#longstanding heart eyes

[totallyhealthyobsession]

Has this been done before?

LUST:

Longstanding

Unresolved

Sexual

Tension

Feels like it needs to be it’s own unique category

#blorbos #UST #LUST #for our aging OTPs that are still dancing around the elephant in the room #fanfic tags #janeway x chakotay #j/c #Bensler #e/o #elliot x olivia #chriska #marshmelon #longstanding heart eyes

[theostrophywife]

heaven and back.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader x theodore nott.

song inspiration: heaven and back by chase atlantic.

author's note: poly! matty and theo just hits different. the teamwork that these two would put in. whew baby that's a one way ticket to st. mungo's. these men break backs, not hearts 😏

You were good at playing games. 

As a matter of fact, Mattheo and Theodore would argue that you were a little too good. 

After all, you met your boyfriends during one of Malfoy’s infamous game nights in which you swindled Mattheo and Theodore out of a few hundred galleons during a tense round of magical poker. Ever since that fateful night in fourth year, the three of you became inseparable. Thanks to your slyness, the first Saturday of every month was deemed sacred to your fellow Slytherins. Game nights were reserved for drinking and debauchery, which just so happened to be your specialty.

Though the entirety of Hogwarts coveted an invitation to the longstanding tradition, very few were allowed a glimpse into the inner workings of the serpent’s nest. Tonight, the guest of honor was none other than the Gryffindor golden girl—Hermione Granger. She and Draco only started dating a month ago, but anyone with eyes could see that Malfoy was quite smitten. Before Hermione, Draco had never invited a significant other to game night. 

You were determined to give Hermione a warm Slytherin welcome. Hence the special potion you brewed just for the occasion. 

With a smirk, you produced the potion from your back pocket. The liquid sloshed around in the glass vial, the iridescent purple mixture flecked with specks of glitter. 

“I know that look.” Theo remarked, pulling you into his lap. “What sort of trouble are you brewing, dolcezza?” 

Mattheo chuckled and nestled against his shoulder. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, Teddy. You know we both benefit from her mischief. Isn’t that right, princess?” 

You smiled, ruffling Mattheo’s curls. “You’re absolutely right, Matty. Tonight, everyone will reap the rewards of my tricks. I concocted a special little potion that’ll make game night a little more interesting.”

Pansy raised a perfectly groomed brow. “What exactly does this little concoction of yours do, Y/N? The last time I drank something you brewed, I ended up streaking through the quidditch pitch.” 

“As I recall, I was right beside you, Pans.” Your friend chuckled, nodding in confirmation. “Consider this a social lubricant. It takes the edge off, makes you feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. It’s the perfect balance between feeling tipsy and high. Lowers those pesky inhibitions.” 

Draco scoffed. “If this group lowers their inhibitions any further, we’d all be expelled.” 

“That’s why we have you, Dray. What good is the Malfoy fortune if it can’t bail us out of sticky situations?”

“Need I remind you that the last sticky situation almost ended with Enzo in the infirmary after Mattheo and Theo convinced him to race backwards on their brooms.”

Hermione watched the back and forth exchange, absorbing the interaction with a small smile. 

“Draco’s exaggerating, of course. Anyone would’ve missed the whomping willow in the dark.” The Golden Girl chuckled as you sent her a conspiratory wink, causing Draco to sigh in exasperation. “Besides, Berkshire had fun. Didn’t you, Enz?”

“Oh, loads. I had a blast pulling twigs from my arse for two hours straight afterwards.” 

“See? You’re not talking us into taking another one of your poisons, Y/N.”

Enzo shook his head. “Speak for yourself, cousin. I’m definitely in.”

The rest of your friends expressed their agreement. Even Blaise, who would never dream of drinking anything besides the finest vintage, was eager to participate. Mostly to see the others make a fool of themselves, which was perfectly fine by you.

Draco rolled his silver eyes. “Fine. You lot are going to end up talking me into it, anyways.”

“What about you, Hermione? Would you like a sip as well?”

Her warm, honey brown eyes darted around the room. Draco clasped her hand in his, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love. I’m only agreeing because I don't want to have to take care of these heathens.”

You nodded empathically. “No pressure, Hermione. You can say no if you’d like, but I am rather proud of my little concoction and it would be an absolute honor if the golden girl partook in our debauchery. After all, you’re dating Draco. You might as well get used to it now.”

A mischievous grin pulled at Hermione’s lips. She shrugged nonchalantly, her curls cascading over her shoulder. “Why the bloody hell not?” 

“That’s the spirit, Granger!” cheered Pansy. 

You smirked in response and slithered out of your boyfriend’s lap. Both Mattheo and Theo watched intently as you crawled across the plush ornate rug, slowly making your way towards the Gryffindor. Hermione sucked in a breath, her cheeks blossoming into a pretty blush. Her hands, which were laid in her lap in the most prim and proper way, twitched when you knelt before her on the sofa. 

Behind you, Mattheo mumbled something into Theo’s ear. When you glanced over your shoulder, your boyfriends were staring directly at you, anticipating your next move. You responded with an innocent smile before turning back to Hermione. 

With  a sly smile, you held her honey eyed gaze and tapped her bottom lip. “Open up, love.” 

Hermione swallowed thickly before parting her lips. You gently cradled her jaw before tipping the vial into her mouth, pouring a generous amount of potion for the golden girl. She looked up at you expectantly, her lashes fluttering ever so slightly. 

You rewarded her with a cheeky wink. “Good girl, Granger. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

She shook her head, the flush on her cheeks mimicking her house colors as you wiped a droplet of liquid off of her lips with your thumb. Beside her, Draco sighed. “For Salazar’s sake, stop putting the moves on my girlfriend.” 

“What’s the matter, Dray? Are you scared I’ll steal Hermione away from you?” 

“You can hardly blame me. You’re a shameless flirt, Y/N.” 

You placed a hand over your heart, feigning offense. “Why, I’d never dream of flirting with your lady. You know how jealous my boys get.” 

Your boyfriends shook their heads, clearly amused at your attempt to rile Draco up. Truly, your friend made it too easy. You chuckled as the blonde glared at you. “Come on, Malfoy. It’s your turn. Maybe the potion will loosen you up, yeah?” 

Draco rolled his eyes, but allowed you to pour the potion into his mouth. You moved down the line, doing the same for Pansy, Blaise, and Enzo. The latter grinned as you ruffled his hair. After Enzo, the only ones remaining were Theo and Mattheo. 

“Come here, cara mia.” Theo said, beckoning you with two fingers. “Mattheo and I are waiting.” 

“I saved the best for last, boys.” 

Mattheo smirked as he pulled you into his lap. You settled against him, making yourself right at home. He kissed the side of your neck, smiling against your skin. “Go on, then. Don’t leave Theo hanging.” 

You nodded, body heating as Mattheo rubbed your thighs. Theo raised a brow, his watercolor eyes settling over you. Licking your lips, you couldn’t help but let your gaze wander. Your boyfriend looked rather casual in his emerald jumper and dark jeans, but there was something about the way that Theo carried himself that exuded sex appeal. The cocky smirk on his handsome face told you that he was well aware of the effect he had on you.

Theo cocked his head towards you and opened his mouth. You tipped the vial past his lips, admiring how plush and pouty they looked. Lust darkened your boyfriend’s watercolor eyes as he watched you through hooded lids. The potion dribbled off his chin, making you giggle. 

“Oops, I spilled.” You licked the remnants off, lapping up the liquid all the way to the corner of his lips. Mattheo’s fingers dug into your hips as you finished off your little show with a kiss. 

