Pairing: fan ot8!skz × idol gn!reader (individually)
Genre: fluff, silly ig, headcanons
Prompt: what it would be like if you were an idol and the stray kids boys were your fans
Warnings: this is just very silly idk 😭
A/n: just something fun while I work through the requests | daily click
Bang Chan
Tries to be normal about this
Puts the blame on his sister
"Yeah I just know about this group so much because my sister is a huge fan haha"
His sister might as well just hate you from how much she needs to hear about you
And every single one of his family members and friends can't stand your music anymore
That's all they hear every time Chan is in control of the music
And he always makes sure he is in control of that
Loves to see the behind the scenes and recording sessions
Mostly if you are a producer as well!!
He started learning music production because of you can you believe that
Begs people to gift him official merch and when he finally gets it, he gets super happy
But then he's too shy to use it on public because what if people recognise it
Lee Know
He knows every single one of your choreos
And he kinda gives me the vibe of covering your songs on social media
If he ever covers your comeback and your group acknowledges that, this will be his personality for the rest of the two following years
Is a really really big fan but low-key has no idea of what you guys are doing
He can recognise any of your songs on the first 0.001 second and he can recite your entire discography chronologically by heart
But he has no idea what's your real name and what do you mean you're going on tour???
His friends actually have to tell him when you guys will do a concert so he can try to buy a ticket, cause otherwise he wouldn't even know you were going on a tour
So he is a fan of your music, mostly
But once he fell for the fanservice and giggled at one of your fairy ending
He had to shut his phone and take a walk so he stops being delusional
Changbin
Oh he's rich
He's in ALL your concerts, front row and everything
Went to so many fanmeetings and fancalls that you probably already recognise him
And has all your merch as well??
Buys every album in the pre release, has all clothes, the lightstick, the God knows what
He has the whole collection of everything you can imagine
He also loves to learn your choreos
But opposite to Minho, he actually lacks a bit when it comes to your discography 💔
He is in the middle of the 7th concert he went to and he's like "oh what song is that"
And then it's your debut song
He is trying ok
He has a picture of all of your group as his phone wallpaper because he doesn't exclude anyone even if you are his bias 🙂↕️
Hyunjin
He is delusional and he's not even trying to hide it
He has you as his wallpaper and people ask "oh who's that"
He straight up just says he's married to you and that's it
Must have gaslit his grandmother so she believed you guys are dating
She just never met you because you live in another country or something, he probably has the whole backstory
He's not crazy though 😭 he does it for fun
But he 100% has a crush on you
Gets to go to a concert ONCE in the most distant place of the stadium but he is absolutely sure you saw him
That's his personality for the next month
"I'm telling you, they definitely saw me!! That's why they were smiling, I bet they saw me"
Who's gonna tell him
Han
Another delusional one
I am sure he reads fanfic
He spent 14 hours of screen time on ao3 once
Doesn't write it though
If he were to make content of your group on the internet, he would probably sing and rap your songs
I can see him doing those covers on YouTube or tiktok
Has a private account on Instagram with no followers just so he can comment on your photos without anyone recognising him
He doesn't comment anything creepy, is just that he doesn't want his friends seeing him say "YOU'RE SO HOT PLEASE MARRY ME" in a photo of you eating ramen yk
Definitely fought every hater out there when he was on school
Had his account banned a few times because he does not go easy on haters
Now he just reports and block the account 🙏🏻
Felix
Tiktok!!
He saw every single possible edit of you on tiktok, and commented in all of them
And he's always one of the first to comment in your official videos
it might even become an inner joke in the fandom because EVERYONE knows about Felix atp
His entire social circle is a fan of yours because he really likes to talk about you
And he's very good at convincing
So everyone is like 100% sure you're the most perfect human being to ever exist on earth
He is also the complete opposite of Minho
He knows EVERYTHING
Every single gossip, rumour, comeback, he watches every live and everything
No one knows how he knows everything
There's a chance he has a fan base for you and your group because he truly knows that much
And sometimes you find out things about yourself from his fan page before your company even has the chance of telling you
Seungmin
A normal fan
Acts normal for most of it, people wouldn't even know he is a fan of yours if they didn't talk to him
But your group is his top 1 artist ever since debut
Reposts your photos on Instagram (close friends though)
His friends would probably call him annoying because he does NOT stop talking about you to them
Probably to make up for the lack of enthusiasm in front of strangers
Acts like he doesn't see a lot of your things but actually knows every single thing ever
The type to go "oh actually ☝🏻🤓" on twitter
You can trust him to defend you online
Haters start to shake everytime they see his username coming
I.N
HE SO HAS A PHOTOCARD COLLECTION
Has a transparent phone case so he can put one of your photocards there
And the photocard changes every two days because he does have that many
A lot of posters of your group as well
Probably the rich fan #2 so he has albums
And lightsicks
You enter his room and you think you are in a museum dedicated to your career the way he has everything there
He either reads or writes fanfic
Or both
Like I.N you can be honest with us, we know you're here on Tumblr
Maybe he also does gifs
If you debuted when he was still at school, he was failing because he would rather watch your stages instead of studying at finals week
Masterlist | you'll probably like: Meeting a pretty fan
Daily click
Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!
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I was reading Vitae again (as I often do haha) and keyed into a random part that I hadn’t initially thought about. In Jongho’s part, when he asks Little Shadow!Reader where her home is, he offhand notes that only the vampires in Hongjoong’s coterie have rooms. Which made me think… where do all the Ghouls go? In my head I kinda imagine them either just standing about all throughout the mansion looking dead eyed and zombified, or like perched up high in the rafters/balconies like somewhat sentient gargoyles, waiting for their master to give them a task. I also wonder if there is some type of hierarchy amongst them? Baby-babe seems to be Hongjoong’s ghoul turned family/lover (as are the other members), but do any of the other ghouls notice a change in Baby-babe. We know she was mostly isolated from everyone, but are there any ghoul-friends (lol) amongst Hongjoong’s horde?
I also wondered if there was a particular era that you imagined all the members to be in appearance-wise. We get a brief mention of Hongjoong dyeing his hair and Seonghwa having his silvery, platinum blonde hair, but I wondered if we could get a sneak peak at how the others look within the story! 👀
aaaa this made my day, your sweet comments about vitae always make my day!!! And yes the ghouls do sort of just stand around - a lot of them do not take care of themselves unless directed to do so. I imagine a there are a handful that take care of the house, a handful that help Hongjoong run his businesses, and a handful that follow the other coterie members tbh. I like the description of them being like gargoyles - that is very much a good comparison. There is a hierarchy - but less so among the ghouls and more for the vamps. They have their favorites - Baby-babe!YN was a favorite. Its implied that Jongho was once ghouled as well so its a common thread for HJ/SH. Right now with Shadow!YN she is more the normal view of a ghoul life for HJ - being sent away to do his bidding, not caring for oneself, no social life beside the coterie. The ghouls are really one-track minded for the most part.
and yes i totally have ideas for what they look likeeee!! plus i wrote lil sneak peeks (that could change fyi) for youuu!!!! thank you for supporting my vamp fanfic <3
these were my two inspiration pics for the beginning of it all, for desire!! but i have so many more inspo pics!
seonghwa - anything with his platinum blonde or white/silver hair. I imagine later in the fic him cutting his hair or slicking it back as well!! expensive clothes model vibes.
