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kimjoongs · 3 years

Text

the line between realities ; k.hj

pairing none (just hj marinating in his thoughts)

genre diary film au, angst, minor fluff

word count 2.3k

warning(s) cursing

taglist @yunwoo @deonghwa @toffee-hwa @fairyofdusk @peachjaem00 @atinykidult

dia’s note just a short little thing i whipped up last night, no real rhyme or reason to it !

synopsis hongjoong vaguely recalls the moments before everything went to shit.

seoul, sk 160629 4:33 p.m.

Hongjoong’s Log

Today was our first day of practice. If I’m being honest, we all sucked. It took us more than an hour to learn the first 30 seconds. I could tell everyone was slowly getting frustrated with the lack of progress, but it was only our first practice. I told them that this was to be expected. Fortunately, that seemed to ease their minds, even if it was only a little.

After practice, none of us felt like leaving just yet, so we hung around in the warehouse a while longer. There’s an old basketball hoop attached to one of the beams, so Jongho, San, Yeosang, and Mingi are over there playing. Wooyoung and Yunho are sitting on one of the sofas, talking animatedly about Wooyoung’s last dance battle, and Seonghwa is sitting next to me, reading a book he found in the corner.

It’s kinda strange. This was our first time meeting all together, but it feels like we’ve known each other for years.

I hope it stays like this.

“Watch out!”

Hongjoong barely had time to look up before he was hit square in the face by a basketball. He fell back with a yelp, his chair tipping over until it came down with a sharp clatter, taking Hongjoong along with it. He landed on the concrete with a thud, the sound bouncing off the walls. A hiss of pain left his lips, and he rolled over onto his back, head spinning as his eyes adjusted due to the sudden impact.

“Shit–”

“Hongjoong!”

“Good going, San.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Hongjoong, still dazed and confused, felt a hand on his shoulder. A look to his right revealed the face of Seonghwa, who peered down at the other with nothing but concern. His eyebrows were scrunched together, lips set into a frown.

“Hongjoong?” he murmured softly. “You okay?”

By now, the others have already gathered around the fallen male, mirroring Seonghwa’s expression. Although San’s was a bit more prominent as he held onto the basketball tightly, the same one that caused Hongjoong to fall over in the first place.

Hongjoong groaned, rubbing his aching nose with his hand. With the help of Seonghwa, he gently pushed himself up into a sitting position and took a moment to make sure that he wasn’t going to keel over before standing up, wincing when he felt his joints crack.

“Damn, I’m getting old,” he muttered under his breath, earning a chuckle from Yeosang who stood closest to him. He glanced back at the rest of the group, eyes falling on San, who looked about ready to spew out a plethora of apologies.

Hongjoong beat him to it.

“It’s okay, San. I’m fine,” he assured with a smile. The younger’s eyes widened at the apology, and he bit his lip.

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

The others laughed fondly, and Yunho reached over, swinging his arm around San’s shoulders, pulling the shorter male towards him. A soft, wispy sigh came from behind, and Hongjoong peeked over his shoulder. Seonghwa gazed back at him with an exasperated look, but the tender glint in his eye said more than words ever could.

What am I going to do with you people?

Hongjoong smiled, turning back.

The others had already begun to return to their previous activities, leaving Hongjoong and Seonghwa at the table. The former bent down and picked up the chair, plopping down on it once it was upright. Seonghwa breezed past his own chair and chose to sit on the table instead, crossing his legs. He glanced down at Hongjoong briefly before turning his attention back to his book, flipping the pages until he found the one he left off on.

The notebook Hongjoong had been writing in laid flat, the finished entry staring up at him, leaving Hongjoong to wonder if the words would start shifting. The more he looked at it, the more the letters moved— dancing down the page, line by line by line, until they reached the end.

He blinked. The letters froze.

With a sigh, Hongjoong closed his notebook, pushing it aside. He leaned back into the chair, mindful not to let it tip over again, and closed his eyes.

And that’s when he heard it. Music.

Hongjoong opened his eyes, wordlessly scanning the building for the source of the sound. His gaze fell on Jongho, who was no longer playing basketball with the others, but stationed on one of the sofas instead, strumming an old acoustic. Where did he even find that?

The rest of them, save for the two eldest, sat in an irregular circle around the younger, watching him with rapt interest. Jongho hummed along with the notes, a soothing melody that wrapped itself around each and every one of them, providing a sense of comfort they’ve never felt before.

His fingers smoothly glided over the frets, like a figure skater drifting seamlessly across the ice. The strings vibrated, filling the space with a mellow yet saccharine timbre, a rather far cry from the harsh, hard-hitting beats they danced to earlier.

Hongjoong was entranced to say the least.

He was so entranced that he almost failed to notice Seonghwa softly singing along next to him. Almost.

Whipping his head to the side, Hongjoong stared wide-eyed at the brunette, mouth parting slightly in shock. Seonghwa paid him no mind and continued his musical ministrations, not a single beat behind Jongho. In fact, he seemed to be a beat ahead even.

