Saja Boys (separate and poly)
Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe
Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)
Javi Gutierrez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)
Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones)
Joel Miller (The Last of Us)
Frankie "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier)
Javier Peña (Narcos)
Dave York (The Equalizer 2)
Whiskey (Kingsmen 2: The Golden Circle)
*subject to change
Bleed to Love Her - Abby Saja x Reader
Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Secret Santa - Baby Saja x Reader
Drabbles
As I Am
Series
Fever
Drabbles
Faithfully - Part One | Part Two
More about me under the cut
Hiiii welcome :) main blog is @funnygirlthatgab
32, she/her, hopelessly devoted to delusions
I sing too, which you can hear on my main blog!
I work full-time so updates will probably not be daily and that's OK 💜
Will probably add some rules here at some point, but wanted to share more about me since there's a few new people here!
Hey all! I recently dropped $1300 on a car repair and i still owe the shop $300.
I've been working really hard to pay off my extensive debt as I have until August to find my own place. It's been a tough few years and i graduated into the worst fucking economy with no time to bounce back. I've been lucky enough to get a new position but the pay is only slightly better, in fact I'm back to what i was making when i was on nights, which is not enough.
Now, I don't want charity it's humiliating enough.
However, I thought I would try to raise some of the funds with fanfiction.
Ko-fi : Go Fund Me
Make a donation of any amount, and send me in an ask telling me which donation was yours and I'll write you a drabble. I'll write pretty much anything, smut, fluff, angst etc but if you are unfamiliar with my work I specialize in difficult topics like dealing with self hard, SA, eating disorders etc so if you're looking for your blorbo comforting you, I got you :3 I also think I'm good at goofy and silly
Who I write for:
Pretty much any pedro Pascal or Oscar Isaac character
Triple frontier characters are a specialty (x reader or with each other)
Superman (2025)
All Peacemaker characters
Frank Langdon (x reader or with mel)
Jack Abbot
Will write pretty much any combo of the male Pitt characters x male characters or x reader
Eddie Brock
Robbie Reyes
Tommy Miller
Wolverine (Poolverine, Logurt, and Scogan too!)
i will write for you OC if its with a character I write for and if you wanna DM about them :3
You can also ask for more from any universe or story youve read, like Our gentle Sins, LaL universe, Rooms on Fire
if there is a character or ship you are unsure of, feel free to send in an ask first! Thanks!
I appreciate any and all help, big or small. I start a second job tomorrow to help with the debt.
My dream in the future is to start an online org to help people with debt when they've been taken advantage of by predatory interest rates in a time of desperation. it would be completly online so little overhead. I just need to take some of these classes on running a nonprofit :3
Hiiiiii there’s so many with Abby that I wanna request (guess who 😉💜) but I’m gonna start with 42! Please and thank you 😇
-🎀
I'm so sorry this took me so long but I hope you like it!!!
42. Sated kiss – Abby x gn!Reader
It’s slow, unhurried, the way Abby’s lips meet yours. Like you have all the time in the world. A hand rests against your cheek, steady and reassuring, and the kiss is warm and tender and content, your mouths slotting together perfectly, as if they’ve been waiting all day for this one quiet moment. His breath mingles with yours, a soft exhale that brushes your skin, and you feel his smile – small, lazy, utterly at ease – ghost against your mouth.
His thumb strokes once along your cheekbone, not asking for anything, not deepening the kiss, just savouring it. The world narrows to the gentle press of his lips and the warmth radiating between you, a shared stillness that says neither of you needs more than this.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a breath, his forehead resting against yours, his lips still curved like he’s carrying the taste of you with him. The kiss lingers in the space between you, sweet and satisfied, like a promise already fulfilled.
“I love you,” he hums, his lips brushing yours as he talks. “You’re everything to me.”
It’s unexpectedly sweet, making you blush, and you instinctively try to hide your face. He chuckles, quickly leaning in to kiss you again, making sure you can’t get too far. It’s a low, fond sound that makes your chest flutter. The second kiss is just as gentle as the first, but there’s a playful edge to it now, like he’s teasing you for even thinking you could hide from him. His nose brushes yours, warm and familiar, and you feel him smile again before he pulls back just enough to look at you.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft but certain, “don’t go shy on me now.”
You try to glare at him, but it melts the moment you meet his eyes. They’re soft in that way they only ever are when he’s looking at you – full of affection, full of something steady and grounding that makes your heart ache and feel too big for your ribs.
He lifts his hand from your cheek to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering like he’s memorising the shape of you. “I mean it,” he says quietly, almost like it’s a secret meant only for you. “I love you.”
The words settle over you like a warm blanket, sinking deep, and you can’t help the small, helpless smile that pulls at your lips. He sees it, of course he does, and his own smile widens, soft and triumphant.
“There it is,” he whispers, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “My favourite smile.”
You huff out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a surrender, and lean into his touch. He meets you halfway, pressing another kiss to your lips, slow, lingering, full of that same quiet contentment as before. A kiss that says he’s not going anywhere. A kiss that says he doesn’t want anything more than this moment with you.
When he finally pulls back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more, breathing you in like you’re the only thing that’s ever calmed him.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs, not a plea, just a truth. “Just like this.”
And you do, because in his arms, with his breath warm against your skin and his heartbeat steady under your palm, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.
a/n: Okay I see the warnings but things are looking up! Kind of.
warnings: vomit, angst
prev / masterlist / next
------
Your face is tucked into Mystery’s chest, so you can’t see, but you still know where you are. You’d be able to tell blindfolded and with earplugs in, you think. Plus, now you can smell them, each of their scents, slightly different but all with an undercurrent of something similar.
The boys stare at Mystery and you, the two of you frozen as he holds you in his arms. There’s a beat of silence, then another, and then Baby’s voice rings out loud and clear.
“What the fuck?”
“We said we were letting her go!” It’s Abby this time, and then Jinu joins in as well.
“Why is she here?”
They’re all talking, one over the other, all except you and Mystery. You’re not quite in panic mode anymore, your eyes back to normal, but the patterns are still there. You slowly lift your face from Mystery’s chest, your mask only hanging from one ear, dislodged in the tackle, patterns creeping onto your face, visible for them all to see.
And everything goes dead quiet. All of them, staring in silence.
Soft but emphatic, Baby lets out a stunned “Fuck.”
Jinu has a hand covering his mouth, his skin pale, looking like he’s about to throw up. Abby looks like he’s just been punched in the gut. Romance is still just staring at you, his jaw hanging. The way they’re looking at you, it’s all too much, and the breath catches in your throat and suddenly you’re crying, tears streaming down your face.
Romance is the first to make a move. He darts over to you, his hands flapping around your face and body, wanting to touch, to reassure, but unsure where or how. “Oh, darling, what—what happened? It’s okay, sweetheart, we’ve got you now, and, oh, your patterns are cute, I promise! Purple has always been your colour, and the gold eyes will look incredible with your hair, and—”
He's rambling, desperate to help in some way, his hands on your cheeks as he wipes away your tears, but they just keep coming. Through blurry, tear-filled vision, you see Jinu looking around wildly and grabbing the bucket hat Baby’s wearing off his head. He vomits into it, and you can tell that he’s shaking, trembling with the knowledge of what’s happened to you.
Baby doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to react in this situation. He mindlessly pats Jinu’s back, rubbing circles in it as he throws up. “… Wait, my hat!”
There’s a thunk as Abby hits Baby round the back of the head. “There are more important things going on right now!”
“Yeah, but, like… my hat…” Baby trails off, then sighs and goes back to looking at you.
The whole situation is so absurd and feels so unbelievably familiar and comforting that your crying turns into a mix of sobs and laughter, punctuated by sniffs and shaky breaths, and Romance beams, your face still in his hands, still tucked against Mystery’s chest.
“I don’t, um, what—what do we do?” Abby asks, terrified to get too close to you, terrified of hurting you again. “D-do you want to stay?”
Jinu looks up, horrified that, after everything that’s happened, Abby would even suggest that. But at the same time, he’s filled with this desperate need to protect, to have you there, safe, with them, a possessiveness filling his veins.
“I-I don’t know,” you say, your voice cracking under the weight of what you’ve gone through.
“That’s okay!” Romance coos, rubbing your back gently. “You don’t have to make a decision right now, darling. Take all the time you need.”
“I—no, I, I want to go home!”
“Oh, angel, yeah, we can take you back to your apartment, just wait a sec—”
“Not the apartment! That’s not home!”
You’re getting worked up again, and Romance looks at you in bewilderment, not sure what you want him to do. “O-oh, of course, sorry, darling! Um, where exactly is home?”
“I don’t know! Everything feels wrong and it’s too loud and—and the lights are too bright, and—”
He whips round to look at the other boys, gesturing wildly, mouthing “What the fuck do we do???” to them. Baby’s eyes are wide and he just shrugs, because, really, he’s not the guy you go to for help in times like these. Jinu and Abby aren’t any help either, both frozen as they watch your meltdown. Mystery rolls his eyes and mouths “blanket” to Romance, and at this point, he’ll try anything. He disappears and reappears a second later with a blanket from your room, one of the ones Myst crocheted you, and wraps it around your shoulders softly. Jinu gets it together enough to close the curtains and turn the big overhead lights off, turning on some lamps instead, bathing the room in a soft glow.
“Is that any better?” Romance asks you gently, and you nod. It is better, you don’t feel as overwhelmed anymore – still fairly overwhelmed, but not as bad as it was – and the blanket is comforting and familiar, warm around your shoulders.
“We can get your stuff,” he says smoothly. “We can take care of everything. Would you like that?”
Something inside you screams no, that you’re done with them taking care of you, that you don’t need them. But a much, much bigger part is so overwhelmed with everything and doesn’t want to think anymore, doesn’t want to make decisions or have to take care of anything, especially not yourself, and it’s just begging, begging for them to take over. So, you nod shakily, and Mystery’s grip around you tightens as Romance tries to lead you to the couch. In the end, Mystery sits down with you still bundled in his arms, holding you close, refusing to let go.
“H-how, um,” Jinu says, and has to clear his throat, his voice catching as he speaks. “How did this happen? D-did you make a deal?”
At the mention of the deal, the tears that were just starting to subside start up again with renewed vigour, your words broken up by gasping sobs. “I-I, I didn’t know, I didn’t know this would happen, I promise, I j-just wanted to be able to leave, I d-didn’t know th-that this i-is what he meant—”
It’s quiet for a minute, save for the sound of your crying, then:
“You… you made a deal to leave? Here?” Romance asks, his heart breaking with every word, and when you nod, it cracks clean in two. “When?”
“Th-the day before you let m-me go,” you tell him, and this time his heart shatters into a thousand pieces, because he did this. They all did this.
They did this to you.
They pushed you so far that you felt the need to make a deal with the devil, a deal they all made and have regretted ever since, a deal they never, in a million years, would have wanted you to make.
You’re distantly aware that Jinu is throwing up again, into a potted plant this time. Mystery has gone completely still beneath you, his hands holding you so tightly that, if you weren’t a demon, you’d probably be in a lot of pain right now. Abby is crouched on the floor, head in his hands, a broken whimper escaping his lips as he comes to terms with the fact that you probably made the deal after he broke the promise, after he accidentally used his powers, that it’s his fault, and he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry. Baby’s face has an uncomfortable green tinge to it, and he looks like he’s going to be sick as well, but he can’t drag his eyes away from you, can’t focus on anything except you, the fact that you’re here, that you’re here as a demon, that they did this to you. Romance has tears in his eyes, not necessarily feeling guilty, but devastated about the pain you’re in, that they’re the ones who put you in this situation, that if none of this had ever happened, you wouldn’t be dealing with the emotional turmoil.
You can’t look at them, can’t look at any of them, not because you’re upset with them, but because you feel bad that you’ve made them this upset.
Isn’t that ridiculous? They’re the reason you’re here, the reason this happened, and yet here you are, feeling some level of guilt that they’re all so affected by what you’ve told them. The people-pleaser in you wants to reassure them that it’s okay, but it’s not okay, is it? It’s never going to be okay.
“C-can I have some water?” you ask after a few moments of sitting there in silence, the boys digesting the news, and Romance jumps up, eager to help.
“Of course, darling,” he says, and he’s back a few seconds later with a glass. The cool liquid soothes your throat, raw and scratchy from all the crying you’ve done, and you close your eyes, just wanting to rest them for a moment or two.
You’re out like a light, the exhaustion of everything catching up to you, and for the first time in, well, weeks, you feel safe and comfortable, like you’re home again. You hadn’t realised how much you clearly still hadn’t adjusted to your old apartment, but it’s clear now more than ever, and you quickly fall into a deep sleep.
“Oh my God.” It slips out as a soft whimper from Jinu, looking at your form in Mystery’s arms, the patterns inching along your skin, creeping onto your face, poking out of your sleeves. Mystery glares at him, teeth bared, daring him to make another noise and risk waking you, and Jinu swallows, taking a step back. “I-I’m going to get her stuff.”
“I’ll come too,” Abby nods, needing to do something to help, something other than just staring at you.
The two of them teleport right into your apartment. This isn’t the first time Jinu’s been here – he came once when they first took you, looking through your things, wanting to check if anyone was looking for you. Abby, though, he’s never been here. He knew where it was, knew where you lived, but didn’t see a reason to go when you were living with them, and didn’t trust himself to go when you’d left.
They stand there, in your living room, and it’s so you, but also not – it feels disjointed, disconnected from who you really are, like you’re putting up a front, even here in your own space.
“What do we take?” Abby asks quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the air of your apartment.
“Clothes, uh, anything else she might want, I guess,” Jinu says, running a hand through his hair, trying to focus on the task at hand and not why they’re there. “She should have some suitcases somewhere, the ones I got her.”
Abby nods wordlessly and starts looking around. He stares at the door to your bedroom for a second before opening it gingerly. Your room is small, not much furniture in there except for your bed, a nightstand on either side, a wardrobe and a mirror, which has been taken down and turned to face the wall.
“Found the suitcases,” he calls, pulling them out from under your bed.
Whilst Abby goes through your wardrobe, picking out things he thinks you might want, Jinu looks around your living room and your desk. His eyes trail over the things that have changed since he was here all those months ago, things you’ve added since coming back here, and they stop on a notebook lying open on your desk.
He shouldn’t pry, but it’s open, and he can’t stop himself from reading the first few lines of writing, just wanting to see what it is, if it’s worth packing for you. It doesn’t take him long to realise that it’s a journal – your journal, and he flips to the front, curious to know when you started keeping a journal. The first entry is dated around 3 weeks after you left, and he starts reading, desperate for this glimpse into your mind.
It's so… you. It’s like he can hear your voice as he reads, the intonation of certain words, and he can see it so clearly, you, sat at your desk as you write, the pen scratching over the paper as you underline something or write three exclamation marks in a row, each getting slightly bigger than the last.
He knows he should close the journal, put it down, but he can’t. He reads line after line, page after page detailing how badly they all fucked you up, how you miss them and you hate yourself for it, how you feel like you’ve lost all sense of identity and don’t know who you are anymore, how you have panic attacks in the grocery store and at work and at home. He feels sick as he reads passages describing the early stages of turning into a demon, before you’ve realised what’s going on, when you’re just remarking on sensory issues you’ve been having. The pit of self-loathing in his stomach grows and grows as he reads segments about how lonely you are, how you can’t talk to anyone about this, how completely and utterly alone you feel now, how sometimes you don’t say a single word all weekend if you don’t have to leave the apartment.
He reads about you having a sex dream about them, and the arousal he’d usually feel about that is suppressed by the guilt of it all. There’s a break in the journal, a few pages skipped, and when the writing continues, it’s different. There are tears staining the page, making the ink run and bleed in splotches, and your writing is scribbled, hurried, erratic, with words repeated over and over. Through the tearstains and blurred ink, he reads about you going out to get snacks, reads about what happened on your way home, the man whose soul you took. Reads about the guilt you feel, the fear at what’s happening to you, what you’re becoming.
