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🎲 "Life is a game. I play to win."
Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader, Additional/Implied ships
Word Count: 6.8k
Chapter Warnings: Supernatural Horror, Violence, Weapons, Mild Gore (?), Loss of Consciousness, Loss of Control
Synopsis: Prayers are answered and an uneasy alliance forms. Dots connect in the unlikeliest of ways, changing a simple hunt into something far more insidious.
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, but I'm out of school for the summer now! Hopefully I can work on all the little projects I've started. Huge thank you and much love to everyone that's been leaving likes and comments here and on Ao3!!
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The creature pinning you down stiffens for a moment, its grip loosening for a millisecond. Dark, wispy, iridescence cascades around the edges of your vision, leaving a soft feather-light touch against your cheek as it blocks out the light. A sharp sudden inhale, as it’s grip against your shoulders flexes uncomfortably. Anticipatory.
Then, radiant light bursts through the mausoleum, blinding you.
Crash.
The creature’s appendages that dig into your flesh disappear as it’s abruptly slammed sideways. An inhuman snarl echoes across the room as a result, discordant and harsh. The noise is painful against your eardrums as you try to squirm away, face contorting uncomfortably in response to the sound.You scramble away from the spot you were just in, knees scraping against the ground. Sharp gravel bits dig in through the fabric of your pants as you crawl away, blinded from the light that flashed through the room.
The afterimage from the burst of light floats in your vision, leaving your hands to indiscriminately reach around for your gun—or anything—to defend yourself with. Dusty stone is all your hands meet, grime caking under your nails uncomfortably as you attempt to grasp at anything solid. Your pinky brushes up against something cool and metallic, prompting you to lunge hastily in a blind attempt to grab it.
Though, in your partial blindness you miscalculate. All your hands meet is rubble, and instead the heavy small object is smacked by the side of your hand. It’s sent skidding further away from you, the sound of the metal against concrete coming to a halt much farther than what seems safe to reach for. Recalculating, you decide to back away as far as you can towards the wall nearby. If you can’t help, you should at least stay out of the way.
You slam your own back against the nearest wall, as the dots of light dancing in your vision finally start to dissipate. Slowly refocusing as the world gains definition again, you see Soobin and the creature tussling at the other end of the room. Soobin’s wings are splayed out awkwardly, as he tries to tilt the balance in favor of himself against the dark mass under him. White feathers fly, as the creature claws violently at anything it can reach.
With a frustrated grunt, Soobin slams its back against the far wall, displacing debris and denting the nameplates the other hunter was looking at mere moments ago. The creature huffs, and the inky darkness around it falters enough for you to see its—his—face.
The creature's dark eyes dart towards you for a moment, head lolling to the side to glance at you as a shimmering liquid drips from his nose. The same sliver-blue sheen leaks from around your knife, still jammed into the side of his thigh. Light bounces off of his eyes unnaturally, reflecting an otherworldly sheen against the light that you’ve never seen. They settle and focus on you momentarily.
Or you thought it was you, until a voice is suddenly too close for comfort.
“Seonghwa!”
A hand grabs your arm, twisting painfully as you’re dragged sideways, before being jostled around to press your back against a chest. Something cool presses against your throat, forcing you to tilt your chin up. Hot breath hits your ear in a shaky rhythm, and hands roughly pull you closer. Cologne mixes with the faint scent of rot and something sickly sweet, as you feel fingers drive into your forearm hard enough to bruise.
“Let go of him.”
Soobin’s focus falters. Just long enough that the creature, supposedly named Seonghwa, pushes him off roughly.
Soobin stumbles backwards, wings flaring out in an attempt to balance himself. Seonghwa however advances, hands reaching for the closest part of Soobin’s shirt to drag him down for a solid kick to the nose. An audible rip resounds through the small room as Soobin sidesteps the grab, one of his sleeves instead is ripped to pieces.
Eyes alighting with a new fury, Soobin pulls out a small dagger. Arcane runes run along it, glowing with golden ethereal light along the flat edges. The metal rapidly twists and turns, screeching against itself as it warps into a blade easily three times the size of the original dagger. Power emanates from the blade in slight pulses of light as Soobin moves. Slashing it through the air with an audible fwip, he aims for Seonghwa.
Seonghwa seems to finally get a good look at his attacker, a flash recognition flitting across his face. He huffs, the expression on his face turns incredulous. The inky darkness around him dissipates slowly, as he scoffs at the angel. Whatever aggression was there from him earlier, perceived or not, is no longer there. He stands still, unflinching despite the blade closing in rapidly on him.
When Soobin’s blade never touches him, but instead hovers a hair away from his own throat, he smiles arrogantly.
“Long time no see.” He comments, looking the angel up and down.
“Go on,” his hand reaches up, grabbing the end of the sword to drag it closer. Sparkling silver smears along the edge where he touches the sword, blending with the metal indistinguishably, “Do it.”
“Seonghwa I swear to all that I stand for—” snaps the voice against your back.
“He won’t.” Seonghwa responds smoothly, hand tightening around the steel. “Right? You were never one to make that kind of call.”
The man holding you lets out a sharp exhale. You feel the cold metal against your own neck press impossibly closer, forcing you to take shallow breaths in an effort to not accidentally cut yourself. The voice against your back tsks, and you feel him shift slightly to tighten his hold.
“Enough,” Hisses the voice behind you.
Seonghwa shrugs, “He doesn’t have cause to actually hurt me. Not now, at least.”
Soobin doesn’t budge, his wings puffing up to tower above himself in fury.
“I could end you right here, Seonghwa.” Soobin responds coldly, pressing the blade closer.
“Do it, then.”
The man holding you cits in again.
“Seonghwa, don’t antagonize. You,” he gestures towards Soobin with his chin, “Angel. Let him go.”
“I’m performing my duty. I cannot back down until I know both of you are no longer a threat to my charge.” Soobin says icily, eyes finally darting towards you and the man with a blade to your throat.
The man behind you takes in a wavering breath, before slowly pressing the blade so close you feel a slight sting. Swallowing nervously, you can feel how close steel is to scraping against your skin. Every heartbeat makes you painfully aware of how little space there is between you and death in this moment. Hands dig mercilessly into your shoulder, drawing a pained gasp from you.
“Let. Him. Go.” Your captor sneers.
Soobin lets the ghost of a frown dart across his face, as his gaze darts down to hover on the knife pressed to your throat. Nothing passes across his face to hint at what he’s thinking, apathetic and stoic until he sees your face contort uncomfortably. He clicks his teeth, jaw clenched in irritation, before letting his sword drop away from Seonghwa’s face a few inches.
“Call your little… hunter… off.” He says slowly. Suspiciously.
Seonghwa simply lets out a quick laugh, batting the sword away from his face entirely.
“Giving orders now? That’s new.” Seonghwa smiles smugly, tilting his chin to look up at Soobin defiantly, “Last I checked—”
“Last you checked was well over a century ago. Times change.” Soobin cuts him off, whisking the blade away to rest at his side. The metal flickers with the light from earlier, casting a soft glow on the dented name plates behind him before morphing back down into a small blade he slips in his pocket.
“Let y/n go. I don’t have time to babysit them or play your stupid mortal games.” Soobin spits out venomously.
You feel heat rush to your face in embarrassment.
He thinks you’re in need of protection? You’re perfectly capable as is.
Seonghwa shakes his head, and dismissively waves a hand towards the man behind you.
“Let them go, Hongjoong. There’s more important things to focus on.” He says, motioning to his leg that has a streak of glimmering silver running down his leg.
Leaning against the wall for balance, he reaches down and wrenches your knife from his leg. You get the briefest glimpse of discomfort on his face, before he’s gently wiping the knife on his trousers and holding it back up to inspect. An unreadable glimmer passes through his eyes as he glances up at you, before slowly sliding up to the face of Hongjoong. Something silent passes between them, as Seonghwa stuffs the blade into his belt. A single eyebrow raises, and he jerks his chin in a motion towards you both.
The hands on your shoulders tense, rumpling the fabric of your shirt slightly before releasing. Dropping unceremoniously, you take in deep breaths now that the pressure against your throat is gone.
Your hand trembles as it comes up to run against the shallow wound against your throat. Nothing vital, but terrifying all the same. It stings as you gingerly run a finger over it, licking your lips nervously.
The man—Hongjoong you think was his name—squats down to your level. His hands stay against his own figure, resting innocently against his thighs as he glances you over. He tilts his head, waiting for your gaze to meet his, before offering his hand out to you wordlessly.
There’s a few noticeable scars along the back of his hand. The worn sleeve of his jacket rides up slightly, revealing several bracelets of various colors and states of wear stacked underneath. Two have small metallic charms woven into them, clinking against each other as they catch the dim light in the mausoleum.
When you don’t accept his help, he snorts and decides to haul you up himself. The same sickeningly sweet scent from earlier hits your nose as he does so, enough to make you want to gag. Something fruity, with putrid rotten notes hidden barely beneath the surface. When your face contorts, his does at the same time. He hastily pulls away, mumbling a half hearted apology.
Despite this, the winged figure across from you both continues his conversation with Seonghwa, like this encounter was now categorized as a mild inconvenience at most.
“I may not be as patient next time, Seonghwa.”
“Even if that were the case, what could you do?” Seonghwa muses back.
Soobin’s lips purse into a tight line, his voice coming out sharp and irritated.
“All in my power I could do to protect my charge.”
Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “which wouldn’t be much. You’re acting like I couldn’t rip your wings from your form if I tried.”
“I wouldn’t be shocked if you stooped so low, given your nature.”
A snicker escapes Seonghwa, as he straightens to stand upright. His whole demeanor seems to change, as he pushes off against the stone to stand. Despite bleeding heavily from his leg, and his nose, he seems unperturbed. He rolls his shoulders as he looks down at the stab wound, tsking to himself. A rip resounds through the area, as he tears the sleeve off his shirt to turn into a makeshift tourniquet.
“You’re lucky I didn’t plan on actually hurting her. I just needed her to stop firing her gun. Unlike some…” Seonghwa pauses, looking directly at you so intensely it feels like it burns, before glancing back at Soobin, “I actually care about mortals.”
“I’ve had a change of heart.” Soobin responds brusquely.
Seonghwa’s hands flex as he tightens the bandage around his thigh, before sighing.
“I somehow doubt—” Seonghwa begins, before being abruptly cut off.
“I have duties to attend to.” Soobin’s voice comes out rushed and strained, as he avoids looking directly at the Seonghwa.
“Huh?” Seonghwa questions as he’s cut off, “what duties would—“
Soobin is already lifting his massive wings behind him, extending them out as he readies to fly, at least by human standards. Him and Seonghwa make tense eye contact that lingers for a heartbeat, before he’s vanishing in a flurry of feathers and blinding light.
You look away before you can be blinded again, as Hongjoong takes a sharp breath, angling himself slightly away. One arm comes up to shield his face partially, the other dancing midair as if contemplating wanting to reach for something. You catch a fleeting glance of his face up close as he does, his jaw clenched in discomfort and eyes squinted against the pain.
Seonghwa nearby doesn’t seem affected. He remains steadfast, gaze lingering on the spot Soobin just stood in. His eyes reflect the fading golden light before glancing back at you and Hongjoong curiously.
Hongjoong’s arm drops as the light fades, going instead to dust his jacket off with his hands. Bits of grime and dust from the area disperse into the air as he does so, making your eyes water. His hand streaks in fine powder, smudging the dirt around more than it cleans it off.
“You know Hwa, as much as I’d love to pry about the lore between you two, we still have a spirit to catch,” he huffs, lifting his hand to his face to inspect the dust with a scrunched nose, “Gross. if this gets all over the car I’m going to lose it.”
Hongjoong finally steps away from you entirely, towards his partner nearby. His lips curl up in disgust, as he tries to wipe his hands on his pants next.
“Haven’t even dealt with the spirit yet and I’m dirty.” Hongjoong hisses out, “last time I get my hands dirty crawling around a cemetery after it’s rained.”
“It’s just dust.” Comes an amused reply, as Seonghwa makes his way over, “it’s not even the mud from outside.”
“Dust from a smelly, crumbling, ancient mausoleum. Who’s to say the dust doesn’t contain something, like remains?” Hongjoong grumbles, as he wipes the last of the filth onto his leg.
Seonghwa pauses next to Hongjoong, picking a piece of dirt off his collar, “It is remains. That’s what dust is made of. I thought you humans were advanced enough in the sciences by now to-”
“That is not what I meant Hwa and you know it!” Hongjoong cuts him off, a ghost of a pout gracing his face.
You can’t help the huff of laughter that bubbles out, whipping your head to the side to try and not look at the two of them bickering. The sound, however, is easily heard within the small crypt. It bounces off the walls and dilapidated arches inside, louder than intended.
Both heads turn to you as the noise escapes. Hongjoong’s face dusts a light pink, his eyes widening as he seems to remember you’re still here. Seonghwa himself lets out a guffaw, body shaking as he laughs at Hongjoong. His fist coming up to try and muffle his laughter as the shorter man’s face darkens. Wispy black specks like smoke float through the air around him as he does, floating down softly and dissipating mid-air.
“Whatever. There’s more pressing matters.” Hongjoong snaps, pushing past Seonghwa outside.
Hovering nearby for a breath, Seonghwa watches Hongjoong leave the cramped mausoleum before turning to you. His hands gesture towards you, tilting his head slightly with the last bits of amusement lingering on his face. You don’t register for a moment what he’s doing, until you see him gesture again.
Your knife, wiped clean, is held handle-out towards you. His grip is firm and unwavering, as he tilts it against the light of your surroundings. Shallow etchings against the metal catch the light, showing off the blade’s flat sides. The etchings along gain an other-worldy glow for a breadth of a moment amidst the light.