“You know this song?” Hongjoong whispered, finally catching the other’s attention. Seonghwa froze mid-note. He stared back at Hongjoong before shyly looking away, as if he hadn’t meant for Hongjoong to hear him.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied sheepishly. “I do.”

He wasn’t sure why Seonghwa had reacted that way. Maybe he was shy? Maybe he never sang in front of anyone before, and it just slipped out? Hongjoong didn’t know.

But what he did know was—

“Well, your voice sounds really nice.”

Seonghwa gawked at him. “Uh– What?”

“Your voice. It’s nice.”

Seonghwa blinked.

Once.

Twice.

And then—

“Thank...you?” He said it with uncertainty, but his eyes shined brighter than any star Hongjoong had ever seen. Hongjoong giggled at the dazed look on his face.

“What? Has no one ever told you that before? Don’t tell me I’m the first,” he gasped dramatically, placing his hand on his chest. Seonghwa laughed breathily, shaking his head.

“No, you’re...you’re actually the second.”

Hongjoong clicked his tongue in disappointment “Second place– what a shame.Who beat me to the punch?”

Seonghwa’s smile dropped, only slightly, and he turned his head away before Hongjoong took notice.

He knew the younger didn’t mean to, but his question had opened up more wounds than Seonghwa could handle. He felt a sharp pang in his chest, right where his heart should be. He mentally cursed, disappointed with himself.

It had been over a year since then, yet Seonghwa was still very much affected by it.

He swallowed the huge lump forming in his throat, blinking away the set of fresh tears in his eyes, and looked back at Hongjoong. The blue-haired male was gazing at him, waiting patiently for a response. Seonghwa managed to force one out.

“Oh, just a– a friend. An old...friend.”

If Hongjoong noticed the inner turmoil Seonghwa was experiencing right now, he didn’t mention it. Satisfied with his answer, Hongjoong nodded, standing up.

“Well, if it means anything to you,” he said, patting the brunette on the back, “you should keep singing.”

Hongjoong gave him one last smile, and then he trotted off, joining the others on the couch. Seonghwa watched him. This time, he couldn’t stop the single tear that ran down his cheek.

Because for the second time in his life, Seonghwa was rendered speechless.

As someone who prided himself to be a source of comfort for others, a walking positive affirmation for those with troubled minds and aching hearts, he was quite clueless when it came to his own troubled mind and aching heart. Seonghwa was all too used to people coming to him whenever they sought support and care. Words were his way of healing, so it was only natural for him to be good at it.

What he wasn’t good at was receiving those same words in return. Not because he was humble or anything, he just– he wasn’t used to it. The people he interacted with on a daily basis were quite stingy with their compliments, and Seonghwa knew that, he accepted them for what they were worth (even if they held little to no value). He was perfectly fine with being the pillar to lean on; he didn’t want compliments or encouragement from other people.

But Seonghwa was still human. Humans had needs.

Maybe he didn’t want it, but he certainly needed it.

A disbelieving laugh left his lips as Hongjoong’s words repeatedly rang through his mind like a broken record, with no end and no beginning.

“You should keep singing.”

Seonghwa, you should keep singing.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth.

seoul, sk 160706 5:44 p.m.

Hongjoong’s Log

Practice just ended. We all got really hungry after, so we decided to go to a nearby convenience store. We’re sitting around this small, plastic table just outside the store. Some of us are eating, the rest talking. Except for me.

Mingi’s been teasing me this whole time about bringing my notebook around. He said I’d much rather write than talk with the rest of them. He’s not wrong.

I’m kidding.

But back to the practice, we definitely made a lot more progress compared to last week. I’m not sure what caused the sudden spur of motivation, but it’s very much appreciated. We’ve all been getting along super well too. I’m glad. Things seem to be working out great for us.

“Hongjoong, stop writing and eat,” Yeosang chided, pointing to the untouched bowl of ramen with his chopsticks. There was a hum of agreement from Wooyoung, who was currently chowing down on a hot bar while Yunho vehemently wiped away the sauce on his cheek.

The others were quiet, too focused on eating to put their two cents in, but Hongjoong didn’t need them to. He tucked his pencil into the spine of his notebook and hid it away in his backpack. Mingi noticed and snickered.

“Why are you being so cautious?” he asked with a smirk. “Afraid that we’re gonna take a peek and uncover your deepest, darkest secrets or something?”

Hongjoong snorted, bringing the bowl of ramen closer and separating his chopsticks. “No, just making sure you don’t steal my plans for world domination.”

“You want to take over the world?” Yunho piped up, mid-bite.

“How do you plan on doing that?” San asked, munching on his rice snack.

“Don’t care how you do it– the world is shitty enough as it is. There’s no way you could possibly make it worse.” Jongho waved his hand dismissively, not even looking up from his bowl.

“Thanks, Jongho.” Hongjoong ruffled his hair. “Remind me to make you my right hand when the time comes.”

A chorus of complaints rang out amongst them, and he rolled his eyes, smiling.