There’s even an entry from today, must have been written just an hour or so ago, and he reads about your phone call with the therapist, the plan you made for you to go outside again, and he realises that that’s when Mystery must have found you (not knowing that in fact, you’re the one that found Mystery).
He’s still sitting there, staring at the journal, when Abby comes in from the bedroom, effortlessly carrying the suitcase he’s stuffed full of clothes (and the things you’d taken from theirs that you’d hidden at the back of your wardrobe, figuring that if you took them with you then, you might want them now, too).
“You good?” he asks Jinu, who blinks a few times before shaking himself and standing up. He hands Abby the journal, knowing he probably shouldn’t, that it’s probably a breach of trust – not that you trusted him with it in the first place – but knowing that he can’t be the only one that knows all of this, it’s important that Abby knows too, if not all of the boys. They need to know what they did to you, need to understand the impact they had on you, the way they broke you. “What is this?”
“Her journal.”
Abby takes it from him wordlessly, sits down on the couch, and starts reading. He’s not as fast a reader as Jinu, but he’s determined to read it all, to know what you’ve been thinking, how you’ve been feeling.
Jinu doesn’t really know what to do with himself now. He wanders around your apartment, picking up random things maybe you’d want. He grabs your laptop – this time won’t be like last time, it can’t be, this time you can have all the things you wanted and more. He checks the bathroom, eyeing the broken mirror in there with a frown, but your bathroom at theirs is still pretty much fully stocked. He does pick up a perfume that’s out on the counter – it’s not something they ever bought you, but it’s what you smell like now, so you’ll probably want it, right?
He looks through your kitchen as well, making a mental note of all the food and snacks you have, which ones you have extras of, trying to gauge which things are your favourites based off of what he knows about you and what you’d eat at theirs. He wants you to feel at home with them, wants you to have the things you like.
Abby already did your bedroom, but Jinu goes in anyway. Honestly, he kind of wants to just see it, this extension of you. There are tissues littering the floor by your bed, and your pillowcase is tearstained. The other suitcase is on the floor, and when he opens it, he finds various things the boys had given you; a notebook and pens he’d bought you, the tiger Mystery crocheted for you, a note from Romance and Abby, a necklace with your initial on it. A small part of him is overjoyed that you kept these things, that they meant enough to you to keep.
Bringing the suitcase through to the living room, he starts filling it with the various items he’s collected as he looked around, like your laptop and charger, some books, a half-finished crochet project. Abby is still reading in silence, though Jinu can see his lips moving as he reads, mouthing the words.
“We should get going,” Jinu says, breaking the silence, and Abby nods, holding onto your journal tightly. He can finish reading it at theirs. They’ve been away from you for long enough.
Mystery refused to move once you’d fallen asleep on him, so when you wake up, you’re still in his arms, sitting on the familiar couch in the main living area. He notices you wake up immediately, of course, your body tensing as your eyes open with a jolt, filled with panic for a split-second, before it all comes rushing back to you, and you wince. It’s not just the memories, it’s your senses as well – everything is loud, and there are so many smells, layered and intermingling, and you’re hyperaware of everything around you, the way Mystery’s shirt feels against your hand, the slight ache in your neck from laying like that, how Baby is smoking at one of the windows, which is open wider than it ever was when you were here, how Romance is watching you quietly from across the room, his nails dragging against the seam of his pants as he nervously fidgets, waiting for you to wake up, to say something, do something.
You blink a few times, your eyes adjusting to your surroundings, and pat Mystery’s arm, signalling that you want to get up. He very reluctantly removes his arms from around you, ignoring the stiffness in his wrists from holding you so tight. You get up and stretch, and for a second, you feel like nothing has changed, like things are how they were before, the boys’ eyes raking over your body as you stretch. But then you catch sight of the patterns on your wrists, and you’re reminded that things aren’t like they were before, that they never will be.
A stupid, small part of you wonders if they’re looking at you because it’s you and they still want you, or if they’re looking at your patterns, and for some reason you hope that it’s the former.
You’re about to ask where Abby and Jinu are, when they appear in the middle of the room, suitcases and bags in hand, and they blink at you for a second, not expecting you to be awake and standing in front of them.
“We, uh, we got your stuff,” Abby says, your journal safely tucked away in one of the pockets, ready for him to take it out and keep reading.
Romance jumps in. “I know you said you wanted to go home, darling, and you were clear about your apartment not being home, and here also not being home, but we figured that at least if you had more of your things here, you’d feel a little bit more comfortable?”
You nod half-heartedly. It’s better than whatever the alternatives are, you guess.
“D’you want the stuff in your room?” Abby asks.
Your room?
“It’s still…?” you trail off, not sure how to say it, but he understands what you’re asking.
“It’s still your room,” he nods. “We haven’t done anything with it. All your stuff is still there.”
He’s tempted to say that no one has been in it since you left, but that’s simply not true. All of them have been in at least once.
“Okay, then, yeah, I guess,” you say, your voice quiet, unsure. “Um, thank you.”
You don’t know if you’re saying thank you to them for getting your things, for keeping your room the way it was, or for bringing you back here. Maybe all of the above. Jinu frowns when you say it, opening his mouth like he wants to argue, then thinking better of it and gives you a forced smile instead.
It feels a little odd being here again, but only because it feels so normal. Your brain is at war with your instincts, arguing that you’ve been gone for two months, you shouldn’t just feel like you were never gone, but your instincts are telling you that this is your place, your home, that you can do what you want here because you belong here.
You follow Jinu and Abby to your room, the other three following you in turn, and you’re surprised to see that it really hasn’t changed, aside from looking a little emptier, but that’s just because of all the things you took when you left. It smells different, though. Your nose wrinkles a little as you take it in, then you turn to look at all of the boys, one eyebrow raised.
“Who jerked off in here?” you ask pointedly, arms folded. “Wait, did all of you jerk off in here? Actually, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know. Forget I asked.”
“How d—”
“I can smell it,” you shrug. “I can also tell that at least one of you has slept in my bed.”
There’s an awkward silence that lasts for a few seconds, before Romance lets out a whoop of laughter.
“Oh, this is great!” he beams. “It’s going to be so much fun having you back, and as a demon, oh, there’s so many things we can show you how to do!”
The others look at him with varying levels of incredulity, but there’s a part in each of them that agrees with him.
You give him a small smile, because you have to admit that he’s right. Do you wish the circumstances were different? Absolutely. But since you’re here anyway, and the circumstances are what they are and you can’t change it, you might as well enjoy it, right?
Okay, so, maybe you’re actively bottling up your negative emotions about this. But that’s fine. Nothing bad ever comes of bottling things up. Fine, yes, there’s a breakdown or two in your near future.
If you’re being honest, though? You’re tired of being upset. You’re tired of freaking out and hating yourself and what you’ve become. And you have the rest of eternity to think about it now, anyway.
Abby waits until you’ve gone to sleep to finish reading, but every moment until then feels like hell. What he had read at your apartment almost broke him, and he’s sure that whatever’s left to read will finish the job.
And he’s right. Every passage he reads makes him feel worse, drags him further and further down, but he has to keep reading. He can’t just pretend this didn’t happen, he needs to know what they did to you, needs to understand it fully, from your point of view.
Then he gets to a page where he sees his name. Not a ton, but enough to make him stop, really take in what he’s reading.
I think about all of them a lot, but lately, I’ve been thinking about Abby a ton. About the kiss, what it meant, about him trying to come and get me that night.
Sometimes I feel like I messed up by letting him kiss me. By kissing him back. Because I made that decision, I opened myself up. Not just that, but like, what does it say about me, huh? That I was kidnapped and held prisoner and ended up KISSING one of my captors? How pathetic is that?
That despite everything that happened, I still found myself falling for him. For all of them.
I keep thinking about the note Abby left me and crying. And the necklace he got me. I saw a similar necklace in town today, and I just… froze. I don’t even know what was going through my mind, it just went blank, and then I remembered how his hands felt on my waist, how it felt to wake up next to him, how it felt to kiss him, and I just
Fuck
I don’t know what to do
I miss them and it’s killing me. And I don’t even know if I really do miss them or if it’s just because I was forced to spend time with them – but I wasn’t forced to kiss him. I wasn’t forced to let him touch me. I wasn’t forced to cuddle him in bed, because let’s be fucking real, it wasn’t just waking up next to him, was it? It was cuddling, spooning, whatever. But I wasn’t forced to do that.
I chose to.
Why would I choose to do that?
Did I choose to do that? Did I ever have a choice?
Would I have chosen to do all that under different circumstances: yes, probably (I mean, come on. Look at him.)
Would I think it was a choice if I saw someone else making that decision in my situation: no, probably not. I’d tell them they didn’t have a choice because they were forced to be there, forced to develop a relationship just through forced proximity.
Do I even want it to have been my choice, at this point? If it was, then it means I made the choice to kiss my captor, to fall for him/all of them. If it wasn’t, then any sense of agency is gone, and I don’t know how to tell if any of what I felt, any of what I’m still feeling, if it was real or not.
So, I’m either an idiot who fell for the people keeping her prisoner, or I’m just delusional, someone who just let things happen to her and tried to tell herself she chose it.
Both options fucking suck.
I hate this. I just want to sleep and never have to think about any of it again. I wish I could forget it all happened. I wish I could forget ever meeting them.
And yeah, that does it. That breaks him, well and truly. He can feel the pain in your words, the exhaustion, and he wishes he could take it from you. He would if he could, he’d take all your pain a thousand times over if it meant you wouldn’t be burdened with it.
But he can’t, and now he’s here, reading your private journal. Yet another way he’s broken your trust. It’s pathetic, actually, the way he wants to love you so badly, but he can’t even manage to keep a promise, can’t be a decent fucking person for once. Because after all, this is his fault, isn’t it? He fucked up, he broke the promise, he used his powers, and you made the deal. When else would you have made it? Why else, if not because he broke your trust?
He showed you who he really is. That, no matter how hard he tries, he’s going to fuck up, over and over again. That he can’t be trusted.
And now you’re here. Back with them, with the people you’d tried so, so hard to get away from. You did everything you could, and it still wasn’t enough to save you, and now you’re confined to the same fate they are.
By the early hours of the next morning, all of the boys have read your journal, front to back, poring over the contents like it’s sacred. It might as well be, in their eyes. Your hearing is too good now for them to talk privately, so they take the opportunity whilst you’re still asleep.
“She’s been in so much pain,” Romance murmurs, his eyes glazed with tears as he thinks about it. He was the last to read it, the words still fresh in his mind.
“We have to help her feel better about this. She deserves better than—than this,” Abby says, gesturing to the journal.
“And it’s going to get worse before it gets better for her,” Jinu says grimly. “Do you guys remember what it was like when you turned?”
It’s quiet as they think back, grimacing at the memories. There was the initial change, the patterns spreading, and then a respite for a week or two. Then things got really bad. New instincts started kicking in, something inside them changed, making them feral, angry, turning them into monsters. There was a disconnect between their brains and their bodies, systems getting rewired, triggering new impulses in waves. That part could last weeks, if not a month or more.
They’d all come out of that second phase hating themselves even more than they had before. They’d all done terrible things, driven by uncontrollable urges.
There was no way they could let you go through that the way they had. Alone, desperate, with no idea what was happening to them.
“She has to stay here, at least until that’s over,” Mystery says quietly, still lost in the memories of when he became a demon.
“It has to be her choice, though. We can’t just keep her here,” Jinu says, knowing even as the words come from his mouth that he’d do anything to keep you here, safe, with them. God, what if some other demon had found you? What if no one had found you, and you’d ended up in the demon realm? What if the hunters had found you?
“Until what’s over? And, by the way, I don’t want to leave,” you say, and they all scramble to face you, eyes wide. You could hear the way their hearts jumped as you spoke, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling at the fact that for once, you scared them, instead of the other way around.
“Fuck,” Abby is clutching his chest, eyes locked on yours. “When—how—you scared me, babygirl!”
You try to ignore the way your knees go weak at the nickname, and just shrug nonchalantly. “Not my fault you guys didn’t hear me. Anyway, until what’s over?”
“The change,” Mystery says. “Into a demon. A full demon. You’re only halfway there.”
“Great,” you grimace. “There’s more?”
Jinu sighs. “Yeah. In a week, maybe two, the second phase will start. It’s… worse than the first one.”
“Worse, how?”
“Your brain, it tries to stay human, but your body, your instincts, they’re demon. They want you to be bad, to do bad things. It comes in waves, but the whole thing can last for weeks. Some days will be fine, you’ll feel almost normal, but other days…” he trails off.
“…other days, if you can, you will kill people. You won’t be able to control it,” Baby explains, and, not for the first time, you appreciate how blunt he is. “On the bright side, you’ll slowly get control over your demon form, so, there’s that.”
Well. Doesn’t that sound like a bundle of laughs?
“Awesome. Cool. Super fun and cool. Well, like I said, I don’t want to leave. Not yet, at least. And it sounds like I definitely can’t leave until that whole other phase is over. Even until then, it’s not like I can go outside looking like this, and I’d rather be cooped up here with you all, rather than alone in my apartment. Don’t let it go to your heads, though.”
“Really?” Romance asks, beaming, and your comment about it not going to their heads was too late.
“But!” you continue, disregarding the way Romance is looking at you, like you hung the moon. “There are some things we have to talk about first. Ground rules. Boundaries.”
“That’s fair,” Jinu nods.
“Yeah, it’s fucking fair,” you snap. “And it doesn’t matter if it is or not, because you’re going to agree, otherwise I will leave, and none of you will stop me.”
He blinks at you. “U-um, yeah, sorry. What are your ground rules?”
Shit. “Well, I haven’t thought about it yet. I only just found out about this whole second phase bullshit. Give me a minute, jeez.”
The first rule that comes to mind feels pretty obvious, so you decide to go with that.
“Rule number one: if I want to leave, you let me leave,” you say, arms crossed, and you take some pleasure in the guilty looks flitting across their faces. “The only exception is if you think I’m a danger to other people.”
“What if you’re a danger to us?” Baby asks with a lazy smirk, and you ignore him and keep talking. After hearing what’s apparently coming up for you, you being a danger to other people is the very last thing you want.
“If you do think I’m a danger to other people, for the love of God, please stop me from doing anything I’ll regret. That’s rule number two, by the way. As much as I hate to admit it, you all know me. I probably shouldn’t, but I trust you all to know when I’d want to be stopped. Rule number three is if I tell you to stop, you stop. Same as before. If I don’t tell you to stop, you can keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. I guess rule two goes above that one as well, but you guys get the idea.”
Rule three is easy as well, since it’s an unspoken rule that was already in place when you were here before. Still, it feels good to have it laid out in the open like that.
Jinu, Abby, and Romance are nodding intently as you talk, whilst Mystery’s head is tilted in a way that you know means he’s listening, and Baby is just watching you, one eyebrow raised and a slight smirk on his lips, like he’s amused by what you’re saying. You know he’ll follow the rules, though.
Look at you, setting boundaries. Dr Kim would be proud.
Well. Okay, fine, she’d probably be very disappointed to hear that you’re back here. But, hey, at least this time it’s by choice!
Taglist is open, interact with this post to be added xoxo (and if i’ve forgotten you, please let me know!!! And if your username is there but you haven't been tagged properly, check your settings for who can mention you!)
a/n: Oooooooh I'm excited for y'all to read this one
warnings for: sexual thoughts, throwing up, unintentional self-harm, and a whole lot of angst.
prev / masterlist / next
-----
Journaling helps, actually. It helps a lot. Sure, you still feel like you’re going crazy, but at least you don’t feel quite so lonely anymore, like you’re not keeping all these things inside you, pent up, waiting to explode.
You get into a routine of sorts. You try to journal most days, even if it’s just writing down what you did and how you’re feeling, and when things get bad, like, really bad, waking up in a cold sweat, having a panic attack at work kind of bad, you journal about it. You try to work through your feelings, try to validate yourself.
Things slowly get a little easier. Not normal, no, but… easier, at least.