His hand held hers securely, watching as she was torn between him and following after Hongjoong. Like a magnet being pulled apart. Seonghwa saw it: the gravity between them, the unrelenting bond.
Where was his? She never did so for him. There was no magnetic hold – no ghoulish blood to tie them. Sometimes her eyes looked so cruel.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles, drawing her attention back to him. Her eyes wide, almost as if she didn’t recognize him at first before her brows settled into something he could only name as “acceptance”. No safety and sweetness.
“Hey sweet heart,” he soothed. “Hongjoong will be back later. I’m here. I’m here.”
It felt like ash in his mouth, to urge what should be his to be content with him. Sinful. He tugged her closer until she fell into his chest. “Let’s just sit here for a while, hm? Together.”
hongjoong - anything with this type of blonde - more yellowy than blonde/white/platinum. BUT also black haired/red haired hongjoong. I more often than not picture him blonde but I do imagine he liked to dye his hair more than the others. He dresses in fine clothes but definitely more variety and flamboyance. SMB is peak desire!hj.
“Is it good?” Hongjoong hummed softly, watching as she suckled at his wrist. Hungrily, viciously. It was anything but cute. The noises – slurping and hissing and gulping. And still, he brushed back the baby hairs around her face adoringly. Her eyes were too dilated; in reality, all that mattered was blood. She couldn’t even hear him as he fawned.
“I know, I know, baby-babe,” he hummed nuzzling his nose against her temple as he shifted her close. “I’m here. Your Sire will always be here.”
jongho - mostly dark black or dark brown hair with some sort of strandy bangs - i like the shorter bangs that show off his brows tbh. i picture him in sweaters with a heavier type of jacket over it. very boyfriendy. domestic. looks like he smells good.
“YN,” he spoke her name. It was the first time she had heard him say it. When did he even learn it?
He saw her body tremble in his grasp; her skin was so clammy. Her poor heart was racing, tainted by Hongjoong’s blood and his orders.
He wanted to take it all away. He decided he would. He refused to leave her here.
“Come with me.” He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against hers. “Hongjoong won’t like it,” he admitted. “But I’ll keep you safe.”
He’d treat her better. He wanted to know her beyond the ghoul, beyond the commands. He wanted to know what her favorite book, her favorite movie, her favorite activity. What was she studying in university? Did she miss it? He’d help her go back. He’d help her rebuild everything.
He was different from Hongjoong. He is.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmured softly. “I won’t compel you to do things you don’t want to.”
Each word was spoken as a promise; his thumbs brushed over her cheeks.
“Please?” he whispered.
She felt her heart break at his earnest. Her hands rose slowly to cup his hands. Feeling his strong hands hold her with gentleness. Her mind raced with thoughts of ‘he’d never hurt me; it was Jongho.’ Jongho who was her first and foremost priority.
When had ‘care to him’ turn to ‘care for him.’ She wasn’t sure.
san - black gelled styled hair, tight black tee or tank top, belt, black pants. he reminds me of a raver or party boy or fuckboy. He knows how to look good, tempt but also be able to blend in at a moment's notice with "casual" clothing.
“You... like this, don't you?” San breathed close to her neck. He could smell it. He shifted her against the wall, surprisingly careful for a vampire playing with his food.
Delicate. That’s how he treated her despite the hunger that itched at his stomach.
"You enjoy the chase, too, don't you?"
His other hand rose and wiped at the blood on her cheek. She flinched as he slipped the finger into his mouth to suck it clean.
yeosang - long hair yeosang.... ponytail yeosang.... chiseled hot muscular yeo. He is Strong in this fic. and he is more dressed for movement and activity - I do like the idea of the jean jacket though :)
The motel’s door was cracked open, letting in cold air. An invitation. He took it, closing the door behind him after glancing about. Making sure no shady figures followed or prowled about. There was the sound of the sink, water pouring down the drain. Yeosang peered around the corner of the wall, into the grungy bathroom.
The scent of blood was undeniable – hers was ever sweet. Like the sweetest wine, like his favorite meal. His mouth salivated.
“You’re hurt,” he said quietly.
Her head snapped up to look at him through the mirror. His jacket was torn in places showing his pale skin. There was a gash of his own across his chest. No blood seeped, no fleshy red was revealed. It was like he was nothing but a foam mannequin, perfect. Inhuman. She reminded herself of that, steeling her features.
“I’ll be fine.” YN replied.
He moved closer at a slow pace. He had trained himself to move slower around them – like a dog tucking their tail and ears. Despite lacking his weapons, he was a weapon in their eyes. His filed nails a weapon. His dulled teeth, false promises.
“It looks bad,” he commented, glancing over the wounds he could see. Her back had a large series of claw marks. His fingers raised to touch her skin, icy cold against her painful skin. YN jolted. Her hand gripped the nearby silver stake.
“I’m fine, Yeosang.”
“You’re not.” He growled out. “You can bear that stake – it doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying to make sure you don’t bleed out.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Congratulations, so have I. Doesn’t mean you don’t need a hand, huntress.”
mingi - oreo hair, shaggy and spikey short. Wears more street clothing, a bit grungey and rockish.
“Tiger?” another voice queried, light-hearted despite it deepness. “More like Bambi.”
“Aw, Bambi,” it was cooed out this time. “I like it.”
She coughed violently now, gagging on nothing as she suffered.
A cool hand came to her neck, soothing the sweat and heat that had clung to it. But it was not tender as it yanked her up like a cat by its scruff. His face was so close as he peered at her, fanged teeth gleaming as he smiled with all his teeth.
"Your Sire left you all alone, bambi?" he asked, smiling as she snapped her teeth at him. "Biting the hand the helps you isn't very smart, newbie."
yunho - listen, its yunho where hes domineering. strong eye contact, strong styled hair, you know when hes like "i want to be a villain role" imagine that. He's also in street clothes, more leathered jacket and leathered pants and more form fitting rather than mingi's oversized fashion. (these lil sneak peeks may make it obvious but their one shot is a yungi oneshot like how desire was seongjoong.)
“Yun—Yunho, I can’t,” she whimpered; it was more like a garbled hiss. She scratched at the ground as he pulled her back.
“You can,” he commanded. His arms wrapped around her neck rather than holding her by it with his hand. It was suffocating – a sort of chokehold hug. He squeezed her neck, not letting go as she watched Mingi feast. Drinking everything all down. “You will, Bambi-girl.”
“You’re cruel,” she whispered.
Yunho chuckled, tugging her back. His other arm went to wrap around her waist, strong. Her legs kicked hopelessly. He held her still.
“You have to learn control.” His mouth was cold against her ear, pressing a patronizing kiss to her temple. “You’re the only one that can do it – I can’t control you; Mingi can’t control you. Only you can. And you will.”
wooyoung - cant pick between brown and blonde lolol but definitely something in this style with glasses he doesnt need. soft comfy clothes, layered flannels with tees or tanks. domestic domestic domestic.
“Hello, Wooyoungie,” his Sire chimed, flexing his hands and glancing at his rings and watch. Nonchalant and too casual. Forced, Wooyoung noted.
“Hyung,” it was said with respect but a zing of a scowl.