“Your knife. I assume you want it back?” He muses, waving it at you gently, “unless-”
You snatch it out of his hand before he can change his mind. You’re already shoving the blade into the sheath against your hip, finally feeling a bit more whole as the weight rests against your side. You don’t bother thanking him, as you glance around for your fallen gun.
“Quite the blade you have. Not many of those left in the world.” The creature muses outloud, watching as you circle the small area.
His comment causes a sudden unsettling anxiety to bubble up in your throat, your hand darting up to pull your jacket closed to obscure it slightly.
Just ignore him.
Instead of responding, you opt to instead search for your pistol. Tracing your way back to where you were pinned, you squat down to assess the scuffs on the floor. A skid mark here, some chipped cement there.
“How’d you even get a hold of that blade?” He pries again, though his voice lowers gently.
Like he knows something.
When Seonghwa gets no response, he huffs, and leans against the wall by the door. His gaze watches as you search the corners of the crumbling area for your gun. Your hands blindly dart into new crevices and questionably stable arches of the small area. He has enough after a moment, getting up to leave after Hongjoong, though not without a quick comment as he passes.
“It’s in the corner by the rusty nameplate that fell off the wall. Where Soobin was standing earlier. He had kicked it behind him in case he needed to toss it to you.”
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The darkness that’s descending brings a cool peaceful ambiance that wasn’t there earlier as you emerge from the mausoleum. Dusk coats everything in a fine purple blue hue, as a slight shimmer in the air from your wards dance at the edges of your vision. You inhale a breath of crisp night air, no longer trapped in the stagnant crypt. It’s nice, until the smell of rot hits your nose, making you gag.
You glance around as you grimace, attempting to find the other two hunters. You spot them, huddled together nearby.
Hongjoong has a thick journal precariously balanced atop a headstone, scribbling in it as he mumbles something. Seonghwa is standing next to him, bent down awkwardly to try and peer at what his partner is writing.
Hushed words pass back and forth between them, as the breeze picks up, sending leaves scattering in the wind over the cemetery. Hongjoong’s eyes finally dart up to meet yours as soon as you step further into the dying twilight, his shoulders tensing for a moment before dropping. Seonghwa taps hongjoong’s arm as he himself looks up at you briefly, before whispering something in Hongjoong’s ear. You see his hand flex uncomfortably around the pen in his hand, like it’s a lifeline, before relaxing. He rests the pen on the front cover, tapping it once. Twice.
Clipping the pen to the front cover, his hands close the worn journal in his hands. Fingers trace over an intricate cover before he’s tossing it in a satchel at his feet. A muffled thump resounds from the impact of the relatively thick notebook as he straightens himself back up to observe you. Hongjoong beckons you over hesitantly, while his partner huffs something under his breath and sets the bag upright again.
“So…,” he pauses awkwardly, “Uhh… hunter…? Any leads? Seems me and my partner’s have gone cold past the mausoleum. We only managed to track the wraith to—”
“Wraith?” You can’t help but snort, cutting him off.
A wraith? Is this man mad? That was the first thing you checked off your list when you set up the sigils, hours ago. They wouldn’t be able to hide.
His face twists into a slight frown, eyes narrowing.
“Yes… wraith. What, do you have any other ideas?” Hongjoong presses, lips pursing in mild irritation, as if he feels personally challenged by the proposition it could be anything else.
You mirror his irritation, crossing your arms over your chest to stare him down. Finger tapping against your arm impatiently.
“Well,” You breathe out exasperated, “considering this entire section of the cemetery has been warded against wraiths, I’d imagine it’s not a wraith. Next best option would be a spectre of some sort. Maybe-”
His voice cuts you off before you can finish listing the entities you’re thinking of. A gust of wind blows through the area as he does so, bringing a fetid odor drifting past yet again.
“You warded against wraiths? Didn’t feel like following up with that first? Did you set anything else up that we should be aware of?” Hongjoong sharply interjects.
Seonghwa sighs, hand hovering over Hongjoong’s shoulder.
“Maybe take a deep breath, Hongjoong. There’s only one type of ward active. Even if others were setup, I’m sure—“
Hongjoong’s nostrils flare, as he shoves Seonghwa’s hand off his shoulder harshly. His eyes flash angrily in the dying twilight, catching the final rays of light in a way that sets them ablaze for a heartbeat.
“A heads up would’ve been nice. Plan on setting anything else up, doll?” He hisses out condescendingly. He takes a step towards you, attempting to impose into your space.
“That’s enough Hongjoong.” Seonghwa snaps, stepping between you both before Hongjoong can get too close. “They were just trying to set up for a solo hunt. Don’t get irritated, it’s just a hunter doing what hunters do. She didn’t even have time to debrief us, let alone trust us. Don't be an ass.”
You take a step back, but Hongjoong’s eyes still bore into you, unwavering. He’s still, postured like a cobra that’s gotten a bit too defensive. Ready to strike at a moment's notice. You feel your own blood freeze at the sheer force he has behind the glare—icy cold to the point it burns up your chest and numbs you to your fingertips. Like your soul has been set on fire. You only feel your limbs thaw once Seonghwa steps in to block his line of sight, his hand coming back to gently push you behind him.
“I said that was enough.” Seonghwa reiterates, voice firmer than before, “stop acting like a child. You’re better than that.”
There’s a tense stand off between them for a moment, before a sharp irritated exhale is heard from Hongjoong. He mumbles something to Seonghwa, waving him away from him.
Seonhwa turns to you sheepishly, doing a quick glance over before dropping his arm to his side limply.
“We started off on the wrong foot. I’m Seonghwa. This is Hongjoong. You are…”
“Y/n.” You begrudgingly answer.
“So you ruled out wraith, right? Me and Joong ruled out ghouls earlier in the day. Haven’t ruled out banshee completely, since none of the victims or missing hunters are available to question either. That, and the cemetery is mostly quiet during the day, so no one has reported any happenings aside from the usual paranoia humans get in these areas.”
“Well, none of us three have heard a banshee scream yet, so I'd agree. I’d rank it low.” You respond, letting your shoulders drop slightly.
“Except that they could also be preying on someone else visiting the cemetery.” Hongjoong cuts in smugly, eyeing you closely.
This arrogant asshole.
“Cemetary is closed on Mondays. AKA today.” You respond curtly.
“Ooookay, well,” Seonghwa laughs nervously, “why don’t we search around for clues? Eliminate what we can and regroup in an hour?”
Hongjoong mumbles something under his breath as Seonghwa pushes him to take a step away, though Hongjoong’s eyes linger longer than necessary on you. As if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle you’re not even aware of.
“Right…” he finally acquiesces, dragging himself away from both of you, “we can start on the far north side. Regroup in an hour.”
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Your hand brushes over the grave you passed earlier in the evening. One hand holds a flashlight, trying to aim it optimally so you can search the area and still see your surroundings in the pitch black cemetery. You can see a faint dot of light nearby, from where Hongjoong and Seonghwa are prowling the other end of the field inspecting graves on their own.
The one you're focused on now, is the one you nearly tripped into when sneaking into the mausoleum. It was originally broken in two, though your tumble earlier in the day seems to have loosened off another wedge of granite. It sits in the still muddy weeds just behind it, the name partially obscured by grass and sludge.
It wouldn’t be much to mind, but you keep finding yourself drawn back to it as you’ve been searching the cemetery. Staring hard at it, you try to make out the weathered name on the headstone. The letters dip and curve, barely comprehensible. Faded from years of rain and wind, the sunlight having long seeped the color from the stone. You glance over it again, as a new feeling bubbles uneasily in your stomach.
The weeds are overturned like a fresh plot.
Why does the tombstone look so old and weathered?
You flip your flash light to a higher setting, tucking it under your chin as you squat down in the soft mud beside it. Your jeans immediately soak through, leaving your legs cold and uncomfortable from the feeling. Ignoring this, you pick up the headstone wedge that fell, wiping it the best you can with the sleeve of your jacket before flipping it around to read the name.
Finn Mercer.
You feel your throat go dry as you read the name. From the depths of your mind, you recall this seems awfully close to the name of one of the missing hunters connected to this case. Your mind scrambles to recall any of the information you got from the files Beomgyu gave you.
Five missing hunters, over the past two weeks. Three solo hunters, one pair. The grave has the same name as the latest hunter that disappeared—he had gone off alone after alerting a few more local hunters in surrounding areas in case he didn’t get back to them within a few days.
You bite your tongue. Maybe it’s a coincidence.
Glancing at the other edge for the date—
It’s today.
Your body has a physical reaction, an uneasiness that creeps up your spine. Your heart speeds up slightly, a sudden paranoia climbing into your mind. Your skin feels clammy now, a cold sweat breaking out on the palms of your hands.
Realizing you’re holding your breath, you muster the will to set the wedge down, awkwardly balancing it back in the spot it had originally cracked off of.
No time to panic.
Adjusting the metal flashlight digging into your skin, you drop your bag. Uncaring if it soaks in mud, you search for the manila folder within it you had packed with the intel Beomgyu had given you. As your hand shakily brushes against the thick edge of the folder, you contemplate if you should call out to the other two. Before you can get up however, there’s a sudden woosh behind you, and something touches your shoulder.
You’re spinning around before you can think, hand already unclipping the blade on your hip. Adrenaline rushes through your veins, breath coming in quick short beats. The flashlight is dropped to plop against the soft ground, as you aim up defensively. Moving without thinking, your other hand grabs their arm to flip whoever—-or whatever—-had the audacity to grab you. A quick spike of adrenaline fuels you to fluidly get up and roll them over your form. A noise of surprise escapes the individual as it lands in the mud beside you.
Thump.
“Ow…” Seonghwa huffs out, wincing slightly.
He’s sprawled awkwardly amongst the weeds, mud caking onto the back of his legs and splashing partially onto his shirt. He lifts his hand from where it sits halfway in the mud, making a disgusted face as he tries to shake off what he can, and wipe off the rest on his now soiled pants.
“Okay. Note to self, do not approach from behind.” He murmurs to himself, before trying to stand.
The mud squishes audibly underfoot as he stands, shooting you an apologetic yet awkward half smile. His jacket is coated in mud now, the thick leather hidden under layers of grime, and his boots are thoroughly caked with muck from trudging through the more flooded area of the cemetery with Hongjoong. The recent rain has been doing no one any good.
“Apologies.” He says awkwardly.
As he does so, Hongjoong finally makes it past the last few rows of graves, his voice calling out across the way as he nearly trips against a gnarled root from a nearby tree attempting to avoid a particularly muddy spot. It bounces off the headstones nearby, echoing through the unsettlingly quiet air.
“Anything?”
You nod your head, sighing shakily as you pick up your flashlight from where it fell. You point it at the rotting headstone, waiting for Hongjoong to aim his own light there. Once he does, you set your own atop a nearby grave so you can set your bag down to rifle through it.
Seonghwa is already squatting down, inspecting the grave you’ve paused at with the light Hongjoong is aiming at the stone. Hongjoong himself, however, watches you take out a folder of papers to flip through.
“Sweetheart, of all the times to choose to flip through newspapers, why the hell now?” He tsks out, tilting his own flashlight back to try and peer over at what you’re flipping through.
Seonghwa lets out an annoyed hey as he does so. It doesn’t seem to register to Hongjoong. He’s far more curious about what you’re doing.
“The name looks familiar.” You mumble, partially to him, mostly to yourself.
Your fingers deftly flip through the folder of case files that Beomgyu had handed you earlier in the day. Names, locations, victims and missing persons reports. Hongjoong leans closer, the scent of his cologne, woody with a slight spice hits your nose. His proximity warms the air between you two from the proximity—enough you start to lean away slightly. Your hands fumble slightly with the pages as you’re attempting to find the one you’re thinking of. Pausing on one, you tug it out to hand to Hongjoong.
He lets out a confused breath when the page is shoved into his, crumpling in on the side. He snorts a derisive thanks, before focusing his gaze on the printed letters. He doesn’t budge from his spot though, seemingly comfortable impeding on your personal area.
You feel a slight irritation build within you. He doesn’t seem to have issues in your own personal space. Snatching your light up again from where you set it down, you huff. Taking a step back to create space, you find your eyes inspecting his face. It’s concentrated, eyes cast down on the paper as he reads. His gaze flits over it, eyebrows furrowed the further he gets.
Hongjoong’s eyes slide off the page to observe you after a moment, feeling your eyes burning across his face. A smirk ghosts across his face before he’s going back to reading. Another moment of silence, before the smirk vanishes and he’s shaking his head.
“So… you think this decades old weathered tombstone… belongs to this Finn dude?” He deadpans, hand dropping down to refocus on you, “it could just be a coincidence. A random old dude that has the same name.”
He hands you the paper back, which you haphazardly slip back into the folder. You shake your head, feeling red hot pokes of irritation sink into your skin.
“Very sure.” You respond, voice coming out a bit clipped.
“You could be wrong.” Hongjoong responds smoothly, hands gesturing to the grave.
“The date doesn’t match the weathering on the stone.” You point out, aiming your flashlight to illuminate the etchings. The light bounces back into your eyes painfully, the mud squishing underfoot again as you take a step back to show the boys.
Seonghwa takes the chance to continue his inspection of the stone, frowning as he does so.
“She’s right.” Seonghwa confirms.
Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow, before he’s brushing past you to inspect the grave himself.
“That should be impossible. The Finn in the excerpt was alive a few days ago.” He responds curtly, doubt clear in his voice, “you sure you didn’t just misread the burial date?”