Talking to other people isn’t as jarring as it was when you first got out, and you find yourself making jokes, small talk. You don’t get as overwhelmed by things like the grocery store anymore, and you can buy things the boys would buy for you without falling into a days-long spiral about it.
One day though, without realising it, you grab Baby’s sweater and put it on, the one he’d given you by the rooftop pool, just a few months ago. It’s not until you’re halfway to work that you register what you’re wearing, and the realisation makes your steps falter in the street, annoyed commuters grumbling as they push past you. You stare at the material for a few seconds, rubbing the knitted wool between your fingers, and try to decide if it’s worth running home and changing or not. In the end, you decide to leave it, you don’t want to be late, and it’s just a sweater. You’ll be fine wearing it for the day.
You’re not fine. You’re distracted all day, lost in your memories, dragged down by thoughts of the boys and what they’re doing, how they’re doing, an acidic pit in your stomach filling you with guilt and nausea and – as much as you don’t want to admit it – longing.
Someone knocks on your cubicle, startling you out of your thoughts, and the pen you’re holding snaps, dark blue ink spilling out over your hand, staining your skin and the desk. You’re not sure how the pen broke, really, but you brush it off as the enshittification of everything nowadays, chalking it up to cheap materials and poor production quality.
You wash your hands and watch the ink run off in blue rivulets, scrubbing and scrubbing until your hands are raw and pink, only the slightest tinge of blue remaining. For a second you think you see something on your skin, a jagged purple-ish streak, your heart jumping into your throat at the resemblance of the patterns adorning the boys’ skin. Then you look closer and it’s gone, a trick of the light, probably caused by you thinking about them more than normal.
When you get home, you pull the sweater off and shove it in the back of your closet without giving it a second glance.
A couple of times, you actually think you’ve seen one of the boys, out and about. It’s not totally out of the realm of possibility, you suppose, which makes it worse each time it happens. Plus, their faces are everywhere – on posters, billboards, they’re even on soda cans, for crying out loud. You start to get used to seeing their pictures, but the few times you think you’ve actually seen them? Fuck.
The first time it happens, you catch a glimpse of turquoise hair and blue eyes, staring at you from under a dark hood, the rest of the face covered by a mask. The sight makes the breath catch in your lungs, and you stumble, not looking where you’re going. When you look back up to where the person was, they’re gone. You spend the next three days reminding yourself that Baby isn’t the only person with turquoise hair and blue eyes – now more than ever, with people being inspired by the Saja Boys’ looks. You can’t shake the niggling feeling that it was him, though.
The next time, there’s a flash of silvery purple from up in a tree. That’s it, just that quick streak of colour, the exact same shade as Mystery’s hair, but it’s enough to set your heart pounding. When you finally drag your eyes away from the tree, you spot a couple of pigeons hopping around on the pavement, and tell yourself that of course that’s what it was, a pigeon. Nothing more. Why would Mystery even be in a tree, anyway?
(You choose to ignore the fact that that’s exactly the kind of place you’d expect to find Mystery).
Then it’s Romance’s voice. Not even his voice, really, just a quiet hum and a sharp intake of breath when you spin your head around, trying to find the source of the noise. You scan the crowd desperately, but don’t see anything, your mind clearly playing tricks on you.
I’m not sure which I’m hoping for, you write in your journal after hearing what sounded like Romance. That it’s not them? Or… am I hoping that it is them?
After a month of being home, you decide that maybe you should start going to the gym, with the reasoning that if you’re stronger, faster, you’ll be able to protect yourself better (staunchly ignoring the fact that physical strength doesn’t help even a single iota against getting hypnotised). You’ve never really worked out properly before, so you’re not expecting much, but you go for an introductory session anyway.
“We’re going to start with some bar hangs,” the personal trainer explains. “Get you nice and stretched and warmed up.”
You nod and hang from the bar, pleasantly surprised at how easy this feels.
“This is one way of working up to being able to do a pull-up,” he says, then laughs kindly. “Don’t worry, no one’s expecting you to be able to do one yet. If you feel comfortable, you can give it a try, though, just to see if you can lift yourself a little.”
You pull experimentally, expecting to feel a strain on your muscles, but when you lift yourself above the bar without even so much as a wobble, the trainer stares at you, open-mouthed.
“O-oh, um, damn, not bad!” he stammers, looking between your form and the bar, brows furrowed slightly. “You’ve really never worked out before?”
You shrug. “No, not really.”
“Do you work a really physical job?” he asks, and you shake your head.
“I work a desk job,” you tell him, and he nods slowly, looking like he doesn’t quite believe you.
You finish with some cardio, and he leaves you to do a slow jog at your own pace, telling you to take breaks whenever you need to. When he comes back twenty minutes later, you haven’t even broken a sweat, and he peers over your shoulder to look at the stats on the treadmill.
“Have you just been running at the pace the whole time?” he asks, frowning at the dash.
“Yeah, why? Oh, was I supposed to slow down?” you ask. “Sorry, I figured I’d slow down when I started to feel out of breath.”
“Uh, no, that’s fine,” he says. “Your performance is just a lot better than we’d expect for someone with a more sedentary lifestyle. Not that that’s a bad thing! Just, y’know, unexpected.”
“Oh,” you laugh nervously, wondering – not for the first time – if the boys snuck steroids into your food, or something.
Okay, so maybe they’re on your mind more than you’d like to admit. And yeah, maybe you miss them a little. Feeling slightly shaken by the events at the gym, you decide that, you know what? You’ve had a long day, you deserve a drink or two. Or five. Or seven.
Staring at the bottle of vodka, you scan the label with a frown, but yep, there it is. 40% alcohol content. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be feeling the effects of it more by now. In the end, it takes the whole bottle for you to feel slightly tipsy, which very quickly turns into very tipsy.
Last time you were even just a little tipsy was with the boys. When you told them you’d been thinking about them fucking you.
Fuck, you didn’t just tell them that, you had been thinking about it. In vivid detail, if you recall correctly.
Before you realise what you’re doing, you’ve pulled up YouTube on your TV, and the music video for Soda Pop is playing. “So fuckin’ stupid,” you mumble, sniffling a little as you watch the boys do their dumb little dance moves. You let the next video autoplay, and the next, and the next, and then it’s a compilation of “Saja Boys Funny Moments”, and suddenly you’re sobbing into your drink, salty tears mixing with cheap vodka.
Your heart hurts. There’s no other way to describe it. It hurts like someone has reached into your chest and pulled it out of your body, an aching void. Then, on screen, Abby howls with laughter at something Baby’s said, and that ache subsides, just a little, being replaced with soft warmth. You look at the smirk on Baby’s face, barely noticeable, but it’s there if you know where to look, and the warmth grows. You see Jinu and Romance shoving each other during some team challenge in an interview, giggling like schoolboys, and it grows a little more. A clip of Mystery plays, where he’s just sat there, staring (presumably – you can’t see his eyes) in silence, and then he perks up like he’s just remembered where he is, and your whole body feels warm. Your cheeks are hot, flushed, and you turn the TV off in a hurry, because these boys shouldn’t be making you feel like this.
Clearly, though, neither your body nor your brain get that memo, because you dream of them that night. Not just any dream, either.
It seems so vivid, so real. The feeling of Romance’s mouth on your neck, Abby’s hands on your chest, Mystery leaving kisses along your inner thighs, Jinu’s thumb heavy against your tongue, Baby telling you he wants you – and you brush those off as feeling real because they happened, they’re real memories. But there’s things in your dream that didn’t happen but still feel real; Baby’s fingers inside you, curling just right, his voice teasing and praising and mean all at the same time. Abby’s hands on your waist as he fucks you, alternating between fast and slow, making you whine and beg. Romance’s mouth on your cunt, licking up your folds, moaning as he tastes you, holding you in place when you squirm, desperate for more. Jinu’s voice in your ear, asking – no, telling you that you can give him one more orgasm, can’t you, his fingers never leaving your clit. Mystery pinning you to the floor, your wrists held above you as he bites and marks you, hips snapping against yours, only stilling when he comes inside you.
When you wake up, you’re hot, sweaty, and – though you don’t want to admit it – wet. You feel conflicted and a little pissed off and, yeah, horny. Refusing to give in to the desire, though, you get up out of bed and go to the bathroom to take a shower and clear your head.
At least, that’s what you’re planning on doing, until what you see in the mirror stops you dead in your tracks.
Your eyes, they’re… glowing.
And then you blink, and they’re back to normal. A little bloodshot maybe, but normal.
It must have been some weird residual thing from your dream. After all, you’re well aware that the boys’ eyes glow when they’re aroused. That’s all it was.
Hi. Me again.
So, uh, things have been… okay. Ish.
Okay, who am I kidding. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn MIND.
I’m not proud of it, but… I, um. I had a sex dream about them last night. About all of them. And… I didn’t hate it. I mean, I enjoyed it a little too much, if you know what I mean. Which you do, because you’re me. I’m speaking to myself right now.
Anyway.
I feel so stupid saying it, but the truth is that I still miss them. A lot. And it’s not just a normal, healthy amount of missing someone, either. I think about them all the fucking time. It’s kind of exhausting, actually. And I’m so annoyed with myself for even thinking about them, because they don’t deserve that! The don’t deserve to be taking up any more real estate in my brain!! It’s my brain, not theirs!
And I’m even more annoyed with the part of me that just thought “But would it so bad to be theirs again?”
Because, um, hello??? Yes, it would!
At least this way I have bodily autonomy and the freedom to go where I want, when I want.
I am kind of starting to feel like something’s wrong with me, though. Like, actually wrong with me. Those sensory issues are still happening, if anything, they’ve gotten worse, and there’s other weird things happening with my body. I went to the gym yesterday and everything was easy. Too easy, like, so easy that the personal trainer was visibly shocked (which, um, rude? But also valid, I guess).
I don’t know why I’d suddenly be stronger like that. I can’t think of any realistic reason. If anything, surely I should be weaker after the only movement I had for months (!!) was walking around the apartment?
And I keep seeing weird things. Like, this morning, after the dream, I went to the bathroom and I swear my eyes were glowing. Exactly how their eyes glowed. It was only for a split-second, and I know that sounds crazy, but all of this sounds crazy. It’s not like that’s anything new.
And don’t even get me started on thinking I’m seeing or hearing the boys.
Clearly, my brain is determined to make me suffer as much as possible.
God, I need to get out. Of my head, and the apartment. I feel claustrophobic in here, everything feels too tight and too loud and too quiet all at once. Maybe I should go out and buy some snacks, and then watch reality TV or something when I get back. What better way to bring myself back into the real world?
Armed with your headphones and a plan, you head out. Everything is good at the grocery store – they have your favourite flavour of chips in stock, and you grab some chocolate, along with some other self-care essentials.
Snacks acquired, you’re walking home when something puts you on edge. You’re not sure what it is at first, but then you hear it, even over the music playing through your headphones.
Footsteps, approaching you from behind, fast but steady, intentional, purposeful. Glancing around, you don’t see anyone at first, but that doesn’t mean much, there are plenty of side streets the footsteps could be coming from. You keep walking, your breathing measured, trying not to betray the panic rising up inside you. You do pause your music, though. Just to be sure.
The footsteps get closer, though.
You can feel the hair on the back of your neck standing to attention, beads of sweat prickling your skin, and all the while the footsteps are getting closer and closer, and you can hear breathing, heavy, quick breaths.
And then there’s a hand on your shoulder, warm and clammy, fingers digging in.
You don’t realise what you’re doing until it’s too late.
The man’s face is red, sweaty from his run, his eyes wide with panic and fear as he looks at you. His mouth is open in an apology, and the hand not on your shoulder is stretched towards you, holding your wallet.
You watch as a silver mist is pulled out of his body, and before you can stop, you’ve inhaled it, and the man is gone, your wallet dropping to the floor with a soft thud.
“No, no, no,” you mumble, staring between the space where he’d just been standing. “No, this can’t be real, please, I didn’t mean to—”
The first soul is always the worst. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.
That voice, the one you’d tried so hard to convince yourself wasn’t real, it’s back, mocking and cynical in your ear.
What’s wrong? Did you forget about our deal?
“You’re not real, this isn’t real, I’m imagining things, this can’t be real—” You’re panicking now, your breath coming in quick, short bursts of air. “Nonono, please, I don’t—I didn’t, I, fuck, what do I do? What do I do?”
This is who you are now. Embrace it. You chose this.
No, you didn’t choose this. You didn’t know what you were signing up for. But—
That man is gone. Dead, because of you. It’s your fault.
You run home, ignoring the cars that honk at you as you run across the street, ignoring the people you bump into as you go, terrified that if you look at someone it’ll happen again, that one wrong look will make you kill someone again.
When you get home, you slam the door shut behind you and collapse against it, chest heaving as tears run down your face. What have you done?
You killed him. You took his soul.
He was innocent. You panicked and didn’t bother to stop and think, you just acted on instinct, and now he’s dead.
He was just trying to return your wallet. He was doing something good, helping you. And you killed him.
You barely make it to the bathroom before throwing up, hugging the toilet bowl as you retch, acidic bile burning your throat. Every time you think you’re done, you’re hit with a new wave of nausea as the realisation of what happened hits you again, over and over and over.
Why is this happening? You didn’t want this to happen; you didn’t want any of this to happen.
We made a deal.
You didn’t know that you becoming a demon was part of the deal! You didn’t know you’d be killing anyone!
Didn’t the boys ever tell you about how they became demons? And, in my defence, taking that man’s soul is not something I made you do. That one was entirely you.
You can’t be a demon. No. There’s no way. You—you would have patterns, right? The boys have patterns.
Shit.
That weird, tingly spot on your back.
You’ve looked there before, though, and there wasn’t-
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. No, no, this, this can’t be right. That can’t be real.
When you manage to twist just right in the bathroom mirror, you see it. A small, jagged purple line, sprouting from your lower back, like a tramp stamp from hell.
Without thinking, you rip your clothes off – literally rip them off, the fabric tearing in two – and jump in the shower, straining your neck as you try to see the pattern on your back, scrubbing furiously. You can’t see it, so you just scrub everywhere, and then you scrub everywhere again, and again.
When the sun rises the next day, you’re still sat in the shower, knees pulled to your chest, your back red from the combination of hot water and scrubbing. You’ve grown numb to it, unable to feel the water drumming down on your skin, and your eyes are puffy from crying all night.
But at least you can cry.
That man whose soul you took, he’ll never cry again, he’ll never do anything again.
You don’t even know his name.
Maybe he had a family. A partner, kids. People who loved him.
Oh, God, what if he had a pet? A pet that’s now waiting for him to come home? And now they’re stuck at home and can’t get out and he’s never coming back and they’re going to wait and wait, hoping he’ll come back and wondering where he is-
You’re panicking again, hyperventilating as you sit there in the shower, shaking, nails digging into your legs, and you don’t realise you’re bleeding until you’ve calmed down enough to see the red trickling down your legs. When you slowly pull your hands away, your fingers are clawed – not quite as long and sharp as the claws the boys have, but still, claws nonetheless.
You finally drag yourself out of the shower, your body half numb from sitting there for so long, your back sore from being hunched over, and you don’t want to look in the mirror again but you have to, have to know if it was all just a bad dream, begging to whoever is out there that it was just a bad dream.
It’s not just a bad dream, though.
The patterns are spreading. Spurred on by the shame and panic coursing through your system, they’re spreading and growing bigger, reaching up your spine, creeping towards your hips like crooked, skeletal fingers.
You run from the bathroom and crawl into bed, scared that if you look at them for too long, you’ll see them growing before your eyes.
You can’t go out again. Can’t let this happen again. Can’t let anyone else get hurt because of you.
When work calls you the next day, you don’t answer. Just let it ring and ring before going to voicemail. They’ll get the message. Or not, but honestly, you don’t care. How can you care about something as trivial as your stupid job when you’re a monster, when you’ve killed someone?
You don’t even need the mirror anymore to see the patterns. You can just look down at your body and see them. Curling round your hips and waist, sneaking over your thighs.
