air hangs with a strange thickness, and his gut turns with the anticipation that something terrible is about to happen, he’s no longer so sure that what he’s stumbled into is strictly fiction.

“Yes, an honour,” Hongjoong assures him, eyes a little too wide, a little too crazed. “You’re getting a first hand experience with a goddess. What more could you ask for?”

“If it’s such an honour then why don’t you volunteer?” Seonghwa bites back, letting any remaining composure slip. He’s furious, because as bizarre as this whole ordeal is, he at least trusted Hongjoong to not put him in any danger. Foolish.

“You’re our guest, I’m only being a good host,” Hongjoong offers, but when Seonghwa shows no sign of buying the ploy, he lets out a deep sigh.

The cultist stares at him for a minute, followed by a low chuckle. “What did you want me to do, Dr. Park?” He starts, lifting his hands to motion towards the men that fill the room. “Take the risk of losing one of our own?”

“You’re sick,” Seonghwa hisses, taking a step towards Hongjoong and shoving a hand against his chest, pushing the man backwards. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”

The display seems to catch the attention of the men surrounding the cave, as the sound of bustle begins to quiet, all hooded figures stopping to observe the sudden outburst.

“Go to hell,” Seonghwa says lowly, leaning in close so that the man’s breath burns hot against his skin. “And have fun finding a new lamb.”

With that Seonghwa turns around, leaving the man behind him and heading towards the exit of the cave. That is, he would have taken his leave, had he not been greeted by a knife held to his throat.

Wooyoung snorts, pressing the knife against the scholar’s neck, so that it breaks past the first layer of skin. Seonghwa winces, and from behind him, Hongjoong clicks his tongue.

“You really thought I’d just let you leave?” He laughs, taking a few steps forward to place himself behind the historian. He puts a hand on his shoulder, and Seonghwa is disgusted by the familiarity of it. “You really aren’t so bright for a doctor, are you?”

“Clearly I need to be more wary with whom I place my trust,” he spits through gritted teeth, but Hongjoong simply laughs. This is amusing to him, and it only makes Seonghwa more furious.

“Your words, not mine,” Hongjoong shrugs, moving away from the man to walk in front of him, gaze fluttering upwards to meet his own. There’s a certain wildness to the man’s eyes, one that perhaps Seonghwa had always purposefully overlooked. “But never change Dr. Park, your gullibility is quite endearing.”

Seonghwa isn’t sure where this nerve in him arises from, always considering himself more of a pacifist and never one to initiate conflict. But right now, all he feels is fury.

And thus, without a moment of hesitation, he spits in Wooyoung’s face.

The boy reels backwards, the spit having lodged itself into his left eye. Consequently, he pulls the knife away from Seonghwa’s throat, giving the man an opportunity to act.

He chooses a swift punch, directed right between Wooyoung eye’s, and he can feel the sharp “crack” of the boy's nose as it makes contact with his knuckles. Seonghwa has never punched anyone before now, and frankly, he’s surprised at how much his knuckles painfully burn from the contact.

Shaking his aching hand, he makes a break for the cave’s opening. However, it is proven futile, as two other cultists block the exit, and a hand reaches out to firmly grab his wrist. Twisting to face his attacker, he’s this time not met by a knife to the throat, but rather a barrel of a gun to his forehead.

Hongjoong points the firearm between Seonghwa eye’s, clicking off the safety as he grants the historian a mocking, pitiful look. Even with lips pouted, the expression still appears more of a sneer.

“Get in front of the altar Dr.Park,” he says, motioning his head to the side of the cave where the stone object sits. “Let us not waste anymore time with this nonsense.”

Seonghwa would object that his reluctance is anything but a waste of time, but with the trigger only a split-second decision from being pulled, his brazen tongue feels far less defiant.

The clovis still resting in his palm, he considers attempting a swipe at the man. He knows it would be futile, that even if his swing struck clean it would be pointless, as Hongjoong would simply pull the trigger.

So with a shaky breath, he slowly turns himself around in order to face the altar. Each step afterwards equally as careful and calculated, attempting to not move too suddenly as Hongjoong follows behind him, the cool metal of the gun pressing firm against the back of his skull.

Approaching the large stone, he stares down at the many engravings. The very engravings that he himself had found, had dug up in his research.

To some degree, this is his fault.

“You know the details of the ritual,” Hongjoong whispers from behind him, and Seonghwa feels the barrel of the gun pull away from the back of his head, although he is certain the gun continues to point in his direction. “So go ahead, get to it.”

He hears as Hongjoong steps away behind him, leaving the historian in front of the altar alone. Glancing up, he watches as the rest of the men lift up their dark cloaks over their heads, eyes no longer visible. He can still make-out Wooyoung amongst them, the boy’s condescending smirk practically infamous at this point.

Seriously, how did he ever think this was a good idea?

Lifting the clovis up in his palm, he supposes that there is only one way to get this over with. After all, it’s surely not as if it will work. Even with all his research into these ancient societies, it doesn’t mean that they were right. It was just a part of the culture, a religious belief not scientific fact.

So why is he so damn nervous?

He tells himself that it’s simply because the men around him are insane, that when the ritual goes wrong they’ll get angry and most likely kill him anyway. However, although he won’t admit it, he knows there’s a little more to it than that.

The strange feeling embedded in the air, the way his body fidgets in anticipation. His fear is not nestled in what may happen if the ritual doesn’t work, it is buried in that it will.

“Get on with it Dr.Park,” he hears Hongjoong call, although it’s difficult to hear over the ringing in his ears. “We don’t have all day.”

And with that he lifts the clovis up, digging it deep into the palm of his right hand.

Blood dripping from the deep gash, it stings as he squeezes his hand into a fist. Falling in a line of droplets, he ensures the liquid coats the altar, dripping into the engravings as if painting them with deep red ink. When he speaks, the latin falls easily off his tongue.

“Domina proclivatis,” he whispers, eyes falling shut. “My mistress of addiction.”

“Ostende te mihi et reple me desiderio tuo.”

“Show yourself to me, and fill me with your desire”

“Sanguis meus sit tibi venenum.”

“May my blood be your poison.”

“Currere per venas et obnubila mentem.”