Theo grabbed the back of your head and deepened the kiss. He didn’t take kindly to being teased. Never one to shy away from public displays of affection, Theo groaned softly and slid his tongue into your mouth, giving you a filthy open-mouthed kiss before pulling away and winking. 

Across the room, Hermione flushed, her lips parting ever so slightly. “Oh,” she whispered softly. 

Mattheo chuckled, his laughter caressing your skin as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He turned you over in his lap and tapped his lips. “Me next, princess.” 

“Open wide, Matty.” 

“Funny. Usually I’m the one saying that to you.” 

Your friends groaned at the suggestive comment, but you only grinned in response. Mattheo parted his lips eagerly, not once breaking eye contact as he swallowed the potion. The intensity of his big, brown eyes made your hands shake, causing you to spill a few drops on your fingers. Your boyfriend took your middle and pointer finger into his mouth and sucked them clean. 

You gasped in surprise. Mattheo chuckled darkly, catching the vial before it slipped out of your fingers. Behind you, Theo tugged at your hair and titled your head back. 

“Your turn now, mi amor.” Mattheo drawled, his voice a seductive song in your ears. He lowered his voice, so only you could hear his next statement. “Be a good girl and swallow.” 

The eager nod made both of your boyfriends smirk. Theo gathered your hair in one hand, fisting your locks into a makeshift ponytail while Mattheo poured the last of the potion into your mouth. The liquid was strong and sweet, trailing down your throat and warming your body with a pleasant heat. 

“That’s my girl,” Mattheo said. Theo raised a brow, which made the curly headed boy laugh. “That’s our girl.” 

“Better,” Theo remarked before pulling you against him. 

You settled into his lap, watching the rest of your friends start a game of poker. As always, Draco was way too competitive. Blaise was hustling the hell out of him, but the blonde didn’t seem to notice. Pansy wrapped her arms around her boyfriend’s shoulders, leaning in every so often to whisper things in his ear that made him smile. 

Enzo reclined back on the couch, an endearing smile pulling at his lips as he took small sips of his firewhiskey. From his glazed eyes, you could tell that the potion was hitting him the hardest. 

Mattheo rested his head on your lap, tugging at your hand in a silent request to play with his curls. You obliged happily, scratching at his scalp and twirling his bouncy locks between your fingers. Every so often, he’d lean in and show you his cards, asking for advice. 

As the night progressed, the potion took its effects, loosening both lips and limbs. Theo’s long legs bracketed you from either side, the intoxicating scent of petrichor and cigarette smoke clinging onto him like your own personal drug. Mattheo stared lovingly up at you as you continued playing with his hair. 

When you looked up, you met Hermione’s inquiring gaze. She was leaned up against Draco, who kept an arm around her waist, absentmindedly drawing circles underneath her sweater. 

She cocked her head, a question forming in her brilliant mind. “So, how exactly does it work?” 

You leaned back against Theo’s chest, a playful smirk curving against your lips. “How does what work, love?” 

“Having…two boyfriends.” 

“You mean, being poly?” 

“Poly,” Hermione said, testing out the word. There wasn’t a hint of judgment in her expression, just plain curiosity. Apparently, the Gryffindor girl’s innate hunger for knowledge extended to the intricacies of your relationship. “If you don’t mind me asking. How exactly does a poly relationship work?” 

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s like every other relationship,” you started, glancing at your two favorite people in the world. Mattheo and Theo smiled back. “We go on dates, we argue about stupid things, then we kiss and make up. Except sometimes the boys like to gang up on me.” 

Theo chuckled. “I reckon ganging up against you is the most fun that we have, dolcezza.” 

“I’d have to agree with Teddy,” Mattheo interjected as he grinned up at you. “We give teamwork a whole new meaning. Don’t we, princess?” 

“See,” you said, waving your arms between your boyfriends. “These sassy men will be the death of me.” 

Theo wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling against your neck. “You love us though.” 

“That I do,” you replied with a smile. 

“Do any of you ever get jealous?” asked Hermione. 

Theo nodded. “Of course, it’s a natural part of every relationship, but we have ways of working it out.” Your boyfriend smiled and kissed your cheek. “We just make sure no one feels left out.” He leaned down to place a kiss on Mattheo’s forehead too.

Hermione hummed. “That sounds rather nice, actually.” 

“I wouldn’t call it nice,” Mattheo countered with a sly smile. “Y/N can get a little feisty sometimes. You should’ve seen what she did to Lavender for touching my shoulder last week.” 

Theo nodded in agreement. “It’s nothing compared to the fight she had with Cho after she tried asking me out. Poor girl thought that polyamory equates to having an open relationship. As if I’d ever need anyone else besides Y/N and Mattheo.” 

“So polyamory doesn’t translate to opening your relationship to others,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I’m learning so much.” 

Mattheo confirmed her statement with a nod. “Yes, we’re all very committed to one another. It’s only Y/N and Theo for me.” 

“While we all adore your wonderful little trio,” Draco cut in. You could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he would definitely not be open to sharing the golden girl with anyone else. “I think it’s time to call it a night.” 

You chuckled. “Such a party pooper, Malfoy. Don’t worry, Granger’s just asking for education purposes. Aren’t you, Mione?” 

“I know what you’re doing, Y/N. You’re devious, you know that?” 

Theo smirked at his oldest friend. “Don’t be jealous cause she has more game than you, Dray.” 

“After all, that’s how she got us. Right, princess?” 

Draco sighed exasperatedly. You rolled your eyes fondly before saying goodbye to everyone. Pulling Hermione into a hug, you winked behind her back as Draco glared at you. 

“Thank you for indulging me,” Hermione said softly. “I feel thoroughly educated now.” 

“No problem, Mione.” 

You kissed her cheek before wrapping Draco into a hug as well. “Stay sharp, Dray. You’ll have to work harder to keep up with this one. Granger’s way out of your league.” 

Draco smiled. “I’m well aware.” 

Later that night as you laid in bed sandwiched between Mattheo and Theo, you felt the potion reach its peak. You giggled into Theo’s neck, squealing as Mattheo pressed his cold feet against your legs. The three of you were chatting about your day like you usually did, but thanks to the potion, one of you always got sidetracked, leading into cuddles and kisses mid sentence.

Matty spooned you from behind, his possessive grip snaked around your waist like a vice. “I’m not going to lie, watching you crawl towards Granger tonight did something to me.” 

“That’s her game, mio amato. You know she loves to tease.” 

You turned over to face him, an amused smirk toying at your lips. “I thought you liked my little games, Teddy. At least your lower half did. I could feel you pressing against me all night.” 

Theo smirked, grinding his erection against your thigh. “Can you blame me? You knew exactly what you were doing. Admit it, cara mia. You weren’t cozying up to Hermione just to get under Draco’s skin. You were doing it to rile us up too.” 

“It worked. I’ve been hard as fuck all night. The way you teased Granger had me thinking vile thoughts.” 

“So I’m not enough for you, Matty?” You jested, pouting your bottom lip at your boyfriend. “You want Draco’s girl too?” 

Within the blink of an eye, you were pinned underneath Mattheo with your arms raised above your head as your boyfriend glared down at you. “No. If anything, you’re the one flirting with Granger like Theo and I aren’t enough to handle already. Maybe we should remind you who you belong to.” 

You hummed in agreement, biting back a smile. “Hmm, maybe you’re right, querido. I’m not opposed to a little refresher.” 

Theo shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, bella. You just want to be railed until you cry, don’t you? Such a little brat. You could’ve just asked for what you wanted.”

You batted your lashes in response. “But it’s so much more fun this way.” 