Hongjoong was anything but a closed book. He was very vocal about his feelings and would never turn down the opportunity to dump his cup and spill out his emotions. However, his lack of resistance to vulnerability was contingent on his willingness to trust. He was an open person, yes, but that didn’t mean he was going around telling random strangers about the deepest, darkest parts of his overworked heart.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this group yet. Sure, he was the one who dragged them all into...whatever it was they were doing, but Hongjoong never had the chance to really get to know each of them. In his eyes, they were all eight, vastly different people with a mutual understanding.

An understanding of what? None of them knew.

Yet here they were, having only been a group for a week and chatting it up like they’ve been friends since birth. And in another life, another dimension– they were exactly that.

“San,” Seonghwa scolded gently. “Slow down with the soda. I promise it’s not going anywhere.”

Said male hesitated, staring at the eldest over the can held up to his lips. He grinned sheepishly and set the soda down on the table.

“How the hell are you still functioning?” Wooyoung demanded, narrowing his eyes at the other.

“What do you mean?” San’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“Well, judging from the amount of battery acid you’ve consumed, I’m surprised you haven’t passed a kidney stone yet.”

While the others laughed at the snarky comment, San remained quiet. His brows were still scrunched together, but it was more so in thought rather than confusion. Then, he shrugged his shoulders, looking nonchalant.

“I did when I was little. Had to go to the hospital for it.”

Yeosang grimaced from across the table. “How’d that go?”

“Mmm, fine, I guess,” San said noncommittally. “Hurt like hell, but I was okay when it was over. I had to promise my parents I would drink more water though.”

“And did you?” Hongjoong leaned forward, somehow intrigued. San brought the can back up to his face, mouth quirking up into a smirk.

“Nope.”

seoul, sk 160712 5:01 p.m.

Hongjoong’s Log

Not much progress was made today, but I can’t complain. Today was fun. Once again, none of us wanted to go home just yet, so we’re still here. Jongho brought out the guitar again, and we all sat and listened to him sing. He has a really beautiful voice, and I’m glad he shared it with us.

Last week I learned that Mingi was into rap and producing music, so he and I set up a makeshift studio in the corner of the warehouse. It wasn’t professional or glamorous by any means, but it would get the job done.

Also, I know it’s still technically summer, but recently the days are beginning to feel shorter. I wonder if the others feel the same way. Maybe it’s just me? I don’t know.

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. I should probably stop here for today.

Hongjoong tossed the notebook to the side, letting it flop onto the leather couch. He glanced over to his left and noticed Yeosang sitting alone at the table, mindlessly gazing out the window. Frowning, Hongjoong stood up and made his way over to the younger, ignoring the impending sense of foreboding nestled deep in his gut.

What he didn’t notice was the pair of narrowed eyes watching him intently from the other side of the warehouse.

“Mind if I sit here?” Hongjoong hopped up on the table, startling Yeosang when the table jerked slightly to the side.

He peered up at Hongjoong momentarily, shaking the pieces of hair out of his face. The hand that was nestled comfortably in his lap curled up into a loose fist, fingernails just barely grazing the soft skin of his palm.

“No, I don’t mind,” he murmured quietly, turning his attention back to the window. Soft streams of sunlight penetrated the cracked glass, leaving gold patches on the concrete floor. Speckles of dust floated in the light; some drifted down, down, down until they disappeared in the absence of light, while others remained suspended in one spot, floating aimlessly in their own little world, unperturbed by actions of their surroundings.

For some reason, Yeosang felt a little envious.

“Hey Hongjoong, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

He curled his hand even more.

“Which one do you prefer? Night or day?”

Hongjoong paused– not because he was confused, but because he was mulling over the question. He wanted to give a proper, serious answer, and Yeosang took careful note of that.

“Mmm, probably night,” he said after a moment. “I’m a night owl, so I tend to be more productive during that time.”

It was true. Hongjoong found daytime to be more of a hustle and bustle. People were always outside; adults borderline speeding on their way to work, teenagers sprinting down the street to get to school on time, children racing through the park and tagging their friends. The air was abuzz with timeless chatter and lively debate, telling stories and revealing secrets that were clearly not meant for the ears of the innocent.

Hongjoong loved daytime, don’t get him wrong, but the night had its own unique charm. One that he had a special connection to.

A time when the streets gradually mellowed out as people settled themselves into their homes. The day star faded under the horizon, dragging the vibrant colors of the sky down with it, leaving behind a dark navy canvas, absolutely riddled with dazzling moondust. The chatter died down and the air was calm and soothing.

Hongjoong appreciated it.

“Why?” Yeosang suddenly asked, and Hongjoong was surprised to hear how tense the blond sounded. “Why do you like it so much?”

“Because it–” He stopped himself, unsure. “Promise me you won’t laugh?”

Yeosang nodded, never breaking his composure. Hongjoong figured that was as good a confirmation as any.