“Run through my veins and cloud my mind.”

“Servus enim tuus sum humilis, et me tibi trado.”

“For I am your humble servant, and I give myself to you.”

After the final words drip from his lip, Seonghwa is surprised by the… utter nothing he feels. Remembering a key part of many of his readings, he continues to keep his eyes shut tight, although it wasn’t specifically explained as to why.

However, after a moment, he thinks he’s in the clear. The silence of the cave is almost deafening, as he’s certain every one of the hooded figures eagerly awaits the arrival of their goddess.

He opens his mouth to say something, to tell them that the ritual has failed even with all their efforts. Considering they’ll most likely kill him anyways, he may also add a bit of embellishment. Really rub it in that what they’re doing is ultimately pointless, and they’ll only continue to fail miserably once he’s gone.

That is, until the tingling starts.

A strange sensation, starting at the wound in his palm, and spreading up his arm. Deep under his skin, as if running through his veins, it feels as if his blood has been replaced with something far thicker. Heavier, as his limbs begin to grow weak, yet weightless. As if he isn’t fully in control of them as his arm falls to his side.

“It’s working,” he hears a voice call out excitedly, practically manic. He thinks it might be Hongjoong, but it’s too far away to tell, like a memory rather than the present.

It’s a flash of light, bright and blinding, that causes Seonghwa to shield his eyes by bringing up an arm. The cut in his palm pulses, the strange heavy tingling sensation transforming into a vicious sting. Only beginning in the wound, but tearing through the rest of his body in a horrific pursuit, causing him to let out a whine of pain. Buckling to his knees, he continues to keep his arm raised up high, although the desperate need to clutch his palm rings strong.

More than that, however, is the desire. A strange whisper in the back of his mind, that amidst the chaos, tells him to l̷̠̝͙̖̔o̶͉͙̫̜͔̲̐͂̔̋̊͘͜ơ̵͕͈̟͚̝̻̮̹͓͌́̓̇̽͑̚k̶̡̧̢̝̰̟̰̬̪̦̭̖̔͐͐͆͆͒́͘͜͜͝ͅ.

Ơ̵̪̿̀̾̎̔̔̉́̎̈̇̈́̏̾p̷̧̲͇̟̻͈̗͓͙̗̥̣̖̌̈͊͝͝ͅe̸̜͚͚̼͕̦̥̻̻͜͠n̷̡͖͇̝̣͚͇̼̬͉̪͗̄̓̈̄́͗͛̆̇̈́̌͜͝ ̴̧̡̧̛͓̫̤͚̺̱̟̟͓͒͂͗͠y̸̧̨͙̺͖͙̻͓̜̺̖̼̘̾̚o̸̝̟̳̤͈̣͛̏̎̇̿̌͒́̔̂ͅų̶͕͖͑̎̀͒̆̐͝ͅr̴̛͖̱͖̎̕ ̴̢̧̻̮̪̮̳̠̘̝̱̄̆̌͂̇̽͑̑̄̓̉̓͘͠ͅͅë̵̡́̀̐̆̐̔̐́͆͒́̓̍̚ỷ̵̧͉͈̣͙̭̜̙̪͇͎͍̊̉͑͜e̷̞̦̋͐̓͆̈́̂̀̕̕͝s̵̥̠͗̍̔͗͆͂̚̕̕.̸̛͖̩͙͙̥̖͔̼̻̋͌̀̃̓͌͂͜͜͝

Ș̷̤̗͔̤͈͚͍͍̃͂̍̊̂̊̍͒̚͘͝e̵͕̠̅̄̓̂̌̓̅̆̏̽́̚ö̴̳̪̺̟̥́̔͗̒̈̈͛̓͘n̵̬͈̬̦̹̳̲̦̥̎͝ͅg̸̩͙͌̈́̓̔͒͐ḧ̸̢̘̪̺̼̺͙̯́̒͌̿̑̃̓͗̐̄͘͝͝ͅw̸̨̪̼̭͓͚̪̳̜̳͉͙͛̋a̸̼̖͓͎̯̤̪͍̻̪̯͎̱̽.

L̴̖̘̤͖̦̺͔̰̠̓̈́͂͑̐̆̓̃́̄̌͐̀͜ͅȍ̷̟̦̻̠̪̘̰̮̭̜̓̌̑̎͂͘̚ȯ̴͚̠͖̫̬̕͝k̶̛͙͉͚̠̜̾͌̉̋̊̐̃̃͂̉͑͐̆̕ ̸̢̛̪̣̰͚̳̜̥͎͈̿̑̎͂̐̉͜ͅȃ̸̧̭͎̝͙͇̞͚̖̘̝͈͙̖̾͂̽̉̎̀̚̚t̷̛͔͐̋̈́̄͒̚ ̶̢̮̣̱̼̜̻͍̣̩̋͜͜m̶̜͇̳̳̟̞̦͓͓̘̖͑͆̈́̕͠͠ė̵̛̮͇́̃̽͛̊̀͐̿̿͗.̵̠̗̮̥̹̭̭̪̹̠̜͖̆̽͗̈͛͊͊̈̓̐͑ͅ

“Stop,” he whispers, using his free bloodied hand to cover at least one of his ears. It proves no use however, as the voice seems to echo from deep within his mind, ringing through his skull. An agonizing compulsion. A banshee, a whisper, a lament all at once. A strange echo that begs, commands, instructs him to listen.

And he wants to. He would give in, if it weren’t for the screams. The ones that do not echo from within his mind, but from around him. Wailing and desperate sounds that are awfully familiar, at least for a few of them. Hongjoong is one that he’s certain that he can make out, and perhaps Wooyoung too.

They are dying. It doesn’t take a scholar to recognize that.

Gagging on what he can only make out as the smell of blood and burning flesh, he shuffles himself so that his back rests up against the stone of the altar. Neck falling limp against the rock, as if the energy were drained out of him, he uses his last remaining strength to just keep his arm up. Knowing full well that if he lets it fall, his eyes will surely follow suit in opening.

Tears slip out from his shut eyelids, trailing down his cheeks and dripping onto the soft fabric of his button-up. How long this horrible wailing may last, he isn’t sure. Perhaps forever, as maybe the ritual is just a spell in order to drive himself into insanity, and nothing more.