Your skin burns now as you try to fight the urge to snap at him. Your hand tightens around the flashlight in your hand, nails digging just barely into your palms as an attempt to control yourself. Your nostrils flare as you let out a rush of air, before responding.
“If you used your damn eyes, you’d see it’s the same date as today.”
“There’s no need to be bitching. I’m here to do a job, same as you.” He waves off, squatting down next to Seonghwa.
His fingertips tracing the letters and numbers on the headstone as he reads it, but all you can focus on is how frustrating this man is. How angry you are at his attitude.
“If we’re on the same side, the least you could do is fucking believe me.” You snap back, feeling the anger finally claw its way to your chest and throat.
His head snaps up to lock eyes with you, eyes narrowing in the moonlight dangerously. His voice growls out a bit sharper, firmer. He stands up, ignoring Seonghwa’s softer protest to slow down and breathe.
“Says the girl that had to call feathers earlier to save her ass. After jumping to conclusions about my partner. Why would I believe you when you don’t take the time to asses a situation properly?” He sneers, venom dripping from his own voice.
“Oh that’s rich, considering you have your own pet—whatever—at your beck and call.” you spit back.
Seonghwa makes a noise of protest behind Hongjoong, though both of you trudge onwards.
“And you’re a solo hunter who can't handle the pressure. Do you need a savior? How many times have you called on him to get you out of trouble? You’re just playing pretend if you can’t even handle yourself.” Hongjoong hisses back.
“Watch yourself.” You snap back, “you’re not exactly prime hunter material either. You put a knife to my neck. Hunters are supposed to be serving the greater good of people, and yet—“
“And yet I was just doing what any sane Hunter would do when his partner was shot at!” Hongjoong yells back, taking a step towards you as he gestures to Seonghwa.
“Oh excuse me, I didn’t know hunters were now working with monsters to—“ You raise your voice, red slowly bleeding into the edge of your vision.
You’re cut off by him grabbing your arm, hands tight enough to hurt.
“Say that again.” He growls out, eyes boring into yours.
His eyes have a deranged look to them. Glassy and lethal, yet unfocused, as he glares down at you. His breaths are coming in staccato bursts, teetering between rage and control. He leans in so close his breath fans over your face.
Your hands move without your consent, digging your nails into his hand to wrench it off yourself. An unnatural rage rushes through you, eating away at your self control until all you can see is red. Your hands are on his chest, shoving him backwards against the headstone with so much force he knocks into Seonghwa. Losing balance, he flies backwards over the stone, foot slipping against the soft mud and twisted weeds. He lands so hard against the grave behind him, you hear an audible crack from the impact as the stone splits in two.
He groans in pain, as he tries to get back up. His gaze refocuses on you, confused.
You’re shaking with a rage wholly not your own. It hums under your skin unnaturally, twisting and inching through your stomach. A vile, sweet and putrid scent hits your nose, as the hum turns to a burn like acid.
You attempt to shake it out, managing a step backwards from the two. Your thoughts feel like they’re swimming, and a dull ring starts up in your ears that slowly turns to a roar so loud it drowns every other thought out.
Your gaze moves on its own, zeroing in on Seonghwa as he rises from the ground. His shape seems to buzz around the edges, his outline fading black, then white, obscuring the shape of his silhouette. He yells something at you, and the dark aura around him responds in kind to his emotions. You can’t make out his words, they feel garbled. Too many tones at once.
It hurts your ears, you think.
Hongjoong just past him is shaking his head, standing up shakily behind him. He looks dazed, disoriented even. When he looks up at you, there’s a strange glassy sheen to his gaze. Like he’s not completely there himself.
There’s hands on you now, you barely register them as you’re sent skidding backwards into the mud. Some more incomprehensible words are being yelled in your face—it’s Seonghwa. He has you pinned down, fury covering every inch of his face. The shadowy wisps dance around him again, morphing and warping with a vividity that makes you feel sick. Your hands move up in what feels like slow motion, guided by something beyond your control.
Trapped within your own head, you watch in both horror and fascination as they grab Seonghwa forcibly, dragging him down to the floor with you to send him face-first into the roots of a nearby tree. His whole form shudders, and large black shadows of wings sprout from his back as he gets back up. Silvery liquid drips down from his nose, smearing as he wipes his face to glare back at you with eyes so venomous you’d throw up if you could.
The world around you appears in waves, like you’re drunk. Foggy one moment, vivid the next. Freeze frames of consciousness have you aware you’re acting against your own thoughts. The cool metal of a blade in your hand one moment. A harsh sting as you momentarily find sobriety when your hands and forearms grate against concrete. Nails digging into something hard enough you feel one break.
“It’s not her!” You hear a voice momentarily cut through the haze, as you’re wrestled backwards against a tree.
Seonghwa hesitates, his hand pinning you against the rough bark loosening slightly. Your hands move against yourself again, clawing at him. Digging into whatever they can reach.
“Well I can’t just let go!” Seonghwa snaps, a pained look darting across his face when your nails digs into his side so hard they may draw blood.
Your mind comes back to you for a moment when you feel a smear of liquid against your fingers. Looking up at him in confusion and horror as your realize what you’re doing. The dark shapes around him stop flickering in your vision as you regain temporary control of your sense. His eyes are laser focused on yours, darting back and forth between them for any sign of recognition.
“It’s… something else,” Hongjoong grits out, like he’s fighting against something himself.
Your gaze looks just over Seonghwa’s shoulder, finding Hongjoong nearby. He’s breathing heavily, footsteps stumbling forward. Despite the darkness of the night, his gaze finds it’s target. Eyes boring so deeply into you that you feel bare.
“Don’t listen to it.” He hisses out, sweat beading against his hairline.
You don’t have a chance to respond. You can’t. The force rushes back even stronger, burning through the palms of your hands and ringing in your ears. You use the moment of hesitation on Seonghwa’s part against him, your leg darting up to knee him before pushing him off. He’s thrown back with inhuman force, hitting and breaking several plots in a row as he skids to a stop near Hongjoong. He makes a pained face, tensing up as his spine registers in pain.
“Well, she’s pretty fucking lethal like this.” Seonghwa comments as he winces, attempting to adjust his shoulders as he sits back up. “We can’t just leave her like—”
Your hands find your gun, curling around the handle comfortably.
“Fuck!” Hongjoong exhales, watching as you draw the gun from your holster.
A click resounds through the air.
Hongjoong is standing now, his body wavering dangerously as he does so. He’s moving faster than your muddled mind can register, grabbing Seonghwa and tugging him behind a larger granite headstone just as you aim and fire. The bullet ricochets off the granite, chipping the corner and barely missing Seonghwa.
Bang. Another one.
The area lights up briefly from the muzzle flash, just enough you see Hongjoong’s face peeking over the edge as he tries to figure out what to do.
Your body moves against your will. You’re screaming internally as your finger tenses against the trigger again, aiming for him next. The world slows, as your finger tightens against the trigger. Hongjoong isn’t moving fast enough, and you can only helplessly watch as the sights line up to his head. His eyes widen in panic as you do so, and it’s the last thing you register consciously before your own mind is being dragged back into a foggy abyss.
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Hey guys!!
I wanted to say thank you for all the likes, follows, comments and messages I've been getting while I've been gone. I do read them and smile over them randomly through the day, and I think of you all often!
That being said, life has been a little crazy lately, and draining me of motivation, but I'll hopefully get enough rest after my practical exams and finals this semester are over!!
Don't be afraid to send me any suggestions for shorter fit ideas, I want to work on a few short ones to see if it helps get me out of the creative block I'm in
Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader
Word Count: 1.3k
Tags: Fluff, Comfort, holidays, established relationship
Author's Note: Merry Christmas! This was just a quick little story for the holidays, typed up between dinners and meetings (so please excuse how rough it is).
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He was supposed to be here an hour ago.
The paper cup of coffee in your hands has long gone cold, the whipped cream atop it melted into a sad puddle of foam. The drink, once sweet, now feels bitter against your tongue as you try to take another sip. Christmas music plays over the cafe speakers, as another customer files out. A couple chats softly nearby, and the lone barista wipes counters nearby.
Outside, snow drifts softly in the air as the evening comes to a close. Lights sparkle in the shops across the street, a warmth and whimsy that contrasts the cold outside.
And in your own heart.
He didn’t seriously forget, right? That’s not like him.
Hongjoong had said he’d leave the studio early. That he’d meet you at your favorite cafe. The one far from prying eyes and tabloids prowling for their next dispatch story.
The cafe door clicks as it opens. The barista behind the counter says their usual greeting, as a rush of cold winter air floods the immediate vicinity. The door jingles as it closes, and your eyes glance up hoping to see who you’re waiting for.
Hongjoong stands at the door, hands running through his hair as he shakes stray snowflakes from his head. A huff escapes him as he dusts off the sleeves of his coat, brushing off what remains of the melting flecks. The thud of his boots against the welcome mat echoed through the relatively empty cafe. The soft cashmere scarf around his face falls, and warm brown eyes look up to meet yours. He smiles sheepishly at you as he makes his way over, tugging off the scarf and throwing it haphazardly over his shoulder.
The chair scrapes across the floor as he pulls it out from across from you. He looks slightly out of breath, cheeks painted red and rosy from the cold outside.
“Hey Baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be late. Really.” He quickly blurts out, tugging off the gloves on his hands and stuffing them in his pockets.
Your fingers tap rhythmically against the cup in your hands in irritation, watching as he settles into the seat. His hair is messy, and his jacket isn’t even closed correctly—tilted awkwardly where he skipped a button.
“You said you’d be here almost an hour ago, Hongjoong.”
“I know baby. I’m sorry really.“ He laughs nervously, running a hand down his face to cover up the way it heats in guilt. His other hand undoes the jacket clasps, letting it drape properly over his frame and let some of the warmer cafe air in.
“I was… I was halfway here and realized I forgot something in the studio. I had to turn back around and lost track of time.”
He drops his hand, looking up at you pleadingly, “Forgive me? Please?”
When you frown, he smiles awkwardly. Despite this, your irritation doesn’t stick. It never does, with him.
“I, uh… look I have it right here,” his hands dig into his pockets hastily. When he doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for, he looks panicked for a moment, reaching into the opposite pocket.
Relief spreads across his face, before he’s pulling a small, black, leather box out of his pocket. His fingers fumble around it—nearly dropping it on the table. He catches it, his elbow bumping the corner and eliciting a hiss of pain from him.
That manages to crack a smile across your face, even if you’re still upset at his lateness.
He rubs his elbow, before remembering he’s still holding the box. Forgetting the pain momentarily, he slides the box towards you.
“I uh… I forgot your present in the studio. I had to turn back for it. This is for you.”
You pick up the small box, running your fingers along the smooth outer surface. A dark red satin ribbon is tied around it, but there’s no obvious logo or hint as to what hides inside.
“You expect a present to make up for you being late, Joong? A whole hour.” You press, but a hint of fondness slips out in the form of his nickname.
He shakes his head immediately.
“Of course not, baby. I should’ve told you I was going to be late the moment I realized. That’s entirely on me. You can be mad, but open the gift at least? Please?”
You hesitate, thumb running along the leather exterior in small circles. You should be more upset, but you’ve never been one to stay angry. Not at him. Not with those eyes.
“Fine…”
Carefully undoing the ribbon and setting it asid, you’re left with an unmarked box. You glance up at him curiously—only to see him staring at you with an intensity that belies how nervous he feels.
“Go on. I think you’ll like it.” He gestures with his hand, the other thrumming against his thigh anxiously.
The box opens easily, snapping open as the hinges click into place. Settled against black velvet is a gorgeous silver pendant necklace, your birthstones intertwined together in the center.
“Merry first Christmas together, my love.” He says softly, watching as your breath hitches.
An affectionate smile has spread across his face at some point, as he looks at you like you’re his entire world. A warm hand finds yours across the table, as he stands up and rounds the corner.
“May I?”
Gently taking the delicate chain from you, he bends down just enough to be eye level. He brushes your hair just far enough out the way to reach around, clipping the necklace on with a sigh. Pressing a kiss to your forehead after securing it, he stands back upright.
“Beautiful. As always.”
When he pulls back, and sees your hand reach up to fiddle with it, he lets out a soft laugh. Reaching to gently stop you, he tuts affectionately.
“Stop that. There’s more.”
Without elaborating, he pulls an envelope from his pocket, placing it in front of you. The paper is slightly crumpled, but has your name written on it in his best rendition of a fancy script.
You take the envelope, glancing up at him momentarily to gauge his reaction. He nods, waiting for you to open it before speaking again.
“So… while I was looking for something else to give you, I happened to remember a conversation we had earlier in the year,” he starts, watching as you manage to tear open the envelope to find something tucked away inside.
“You were practically half-asleep, but I thought it was cute how excited you were at the idea. So…” he gestures towards you with a hand, as you slide some paper out.
Two tickets to a ski resort. The one you had mentioned months ago, before the first drifts of snow were even fathomable. When it was still hot and humid, and you were half asleep on his couch with the fan pointed directly at you.
“I looked online everywhere for a good one. I haven’t really skied, but you seemed to really want to try. I found a package with lessons included, and I even splurged on the fancy suites so—“
You cut him off with a watery noise, as you cover your mouth. Blinking rapidly, your eyes sting.
“You remembered?” You whisper out, voice wavering with emotion. Your hands tighten around the tickets, bending them in on themselves without meaning to.
“Of course I remembered, my love.” He whispers, kneeling down in front of you to wipe a tear from your face. His hand cradles your cheek gently as he shushes you, thumb running over your cheekbones soothingly.
“Don’t cry. I don’t like when you cry.” He murmurs, pressing fond kisses across your cheeks.