By the third day, you don’t have any tears left to cry. You sit there, blankly staring at the wall, seeing the man’s face over and over again, the panic and fear. You know now why he looked so scared. You saw it yourself in a moment of anger, looking at your reflection, seconds before you punched the mirror and smashed it – the way your eyes were glowing, your pupils thin, your teeth sharpening into fangs.
He'd been trying to help you, and in his last seconds, you terrified him. And then you killed him.
You order groceries to your apartment, giving instructions to leave them at your door, saying you’re sick and you’re isolating.
After a week of this, you check your emails to find a message from Dr Kim, the therapist you’d walked out on.
Hi there,
I’m sorry you had to leave your session so abruptly. I just wanted to let you know that if you’re still looking for support, I’m also available for video calls, or telephone sessions. I know talking face to face can be daunting. If you change your mind and decide you’d like to schedule a session, let me know.
Kind regards,
Dr Kim
You stare at the email for a few seconds, before sending it to the trash. Later that day, though, you find yourself looking at it again, and again, tears pricking your eyes at the thought of not dealing with this alone.
Your phone call with her is scheduled for the next day. You can’t do an in-person meeting, obviously, and you can’t do a video call either – the patterns have started to work their way up your neck, and you’re pretty sure they’re poking out from your hairline in some spots. They’re only faint, but still noticeable, and you don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to explain those away.
When she calls, you watch the phone ring for a few seconds before picking up, debating whether to answer or not. But you have to talk to someone, you need this, and maybe it’s selfish of you but you do, you need to talk to someone.
After exchanging pleasantries, Dr Kim wastes no time in getting down to business. “I’m really glad you decided to make another appointment. Was there anything in particular that prompted you to do so?”
“There was a, uh, an incident.”
“What kind of incident?”
You take a shaky breath. “Well, I, um, I’ve been feeling like I’ve been seeing the men I talked about, when I’ve been out and about? And a week ago, I, um, this guy was trying to return my wallet to me, and I just heard footsteps coming towards me and his hand on my shoulder and I panicked, and I hurt him, and I didn’t mean to, really, I just—it just, happened. I panicked and then he was on the ground, and I didn’t mean to, I swear—”
“That sounds like it was a very distressing experience. Things like that can happen though, when dealing with a traumatic situation the way you are. Were you both okay?”
Fuck. “Well, I mean, I wasn’t, but, um, that’s why I made the appointment.”
It’s like you can hear her nodding. “I’m glad no one was seriously hurt,” she says, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from letting out a sob. “How have you been coping with this incident? It sounds like it’s had a lasting impact on you.”
“I—I’ve been too scared to go outside,” you admit.
“Scared of what?”
“Of hurting someone else.”
“I see,” she says softly, and you resist the urge to scream at her to just tell you how to get better, how to fix this. “How many times have you hurt someone since getting out of this past relationship?”
“This is the first time.”
“So, what makes you think it’ll happen again?”
There are tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I’m scared I don’t know how to control it. The—the panic that made me hurt him.”
She hums thoughtfully. “And do you think staying inside is a good way of combatting this fear?”
“No. By staying inside I’m just reinforcing it,” you say, feeling like you’re reciting from your Psych 101 textbook.
“What do you think would be a better way of combatting it?” she asks.
“Going outside. Proving to myself that it won’t happen again.”
“Do you want to maybe make a plan to go outside again? We could discuss coping mechanisms, emergency exit strategies for if you feel like you’re panicking, that sort of thing.”
Thirty minutes later, you hate to admit it, but you actually do feel a little bit better. Not about the killing a man thing, you’re not sure you’ll ever feel better about that, but about potentially going outside.
So, you go over the plan you made with Dr Kim. You’re going to take it nice and easy, just a simple, quick trip to the store – a different grocery store, you don’t think you can ever go back to the one you went to that night – and then back home again. You’re not going to panic, and if you do, you have breathing exercises and grounding techniques you can do.
You’re going to be okay.
You bundle up, looking like it’s the middle of winter, wearing a hoodie and parka and mask, covering as much skin as possible. You don’t know how to hide the patterns the way the boys do, and you can’t let anyone see them, so this is the best you can do. You’re sweating by the time you leave the apartment, and you’re not sure if it’s due to nerves or the fact that you’re wearing so many layers, but you don’t have any other option.
It's odd, being outside again. Maybe this past week you’ve gone through a type of demon puberty or something, because all those heightened senses you had before? They’re ten times stronger now. You can hear the rapid heartbeat of a bird in a tree three streets away, you can smell each person’s individual pheromones, and the coverage must be wide because this street is practically empty. It takes you a few minutes to adjust, and you’re still trying to wrap your head around it all when you sense it.
Someone nearby. Someone familiar.
You don’t think it’s something you’ve ever noticed before, this scent, but at the same time you recognise it instantly. Your eyes scan the trees, and it only takes you a few seconds to hone in on the source.
You don’t even think about it, you just act, all your discussion with Dr Kim forgotten as you leap into the tree (which, holy shit, you didn’t know you could jump that high), colliding with a firm body, the two of you falling out of the tree as you tackle him. As you fall, your hood catches on a branch, getting pulled from your head, and you land on top of him, knees bracketing his hips, hands pinning his wrists. You can’t see it, but you know your eyes are gold, your pupils dilated, your hair tangled from the branches. Your mask has slipped, and the patterns crawling from your neck and your hairline are visible – not a lot, but enough. The same goes for your wrists; your outstretched arms, hands pinning his wrists, it’s pulled your sleeves back just enough to showcase the patterns making their way down your arms.
Mystery stares at you, his hair blown back out of his face for once, and you see the way he pales slightly as he takes in your appearance, his eyes wide as they trail over the patterns adorning your skin, skin that was clear the last time he saw you.
There’s a slight tremble to your lower lip as you look at him, see the way he’s looking at you, and without a word, he frees himself from your grip and bundles you close, hugging you tightly, and suddenly, you’re back in the place you tried so hard to escape from.
Taglist is open, interact with this post to be added xoxo (and if i’ve forgotten you, please let me know!!! And if your username is there but you haven't been tagged properly, check your settings for who can mention you!)
my thoughts echo your name - part 25 (saja boys x reader)
a/n: well, here it is, the final chapter! I hope you all enjoy. If you've made it this far, thank you for sticking with me through the fic, I appreciate it more than words can describe.
warnings: fluff :)
prev / masterlist
------
It’s not until you’re out of the stadium that any of you realise what this means.
The boys’ patterns are iridescent, soft rainbow hues, rippling over their skin, and you can’t keep your eyes off them, marvelling at the way they catch the light. Mystery takes your hand and smiles. “Ready to go home?”
“God, yes,” you nod emphatically, wanting nothing more than to curl up with your boys.
Then there’s a pause. A beat that stretches and stretches, until you ask “So, um, are we going home?”
“Oh jeez,” Jinu murmurs, staring at himself and the other boys in shock. “Our powers.”
“Your powers—?” you ask, before realising what he means. “Oh, shit! Your powers! Now that you have your souls back, are you all mortal again?”
“I—I’m not sure,” Jinu says.
The others are still standing there, eyes wide at the realisation of what’s happened to them. “Um, okay, let’s get home first, and then we can figure out what’s going on, okay?”
Romance looks at you with big doe eyes. “But how do we even get home now?”
You blink at him, before realising he’s being serious. Oh, dear God.
“We take, like, a cab or an Uber or something,” you say slowly, and Romance’s face brightens.
“Oh, yeah!”
Luckily, it’s only a short journey back to your apartment. You’re so preoccupied with thinking about the boys’ powers and how pretty their new patterns look that you don’t notice the way Baby is eying you until you’re all sat down on the couch, Tiger jumping onto your lap to greet you.
“So, your powers—” you start, but you don’t get very far before Baby cuts you off.
“Actually, before we talk about our powers, I have a question for you, princess.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you,” he nods and leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “How long have you been able to hear our thoughts?”
Ah.
“Wait, what?” Abby says, looking between the two of you. “What do you mean?”
“Yeah, princess, what do I mean? Care to explain?” Baby asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Woah, woah, woah,” you say, crossing your arms. “Let’s not forget that all of this happened because you guys kept that secret from me for literally the entirety of our relationship, okay? I don’t think I’m the one at fault here.”
The boys have the decency to look somewhat ashamed at that, but they’re not letting up.
“And we really are sorry about that, and we can talk about it more in a minute, if you want,” Jinu says gently. “But… is it true? Can you hear our thoughts?”
You bite your lip, then let out a sigh. “Yes. It’s true. But only since yesterday! Or – what time is it? – the day before, technically. Actually, I… I heard you thinking about the, um, the ‘thoughts thing’, at the studio? That’s why I wanted to go home. And, well, when I was there, I, uh, may have gone through your rooms. And found evidence.”
“Wait, darling, you already knew? Before we told you this morning?” Romance asks, and you nod.
“Yeah. I knew. I found Jinu’s notebook, which made things pretty clear,” you explain, and Jinu winces, covering his face with his hands.
“Dude, come on!” Abby groans, hitting Jinu’s arm, and you frown.
“Woah, hey, it’s not like the rest of you are innocent!” you snap, and Abby looks at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I found Myst’s notebook as well, and Rome’s drawer – which, Rome? A little bit creepy, but I do feel honoured – and Abby, in your room I found that note you stole, the one hidden in your sock drawer.”
“What about Baby? Surely you found some shit in his room too?” Abby whines, and Baby leans back, looking smug. He knows you didn’t find anything, because there wasn’t anything to find.
You narrow your eyes at Baby, who just lazily smiles at you. “I found that earring I thought I’d lost, so there’s that. But that’s not all, is it, Baby?” you ask, and he frowns. “You told me about reading my thoughts, multiple times! You made a joke out of it. You knew I didn’t believe you. Did you think it was funny, huh? Messing with me like that?”
Baby’s smug grin quickly drops when you start talking, instead sinking back in his seat, looking like he wishes the armchair would swallow him whole. “Look, princess, I just—”
“You just what?” you ask, glaring at him.
His mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to find the words to defend himself, then gives up, looking away. “I’m—I’m sorry. Really,” he says. “I didn’t think about it. Didn’t think about how it’d make you feel.”
The room is silent, the only noise coming from Tiger, purring away on your lap. You stroke him gently, furiously trying to blink away the tears gathering in your eyes.
“Didn’t any of you think about that? How I’d feel?” you ask, and your voice is small, the words catching in your throat.
“Rome wanted to tell you,” Jinu mumbles. “Way back.”
“You did?” you ask, your head snapping up to look at the boy in question.
He nods slowly. “I… did. But then we agreed not to, and I didn’t push it any further.”
You’re quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say, when Mystery speaks up. “We did think about how you’d feel. That—that was the whole reason we never said anything until now. We knew it’d upset you.”
“We were worried you’d leave us. That you’d never forgive us if we told you,” Jinu adds. “So, we decided not to, to spare you the pain.”
“Plus, how were we meant to tell you?” Abby says, his voice soft as he tries to bring some levity into the conversation. “It’s not like we could meet you and say ‘Hi, we’ve been hearing your thoughts for the past day. Any idea what that’s about?’. You would have thought we were crazy!”
He’s right, but you’re reluctant to admit it, not wanting to let them off the hook so easily. “There’s something else,” you say, thinking back to Gwi-Ma’s words. “When Gwi-Ma took me, he mentioned a promise you’d all made. Something to do with why you’re really here. What was the promise? And I swear to God, if any of you lie to me about this, I’ll cut your balls off with a rusty knife.”
There’s a second of silence as your threat sinks in, then Jinu clears his throat, his eyes wide. “Um, okay. We told you about how, by making people our fans, it’s easier for Gwi-Ma to take their souls, right?”
“Yes,” you nod. “But that’s not all there is to it, right?”
“R-right,” Jinu sighs. “The truth is that we were sent here to help destroy the honmoon. You know, the barrier—”
“Yes, I remember what the honmoon is, thank you.”
“Ah, yes, sorry,” Jinu stammers, and you feel a twinge of guilt for snapping at him, but come on, you just want to know what the hell is going on. “So, um, if the honmoon was destroyed, demons would have free reign in the human world. But the hunters have always been too powerful – until we showed up. I had the idea that if we attacked the very thing that powers the honmoon – the fans – we could weaken it. And I was right.”
“So, what, you just came up with this idea to destroy the honmoon, just for fun?”
“N-no! I—we all made a promise, a deal. In return for doing this, we’d all get the memories of our human lives erased.”
“The memories?” you ask, frowning. “Were they really that bad?”
“Do you remember why I made a deal with Gwi-Ma in the first place?” Mystery asks you gently, and you nod, thinking back to his life as an assassin and the deal he made to protect himself from death. “It’s not something I’m proud of. I made a deal to cheat death in order to kill more people. And Gwi-Ma, he replays these memories, over and over again in our heads, forcing us to relive the worst moments of our lives, forcing us to bask in the shame and misery of the choices we made.”
“We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of,” Romance adds. “And Gwi-Ma would make sure we could never forget those things. After centuries, it—it gets a little old.”
“So, that’s why we came here. But then… we met you,” Jinu shrugs. “And you taught us how to be more than just demons again. You taught us how to live in the present, not in the past.”
“So, your promise was to destroy the honmoon?” you ask, and the boys nod. “And when you met me, you changed your minds?”
“We were going to help the hunters to strengthen it, to make it so that no demons could ever pass through again,” Jinu explains. “But then he took you, and said that the only way to get you back was if we kept our promise and destroyed it.”
You’re quiet for a few moments, letting all this sink in. The boys watch you with worried expressions, desperate to know what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling.
After a while, you sigh and look up at them all. “You realise how dumb all of this was, right? Like, I fought my own way out of there. No destruction of any magical barriers required.”
“Yeah. We know,” Baby admits, and you nod.
“Good,” you say. “And that’s everything? No more secrets? Nothing else you’re hiding from me?”
“That’s everything,” Jinu says. “We really are so, so sorry. We should never have lied to you.”
“Okay. I forgive you,” you say eventually. “Actually, I do have one more question. What the fuck is ‘Dick Donut Data’?”
It takes some getting used to, the boys’ new forms. They’re not demons anymore, but they’re not quite human either – some hybrid of the two. You still hear each other’s thoughts occasionally, though it becomes easier to control it through intention. The lack of teleportation powers hits them hard, and you can’t believe how lazy your boyfriends are, now that they actually have to walk places and can’t just appear in a cloud of mist. The hypnotism (which was something you didn’t even know they could do) doesn’t work anymore either. Their super senses, strength, and inhuman reflexes are still there, just not quite as potent as they were before.
What gets them the most, though, is the fact that now they actually have to eat and drink for nutrition, not just for fun. After centuries of not eating unless they wanted to, their senses of hunger are all out of whack.
You’re in the living room at 2am one night, unable to sleep, when you hear a screech and a crash from the kitchen. When you get there, your heart pounding, you find Baby in a heap on the floor, and Mystery perched on one of the counters, munching shredded cheese out of a bag.
“Oh! Um, are you okay?” you ask Baby, trying to stifle a giggle as you help him up off the floor, and he groans, scowling at Mystery.
“I would be if Myst would stop sitting on the counters in the dark like a gremlin!”
Mystery shrugs, the hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s not my fault you didn’t see me.”
“Seriously, Baby, again?” Jinu groans, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he joins you in the doorway. “This is like, the third time this week.”
Baby just crosses his arms and glares at you all, before stomping out of the kitchen with a huff.
“Woah, hey,” you say, jogging after him and catching his hand in yours. “Are you okay?”
He sighs, frowning at the floor. “’m fine.”
“Babyyy, come on,” you say, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. When he does, you smile and kiss him gently, feeling the tension ebb out of him. “What have you eaten today?”
“Chicken nuggets.”
“Chicken nuggets? That’s it?” you ask, an eyebrow raised.
“That’s why I was in the kitchen!” he grumbles, gesturing emphatically. “I was going to get something to eat until Myst sca—until Myst surprised me!”
You bite your lip, trying to hide a giggle, but Baby doesn’t miss the way your lips twitch, and he rolls his eyes. “Come on,” you say, tugging him back towards the kitchen. “Let’s get you some food.”