He is proven wrong yet again, however, as the screaming around him abruptly silences. The blinding light seems to fade in front of his eyelids, the bright red hue settling to its proper, far more familiar black.

Arm trembling in the air, Seonghwa isn’t sure if he should move it. After all, this could simply be another test of will. To try and trick him, see if he really is a worthy witness of a goddess.

Seonghwa doesn’t believe that he is, and besides, he’s grown exhausted. Limbs still feeling abnormally heavy, mind slightly delirious and thoughts tripping over one another, he decides death is an easy enough risk to take. Ultimately, there doesn’t seem to be a scenario where he gets out of this alive, so he may as well jump the gun and get it over with quickly.

Fortunately, when he opens his eyes he is not greeted by death, but simply the wall of the cave that lays in front of him. Blinking the fogginess from his eyes, the historian carefully pushes himself to his feet, each move slow and calculated as he does so.

When he turns himself to face the altar, the sight in front of causes his blood to run cold.

The bodies of the cultists lay scattered about the cave, in the same semicircle layout they had previously been standing in, but now crumpled to the ground. While most of their hoods are drawn up high, faces indiscernible, there are a few that remain visible, although Seonghwa wishes they weren’t.

Hongjoong lays in the middle of them all, his own hood having slipped off the back of his head. Blood cascadeses over the man’s face, so much so that more red is visible than actual skin, although that proves to be the least horrific change to his features.

The most terrifying change being the large gaping sockets that have replaced where his eyes once were.

Blood pooling from the open wounds, Seonghwa realizes that it’s less as if they were ripped out and more similar to if they were scorched. The area around each of the sockets is purple and red with these burn marks, puss dripping alongside the blood.

Attempting to settle the way his stomach lurches at the sight, he shifts his attention to the altar itself, letting out an involuntary gasp of shock.

His blood seems to have transformed from a deep red to a completely black colour, and when he shifts his attention to the gash in his palm, it is equally as dark. A scientific impossibility considering he’s very much still alive - well, at least he’s pretty sure that he is - and he knows that something truly wrong is afoot.

Something horrific, terrifying, and that should never have been tampered with by mortal hands.

Gaze flying upwards, vision swaying in a dizzy confusion, Seonghwa desperately scans the area around him. Searching for something that may have changed amongst the riches, yet he can’t seem to find anything of the sort. The velvet sofas and barrels of wine all remain perfectly in place, the many riches and golden jewelry all sparkling just as bright as they had a moment before, despite the gruesome display that lays around them and the smell of death that hangs in the air.

Having found nothing, the historian is a snap decision away from making a run for it. Abandoning the cave and the bodies of his former colleagues - if you could even consider that the appropriate term - he’s certain he could make his escape. Even if the citizens of the nearby villages were aware of both his and Hongjoong’s budding friendship, they certainly couldn’t pin this on him.

They would never even think of it. After all, he’s fairly certain that Hongjoong had planned to kill him right from the beginning, so it’s fairly reasonable to infer that he hadn’t mentioned to anyone but the cult that Seonghwa would be joining them.

Yes, that would work. Nobody would need to know. He could leave the cave right now, and leave this horrific mess behind him. Let someone else discover the disaster he left behind, and avoid all blame and conflict entirely. He holds no moral oath to these men, they tried to kill him for god's sake.

Yet, despite all this, Seonghwa doesn’t leave. Not due to sorrow or fear, the shock and adrenaline running through him seemed to dull his capacity for these two emotions entirely. But rather, he stays because he simply cannot leave.

Because around him, in every crack and inch of the cave, filling and spinning within the air, flooding all of his senses is a presence. Unexplainable, but they're all the same. Flooding his nose like a mind-numbing gas, resting on his tongue like a sour wine, prickling against his skin in a strange tickling fashion. Not a person, but a being. Something within the cave with him, that although he cannot see, he knows that he is not alone.

It’s something that he cannot leave, for a reason that exists beyond reasoning. Defying logic, but holding him still. A calling, and he bends to its will gladly.

S̵̢̛͈͕̮̗̣̽̐͌͋̚̚͠͝ͅe̴̛̠̤͍̮͓̳̪̝̺͖o̸̤̠̣̦͆̈́̊n̸̡̹̩̝̙̜͙͂̅́͘ḡ̷̯̞̤̼̟͛͆̈͊̐̃͝͝ḩ̶̛͚̮̳̱̩̥̼̹̐̿́͌͌̄̅̓̾̆́̋͘͜w̵̡̧̛̤̟͎̓̊͒͐̅͑̈̕̕̚ȃ̴̧̦̘̳̺̳̘̻̼̘͌̓̀̊̉͂́͐̕͠

Ç̸̧̡̛̛͕͈̺͎̥̊̐̀͊̈́ȧ̷͓̤̭̻̦̔͐̓̾͗̿̔̏̅́͘̚̚͠ñ̵̢̧̧̢̜͇̝̪̮͈͈̘̗̒̾͂͐ ̶̢̛̪̞͇̞͖̼̦͈̳͍̼͖̺̑͑̉̄͗͊̑͑̐͐͘̕͘͝y̵͔̿̅͌͝o̷̙̲͕̟̯̩̫̘̲̪͕͉͔̻͗̉̌̉̀̉̓͛͒̿̕͝ự̷̏̐͊̌̊͒͂̅̏̿̈́̈́̌͝ ̷̪̻̻̺̘͉͇̞̦͑̿͊̐͗͊̈́̈h̵̨̢͉̮͇͙̘̲̖̣̯͎̤͂̿̃͛̂͐͘͜ḛ̸̢̡̭̖̳͇̺̥̲̗̠̪̍͊͆̎ͅa̸͉̪̭͇̔̍̇̅̂ṟ̶̡̥͔̦̳̼͓̼̳̗̝̝̼̑̎̈́̂̓͗͗͒̾̕ ̷̛͚̯̩̟̪̗̪̓̂̄̎m̷̧̩̜̐̋̾̐̏̑͐̾̂e̸͇̤̙̹̯̦̻̯͖̹̎̿̄̇̏͆͗̂͋͐̾͌̃̕?̴̛͖̝̹̙̫͔̩͑͆̓͌̓̐̃̚͝

“Yes,” he says in his mind, euphoric at the thought. “I do.”