You let out a wet laugh, trying to brush him away to pull yourself together. He chuckles, presses one last kiss to your nose, and stands up. His hand grabs yours as he does, tugging you up with him.
“Come on baby. Let’s go home. We still have to make hot chocolate and watch Christmas movies like you wanted to.”
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Finals and life events were unfortunately beating me with a stick and things had to be pushed back, but hopefully things are better soon! I’ll finish up some rough drafts soon 💪
In the meantime, I will be open to answering messages and taking quick little requests! So feel free to leave any in my inbox.
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Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro
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Pairing: ot8 x Reader
Word Count: 3.7k
Chapter Warnings: PTSD, Flashbacks, Emotional Distress, Dissociation, Survivor's Guilt, Shame, Panic, Unreliable Narrator (trauma informed), Injury, Mentions of character death, Comfort if you squint
Synopsis: Shame burns deeper than any wound, as control slips through your fingers like sand. Air is thin here, where feet never touch the ground and memories blur.
Author's Note: Uni is absolutely kicking my ass time-wise, but hopefully with breaks coming up soon I'll have more time! Thank you to everyone for sticking around, and for being so sweet in the comments and DM's. I read each of them, even if I don't respond ❤
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You and Wooyoung turn in tandem at the sharp voice. Dark flight leathers, emblazoned with the wingleader insignia. Heavy purposeful steps radiate barely-contained fury.
Hongjoong.
With a furious gaze that could cut straight through dragon hide. He folds his hands behind his back calmly as he stops in front of you two, but everything about his expression suggests otherwise.
“I asked once, don’t make me ask again, cadets.” He hisses out, glancing between you both.
“Hongjoong–” cuts in a softer voice, whom you think may be Yunho, but the wingleader holds up a hand. The words die quickly, a mumbled apology flying past you, as Hongjoong turns back to you two.
“One of you better speak up now. Either you settle this now, or this becomes a breach of codex, and I will not be advocating for either of you should this lead to a quorum.” Hongjoong tilts his head at you, dark eyes boring into your own.
Fear grips your chest, as your hands ball into fists. Nails bite into the skin of your palm, as you try to find the words to defend yourself. Hongjoong’s gaze doesn’t waver, as the flicker of a frown graces his face.
Shoulders squared, he turns to glare down Wooyoung next, as he steps forward and crowds you both. Wooyoung at least has the decency to look guilty, hands fidgeting awkwardly as the last of the embers flicker on the ground.
“Need I remind you, article three of the rider codex forbids a rider to harm another while under the supervision of a superior-ranking cadet? Because last I checked, there are at least two superior officers on this field, excluding myself. Now, you could talk this out now, and have your immediate superiors decide how to dole out punishments—or you can act ignorant and have them escalate your discipline to me. Speak.”
“They started it.” Wooyoung blurts out petulantly, glowering at you. “They put their hands on me first. I was just defending myself-”
“With your signet, cadet Jung?” Hongjoong pushes back. “Last I checked, it was also unlawful to use your signet against another rider. So I wouldn’t be acting childish over this when you have more on the line than her.”
“But their dragon–”
Hongjoong clenches his jaw, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek for a moment, as a scoff escapes him. The ghost of a smirk–though you doubt it’s anything good–flits across his face before he’s staring Wooyoung down again.
“Is still not an excuse. I’d suggest you shut up, cadet Jung, and address me properly. I am your wingleader first on this field, friend second. Understood?”
Wooyoung freezes, before he manages a stiff nod, eyes now downcast.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Cadet L/N?”
You feel dread wash over you, like you’ve just been plunged into the freezing cold rivers that skirt the grounds. Your throat feels dry suddenly, as you nod.
“Yes, sir?”
He glances you up and down for a moment, unreadable, before waving his hand dismissively at you.
“Get your ass to the healers quadrant. Yeosang or Yunho can decide on your punishment later. Get that burn seen to.”
You nod, though it feels automated. Your whole body feels like it’s burning with shame. The singed patch of skin on your arm is nothing close to the heat of shame licking your skin, or the acrid taste of bile in your throat as you shuffle away.
You chance a glance up to look for Dàn, finding her snarling and pacing the edge of the field, the slightly larger frame of Sidhe blocking her from approaching. A figure tries to approach you on your left, a hand reaching out for you.
Pulling away, you manage to register it as San for a split second. His hand drops down without a fight when you clearly don’t want to be bothered–but his face seems concerned. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.
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Your feet numbly carry you back down the hill, nearly tripping over the loose stones in your haste. The path splits off to the side as you reach the main campus–but you fail to take the turn towards the healer quadrant. You instead let yourself wander, letting your legs carry you wherever it is they deem fit.
Y/n. Where are you going? Interrupts Dàn, probing at your mind.
You mentally shove her away, but she’s persistant. Dàn pushes back, her energy flooding through you. You start to see lines criss-crossing your vision as she does so–your signet responding to the surge of energy.
“Not now.”
You’re not heading to the healers. It’s not a question. You know you aren’t. She knows too, even if you were to deny it. Her energy presses against your mind again, like she can convince you otherwise.
I’m going to snap that little parasites neck next I see him.
You don’t entertain her with a response. Instead you blink, trying to will the threads of your signet away. You don’t want to see all the threads connecting people.
The buzz of the courtyards, chatter of other cadets, even the wind–all fade as you make your way to the edge of the grounds. Your feet steer you towards a spot in the valley, further down from the flight grounds. Paved walkways turn to loose gravel. Loose gravel to dirt paths.
The soles of your boots skid across loose dirt as you haphazardly scale down the side of a small precipice to the forest floor below. A willow tree, older than anyone you know, sits hidden in an alcove, swaying gently in the breeze as if to greet you.
Making your way down, you barely register that the burn of shame has slowly swallowed you whole. Your hands shake as you brush past the hanging tendrils, into the hidden cave behind it.
Old magelights line the walls, flickering lethargically as they turn on for the first time in months. The wall on the side has initials scratched into it from riders past, while the entrance is lined with various rocks and knickknacks. An old card pack sits on a ledge, with several cards scattered across the floor. King of Hearts. Nine of Diamonds. Your foot nearly steps on a dusty Jack of clubs as you wander inside, but it’s the face down card next to it that you reach down to grab. Flipping it over, dusting it off—Ace of clubs.
Laughter echoes as a figure slams down a card on the makeshift table, yelling victoriously. Another voice screeches about them being a cheater, followed by a wheezing laugh.
Your hand crushes the card as the memory tears through you, placing it down on top of the table. Your arms feel weak as the adrenaline leeches from your body, and you lean against the table for a moment. The smooth worn stone is cool, a layer of grime coating it. It feels chalky as you pull your hand away, wiping it against your other arm’s flight leathers. A gray streak coats the side of the material, smudging across your squad patch.
Your head pounds.
You wander back out, ducking once again under the branches of the willow–only to see Dàn standing patiently nearby.
I’ve been deprived of flight time with my rider. She says simply, as she dips down to level you with her gaze.
Her tail flicks passively, as she gestures for you to get on.
You really shouldn’t. If your squad leaders find out you snuck off instead of heading to the healers, you might get in even more trouble…
But your body moves forward before you can stop yourself. Your hands run over her smooth scales, warm and familiar. You’re already pulling yourself up onto her shoulder’s, as Dàn unfurls her wings slowly and waits for you to situate yourself.
With a quick snap, her wings kick up dirt and dust. The willow tree’s branches sway amd bend, as air rushes past you. It’s sinking down below you before you can even draw in a steadying breath.
The training fields, the academy grounds—they all shrink below as Dàn rockets you both into the sky. The flight area still has the rest of your squad’s dragons on it. They become blurs of color as you ascend, feeling the wind rush past your face. There’s only one red blur on the field–Wooyoung likely was removed from the field after you left. Tor and Sidhe also are missing. Hongjoong likely left punishment up to Yeosang as Executive Officer, if that’s the case.
Dàn’s wings eventually level out, as she soars through the air. The cool evening atmosphere is biting at this elevation, burning with each inhale. It feels good. Cleansing, almost.
You don’t bother asking her where she’s headed. You’re content to finally be back on your dragon. Dàn seems to tense up for a moment, her head dipping down to scan the environment.
Hold on tight.
It’s the only warning you get, before she’s banking down sharply, nearly in a freefall. Your hands grip her scales, thighs burning as you brace yourself against her best you can. The speed has you squinting your eyes in pain, and as she levels out again, the force nearly gives you whiplash.
You’re now far closer to the ground, a grand valley stretches out ahead of you.
A familiar valley.
A sudden, sharp stabbing pain hits you in the head. Hands white knuckle as you try to fight it off–
High pitched ringing—then the screech of a dragon as it goes down in front of you. It’s rider yells out in surprise, as they plummet straight down into the rocks below. A rider to your left says something incomprehensible as you turn in alarm. The orange dragon they ride sharply dives, trying to catch up to the squadmate. Smoke. The sound of something blasting just past your ear–
Dàn snaps her wings open, lurching you forward against her shoulderblades. You nearly slam your nose against her from the sheer force.
“What the fuck, Dàn?”
Focus. Is all she snaps at you, irritation rolling off of her in waves. You’re sure she’s just as tense and upset being back here.
She circles once, twice, then descends, The ground quakes as she lands. The plants wave with the burst of air, before settling down. She tilts, urging you to get off her shoulders.
Your hands slip for a moment as you climb off of her. Either from nerves or the adrenaline, you’re unsure. You just know one moment you’re climbing down, the next you’re falling flat on the ground as she chuffs.
Glancing around, you feel your chest squeeze painfully. The ground now is mostly devoid of any indication something happened here—but your heart knows better.
You manage a few steps across the clearing, before you’re dropping to your knees in pain. Your hands claw at the dirt, you feel like you’re being torn apart inside. Blinking through the pain, your signet surges again. Threads–discordant and unraveling. You see faint traces of one that extends from you, but it ends abruptly. The frayed edge is almost burnt, as it waves uselessly. Two more pop up.
A memory tries to fight its way up in your mind, as you stare at a spot you’re pretty sure one of the blank white threads is trying to tie itself to.
“You need to get up! We can’t keep standing here, Y/n. If we don’t leave now–” The voice is cut off by the sound of metal hitting rocks. Discordant. It screeches, causing you both to wince. The smell of smoke hits your nose, and you barely manage to duck in time as a green dragon shoots an arc of flames above your head. It’s eyes are red, glazed over. A mangled pained scream reaches your ears as you slam your eyes shut. A dull thud, you’re sure it’s–
The vision cuts off before you can remember the name. Why can’t you remember?
The thread wavers uselessly in your line of sight, tauntingly. Breaths come out shakier.
You feel bile rise in your throat as your stomach lurches. Hot tears are streaming down your face—when did that start?
“Dàn” Your voice scrapes out, hoarse and raw.
“I do not control the tides of your memory, little one.”
She stands beside you, but her head is dipped slightly. She may not say it, but she shares in your grief. A dull ache, echoing from both sides of your bond. A low rumble starts in her chest, an attempt to ground you the best way she knows how. Despite this, your lungs feel as if they’re collapsing in on themself. Your muscles burn like you’ve run a marathon, and you can’t bring yourself to stand.
“Why would you bring me back?” You choke out. Your nails cake with dirt as you grasp at roots and grass.
One of us needs to remember. We cannot avenge the fallen like this.” She responds, “My memory is as fragmented as yours, little one.”
Your hands trace blindly across the ground, trying to tell what is real and what is fake. You smell smoke–thick and suffocating. The sound of something crunching grates against your ears as it crashes into the cliffsides above. The burn on your arm stings, scraping across the ground in your frenzy. Soil smears across your arms and hands. It feels hot and wet, tinged a rusty color as you stare down at it now. Wholly unlike the dry, dark, brown earth you were grasping at a moment ago.
Is it real? Imagined?
“Dàn? Dàn??” You hear your own voice, trembling with confusion–but is it you?
“Focus!” Her snarl cuts through the air.
She’s in your face now. Eyes blazing. Fangs bared. A thread of cool silvery-blue hums between you, stretched taut. Your bond snaps and twists like a live current, flashing through anger, fear, even hopelessness. You can feel a panic not entirely your own rise in your chest.
She’s scared for you.
The blank threads—the ones that feel wrong—waver in the air again in front of you. They tug at you, like they’re hooking into your very being.
It was a mistake bringing you back this soon. Her voice concludes, as she tries to nudge you to stand. Your hands glide over her scales like normal, but you don’t truly grasp what's going on. Your legs are shaky, you’re in no shape to ride like this. Hot tears streak down your face, and you feel like you’re floating out of your body.
Dàn lets out a frustrated grumble, before a sudden crunch of dry grass and dirt sounds behind you. She has her wings flared and teeth bared, curling protectively around your form as you numbly look around. Dàn’s tail lashes in warning, ripping through the foliage behind her. A guttural growl rises deep in her, as she dips her head to cover your form better.
The sound is steady. Footfalls.
“Easy,” A voice cuts through the air. Steady but soft. “I’m not going to hurt her.”
You shake your head, blinking hard to try and dispel the confusing haze in your mind. The timbre of the voice is familiar. Smooth, low… but soft enough to be disorienting.
We were followed. Dàn snarls in your mind, as you turn blankly to look at the owner of the voice. Your movements feel slow, like you’re wading through molasses.
Black standard-issue boots. Riding leather stretched over black pants. A rider. Hands are held up placatingly towards Dàn. Your eyes follow the figure up, slow to register the name plate on his chest. A single silver stripe runs underneath it.
Yeosang.
He doesn’t look at you directly, keeping his eyes trained on the blue in front of him. One wrong move, and she could easily end him—even if Sidhe is only a few feet behind him in the forest. He takes a tentative step forward, ducking down slightly to look smaller.