He reluctantly lets you drag him along, his hand warm in yours, and when you get to the kitchen and turn the light on, Mystery is still there, still perched on the counter with his bag of cheese.
“Feet off the counter, Myst,” you chide him gently, and he lets out the tiniest huff before hopping down. “What have you eaten today, by the way?”
Wordlessly, he holds up the bag of shredded cheese, and you groan.
“Seriously? No wonder you’ve both been so annoying today, you’ve just been hangry!”
“Hey, we’re not annoying!” Baby pouts, and you raise an eyebrow.
“I’ve never been hangry before in my life,” Mystery deadpans, and you raise the other eyebrow.
“Baby, you tripped Jinu up no fewer than six times this afternoon, and then you spent the entirety of the movie we watched earlier trying to touch my tits—”
“Yeah, but did you like it?” he gives you a shit-eating grin, and you resist the urge to slap him around the head.
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” you snap. “And Myst, you bit Rome’s hand so hard he bled, and then licked the blood up.”
“That’s just normal Myst behaviour,” Baby argues, and he and Mystery high five behind your back.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, ignoring their boyish giggles as you open the fridge. “Right, what do you want to eat?”
“You,” Mystery says, making you jump as he kisses the back of your neck, his arms wrapping around your front.
“Nope.”
He lets out a soft, needy whine, and you have to close your eyes and count to ten before you can go back to what you were doing. “Let’s try this again. What do you want to eat? And it has to be food that is not me, or each other, or any of the other boys.”
“Boo, that’s no fun.”
You groan. “Fine, guess I’ll decide, then. We’re having pasta.”
The boys are relatively quiet until you bring out the veggies.
“Aw, come on, princess, do you have to put those in?” Baby whines, and you roll your eyes.
“I’ll blend them into the sauce; you won’t even be able to taste them.”
“But I’ll know.”
You sigh, folding your arms. “Baby, if you don’t eat vegetables, you’re going to get scurvy. Do you want to get scurvy? Because that’s how you get scurvy.”
Instead of a response, he just groans dramatically, and you make a formal decision to ignore him until you’re done cooking. When you plate up the food, passing the boys their bowls, Baby opens his mouth to talk, a glint in his eye.
“Shut the fuck up, sit down, and eat your goddamn food,” you snap, and he quickly shuts his mouth, taking a seat with his bowl of pasta.
As you eat, you can hear the murmur of Jinu’s thoughts in the back of your mind, clearly still awake. Once you’re done, you load up another bowl, and softly knock on Jinu’s open door. “Yeah?” he calls from inside, and you peek around the door to find him sat at his desk, frowning at his laptop.
“I brought you some food,” you say, placing it down on his desk, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “When’s the last time you ate?”
He frowns, his eyes softening as he looks up at you. “Mm. This morning, maybe?
You thought as much. “Well, eat up,” you say, nodding to the bowl. “Don’t stay up too late.” You turn to leave, but his hand catches you, pulling you back towards him with a quick tug, making you fall into his lap, and you let out a breathy laugh of surprise. “Jinu!”
“Stay, just a little while,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you close. “Please, love?”
Well, how can you say no to that? “Fine,” you hum, dropping your head back to rest on his shoulder. “What are you doing up, anyway?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs, and you narrow your eyes.
“How much coffee have you had today?” You can see at least three empty mugs on his desk alone, and you’re sure that if you looked around his room, you’d see even more.
He shrugs again, and you sigh. Like he can sense the lecture coming and wants to distract you, he starts shovelling pasta into his mouth, humming appreciatively. “This is really good, love. What’s in it?”
“Pasta,” you say dryly. “Jinu, you have to sleep more. You’re not a demon anymore, you can’t just survive on the dregs of sleep.”
“I sleep plenty,” he argues, and you fold your arms.
“We found you passed out in the studio yesterday,” you remind him. “Standing up! I didn’t even know it was possible to sleep standing up. And you fell asleep during that meeting, the other day. And—”
“Okay, okay, fine,” he chuckles. “I’ll try and get more sleep.”
“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head. “Not try. You will get more sleep. That’s an order.”
His hand on your waist tightens, and he looks up at you with dark eyes, his gaze smouldering. “An order, huh? Since when do you give the orders around here?”
“Since I’m the one that decides whether we have sex or not,” you tell him, and his eyes widen. “No sleep, no sex. Them’s the rules.”
“Oh, love, come on, that’s—”
“Less talking, more eating and sleeping, pretty boy.”
Abby starts making full meal plans for everyone, though he’s the only one that follows his plan. What he does struggle with, however, is not being as strong as he used to be. When he first realises it, he comes running into out of the gym, looking panicked.
“Woah, Abs, what’s wrong?” you say, scanning his body for any sign of what’s got him so worked up.
“My—I—the weights, it’s—I can’t,” he rambles, and you place your hands on his shoulders, trying to ground him.
“Okay, deep breaths,” you say, and after a few seconds, he closes his eyes and starts talking.
“I can’t lift weights anymore.”
You frown in confusion. “What, like, at all?”
“No, I mean, I can still lift, but not as good as before,” he explains with a pained expression. “Before, I could deadlift 1500kg, easy. Now I’m struggling to lift even half that!”
“I mean, I guess that’s part of your powers not being as strong anymore, right?” you ask, trying to make him feel better, but he just groans, head in his hands. “Hey, it’s okay! Um, maybe this means you can get stronger now? Y’know, since before you were kind of stuck at one level of strength.”
At that, Abby does brighten up. “You think?”
“Sure,” you nod. Really, you have no idea, but it’s feasible, right?
“Thanks, babygirl,” he beams, kissing you swiftly before heading back to the gym. “You’re the best!”
You don’t really feel like you did anything, but you’ll take the compliment, happy to have helped him feel better.
The next day, however, Abby wakes you up with a muffled whimper of pain.
“Abby? What’s wrong?”
“Hurts,” he mumbles, one arm thrown over his face, which is scrunched up in pain.
“Hurts? What hurts?” you ask, looking over his body, but you can’t see any signs of damage.
“Everything,” he groans. “Everything hurts. All my muscles feel like they’re on fire.”
From your other side, Romance snorts, pushing himself up on his elbows to see Abby properly. “Told you not to push yourself too hard in the gym.”
“Wha—oh, Abby,” you sigh, and he pouts from under his arm.
“You’re the one that said I can get stronger now!” he insists, and you bite your lip, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t mean you should go crazy with it!”
“Darling, it’s Abby, what did you expect?” Romance snickers, and you shoot him an admonishing look.
“Can you hit Rome for me? My arms hurt too much to do it myself.”
You roll your eyes. “Nope.”
Romance’s teasing doesn’t last for long, though, because later that day, he decides to take advantage of the nice weather and sunbathe on the balcony. Not that sunbathing has ever been more than literally lying in the sun and enjoying the warmth for him – it’s not like he could tan before.
Or get a sunburn, for that matter.
So, when he falls asleep out there, he isn’t too worried.
“Shit, Rome!” Your panicked voice wakes him up, and he blinks at you blearily, his eyes needing a minute to adjust to the light.
“Mm? What’s up, darling?” he asks, ignoring the slight twinge of pain he feels when he looks up at you, his sunglasses slipping down his nose.
You’re staring at him, at his body, with wide eyes, in a way that makes him feel self-conscious in a way he’s not used to feeling. Frowning, he looks down at his body, wanting to make sure—
Oh, dear God.
He’s red.
His entire body is flaming, lobster red. He looks like a tomato. A ridiculously sexy and handsome tomato, but a tomato nonetheless.
“Wh—what happened to me?” he shrieks, and starts to stand up, only to wince in pain whenever he moves. “Why does it hurt?!”
You’re holding a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to resist the urge to burst out laughing, but a look at Romance’s face (his poor, bright red face) sobers you up. “It’s sunburn, Rome. Didn’t you put any sunscreen on?”
“No!” he wails. “I’ve never needed to put sunscreen on before!”
“Okay, come on, let’s get you inside before it gets any worse,” you say, and a small giggle slips out when he turns and you see the clear line between his pale back and his red front. He pouts at you, then winces again when the movement agitates the burnt skin on his face. “I think we have some aloe vera gel somewhere.”
You leave him sitting on the couch in the living room as you look for the gel, not wanting to make him walk further than necessary. By the time you get back, the other four boys have surrounded him – Baby howling with laughter, Jinu looking exasperated, and Mystery and Abby both poking Romance’s red skin, watching in amazement as it changes colour.
“Noo, get off,” he whines, and breathes a sigh of relief when you come back in. “Darling, make them stop, please!”
“Come on boys, leave him alone,” you say, shepherding them out of the living room, much to Baby’s disappointment.
“Did you find the gel?” Romance asks, his voice pitiful, clearly feeling very sorry for himself.
“Yep,” you say, holding up the bottle. “Want me to put it on, or do you want to do it?”
He bites his lip, then sighs. “Can you do it?”
“Of course,” you say, and pour out a generous amount of the gel onto your hand. “Okay, this is going to be cold, but it should feel nice.”
He breathes in sharply when you first touch him, but relaxes into the feeling as you rub the cooling gel into his hot skin. You start with his arms and face, then move on to his chest, so focused on the task at hand that you don’t even notice his growing erection until you move down to his stomach.
“Rome!” you admonish, and he lazily opens one eye and smirks at you.
“What?”
“Really?”
He shrugs. “That area isn’t sunburnt.”
It wasn’t all bad, though, this shift into a more human form.
“Guys! Guys, guys, look what I found!” you squeal, ushering everyone over to where you and Baby are sitting. You’d been carding your hand through his hair, idly watching the strands fall, when you saw it.
A grey hair.
“What? What is it?” Baby asks, twisting his head to try and see, tugging the strand out of your grip.
“Stop moving!” you scold, trying to find it again. “Aha! Look!”
“Is that...?”
“Holy shit!”
“Oh my God, if someone doesn’t tell me what it is right now I’m going to throw you all out of the window!” Baby snaps, and you pout at him.
“You wouldn’t throw me out of the window,” you say, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, and he looks away with a scowl.
“Maybe I would.”
“Really?”
“No. But will you just tell me what it is?”
“It’s a grey hair,” Romance says gleefully. “You have a grey hair! Oh, this is excellent! Of course, the baby would get the first grey hair!”
“What?!” Baby jumps up, running over to a mirror. “Where? I don’t see it!”
“Wait, if you have a grey hair, does that mean… does that mean we’re aging again?” Jinu asks, and the boys fall silent.
“I—I guess?” you say hesitantly, unable to discern how they feel about this news.
“So… we’re gonna get to grow old together? With you?” Mystery asks softly.
“Oh! Yeah, I guess so,” you say. “Sorry, I know that it must be a bummer to suddenly be aging again after centuries of being immortal.”
“Are you kidding?” Abby beams, picking you up in his arms and looking at you in amazement. “We get to grow old with you!”
Jinu nods. “We get to have a real life with you.”
Baby is still pouting at the mirror, looking through his hair, but his frown softens as he looks back at you. “I guess that’s kind of cool.”
“Oh my God, does this mean—we could have babies and then one day we’ll have grandkids and we’ll be old grandparents watching our grandkids grow up and—” Abby rambles, his eyes filling with happy tears as he speaks.
“Woah, slow down,” you laugh. “One thing at a time, okay?”
“So… babies?” Mystery asks, edging closer to you with a wicked glint in his eyes. You look around and realise they’re all looking at you with that same expression, hungry, feral.
Uh oh.
“M-maybe? We can talk about it?” you say, trying to wriggle out of Abby’s grip, but it’s hopeless. You’re stuck with them now, and they’re stuck with you.
my thoughts echo your name - part 24 (saja boys x reader)
a/n: Holy frickin moly, guys. What a chapter. I hope I did it justice. Sorry for the wait, but hopefully it was worth it? (There will be one more chapter after this, btw! Since there's still some stuff that needs to be adressed, I don't want anyone thinking I'm just ending it here). Also once again thank you to @toh-may-toes bc pretty much all of the ending for this fic was her idea and she’s just the best!!!
warnings: description of fighting, physical violence
prev / masterlist / next
----
“What do you want from me?” you spit at the demon king, your voice shaky but full of venom.
“From you?” he laughs. “Nothing.”
You frown. “Then why bring me here?”
The fire burns brighter for a second, and you can feel the anger radiating from him. “Those boys made me a promise. And they’re not getting out of it that easily.”
“What promise?”
“Oh, foolish mortal. Haven’t you wondered about why they’re in the human world? What they’re doing there?”
“They—they told me, they’re—by making people their fans, it’s easier for you to take their souls,” you say, but as the words fall from your mouth, your heart sinks. That’s not all there is to it, is there?
“HAHAHAHAHA!” the fire roars, laughing scornfully. “And you believed them? Believed that that was all it was?”
You stay silent, cheeks burning with anger and shame. So many lies, this whole time.
The boys watch HUNTR/X’s performance from their dressing room with bated breath, shooting Jinu nervous glances as the honmoon shimmers gold in time with Rumi’s voice.
“Are you su—” Abby starts, but Jinu cuts hi off.
“I’m sure. Just trust me.” His face is pinched as he watches the screen, his mind stuck on you, wondering what’s happening to you right now. Sure, part of him feels guilty about betraying Rumi like this, but just add that to all the other guilt and shame weighing him down. What difference does the disappointment of one more person make?
When the lights of the stage shut down and an unfamiliar track begins to play, the camera zooms in on Rumi’s face, confusion spread across her face. When Mira and Zoey appear either side of her, she can’t tell that it’s not really them, that two demons have taken their forms – but the boys can.
“Where are they?” Romance murmurs. “The real ones.”
“Does it matter?” Baby interjects.
Jinu sighs. “They’re distracted. They think their manager is being carried off by demons.”
Abby lets out a snort at that, but his laughter quickly dies as the demons begin to pull Rumi’s jacket off her shoulder, revealing jagged patterns covering her skin.
“…Dude, what the fuck?” he asks, torn between staring at Jinu and watching the spectacle unfold onscreen.
“She’s—she’s a demon?” Mystery frowns, brushing his hair aside to see better.
“Half-demon. Half-hunter,” Jinu explains.
“How long have you known about this?”
“A while,” he admits. “Since the fight at the bathhouse. You know, after the gameshow.”
“And you didn’t tell us?!” Abby asks, incredulously.
Jinu shrugs, but he can’t meet anyone’s eyes. It’s been eating away at him. It was one thing to keep a secret from you, keep a secret from the very beginning, but this, keeping a secret from the other boys? That was different. It felt off, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought about it. “It wasn’t… important for you guys to know. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
They fall silent for a few seconds, watching as Rumi runs off the stage, leaving both the audience and the commentator bewildered.
“Well,” Baby murmurs. “There’s the public breakup on stage, I guess. Ready for part two?”
“Jinu!” Rumi races through the hallways. Her eyes are wild, her hair unkempt, patterns covering her body. Her chest heaves as she scans the darkness, her eyes finally stopping on Jinu’s familiar figure, flanked by two demons disguised as Zoey and Mira. “Say you didn’t do this.”
Jinu’s face is carefully blank, devoid of emotion as he clicks his fingers and the demons disappear in a swirl of pink mist.
“How could you do this?” she asks, shoving him, her face twisted with pain and anger.
“It was all a lie,” he tells her, his voice steady.
“It was real! The trust we had was real, I know it was!”
“The things I said? I just needed you to trust me. That’s all,” he says, and turns to leave. Before he can go, she grabs his arm, pulling him back.
“Is this about Y/N?” she asks, and he freezes. “It is, isn’t it? You think she would want this?”
Jinu’s eyes flash yellow as he turns back to her. “I have to get her back!” he snarls. “I left my family before, I’m not doing it now, not again, not to her. That’s right, I lied to you. I only made a deal with Gwi-Ma to get myself out of that miserable life. I left my sister, my mother, alone. I left them. I left them. And I’m NOT leaving someone again.”