As retaliation, Mattheo flipped you over on all fours. With a smirk, he leaned back on the headboard and pushed down his gray heathered sweatpants as Theo crawled behind you. He gave no warning as he bunched up your nightdress, pressing a filthy kiss against your clothed sex. You were dripping for him, coating his lips with your taste as he pushed your head down on Mattheo’s lap. You groaned as Mattheo pumped himself between slender fingers, tapping the tip of his cock against your lips. He bucked into your mouth just as Theo plunged his tongue between your folds. 

“What was that, principessa?” Theo hummed against your aching cunt. “Matty and I can’t hear you over all that moaning.” 

Mattheo laughed meanly as he gathered your hair in his fist, thrusting down your throat with a choked moan. “Put that smart mouth to work, sweetheart.” He thrust in lazily, barely giving you his tip. “Spit on it.” 

Glancing up at him through your lashes, you spit on Mattheo’s cock and watched as his head lolled against the headboard. “Teddy? Wanna give me a hand, pretty boy?”

With wide eyes, you gasped as Theo leaned over and pumped Mattheo in his hand before lining up his length against your lips. Theo kissed your cheek before shoving your head down to take inch after inch. Once Mattheo slid all the way in, he pulled out just to slam back in forcefully. You could feel Mattheo hitting the back of your throat, activating your gag reflex while he smirked in satisfaction. 

“Gonna shut the fuck up and take my cock like a good little slut, aren’t you?” 

You nodded, tears forming in your eyes as Mattheo continued to fuck your throat. As if that weren’t enough, Theo flicked his tongue on your clit and feasted on you from behind like a starved man. He took his sweet time, sloppily making out with your pussy and lapping up your arousal before slipping a finger inside, pumping you as you gagged on Mattheo’s cock. You groaned as Theo pried your legs apart, his intense gaze never leaving your face as he kissed the inside of your thighs. Hooking your right leg over his shoulder, Theo began licking and teasing, his tongue flicking through your folds with expert precision. He sucked hard, lapping your juices up with fervent devotion. 

The potion increased the sensations tenfold, intensifying your pleasure as you bucked against Theo’s face. It seems that your less than innocent academic pursuit had truly paid off because both Theo and Mattheo seemed to be affected just as much. The current of the concoction surged through all three of you, slamming you with wave after wave of heady desire. It felt better than drunk sex or fucking while you were high. This was just unbridled lust and want, flooding you with the need to be nothing but an obedient fuck toy for your favorite boys. 

Mascara streaked down your cheeks as you cried out for more, fisting the sheets as your boyfriends occupied both of your needy holes. The cries of pleasure were muffled around Mattheo’s cock. Your boyfriend’s breathing grew ragged and his grip grew tighter, his abs rippling as he shot hot ribbons down your throat. 

“Good girl. So fucking beautiful, swallowing every drop of my cum like a perfect little whore. You’re flawless, Y/N.”

Theo made quick work of you afterwards. Warmth spread from your core, hot tendrils snaking all over your body as he pushed you to your first orgasm of the night. When Theo crooked his middle and pointer finger inside your gummy walls, you squirted into his mouth with a cry. Despite your cries of pleasure, Theo showed no signs of stopping. His cool breath fanned over your sensitive sex and you whimpered at his ravenous appetite, squirming away from Theo’s tongue. Displeased, Theo flipped you onto your back and dragged you towards him by the ankles. 

“I’m not done with you, tesoro.” 

Your boyfriend growled and glanced at Mattheo. “Hold her down,” Theo commanded, his pretty eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re done when I say you’re done. Sit back, look pretty, and let me eat your pussy until you’re sobbing. I’ll make you feel so good, bella. Surely you have another one in you, don’t you, Y/N?” 

You nodded, still reeling from the aftershock of your orgasm. Mattheo placed you on his lap, prying your lips open with his fingers. “Theo asked you a question, princess. Use your words.” 

Theo smirked. “Give her a minute. I think I’ve fucked her so dumb with my mouth and fingers that she can’t even form a sentence.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mattheo said with a chuckle. He caressed your jaw, pressing kisses against your shoulder. “Don’t you want to cum again, sweetheart? Either way, you don’t really have a choice. Theo’s going to feast on you no matter what you say. You know he hates being teased.”

“I can take it,” you said in a shaky voice. “I’ll be good, I promise. I just want to make you both proud.” 

Theo smiled, revealing the dimples you loved so much. “I know you do, Y/N. We’re not stopping until you’ve soaked the sheets. Now come on, be a good girl and sit on my face.”

You swallowed thickly as Theo switched places with you, laying back on Mattheo’s lap while bringing your hips forward. Steadying yourself on Mattheo’s shoulder, you slowly lowered onto Theo’s face. You grinded against him slowly at first, minding your sensitive sex, but it wasn’t long before you were bucking into his mouth, riding his face like you’d ride his cock.

There was no other word to describe Theo but feral. He gorged himself on you, poking and prodding your wet cunt with his tongue and fingers until your head fell onto Mattheo’s neck, gasping against his skin while Theo’s fingers dug into your hips. You groaned as Mattheo kissed you roughly, whimpering at the overwhelming pressure already building in your core. 

As your moans and screams grew louder and louder, Mattheo gagged your mouth with his fingers, shoving his middle and pointer finger past your lips in an attempt to muffle the noise. 

“Are you trying to wake the whole castle up, princess?” 

“Let her,” Theo said, chuckling darkly as he wrapped his lips around your clit. “Let the whole castle hear what a desperate little slut she is for us.” 

You groaned as Theo picked up the pace, fucking you with his tongue until you were coming undone in his mouth. The second orgasm was an out of body experience. Stars exploded behind your eyes as you came with a cry. You could’ve sworn that you went to heaven and back.

As you collapsed backwards into Theo’s arms, your boyfriend grabbed you by the throat and kissed you. The taste of you lingered on his tongue and your eyes rolled back as Theo’s lips claimed yours. He chuckled when you chased his kisses. 

“Don’t be greedy, pretty girl. Matty wants a taste too.” 

Your lips parted in surprise as Theo grabbed the back of Mattheo’s head and kissed him hard, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip and they both groaned. Theo smiled into the kiss, savoring the taste. He patted Mattheo’s cheek before pulling you into his lap. 

“Such a good girl for us, aren’t you?” Theo cooed, caressing your cheek and rewarding you with neck kisses. “I love when you ride my face. You’re fucking perfect. I’m so proud of you, pretty girl.” 

“Don’t go all soft now, cariño.” Mattheo teased, licking away the remnants of you from the corner of his mouth. “We’re only getting started. We haven’t even fucked her yet.” 

Theo smiled down at you, wiping away the mascara streaks clinging to your cheeks. “Then by all means. Finish the job you started, Matty.”

“I intend to,” Mattheo replied as he loomed over you.

With a wink, Theo spread your legs apart and presented your sopping wet cunt to Mattheo like a present. He reached down and rubbed his middle and pointer finger against your clit, holding your hips in place as you arched off the bed. 

“Look at that. Pretty little pussy’s all nice and wet for us,” Theo said with a chuckle. “You’re so eager, aren’t you? So insatiable, dolcezza. Maybe Mattheo and I should give you a double dose. Fuck you at the same time.” 

“Yes,” you breathed, mewling as Theo continued rubbing lazy circles against your clit. “Please, please, I need it.” 

“Just a cockhungry little slut. You’re fucking greedy, mi amor. Begging for both of our cocks. Don’t worry, baby. We’ll give you what you want. Fill you up like you need.” 

You whimpered in response as Mattheo manhandled you, pushing your face into the pillows while he lifted your perky arse in the air. He kneaded your ass, rubbing his cock along your folds. When you grinded against him for more, Mattheo’s palm landed on your right cheek with a hard smack. As you looked behind you, Theo winked before slapping your left cheek. The sting of his palm burned against your skin, making your eyes water. 