“Huh,” Hongjoong laughed. “No ‘vampire daddy’? No teasing? No jokes?”
There was a leer in his gaze as he tilted his head at Wooyoung.
All the younger vampire did was glare, his fingers curling around the door. His jaw flexed. His breath stopped.
“Ah, it’s because you’re the daddy here, right?”
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ಠ_ ಠwarning/content: RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. not proof read, stockholm syndrome; DUBIOUS CONSENT, ddlg themes and vibes; reader calls hj daddy & acts cute, maintenance spanking, praise, fingering, dacryphilia; licking tears, light choking like barely, a lil aftercare yipee !!, lots of pet names: sweet, little, good, girl, baby, angel, sweetheart, doll, love
♡masterlist + navigation ♡
"Happy Saturday, baby," Hongjoong smiles as he walks through the door, making sure to lock it behind him before returning the key to its rightful place on the chain around his neck.
"Hi, Daddy," you smile back brightly, "how was work?" You set away your drawing supplies, all of your attention on your Daddy as he comes to sit on the couch; kicking off his shoes.
"It was work," he hums, spreading his legs, "c'mere, sweetheart."
You shuffle on your knees to be between his legs, resting your cheek on his thigh and blinking up at him. "Yes, Daddy?"
"Do you know what today is?"
"Saturday- it's not..."
"It is," he nods, petting your head softly, "it's the last Saturday of the month." Which means you get all of your spankings today.
"But I've been good, I've been so good." You haven't broke a single rule. You haven't for months, and you know it. Even if he still insists there's one you've broke during the week and simply forgot. He usually comes up with an excuse to spank you, a dish not cleaned well enough or your hygiene not to his satisfaction or your acting ungrateful.
Today, he doesn't. "I know, baby. You've been my good little girl, haven't you?"
"Yes, Daddy," you nod into his lap eagerly, "I've been good, I don't deserve any spankings-"
"Now, slow down, now... Who decides that?"
You look away from his intense gaze, fingers coming to fiddle with his pant legs, "you do."
"I do. That's right." He takes a short moment to look you over. In your big pastel shirt and the tiniest pair of shorts you have, he thinks you look adorable as ever. He might have let you slide.
Might have.
"Come bend over," he sighs, like it hurts him to say. He helps you up gently, as if he's not about to bruise you. "I want you to know how proud I am of you. You've been so well behaved, my love."
"Then, why, Daddy?" You pout as you bend over his lap, already holding back tears.
"Why do you think, baby?" He lifts your shirt up your back and pulls your shorts down your thighs while he awaits an answer.
You wrack your brain, and the only thing you can come up with is, "so I stay good?"
"What a smart little girl," he says with a rough spank to your ass — never starting easy on you. "So you stay good, so you remember your place." Another two spanks in quick succession have you yelping. "This one will be easy, I promise."
Hongjoong may be many despicable things, but he's never been a liar to you. He gives fifteen harsh spanks to your behind rather than the more usual twenty five, and he even takes a moment after each one to hold the stinging flesh and calm it down after each strike before repeating it all again.
After the fifteenth hit, he trails his hand up your back and scratches in soft circles, cooing quietly, "all done, sweet girl. That wasn't so bad, hm?"
"No, Daddy," you say through your small sniffles, melting in his lap under the soft scratches.
"No, I told you~ Daddy knows what he's doing," he snakes his hands around to your shoulders and pulls you up carefully, "are you ready to move on or do you need a moment?"
He never asks that, he always just... does what he does next.
He usually doesn't give you a choice as he fucks you raw and harsh.
"I'm ready," you swallow thickly, sniffing back your tears.
"Yeah?" He maneuvers you to lay across the couch before shoving up your shirt to fondle your tits as he lays above you, kissing up your teary cheek. "Do think Daddy should be nice and stretch you out?"
"P-please..." You feel greedy for even asking. He never gives you a choice. After spanking time is for Daddy's pleasure; because he always gets hard while punishing you.
"So polite," he smiles — proud, affectionate. "What a well mannered girl." If not only because he's trained you to be that way. To listen to his every word and be polite and grateful while doing so. "Spread your legs for Daddy."
"Thank you," you say, shy and unsure as you do as he says, spreading your legs so that one dangles off the edge of the couch.
"You're welcome," he kisses your cheek again before giving it a long lick up the length of it; tasting your salty tears with a low moan as he sinks a finger into your heat.
You're already wet. Your body is used to being fucked after a spanking. It takes him no time at all to stuff another finger into you, pistoning and curling them slowly.
Your jaw drops in a small whine as he adds a third finger, officially stretching you out. "Does that feel good, baby?" He asks knowingly as he curls the tips of his fingers into that very special spot inside of you.
"Uh-huh," you nod quickly, eyes locked onto his while he scans your body meticulously; committing the way you breathe into his memory for the thousandth time over again.
He notices your hands fidgeting by your side, unsure of where to go, and he leans down closer; his chest against yours while he speeds up his fingers, "hold onto me, doll."
You're quick to do as he says, wrapping your arms around him and holding on tightly as he begins to fuck you on his fingers roughly. "Daddy!" You moan out, eyes screwed shut tightly.
"What do we say? Hm?" He leans and kisses at your neck, fingers relentlessly rubbing against your sensitive insides.
"C-can I cum? Please may I?" You stutter out quickly, rewarded when his free hand comes to wrap around your neck — not choking. Not just yet. Just firm and steady as he turns your brain into a horny mush; giving you something to ground yourself to other than the stinging pain of your bottom.
"You may." He squeezes your neck now, focusing the curls of his fingers to your g-spot in a rhythmic pulse, "say thank you."
"Shit! Fuck! Thank you, Daddy!" Your body shakes below him as you're pushed over your peak, moaning and whining and clinging to him tightly as he increases the pressure around your neck until you can't breathe — and then letting go completely as you come down from your high.
You expect him to start undressing himself now — you expect to get fucked hard and mean.
What you don't expect, "you're Daddy's good girl," he coos while rubbing his thumb along your jaw.
You melt into the slight affection, eyes droopy as you look up at him. "Daddy's turn?"
"Wait until you catch your breath, baby," he laughs, cupping your cheeks and leaning to give you a kiss. "Then Daddy will fuck you nice and hard."
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The Lord Knoweth My Name; Being an Account of Certain Disturbances Which Befell Our Household.
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. not proof read, chapter one of six, historical puritan au; dialogue is a mix of old and modern english, readers father has passed, supernatural / demonic elements, reader is plagued by dreams including but not limited to: trippy and dark imagery / nipple play / sort of fingering
soundtrack by @jailn & @last-words-ofashootingstar
It feels wrong to hear someone else besides your father preach such as this.
"O Lord Most High, Thou who givest and takest away according to Thy perfect wisdom, we bow beneath Thy hand this day. Thou hast called home Thy servant, who long laboured in Thy vineyard and faithfully broke unto us the Bread of Life. Though our hearts be heavy and our eyes filled with tears, yet we dare not contend with Thy decree, for Thou doest all things well. "
But Jeong Yunho — now Pastor Jeong since your father's passing — he preaches well. He recites prayers without hesitation and he reminds you all of what the bible teaches to do in times such as these.