Dàn bristles, her claws digging into the soft earth in warning. She doesn’t relax.
“Please, Dàn. She’s my squadmate now. I don’t gain anything from hurting her.” He pushes, taking another step forward. “I’ll give you a free shot at me if I do hurt her, even.”
Dàn’s wing lowers slightly, giving him a better view of you. Her tail still flicks in warning, and her golden eyes are trained on Yeosang like a hawk…but he has just enough room to slowly approach.
Yeosang gets close enough to kneel down in front of you, but doesn’t reach out. He tilts his head, brown eyes darting over you as he studies you intently, before he’s sighing. His voice is softer than usual—like he’s afraid you’re made of glass.
“Hey… Y/n? You there? Can you hear me?”
No response. You’re trembling like a leaf, body heavy with grief and guilt and shame.
“Y/n.” He repeats again, slower, but more firmly.
You manage to drag your gaze to his face.
“Can you fly safely?” He asks, patiently waiting for a response.
You manage a stiff shake of your head. Yeosang sighs, kneeling lower to the ground to keep your gaze locked on his. He gently taps the ground to get your attention.
“The grounds are too far to walk. We need to fly back. I’m not filling out paperwork for a dead cadet because you can’t balance on a dragon.” He says calmly.
You struggle to process his words. They aren’t orders, just facts. But facts are solid, they give you something to latch onto in your haze.
“We can talk about you running when you’re stable. Let's get you back to base safely. Can you stand?”
You try to push yourself up, legs shaking violently as you manage to get up to your knees. Grasping onto Dàn, you attempt to stand all the way. Yeosang ends up sliding his arms under yours, catching you as your knees buckle and collapse. He grunts, but otherwise is an anchor amidst the storm of feelings in your head.
“Easy, I’ve got you.” He murmurs softly, prompting you to lean against him.
His steps are slow and steady as he guides you. Sidhe finally appears at the edge of the clearing, golden eyes tracking you both as he waits a short distance away. Dàn huffs, baring her fangs at Sidhe as she circles protectively. Sidhe huffs back at her, lowering himself to the ground as you get closer–something most dragons would never do for their own rider, let alone another. .
“Careful. Don’t fall.” Yeosang steadies you, gesturing towards Sidhe’s back.
Your hands weakly grasp at Sidhe’s scales, as the blue lowers further to make the climb easier. Every movement is shaky; your muscles scream in protest. Yet, Yeosang’s hands never leave you. Not until you’re secure on top of Sidhe.
He follows you up far more gracefully, settling behind you. His arms come up and around your sides as he leans forward, keeping you safely caged as Sidhe slowly fans his wings out. Yeosang’s chest is warm against your back. A grounding force. His heartbeat is steady, as he braces both of you for Sidhe to take flight.
“Ready?”
You manage a weak trembling murmur of agreement, and he hums in response.
Sidhe snaps his wings, unfurling them as you rocket into the sky. Yeosang keeps you snugly tucked against his chest as the world spirals away from you. Dàn takes off a moment later, following you both into the now darkening sky, as the fear slowly loosens from around your lungs. Not completely, but enough to breathe.
Your breathing slows, while the rhythmic sounds of Sidhe and Dàn flying calm you. The wind isn't so biting at this speed, and the breeze helps your face cool down from the hot tears that were streaming not that long ago.
As Sidhe levels out, you notice a faint shimmer in the sky. Silvery and cold, like the morning light as it hits fresh snow. A thread. Yeosang’s. It shimmers delicately, branching out from his chest and wrapping around Sidhe. Smaller forks in the thread dance in the light, disappearing a few feet away as they stretch across the horizon, too far to see. Linking him to the squad, every person he’s ever cared about. Each connection pulses lightly, like a heartbeat. A network branching out from him, humming with soft energy. Symbols of trust. Loyalty. Care.
You admire them, tracing them each as they reach out to the distance—but one catches your eye. It curves softly, barely visible to your eyes. A new thread, one that doesn’t have the steady hum of the others, but is there all the same. The silver fades into a solid blue, dancing in the wind–before slowly curving back around to you. You pull away from it unconsciously, like it’ll hurt you, but it only shimmers in the dying light. Tethered, barely perceptible, but there.
“You’re shaking.” Yeosang murmurs, cutting into your train of thought. The soft rumble in his chest from speaking vibrates against your back. “Do we need to go slower?”
You swallow hard, shaking your head. Yeosang doesn’t say anything, and simply re-adjusts to make sure you’re still nestled securely against him. One arm wraps securely around you, as Sidhe banks softly to the side to adjust course. The new thread pulses faintly.
You try to will the sight of them away, watching as they flicker and fade, but don’t disappear. The cut cords, however, stay just as prominent in your sight. The frayed white threads flicker against the wind unnaturally, pulling to spots along the valley below. Remnants, you’re sure, of your old squad. You can feel them. The memories tug at the frayed ends. The cut cords probe, trying to connect things that should be there but aren’t.
It’s disorienting, painful even. An ache that blooms behind your eyes, clawing down your spine and to the pit of your stomach. Broken threads shouldn’t feel this visceral. They don’t pulse like live bonds do, but they reach for you like they are.
You flinch, when you swear one caresses against your calf, reaching for you like a hand through from the valley below. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, but the phantom feeling remains. Your eyes stare down, the ground far below feeling more and more like a chasm bent on swallowing you whole.
“Keep your eyes on the horizon.” Comes Yeosang’s deep voice, rising over the wind. His hand pulls you back upright on Sidhe firmly. “You’re tilting to the side.”
As the forest and valley disappear behind you, the frayed threads slowly disappear from your vision. The sense of wrongness disappears, and only two threads are left in your vision. One, a translucent blue, that connects you and Dàn. The other—a faint thread of silver.
Updates are probably going to be slow for the next month, with classes starting for Uni! I’ll try my best to keep updating, but my major is very time consuming in nature.
I will also (eventually) get back to you lovely people that applied to be a beta reader. If this is your first time learning about this, I am looking for one (or multiple).
That being said, if anyone has any questions or concerns, or wants to chat, feel free to DM and reach out! Doesn’t have to be fanfic centric, I’m willing to yap and be yapped to! 🥰
Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader, Additional/Implied ships
Word Count: 2.5k
Chapter Warnings: Supernatural Horror, Violence, Mild Gore (?)
Synopsis: It should've been a simple solo hunt.
Author's Note: I know this is a hongjoong fic, I promise he and Ateez show up more in the next few chapters! Txt does play a role in the plot though, so I wanted to set them up early 💔
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A steaming cup of coffee is pushed towards you from across the table, the dark liquid sloshing inside the paper cup. The heat warms your hands as you grab it. Beomgyu gives you a slight smile, before he slides another paper coffee cup to the man next to you, Taehyun. Taehyun grabs it with a slight nod, taking a sip immediately before wincing slightly from the heat against his tongue.
The smell of dust and old paper mixes with the coffee, a sense of nostalgia hitting you for a moment. Beomgyu sinks down into his own chair with a sigh, and opens a few folders on the table diagonal from you. Taehyun’s hand darts out to snatch one of the files from him, earning a slap from Beomgyu on his scarred hand.
“Seriously? That’s not even the right file, genius.” Beomgyu chastises, as he sorts through the papers.
The shuffling of parchment fills the air as Taehyun grumbles, rubbing his hand.
The bunker door groans, two figures coming in as the heavy metal creaks behind them. The metal slams against the stone walls, rattling the air before slowly swinging closed behind them.
Yeonjun waltzes in first, dust and dirt smudged on his face and clothing. A large canvas bag sags under its own weight across his shoulders, as he flashes a brilliant smile at his team, then you. Items inside his bag clink together—iron, mirrors, salt, vials of holy water, as he swings it off of his back and onto the table haphazardly. The impact of the bag sends the cups of coffee rippling, with a disgruntled “Hey!” breaking from Taehyun's lips.
"Didn't know we'd have a guest today." Yeonjun smiles, "Long time no see, how's the solo hunting going? Any new scars?"
The other man moves a bit more gracefully, taking his time to ensure the door closes properly behind him before walking forward. He stands stiffly, almost awkwardly next to the table, before remembering to sit down. He slowly settles down next to Yeonjun at the table, his eyes glancing over the bag before returning to Yeonjun’s face.
“Was it necessary to throw your bag on the table?” the man asks.
“Does it matter Soobin? It’s a creaky ancient table. It’s been through more than just a bag being thrown on it.” Yeonjun shrugs, before he reaches out for Taehyun’s cup.
A loud smack.
“Mine.” Taehyun scoffs, pulling the paper cup closer. “Should’ve answered Beomgyu’s text earlier when he asked if you wanted some.”
Yeonjun scoffs, before leaning back in his chair to put his feet up on the table. “We were out in the field, I don’t have time to answer a text when I’m going toe-to-toe with a spirit.”
Soobin lets out a soft “ah”, before nodding to himself.
Yeonjun finally glances at you, nodding his head slightly in your direction.
“And what’re you doing here, y/n? You don’t stop by often.”
As he says that, Beomgyu at the other end of the table makes a triumphant noise, before whipping out a few papers from his folder and sliding it towards you.
You grab the files in your hand—newspaper clippings, witness reports, maps of the area.
Beomgyu taps on a spot on the map, marked with a red circle.
“That’s the area I was talking about. Normal creepy stuff, almost cliche really. I mean, what kind of ghost actually haunts cemeteries nowadays, am I right?”
You inspect the area on the map, eyes tracing the streets and walkways nearby. Interesting indeed. Most of the ghost and spirit cases you’ve worked on recently mostly revolved around them being tied to spirits or people.
The area around the location marked isn’t one you’re familiar with, though from the clipped photos Beomgyu provided, it looks rather desolate. Blurry images of gravestones, a crumbling mausoleum, and family tombs.
“And you said hunters have been going missing in the area?” You press.
“Right. I was going to ask if you’d want to scout it out with—“ Beomgyu starts, but you promptly cut him off.
“I can check it out. It’s going the way I was planning to travel, anyways.” You say, flipping to the newspaper clippings.
Five missing persons. Odd marks on the trees nearby. A grave or two dug up, with an accompanying article about grave vandalism. Sounds like an angry spirit, maybe a wraith. You wrack your brain for a moment, complaining a list of things you might need for this job. Salt, matches, chalk. Probably should make sure you’re loaded up on silver bullets—never hurts.
Beomgyu sighs. He’s known you for years, and you still insist on working alone even now.
“Y/n, experienced hunters have been going missing there. I know you’re capable, but one of us can probably—“
“No.” Comes your curt reply. “I’ll be fine. I’ve worked alone for years, I don’t need to be backed up. It sounds like a simple wraith case, it was probably a bunch of amateur ghost hunters meddling with more than they could handle.”
Yeonjun tsks across from you, nudging Soobin’s side.
“Told you she’d say no.”
Soobin’s eyes finally land on you, the slightest frown on his face.
“I don’t think it’s wise to take this on alone.”
Of course he says that. Soobin, ever the vigilant angel. Literally. Even if you didn’t know better, just the way he interacts with the world would make you suspicious.
“You say that every time. When are you going to stop breathing down my neck? I’m not helpless, Soobin.” Your fingers tap against the table in annoyance, drumming a rhythm as you try and choke back a snarkier response.
“I’ve been alive far longer than you, I know better—“
“And I’ve been hunting here longer than you’ve been on the mortal plane. I can take care of myself.” You snap, irritation flooding through you as you stand up.
The chair screeches against the floor as you push it backwards, tucking the files under your arm.
“I came here for intel from Beomgyu, not to be chastised like a child. Maybe I should’ve just had him message me the details instead of showing up.” Your voice rises slightly. You snatch the rest of your items, before beelining for the door.
“Y/n, you know that’s not what I meant—“ Soobin tries, standing up to follow you.
Yeonjun, for once, has the forethought to grab his arm, shaking his head as you slam open the bunker door.
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You step into another puddle, the smell of petrichor filling your lungs as you take a deep breath. The sun is barely starting to set, turning the cemetery ahead of you a golden color as the light slowly sinks down the horizon. Overgrown ivy climbs hungrily up the sides of few mausoleums dottinh the distance, while dirt and mud cover the path ahead of you. A pitiful chain link fence, locked with a rusted bike chain, bars you from the main cemetery path. A sign hangs against the gate, the words “KEEP OUT” barely visible under layers of sun-bleached spray paint.
Vaulting easily over the low gate, the metal chains of the sign jingle from the movement as you land. Your bag hits your back, one of the contents digs into your side uncomfortably until you readjust, thumbs slipping under the straps to tug it slightly higher.
Your eyes scan the area, mapping out routes through tangles of overgrown brush and mud-slick walkways. Finding a decently shady spot, you lay your items out, pulling out a few sticks of chalk to set up a perimeter around the cemetery. Following the uneven stone path, you mark off each corner of the cemetery with sigils–something simple but potent. The chalk swoops and curls, arcane symbols you know by heart taking shape against cracked stone and mossy crevices. Dust coats your fingertips as you trace the shapes. A slight shimmer in the air, and this corner is sealed. You do that three more times, making your way around to each corner of the area you deem active, before returning to your bag and items.
Time passes slowly, with little to no activity. The sun slowly sets, as you’re left twiddling your thumbs under a tree. The bark scratches and catches against your top, while the leaves sway listlessly above you with the occasional breeze. You take to plucking grass at some point, then counting headstones in view. It’s hard to tell which graves, if any, were the ones mentioned in the vandalized graves newspaper clipping. They all seem just as equally messy and overgrown.
Stars rise in the sky as the air grows colder—and your stomach finally breaks the peaceful ambience by growling.