“Well, I just think it’s comforting. It’s easier to let myself go, let myself feel and do whatever I want,” he breathed out a laugh. “Like– this is gonna sound super cheesy, but I feel like no matter what I do, the decisions I make, they’re going to be met with no judgement. No one’s around to witness me make an ass of myself, so who’s gonna say anything? Certainly not the stars, nor the moon.”

Yeosang’s nails dug deep into his flesh. Hongjoong kept going.

“I can fuck up all I want, but I know they’ll always be there the next night, sort of like a- a beacon of hope, I’d say.”

Yeosang, look up at the stars!

He wanted to throw up. The taste of bile was there on the tip of his tongue. He unclenched his fist and grabbed onto the edge of the table, gripping it tightly.

“Hey– whoa, are you okay?” Hongjoong suddenly leaned forward, resting his hand on the blond’s shoulder, worry laced in the tone of his words. “Yeosang? Yeosang, are you–”

“I’m fine!” he exclaimed, moving away from the other’s touch. Hongjoong instantly retracted his hand, trying not to let the hurt show on his face. He apparently must have done a terrible job because Yeosang took one look at him and sighed, combing his hands through his hair.

“Sorry, Hongjoong, I just–” He covered his face and rubbed his eyes. “I...I don’t feel well. I think I’m gonna head home.”

“O-Oh okay, do you want me to walk you to the–”

“No,” Yeosang cut him off sharply, but more gentle than before. “No, I can go by myself. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Before Hongjoong could get another word in, Yeosang was already up and out of his chair, picking up his bag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder. He didn’t even bother to greet the others goodbye before he was slipping through the doors and out into the sunlight.

Perturbed by his friend’s capricious behavior, Hongjoong was frozen at the table. The others, who hadn’t yet noticed that one of them was missing, continued on with their jovial conversations, leaving their blue-haired companion to deal with the aftermath.

seoul, sk 160729 9:34 p.m.

Hongjoong’s Log

Yeosang came back for the first time in two weeks, but he probably regretted it. I think we all did.

Jongho and Mingi had a huge fight earlier, and Jongho ended up hurting his leg again. Mingi left after that, and the rest of us took Jongho to the hospital. Wooyoung’s been trying to get hold of Mingi for twenty minutes now, but he won’t answer.

Maybe...everything will be back to normal next week...?

seoul, sk 160805 5:29 p.m.

Hongjoong’s Log

For a place filled with memories, it’s pretty lonely in here.

#ateez #kdiner #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez au #hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong au

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santoteez · 5 years

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A Manhattan Tale - Seonghwa (2)

Parts: 2 of ?

Genre: Chef!Seonghwa, FormerDrugdealer!Seonghwa, FormerKingpin!Hongjoong, Bad boy/ Good Girl kinda??

Warnings: Love interest is a Black Female, Mentions of drugs and death, swearing, eventual smut, eventual fluff

Requested: yes

NOTE: This fic does NOT, in any way, shape, or form, portray the way I view any member of Ateez nor does it depict their true personalities or actions. This AU is just that. An AU.

Seonghwa arrived at the penthouse in exactly half an hour. Hongjoong swung the door open after the first knock. Seonghwa strolled in to see Santana pacing back and forth, Minjoon doing homework on his laptop, and Soojin pacing right behind Santana.

“Uncle Hwa!” Soojin shouted, running towards the door.

Seonghwa smiled. “Hey, pretty girl!” He picked her up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m marching with Santana.” She replied, causing Seonghwa to laugh.

“You know what? Guess what I brought you?” He asked, digging into his bag.

“Cream puffs!” Soojin jumped excitedly.

“Made them this morning. How bout you go eat them in your room while I talk to HJ? Yeah?”

Soojin nodded, grabbing the pastry bag and running off.

Once she closed the door, Seonghwa turned to the nervous mother-to-be. “Santana, you should really sit down.”

“How? How can I when someone just threatened my kid? My family? ME?” She threw her hands in the air.

“I get it. I got a target on my back too. We all do. So, until we figure who’s doing this and why we all have to move in silence. Okay?”

Santana sighed and nodded, sitting on the couch next to Minjoon. “How can you do homework at a time like this?”

Minjoon shrugged. “What else can I do? Someone’s out to get my family, and I don’t know who or why. What I do know, is that this term paper is due before Thanksgiving.” He resumed his typing.

“That’s the best thing to do. For all of us. Continue going to class, going to work, showing whoever is out there that what they’re doing doesn’t phase us. Let’s check off what we do know,” Hongjoong said, walking back into the living room. “Ray-Ray and Spider are somehow involved in this. They can’t be the masterminds because they lack the balls and the motive. So they’re either working for the mastermind or they eavesdropped with their nosey asses. They’re not the only ones that know because while they were at The Dragon, someone came here.”

“I think we should go see some old friends. Gather intel.” Seonghwa said. “I believe Lil Mike and a few of the guys took over the warehouse when the business was dissolved. It might be time to take a trip down memory lane.”

Hongjoong nodded. “We should head over there now, make it before they head out. Minjoon, I’m leaving you in charge.”