"Thou hast numbered his days, and when his work was finished, Thou didst grant him rest from his earthly pilgrimage. Teach us, O God, to number our own days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. Let not his voice be forgotten amongst us, but may the truths he preached be written upon our souls. And grant unto us grace to walk faithfully, that when our own summons shall come, we may depart in peace and behold Thy glory. "
His dark eyes come to find your family: your mother, your siblings, and finally — you. You're taking his sudden passing harder than any of them, sobbing and sniffling and near choking on your sorrow.
"Comfort the widow, strengthen the fatherless, and uphold Thy flock, now bereft of its shepherd. Raise up faithful labourers to feed Thy people, and let Thy Word continue to run and be glorified. Through Jesus Christ our only Mediator and Redeemer, unto whom be all honour and dominion, world without end. Amen."
††††††
You stare at the wall of your humble room from the edge of your bed, decorated with dried flowers and pages of your father's preachings.
It's quiet in the home, save for your mother's small cries a few rooms over. Your sister lays in the bed beside your own, silent as a mouse. Your brother lays in the one on the far side of the room.
"Do you think father can see us?" Your young sister asks.
"He is in the Kingdom with our Almighty Father, should he have such reason to look upon us?" You respond, short and snippy.
"Perhaps. If he misses us."
"Why would you miss such lowkey mortals in the presence of our Father and savior?"
"Why must you always be so... discouraging?"
"I am being but truthful."
"You're being a -"
A loud knocking at the door stops your argument before it continues any further. "Go and see who that is," your brother groans from bed, rubbing his temples as he sits.
You make the short journey, looking through the peephole to see Pastor Jeong. "Sir," you greet plainly as you open the door.
"Hello," he smiles, warm and inviting you to smile back despite the circumstances. You do so, a small twitch of your lips. "I've come bearing gifts." He hold up a large wicker basket upon two of his fingers. "From the rest of the community. They all wanted to come themselves but, I didn't want to overwhelm you in your grief."
"Thank you, Pastor," you nod after a moment, stepping aside to make room for him. "Come in, please."
"Thank you, dear," he ducks into the doorframe and stands once inside, his eyes immediately going to the cross over the dinner table. And they linger — so much so that you notice his fixated gaze.
"My father made it. He said he blessed it, specially to protect us children."
"How nice," he smiles again, tearing his eyes from the cross. "Shall I set this on the table?"
"Oh, yes," you gesture timidly, stepping out of his way as he takes long strides.
"Mostly fruit and vegetables from other families gardens, but there is some meat you may want to store."
"How thoughtful of everyone." The silence between you irks you. Unsettles your gut. "Finney!" You yell into the hall, "Jane! Mother! The Pastor is here."
It feels wrong calling someone else the Pastor.
You sigh as you turn back around, and it comes out as a gasp when you see the cross behind Pastor Jeong upside down. "What's the matter?" He asks, his eyes fully black.
When you blink, it's all gone. The cross is right side up and his eyes are a warm chocolate brown.
"Noth- Nothing, sir. I fear my eyes are weary from crying and I must... well, I must have been seeing things."
"What did you see?" He tilts his head, inquisitively.
"Pastor Jeong," your mother greets him hoarsely, in nothing other than her shift and your fathers coat.
"Yunho!" Your sister is more excited, running and hugging the man's long leg.
"Hello, little one," he says, patting her head with a smile.
You blink towards the cross, reassuring yourself that it's right side up. It is. But the knot of dread in your gut remains.
††††††
You awake to your little sisters giggling. It's strange to hear her laughter, as it's been only a week since your father's passing.
"Janey..." You groan sleepily, rolling in your bed to face hers. Only, she isn't there. She's standing by the window in the room, waving out to the woods.
"Jane?" You sit up fully now, holding your blanket to your chest. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing!" She says quickly, running to her bed and spooking you into a small yelp. "I was saying hello to someone."
"Someone in the woods?"
"Not just anyone." She yawns, falling deeper into her pillow, "the witch."
"The witch?" You don't get a response, for she is already asleep. "Jane?"
††††††
"Hello, Pastor," you greet as he walks along the fence of your garden, setting down the bucket of water you carry and wiping your hands on your apron.
"Hello, dearest lady," his words manage to make you smile, as they have over the past two weeks since your father's passing. "Are you hard at work?"
"As the Lord demands it," you grin, "how can I help you, sir?"
You know he's stopped by to check on you and your grieving family. He has every other day. "Your mother has invited me for tea, did she not invite you?"
"She did not have to," you smile, "tea was my idea. I dried some herbs perfect for the heat, last winter."
"You did now?"
"I did." The nod you give is almost proud, and his coming praise makes you even prouder.
"What good planning you've done. Two years ahead on herbs."
"Twas easy." You give a shrug and a smirk, bending to get the bucket when your neckerchief comes undone from your neck and exposes your shoulders and decolletage. "Oh, oops," you feel a heat of shame rising on your face as you feel the man's eyes on you. "My apologies, Pastor, I don't mean to be indecent-" You scramble after the piece of fabric as it blows in the wind.
"Don't worry, dear," he picks it up for you and dusts it off in the wind, folding it accordingly before stepping closer and pulling it back around your neck. His fingers brush against your breasts as he tucks it into your bodice, and you stand in shock at his actions.
If anyone found out he'd touched you — so intimately at that — you'd never shake the rumors.
"I won't tell if you don't." He winks, fingers running along your stiff bodice, that place where your bust is thickest, as he steps past you. "Come, we have tea waiting on us."
"Right," you blink, "tea." You forget the bucket entirely as you turn on your heel and follow him into your home.
"Pastor!" Your mother brightens up at the sight of the man, like much of your family has come to do. "Just in time, I just set the tea to cool."
You head to the basin and rinse your hands while they exchange casual greetings, before moving to more intimate of a topic. "How is the boy?" Pastor Jeong asks while looking down the hall, "has there been any improvement?"
Finney had fallen ill two days after your father was buried — sick with grief, some people were saying. He runs a fever all through the day and night for two weeks now, his skin got to the touch and damp with sweat even in the cool weather. He speaks nonsense, when he does rarely speak. He preaches incoherently for the glory of God and prays quietly for such God to have mercy on his sinner soul.
"He spoke again today. To (Y/n)."
"Do you remember what he said?"
"I don't not know if i could ever forget, sir. He was very... clear today." You dry your hands and sit beside your mother, "very clear."
"And what was it he was so clear about?"He takes a slow sip of tea while you take a moment to recall the words burned into your memory for their blasphemous and bitter tone.
"Lord, I beg Thee, speak plainly, for I can no longer discern Thy hand. Every misfortune appears a judgment, every silence a condemnation. Have I fallen from Thy favor? Have I entertained some secret wickedness beyond my knowledge? Reveal it unto me, though the revelation may break my heart. Tis better to suffer beneath Thy rod than wander forsaken beneath Thy silence. Forgive me, Lord. Most righteous Father, I confess with trembling spirit that I have sinned against Thee. My thoughts have wandered where they ought not, and my heart has harbored rebellion. I deserve Thy wrath and not Thy mercy. Yet I fall upon that mercy still, begging that Thou wouldst not turn Thy face from me. Chasten me if Thou must, but do not abandon me to my corruption. If this be a trial, I am weary. If this be punishment, I do not know my crime. And if this be abandonment, forgive me. For I do not know how to stop searching for the footsteps of a God who no longer walks beside me. Amen."