Stretching languidly, your arms reaching above your head as you try to shake something more ancient from your bones. Reaching over to your bag, you fish around blindly for a moment, before sighing, finally twisting around to properly look inside it.
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You’re partway through opening a second granola bar, when you see movement out of the corner of your eye, on the other end of the cemetery. The crinkle of the wrapper halts as your gaze snaps towards it, only to see a figure disappearing into a mausoleum, its form misty and obscured as it steps into the archway’s shadows.
Shooting upright, you drop the snack, half-opened and crumbling, into your bag as you sling it over your back, sending crumbs flying everywhere. The worn canvas rubs against your hands, a weathered gift from a friend many years ago. The ground, still damp despite the passing hours, squelches underfoot, coating the underside of your shoes with sludge.
As the sky descends further into inky stillness, you creep around the tree and back onto the path–before thinking better of it. The wet sound of mud underfoot, with obvious tracks against the yellowed cement would do you no favors in staying hidden. Sticking to grassy areas, while trackable, at least wouldn’t be as blatantly obvious as dark bootprints against a pale background. No matter the lighting, you know it’s better to stay hidden and safer as a lone hunter. One too many close calls taught you that much, especially earlier in your career.
Your hands slide under your jacket and into your pocket, fingers curling around the cool metal of the gun you take everywhere. Reassured you still have it, you advance slowly, sticking close to the bushes and trees along the path. The old path crumbles up ahead, and a misstep nearly sends you tumbling face-first into the mud, though your hand catches you mid fall to brace against a partially broken tombstone. The plot is still fresh, overturned wilting weeds dotting the soft top of a fresh mound of now-soggy dirt. Mumbling a soft apology to whomever’s grave it is, you stand back up, shaking yourself off.
As you re-orient yourself, a male voice saying something soft and incoherent floats out into the night air, catching your attention. The voice has a unique timbre, it’s smooth cadence drawing you in. Ears strain to listen to what it says—to no avail.
When no movement can be seen outside the mausoleum, you inch closer, making sure to watch your step this time. Once again, you reach under the cool leather of your jacket to your waist, hand settling around your gun, thumb running over the engraving on the grips as your other hand reaches out for the door to the mausoleum, brushing over the worn bronze coating it.The door, by some miracle, doesn’t creak or groan as you open it further, chancing a peek past the doorway and into the dark.
A figure stands in the corner, mumbling something to himself. His hands twirl a blade—one with the same silvery sheen as her own hunter’s blade. It’s tossed and spun mindlessly, as his eyes dart over the names on the walls. He rests a hand on his hip for a moment, the blade angled away so as to not stab himself on accident. His flashlight turns on a moment later, aimed at the more weathered nameplates along the wall as he steps to the side.
“Brinely…Sofia…Diane…Priscilla…” he mumbles to himself, pausing in front of one of the plates to sigh.
He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. Dark fluffy hair falls back into place haphazardly, before he’s smoothing it back down. You catch a few stitched details on his jacket—likely repaired from past run-ins that damaged it—as well as what looks like a chain hanging out of one of his pockets.
“I’m starting to think that tip-off was a false lead…”
As the man continues to speak out loud to himself, a dark silhouette emerges from the opposite corner of the room. Inky black, and looming, it moves slowly towards the man. The hunter, as you presume, seems unaware, his back turned and posture relaxed as the creature darkens the room. Black bits fly off the creature as it spreads wings like an abyss, blocking your vision.
He hums in thought, tapping the flashlight to his chin.
“You don’t think-”
“GET DOWN!” You shout, stepping through the doorway into view as you cut the man off.
The dark mass whips around, right as your hand closes around the familiar weight of your hunting gun. Deftly taking it out, you brace yourself and pull the trigger without a second thought. A loud crack splits the air, as the acrid scent of gunpowder fills your senses. You’re already lining up a second shot, when the world goes sideways.
Literally. You feel yourself being lifted up, as your gun wrenched from your hands as the dark mass shoves you to the side and against the wall harshly. The metal of your handgun bounces across the floor as the creature kicks it away. It’s icy grip is cold and firm against your shoulders as it pushes you down against the ground, your cheek grinding uncomfortably against the dusty rough stone.
“Shit-” The male voice says, as the sound of heavy footfall echoes around the room.
You try to turn your head to look up, thrashing against the creature holding you down. It doesn’t budge, it’s hold firm and unmoving. Your neck is craned at an angle, unable to see what’s happening. The musty smell of dust and mold make it hard to breathe with the creature pressing weight against the center of your back. You manage to slide your hand down enough to grab your blade from its spot against your waist, before angling it and plunging it into the closest bit of the monster you can reach. A shimmering liquid beads around the knife, before the creature lets out what sounds like a snarl.
“HWA! DON’T!” The man yells, though you can’t see him from how you’re pinned.
Milliseconds tick by in what feels like forever. This creature has you in a tight spot, you’re out matched. You can feel it’s grip turn painful, the shadow of it against the wall swallowing light as it grows. The hunter doesn’t sound like he’s helping, whatever it is he’s doing–so you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.
You pray to the only thing you think might hear you.
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Back to the Table. ← (Navi)
Back to Main ← (Main Masterlist)
Status: Current
Started: 8/16/25
Last Update: 5/21/26
"What are you willing to lose, and who are you willing to damn?"
Main pairing - Hongjoong x reader
Additional/Implied ships (no one is safe we're ot8 in this house)
Supernatural AU, Hunters AU
genre warnings: Supernatural AU, Dark Urban Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Thriller/Horror, Paranormal Investigation, Hunters and Monsters, Morality and Moral ambiguity, Magic and curses
Synopsis: In a world ruled by monsters, who gets to mourn — and who gets to survive? She's a hunter who toes the line, works alone. Trusted by few and understood by even fewer. When unexpected paths cross, alliances are forged not by choice, but necessity. Beneath the surface of shaky loyalties, shaky truths, and whispered promises, something shifts. Old rules break and new dangers stir. The lines are blurred, and the question isn't who you can trust...but if trust can survive at all.
Pairing: Mingi x Reader
Word Count: <1k
Tags: Fluff, Comfort, established relationship
Author's Note: Just some fluff! Thought of this a while ago, and wanted something to post for Mingi day. Completely forgot I also had Fracture’s next chapter ready, so you guys get two posts in one day!
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Mingi was several things. Loud, attentive, affectionate. This, you knew from the start. It’s what drew you to him. His smiles were infectious, always trying to make you smile too. A bit dramatic at times, but that was his charm.
What you weren’t prepared for though, was just how clingy he was even in his sleep. In the daytime, you expected it. He was one to love giving it and receiving, and made it rather clear that was his favorite form of affection. Nighttime however, proved to be a different story.
Waking up felt like you were being slow roasted in an oven. Heat crawled across your skin, uncomfortable and sticky.
You kick the blankets off of you, glancing bleary-eyed at the clock. 3am. Far too early to be awake, and far too warm to be cuddling. Your boyfriend presses against you, his large frame enveloping yours. You try and wiggle away—-to no avail.
Mingi, however, seems utterly unbothered. His warm hands wrap around your waist, as his steady breath fans over the back of your neck. The blanket still lays partially over his form, as he tugs you closer unconsciously.
You turn your head to look at him. His hair is messy and unkempt from tossing and turning. The faint smell of his body wash hits your nose—-he must’ve taken a shower before laying down last night after you fell asleep.
“Min.” You whisper, gently prodding his side.
He grumbles, nuzzling his head closer to the crook of your neck.
“Min.” You try again.
Mingi doesn’t respond this time, peacefully sleeping. His face is content, as he has your back pressed to his chest. His legs tangle with yours after a moment, his body seeking yours in his sleep.
“Mingi.”
His eyebrows furrow, his eyes drooping slightly with sleep when he opens them. A soft confused hum leaves his lips, as he finally removes his arm from around you to rub at his face.
“Babe?” His voice is soft, still raspy with sleep.
You feel him shift slightly, before the blanket is being tugged back over you both, trapping you under it against your personal heater. He absent-mindedly tucks the soft blanket around you both, before sighing happily. He’s already drifting back off within moments, but you removing the blankets from yourself again has him opening his eyes again in worry.
“You okay?” He asks again, eyes a bit brighter from concern.
You can’t help but laugh softly. He’s so attentive, even half-asleep.
“I’m okay Min. It’s just really warm. The blankets aren’t helping.” You say softly, flipping around to face him.
He makes no move to remove himself from your vicinity, content with where he’s at.
“Too much?” He asks, his hand moving up to run soothingly against your scalp.
“Yeah…” you respond softly, before glancing back up at him. His eyes are warm, affectionate, soft. He looks at you like you could’ve hung every star in the sky for him. Like you’re his everything—-and here you are, trying to push him away. That thought makes your chest more uncomfortable than the heat possibly could.
“You’re making that face again.” He says softly, a lopsided sleepy grin adorning his features.
“What face?”
“The one you make when you feel bad about something.” He teases lightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You need space?”
“Maybe…” you respond hesitantly.
“You just have to ask, pretty.” He says softly, before untangling himself from you. “Don’t feel bad.”
God, he’s just perfect sometimes.
He yawns, pulling the blanket largely over himself as he swaddles himself under the blanket. He looks less man, and more ambiguous-lump with how he’s piled the blanket onto himself. The top of his head pokes out from the blanket, just his hair visible. He sticks his arm out towards you from under the blanket, his hand finding yours across the bed, before he intertwines your pinkies together.
“Goodnight, lovely.” He whispers, drifting off again.
You can’t help but smile softly to yourself. Your pinky curls lightly around his, the connection in the dark warming you—-but not from the heat.
“Goodnight, Min.”
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Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro
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Pairing: ot8 x Reader
Word Count: 4k
Chapter Warnings: Emotional Distress, Anxiety, Insomnia mentioned/implied, Mild medical themes, Ostracism, Emotional Manipulation, Depictions of conflict and aggression. Also I rarely proof-read these so I'm sorry for typos...
Synopsis: Unexpected comfort and harsh accusations arise, with demands for answers and unanswered questions rising.
Author's Note: Happy Mingi Day! I didn't realize I was posting this on his birthday until now, but I hope you enjoy it despite the lack of Mingi </3
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You’re not sure how you found yourself here, but your hand hovers just above the heavy wooden door in front of you. It’s late in the evening, the buzz of the day already settling down as the sun slowly sinks on the horizon, painting it a gorgeous golden color. Warm, but fleeting.
Just knock. The worst that can happen is you get sent away.
Your chest tightens, a shaky breath flows in and out of you. Just knock, you repeat to yourself like a mantra.
Before you can muster the courage, however, the door swings open. A very surprised Seonghwa stands in the doorway, foot halfway across the threshold before he realizes you’re there. His hand tightens around the handle of the door for a moment.
“Can I help you, cadet?” He inquires, eyes scanning the hall behind you, before they return to your face.
Words seem to leave your mind, as you stare blankly at him for a moment. Eyes dart between his as if his own steady gaze can explain back to you why you showed up at his door in the first place.
“Cadet?” He repeats, firmer.
You think of the first thing you can say, instead of what’s really eating at you. The loneliness.
“I don’t know,” you say, voice wavering slightly. “I just haven’t been able to sleep?”
Your voice rises ever so slightly in pitch, like you’re not even sure of what you’re saying.
He shifts his weight for a moment, glancing one more time behind you, before sighing. The wood of the floor creaks as he steps inside and gestures for you to go inside.
When you don’t move forward, he huffs, somewhat miffed, before gesturing again.
“Anyday now, cadet.”
You scramble inside, ducking your head slightly, cheeks warming in embarrassment as the door clicks shut behind you both.
His room is larger than yours, though that’s standard for anyone in the rider’s quadrant with a leadership role. His room isn’t highly decorated, to your surprise, but still had a quiet order to the few personal items he did have. Seonghwa’s bed, a dark navy, was tightly made and spotless. His desk looked just as tidy, with files in neat stacks along the edge. A single worn leather-bound notebook sits neatly in the middle, a pen laying atop it and ready for use.
Seonghwa opens a drawer in his desk, “You can sit on the bed. I have a report to finish writing up.” he says quietly. Casually.
He pulls a folder from his desk drawer out. He opens it, scanning over the contents briefly as you sit down.
You teeter awkwardly on the edge of the bed as he turns and drops the folder in your lap.
“Sort those alphabetically for me while I finish.”
You glance down at the folder. Not exactly what you expected when he ushered you into his room. Especially when he had looked ready to leave only a moment ago.
You know better than to argue with leadership, though. You nod silently, opening the folder to glance through it.
Seonghwa takes his coat back off, throwing it across the back of his chair as he sits down. His hands tap against the wood as he thinks for a moment, before he picks up the pen on his desk, pulls a file from the top of a neat stack in the corner, and starts writing.
There’s a stillness that envelopes the room, with just the sound of pen against paper and the files being shuffled in your hands. Your breathing is slow and steady, the moment feels like you’re finally treading water after drowning in a sea of sorrow.
“I didn’t see you on the flight field earlier when I checked in on how drills were going.”
He says it cooly, not glancing up from the file on his desk he’s filling out. His hands brush over the parchment, black ink spilling from the pen in gorgeous looping letters. The light on his desk casts a soft glow on his face. He looks softer here, warmer than the usual section leader you’ve known.
Your eyes dart back down to the files in your folder, hands pausing as you glance over the paper once. Twice. Three times. You’re unsure how to respond.
“Were you sent off the field again?” He asks again.
He chances a glance up at you for a moment. His eyes hold more questions underneath, like he wants to pick you apart. Figure out what’s making you tick.