“Uh uhhhh. Why is HE in charge?” Santana crossed her arms.

“You’re a nervous wreck, and Soojin is 6. Let’s go, Seonghwa.”

Soojin’s door swung open, and the little girl ran down the hall. “Uncle Hwa! You’re leaving?”

Seonghwa kneeled down to meet her gaze. “Yup. I gotta go do some work with HJ, little one.”

“But when you come over, you always join my tea party! Mr. Snuggles is waiting for you.” She said with big, watery eyes that almost made Seonghwa reconsider.

“Next time I come over, the tea party is the first thing we’ll do. I promise.” He pulled her in for a hug.

He got up and turned to follow Hongjoong out the door.

Hongjoong chuckled. “That girl has you wrapped around her finger.”

“I’ll have you wrapped around a highway sign if you don’t shut up,” Seonghwa muttered, causing Hongjoong to laugh harder.

They hopped into Seonghwa’s car and made their way to their old neighborhood.

They made it to the warehouse just in time to see Lil Mike and a few others making their way to the entrance. The group of men noticed the car and immediately surrounded the vehicle, ready for an attack.

Lil Mike raised his hand, signaling for everyone to hold their fire. “I recognize the car.”

He walked over to the driver’s side and tapped on the window. Seonghwa rolled it down, smirking at the younger guy.

Lil Mike returned the smirk. “Welcome back, Bossmen.” He backed up, giving space for the pair to get off the vehicle and escorted them inside.

Most of the warehouse looked the same, except for one thing: no cocaine.

“I cut that powder shit out after y’all left. It was never really my thing anyway. We’re strictly weed out here these days.” Lil Mike said, gesturing to the men that were tending to plants in a greenhouse on the far right of the warehouse.

“I highly doubt that Chef Park and music producer Kilo are looking to start pushing weight again, so what can I do for you?” Lil Mike asked. When he saw the looks on their faces, he immediately said: “Follow me.”

He took them to the office and locked the door. “Talk to me.”

“We don’t know who, but someone has it in for us. We need help finding out who.”

Lil Mike nodded. “Tell me the details. What’s been happening?”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong explained everything to Lil Mike in great detail, down to the second everything happened.

Lil Mike sighed. “There’s a specific kingpin with this particular M.O. But he’s not from our generation at all.”

“What’s the name?”

“One Eye.”

The hairs on the back of Hongjoong’s neck stood up, forcing him out of his seat.

“Looks like that name strikes a nerve.” Lil Mike said.

“Holy fuck. That’s the man that killed my mother.”

After Lil Mike agreed to ask around to find out what the other dealers know about One Eye, Seonghwa dropped Hongjoong off. He was on his way home (The restaurant had closed by then, so he didn’t bother going back) when he saw a familiar-looking woman walking down the street.

“What the hell?” He muttered, slowing down near her. He lowered the passenger window. “Zelie?”

The woman turned to face him. “Oh, Chef Park. Hi.”

“Zelie, it’s nearly midnight and you’re walking aimlessly around town by yourself. Get in.”

“Who said I was walking around aimlessly?”

“Okay. So where are you going?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Zelie. Get in.”

The girl huffed and got in, admitting defeat.

“You smell like alcohol,” Seonghwa said.

Zelie sighed. “What are you doing out this late, anyway? Did you fix whatever made you run out earlier?”

“Kind of. And I’m a single man. I roam as I please.”

Zelie scoffed. “Probably got a lot of women, a guy like you.”

“A guy like me?”

“Attractive, mysterious. Good job.”

Seonghwa laughed. “If you must know, I don’t have a lot of women. I don’t have any women, actually.”

“Seriously? No one?”

He shrugged. “Unless you count Hongjoong’s little sister, Soojin.”

Zelie laughed. “How come?”

“Haven’t given it much thought, I guess. I was always focused on my work, the restaurant. I typically just ignore all advances. I guess I’m just looking for the right person.”

“Hm,” Zelie said thoughtfully.

“Why don’t you have anyone?” Seonghwa asked.

“Why do you think I don’t?”

“Because no one asks a single person that many questions unless they’re single too.”

Zelie sighed. “I guess I’m just looking for the right person.”

“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong places,” Seonghwa said.

Zelie turned to look at him. “Maybe.” She looked out the window, recognizing her block. “How do you know where I live?”

“You’re my employee. I know where everyone lives.”

“You have almost 30 employees.”

“I don’t see your point.”

Seonghwa double-parked in front of a small, private house in the middle of the block.

“Thanks for the ride, Chef Park.”

“We’re not at work. Call me Seonghwa. And I’ll walk you in.” He said unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I live right here on the ground floor. That’s my window. It’s fine.”

“I’m walking you in.” He repeated.

Seonghwa and Zelie walked up the steps and into her apartment. It was small but cozy with earth-toned furniture and curtains.

“Lovely home.” Seonghwa complimented, looking around.

“Never thought this would be how I got you to come to my place.” She muttered.

“What was that?”