His eyes widen as you speak so fluidly, your brother's words from earlier this day. "So..."
You look over your shoulder into the hall, where your brothers words still lies in bed feverishly ill, "so, God hath abandoned us."
††††††
The heat is that of summer, sticking to your skin and causing your shift to cling to your damp skin. Despite that, all of the trees are barren of green — as though winter has laid claim to the earth. The sky is a sickly hue of midnight blue, neither day nor night.
The tolling of a church bell sounds across the woods. The sound is low and mournful, and you follow it, hoping to find some comfort in this strange moment.
Yet when you come to a clearing, you see no meetinghouse. Instead, a multitude of figures pass silently before you, each bearing a candle whose flame burns weak and blue. As they draw nearer, dread seizes you, for every face among them is but a blur of flesh.
You flee from that place and come unto a lonely field, wherein stands an apple tree — long dead and stripped of fruit. Darkness falls over the earth as you seek refuge by sitting underneath it, among the twisted and deep roots.
And in that darkness you hear weeping. You know not whether it belongs to another soul, to some creature hidden from sight, or to yourself.
Then comes the sound of footsteps behind you.
Slow. Measured. Drawing ever nearer.
"You poor thing." Yunho's voice echoes in the field despite its quiet nature. You jump up to find the holy man, only your hands and knees before him. "Sweet mourning lamb."
"Pastor-" You finally find your voice within the dread, only for the air to be knocked out of your lungs as he tackles you to the ground, your head colliding with the dirt.
"Let me comfort thee." He moans into your neck, lips pressed against your heavy pulse. "Let me take away thy pain. All you have to do is say you want it." His hands are sliding your shift up your legs, and you know what he must mean.
And despite all of your inner turmoils, your knowing of how sinful this must be set out to become — you whisper, "I want it." Tis just a dream anyways. Dreams are much easier to repent for.
He lifts your shift up to expose your most intimate area, then further; up your belly, then further; exposing your breasts.
"Such a pretty thing..." He trails his thumb over your nipple, making you jolt with a suppressed moan, "so young and full of life. So... supple."
His administrations are quickly an assault to your senses, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and to your chest, where he licks at one bud of flesh while toying the other with his fingers.
You gasp freely now, hands patting the ground; not sure where to go. "Hold onto me," he says against your chest, and you're quick to comply, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and holding onto him tightly as his hand drags along down your stomach and over your cunt; cupping it firmly with a groan deep in his throat.
"Virgins get wet so easily," he says under his breath, to himself more than anything as he slides two fingers along your slit.
You awaken by being shaken by Finney, screaming your name. "Heavens, what is wrong with you?!" He turns his head and coughs, hand to his chest.
"What happened?" You sit up in your bed with a groan, a large striking pain on the back of your head which you bring a hand to and hold it gently. You remember it like a puzzle with pieces stitched together at the wrong seams.
"You were tossing and turning like a madwoman and then you started groaning," he takes a step back with a small pout, "are you getting the same sickness as me?"
"No," you shake your head quickly, "no, my head just hurts is all."
While you and your brother are settling into the same bed after you asked him not to leave, Yunho is across town with one hand over his frustrated face — the other in his boxer pants while he tries to remember the taste of your flesh.
You’ve spent months pretending you’re okay.
Yunho has spent months pretending he believes you.
Tonight, neither of you can pretend anymore.
➢ yunho x fem!reader ➢ angst, hurt ➢ bipolar disorder, depressive episode, suicidal ideation, discussion of suicide, mental illness, medication mention, self-worth issues, impostor syndrome, relationship conflict, emotional breakdown, crying, panic, unhealthy coping mechanisms ➢ 4.4k ➢ this one was more for me than anything else. i’ve been thinking about posting it for a long time, but today felt like the right day. it’s messy, heavy, and probably a little more honest than i originally intended it to be. but sometimes the things that are hardest to write are the things that need to be written. maybe someone will read this and recognise a piece of themselves in it. maybe someone will feel a little less alone. and if that’s the case, then i’m glad i shared it. if you see yourself in any part of this, i’m sorry. and you’re not alone.
You didn’t expect Yunho to come home so soon. That’s why you hurriedly gathered the used tissues scattered around you and shoved them beneath the blanket, wiping your tears on the sleeve of your shirt. You didn’t want him to know. What good would it do anyway? He didn’t need to deal with how miserable you felt. Swallowing the thick lump in your throat, you tried desperately to even out your breathing. The sound of his shoes being discarded echoed from the hallway—you’d probably have to nag him for leaving them carelessly again—followed by the soft pad of his socks on the wooden floor. You turned your back to the entryway, not trusting your eyes to hide the evidence.
“Hey, I’m back,” he didn’t even glance at your curled-up form before heading straight for the kitchen. Something landed on the countertop. Definitely not the milk and eggs you’d asked for. More likely protein powder and instant noodles. You hadn’t expected a warm greeting; he’d been out all day, and he rarely came home smiling anymore. Lately, it felt like he returned out of habit more than anything else, a habit that was still stronger, for unknown reasons, that any haunting thought about leaving.
It’s not love anymore, is it?
“You’re not even gonna say hi to me?”
There it was. That tone again.
Plastering a fragile smile onto your face, you forced yourself up from the living room couch and turned to face him, your eyes still heavy and reddened. “Hi,” the word came out weaker than you’ve liked. You padded into the kitchen space, trying to deflect. “How was wo—”
“You’ve been crying?” he interrupted immediately, his eyes locking onto your face. He let out a shaky exhale—you couldn’t tell if it was born of irritation or some lingering, buried sense of worry. “Again?”
The lump in your throat returned, heavier this time, joined by a knot in your stomach that stole the air from your lungs. Yunho wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t blind. But the voice in your head insisting that nobody cared was stubborn. Unyielding. Even after promising yourself thousands of times that you’d speak up—that you’d finally let him see the hurricane in your mind—the second the opportunity arose, your brain slammed on the emergency brakes. “What are you talking about?” you muttered, “I was just—”
“For God’s sake.” Yunho rolled his eyes, taking in your clearly broken-down posture. “Will you ever just talk to me?” He sounded angry, or maybe that was just the distortion of your own defence mechanisms. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Your eyes are all red and puffy.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” the words slipped out, you swore they did, cold and definitive. You took a step back, intending to disappear into the darkness of the bedroom, but you didn’t even make it half a step when Yunho’s hand, still chilled from the outside air, clamped down on your shoulder, keeping you in place.
“What happened?”
Panic clawed its way up your chest and neck, squeezing tight. Total silence fell over the kitchen, though your ears were ringing with the frantic thud of your own heartbeat. You hated that question, or maybe it was more a fear of it? “Nothing.” You forced your voice to remain flat. You failed. “Let me make you something to eat.” Avoiding his gaze, you reached past him for the grocery bag.
Yunho laughed once, short and humourless. “Right. Same answer as last week.”
You stiffened, your fingers wrapping tightly around the paper handles of the bag. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Desperate for a distraction, you began pulling plates out of the dishwasher, unpacking them just to give your trembling hands something to do. “Can you just drop it?”