When you don’t respond, he lets out the ghost of a breath, and reaches for the thermos on his desk. The smell of something earthy but floral wafts out, the steam rising from the container as he takes a sip.
“It was a yes or no question, not an attack.” He sighs softly, placing the thermos down again. His movement is slower, thoughtful. The thermos barely makes a noise as it’s set down.
He doesn’t push you further, just glances at you again from the corner of his eye, before going back to writing. The time is filled again with silence, though it demands nothing of you.
You slide the last file into the folder, before closing it.
Seonghwa is still focused on his own task, finishing another page to his report without looking.
You hesitate, unsure if you should interrupt his train of thought. If you should say something. Thank him. Apologize. Both.
Instead, he breaks the silence.
“Done?”
You nod, before remembering he’s not looking at you.
“Yes, sir.”
A brief pause, as he finishes writing a sentence, before he’s putting the pen down.
You stand up off the edge of the bed, the frame creaks slightly as you do. A few steps, and you’re next to him, handing him the folder. His demeanor is what you’ve come to expect. Unreadable. Composed.
He briefly glances through it, eyes skimming the pages, before he nods curtly. He shifts in the seat, leaning to the side, and places the files in a drawer.
“Looks good.” He comments, sitting back up to finally focus his eyes on you.
You shift your weight, nodding, before glancing at the door.
You shouldn’t linger.
You awkwardly take a step away, and towards the door. You’re nearly able to grab the doorknob, before his voice softly cuts through the air.
“Wait.”
He stands up, going around to the side of the desk where a small chest sits against the wall. It opens with a soft click, before he’s pulling out a small cloth-wrapped bundle. He inspects it for a moment, before standing up and striding over to you.
“Take these.” He says, holding the bundle out.
Reaching for the bundle, the cloth is soft and well-worn. Like a child’s comfort blanket, or a favorite sweater. A smell hits you as you take it from his hands. Green. Earthy. Floral.
“It helps sometimes.” He tries to explain, as you unwrap the cloth bundle.
Several little teabags sit inside of it. Green tea, from the look and smell of it.
“Better than those bitter tinctures they give you for sleep.” He adds on as you look down at them.
You glance up at him, but he’s already looking away from you, heading back to his desk.
“Thank you” you say softly. The words feel foreign on your tongue, but the warmth you feel in your chest says otherwise.
He hums, already picking the pen back up and waving you out the room.
“Don’t make this a habit, cadet.”
But his voice is quieter. Careful, but not cold.
You take the hint, shuffling out of his room and back into the hallway. As you step over the threshold, the calm atmosphere breaks, and you feel the familiar tightness in your chest comes back as the door clicks behind you. Though, tonight, it doesn’t feel as painful. You hold the bundle closer, and feel like for a moment, you can breathe again.
That night, you sleep without waking once. No nightmares haunt your rest.
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Gravel crunches under your feet as you follow behind the squad up to the flight field. Ahead of you, the squad has formed a messy semi-circle around Yunho as they blabber about plans later in the day. You lag a bit behind on purpose, convinced that maybe they don’t want you too close.
The flight field is still a bit of a trek ahead and up the hill, and if it weren’t for Dan’s palpable presence in your mind at the prospect of flying after so long, you would’ve turned around and cited “medical” as a reason to miss out on today’s training.
Lost in your own head, you barely notice when one of them breaks off from the group to walk beside you—at least until the silvery string of his bonds floats into your field of vision. If you could touch it, you have the feeling it would feel cool to the touch, but you don’t get to contemplate for long when his voice meets your ears, smooth and low, like he’s trying not to grab the others attention now that he’s speaking to you.
.
“You were cleared for flight drills.” Yeosang states, hands at his sides as he falls into step beside you.
It’s not a question, just an almost deadpan remark. A moment of silence. He keeps his eyes trained on ahead of you both—likely on San and Yunho rough-housing up ahead.
“You sure you’re good to fly?” He asks after a moment.
He turns his head to glance at you, the sunlight catching his hair just right for a moment to make it almost glow golden. It would be gorgeous—if not for the pit that forms in your stomach at his question. You can’t decide whether it feels like concern, or condemnation on his part. Does he not think you’re good to fly?
“Yes, sir. Healers said–”
“Healers said, but we all know they’re absolute shit when it comes to gauging mentality. I’m asking you, not the healer. Are you good to fly?” He cuts you off, a slight huff escaping his lips.
Your lips twitch down just for a moment, but you can tell by how Yeosang’s gaze shifts slightly that he caught it. His eyes dart over your features, cataloging every little change. The tenseness in your jaw, the slight hike in your shoulders.
“Dan has been rather… restless lately. At least according to Sidhe.” He tilts his head, looking up to the sky. The sides of the canyon ahead loom, though the clouds above are near non-existent.
What does Sidhe know. He’d be restless too if he couldn’t see his rider. A voice snarks in your mind. Dàn.
“I don’t see how Dàn’s behavior would make you think I’m unfit to fly.” You shoot back, before remembering an important detail—He’s technically a superior. “Sir.”
His face is entirely unreadable, and he seems lost in thought for a moment, before shrugging.
“Just checking. I have a squad to monitor. You’re technically a part of that squad.”
The way he says it makes your stomach twist. It’s not said coldly on purpose, but it does paint a clear picture of how he still views you. An outsider.
“I’m just making sure the healer’s didn’t preemptively clear another rider for drills without doing a thorough check just because Hongjoong is being pushy. Last time that happened, we lost San for another two weeks.” He smoothly adds on, before looking back at you again. Just as indecipherable, prying for something under the surface. It’s infuriating, how his tone of voice and stance are so confusing. You can’t tell if it’s out of care, obligation, or if he really is just the kind to stand there and state facts.
He turns his head away again, stepping away from you to catch up to the rest of the squad, where San is now warily glancing backwards between the two of you.Dark eyes look you up and down, then Yeosang, mild confusion darting across his face. He smiles awkwardly at Yeosang–and you, to your surprise—before turning back to Yunho.
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Up on the flight field, you see a few dragon silhouettes already in the distance. They circle high above you, as they bank down to land on the field ahead of you. Shadows pass over the field, and the wind pushes you from the force their speed generates as they dip down low in the sky.
Brùth—Yunho’s brown swordtail—lands first rather gracefully. Just behind him, flies the orange scorpiontail that belongs to Mingi, flanked by the reds that belong to San and Wooyung–One swordtail and one daggertail. Tùra, Mingi’s dragon, angles down first to land, her claws kicking up dirt as she lands rather messily nearby. The other two dragons splay their wings out to billow in the air as they slow themselves down to land next to her. Unlike the former, neither of the reds send gravel and dirt flying as they land.
Another brown clubtail appears over the edge of the sheer cliffs, coppery scales catching light as she circles a few times before touching down a bit farther away. Jongho is already peeling away from the group to greet his dragon, as she strides towards the group. Cairn’s golden eyes focus on you for a moment, as she tilts her head to stare you down. After a moment of watching you, she lets out a puff of smoke, before lowering her head to look her own rider in the face.
Over the ridgeline on the horizon, two final shadows emerge. Wings carving through the air at the same pace, rising and falling like a single heartbeat. At this distance, they almost look like the same dragon. The same cobalt gleam along broad frames, same daggered tail slicing through the air behind them. As the sunlight hits them a bit clearer, their differences sharpen.
Dàn has a bit more power to each stroke, the muscles rippling, while Sidhe drives forwards far more deliberately. One a blade through the air, the other a force of nature. Sidhe’s scales are a stormy darker blue, while Dàn is a brighter steel-blue sheen.
Sidhe trails just a hair behind Dàn, close enough to blur their size difference, like an echo chasing itself across the sky. Dàn banks down first, though Sidhe banks down in a sharper line. When both blues land, the ground shakes from the twin impact, sending dust curling through the air.
Just behind you, a low whistle from one of the other squad members catches your attention.
“Didn’t realize she’d be almost as big as Sangie’s.” Says a warm voice.
You turn your head to look at who’s speaking, only to see San looking at Dàn in the distance. His eyes hesitantly dart to you.
“Guess I should’ve paid more attention to others during threshing last year.” He says, cracking an awkward smile.
He shifts his weight a few times, one foot to another and back. His fingers run through his hair for a moment like a nervous habit, before he lets out a soft laugh.
“I can’t imagine how you—or him—could bond a blue like that.” he pauses, before letting out a puff of air and holding his hands up in surrender. “No offense. It’s impressive for sure–it’s just, you know…Blues are rare enough as it is. And daggertails? Both of you? Definitely something else.”
Before San can say more, a sharp voice cuts in.
“Seriously, San? It’s not impressive. It’s concerning. The fact she has a blue should be setting off alarm bells for you. A squad killer like her should’ve been sentenced to fire for breaking the codex—”
San’s eyes widen slightly, as he glances over at his best friend. The words hang heavily over you for a moment, as Wooyoung waltzes up and grabs San by the elbow to pull him away. San looks at you helplessly—almost apologetically—as his feet shuffle to follow.
Heat rises through your chest as you clench your hands so hard they shake. In the distance, Dàn’s head whips around to stare straight at you.
What is it little one? Her voice echos in your head, as she watches unblinkingly from her spot on the edge of the field.
“What did you just call me?”
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. You can’t help it.
Squad Killer. It echos through your head, bouncing off the sides so hard you swear its reverberating through you. Your hands are shaking now, after all.
Their faces flash through your head briefly. The feeling of warmth and belonging. Of family. Their smiles and names bounce around your mind, laughter and screams mixing in a cacophony that makes it hard to think.
“Squad. Killer.” Wooyoung shoots back unflinchingly.
San blinks like he's shocked to hear this kind of tone from his friend, before his eyes are glancing around at the others on the field. His eyes find Mingi’s first, as Wooyoung continues.
“That’s what you are, right? A squad killer. Whole squads don’t just disappear into thin air.” Wooyoung prods.
Mingi nearby doesn’t move, and just lets out a soft amused scoff. San just glances between you two lost, unsure of what to do.
“I’m not a squad killer.”
“But you could be. No one else has proven otherwise—and I’m not trusting whatever narrative you're spinning either.” He scoffs, haughty.
“And, even if you weren’t, you’d still be a bad luck charm. I’m sure your dead friends would agree.” Mingi cuts in, smirking as he crosses his arms from across the field as he stands with his dragon. Tùr looks almost amused by the tension, her eyes sparkling with an eerie glint.
You feel like cold water is doused over you at his comment. Your breath chokes up for a second—
A low growl echoes across the field, as Dàn’s whole body tenses up. Her lips curl up slightly, as you feel her own anger and protectiveness flood your veins. In a stronger moment, you’d shut down the door that links you two, but the wounds being poked at are still much too raw to ignore.
“Either way, you got your squad killed. Why else would you be the last one standing?” Wooyoung sneers, letting go of San so he can stalk towards you. His hand points at you threateningly.
“Awfully convenient you came out unscathed. Why were you on medical leave? You weren’t hurt.” He continues, getting into your face.
“Just because I’m unscathed physically doesn’t mean I didn’t fight! You think I’d leave my squad high and dry for my own sake?” You snap back. “Maybe you should stop assuming you know the best. You’re not as smart as you think, Wooyoung.”
He narrows his eyes, jaws clenching.
“I’ve seen what happens when people like you show up,” His voice lowers. “And I’m not risking my squad because of some ‘survivor’ bullshit that no one believes.
I don’t like this one’s attitude. Dàn snarls in your head.
You can’t tell whether it’s your own frustration, or Dàn’s now palpable anger flowing through you, but before you can think, your hands are harshly showing him away from you.
“Of course you only believe what you want to believe.”
He laughs–something bordering sinister, before his hands lunge for you.
His eyes are furious, and his signet flares not only across his palm, but all the way up his arms. He looks like fury incarnate.
The world feels like it slows for a moment. This isn’t a petty scrap.
You don’t get the chance to freeze.
You manage to deflect him with a quick flick of your arm against his, short enough to avoid a burn, but long enough to feel heat lick up your side.
You whip around in a defensive stance just as he turns around himself. The air around him shimmering from the heat he’s radiating, as his fury climbs. The dry grass around his boots crackle, as his eyes lock in on you like a predator.
You barely manage to sidestep when fire bursts from his palms and catches the ground next to you on fire.
San lets out a noise of surprise, stepping back out of shock. Mingi nearby even freezes, eyes widening at Wooyoung’s blatant attack.
I’m biting his puny head clean off. You hear Dàn’s voice seethe through your head, as she moves from the side of the field.
Wooyoung advances on you like a wildfire. Overwhelming, untamed, and and feral.
“You’re a threat to this squad” He growls, sending another burst of flames and sparks at you. The flickering light paints his face in wild shadows, eyes burning with something far more dangerous than anger. “I’m not letting you bring us down.”
Your eyes dart around him, trying to calculate your next move. The maroon string that connects him and Las pulses with power, and you take that as your cue to dodge. You tumble through the dirt in a messy roll, managing to stand just as flame envelops the spot you were just standing. He’s not holding back.
“Wooyoung! You need to stop—” A shout cuts through the chaos, though you don’t have a chance to glance as Wooyoung advances.
His relentless attacks have you gasping for breath, as Dàn’s increasing rage floods your veins.
A thunderous roar shakes the ground, as a flash of red lunges towards you and Wooyoung—only for it to be intercepted by a blue blur crashing into it with such force that dust and gravel go flying like shrapnel.
You feel unfiltered, overwhelming rage flood your system for a moment, as you land a solid jab on Wooyoung, though it burns for the moment your hands connect to his skin.
Wooyoung stumbles backwards, before stumbling for a moment like the breath was knocked out of him.