“Noth-” Zelie was interrupted by the shatter of her living room window and a sting to her arm.

“Fuck!” She shouted, grasping her arm in pain.

“GET DOWN!” Seonghwa shouted, knocking her to the ground and getting on top of her to shield her from the dozens of bullets flying in from the window.

When the ambush died down and tires were heard speeding down the street, Seonghwa got up, inspecting the damage. Bullet holes covered the once beautifully decorated wall.

“Zelie. Are you hurt?” Seonghwa kneeled down.

“Yeah. My arm hurts like hell.” She said, still clutching her upper arm.

“Let me see.” Seonghwa extended his hand. “You’re lucky. It merely grazed you. But you’re not safe here. Whoever did this knows you’re associated with me. So they’ll be back. I have to get you out of here. Come on.”

“Seonghwa, my arm is bleeding,” Zelie said, standing up.

Seonghwa immediately took off his coat and tugged at his flannel, tearing off a sleeve. He tied it around the wound tightly.

“That should hold you over until we get to where we’re going. Apply pressure.”

“You’re not taking me to the hospital?” Zelie said in disbelief.

Seonghwa sighed. “I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. Right now we have to go before something worse happens.” He grabbed the girl, putting her over his shoulder despite her squeals and squirms. He put her in the car and looked around the block before getting in and driving to the closest place he could.

Hongjoong’s.

#ateez #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez smut

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clairelutra · 7 years

Text

hey, @twindoodle, i’m your backup secret santa for the @mlsecretsanta this year!

i was stalling kind of hard over what you might like, but then found that ‘adrien actin like chat’ was a Thing that you might enjoy, so here. i hope adrien figuring things out is up your alley :D

your art is heckin adorable and it was an honor to do this for you ♥ happy (very belated) holidays!

I WANT @mirthaculous‘S POWERS HOLY SHIT and also thank her so much she f i n i s h e d this at 6am, that’s how much cleaning up this required hj hfjhg dgdjhfkjh j gljg bvmgkljh //laysonface ;; ♥♥♥♥

summary: In which Adrien learns how to flirt and Marinette screams internally, externally, and eternally.

Being friends with Adrien Agreste throughout all of lycée was... kind of fascinating, honestly.

He changed so much.

One upon a time Marinette had fallen in love with him because he was kind, and he was good, and he stood up against inequality when he saw it --- which was a rare thing, at least in Marinette's experience. Those qualities had never gone away, but the longer she knew him, the more different they began to look.

In good ways.

Very good ways.

(The longer she knew him, the less she knew how to tell him that, so her crush remained embarrassingly large and embarrassingly impotent.

She... she was working on it.)

But the point was, being sort-of friends with Adrien throughout the whole of lycée was interesting because she got to see the slow progress of Adrien gaining confidence.

When he'd first started coming to school, he was shy.

Very shy.

It hadn't been something she'd realized at the time, but looking back, he'd faded into the background unless he was called out. He never spoke out against anyone without being extremely pressed, and even then only Chloé was able to push his buttons that bad. The only person he'd initiated contact with was Nino.

It had emphasized how polite he was, how selflessly kind he was, but it also kept him at an arm's length from just about everyone. Marinette's picture of him was pieced through the lens of her crush, the little moments where he was kind and understanding and gentle, and through the copious number of modelling ads that moved from her favorite magazines to her walls.

He played piano and basketball, he fenced, he volunteered at animal shelters, and... that was all she knew. For the whole first year of lycée she was able to recite his schedule off the top of her head at any given moment, but she hadn't known how he felt about any of them.

It was funny to think about now, but she'd spent all her time learning everything she could about him... and in the end, knew absolutely nothing about him.

Thankfully, that started to change by the end of seconde year, and she was pretty sure she had Nino to thank for it. It was Nino being his usual self, complete with careful care and omnipresent Friendship, that had slowly brought Adrien out of his shell.

Marinette hadn't noticed the start of the change, still too busy worshipping the pictures on her walls to see it happening. But sometimes he would stop and talk to her when he hadn't before, or stand close enough to Alya to get tugged into her strike range for physical affection, or speak up in a class discussion with a quiet joke instead of his normal attentive seriousness.

Their second year, in première, did more for him. In première he had friends.

This also took Marinette a while to notice, but he could sometimes be seen brushing Juleka's hair in the halls during their shared free period, or spending at least an hour in the library with Max every week nerding out over video games, or being fairly tight texting buddies with Alya.

Première was also the year that Marinette learned how to string together a complete, coherent sentence in front of him. That was the year they had their first real two-sided dialogue involving a mutual exchange of information --- and her first real, true glimpse at who Adrien was under all that polite shyness.

He was sweet. He was kind. He was enthusiastic and dorky and had a sense of humor that she was almost contractually obligated to roll her eyes at.

That was about the point where Marinette's crush went from 'mildly obsessive' to 'actually debilitating.'

It was made even more debilitating by the fact that Adrien truly, honestly seemed to enjoy her company.