“No.” The answer came so fast, so sharp, it forced your eyes up. Yunho dragged a heavy hand down his face, a gesture of pure exhaustion. “No, I can’t just drop it.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You are very obviously not fine.”
“Why does it even matter?” The question slipped out before your brain could filter it. Next came a total silence, heavy and suffocating. Yunho just stared at you, his face freezing but you couldn’t quite get the emotion behind it. You looked away, regretting the words the instant they tasted real. “Forget it.”
“No. Explain that.”
Your chest tightened, the pressure built until it finally burst. “Because what difference does it make?” you snapped, the sudden volume surprising even yourself. “You knowing doesn’t magically fix anything!”
Yunho’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “So that’s it? You just cry by yourself until you can’t breathe, and then pretend nothing happened?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” The moment the words left your mouth, you wished you could violently pull them back.
Something painful flashed across his face. “Wouldn’t understand?” Yunho repeated, his voice rising for the first time. “No, actually, I don’t. I don’t know what you mean because you never tell me anything.”
Your eyes burned fiercely, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. “Because I’m tired!”
“So am I!” The admission hit harder than any physical violence ever could. You flinched, and Yunho looked away as if he needed a second to calm down, shaking his head. “I’m tired of guessing what's going on in your head,” he confessed. “I’m tired of waking up and wondering if today’s gonna be a good day or a bad day. I’m tired of watching you fall apart and pretending I don’t see it, because every single time I ask, you shut me out.”
The room felt microscopic, and the walls were closing in, trapping you both in the wreckage of the conversation. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to hold your shattering pieces together. “Then stop asking.”
Yunho stared at you. For a fleeting second, the anger completely vanished, leaving him looking genuinely, deeply hurt. “Do you really want that?”
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Your throat was completely closed up. Because the truth was: no. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to ask. You wanted him to keep asking. You wanted someone to finally notice—but you just didn’t know how to survive the vulnerability of being seen.
Yunho let out a slow, defeated breath, the fight leaving his shoulders.
“That’s what I thought.”
And there they were. Tears, again.
You sniffled, blinking rapidly as if it could somehow stop them from spilling over. “What difference does it make if you know? It’s not your fault I feel like this. It’s not anyone’s. It’s all on me.” You dragged a trembling hand through your hair, gripping the roots just to feel something grounding. “Do you really want to fucking listen about what it’s like?” The words tore out of you, broken in half by a sob. “To wake up every single morning wishing you could just disappear? Wishing everyone would just forget you ever existed so you could stop being a burden?” Yunho took a sudden step toward you. Instinctively, you flinched and stepped back, leaving his hand hovering in the air near your waist, desperately wanting to steady you, but you kept moving out of reach until your lower back hit the hard edge of the kitchen counter. You couldn’t handle being touched in this satate. You were trapped by the room, and trapped by your own skin.“Do you know how hard it is?” you cried, the act of being fine completely breaking now. “Just getting out of bed every day? Taking four different fucking medications just to stay stable, and still feeling like absolute shit anyway?” Your chest throbbed with ache. Every single breath felt too sharp, like your lungs were getting cut open. “I’m trying,” the confession came out small, and pathetic in your ears. You hated how weak you felt when you met Yunho’s eyes for a brief moment, before looking away again. “I’m trying so hard.” Another sob tore violently through your throat, robbing you of air. “And it’s never enough.”
For the first time since he’d walked through the front door, Yunho didn’t interrupt. He didn’t argue. He didn’t demand that you talk to him, and he didn’t roll his eyes. He just stood there, completely paralysed, listening.
Because maybe, after all this time, you were finally saying something.
“And then you come home,” you choked out, gesturing wildly to the space between you, “after I’ve been sitting in my own rot all day, and you demand answers like I have any!” You let out a harsh laugh, though it sounded far more like another sob. “I’m so tired.”
Yunho took another cautious step forward, his hands half-raised. “Hey—”
“No!” You shook your head violently, the movement making the room tilt. “No, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” Your chest heaved, desperate for air that wouldn’t come, lungs refusing to work under flood of tears.
“Like what?”
“Like you care!” The silence that followed felt endless, it swallowed the whole space between you. You immediately wished you could yank the words back into your throat, but it was too late. Once the words started, they refused to stop. “You don’t get it,” you choked out.
“Then explain it to me.”
“Why? So you can tell me it’ll get better? So you can give me some hollow promise that you’re here for me?” Your vision blurred into a smear of kitchen lights and shadow. “Look at me!” You spread your arms wide, gesturing to your trembling, broken form. “Look at me,” your voice broke to a whisper, “I’m miserable all the time. I can’t keep my shit together.” You pressed a fist hard against your sternum, right over your aching heart. “I take medication every single day and I’m still a complete disaster.” You swallowed against the burn in your throat, pushing through the final, terrifying truth. “And you know what the worst part is?”
Yunho didn’t answer. Looking at him, you weren’t even sure he could breathe, let alone speak.
“I’m trying so hard,” you wiped angrily at your face with the back of your hand, but it was a useless, desperate gesture that only smeared the hot tears further across your cheeks. “I’m trying,” you whispered again, the repetition sounding more like a plea to the universe than a statement. “And for what?” You didn’t let him speak. If you stopped now, the momentum would die, and you would dissolve into nothing. You let out a bitter, ugly laugh. “For what, Yunho? So I can swallow my meds, force myself to go to work, come home, pretend I’m absolutely fine, and then wake up to do it all over again? Is that the grand prize?”
“That’s not what this is about,” he interrupted, his voice dropping low as he looked at tears restlessly falling down your cheeks.
“Then what is it about?”
His jaw tightened so hard the muscle along his cheekbone twitched. He closed the small distance between you, his eyes locked onto yours. “You won’t talk to me.”
A sharp, hysterical laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Because there’s nothing to say!”
“That’s bullshit,” the sudden, whip-crack sharpness in his voice made you flinch, shoulders violently jerking backward. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of pure guilt crossed Yunho’s face at your reaction. But the softness vanished as quickly as it came, swallowed by a wave of frustration. “No,” he said, his voice steadying, “I’m serious. That’s absolute bullshit.” You could only stare at him, your hands gripping the countertop behind you so tightly your knuckles turned white. “You cry when you think I’m not looking,” he said, taking a deliberate step closer. The cold air from the outside still clung to his jacket. “You lock yourself in the bedroom for hours.”
Another step.
“You barely sleep. I lie awake and I listen to you toss and turn until the sun comes up.”
Another step.
He was entirely inside your space now, the warmth of his body a direct contrast to the icy panic flooding your veins. “And every single time I ask you what’s wrong, you look me dead in the eye and tell me it’s nothing.” You hated how right he sounded. You hated the absolute, undeniable logic of his words, and more than anything, you hated him for being the one to hold it against you.
“What difference would it make if I told you?” you cried, your voice pitching higher.
“Maybe I’d know how to help.”
A ragged laugh tore out of you, loud and mocking. “Help?” The word dripped with a bitter, venomous disbelief. “That’s funny. That’s really funny, Yunho.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
You looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. You focused instead on a small scratch on the kitchen cabinets. “Nothing.”