You watch as the maroon string over his heart tugs hard, as Las and Dàn snap their teeth at each other. The dragons tumble across the field, clawing and snarling. The ground gets torn up under them, as the other dragon’s on the field fold their wings closer and step closer to their respective riders.
Wooyoung’s anger dissipates quickly, as Las starts to lose against the larger blue.
“C-Call her off. Call her off!” He snaps, shaking off his momentary freeze to grab you by the shoulders. His hands, still warm, dig harshly into your shoulders.
Dàn growls as she pins Las down to the ground, her jaws against his dragon’s neck. The red growls, staring Dàn down despite being trapped. Dàn responds by clenching her jaws down harder, the smaller red freezing in fear for a moment.
“CALL YOUR DAMN DRAGON OFF!” Wooyoung snaps, shoving you harshly. His eyes are wide with fear, feeling Las’ emotions flooding him the same way Dàn’s anger is flooding you. His hands shake as adrenaline hits his system.
Dàn responds in kind by biting down even harder.
You freeze too, watching helplessly as Dàn threatens another cadet’s dragon.
I’m going to make an example of this one. Dàn growls, her words echoing in your head. She’s more than willing to end Las’ life to prove a point… and in turn Wooyoung’s. After all, the bond between a dragon and rider is so strong, the rider dies if their dragon does.
Seems Dàn says the same thing to Las, as Wooyoung’s panic spirals.
“Y/N! CALL DAN OFF!” He shouts in your ear, his hands burning you as his own emotions get out of control, clawing against you.
“Y/n!” You hear a second cadet call, but you’re frozen.
You can’t be the reason a cadet dies. He was just worried for his squadmates–
“Dàn!” You finally scream, panic and guilt crashing in.
This squad needs a lesson. Her sharp reply.
Just before her jaws can clamp down completely—
Sidhe barrels in from the side, crashing into Dàn’s side. His jaws close around Dàn’s own neck, as he uses the momentum to rip her off the red. Both the blues go tumbling across the grass, as Las scrambles to sit up, wings puffed up defensively.
Dàn snarls, wings flaring out angrily. Sidhe matches in perfect tandem, both of them snapping and growling at each other. Where the fight between Dàn and Las was clearly one-sided, this one is close. Blue scales thrash and twist across the field, their sheer size shaking the ground with every growl.
Eventually, Sidhe gains the upper hand. His jaws clamp down, as he forces Dàn’s head down into submission against the dirt. A deep growl reverberates through the air—both warning and correction.
Dàn’s snarls falter, before she finally folds her wings and averts her gaze and surrenders to Sidhe’s display.
Only then does the growling finally cease, as the field falls into an uneasy silence. The other dragons on the field keep their heads low, folding their wings tightly against their body’s in deference to Sidhe.
You feel the weight of everyone’s gazes turn to you. Fear, uncertainty, hesitation.
“Cadet L/N. Cadet Jung. Care to explain what the fuck just happened?” A voice snaps.
Hi!! First of all, I love how you themed your navigation, it's so fun and clever!
Secondly, ateez and dragon riders is suuuuuuch a top tier concept and you're already doing it justice 😌👌 I hope reader feels a bit better soon, I can't wait to see her in action! 👁👁💜
Hi hi!!
First off, thank you!! I spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding on a theme and trying to make everything fit it, so I’m glad it paid off 😅
Secondly: I literally spent weeks thinking of Ateez + Dragon riders and it wouldn’t leave my head. Quickly spiraled from a “haha imagine…”, to “I can’t find anything that scratches the itch” to “fine, I’ll write it myself”, so I’m very happy to hear you think I’m doing well. 😭
It’s actually my first fanfic I’ve ever published, I legitimately debated on actually posting it for a few days… which is why I spent so long on the theme. I was procrastinating. 💔
Reader’s journey is probably going to be a long-haul thing, my outline for the story is embarrassingly detailed and long for some plot points. Rest assured, she will eventually feel better… eventually. 👀👀
<<previous | M.List | Next>>
Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro
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Pairing: ot8 x Reader
Word Count: 2k
Chapter Warnings: Emotional Distress, Violence/Threats of Violence, Ostracization, Gaslighting, Implied Suicidal Ideation, Authority Conflict, Survivor's Guilt
Synopsis: Eyes are all on you, even if you can't see them. Mounting suspicions erode already fragile trust, and lines are drawn in the sand.
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Daylight barely starts to stream in through your window, as you sit on the edge of the bed. You know you need to get up. Breakfast just started, and you didn’t eat much for dinner yesterday. Your appetite had been killed after you were forced to sit out after the first few rounds of sparring–but this morning your stomach feels like it’s gnawing at itself.
Pulling yourself out of bed, you fix up your appearance in the mirror on your wall. Donning your boots, you ensure your daggers are strapped to your sides, running a hand over the cool steel for a moment before sheathing them. Today will be different.
You shove the bitter dark feelings in the pit of your stomach lower, as you open your door and step out into the hall. Better to not feel them at all. The walk to the food hall is relatively quiet, and it soothes some of the tension you feel in your shoulders. As you approach, there’s a few cadets milling about just outside. You walk past them through the doorway, and immediately get hit by both the smell of food and hundreds of shifting colors of threads. They criss-cross over the cafeteria, but coupled by the smells and noise it’s overwhelming.
Taking a deep breath, and closing your eyes, you will the threads to dim. It feels like it takes more willpower to do today, but you manage. When you open your eyes, you see a familiar face staring you down across the cafeteria–Jongho.
He tilts his head curiously, stares you down for a solid few seconds, before blinking and turning back to his squadmates. Odd.
You grab a honeyed biscuit and some fruit, opting for something a little lighter. Your stomach still feels a bit queasy from nerves or maybe grief–you’re not sure–but you doubt it’ll go away soon. Something is better than nothing, though.
Glancing around, most tables are pretty full. Yet again, your eyes catch Jongho’s.
There’s no warmth nor hostility in his gaze, just pure intrigue. Like he’s trying to figure you out. This time, he doesn’t bother glancing away as quickly, his eyes darting down to the food in your hands, and back to your face. Something unreadable passes across his face, before his attention is forced back to the table by San wrapping an arm around his shoulder and laughing at something.
An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. Why was he staring? It feel like something about you is being logged. He’s observant—almost too much. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to be close to finding it. If he hasn’t already.
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Drills are basically the same, though when it comes to flight maneuvers you find yourself kicking at dirt. The sun shines down, the shadows of your squad and their dragons passing over you from far above. Well, most of your squad.
One other squad member stays grounded with you, though it seems more like he took it upon himself to hover nearby than by a direct order.
Mingi has his arms crossed, seemingly bored out of his mind. His eyes are following the squad’s individual dragons in the air, though occasionally glances at you. He watches as you kick yet another rock around in frustration.
You should be up there, too.
Mingi lets out a soft scoff, a very obvious eye-roll gracing his face.
“You’re acting like a first year. It’s just a probation period. You’ll be back in the air eventually. Stop pouting.”
A flood of irritation hits your system.
“I’m not acting like a first year. I’m just annoyed I’m grounded for no real reason.” You try to argue, foot connecting to another rock on the ground. Dust flies up from the spot.
Mingi stays quiet for a moment, before glancing back up at the dragons in the air.
“Squad leaders and Wing leaders don’t just ground random cadets on a whim. Given your…circumstances… I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a good reason.” His eyes fall down to your signet patch.
Your hand instinctively reaches up to cover your signet patch, as if hiding it could make him forget. His gaze seems to burn through your hand regardless, before his eyes finally meet yours. They’re intense, burning, like he’s trying to pry into something he knows damn well he has no excuse to.
“Hiding it doesn’t make you any less suspicious.”
Mingi lets out a slow exhale through his nose, shifting his stance. The woosh of wings high above slicing through the air is the only sound that meets your ears for a moment, before he speaks again.
“Some of the others may not say it outloud, but you’re a risk to the squad. None of us know what happened to your old squad. Hell, even Yunho hasn’t let anything slip, if he does know something.” Mingi’s hand goes to his waist idly, ghosting over what you assume is a knife hidden in his flight leathers.
Behind the both of you, Mingi’s dragon touches down, sending gravel and debris finding from how hard she lands. You feel a lick of heat ghost up your spine, as Tur lets out a warning huff of smoke against you. Your feet dig into the dirt under your boots, standing your ground.
“Are you trying to imply something?”
“Imply? No. It’s a warning, plain and simple. Stay down. Don’t cause trouble. I’m not the only one with an issue.” Mingi replies cooly.
Silence stretches out for a few moments, thick as smoke. The kind that clings to your throat and lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Tur’s presence behind you is still, like a snake waiting for you to give her any reason to strike.
“I don’t owe you answers for your own comfort.”
Mingi’s lips are ghosted with a smirk, as he takes out the knife his hand hovered over. He twirls it in his hands easily, the metal shining ominously in the light.
“No,” His hand tosses the knife up, “you don’t.”
Like two cogs in a very well oiled machine, Tur’s flames arc over his head, heating the knife up, and as it arcs down, a single well timed flick and the knife is whizzing past your face to embed in the tree just behind you.
Mingi smiles, like he didn’t just hint at the fact him and his dragon are more than willing to end your life in a second. He turns towards Tur, mounting with a practiced ease. Though Mingi doesn’t bother looking back at you, Tur’s Golden eyes pierce through you, untrusting and hostile. As Mingi gets a grip, Tur launches into the air, her wings sending waves of air that buffet against you and whip at your loose hair.
You don’t flinch. Don’t move. They already think you a weak link, no need to make yourself more of a target.
You chance a glance up, and see Tur and Mingi already high in the sky, practiving maneuvers alongside the reds in your squad. San and Wooyung.
You hear a distant cackle, and then one of the reds–the daggertail–tilts just enough in the air for her rider to look down below at you. The smug face of Wooyoung looks down at you, before Las is already course correcting and leveling out.
You let out a shaky breath, some of the adrenaline finally hitting your system. You feel Dan prod again, but you quickly cut off the stream in your head before she can question what happened. The last thing you need is Dan to come flying in pissed to high heaven, and get you in even more trouble.
Turning to the tree, the blade Mingi sent sailing towards your head is sunk down near to the hilt, the metal still glowing faintly from the heat. The tree chars slightly, the smell hitting your nose.
Stepping closer, you really finally see just how close the shot was. One half-step to the left, and the blade would’ve taken your eye.
A warning shot.
Your hands move before you can stop yourself, already wrapping around the blade to yank it free. The heat burns your palms, but you hold it regardless. A moment, a single breath. Just to feel some pain that's simple. Clean. Uncomplicated.
You drop it a moment later, when the burn gets a bit too overwhelming. You flex your hand, hissing in pain.
One last glance at the knife on the ground.
A reminder.
Or maybe it’s a challenge.
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A shadow passes over you again from high above, and you glance up to see a giant black dragon blot out the sun for a moment.
Tor.
Hongjoong’s dragon.
Even from the ground, hundreds of feet below, his dragon’s form causes unease to coil through your gut. Massive, with obsidian scales that seem to swallow light. Wings that span further than your own Blue’s ever could. Torv is all intimidation and power. Nothing like Dan.
Dan is wind and mystery, thinly veiled fire and ice. But Torv? Torv is a predator, built in silence, power, and precision. Just like his rider.
He hovers in the air, next to the Brown Swordtail that Yunho rides. A Blue Daggertail banks down to meet them both. Sidhe and Yeosang. They hover midair for a few moments, before Yunho and Yeosang separate away from Hongjoong, the rest of your squad falling in line behind them.
As they depart, Hongjoong and Torv descend downwards. He circles once, slow and calculating, before his eyes hone in on you. Torv lands far more gracefully than he should, wings billowing out to soften a landing as his claws touch down on the soft earth.
Torv stays still as a statue as Hongjoong dismounts. No need for theatrics or extra motion. His stature speaks enough.
Hongjoong’s boots crunch on the gravel as he lands, observing you and the area with an unreadable expression. His eyes dance across your figure, to your hand that’s still red and irritated from the blade, to the knife still hot on the ground. They settle on your face with the same cold calculating gaze he gives all cadets.
“He could’ve taken your eye.” He says flatly. “Or your life.”
He pauses again, eyes assessing you closely. You don’t dare speak.
Hongjoong looks down at the knife, stepping close to retrieve it from the ground. He turns it over in his palm, assessing the warmth of it still radiating. Torv’s golden eyes settle on you as Hongjoong’s are preoccupied.
“You let it fly.” The knife turns over again in his hand, glinting in the sunlight.
It’s not an accusation, nor is it a question.
It’s disappointment.
Your throat suddenly feels dry and scratchy. You clench your hand a few times, before responding.
“I wasn’t going to dodge. I knew he wasn’t going to-”
“No. You froze.” He turns his gaze away from the knife in his hand to you. “You’re lucky he didn’t aim to kill.”
You feel a chill run up your spine. The way he says those words–it’s like he knows something more. Like he’s seen something darker in your squadmate.
“Drills are over for you for the day.” He turns back to Torv, already slipping the knife into his pocket.
Frustration wells up again. You keep being benched from practices, and you inhale sharply.
“I can keep going.”
“No,” he says over you, not turning back. “You think you can. I’m not sending a cadet out to active training or the front lines when they’re suicidal.”
He mounts Torv, the dragon spreading its massive wings to lift off.
“Get yourself together cadet. Your squad won’t wait on you.”
A beat later, and he’s gone, and you’re left in silence on a now empty training lot.
Your hand throbs, your pride is wounded. You’re damn sure now that the other cadets have it out for you.
Unsure if today was a warning, a lesson, or something worse, you heave out a shaky breath.
Next time, you may not have the luxury of freezing.