Then, as if a drop of water falling over a stained glass lake, a ripple of doubt casts through him.

He blinks dazedly, which quickly turns into a series of frantic blinks as he attempts to regain control. Control of his own thoughts and emotions, his own limbs and desires.

This thing, this being. It’s using him, toying around with him.

He needs to get out of here. That’s what he’d originally been thinking, right?

Gaze flying towards the exit, he moves as quickly as he can, although his limbs feel as though they are trudging through molasses. This strange tingling that seems to have replaced the blood flowing through his own blood appearing to fight against him, his own body desperately denying the pursuit his mind craves.

Although, isn’t it what his mind craves? To stay, to ļ̷̡̳̖̲͚̈́͜ͅĭ̵̹͓͚̺̗͇̺̞̭̝̫̪̞͐͛͗s̷͉̽̈́̑́̊͂̐͌̉̍̎̾t̴̨̥̤̮̭̘̘̖͊͗͋̃́̇̂́̔͒̕̕ȩ̸̛̗̩̟̤̬͖̙̺̈̋̑̆̀̌̋̓̐̎̀͘n̸͙̩̗̅́̿̿̀͐̈͑̈́̍̚.

S̸̫͙͇̠͓̥̐̏͑̍͂̎̃͠͝t̶̨̼̪̭̩̳͕̠̓́͂ả̷͇͕̩̼̘̤̩̭͎̎̍̍̊̒͂͗́̿͠͝ͅy̶̧̢͇̻̠̬̟͙̤̪̔͜.̸̡̳͚͇̰̹̈́́̀

Hands flying upwards to cover his ears, it once again proves to be of no use, as the voice does not come from outside of him, but within his own mind.

How does it know his name? How does it know him?

W̵̲̫͕̳͌̉̆̋̔͌̓͂̃̄h̸̭̹͕̬̱̙̳̀͊͜ỷ̷͍̳͉͓͕̠̤̥̟̫̭̖̺̄̽̐͠ͅ ̶̢̢̡̩̦͈͉͔̦̹̱̟̪̯̩̋͗͛̕͝a̸̞̱̣͚͔͖̺̤͋͌̂̍̏̽͋̏̕͠ŗ̶̛̜̼̥̺̻̠̬̓̈́̇̄̅͐̽̾̒͝ͅe̵͙̰̯̭̲̣̓̍̏͛̀̍̑̓̔̽̚͝͠ ̸̛͙͎̟͙͓͎̜͙͖̙̈͊̋̒̂́ÿ̴͇̩̄̀͋̔̈́̈́͆̾͒͘ȏ̶̧̾̽̈́̈́̌́̀̀̊͋̋̆͝ͅư̸͚͈̞̤̙͚͓͆̔̑͗͗̓̍̌̿͒͑̚̚͜͝ ̵̭͕̯̯͉͔̩̭̭̊͜ͅͅf̷̡͙̻͎̫̗̰͇͒̓̒̋̑́͜͝į̷̨̱̜̦̥͙̗̤͈̗͍͍͐̓͛̅͠g̸̢̣͖͉̠̞̝͎̃̃͑̕h̷͉͎̝͔̻̊͌̑̋͊̏̌̀̒͑̕̕t̵̛͓̱̮̀̍͐̂̓͌̌͊͝i̶̛̳̮̙̲̝͉͓̘̳͔̜̊̄͂͌̔͝ͅn̴͕͗͐̌͌͜g̸͓̹̜͉͒̈̑̔̂̽̾͋͌̄̍̇ ̵̨̢̫̘̼̩͕̤̱̪͎̜̗̣̖̏̍̒͛̔̕m̴̡̢͎̼͈̹̹̭̜̝͕͉̓̂̌̈́͒͘e̴̡̢̨̧̹͎̦̙̺̻͓̞͕͒̔̍̉̑͌̑́͐̎͘̕?̵̢̢̮̮̥̳̫̹̿̇̎̂͑̕

He… he doesn’t know. He can’t remember, but he knows that he has to keep trying.

A̷̼̫̩͔̥̐͐̀̍̓̓́̉̚r̷͈̙̗̮̳̣̜̭̲͕̹̊͆̍̂̓͂̉̑̋̾̄͘͘͝ë̸̺̓ṋ̸̡̛̛̳̞̲̤͔͓̖̻̹̝̦̌̀̎̆͆̊͜'̵̮̦̝͎̎̋̎̃̃͛̓̍t̶̨̛̰̰̝̎͆͗͂̄͗̽͜͜ ̵̧̩͙͖͍͉̥̖̰̔́̎̈́̓y̷̛̝̖͉̔̾̓̎̀͘o̴̢͖̠̎̀̂̈͋͜͠͝ư̵̢̧̨͔͖̩̲̯͍̦̳̻̓́̋̿͗̔̈́͌͛̅̚͠͝ ̴̙̲̞̥̲̀̇̉͜t̶̡͓̤̮̬̤͖͕̖̻͎̞̯͝i̸̢̧̥̥͕̪̫̮̗̩͎̍̊͗́r̶͉̰̥̖̭̬̪͓̩̲͖̊ͅe̵͔̘͇̋̀̋͒͂́̆̈́͒̄͋̕͝d̵̨̡̟͉͎̝̱̪̝͕̉͋̈́̆?̴͈̟͓͓͕̱̠̭͇͍̻͓̝̂͑̃ͅ

He is tired.