“What’s the matter, bella? I thought you wanted to play.”

“I do,” you breathed, gripping the sheets. “Please, Teddy. I need more. Spank me harder.” 

“Dirty girl,” Theo said fondly. “Ask and you shall receive.” 

As his palm came down on your ass over and over again, you gasped for breath, chasing air while Mattheo lined himself up at your entrance. Theo leaned down to kiss the handprints on your arse, biting softly and embedding his mark onto your skin before mirroring Mattheo’s actions. Theo teased against your puckering hole and nodded at the curly headed boy beside him. 

He placed a soft kiss on Mattheo’s lips. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” Mattheo responded with a grin. 

You braced yourself to take both of them, gripping the sheets while they filled you simultaneously. It was a tight fit and you could feel both of your boyfriends stretching your walls.

“Such a good girl,” Theo groaned, moving slowly so you could adjust to his girth. “Letting Matty and I stretch you wide open. Fuck, I love being inside of you. It feels like fucking heaven, tesoro.”

Mattheo groaned in agreement. “Your pussy’s so wet. Does it turn you on to be ruined like this?” You cried in pleasure, mewling as Mattheo took Theo’s hand and placed it on your lower abdomen. “Feel that, mi corazón. Can you feel me fuck her deep, rearranging her insides?” 

“Merda, you two are going to be the death of me.” Theo said, his dead eyes rolling back. “Fuck me, I could cum just watching Matty move inside of you, Y/N.” 

As the two of them moved in sync, you gasped and panted, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overstimulation. There were so many sensations all at once, overloading your senses, making you writhe and whimper while your boyfriends ruined you. Mattheo tilted your chin, praises dripping from his lips, sweat slicked skin glimmering a pretty golden shade in the dim light. 

The hard planes of his abdominal muscles rippled while he fucked you from behind, grasping at the base of your throat until you were gasping for air. “Who’s pussy is this?” Mattheo growled into your ear, his curls tickling your cheek while he released a ragged breath. “Who do you belong to, Y/N?” 

“You and Theo,” you breathed. “Only you and Theo.” 

Theo smiled at your answer, lacing your fingers together. “That’s right, principessa. You’re ours to love, to fuck, to worship. Don’t forget that.” 

“Oh gods,” you moaned, gripping Theo’s hand while wrapping your fingers around the hand that Mattheo had around your neck. “I’m yours and you’re both mine.” 

“Damn fucking right,” Mattheo said with a sharp thrust. 

As Mattheo’s breathing grew more ragged, you and Theo both knew that he would succumb first. Theo fisted Mattheo’s curls in one hand and pulled him in for a filthy kiss, swallowing the cry that left his lips as he came inside of you. The sensation of him filling you up was too much to handle and the orgasm rocked your body, making your limbs seize as that familiar white hot heat blinded your senses. 

Theo was the last to cum, pulling out of your sensitive hole so that Mattheo could wrap his lips around his cock. His endurance was rewarded with vulgar noises as Mattheo gripped his hips in place and sucked him dry.

When your third and final orgasm ran its course, you found yourself laying flat on your back, blinking back up at the ceiling as you regained control of your senses. Through the haze, you blinked and found Theo and Mattheo fussing over you, casting a cleansing spell and wiping your damp forehead with a clean cloth. With a smile, they both leaned in and kissed your cheeks before tucking you safely between them. You hummed, placing a gentle kiss on both of their foreheads. 

“You know you two are all I need, right?” 

Your boyfriends both nodded, curling against you. “Of course, mi corazón.” 

“You’re all we need too, cuore mio.”

Taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings  @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis  @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies  @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows  @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt  @daydreamingabthar @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404 @dramaticals @slut4riddle @berryzxx @finalgirllx @peterpan-neverfails @jayybugg @ashisabitgay @goldenmagnolias @atadoddinnit @rafesmuse @thames-fig @theeslutintheroom @bunnymallowo @athenapotter @dracosmalfxy @moonflowersandsparkles @unlikelysadgirl @txzii @cruxxio

#i am a rabid animal that needs to be put down #theo nott #mattheo riddle #theo nott smut #mattheo riddle smut #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott smut #theodore nott x y/n

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Five-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, Dirty Talk, Threats of Violence, Jealousy, Toxic Behaviours, Possessive Behaviours, Mentions of GunPoint (enchanted gun but still), Italian, Flirty!Theodore!Nott, Angst, Sexual Tension.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"I don't know about this, Em..."

Giggles danced through the air, originating from your blonde companion, currently immersed in a thorough investigation of your shared closet. Her voice, laced with amusement, murmured something indecipherable, the words muffled by the solidity of the wooden door. A long sigh escaped your lips, a potent release of pure exasperation.

"This is crazy," you muttered to yourself. "Nott is going to need an entire bloody medical team when he catches sight of me..."

The enchanting red dress, a gem sourced from a privy boutique in Hogsmeade under Mattheo's explicit direction, molded itself to every contour as you confronted your reflection in the mirror. As your eyes traversed the fabric's journey, or rather, the lack thereof--there was no escaping the undeniable truth; the dress was exquisitely tight, sparing no nuance of your silhouette to the imagination.

"Doubt he'll even get the chance..." Emily replied, finally reemerging from the closet, "lover boy will likely claim his head the moment he fixes his gaze on you for too long."

Emily's cheeky response added a layer of playful anticipation to the charged atmosphere, earning an exaggerated eye roll from you in response as you fought hard to suppress your smirk.

When you'd embarked on the hunt for the ideal dress, you had brought Emily along for her valuable opinion. As your gaze fell upon this specific piece, uncertainty gripped you, convinced it might be a touch excessive. Yet, Emily staunchly opposed that notion. Her unwavering belief in its perfection became a contagion, subjecting you to prolonged minutes of relentless persuasion. Gradually, her infectious enthusiasm chipped away at your resistance until, inevitably, you succumbed--reluctantly handing over Mattheo's gifted galleons.

"And do I truly wish to burden my conscience with the death of the schools most popular Italian playboy? And not to mention Riddle's certain Azkaban sentence...all but a couple months from graduation?" you deadpanned, fingers instinctively rising to massage your temples in an attempt to alleviate the burgeoning headache. "Maybe I should just borrow something from your-"

"Absolutely not," Emily interjected, her voice cutting through your proposal with firm decisiveness. She approached you, a sparkle in her eyes, and added, "you look perfect. Trust me on this."

Meeting your eyes in the mirror, Emily's irises shimmered with a warm reassurance. She adjusted her flowy emerald green dress, a garment she had acquired at Tom's request--they were going to the masquerade together, though the status of their relationship still remained uncertain.

Emily, ever the advocate of going with the flow, a concept apparently foreign to Tom, said she wasn't in any rush to make things official, understanding that perhaps it would look a tad bit odd for him to start dating her after he'd just paraded you around to all of his friends, merely less than a few weeks go.

And as a result of this, you and Emily had a long, in depth heart-to-heart conversation where you made sure to unravel any lingering issues--the liberating honesty and the comfort of having someone in your corner again felt tangible. Although initially perturbed by the extended secrecy, Emily eventually grasped the rationale behind your discretion, acknowledging the protective measures taken for yourself and your desired career.

The depth of your longstanding friendship played a pivotal role in fostering this understanding, and you'd never been more thankful to have such a wonderful, supportive friend in your life.

"What do you think Michael will do when he spots you wearing traitor colours?" you teased, an impish grin playing on your lips as you watched Emily fix her long blonde hair, adjusting herself in the reflection.