“But…” Rumi’s brows pull together as she steps forward. “That’s not who you are anymore. There are better ways to do this. This is just your demon talking. You have to fight it!”
“That’s not how it works, Rumi. I—I have to get her back. Whatever it takes.”
“Jinu, don’t—don’t do this,” she pleads, but it’s too late. He’s gone.
When the boys teleport into Namsan Tower, Gwi-Ma is already there, flames spanning the expanse of the stage, bathing the stadium in flickering hues of pink and purple.
“Well done,” he tells them. “Ready to get her back? Because I’m ready to feast.”
“Not so fast,” Baby snaps. “Where is she?”
“I swear to God, if you’ve hurt her—” Abby steps forward, a snarl on his face, but the flames just burn brightly as Gwi-Ma laughs.
“You’ll what?”
Abby’s mouth is open, but no sound comes out, and he closes it again with a glare. Jinu puts a hand on his arm, gently pulling him back towards them.
“Just—is she okay? Is she…” alive? The word hangs in the air, unspoken, but all of the boys know what Jinu was going to say. They’ve all been trying not to think it, telling themselves they’d know if you weren’t.
“We’re not doing anything until we have proof she’s okay,” Romance says, his voice ringing out decisively, the others nodding in agreement. They don’t really have a leg to stand on, they know that, but they have to fight somehow. They have to know if you’re okay.
The flames flicker quietly for a few seconds, before Gwi-Ma sighs, in a way that shows he thinks the boys are being overdramatic. “Fine.”
And suddenly there’s a puff of pink mist, and when it clears, you’re standing in front of them.
“Holy shit,” you murmur, blinking at them a couple times as you stare at each other in shock, and it’s like your voice breaks them out of their stupor. They run towards you, and you towards them, but before you can even get a foot off the floor you’re being lifted into the air by an invisible force.
“You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” The question is aimed at both you and the boys, and you try to wriggle out of his grip, but it’s hard when you can’t see the thing you’re fighting against.
“Are—are you okay?” Mystery asks you, his voice catching, and you stop struggling for a second to look at him, to look at all of them, really look at them. They look wrecked. Mystery’s hands are clenched by his sides, his jaw so tight that you’re surprised his teeth haven’t cracked from the pressure. Baby’s eyes are wide, his mouth set in a straight line as he tries not to show how badly this is affecting him, but you can see the way he’s shaking almost imperceptibly. Abby’s eyes are glued to your face, your body, scanning you for any sign of pain or injury, desperate to jump up and grab you, pulling you back to the safety of his arms. Romance has a single tear rolling down his face, torn between anguish and anger, everything in him screaming that he needs to protect you, that he needs to go after the thing that’s taken you from them. Jinu is silent and still aside from the measured rising and falling of his chest as he breathes, his eyes trying to convey to you how sorry he is, how he’s going to save you, how much he loves you.
“I’m okay,” you tell them. “I’m not hurt or anything. I promise.” The anger you’d been feeling when you ran from them just hours ago is still there, but it’s outweighed by the relief of seeing them again, of knowing that they’re coming for you.
“Of course she’s okay,” Gwi-Ma says, and you can hear him rolling his eyes, even if he doesn’t really have any. “Now, all you have boys have to do is hold up your end of the bargain, and she’ll be back in your arms before the night is over. You won’t like what will happen if you don’t.”
Before you can say anything, do anything, tell the boys not to listen to him, the stage and the boys disappear, and you’re in a dressing room of some sort, two demons grinning at you.
“Don’t even think about it,” the blue one smirks as you eye the door behind them. “The boss has given us full permission to do whatever it takes to keep you here.”
Somehow, you doubt that. From what you’ve gathered, Gwi-Ma seems to care about deals and bargains an inordinate amount, and if you’re the reward for the boys holding up their end of the bargain – whatever that is – then it seems unlikely that these demons would have free reign to do what they want to you. Still, you don’t really want to test out just how far they’ll go.
“Oh!” the green demon exclaims, slapping the blue one on the shoulder. “The TV!”
“Oh, shit, yeah!” Blue Guy grins at you, his teeth bared, and flicks on the TV in the corner of the room. “Boss wanted us to show you this.”
You can’t figure out what you’re looking at, at first, the screen dark except for a blob of pink and purple on one side. Slowly, though, your eyes adjust to the image, and you realise it’s a live feed of the stage and the stadium. For a second, you can’t help but wonder about the tech side of all this – do they have a demon cameraman somewhere, filming this? Did someone connect to one of the stadium’s stationary cameras? Is there a demon tech support guy idly waiting for Gwi-Ma to need his assistance?
“Is… anything supposed to be happening?” you ask, watching the TV.
Green Guy glances at the clock on the opposite wall and frowns. “Huh. Not yet, I guess. Show doesn’t start ‘til midnight.”
Midnight? Okay, you can work with that. That leaves you with roughly 45 minutes to figure out a plan of some sort. There has to be something you can do to get out of this. Do the boys even know you’re in here? Probably not.
This is so fucking stupid. The boys are so stupid. You love them, you love them with all your heart, but for fuck’s sake. Couldn’t anything just be easy with them? If they’d have just told you the truth—
Holy shit.
The truth.
They can hear your thoughts.
You can hear theirs. Well, you could before all this – since being kidnapped and taken to their stupid fucking demon king, you haven’t heard anything, and you have a sinking feeling that it’s the same on their side. Still, it’s worth a shot.
Hello?
Can anyone hear me?
Helloooooo??
You wait for a few moments, but nothing happens. You’re not sure what you’re expecting to happen. As far as they know, you can’t hear their thoughts.
Guys, if you can hear this, I can hear your thoughts too.
Only since, um, well, since we all, uh. Y’know. Banged.
And not all your thoughts! I think it’s the same as how you guys can hear some of mine.
Anyway, if you can hear me, I’m still in the building, I think. I’m in a dressing room; there’s two demons guarding me. I don’t know what your plan is but for the love of God, don’t listen to that stupid fuck-ass demon king of yours. I don’t care what he says.
Silence.
Fuck.
Okay, so this is going to be up to you.
“So… what’s the plan?” you ask the demons casually, like you’re making small-talk.
“The plan?” Green Guy raises a bulbous eyebrow.
“Yeah, the plan! Like, what does Gwi-Ma want the boys to do? He mentioned them taking souls earlier,” you bluff. “He was going to tell me how, but he got cut off.”
“Oh, uh…” Green Guy glances at Blue Guy, who eyes you suspiciously. At a normal volume, Green Guy whispers “D’you think we can tell her?”
You look back at the screen, pretending you can’t hear them.
“I dunno, man. I mean, I don’t see why not, I guess.”
“And she clearly already knows about the sacrifice part.”
At that, your ears prick up. The blue demon sniggers. “I don’t know if it counts as sacrifice if they’re all being hypnotised into doing it. I’m pretty sure that’s just murder.”
“No, dude, it’s just their souls! That’s not murder!”
So, the boys are, what, hypnotising people into sacrificing themselves, sacrificing their souls, for that sack of shit they call a king?
You have to get out of here. You have to stop them.
“Hey, um, what would it take for you guys to let me go, huh?” you ask, smiling at them, sweet as pie.
The two demons blink at you. “Uh… we can’t let you go.”
“Are you sure? I’d really appreciate it!”
They look at each other nervously. “No, uh, we can’t. S-sorry.”
“Dude, why are you apologising? She’s our prisoner!”
Okay, so that tactic wasn’t going to work. It was worth a shot. Still, you have some other ideas.
Twenty minutes later, you’re sat on the floor with the two of them. “No, really! I think if you just talk to her and tell her how you’re feeling, she’ll understand! You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
Green Guy (whose real name is Gregory, as you’ve learned), sighs, looking unsure. “I don’t know…”
“Aw, come on, Greg! Can I call you Greg?” you ask, and keep talking before he can stop you. “You’re a great guy. Samantha would be lucky to have you! You’re handsome, you have a good job – although I’ve been meaning to ask, what are the benefits like? And the pay? Sorry, I’m getting off topic – you’re funny. How long have you been a demon for?”
“183 years,” he tells you.
“And you’re already working as a guard for the king himself?” you say, and let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s impressive. Heck, if I wasn’t taken by my own gang of demons, I’d be all over you.”
“Really?” he asks, his eyes shining earnestly.
“Yep!” you nod. “Trust me, dude. All you have to do is talk to her. What’s the worst that can happen? You’re gonna be around for eternity, do you really want to spend all that time wondering what could have happened if you’d just had the balls to talk to her?”
He nods slowly, then with more conviction. “Yeah, you’re right! I’m gonna go talk to her right now!”
“Go get ‘em, tiger!” you grin, and before Blue Guy (real name Bill) can stop him, Greg is gone in a cloud of mist. Bill stares at the empty space for a second, his mouth open, then turns to you with a scowl.
“You did that on purpose,” he accuses, and you widen your eyes.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say innocently, and he growls, the sound making you flinch. Glancing at the clock, you see that there’s only fifteen minutes left until the “show” starts, whatever that is, and on the TV screen you can see hordes of people starting to make their way into the stands.
It’s a lot of people.
Fuck.
“He always fucking does this!” Bill fumes, gesturing to where Greg had just been sitting. “This is like, the third time this has happened.”
“Sorry,” you say, trying to sound sincere. “I didn’t realise this was such a sore spot.”
He glares at you, his yellow eyes beady. “You! Just… argh! Just shut up and stay quiet, got it?”
You nod, deciding that pointing out that shutting up and staying quiet are kind of the same thing probably isn’t the best idea right now. Bill watches you for a second then stands up with a grunt, making his way over to the door and taking up residence there instead, his arms folded as he tries to look menacing. That’s not to say that he doesn’t look menacing – he’s an eight-foot demon with blue skin, yellow eyes, fangs, and weird protrusions on his head, and he’s at least twice your width, if not triple. But still, the stance he’s taken up, arms folded with his chest puffed out, along with the fact that he's acting like a petulant child, it lessens the effect he’s going for.
But, hey, you can stay quiet. Quiet is good. Quiet gives you time to think and plan.
The dressing room you’re in isn’t very big, and it’s pretty much empty aside from the built-in vanities and mirrors affixed to the walls, some folded metal chairs, the TV, and a couple of table lamps. There might be something you can use in the drawers of the vanities, but you don’t want to draw attention to the fact that you’re looking for a way out of this situation.
You sit there in silence for a few minutes, watching as more and more people pour into the stadium. The way they’re moving, it’s… wrong, somehow. Their movements are robotic, all filing into the rows of seats mechanically. There’s no emotion behind it, none of the excitement you’d usually associate with a concert, and you realise with a sinking heart that this, this mindless following of orders, must already be the hypnotism.
Are they really going to let all these people die? Just to get you back?
You have to stop them.
Please.
If you can hear me, please don’t do this.
You’re better than this. We’re better than this. Don’t make this a part of our story.
Once again, you’re greeted with silence.
Come on, the fact that we’re soulmates has to be worth something!
Please!
PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS!
…Y/N?
You can’t stop yourself from jerking up when you hear it. Baby’s voice. Of course he’d be the one to hear you first, he’s been the first for everything else now; the first you met, the first you kissed, the first you slept with.
Baby! you think, desperately trying to keep your cool.
Wa… you… me?
Shit. All that’s coming through are fragments, and you have no idea how much of what you’re thinking he can actually hear.
If you can hear me, don’t do this!
You wait, but this time there’s no answer, and you can’t stop yourself from letting out a quiet groan.
“What?” Bill eyes you suspiciously.
Shit.
“Oh, uh, I…” you stutter, your mind racing. “I really need to go to the bathroom.”
He blinks. “Oh. Can’t you hold it?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time?” you snap. “Can’t you just take me to a bathroom?”
“Nuh-uh,” he says, shaking his head. “Got strict orders to keep you in here until the show’s over.”
Fine. Time to bring out the big guns. “But…” you sigh, looking down in embarrassment. “I, um, I have my period. I really need to, y’know, change, otherwise I’m going to leak onto the floor.”
You’re banking on him having the average man’s knowledge about periods (or hopefully, even less), and it looks like you’re right. His nose wrinkles and he tries to take a step back, like he’s worried it’s contagious, but his back hits the door behind him with a thud.
“Ugh, gross,” he mutters, looking you up and down with distaste. “Do you… does it really have to be done right now?”
“Yeah,” you nod, fighting the urge to go off on him about how periods are actually a very natural bodily function, thank you very much. He wavers for a minute before sighing.
“Fine,” he grimaces. “Let’s go.”
He turns to open the door, and you see your chance. Armed with one of the folded metal chairs and a table lamp, you charge at his back, and he barely has time to turn around before you’re slamming the chair against his head.
He lets out a soft “oof”, rubbing at the spot where you hit him with a scowl, which quickly turns into a mocking laugh. “Did you really think that would work?”
Your heart is pounding as he slowly approaches you, cracking his knuckles as he walks. You can do this, you know you can. You don’t have any other choice. You just have to time it right, that’s all.
“H-hey, why don’t we just, um talk about this?” you ask, laughing nervously. “You seem like a reasonable guy, Billiam—”
He stops dead in his tracks, a couple feet away from you. “Billiam? What kinda name is Billiam?”
“Oh, is that not your name?” you shrug, and he looks at you incredulously. This is it, this is the moment – and whilst he’s still pondering your use of the name “Billiam”, you swing the thin side of the chair up between his legs, right into his crotch.
“Fu—uck,” he groans, dropping to his knees with his hands clutching his fragile manhood, eyes squeezed shut. For good measure, you whack him with the table lamp you have clutched in your other hand, and it makes a solid thunk as it hits him, right on one of his bulbous protrusions. “You little bitch, you’ll pay for tha—”
He opens his eyes just enough to glare at you and reaches one hand up to his head, the other towards you, and you take the opportunity to kick him in the dick, putting all the rage and anger you have about this whole stupid situation behind your kick. He doubles over from the impact of this second hit, head falling to the floor with a loud thud. This time, you don’t stick around to see if he’s going to get back up again.
You dart out of the door, running with absolutely no idea where you are or where you’re going, but you can’t stop now. You’re presumably still in the stadium at Namsan Tower, based off the video feed in the dressing room, and you surely can’t be that far from the stage. Still, you have no idea if you’re even heading in the right direction – for all you know, you could be running away from the boys instead of towards them.
You can hear muffled cheers and screams starting up from somewhere vaguely nearby, so you start heading that way. You only slow down when you pass a TV screen showing the same feed that was on the one in the dressing room, and you stop to watch what’s going on as you hear music starting to play.
You’re watching, mesmerised, when you realise you can hear thudding footsteps approaching you, heavy and deliberate. The sound is enough to jolt you out of the trance the music had you in, and you start running again. Suddenly you realise you have no idea where the sounds of music and screaming are coming from, it sounds like it’s all around you, and the only choice you have is to keep running away from the footsteps.
You can feel your heart racing, hear the blood rushing in your ears as you run, your breathing ragged, but there’s lights up ahead, dancing pinks and purples coming from one side, and you must be getting closer.
Expecting to see the stage, or the crowd, or something, you run towards the lights, but your heart sinks when you get close enough to see what they’re coming from. You see the stage, and the crowd – you see all of it, spread out below you, and you realise that you’re not in the stadium at all. You’re in the tower. And pretty high up, too, by the looks of things.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Of course there’d be dressing rooms in the actual tower as well, they have offices and studios here and probably do all kinds of promotional shooting. Shit!
Okay, breathe. The most important thing is still getting to them, and getting away from the demon following you. Scanning the hallway around you for any sign of stairs, you finally spot a flickering green exit sign not too far from where you are now. That’ll do, any exit is better than no exit.
Thankfully, the door does lead to a stairwell, and you start racing down the stairs, going so fast that you’re worried you’ll trip and fall, but more worried that you won’t make it to the boys in time if you slow down. You’re hurtling down, jumping the last few steps on every turn, not paying attention to your surroundings when you collide with something firm and warm. Too warm.
You look up into the face of a demon – not the one who’d been guarding you earlier, this is a new demon, a woman with horns and one large eye, who grins maliciously as she wraps a hand around your wrist.