W̷̠̦̫̜̹̳̹̯͉͇̹̗͆͆͋̐̈́̌̔̓̃̕͜ͅǫ̴̖̥̼͙͔͙̗̲̣͖͉̎̀̓͗̃͆̽͛̀̓͐̉͗̆͘u̵̻͇̇̒̑͐̎̿̔͗͒͌̽̔̕l̷̡̛̛̟̊̅̾̒̓̽͒̂̒̎̽̇͘d̴̛̲̳̼̳̎̍͊̓̀̈͊̒̒ͅņ̶̨̡̩̝̝̰̜̭̩̓̓̿͋̑̐̕'̵̢̛͕͙̲̞̤̭͇̫̙̎̓̋̍̓t̶̹̗͇͍͆̔̔̓͑̇͝ ̵̛͇̙̌̅̒̆̽̃͘͠ȋ̷̭͕̩̝̙̱͈̣̌͌̄ͅt̸̖͇͎̣͎̕͜ ̴̺̼͓͇̺̥̝̮̺̞͌́̆̄͐̅̿̚͝b̸̭̰͕͛̀e̴̡̻̬̲̤̞͚̯̖̝̭̭̥̾͊͂ ̴̡͎̱̘̖̗̺̹̬̐ę̷̛̣̍̂̌̈́͋̈́̉̎̚ȧ̴̧̢͕̱̪͉͎͍̜̥̤͒̌͆̏͌̚ş̵̩͔̒̽i̸̢̢̛͖͎̟͎̫͇͖̟̩̯͓̼͐͋̀͝ḛ̴̩͌̋͛̓̐̈́̈r̵̡̡̟̩̳̩̺̟̰͔̲͔͚̭̻͋̌̂̏ ̸̧̛͔̖̳̳̰̈́͌̈́͐̂͒̈́͛̕͘ͅẗ̸̛̹̱ŏ̴̼̬͎̹̌ ̵̛̛̖͖̪̞̙̥͙͉̍̄̓̍̍͛̀̇͗͠ͅj̷̢̫̥̺̳̪͓͔̖͍͙̱̋̏̀̾̈́͊͜ư̸͙͛̆͑̽̀̋̽̇̋̂̇͑͝͠s̵̺̍͋̔̒̈́̃͌̚̕͝t̶̯̯̻̺͙̝̲̱̩͇̪̯͕̏̋̽̂̄ ̶̝̣͖̪̜̟̤̟͖̪̓͆͒͑͠g̷̻͖̅̎̈̚i̵̡̲̞̫͔̼͕̝̔̈́̈́v̴̻̥͙͒̎͑͗́̎̔̿̑̈̕͝e̶̡̟̗̞͎͍͉̗̼̯̜̺̊̇̽̓̕͜ ̴̢̨̛̰̳̞̝̯͕̞͎̣̏̀̑͑̔̓͌̒̏̅͌͐͋ͅi̶̟͊ǹ̶̩̈́͑́̈̎͛́̾̔͛̉͘͠?̸̣̤̓͗̎̓͗̉̈̕

It certainly would be.

Ţ̵͔͓̠͕̞̙̗̼̮̮̦͚͗̐̃́̓̀̓ͅȟ̵̳̲̲͉͚̼͉̑͝e̶͈̰̜̣͑͊̂͊n̵̢̎̅ ̴͎̗͈̟̮̼̠̱̫̖̥͈͖̎̃̾̽̈́̔̑͘ͅḋ̶̢̩̘̬͈͚̹͕͙͍͉̗̖̓̒̔̒͑͛̂̀̿̆́͜͝ö̶̤̻͈́̔̈́̀͝͝ ̷̧̘͓̟̲͖͕̱͔̼̞̪̦̉̆͗̆͛̌̈́̐̊͑̉ͅi̶͕̙͓̰̺̟̮̗̖͉͆̽t̷͉͍͈̜̠̮̫͎̐͒͐͂̒̊.̴̥͖͗͂́̇̒̃̎̑̈́̑͊͛̔̕̚

“No,” he says outloud, desperate. Even with his senses confused and limbs heavy, he knows that this is wrong.

That this presence, while oh-so-inviting, is sinister. Is twisted, corrupted. Sent to destroy him, a piece of whatever darkness looms beyond our mortal understanding. Call it hell, call it satan or lucifer or whatever crooked twist of the universe that welcomes both evil and obsession, this being belongs to it, undoubtedly.

And if he follows it, who knows what it may do. Who knows what he may do.

But then, as if his ears suddenly have gone deaf, the overwhelming voice silences entirely.

Only to be replaced by another.

“You have a strong will,” it says, and he hears it not from within his mind, but through his covered ears. “I’ll give you that much.”

Removing his shaky hands from his ears, his eyes flutter open, only to find that he is staring at the ground. Having fallen to his knees at some point, the fabric of his trousers are torn around the kneecaps, skin stinging from their contact with the cave’s rocky floor.

Eyes slowly drifting upwards, he finds that what stands before him is not the exit nor the cave’s wall, but rather a pair of… legs?

Continuing to follow them upwards, he finds that they are not attached to a monster. Not a demon sent from hell, or something that will burn his eyes from their sockets from looking upon. Instead, they are attached to a woman.

They are attached to you.

Laden in golden robes, a sort of shimmering dress with a slit that allows your leg to slip through gracefully. Your skin seems to shimmer with a sort of glitter, as well as a variety of jewelry, all in the same expensive gold. A series of thick necklaces, all with different jewel centerpieces; rubies, sapphires, and emeralds all complimenting your complexion beautifully. Equally exquisite - as well as certainly expensive - rings and bracelets twist up your arms and deckle all of your fingers.

It's a look fit for royalty, the dramatics something Seonghwa has only seen in books and old portraits, never with his own two eyes. In fact, “royalty” just doesn’t seem to serve your image justice.

None of the words that immediately come to mind do, each of them falling equally as flat. Gorgeous, heavenly, enchanting are all fine descriptions, but not the proper fit. Not perfect. And surely, you deserve perfect.

Not royalty, but god-like. An angel of sorts, although even that paints you as a follower. A subject of a god rather than one yourself.

And surely, that is what you are: a god.

This realization is what causes Seonghwa’s stomach to drop.

The ritual, almost forgotten in the mind-fogging haze, comes rushing back to him. The point of it all, the cults desire to summon a goddess.

Which must make you…

“A fertility goddess,” Seonghwa whispers aloud, wide eyes looking up at you as he kneels frozen in place. Not out of some sort of magic to hold him there, but out of the sheer inability to make himself move, shock and fear taking over.

“Very good, you have eyes,” you chide, before rolling your own and walking past him. His gaze can’t help but follow you dumbly as you walk across the room, arms folded as you take in the many offerings around you. Despite the barrels of wine, expensive jewelry, and velvet furniture, Seonghwa can’t help but notice that overall you seem rather… displeased.