“No. Say it.” The kitchen suddenly felt microscopic. The walls were pressing in from all sides, trapping the two of you in a space that lacked oxygen. You could feel your heartbeat throbbing violently in your throat, choking you. “Say it,” he demanded again.
Your eyes burned fiercely, a fresh wave of tears blurring the sight of his socks on the floor. “You really want me to?”
“Yes.” The answer came instantly. No hesitation or fear.
So, you gave it to him. You took the most toxic, deeply rooted fear in your soul and you threw it directly at his chest. “You don’t love me anymore.”
The silence was immediate. It was a violent and suffocating, sucking any remaining air out of the room.
Yunho just stared at you. The anger on his face completely froze, his features slackening into an expression of total, uncomprehending shock. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Say it again.” His voice was frighteningly calm now. The storm had suddenly vanished, replaced by quiet that made your instinct scream at you to run.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “You don’t love me.”
His laugh was short, sharp, and completely humourless—a sound that made you flinch worse than his yelling had. “Wow.”
You felt tears spill over your eyelashes, tracing burning paths down your face and onto your neck. But you couldn’t stop. The floodgates were shattered, and your broken brain was running the script it had spent months writing in the dark. “You come home because you don’t have anywhere else to go,” you sobbed, gesturing vaguely to the apartment around you.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.
“You stay because it’s easier than leaving.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“You stay because you’re used to me!” By then, his eyes were shining, glassy tears finally gathering in them. You looked at them and felt a sick twist of validation. “You stay because it’s a habit.”
“You really believe that?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
You didn’t answer. Because the truth was: yes. You did. Every single day, that was the reality your mind constructed for you, and standing here, broken and exposed, you couldn’t tell the difference between the delusion and the truth. Yunho’s head dropped for a second, his chin pressing against his chest as he let out a long, ragged breath. When he looked back up, something about him had changed. It wasn’t love, and it wasn’t the fiery anger from before. It was hurt. Ugly, bleeding hurt.
“So every time I’ve tried to help you—”
“Yunho—”
“No!” His voice rose, cutting you off completely, echoing off the walls. “No, we’re doing this now. We are doing this right fucking now.” The volume of his voice made you stand straight up. Your stomach dropped, making the first hit of nausea hit you. “Every single time I’ve sat up with you until three in the morning,” he started, his hands shaking as he began to count on his fingers, throwing the evidence of his love between you. “Every single doctor’s appointment I drove you to.”
“Stop,” you whispered.
“Every prescription I ran to pick up because you couldn’t face the outside world.”
“Please.”
“Every fucking panic attack where I held you until my arms went completely numb!” His voice shook violently, the tears finally spilling over his eyelids. “And you think I did all of that because I was bored? You think I did that out of habit?”
Tears completely blinded your vision, turning him into a broad, trembling silhouette. “I didn’t mean—”
“Then what did you mean?” The question hit like a slap across the face. Yunho stepped closer, “What exactly do you think I am? Some kind of martyr? A heartless asshole who just plays house because it’s comfortable?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your vocal cords were paralyzed.
Yunho laughed again, and it made the blood in your veins go cold. The sound was terrifying in your ears. “Do you know what the worst part is?”
You wished he would stop talking. You wanted to cover your ears, to scream, to crawl into the floorboards—anything to make him stop. But he didn’t. Not anymore.
“The worst part is that none of this is ever enough.”
You flinched. Immediately. The words struck you in the chest, echoing the exact, terrifying thought you had spoken only moments before: And it’s never enough. The second you moved, regret flashed across Yunho’s face. He blinked, looking down at his own hands as if shocked by the weapon he had just used. But it was too late. The syllables had left his mouth. The damage was done.
“Oh,” you whispered, the sound barely clearing your lips. “Oh.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, taking a step forward, his hand reaching out instinctively.
“But you meant it.”
“No, I didn’t—”
“You did.” Fresh, hot tears spilled down your face, your defenses completely crumbling into ash. “You finally said it.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Yunho shouted, running both hands through his hair.
“You finally admitted it,” you choked out, your voice small, trembling, entirely defeated.
“I didn’t!” His hands shook as he dropped them to his sides. “I am so tired of everything I do being twisted into proof that I don’t care about you! I am so tired of fighting a voice in your head!”
You let out a sharp, bitter laugh through your tears. “And I’m tired of feeling like a fucking obligation!”
The words hung between you. Heavy. Ugly.
Obligation.
Yunho went completely, terrifyingly still.
An obligation. Not a partner. Not a girlfriend. Not the person he loved. An obligation. Something to be checked off a list. A burden to be carried.
You saw that one land. You watched the word hit him, saw the way his shoulders subtly dropped, the way the last remnants of fight drained out of his posture, leaving him looking entirely hollowed out.
Good, a small, vicious part of your brain whispered. You wanted it to hurt.
And the very second that thought crossed your mind, a wave of self-loathing washed over you. You hated yourself for it. Because suddenly, this wasn’t about defense anymore. You weren’t trying to protect your heart; you were actively trying to wound his. Just like he had tried to wound yours.
The realisation made you feel sick, a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach.
Neither of you spoke. The apartment felt impossibly quiet now, the silence heavy with pieces of everything you had just smashed. The hum of the refrigerator felt too loud.
Then, Yunho looked away. He couldn’t even look at you anymore. He stared at the kitchen floor, his voice dropping until it was very soft, entirely devoid of the anger that had sustained him. “I don’t know how to love someone who refuses to believe they’re loved.”
The remaining breath left your lungs in a sharp gasp. It didn’t hurt because it was cruel. It hurt because it sounded undeniably, fundamentally true. And that truth cut so much deeper than any shouting ever could.
“I’m trying to protect you from this,” you whispered, your hands curling into fabric of your shirt, right over your aching heart.
“By pretending nothing’s wrong?” Yunho asked as he finally looked back up, his eyes dull. “By letting me guess every single day what kind of mood I’m walking into?”
“What am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own head?” you cried, the defense finally dropping entirely, leaving only the raw, terrified human underneath. “How am I supposed to tell you what’s wrong when everything feels wrong?”
“Tell me that,” Yunho pleaded, a single tear tracking down his cheek. “Tell me you’re scared. Tell me your head is lying to you. Don’t look at me and tell me I don’t love you. Don’t erase everything I am because you’re hurting.”
You swallowed hard, the final truth rising up from the darkest corner of your mind. “I’m terrified that one day you’re going to wake up and realise I’m just too much. That the medication isn’t working, that I’m a disaster, and that you’re going to leave.”
Yunho let out a broken, shuddering breath, shaking his head. “And I’m terrified that one day I’ll come home… and you won’t be here at all.”
You froze. Your entire body went rigid, every muscle locking up as the air in your lungs turned to ice. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t blink.
Because he wasn’t just talking about you packing a bag and leaving him.
He was talking about that.
The dark, quiet corner of your mind that you never, ever spoke out loud. The place you retreated to on the worst days, where the urge to just stop existing became too much. You had thought about it. More than once. You had stood in the bathroom looking at the pill bottles; you had laid in bed wishing your heart would just forget to take its next beat. You wanted it. God help you, there were days you wanted it so badly just to make the noise stop. But you were terrified of that desire—terrified of how seductive the emptiness felt, terrified of what it meant that you were losing the will to fight your own skin. You had kept that horror buried so deep, hidden beneath layers of deflection and forced smiles. You thought it was your secret. Your private shame. But as you stared at Yunho, the absolute panic in your chest gave you away. Your pupils dilated. Your jaw slackened just a fraction, a tiny, involuntary gasp escaping your throat. Your hands, still pressed against your chest, began to shake violently.