She would walk into the classroom where her friends were having a debate, and catching sight of her was all it would take to turn Adrien's frown upside down. He laughed at all her jokes, even the terrible ones. He hugged her after his fencing tournaments and called her after school to talk about the most random, stupid things that came to mind, like he was just looking for an excuse to talk to her.

Eventually she knew enough about him to fill a textbook, and every new thing she learned just made her crush harder to bear.

Sure, she could string together a sentence in front of him now, but at what cost?

(This was made even worse by the fact that première was also the year that Chat had toned down his showing off.

She'd already been having trouble ignoring the tiny little crush she'd developed on her cute, loyal partner, only to discover that said crush got several times bigger and harder to ignore when his outrageous flirting was replaced by open, crystal-clear, heart-on-his-sleeve honesty.

It was a lot easier to brush off a casual, winking, "Ah, the sparks between us must have shorted the elevator out," than it was to brush off a dazed, awed, "You're the most amazing person I've ever met."

All of this meant that Marinette was caught between a crush that was getting more casually affectionate all the time, and a suitor that was getting decidedly less casual --- and yet no less respectful or trustworthy --- all the time.

Long story short, Marinette spent much of her première year screaming into her pillow.)

And then came year three: Terminale.

And during terminale, Adrien somehow, somewhere, learned how to flirt.

Marinette wanted a refund.

Oh, it had started subtle enough: little innuendo-laced comments that he didn't go out of his way to avoid, innocent touches when they talked, watching her out of the corners of his eyes and not looking away when she caught him. Little things that managed to imply that he wouldn't really mind if she wanted to kiss him.

Given that Marinette had very much wanted to kiss him for a good two and a half years by that point, it was just enough of a not-invitation to make her go out of her mind.

He doesn't mean it, became her daily mantra. He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't---

(Chat, on the other hand, definitely did mean it, and had no problem with making that perfectly clear at any given opportunity --- without ever actually pushing her boundaries.

You see what Marinette's problem was here, right?)

And then, as Marinette spectacularly failed to reject him, it. Got. Worse.

Kisses on the back of her hand, jokes about dating, jokes about kissing --- Adrien wouldn't make the jokes himself, but the little smirk on his face when someone implied that they were doing things was just as bad, if not much, much worse.

There was more innocent touching, more slightly-less-innocent touching (arms under her thighs on the few occasions when he picked her up, hugs that lasted a little too long, hands idly rested on her waist when she stood next to him...), and a general lack of shame about touching her all around.

Marinette, frustrated beyond belief (in many more ways than one), hadn't been sure if she was in heaven or in hell.

Then, somehow, it got worse.

Because, you know, of course it did.

Now Adrien stretched if he caught her staring, always with an unbearably cocky little grin that she wanted to smack off, kiss off, and sit on by turns. Marinette discovered first-hand that no, Adrien actually making the dirty jokes was infinitely, infinitely worse than simply not denying them. He kissed her cheek and complimented her appearance and smiled at her when he thought she wasn't looking --- only to smile wider when he found she was looking back.

Hell. It was definitely hell that she was in.

(And all of this was chased by deep midnight conversations with Chat; by races across rooftops that ended in slow-dancing on the top of the Eiffel Tower to the sound of their own humming; by Chat actually swooning into her arms when she kissed his cheek; by Chat dropping hints about his civilian identity, practically begging her to figure it out once she'd implied that she wouldn't mind knowing; by Chat kissing her knuckles while his eyes offered a promise he didn't have to voice...

Marinette was in trouble.

Marinette was in major trouble.)

The final straw came somewhere around finals season, when everyone was preparing for their baccalauréats.

She and Adrien were studying together with Nino and Alya in the library study rooms, as friends do --- and Marinette, exhausted right past the point of being able to focus, was starting to derail every question they tackled.

Alya, hoping to threaten Marinette back into focusing on the material, pulled the straw out of her smuggled latte and waved it in Marinette's face. "I swear, if you take us off course one more time..."

Then one her feints swung a little wide, and Marinette found herself thwacked across the cheek with a whipped-cream-laden straw.

"Hey!"

"Oh, whoops," Alya laughed, incorrigible, looking over the study-material-covered table for napkins. "You gotta dodge, girl!"

"I didn't think you'd actually hit me!" Marinette whined, hand only hovering by her cheek because a life spent in a bakery meant that she was practically hardwired to never touch her face when food was involved.

Across the table, Adrien looked pointedly up at the ceiling, incidentally doing nothing to hide his grin.

"Oh you hush," Marinette grumbled, folding her hands on the table and submitting to her fate of whipped cream showcase.

Adrien looked down from the ceiling, expression softening the moment he laid his eyes on her, just as it always did lately.

Marinette, just as she always did lately, felt her heart stammer to a stop, cheeks heating at a furious pace.

(She really wanted that refund.)

The corner of his mouth quirked kindly, and Marinette watched it in blank fascination.

He'd always been unbearably pretty, but there was a saying about how a soul could make a body beautiful, and Marinette was of the firm opinion that Adrien's could've made any body beautiful.