Knocking on the barrel with your fist, you turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to drink this, hm?” You ask, before scoffing. “It’s sealed, and you haven’t even brought me a glass?”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Seonghwa rushes, before quickly scolding himself because why would he say that?

He’s scared, that’s why. Scared and nervous and hot.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he doesn’t recall being this damn hot before now. Not while setting up the cave, and not even under the influence of the commanding voice.

But now, as he watches you, he can’t help but pull at his collar, just trying to cool down and steady his breathing.

“Not your idea, huh?” You say with a smirk, although it seems anything but happy. Seonghwa would label it condescending, if he had to put a name to it. “Then which one of these hopeless idiots' idea was it?” You ask, motioning to the sea of the murdered cultists surrounding you.

When Seonghwa doesn’t respond, mouth having fallen open but no words coming out, you simply snort. Walking back over to the man, your annoyance about the wine seeming to be momentarily forgotten, you hum as you place yourself in front of him. Reaching down to hold his chin in your palm, you tilt it upwards so he can’t help but meet your eyes.

“I must admit, you are pretty,” You murmur, and although he knows it shouldn’t - because frankly, this is all kinds of both utterly bizarre and terrifying - his chest swells at the compliment. “Even if dense.”

Seonghwa mumbles something intelligible in response.

“But I prefer my subjects a little dumb,” you say, leaning in a little closer, smile growing a little wider. A little more sinister, a little more like you know exactly how much this is getting to him.

Seonghwa blinks, clearing his throat and attempting to get a fucking hold of himself. But his head is spinning, his throat swelling to the point he cannot speak and his skin is itching with heat.

But it’s not the same as before. He feels in control, or well, he knows that ultimately he is in control. His limbs are his own, and when he tells himself to snap out of it, it’s only his own desires and will he’s fighting. Not the same mindless fog as earlier, but rather a pull towards you, a simple bodily response that one should expect in the presence of a sex goddess.

“So what can I do for you, dear?” You tease, or maybe mock is the better term. “Why did you and your little friends summon me here?”

Seonghwa wonders if he should explain that these men are certainly not his friends, and he had no interest in participating in the ritual to begin with. However, he can only see that going one of two ways. On the one hand, separating himself from the cultists - or “hopeless idiots” as you had so kindly put it - might be doing himself a favour. You might appreciate the honesty, as well as see him in a slightly less demeaning light.

On the other hand, Seonghwa knows it’s never been the best idea to tell a sex goddess that she’s not desired. Whether it be Aphrodite or Cybele, it’s never been a good move on the behalf of the heroes of myth to disrespect such a powerful figure.

Is that what he has become, a hero of myth?

The thought makes his head spin.

“Well,” you say, forcefully raising his chin a little higher, regaining his attention. “What do you desire?”

Seonghwa decides that the truth is not worth the risk, but it’s also never a good idea to lie to a goddess.

So instead, he tells a different truth.

“I've studied the ancient gods and goddesses for the past decade of my career,” he rushes out quickly, doing his best not to stutter or stumble over his words. When his eyes meet yours, he swallows deeply, as he can almost feel their striking beauty bare into him. “I just…wanted a chance to witness the truth.”

When your eyes narrow, he decides to try a little harder.

“To worship the truth,” he amends, internally sighing in relief when the corner of your lip turns up at the sentiment.

Chuckling softly, you lean in a little closer, so that your breath blows hot against his face. Somehow it smells sweet, like roses and chocolates and the scent of a perfume he once smelled somewhere back in Seoul. A light and flowery smell, time seems to tumble backwards, transporting him to when he was a younger man. More naive - if that even appears to be possible - and more hopeful, his entire career yet ahead of him. All past loves yet to fail and all dead-end jobs yet to fall apart.

He doesn’t remember which past love wore the perfume, but he knows that he enjoys it. Visions of silken sheets and breathy giggles fill his head, and he inhales sharply, once again feeling so unbelievably hot.

Well, perhaps not unbelievably, as he begins to understand what’s going on here.

Your appearance is so utterly suited to his own ideas of beauty, his own fantasy. Your breath smelling of what his subconscious associates with sex, and the way you speak, the way you look down upon him…

It’s everything he could want, everything he desires.

A symptom of the ritual, your form specifically designed for him. To seduce him, to trick him, to lure him in through every possible tactic.

And while his mind may know that fact, the reaction his body has to it all is far less logical.

“And how do you plan to do that, dear?” You ask, your thumb gently rubbing against his jaw, painting the illusion of sincerity, of comfort. “To worship the truth?”

He isn’t going to worship anything, he doesn’t want to. Well, that’s not exactly true. He shouldn’t want to. This is wrong, a mistake, and he knows this.

But as he stares at you, lips moving to form words, his tongue feels like jelly. Wobbling senselessly, he doesn’t say a thing. Not a word of protest, nor a lie to strengthen his hold on the situation. Nothing.

He can’t help but wonder if this also may be a trick of his own subconscious, to not let him ruin what he craves. The guilty, utterly wrong desire. A fantasy - in the most literal sense of the word - somehow coming true.

“Not good with words, are we?” You laugh, leaning in a little closer. So close now that he can no longer make contact with your eyes, but somehow he can still feel you watching him. Your breath puts him in a daze, a new found eagerness rising within him.

As if sensing this change within him, your voice changes slightly, tone the slightest bit more teasing. When you speak, it’s barely above a whisper. “Then why don’t you show me instead?”

Then, before he can convince himself otherwise, take just one second of thought and decide it’s a horrible idea, he leans in and connects his lips with your own.

And that, as expected, was a horrible idea.

Your lips taste of summer nights, a warm and gentle heat that he can sink into without thinking. They taste of his favourite kind of wine, a sweet red, one that he was recommended once during a job in Italy and has never gotten sick of since. They taste of everything he craves, and he devours it, greedy and incessant. Desperate for more.

He doesn’t even realize he’s still on his knees until he reaches forward for the small of your back, but ends up clumsily touching your shin instead. It’s pathetic, and the chuckle you let out at the motion only causes a wave of embarrassment to course through him.