“Gotcha,” she smirks.
Without even processing what you’re doing, you bring the wrist she’s holding towards you, pulling her hand towards your mouth, and she frowns in confusion for a split second before you open your mouth wide and bite down on her hand, hard. She lets out a shriek, dropping your wrist and shaking her hand violently as she tries to get your teeth off her, but you double down, biting so hard that you taste what can only be blood, hot and coppery, but it’s thicker than human blood and has a strange aftertaste, something almost acidic. You resist the urge to spit out her hand and the blood, and after a few more seconds of struggling, you actually do it. You bite off a chunk of skin and flesh, and the demon stares at the oozing wound on her hand in shock.
Spitting out the chunk, you grab her horns and pull, yanking her head down, and at the same time you bring your knee up, the solid bone colliding with the soft meat of her one eyeball with a sickening squelch. She lets out a scream and staggers away from you when you let go, her hands covering her eye – or what’s left of it, anyway.
You leave the demon behind, and race down the last few flights of stairs, and then you make it to a door with a large sign for “Namsan Tower Stadium” on it. Pushing the door open, you bite back a groan as you’re faced with yet another long hallway. Still, you’re in the right place at least – the music is much louder now. You’re making your way down the hall, towards the music, when suddenly, it stops. Your steps falter for a moment, but when you hear the muffled sounds of someone talking, you keep going. You have to be close by now.
And you are close – your lungs are burning, but after passing by a few more doors, you finally make your way into the stadium walkway and breathe a sigh of relief. Now you just have to find an entry into the stands and you’ll have made it.
When you do find an entry, you let out a string of expletives that would make even Gwi-Ma himself blush, because the door is locked.
Of course it’s fucking locked.
You push and pull on the heavy door to no avail, and you take a few seconds to stand there, your forehead resting against the cool wood as you try to figure out some sort of plan. This close to the stage and the stands, you can hear what’s being said clearly.
“…finally sees you for what you really are.”
“They do.”
“And the honmoon is gone.”
“It is.” You realise with a start that you recognise the voice. It’s Rumi’s voice. Which means this is worse than you thought, because there’s no doubt in your mind that the hunters will be doing everything in their power to stop what’s happening, even if that means killing the boys, your boys. “So we can make a new one.”
What the fuck is a honmoon? And why are they making a new one?
Rumi starts singing, and it’s soft and strong at the same time, almost ethereal in a way, and you have to remind yourself to focus. You need to find a way in. There isn’t anything around you that you could use to try and open the door, though, the walkway is empty, and you look around with increasing panic. The doors can’t all be locked, surely, there must be an emergency exit or something, so you start running again, making a mental note that you should really be doing more cardio because fuck, this is hard. As you run you can hear other voices joining Rumi’s – Zoey’s and Mira’s, presumably, the three of them harmonising perfectly, and they sound great, but is this really the time or place? There’s a rumbling shout from Gwi-Ma, but the girls keep singing, and you can’t help but feel a lightness in your chest, a glowing warmth.
Finally, finally, you see an emergency exit door, but when you try to open it, it’s locked as well. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you stare at the door handle, surrounded by the sounds of the three hunters singing together, and that warmth in your chest grows, spreading throughout your body. You wipe the tears away and clench your fists, and you try the door again, pushing it with all your might –
And suddenly it clicks open, and you go tumbling into the stands, landing with a quiet “oof”. No one notices you, no one even looks at you, too enthralled by what’s happening on stage. You scramble up just as the boys float into the air and fly – hold on, since when can they fly? – towards the three girls, a massive wave of faceless demons careening along the main catwalk towards the hunters.
You watch as the girls fight the wave of demons effortlessly, their weapons slicing through them like a knife through butter, only for Gwi-Ma to call the remaining demons back to him, leaving just your boys to fight the girls. Your stomach drops when you see Mira swing her polearm at Romance and Abby, Zoey brandishing her throwing knives at Mystery and Baby, and Rumi holding her sword up against Jinu.
“No!” you scream – and to your surprise, everything stops, like you’ve pressed pause. The girls freeze, the weapons held high before turning to see where the cry came from. The boys step away from the hunters, but they don’t need to look for you, their eyes finding you immediately amongst the crowds, an expression of shock and relief and guilt on their faces as they stare at you. Even Gwi-Ma is silent for a moment, and you take the moment to shout “Don’t do this! You have to fight it, fight him! You’re better than this, all of you!”
There’s a beat of quiet, before Gwi-Ma lets out a roar of laughter. It doesn’t matter though, you ignore him, ignore the flames rising as you sprint through the crowd towards the stage. The mass of people parts for you as you run, which is both creepy and helpful at the same time, and you reach the catwalk just in time to see what you can only describe as a death ray hurtling towards Rumi and Jinu, the two of them fighting to hold it off, together.
What you’re doing doesn’t register until you’ve done it.
The immense pressure on your back, the way the flames lick at your skin. You would have expected them to be burning you, but they’re just warm, almost comforting as they caress you, trying to pull you deeper into Gwi-Ma’s clutches.
“Y/N, no!” Jinu’s eyes are wide as he stares at you, at the flames threatening to engulf you. “No, what- why did you do this?”
“I couldn’t let you get hurt,” you murmur. “Any of you.”
The other boys teleport to where you’re stood, the full brunt of the death ray being absorbed by you, by your soul.
“No, no, no, this can’t, no, you—don’t do this,” Baby panics, his hands grabbing your shoulders and pulling.
The others want to talk, too, you can tell, but there isn’t time. “You have to fight it, okay?” you tell them. “Fight him. You’re better than this. All of you are.”
“Y/N, we—” Romance starts to talk, but he’s quickly cut off by Rumi.
“You idiots, we can fight him now!” she bursts out.
It’s like a switch is flipped. The boys jump into action, and suddenly you’re surrounded by them, huddled in the centre of their embrace, and they’re taking the weight of the beam. You’re about to panic, to tell them to move, when you realise that the flames aren’t engulfing you anymore, they’re not engulfing any of you. There’s a barrier of some kind surrounding the six of you, like a bubble of safety, and suddenly Rumi is in the bubble as well, and then Mira and Zoey are there, too, all of you joined in a tight constellation, something glowing within each of you.
Our souls, you register vaguely, the glowing getting brighter and brighter, until even with your eyes shut, it’s all you can see. And then, just as quickly as it started, the beam of fire is gone. The hunters step away from your huddle first, each staring at their weapons, and you realise the weapons have changed, grown bigger, stronger, brighter, and like it’s in slow-motion, you see the three of them swing their weapons at Gwi-Ma in unison, grinning as his flame is cleft into four parts. He lets out a roar before coming back together, and the girls look at each other and nod.
Rumi holds a hand out to you with a small smile. “We can defeat him, together. All of us.”
She’s looking at the boys as she says the last part, and you nod with determination, looking back at your boys.
“I love you,” you tell them, and you can see them melt a little as you hold your hand out to them “Together?”
Baby takes your hand first, squeezing it gently. “Together,” he nods.
There’s no talking about it, but somehow you all know what the plan is instinctively. Spurred on by the crowds of people surrounding you, you all run towards Gwi-Ma, and you realise that everyone in the audience is glowing too, their voices weaving through the air in a rainbow of colours, the ribbons of light swirling around all of you as you run, looping and dancing alongside you. Suddenly you realise that you’re still running, but your feet aren’t on the floor anymore, and the nine of you climb higher and higher, surrounded by shimmering rainbows, until you can’t even see Gwi-Ma’s flames anymore, just each other.
That glowing light is stable in you and the three girls, but you can see that in the boys, it’s still growing, shimmering in the same way the ribbons of light surrounding you are, and the glow seems to take over their whole bodies, the five of them shining as one supernova, so bright you have to look away.
And then the light fades, and when you look back, something is different. You can’t quite place it, but the boys can.
“My—my soul,” Mystery stammers, hand on his chest. “It—I can feel it.”
“Me too,” Abby murmurs, staring at his hands, his body, then at you and the other boys.
“We—we have our souls back?” Romance asks, his voice wavering.
Baby squeezes your hand again, and when you look at him, he smiles. “You gave us our souls back.”
“Me?” you ask, eyes wide. “I don’t—how?”
“You helped us fight,” Jinu explains, a shocked laugh taking over his face. “You helped us be better.”
Before you know it, you’re being pulled into a fierce hug, the boys’ arms wrapped tightly around you.
“Wait, is Gwi-Ma—” you mumble, voice dampened by whoever’s chest it is you’re clutched against.
“Gone,” Jinu says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “He’s gone. We—we did it. Defeated him. We’re free.”
You're back on the ground, staring at the crowds of people still in the stadium, all screaming "We love you, HUNTR/X!" or "We love you, Saja Boys!" or some combination of the two, when you glance over to the three hunters.
"So, does anyone want to explain what the honmoon is and why Rumi has patterns now?"
Finally catching myself up and OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Abby is weirdly quiet, especially considering you’re at a party. You’re chatting to an old friend, as he stands beside you silently, his hand holding yours tightly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand rhythmically. His jaw has been clenched all evening, and instead of his usual loud, boisterous self, he’s been almost sullen, moody.
Without warning, he interrupts the conversation you’re in the middle of. “Sorry, we’ll be right back.”
You shoot your friend an apologetic look as Abby drags you away from them, not stopping until the two of you are in an empty bathroom, and he quickly locks the door behind you both. You don’t even get a chance to ask him what the hell is going on before he’s pushing you against the door, one arm resting above your head, caging you in.
“Abby, wha—” The question is only half out of your mouth when Abby kisses you, hot and hungry and messy, your teeth clacking together as he kisses you forcefully. You haven’t had any alcohol, but you feel drunk on him, on his taste and his body against yours, on the way he’s almost whining into the kiss, so desperate for you.
“Jump,” he mumbles against your lips, his hands sliding to the backs of your thighs as you do as he says, and he holds you there, steady and solid, your back still pressed against the door. You didn’t think it could, but the kiss gets needier, hungrier, like he wants to devour you, and when his hips roll against yours, you let out a moan, your head falling back against the door with a soft thud.
“Mine,” he murmurs, kissing and biting and sucking his way down your neck, leaving marks and faint bruises along your collarbones. “My girl. No one else’s. All mine.”
“Woah, wait, hang on,” you say (though it takes a lot of restraint, the way he’s worshipping you making it extremely tempting to just let him keep going). “Abby, wait, stop a sec.”
He pulls away with a groan, pleading eyes and a small pout on his face. “You want to stop?”
“No, I just—were you jealous? Is that what this is about?” you ask.
He stares at you, trying to decide how to answer, then shrugs nonchalantly.
“Nope,” you shake your head. “You’re giving me a proper answer right now, or no sex tonight.”
“Oh, babe, come on—” he protests, but you just raise an eyebrow at him, and he sighs. “Okay, fine, yeah, I was jealous.”
“Of who?” you ask, genuinely confused.
He frowns, a slight pout playing on his lips. “The guy just now. He was all over you when we got here, and again now. Couldn’t keep his hands off you.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “Josh? He’s a childhood friend, Abby, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, sure looked like he wanted to be more than just friends.”
“Abby, he’s married. Very happily. And he’s gay,” you snap.
“…oh.”
“What’s this about?” you ask. “Don’t you trust me?”
Shock flashes over Abby’s face when you say that. “Of course I trust you! It’s just… other guys that I don’t trust. And, y’know, I don’t like seeing another guy with his hands all over my girl.”
“So, you got jealous, and decided the right thing to do was to drag me away – in the middle of a conversation, I might add – to try and fuck me in the bathroom like a horny teenager at a house party?”
Abby shrugs, then lets out a small sigh. “Okay, fine, maybe it wasn’t the best idea. I’m… sorry.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of jealousy, Abs, but maybe next time you can wait until the conversation is at least finished to drag me away?” you tell him, a small smile on your lips. As annoyed as you are, you can’t deny that there’s something hot about a guy getting jealous over you like that.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, looking like a kid who’s just been told off. “Sorry. D’you wanna go back out and see if you can find your friend?”
“Hell no,” you grin, and he looks at you, confused. “I want to go home and for you to finish what you started.”
a/n: do I have to take the "prisoner!" part out of the title now? (edit: rhetorical question, prisoner is staying in the title!)
warnings: therapy, LOTS of discussion of abusive relationships and abusive dynamics - if this could be triggering to you, please read at your own risk!
prev / masterlist
------
No one seems surprised about your return. No one seems to have even noticed that you were gone. Missing. For over ten months.
You don’t have anyone’s number on your new phone, obviously, so you can’t see if anyone’s been trying to check up on you, but when you log into your social media accounts, there’s nothing there. It stings, the realisation that absolutely nobody cared about the fact that you vanished off the face of the earth. You have a fleeting thought about the boys, how they’d care, wondering how they’re doing and what they’re up to, before you brush it aside. You don’t want to think about them. They’ve taken up enough space in your brain.
You have no idea what’s going on with your apartment - rent was on autopay, but you don’t think there was enough in your account for a whole ten months of rent without any income. Still, you contact your landlord to explain that you ‘lost’ your keys somehow and need new ones, and he seems totally unphased. It’s… weird, going back to your apartment. Back home. There’s a small voice in the back of your mind saying that this isn’t home, not really, and you stoically ignore it. Because if this isn’t home, then, well, you don’t want to think about what that means. Where that means home is.
You drag your suitcases and bags inside and drop them to the floor, coughing at the dust motes dancing through the stale air. Suddenly the room feels claustrophobic, like you’re suffocating under the weight of who you used to be, and you fling open the windows. The movement feels awkward - the window latches in a different way to the ones at the boys’ apartment, and your hand stutters against the handle, unsure.
Once there’s fresh air in the place, it feels a little lighter, and your head feels a little clearer. Even so, there’s an ache in your chest when you look at your bags, and you turn away from them with a frown. You should unpack, you know that, but… unpacking means facing the truth of what happened.
Unpacking can wait. There’s plenty of other things you can do, like vacuum and dust, or contact your work, or check your bank account to see how the hell you’ve been able to pay rent all this time.
You spend the next hour sitting on your couch, watching TV. The light reflects off the screen and makes it hard to see, especially with how dusty it is, but you can’t be bothered to get up, even just to wipe the screen. You’re not paying attention to what’s playing, you just need the background noise, the distraction of it. It’s too quiet otherwise. Eventually, your stomach starts protesting, and you get up from the couch with a groan.
“Oh my God,” you murmur, looking at the contents of your fridge with disgust and morbid curiosity. You’re pretty sure that pot of yoghurt has developed its own civilization by now, judging by the amount of mold visible. Armed with rubber gloves and a trash bag, you throw everything out, doing your best not to gag at some of the particularly gross items, and then you clean the refrigerator until it looks as good as new.
It feels new, too. The whole apartment does. Like staying at someone else’s house. And yet, at the same time, it feels like you were never gone. The contradictory emotions toy with you, leaving you feeling confused, unsure.
Your bags sit there, untouched, for three days. On the fourth day, you decide it’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself and to unpack the bags. You’re painfully aware of the note from Abby and Romance, folded up neatly in the side pocket of your backpack, tearstained from when you’d found it at the hotel, but you don’t even let yourself look at the pocket it’s in.
As you unpack, putting clothes into drawers and onto hangers, putting books on shelves, you can’t shake the feeling that this is wrong. These things don’t belong here; you don’t belong here.
It’s not true, you tell yourself. This is your home. Not there. Not with them. Here, in your apartment, in your own space, with the freedom to do whatever you want. This is where you belong. You repeat it as you unpack, saying it over and over again in your head until the words don’t sound real anymore.
On the fifth day, you cry again. You hadn’t let yourself, not since the night at the hotel, determined not to mourn the loss of something you were so desperate to escape. But the truth is that you’re lonely. You’d gotten so used to their presence, day in and day out, surrounded by them all the time. Even when you were alone in your room you could hear them laughing or fighting (or both). When they were gone for the day and you were in the empty apartment you could feel them, see them, everywhere. A deck of cards left scattered on the floor, a protein shaker on the coffee table.