That was the thought floating around in her head when Adrien leaned out of his seat and reached across the table, and it distracted her so much that she didn't realize what he was going to do until he was already in the process of doing it.

Fingers on her cheek, Adrien dragged them through the sugary mess --- warm, rough fencing callouses on her sensitive skin and a soft smile on his face.

Marinette couldn't do anything but stare and burn.

He withdrew his hand, studying the cream on his fingers for a moment before opening his mouth and---

Marinette's hand shot out entirely of its own accord and wrapped around his wrist, halting it halfway across the table.

In that moment, Marinette was absolutely sure that he was about to lick his fingers clean, and that if he did, it would be the one thing she couldn't survive.

It wouldn't be a big thing, it wouldn't be the worst thing --- heck, it wouldn't even be a notable thing in the long run of truly mind-blowing things he'd said and done to her over the past year --- but she was tired. She was unfocused. She was distracted and frustrated and just last night Chat had dropped yet another hint as to who he was, and...

And Marinette was starting to suspect.

And if her suspicions were correct, then she really wouldn't be able to take that.

She just wouldn't.

So, of course, her solution to the issue was to drag Adrien's hand back over and lick his fingers clean herself.

Logic.

She got as far as tasting the salt of his skin beneath the sweet, creamy flavour before she realized that she'd made a very big mistake.

Mouth watering, she glanced up to find all traces of Adrien's smile gone, wiped clean by naked shock.

She considered for a second, and then gave his fingers a gentle, experimental suck.

Adrien's pupils visibly dilated, his jaw going slack.

If he asked, she planned to protest that his fingers were already there, and what else was she supposed to do with things in her mouth, really?

He didn't ask.

Marinette, emboldened, swirled her tongue around the digits in a motion just this side of too-suggestive to be excused as an attempt to get all of the cream, heat tingling low in the pit of her stomach.

(She'd had fantasies, okay?)

A low, pressurized noise escaped Adrien, slightly more than a wheeze but distinctly less than a groan, and it took all of Marinette's reservations and threw them bodily from the nearest tenth-story window.

She let her eyes slide shut and went after every trace of whipped cream with a vengeance.

(A sweet, seductive, suggestive vengeance, but a vengeance all the same.)

(Fantasies. She'd had them.)

When she opened her eyes back up, she found Adrien staring at her, flushed from hairline to collar with still more of the blush peeking out from the sleeves of his t-shirt. She was pretty sure he'd stopped breathing altogether. The moment their eyes met, his mouth shut with a click, his adam's apple bobbing with an audible gulp.

Marinette, in a show of spectacular self-control, did not attempt to clamber over the table.

Rather, in a show of a spectacular lack of self-control, she pulled his hand out of her mouth with a combined purr and suck, smirking as soon as his fingers were free.

Impulse had her licking her lips, hunger settling low in her belly at the taste of salt and glee spiking in her veins as he tracked the motion. Impulse also had her smirking a little wider as she purred, "Thanks for the treat, mon minou."

If it wasn't him, it would just be a pet name. If it was him, she'd know.)

His entire face went lust-slack, lips numbly forming, Ladybu---

"Um. Do we need to leave the room?"

Marinette and Adrien leapt about a foot in the air as one.

(It was him, it was him, it was h i m---)

Alya and Nino were also acting as one, staring hard and quirking their eyebrows in eerie sync.

"Uhh," said Marinette.

(---it was him, it was him, it was him---)

Adrien wrenched his hand out her grip, yelping, "Nope! Nope, we're--- we're f-fine---... We... We're... Um."

"I mean," said Alya, eyebrow game still going strong, "if you need us to leave so you can clear out that UST, it might help."

(It was him.)

"Nnn..." Adrien started.

"Well, I mean," said Marinette, cutting him off and glancing at him pointedly, because never let it be said that she hesitated once she knew what she wanted.

She didn't think she'd ever seen Adrien shut up so fast.

Alya looked from Marinette to Adrien and then to Nino, who raised his eyebrows back at her, then pushed herself up.

Marinette blinked. She hadn't expected to be listened to.

"Well then," Alya said over the scrape of Nino's chair as he followed her. "I'm getting another latte. Let us know when you can focus on test prep again."

"Um," said Adrien.

"Right," said Marinette.

They left.

To her credit, she waited until the door had clicked shut behind them before actually climbing over the table.

(It took her a while to get around to it, occupied as she was by Adrien's eager mouth and eager hands, but somewhere in the middle of all of it she managed to accuse, "You found me. When?"

"It's been a year, slowpoke."

"Oh my god, Chat."

He just laughed --- laughed and laughed and laughed until she captured his mouth and proved how very potent her crush could be, and let him prove to her just how much confidence he'd gained.

She was still in major trouble, but she couldn't say she wanted that refund anymore.)

#adrinette #adrienette #ladynoir #twindoodle #mlsecretsanta 2k16 #my fic #♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥#1k #Neat™

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