"I reckon he'll be rather unamused," she snorted, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "But he'll be in for a real surprise when he sees you cozying up with Theodore Nott, the traitor extraordinaire."

"Cozying up with Theodore?" you retorted with a smirk, feigning innocence. "Absolutely not, I just recently cleared my conscience, I intend on keeping it that way."

"I wouldn't underestimate the Italian playboy; word on the street is he can be quite insistent..." Emily spun back around to face you, a cheeky smile playing on her lips. "My suggestion is that you tell him about Mattheo before he unwittingly finds himself sharing a bed with Berkshire."

Your expression sank, and a twist formed in your stomach. "Oh, gods, Emily, I need to change," you exclaimed, spinning around and making a beeline for the closet. "Surely there's a garbage bag or your grandmas old moo-moo hidden in here that I could wear instead, right?"

Emily's sudden snort echoed through the room, reverberating far louder than you'd expected. With swift precision, she wielded her wand, slamming the closet door shut before you could reach it.

"Come on, it's going to be fun," she teased, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Give those cocky Slytherin boys an experience they've never had before. Making them squirm is a rare opportunity--after all, they're not used to being denied anything."

You hesitated, a reluctant smile crawling across your face at her words as you silently considered the prospect. Mattheo had always made it abundantly clear that girls were typically within arm's reach for him, and he could have anyone he desired. The idea of driving him to the brink tonight, knowing he couldn't do a thing about it after explicitly instructing Theodore to ask you, ignited a rebellious spark within you.

"Alright, but this better not turn into a disaster," you responded, your internal thoughts dancing between uncertainty and a subtle thrill. "If the mafia comes after me because I smacked their most prized possession, I'm blaming you."

"You look fucking hot. Own it," she encouraged, a playful smile dancing on her lips. Turning her attention to the door, a sudden realization struck her. "I've got to run. Promised Michael I'd help him with his bloody tie--but don't forget to check the mail. Something arrived for you earlier."

With a swift goodbye, she whisked away, grabbing her matching emerald green eye mask, leaving you to contemplate the mysterious package. Not one to dawdle, you approached the table by the door, spotting a small brown box with your name inscribed on it.

With eager anticipation, you unwrapped the package, unveiling a stunningly bejeweled red mask. A note accompanied the alluring accessory, bearing the cryptic message:

"Something about me, I fucking hate the colour yellow."

A smirk played on your lips as you extracted the exquisite gift from its velvet cradle. The crimson mask lay in your hands, a stunning creation adorned with gemstones that caught and reflected the light with each subtle movement. Blush flooded your cheeks as you approached the mirror, slipping the mask on. Turning your head in every direction, you marveled at the way it enhanced your features, making you feel like a mysterious enchantress.

The beauty of the mask was beyond words, and even though the logical part of you knew it had to be from Mattheo, the sheer magnificence of the gift made it feel almost surreal.

After what felt like an eternity lost in the mirror, admiring the stunning mask, the realization hit that you needed to meet Theodore. He'd mentioned waiting for you at the entrance to your common room, so as swiftly as possible, you adjusted your dress, attempting to cover up your chest, and gracefully slipped out of your room, navigating the familiar halls with a sense of purpose.

The chilled corridor welcomed you as you emerged, and after a brief moment of searching, there, like an awakening spell, you spotted Theo--and your stomach nearly leapt into your chest at the sight of him.

"Holy shit, Nott...are you...are you actually wearing enemy colors?" Your jaw dropped as you beheld Theodore in a Ravenclaw blue suit, a sight you'd never expected in a million years. "Hold still, I need to take a bloody picture of this."

Theo's arrogant response came with a sly smirk, his dark eyes tracing hungrily over your figure. He stood before you in a pristine suit, accompanied by matching vest, and a crisp white dress shirt underneath. The ensemble was adorned with exquisite gold links and buttons, showcasing his impeccable taste. His confident demeanour suggested that he indeed cleaned up more than nicely, and this was only a slight indication of his professionalism.

"Sure, have your laughs," he quipped, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips. His eyes moved deliberately, scanning the curves of your figure. "Enjoy the view while it lasts, little bird. This suit's debut is a one-time thing—I might just set it ablaze once the night is over."

"Well you certainly know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?..." you teased, grin stretching past your ears as you took another step closer. "How honoured I am to accompany you in this suits first and only outing."

"Your wit is far too sharp for a Ravenclaw," Theo huffed in amusement, his stormy eyes glistening behind his dark blue mask. "You look properly fucking flaming by the way...do pardon my French."

You snorted, gracefully taking his arm as he offered it, intertwining yours around his. "French? I was under the impression you were Italian, Signor Nott."

"You speak it?" Theo raised an intrigued eyebrow, briefly glancing down at you as the two of you strolled towards the ballroom.

"Partially," you replied, a playful glint in your eye, your attention split between the conversation and the challenge of navigating gracefully in your black heels. Each step resonated with a confident clack on the school floors. "I dabble in a multitude of tongues...a side effect of an inquisitive mind."

"Is that so?" he said, pure intrigue in his tone. "Talk to me in Italian then,"

"Are you serious?" You snorted, far louder than you'd intended, waiting for him to say he was joking. He simply looked down at you, eyes locked on yours behind the mysterious mask.

"Absolutely serious," Theo chuckled, the breathy tones dancing in the air, a subtle spark of challenge in his eyes. "A little ball of knowledge, huh? Prove it."

A warm flush crept up your cheeks as you stifled your laughter. Theo had a charm of his own, a natural way of drawing people in much like Mattheo, although the troublemaking wizard had a slightly more breathtaking allure with those dark, intoxicating eyes and that unruly mop of chocolate curls. It wasn't a shortcoming on Theo's part--it was simply the irreplaceable magnetism that Mattheo possessed, but you couldn't deny the way Nott was making you feel.

"Alright, you want me to put my money where my mouth is, I respect that." You teased, clearing your throat as you pondered an Italian phrase that might leave an impression. After a brief moment of contemplation, it dawned on you. "Non c'è rosa senza spine."

(There is no rose without thorns.)

"Buona scelta," he replied with a smirk, his tone holding an air of both appreciation and subtle challenge. "Sei più astuta di quanto pensassi."

(Good choice; you’re more clever than I thought.)

"You underestimate me, Nott," you chuckled, a surge of pride coursing through you. "Consider that your first mistake."

"You know, the more I get to know you, the larger my desire to figure you out becomes,” he said, dropping his tone into a husky whisper as the two of you turned a corner. "You are...intriguing."

It was at this moment, as the two of you entered into the bustling main hall, that you were extremely thankful this event was a masquerade. The mask provided a welcome veil of anonymity, shielding you from the prying gazes that threatened to make you uneasy. It seemed you were blending seamlessly into Theo's arm, a part of the enigmatic allure rather than a subject of scrutiny.

"You couldn't figure me out in a million years," you retorted, a sharp edge to your tone, the corners of your lips subtly playing with a hint of a smirk. "Better men have tried."

Theo, as expected, didn't like that response. "Don't tempt me, little bird...I will make it my life's mission."

You rolled your eyes, chewing on your cheek. "You're far too sure of yourself, Theodore."

"Look at that, Bella...you're already using my first name," he quipped, smirking. "I'm making progress without even trying."

You fought the urge to smack him, your eyes narrowing in a playful challenge. "To know me, Signor Nott, I'll put you through hell...just ask Riddle, he can certainly attest."

"Mm, thats precisely the thing, little bird..." he said, his smirk holding a touch of intrigue. "Riddle's a closed book when it comes to you. Doesn't spill a damn thing, makes me wonder what secrets the two of you are hiding.”