He attempts to rise to his feet, to meet you on level ground, but you quickly place a hand on his shoulder, holding him down.

Pulling away, you tilt your head to the side, before looking him up and down. “Surely you don’t worship standing, do you?” You ask, smile fading to a disappointed frown. You click your tongue, before sighing deeply, clearly unimpressed.

It’s humiliating, but what’s even more humiliating is how it thrills him. How he’s so shamefully and utterly absorbed in this, how deeply he wants more.

But you already knew that, it’s your plan and he knows this just as well, although it does nothing to dull the effect you have on him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaning back in to kiss you once more, this time with a little more force. A little more intensity, as the newly lit fire in his chest tells him that he has something to prove.

He’s losing himself to this, and worst of all he’s letting it happen. Your hand runs along his shoulder, slipping down to reach the buttons of his shirt, each one falling open without protest. The bareness of his chest now left open to the cave, the air is a welcome coolness against his unbearably hot skin.

“You’re forgiven,” you whisper, he can’t even remember what he did wrong, but he’s glad to know you’re not upset with him all the same.

His own hands now trailing your figure, feeling the grace of every curve and lilt of your body, his kisses now trail from your lips down your jaw. For the first time, he here’s you inhaling sharply yourself, followed by a soft hum of satisfaction that causes his chest to pulse with pride.

After all, not many can claim to have satisfied a sex goddess. Never having considered himself to be an Adonis throughout his years, it’s almost comedic how he’s found himself to be in the mythical man’s shoes.

With a tad more confidence gained, he allows his own hands to reach upwards, still continuing to kneel but feeling the slightest bit less helpless. Managing to reach the small of your back, he pulls you further down into him, the long fabric of your dress now falling over his thighs as you hover over his lap.

You once again click your tongue, although he notices that the tone is slightly different, less condescending and more what he’d label light-hearted teasing, as a smile pulls at the corner of your lip.

“A bit eager, are we?” You say with a laugh, a pretty and light noise that sounds like music to Seonghwa’s ears. Leaning forwards so that his chest presses up against your own, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, fingers nestling their way into the thickness of his hair.

And yes, he is so incredibly eager, although he doesn’t say it outloud. He knows there’s no use, you already know the answer.

Sighing as your lips begin to nip at the skin aligning his jaw, he closes his eyes. While this may appear to be a gesture to prove how much further he’s falling into pleasure on your end, the reality of the situation proves to be quite different.

Instead, it’s as if he is regaining his focus, coming back to himself.

It’s these small moments, as control slowly begins to slip back into his own grasp, that he manages to regain the consciousness of what is happening here.

This is a trick after all, this form in which you have manifested. He’s read enough about you - the fertility goddess - to know what will happen if he lets this continue. Let's have your way with him, to follow through with everything he so deeply desires.

It’s simple. He will die.

You will kill him.

And although his very being aches for him to stay, the pleasure flowing through him and the deep hunger that claws at his mind that tries to make him forget, he cannot.

As if wandering blind in the desert, his eyes shoot open, and for the first time he can finally see. The fog of his own desire lifting, a cage he was so deeply trapped in that he almost began to embrace willingly.

Except that he will not.

He will not let you have him. He will not succumb to you, die just as the others before him had. Be remembered or forgotten as simply a sacrifice, and nothing else. He is more than that.

Besides, there are far greater matters at stake here.

Thus, he allows a glimpse of latin to fall from his lips.

“Videte mortales ipsum,” he whispers softly. “Take a look upon my mortal self.”

Briefly pulling away from the many dark marks you’ve already left upon his neck, you raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” You ask in an accusatory tone, but Seonghwa simply smiles at this.

“Worshipping you,” he answers without missing a beat, and after a moment, the grin that had settled onto your lips returns, and Seonghwa internally sighs with relief. Good.

“Videte mortales ipsum,” he repeats again, his next breath shaky as you once again return to your pursuit against his neck.

“Testis ens ultra hanc planitiem terrestrem,” he continues, letting his hands gently run down your figure, before settling against your inner thigh. “Having witnessed a being beyond this earthly plain.”

You let out your own shaky breath as his hand squeezes, a teasing gesture that even a goddess doesn’t seem to be immune to.

“Elementa universi, ad voluntatem meam flecte,” he continues, his other hand rising up to gently hold the back of your neck. “Elements of the universe, bend to my will.”

He physically feels as your eyebrows furrow at the statement, as if noticing the slight change of tone.

He should really get this over with quickly.

“Sigillum hoc ens intra antra parietum,” he continues, allowing the grip on the back of your neck to hold a little firmer. “Seal this being within the cave’s walls,”

At this you fully pull away from his neck, and when your eyes meet his own, they are nestled into a scowl. “Seong-” you begin, but he cuts you off by crashing his lips into your own.

When he speaks, it’s into your mouth. “Donec dimissionem praecipiam,” he says, the world's muffled but understandable. “Until I command its release.”

As the words leave his tongue, his hands shoot upwards from their place along your inner thigh. Settling themselves along the conjunction between your chest and collarbone, he gives you both a sudden and firm push backwards. Immediately losing your balance, you tumble from your seated position along his thighs, head making contact with the cave’s floor before the rest of your back follows suit.

Seonghwa isn’t sure if a goddess is capable of feeling pain, but based on the groan you let out - accompanied by a hand drifting up to rub the afflicted part of your head - it seems a safe assumption that at least in this form, you can.

Using the opportunity to jump to his feet, the historian is rushing towards the cave’s exit before his brain can contemplate any decision otherwise.

Your own gaze shooting upwards after him, he only spares himself a singular glance over his shoulder to meet your eyes, which are overflowing with both fury and betrayal. But even more than that, rejection.

He’s not sure how many men nor women have succeeded in overcoming your advances, the desire filling these subjects in your presence near insurmountable. However, based on the look of utter shock that crosses your features, with eyes as wide as saucers and mouth drawn into a vicious sneer, he can assume it’s been very few.

Fortunately for him, he has another desire that burns equally as fierce. The realization of an opportunity having dawned on him, if only he is daunting enough to reach for it.

And as the current situation unfolds, he is, in fact, daunting enough.