And now, alone, in your apartment, without a single trace of them?
You’re lonely.
You miss them.
You miss them so much it hurts.
You find your favourite perfume, the one you’d forgotten the name of so you could never ask the boys to get it for you, and you excitedly think to yourself that you have to tell Romance, that he’ll love the scent – and then you remember that he’s not here, that it’s just you, alone. Trying to distract yourself, you turn on the TV, only half paying attention to the channel and the show, when you hear a familiar voice.
“We’re so happy to be here, thank you for having us,” Jinu tells the presenter, and it feels like someone has reached into your chest and grabbed your heart, squeezing it in a vice-like grip, tighter and tighter and tighter. You can’t breathe, and you’re vaguely aware of the TV remote clutched in your hand, but your eyes are glued to the screen. When the camera zooms in on Abby, you let out a choked sound, half a sob, and there’s a snap of light from your hand as the faint smell of burning wafts in the air.
You blink at your fist, the hand you were just holding the TV remote in.
You broke the remote.
Fuck, you didn’t just break it, you crushed it. The plastic is warped, the silicone buttons popped out, and the batteries are dented, warped, the seams split open, with a small scorch mark on the casing.
You didn’t even realise that could happen, it breaking like that, just from how tight you were holding it. Well, at least the boys get points for not starving you. The thought makes you laugh out loud, the sound echoing against the Abby’s voice coming from your TV, and before you realise what’s going on, there are tears streaming down your face.
And now you can’t even turn the stupid TV off because you crushed the remote.
After a week, you decide it’s time to bite the bullet and contact your work. They’re just as unphased as your landlord was, and simply welcome you back from your leave of absence. You suspect that the boys had something to do with it – let’s be real, of course they did, but you’re not complaining. It’s one less thing to worry about.
So, you go to work, and come home to your apartment, and bit by bit, day by day, your life returns to normal.
Except, it doesn’t, does it? Not really. How can you ever be normal again after the things you went through, after the things that happened to you?
You’re pretty sure you need therapy.
Scratch that, you’re 100% sure you need therapy. But it’s not like you can go up to a therapist and say “So, you know the Saja Boys? Yeah, they kidnapped me and held me hostage for ten months.” Absolutely not. You don’t want to sound crazy. And, well, you don’t want to get the boys in trouble.
There has to be another way you can spin this.
“So,” Dr Kim, a short woman in her forties with curly black hair, smiles kindly at you. “What brings you here today?”
You take a breath. “Basically, I think I need therapy. Okay, no, I know I need therapy. I recently went through something traumatic and it’s having lingering effects on me.”
“Okay,” she nods, jotting something down in her notebook. “Would you like to elaborate on this traumatic event?”
“I’ve spent the past ten months trapped in an abusive relationship of sorts and recently got out,” you tell her, the words tumbling from your mouth. You’ve practiced this, figured out how to phrase it without coming across like a lunatic.
“An abusive relationship ‘of sorts’?” she asks, and you nod.
“Yes. I was, um, involved with a group of guys who had a lot of influence over me. They isolated me from everyone I knew and convinced me to stay with them, and, uh, messed with my sense of reality. They’d tell me things about myself that weren’t true until I believed them. Sometimes they were cruel, sometimes they were incredibly loving, and I got really confused and attached. I finally got out a little while ago, but I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Dr Kim’s eyes widen as you explain, a concerned look taking over her face. “I’m sorry, guys, plural? How many men are we talking?”
“…Five. But they never—okay, well, they did make me do things I didn’t want to do, but never anything sexual,” you hurry to tell her, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “I mean, there were some sexual things, but they would stop as soon as I told them to. Always.”
“And when you say they convinced you stay with them, do you mean in the relationship?”
Your mouth twists. “Kind of. They convinced me stay in their apartment. Like, all the time. Whenever I talked about leaving, they’d guilt-trip me or tell me I was overreacting, and remind me that I liked it there, with them.”
“Have you reported any of this to the police?” she asks gently, and you tense.
“No! No, I mean, I don’t want to,” you say before you can stop yourself, and she gives you a pitying smile.
“Okay,” she says, and you know it’s not okay, not really, but she’s humouring you, and you let her. “What made you decide to come in now?”
You shrug. “I got out a couple weeks ago. And, y’know, I know that it’s the kind of thing you should get therapy about. No one goes through stuff like that and comes out unscathed.”
She tilts her head slightly, studying you. “And what about you? How do you think you came out?”
You’re quiet for a moment. How have you come out? Certainly not unscathed. But… it’s hard to pinpoint specific examples. “I… don’t know yet. I keep thinking I should have some big, obvious reaction, but mostly it’s just this… fog. Like I’m here, but I’m not really back yet. I know things happened that shouldn’t have happened, but when I try to explain how it affected me, it’s like my brain just slides off it.”
“When you think about these ten months, how do you feel?” she asks.
Your stomach twists a little, but the words are on your tongue without you even having to think about it. “I miss them. The… guys. I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know, it—it’s confusing.”
“Feeling confused makes sense. It’s very common after trauma bonding,” she tells you, and the words make you flinch. Trauma bonding? It’s not—what you went through wasn’t trauma. Well, okay, it was, but that seems a little bit dramatic, doesn’t it? You try to steel your face, but she catches your reaction. “How are you feeling right now?”
“Fine,” you reply automatically, and Dr Kim doesn’t say anything, just looks at you. You sigh. “I just—trauma bonding feels, I don’t know, like an overreaction. It wasn’t that bad most of the time. They really did care about me.”
You can hear how it sounds as you say it, and you cringe, your cheeks burning.
She nods, not arguing, and you feel stupid, small. Like a pathetic lovesick schoolgirl. You’re better than this, you know the signs of abusive relationships, you know that if they really cared, they wouldn’t have done the things they did. But you can’t stop the tugging at your heart, the voice saying that they do—or at least did care about you, even if their ways of showing it were fucked up.
“You know, missing them is understandable. So is caring about them. Missing them, caring about them, it doesn’t mean that you’re weak. It means that you’re human.”
When she says that, something in you snaps. “I know I’m human. You don’t have to tell me that.”
Dr Kim blinks at the shift in your tone of voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
You shake your head, grabbing your bag and standing up. “I don’t think this is right for me, I’m going to go.”
She stares at you, but doesn’t look surprised, just… disappointed, maybe. Before she can say anything though, you leave, the door swinging shut behind you.
The worst part is that you know she’s right. About all of it.
You replay the conversation over and over again in your head as you walk home. Especially the bit about you being human – something flares inside you at the words, white-hot and angry, though you’re not sure why.
Whatever.
It was a stupid idea anyway, going to therapy. It’s not like you can ever be honest about what happened, and therapy works best if you’re honest, you know that. It’s not you like can ever be honest with anyone about what happened, for that matter.
The coworkers you’re friendly with ask you how you’re doing after your leave, clearly curious about the reason you were gone for so long, and you just smile and say something about having to travel home to be with your family, and they don’t question it further. You’re still desperately lonely, so you reach out to old friends, meeting up with them for a coffee, but the conversation feels stilted, forced, and you find yourself comparing your friends to the boys the whole time. You try making new friends instead, joining a crocheting and knitting group, but you’re clearly not in the intended age demographic. The scent of the perfume the older women wear is sickly sweet, cloying, and the headache you get from it lasts for days. After two sessions, you drop out.
The last idea you have to save yourself from the brink of loneliness-induced insanity is journalling. You need to work through your emotions and thoughts somehow, and it’s not like you can talk to anyone about them, so you might as well just talk to yourself about them, right?
You buy a new notebook and a nice set of pens, staunchly ignoring the memory of the journal and pens Jinu bought you – the journal that’s still in one of your suitcases, along with the note from Romance and Abby, the crocheted tiger, as well as some other trinkets and keepsakes that are too painful to look at, but too precious to get rid of. When you get home, you sit at your desk, staring at the blank page before you.
God, this feels so stupid.
You don’t even know how you’re meant to start this. Do you introduce myself? No, that’s dumb, who would you even be introducing yourself to?
Hi,
You frown at the paper, debating crossing the word out, but in the end, you leave it. There aren’t any right or wrong ways to do this, you remind yourself.
Hi,
So, 11 months ago, I (we? you?) was kidnapped by the Saja Boys.
This is so dumb.
Ugh.
Hi,
So, 11 months ago, I (we? you?) was kidnapped by the Saja Boys. They let me go about 3 weeks ago. Well, 23 days to be exact. Not that I’ve been counting.
Anyway, since then, I’ve not been doing too great. Shocking, I know. You mean, being held captive for 10 months and 6 days and then suddenly being released back into the wild doesn’t magically give you mental stability?
I tried therapy, but that didn’t work. And I obviously can’t tell anyone the truth about what happened, because they’ll think I’m totally crazy, or they’ll contact the police, or both. Probably both. God, I bet they wouldn’t even contact the police about the boys, either, it’d be because they think I’m a crazy stalker or something. But yeah. I also don’t want the boys to get into trouble.
Which is also crazy, I know!!!
Well, okay, I know it’s not actually that crazy. A lot of people struggle to contact the authorities about their abusers.
Abusers.
I… it feels wrong, calling them that. Even though I know that that’s what they are. Were. Technically. Ugh, they literally held me prisoner! Why am I even questioning if they were abusers or not?
Anyway, this is supposed to be about me, not them. So. Uh. Me. How am I feeling. That’s the big question, isn’t it? The therapist asked me that, as well.
I’m feeling… tired. Really fucking tired, actually. I’m so tired of thinking all the time. It feels like every minute of my day is occupied by thinking about either the boys or about what happened. Even when I’m not thinking about it, I’m thinking about it. It’s in everything. Every single movement I make, every decision, every thought, all of it is influenced by them, by those 10 months, in some way.
I hate it.
I’m so, idk, angry? I miss who I was before all this. I think. I barely remember who I used to be. The bits I do remember aren’t, well, great. Let’s be real, it’s not like I was super happy before this either. But I was me, at least. Without any of their bullshit mixed in.
And I’m angry that I miss them. Because I do miss them. I miss them waaay more than I should. They don’t deserve for me to miss them this much.
Fuck, my life doesn’t even pass the Bechdel test right now. Why am I letting some hot asshole demon kidnappers dictate my life like this? Why do I miss them so much? No, I know why I miss them. I was surrounded by them basically 24/7 for 10 months. And 6 days. Of course I’m going to miss them after being around them for that amount of time.
I just wish I didn’t miss them quite so much.
And it’d be great if I could stop thinking about the kiss. And Abby in general. Fuck, now I’m back to talking about them and not me.
Okay, back to me.
How has this affected me? How have I come out of it? That’s what the therapist asked. I just… don’t know. Part of me feels like it should have affected me more. But then again, I guess it’s affecting literally everything I do, so I’m not sure how much more it could affect me. Now the word affect looks wrong. Anyway.
On my way home, I went to the grocery store. It still feels overwhelming. I almost had a meltdown in the cereal aisle because there were too many choices. Do I get the same cereal they always got me or do I get something else? The one they got is my favourite – or do I just feel that way because it’s what we they always had? Do I get it because it’s comforting and familiar, or is that just reinforcing my feelings about them, about my time there?
I stood there for 10 minutes, just staring at the cereal. I probably looked nuts.
I got something new, by the way. “Berry Boom Bites”.
It’s fucking gross.
To make things worse, as I was paying, “Soda Pop” came on over the store’s radio, and I just froze, wallet in my hand, the cashier looking at me like I was crazy.
I probably am crazy.
I hate that I’m this person now. I hate that I’m jumpy and clingy and nostalgic for people who literally hypnotized me into thinking I didn’t have a mouth. There’s still a scar from scratching at my face so hard.
Who misses that?
Apparently I do.
I’m not even sure who “I” am, anymore. Like, do I like cereal because I like it, or because it was an easy and quick meal that didn’t require me to be in the kitchen for any longer than necessary? Do I like watching shitty reality TV, or is it just because that’s what was on a lot? Do I like wearing sweaters and hoodies and leggings or is it because it’s comfy and there was never any need for me to get dressed up anyway?
All the clothes they got me, the ones I brought back, they’re in my closet. Sometimes I want to burn them all, other times they’re the only thing I want to wear.
Nothing feels right. When I wear my old clothes, from before, they feel weird against my skin, scratchy, uncomfortable. They feel like a costume, like I’m playing the part of the me I was before. And when I wear my clothes from them, half the time I feel trapped, like they’re suffocating me, and the other half I feel like I’m failing, like they shouldn’t feel as comforting as they do, like I shouldn’t even want to wear them. But I do.
Actually, I’ve been having a lot of sensory issues lately. I’m not sure why, maybe I got so used to how things were at their apartment that my body/brain can’t handle things being different now? Like, I swear I can hear the sound of electricity – things like my phone charging, and I’ve tried it with like 6 different chargers so I know it’s not them that’s the problem, and my phone is new so there shouldn’t be any issues. I even took it back to the store because it was driving me crazy, but the guy plugged it in there and couldn’t hear anything. I could, though. I charge it in the other room now.
Smells are really strong, now, too. I can’t use the spray deodorant anymore because the smell gives me a headache for days. I’ve tried different brands, too. Someone sprayed deodorant in the bathroom at work last week, and I could still smell it the next day.
My whole body just feels… off. Like I’m buzzing under my skin. Like I’m too warm all the time. My skin keeps prickling, like there’s bugs crawling on it. That’s a thing, apparently. I looked it up. It’s called formication. It’s usually on my back. I looked in the mirror, but I couldn’t see anything.
Taglist is open, interact with this post to be added xoxo (and if i’ve forgotten you, please let me know!!! And if your username is there but you haven't been tagged properly, check your settings for who can mention you!)
WARNING MENTIONS OF: SU!C!D3, D3@TH (IF YOU WERE TAGGED AND UNCOMFROTABLE WITH THESE SUBJECT GO DOWN TO THE PINK AND BLUE PARTS!)
Basically I wanted to sum up my year as I will be busy tomorrow I'm doing it a day early! It might be personal but whatever I wanted to sum this year up just for myself.
This year was the worst year of my life.
At the start of the year my boyfriend of 8 years left me because he fell out of love with me. I lost my home with him, my job and felt completely and utterly broken. Like a failure.
Shortly after my lizard got ill so I had to spend over £900 trying to look after him so he would be okay (luckily he was)
And then in March I lost my nan...
I was done at that point I told myself that I was going to live until my lizard passes and then I would follow because there was no other reason to keep living. I put all my effort into that relationship and now it was gone I had nothing left, nothing I wanted to live for. I feel too old to be single, living at home and jobless.
But then June came, KPDH came out and I read fanfiction and for the first time in over 10 years I wrote again. Writing about this silly demon movie got me so many followers who liked my writing, it made me friends with a bunch of cool people.
And honestly I think this has helped me more than anything else.
Things aren't perfect, I still have a bunch of life issues, but I have friends. I have a bunch of lovely people who I have met and have made me think that maybe life is still worth living!
So though this was one of the shittiest years in my life in the darkness I found: @gab-thelamb-onthemoon @youremysodapop @kpopdemonlover @froothytoothy and @abbysbbcakes
Some wonderful amazing people who I want to thank for talking to me, interacting with me and being my friends! I love you all and thank you so much I probably honestly owe you my life!! If you ever need anything anytime I gotchu!! <3 <3 <3
I also want to thank the writers who's stories inspired me to write again and got me through some dark ass times: @yogirl-willow @that-one-girl2020 @deliwrites @iamactuallysocute @sajakissed @kpopdemonlover @youremysodapop @froothytoothy and @kpdhfixation
You're stories are AMAZING! I would give you all awards if I could! You are all talented writers and if any of you need any help, or want to talk to anyone anytime or anything again I am here <3 I want to thank you so much for your amazing stories and inspiring me to return to a hobby I left behind years ago!
And finally I want to thank anybody who follows me and anyone who took the time to read this mess XD
Thank you for all your support! Thank you for reading all my silly words! Thank you for improving my year!