"Quite a conspiracy, I'd say," you chuckled, relishing the light banter between you two as the distant sounds of music and laughter from the ballroom grew louder. With a nod and a playful smile, you gestured toward the entrance. "Shall we?"

Theo nodded, a playful glint in his eyes, as he released your arm and extended a hand to the small of your back, ushering you forward. "After you, milady"

Upon crossing the threshold into the ballroom, a breathtaking scene unfolded before your eyes. The room was adorned with vibrant spring decorations, an enchanting celebration marking the approaching end of the term. The fragrance of fresh flowers wafted through the air, and the soft glow of enchanted lanterns bathed the room in a warm, golden radiance. Hogwarts students from all years, dressed in their finest attire, wore a dazzling array of masks, each one a unique work of art.

As your eyes darted around the room, the search for familiar faces led you to a moment of anticipation. The diversity of masks, ranging from intricate designs to whimsical shapes, made it challenging to discern familiar faces.

Finally, your gaze landed on the only man you'd ever go out of your way to search for, his distinctive chocolate curls drawing your attention like a magnet amidst the sea of masked enchantment. The mere fucking sight of him, cloaked in newfound sophistication, sent a thrilling pulse through your veins, awakening sensations in your body that you were unprepared to face.

He stood there, like a fucking silhouette of elegance, adorned entirely in black--black mask, black suit pants, a sleek black dress shirt, and a finely tailored black suit vest. The only splash of colour adorned him in the form of a satin red tie, perfectly mirroring the shade of your dress. The entirety of your being froze in place, your throat resembling a parched desert, the sole reminder to keep moving coming from the steady pressure of Theo's hand on your back, coaxing you forward through the enchanting crowd.

As the two of you veered closer to them, the tension in your body was almost painful. Truth be told, it wasn't the singular presence of Mattheo that set your heart racing like a high-performance sports car on race day--oh, no, the true accelerant was his fucking date. The very girl from the washroom, the one you had directed him to accompany, and the vibrant colour of her long, flowing dress:

Yellow.

"Riddle, Malfoy," Theo uttered, initiating a firm handshake with each of his Slytherin comrades as they exchanged greetings. "Parkinson, Lanalock."

"Nott," Parkinson remarked, a smile gracing her features. "Never expected to see you in blue. You could easily pass for a Ravenclaw, you know."

Theo's response carried a touch of cunning arrogance, sneaking you a glance. "A choice made with utmost consideration, you might say."

In the midst of the social dance, your gaze and Mattheo's remained locked, an unbroken connection that felt more like a silent conversation than a mere exchange of glances. The unspoken tension between you two hung thick, and in that charged moment, it was uncertain if either of you had even blinked. Your heart pounded not only in your throat but also seemingly echoed in another, more intimate part of you as well.

Mattheo had never looked more fucking captivating, and the longing for him intensified by the millions--that merciless irresistible force effortlessly working to pull you closer.

Just as the tension threatened to become all-encompassing, Professor Dumbledore's voice reverberated over the lively chatter, his warm tone weaving through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the enchanting Spring Masquerade. I hope the magic of the night unfolds to your desires. Now, if you would kindly make your way to the dance floor, we are about to commence the first slow dance of the evening. So, let the celebration begin."

The resonance of Dumbledore's voice snapped you from Mattheo's visual captivity, prompting a few deliberate blinks and an expelled breath laden with tension. Theo, with a gentle glance, took your hand, guiding the group to choose spots on the dance floor directly adjacent to one another. It required every fiber of your being not to steal a glance at Mattheo, aware that the mere sight of him holding another girl would induce a wave of nausea within you.

Your attention became an exclusive affair with Theo. As he placed his hands on your hips, his grip was tender, a sensation entirely distinct from anything you'd experienced with Mattheo. A sharp intake of breath accompanied the elevation of your arms, led your palms to find a gentle perch on Theo's shoulders. In the depths of his stormy blue eyes, you unintentionally delved, oblivious to the intensity of the eye contact you established--you were so lost in your own thoughts that a bomb could go off in this very room, and you were certain you wouldn't even flinch.

Then, Theo's voice broke the silence. "Little bird, are you alright?"

"Oh, yes," you blinked, your voice escaping your throat in a cracked whisper, as though each word were a struggle for breath. "And you?"

"More than," he quipped, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

Your watchful eyes tracked the journey of his gaze, starting from your eyes, sliding leisurely to your lips, lingering provocatively before venturing lower, dipping over your chest with a seductive grace before sinuously slithering back up. The subtle intimacy of the visual exploration ignited a warmth within you, and you glimpsed his lips, recalling Emily's advice from your dorm. Make these men squirm.

"Glad to hear it," you mused, a playful edge to your tone, your fingers tightening their grip on his shoulders as he delicately drew you closer. "Wouldn't want the Italian playboy to be anything other than alright."

His grip tightened perceptibly, the sensation almost tangible as if his nails could breach the delicate fabric of your dress. The room plunged into a soft dimness, signaling the beginning of the slow dance. The shift in atmosphere was unexpected, enough to make you jump slightly. For a fleeting moment, you locked eyes with Mattheo, finding his gaze fixed on you, his hands scarcely making contact with his date.

Hastily looking away, Theo's voice reached your ear, dangerously close, "Italian playboy, hmm? Is that what they're calling me these days?"

"Don't act like you weren't already aware," you chuckled softly, the resonance carrying a hint of mischief. "Though, I must say, the rumors might be onto something."

Theo smirked, his voice a low murmur tinged with arrogance. "Well, uccellino, despite the rumors, I assure you I am a proper gentleman..."

A sharp intake of breath caught in your throat as his nails dug deeper into the fabric of your dress, compelling you closer as the two of you gracefully swayed to the music.

"How gentle you are, indeed," you mumbled, chewing your lip as you met his gaze, the two of you dangerously close together.

Theo's gaze deepened, his lean frame bending down as his lips brushed against your ear. "I may be a gentleman, Bella," he murmured, the words a seductive whisper. "...but if you keep looking at me like that--with those big eyes, biting on your goddamn lip...we might just be fucking on the nearest surface I find."

Oh, no. This was bad. Your response stammered out before you could even think to stop it, panic flickering in your eyes.

"I-I, excuse me," you stuttered, hastily breaking away from the dance just as the song was nearing its end. The abrupt departure carried a mix of flustered embarrassment and a desperate need to collect yourself.

Seeking refuge, you maneuvered toward the drink table nestled in the far corner of the room. The dim light and distant chatter provided a momentary escape as you began to slam back drinks, attempting to drown the intensity of the encounter with Theo.

As the remnants of a calm facade settled within, a subtle shift in the atmosphere stirred your senses. A tingling awareness compelled you to glance over your shoulder, only to find yourself ensnared in the dark, intoxicating depths of Mattheo's eyes. A strange yet undeniable wave of relief washed over you, despite the fact that he stood looming directly behind, adopting the guise of casualness while pretending to grab a drink.

"Mattheo," you breathed his name, the syllables escaping your lips like a breathless sin, a recognition of the forbidden allure that surrounded him. "What are you doing?"

Mattheo's breath, a tantalizing whisper, brushed against the nape of your neck, setting your nerves ablaze. "I can't stand the way he's touching you, Raven...I can't even stand the way he's fucking looking at you..."

Your lungs seemed to stall. "This was your idea, Matty..."

"I'm well aware," he hissed, the energy radiating from him palpable in the charged air. "Fuck, you look so fucking sexy...you are so goddamn beautiful, you know that?"

"I'm not sure I do..." your heart melted, a subtle heat pulsating through your thighs. "I think I need you to tell me again."