He hears as you manage to rush to your own feet, the sound of footsteps following as you begin to take off after him. Although faster than he’d originally expected, your late start also places you a solid few paces behind.

“Don’t even think about it!” You shout, yet for the first time, the statement appears to be less of a command and more so a nervous and worried plea.

It makes him almost feel guilty for what he’s about to do.

Almost.

Breaking through the cave’s exit, he’s sure to quickly drag his foot across the opening, creating a messy line in the dirt and rocks that stretches from one side of the cave’s entrance to the other.

“No!” You all but screech, lunging forward with an arm outstretched, although you don’t stand a chance at reaching him in time. He knows this, and he’s certain that you do just as well.

“Sub hac vocatione flectatur,” he whispers, the final piece of his incantation. “May it bend under this call.”

These spoken words are a sort of spell he’d stumbled upon within one of his many readings. One that Hongjoong had encouraged him to memorize amongst many others, stating that they may someday prove to be of importance.

He’s certain that of all the different ways Hongjoong may have imagined this importance to manifest, this never could have been one of them. If it was, Seonghwa certainly would have called him delusional, although that seems rather unfair in hindsight.

Eccentric, sure. A tad monstrous for manipulating Seonghwa into nearly sacrificing himself, certainly.

However, he can no longer label the man insane for worshipping such an ancient religion. After all, he was ultimately correct. Perhaps he died satisfied then, knowing that in the end, everything he had done had a purpose.

Then again, based on the state of the cult leader’s corpse, Seonghwa doubts this is the case.

Funny, how things work out.

Having caught up to the historian, you reach forward to grab hold of him, surely for far less desirable reasons than prior. Far more painful, gruesome, and vengeful ideas within your mind, if Seonghwa had to take a guess.

You, however, don’t get the chance to do much of anything to him at all. Hand reaching out to grab his collar, you instead find that you cannot reach anything beyond the cave’s entrance.

As if running straight into a wall - although any such barrier is entirely invisible - your palm presses up flat against the transparent barricade, gaze flying upwards in panic. Trapped.

Now this is surely something a goddess does not experience everyday, and it fills Seonghwa with a strange sort of pride.

In a way, he’s better than the other cultists. With a stronger willpower, both under the first trial as well as the second, as well as far more cunning and quick on his feet.

He can’t help but feel like he’s earned this. That he deserves it, even as slightly fucked up that may be.

“Let me out,” you demand, before pounding a fist against the barrier, which does little to nothing in protest. Proceeding to pound again, you receive equally as dull of a response, causing you to let out a frustrated growl of annoyance.

Seonghwa simply chuckles at this, beginning to redo each of the buttons along his shirt. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he replies, and it’s true. While he may have begrudgingly memorized the trapping incantation under Hongjoong’s advising, he by no means made further efforts to search for a reversal curse. The odds of ever needing the first one already having felt ridiculous and close to none.

“You pathetic, loathsome, beniving little-” you begin, but the historian doesn’t grant you the chance to finish.

“Relax,” he says easily, granting a soft smile. “I’ll search for the reversal incantation as soon as I’m finished.”

Narrowing your eyes at the historian, you cross your arms, sizing him up and down. When you speak, your tone is less angry and more calculated, curious. “Finished with what, exactly?”

Seonghwa pauses for a moment, the soft smile slowly transforming, twisting into a menacing grin.

“With my study,” he answers simply.

Because really, an opportunity has shown itself here. An opportunity brewn for him alone, something that other scholars could only imagine, something to wish for in their wildest of dreams.

He thought he’d previously lucked out to be able to walk with an ancient society as one of their own. That although risky and what turned out to be a dangerous ploy, it was an opportunity too good to possibly give up.

It seems an even better opportunity has presented itself, to not only walk with an ancient society, but to study one of the very deities they worshipped.

Perhaps his luck has doubled, if he says so himself.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you say, leaning in as close as the barrier will allow.

But you both know the truth. He would dare, and he will.

After he finishes redoing the final button on his shirt, he shrugs. Meeting your eyes lazily, any sense of urgency seemingly begotten to him. “I’ll figure out the body situation sometime within the next few days, for now you might as well enjoy the company.”

He turns on his heel and away from the cave, taking the first step of his journey back towards his office. To grab his journals and texts, all his past study notes as well as fresh notebooks as there will certainly be new material.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You call out to him, tone slightly frantic.

“My study,” he answers simply, and he hears you let out a noise of annoyance.

“You can’t just leave me here!”

When he doesn’t respond, now far off enough that you have to shout, you try again. “You will not leave me here.”

But your voice can no longer command him the way it had in the beginning, not in this earthly form, and certainly not under this damn spell.

He’s beaten you. This mortal, this lesser pathetic man, has beaten you. Somehow, he’s won.

It’s something that has never happened before. In the entire existence of your being, centuries of tricking mortals, allowing them to give themselves to you, letting your toxin run through their veins, never has one bested you. Ever.

And you’ve never stopped to think what might happen to such a mortal should they overcome your advances. Should they prove stronger than you thought possible, what might happen to such a being, now that it is your toxin that runs through their veins?

What might become of them?

You don’t know, and for what you can only label as the first time, a glimpse of true terror runs through your veins. Such a human emotion.

And from beyond your line line of sight, Seonghwa grins as if he can feel that little glimpse of terror, like a strange pulse from within his palm.

The black liquid that has replaced his blood is still dripping from his carven wound, dribbling between his fingers.

He feels calm. Amongst it all, he feels so oddly calm. Fear and anxiety so far away, like a memory he cannot recall.

Such human emotions.

Glancing down at the wound, he rolls his eyes as it continues to drip endlessly. Bringing it up to his mouth, he licks it clean, and the venom is sweet on his tongue. Like a fruit he isn’t sure he’s ever tasted before, sugary and sweet, lacking any of the metallicness his blood once had. The chemical, liveliness to it having disappeared entirely.

Seonghwa smiles.

He has work to do.

~~~~~~

thanks for reading!!

if you’re interested, here are my ateez and skz masterlists for more content.

also feel free to come chat with me about any thoughts you may have, i hope to see you around :3

406 notes · View notes