And Yunho saw it.
He didn’t just hear your silence; he watched the exact moment the realisation registered on your face. He saw the guilt that flashed in your eyes before you could mask it. He saw the confirmation.
The look that crossed Yunho’s face in that microsecond was the most horrifying thing you had ever witnessed.
The last remaining color completely drained from his skin, leaving him a sickly, ghostly pale. His eyes widened, turning completely hollow, as if he were already looking at a corpse. The breath he took got caught in his throat. He hadn’t actually known. It had been his worst, most irrational fear—the nightmare that kept him awake at night. But seeing your reaction? Seeing the truth written plainly in your terrified eyes?
It turned his nightmare into a reality.
“Oh my god,” the words were barely a sound, just air scraping over his throat. He took a half-step back, his knees visibly trembling, as if the weight of the truth had broken his legs. “Oh my god. You... you actually...” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. The anger from before was gone, replaced by terror. He looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers right that second, like if he took his eyes off you for even a moment, you would vanish.
The realisation that he knew—that he had looked inside your head and seen the darkest thing you were hiding—finally broke the last of your strength. Your knees buckled, the energy entirely draining from your body, and you sank directly to the floor. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself, bury your face in your shirt as a fresh wave of tears took over.
Yunho watched you collapse. He took a step forward, his hand twitching as if to reach down and pull you into his chest, but he stopped. He saw the way you were curled into yourself, and he knew if he touched you right now, you would only pull further away. Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor. He sat a few feet away from you, his back leaning against the opposite kitchen cabinets, his long legs stretched out in the space between you. He didn’t try to cross the gap. He didn’t offer a hollow promise that everything was going to be okay. He just sat there in the quiet aftermath of the storm, breathing the same heavy air, refusing to leave you alone.
The silence didn’t heal anything. It didn’t sweep away the wreckage, and it didn’t patch the tears in the fabric of whatever was left of you. It just stayed, breathing heavily alongside both of you.
Eventually, Yunho shifted. The movement was slow, and stiff, as if his joints were made of lead. He dragged a trembling hand down his face, his fingers pressing hard against his skin as if the touch might somehow clear the paralysing shock still stuck behind his eyes. He stared blankly at the edge of the counter, then down at the pattern of the floor—anywhere and everywhere except directly at you.
You stayed curled in on yourself, your forehead pressed against your knees, small and tucked away in your own body. Minutes passed. Or maybe it was only seconds. Time didn’t feel like it belonged to either of you anymore; the clock had stopped the moment the truth was laid bare.
Then, quietly—so quiet the words barely cleared the barrier of your lips—you spoke.
“Did you get the milk?”
Yunho didn’t move his head, but his eyes tracked toward the sound of your voice. The simple question seemed to travel an impossible distance through the space between you just to reach him.
A beat passed. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space between you.
“…Yeah,” he didn’t offer anything else, and you didn’t ask. But the invisible wall hadn’t just gone back up. It was a fragile, trembling truce. He had gotten the milk. He had come home. And despite the terrifying weight of everything you were both carrying, he was still sitting on the floor.
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. blasphemy and sacrilege like a mfer; seriously you do not want to read this if you believe in and want to go to heaven, pastor!yunho x fem reader, plot twist, the devil is real so so is god maybe ?, witch hunting, violence against reader, more specific warnings on each chapter
Soundtrack by @jailn and @last-words-ofashootingstar
♡masterlist + navigation ♡
Teaser #1; Of Spirit Most Weak And Troubled
The Lord Knoweth My Name; Being an Account of Certain Disturbances Which Befell Our Household.
Under An Angry Heaven; Wherein I Fear I Have Been Forsaken.
Love, Most Sinful; Concerning the Cruelty of Earthly Affections.
A Trial Of Faith; Of My Great Unworthiness Before God, Concerning the State of My Soul and the Want of Assurance Thereof.
Tried By Fire; Wherein Is Recorded a Most Miserable Evening.
The Devil Knoweth My Name; Wherein Satan Doth Make Assault Upon My Soul.
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❛ forgive me, lord ❜ Teaser #1 ; Of Spirit Most Weak And Troubled
"Come," Pastor Jeong says softly, "rest thy head upon my lap." He moves his hands from their resting place, making room for you as you stand still; slight confused.
"Pardon?" Your voice is just a whisper over the thunderstorm which continues to rage outside the sanctuary of the church walls.
"Come and lay, and rest your head in my lap. It's of my belief that affection is a most powerful healing tool." You move slowly, your skirts sticking to your legs from the rain water you had traversed through. You sit first, but then fully give into temptation when he pats his lap.
You lay across the bench and nestle your damp head in his lap, holding back the deep sigh of relief that wants to escape as you feel his body warmth seep into you. It comes out as a shaking breath as he rests his hands upon your head, stroking your hair with his thumb. "Tell me, child, what plagues you so? To travel here in this weather, it must be something much troublesome."
"I fear that... God has left along with my father." You expect him to be shocked at your blatant blasphemy — to tell you to pray for forgiveness at the mere thought of your almighty God having abandoned you. But he only hums, the strokes of his thumb steady. "Tis blasphemy, I know- but... there have been certain things."
"Things such as what, dear?"
Where to begin? "My sister, she- she claims to speak to the witch of the wood. And my brother, he cannot work on our homestead, he cannot even get out of bed most days. And... I have been having most troublesome dreams."
"This is all normal for a family in your such situation," he says certainly, "grief is a most powerful thing."
"My dreams, Pastor, they... they are filled with sin."
He's silent for a short moment before he asks plainly, "how much sin?"
“I confess that I have sometimes sat upon the edge of my bed and wept before lying down, pleading with the Lord that He would grant me but one night of peace. Yet sleep comes as a thief, and with it images that pierce me with shame. And when dawn breaks... I feel as though I have returned from some secret betrayal. I wash my face and open the Scriptures, yet still there lingers the dreadful thought... what if these dreams be not visitations, but revelations? What if they are but the true language of my heart, spoken when all earthly restraints are removed? What if... I am meant to be a sinner?"
What a wonderful thought, he thinks. How well these dreams have been working to place such doubt in your young and weary heart. "We are all sinners, my dear. That is why we must pray for forgiveness and confess all of our sins in the light of the Lord, so that he might cleanse us and make us pure again. Kneel with me, child. Confess all of thy sins which you entertain in the night."
You lift your heavy head from his lap and move to kneel, your elbows resting on the bench infront of you as you clasps your hands together. "O Mighty Lord, I confess to the that I have entertained dreams of sin-"
"Be more specific."
Your heart thuds with shame and embarrassment, "sins of the flesh. And I awaken... roused from these such nightmares."
"More specific, still."
"I cannot." You whisper after a moment, "I am too shameful."
"You would rather hide from shame than cleanse your soul of these sins?" He tuts his tongue from beside you, going to stand before you grab his wrist and stop him.
"No! No, sir, it's just... I cannot speak of them infront of you."