"You are so, so fucking beautiful..." he muttered, his voice a deep husk, strained with lust as it left his throat. "You are the most captivating girl in this entire fucking room...I can't stop staring at you...I can't stop needing you..." you gasped as his hand grazed over your ass, subtly, but a feeling you'd never miss. "What do you think you're fucking doing to me, hm?"

You nibbled on your bottom lip, the flush of blood coloring your face. "At this moment...nowhere bloody close to enough."

Mattheo's voice, saturated with desire, responded, "You're absolutely right, princess...and I can't wait to have you all to myself, as soon as this dumb fucking dance is over."

A soft hum escaped you as your lids fluttered, reveling in the warmth of Mattheo's body behind you. "Unless Nott gets to me first..."

As though a switch had been flipped, Mattheo's hand seized your wrist with a subtle yet undeniable warning, a silent caution against uttering anything remotely similar again.

"Don't even joke about that, Raven," he growled, the intensity in his voice cutting through the air. "I swear to Salazar himself, what I did to Berkshire will pale in comparison to what I'll do to Nott."

"So jealous, Matty..." you purred, smirking as he slowly released your wrist. You couldn't deny that his possessive tendencies did something to you, however fucking insane they were. "So angry..."

"You like that, don't you?...dirty little slut..." you could practically hear the smirk on his perfect fucking lips, your entire body vibrating with need. "Keep tempting me, princess...I'll bend you over this table, fuck you in front of the whole fucking school...I'll point my gun at Notts fucking head and make him watch, on his knees in front of you as I fuck you stupid...how does that sound for jealous, hm?"

Breath eluded you, the sheer intensity threatening your consciousness. "Godric, help you..."

"Sorry, Raven, but the only help from above that I believe in is a sniper on a rooftop..." Mattheo's voice, a deep, honeyed drawl, slipped from his lips. "And just so you're aware, I know eighty different ways to kill a man--and I can make an easy seventy nine of them look like a bloody accident...understand?"

"Fuck..." your mind struggled to form coherent thoughts. It had been days since his last touch, and the way he spoke now made you crave him more than the very air you breathed. "I don't think I do...I think I need you to tell me again..."

"I've never been a jealous man, Raven..." Mattheo's gaze swept the surroundings, ensuring no lingering gazes were watching. Satisfied, he shifted slightly, his lips now at your other ear. "I've never envied someone for what they have or who they're with, and yet, I'm damn jealous of every asshole you smile at, everyone you openly converse with...I've never fucking wanted something that I couldn't have, a girl I couldn't get...so this, all of this...is fucking maddening."

Your lungs seemed to stall, a momentary freeze as if he'd submerged you into the heart of a raging inferno. A surge of warmth flooded through every fiber of your being, an intoxicating heat.

"I need you," your voice murmured, the words dripping with a desperate longing. "I need you in every fucking way imaginable..."

"Mm," Mattheo hummed, the warmth of his touch tracing the curve of your hip. "Such a delightfully dirty mouth for a princess..."

Feigning innocence, you lifted your gaze to meet his, a coy smile gracing your lips. "Perhaps...but even princesses have their secret pleasures, don't they, Matty?"

For a moment--a fleeting, beautiful fucking moment--your eyes locked, and it was in that secret realm, where slight smirks played on each of your lips, and the tension was fucking so thick that you could hardly breathe--where you both knew you've found what the whole fucking world was still carelessly searching for.

And it was there, that you knew--no man, no job, no fucking career could ever make you feel as happy and needed and treasured as Mattheo Riddle did. In his own, crazy, fucked up way.

Mattheo blinked. "Meet me in the washroom in forty minutes.”

—————————

Chapter 26->

#theodorenottsmut #theodore smut #theo nott x reader #theo nott smut #mattheoriddle #mattheosmut #mattheo smut #harry potter #enzo berkshire #draco malfoy smut #draco smut #theoriddlesmut #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott smut #theodorenott #theo riddle #tomriddle smut #tomriddlesmut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #severus snape #tom riddle #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #theo nott #severus smut #draco fanfic #severus #marcus lopez smut #mattriddlesmut

[ireneispunk]

Saving your virtue: one – Jacaerys Velaryon x reader smut

Pairing: fem!reader x Jacaerys

Summary: The reader is due to marry Jacaerys Velaryon, and after a long stay at Dragonstone with tension mounting each day, it finally boils over but not in the way you expected.

Word count: 4,105

Warnings: plot with smut, starts fluffy with a lot of sexual tension, masturbation, reader and Jacaerys are inexperienced, use of Y/N and reader.

A/N: This idea literally came to me in a dream so it’s a bit of my own fan service oops. Reader is meant to be from a noble family in Westeros but I didn’t specify which so you can imagine whatever house you prefer! This ended up way longer than I meant it to be but I got SO INVSTED. ALSO I’ve never written in the ASOIF universe I’ve watcher both HOTD and GOT and read all the books and been a longstanding fan BUT if my lingo is off please bear with me <3

Three weeks, 2 days and one morning. That is how long it has been since your arrival at Dragonstone, how long you have known Jacaerys Velaryon, and how long you have yearned for him. The journey was gruelling, but your father had boasted about the prosperity of the match, and your Mother about Queen Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon’s beauty the long ride here. It ate away inside of you, the thought of being married to someone you did not love or could ever grow to love. It was your duty as a Highborn woman to marry well and produce heirs. You spent the entire journey trying to picture Jacaerys, your father had met him once briefly many years ago, but it had been confirmed by your handmaids that he had grown to be a very handsome young man, but you did not know if this was an attempt to quell your nerves.

Your first meeting with Jacaerys and his family couldn’t have gone better, Jacaerys was more handsome than the stories could do justice, Rhaenyra and Daemon seemed impressed with you and your families unwavering loyalty to her status. It was now less than one week before your wedding ceremony to Jacaerys. It was planned to be a celebration of a lifetime in order to show the strong bond between the two houses.

You reminisced on the first time you spoke to Jacaerys alone. Being you were not yet wed, your parents protested you both being alone unchaperoned. After a week of being around your presence but not being able to fully indulge into it, Jacaerys couldn’t bare it anymore. ‘This is wrong’ he thought to himself as he paced quietly back and forth down the corridor leading towards your room. The disappointment of his mother, Daemon, your parents flashed through his mind but were quickly replaced with thoughts of you. You had consumed his mind and body ever since he laid eyes on you. He could not wait to be with you in every sense of the word: bask in your presence, your warm smile, feel his hands around your waist on dragonback. The more he thought about you the more impatient he became, he knew what his wedding night would entail and wanted more than anything to have that day arrive more promptly. As much as he wanted you in that way, a sinking feeling would always creep into his heart. Jacaerys wanted to know you. You were one of the most beautiful beings he had ever seen, but he craved nothing more than a conversation with you. To know you. Without the pressure of family or handmaidens watching your each move, eyebrow raise, change in tone. The brief and staged conversations you had both had before now were a glimpse of something more. He was desperate to know the woman he was due to marry.

You sat on the neatly engraved chair pulled up to the table in your room. The castles handmaidens had promised to return later on in the evening as you requested some time alone. You sighed, eyeing the soft and delicate details of the room. You continued to scribble your letter back home to your younger siblings. They weren’t arriving until the wedding. As the silence engulfed you, you focused on the loudness of the silence. The occasional harsh wind whipping against the coastline and traveling up to your window, the soft tide strolling into the shore. Your eyes focussed on the fireplace that centred your room, the way the wood curled and burnt under the might of the flame, the sharp crackling with an occasional pop. You were marrying into a family of dragons, yet you felt you knew your betrothed as much as you did before you left home. A quiet set of footsteps broke you out of your fiery trance, you eyed the heavy wooden door and heard them pass. Relieved you turned back to your letter only to hear the same footsteps walking the opposite directions, and again, and again? It was late, and this was a quiet side of Dragonstone. People only came here if they wished too. Frustrated at your handmaidens’ swift return, you plopped your quill into the ink well and rose from your chair, making haste towards the door. “I apologise girls, I still require more time to-“ you swung open the door, already speaking in a tone with slight annoyance before coming face to face with your future husband. Your heart dropped to your stomach, Jacaerys was here, outside your chambers. You inhaled sharply “Your grace, I apologise. I thought you might’ve been the handmaidens. They are ever persistent, and I am not yet used to it.” You smiled with a small curtsey and drop of your head, trying to recover the situation. Jacaerys seemed to be a shocked as you were at the door opening, his mouth opened and closed with no words escaping his lips. “Was there something you need your grace?  it’s getting awfully late.” You say almost a whisper, eyes laden with concern darting from his to down the hallway. He blinked away any surprise he had, looked towards his feet, before taking a step closer to you. Jacaerys was still feet away from you yet this was still the closest you both had yet been. His dark eyes locked into yours before he said “My lady, I do not wish to speak out of turn, but I feel it is within our best interests to know each other. I mean really know each other before we marry. You are to be my wife in less than a week yet there’s so much I wish to know.” His eyes gazed into yours, searching for an answer and longing for it to be yes. You could not help the large smile that spread across your face, this was everything you had hoped for. You glanced down each end of the hallway before stepping back into your chambers and holding the door open before gesturing him to come in with your hand. Jacaerys swallowed – he did not plan for the scenario in which you agreed. Your quietly shut the door behind you before walking over to the small, padded bench that sat under the window at the end of your room. Sitting down you patted the cushion next to you, “Please sit your grace, I would love to get to know you better.” He walked over and sat as far away from you on the bench as possible and sat stiff as if this were a stone monument. He turned to look at you, relaxing slightly when he met your eyes. “Jacaerys. We are to be married, just Jacaerys is fine.” He says as if revealing a heavy burden. “When we are alone that is.” He nods his head slightly, almost telling himself this, not just you. “Y/N, please call me Y/N.” You said with confidence. Jacaerys repeated your name back to you, finally feeling as if he’d met you. This was the girl who was to be his, his wife Y/N, not just Lady L/N.

Since the first night you had spoken alone, you both had the same routine. Jacaerys would wait until your parents retired to their chambers, and you would insist to the handmaidens that you did not require help getting ready for bed and would allow your hot bath to become tepid whilst you and Jacaerys spoke. Each night you both pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable, with the previous night beginning with the two of you sitting on your bed to talk and ending with a tight hug with Jacaerys’ large hand on the back of your head and one on the small of your back. Tonight, however, was different. After spending a particularly long day in a new and rather uncomfortable corset that you just could not unknot yourself, you allowed the handmaidens to undress you, but still protested as they attempted to brush your hair. You thanked them but ushered them out. You eyed the sunset. It was still a time before Jacaerys would be here. The smell of sweet florals danced around the room. You faced the steel tub, heat shimmered off the surface enticing you in. As much as you loved talking to Jacaerys, you did miss a hot bath in the cold nights here. You sighed and slipped out of your chemise, hanging it over the end frame of your bed. Rose petals swirled around your form as your slowly sunk into the tub, feeling the hot water glide over your body and settle around your neck, lapping into your hair at any movement. Eyes slipping closed you relaxed into the warm waters.

A small knock snapped you out of your light slumber, eyes shooting to the window, completely dark outside. Jacaerys was here and you were in no way ready to see him. “Uh who is it?” You stutter naïvely. A couple of seconds of silence go by as you clamber out of the tub and reach for the soft embroidered towel on the vanity next to you. “It’s me.” Jacaerys says, barely above a whisper. “Just one moment!” You say, panic evident in your voice. You quickly slip your chemise back on before turning to see yourself in the mirror. This was no way to present yourself to his grace, hair wet and almost dripping, skin damp, only in your nightwear being the most unforgiveable factor. You looked towards your dress of the day and curled your lip at the corset. Shaking your head you sheepishly walked over to the door and opened it to reveal yourself. Jacaerys smiled and took a step forward before stopping in the hall to take in your appearance. His jaw went slack at the sight of you, he had admired your beauty so far but seeing you so unready had made him feel a way he never had before. His eyes fixated on your unkept hair, the way little droplets beaded off the strands and rolled down your exposed neck and clavicle. He eyed your shape, appreciating the way the well-lit hallway exposed the shape of your breasts before stealing even more intense stares at your waist and down to your hips. What felt like a fleeting second for him must’ve in fact been longer as he felt your hand grab onto his and pull him into your chambers and out of his trance.

“Jacaerys!” you exclaimed, “someone could have so easily seen you standing there for so long!” you closed the door softly and turned to face him. Jacaerys eyes were wide as you looked into them. You felt a wave of nervousness wash over you, had you disgraced yourself? Were you both not as close as you’d hoped? Or even worse was he disappointed in seeing more of you? Your thoughts raced as you wrapped your arms across your front and smile fading at his lack of response. Jacaerys immediately seemed to get a hold of himself once he noticed your usual grin around him replaced with a slight frown and lowered eyebrows. He abruptly stepped towards you causing you to instinctively step back with you back hitting the door. “I apologise, I did not expect to see you after you were ready to sleep, I was taken aback.” He said softly, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. “In a good way I mean of course, you were just already so beautiful as you are when I regularly see you. Seeing you in your most unaltered form reminded me that I must thank the Gods every night that you are to be mine.” His declaration sent a shiver down your spine and a heat grew in your stomach that only ever did with Jacaerys on your nights alone. He stepped even closer if that was possible and reached his hand up towards your face, a short breath hitched in your throat as his fingers graced your shoulder before retrieving a red petal that remained in your hair. You smiled and broke out a small giggle, “I might have closed my eyes for a moment or two in the bath, I still wanted to see you.” You confessed. He smiled before staring into your eyes as if they were the most intriguing thing he had ever come across. You never felt observed or stalked when he did this but seen and valued as much as any gem in the realm in that moment. “Shall we sit?” You say and gesture to the bed, being so close to someone you felt barred from touching was almost painful. Jacaerys cleared his throat before making his way over to the end of your bed, allowing you to sit at the top with the pillows behind you.

Conversation rolled forward but neither of you could deny the tension that had returned to the room. It was not a nervousness like the first night, but an undeniable hunger that panged within you both. As a story from your home concluded and left you both laughing, Jacaerys went quiet. “Can I try something, Y/N.” You wondered what he could be thinking and nodded before whispering a ‘yes’. He inhaled before leaning forward towards you, tentatively placed a hand on your cheek and leaned in towards your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his soft lips touch yours but just as quickly as they touched, he pulled back slightly. Hungry for more you placed your hand at the nape of his neck and pulled him back for a longer kiss. Your lips moved together in sync, tentative but ridden with passion. As you melted into the kiss you slowly laid back onto the large pillows behind you. Jacaerys followed you down, never breaking the kiss, and moved one hand to your waist and the other to hold himself up beside your head on the pillow. The kiss grew hungrier and sloppier as you placed one hand upon his on your side and the other returned to the back of his head pulling him into you deeper. You let out a small gasp at the feeling of his body against yours and sighed as his hand slid up your side. You were completely engulfed in him; you didn’t realise how much you wanted his touch until you got it. He pulled away slightly from the kiss, taking a deep breath in to sigh. He rested his forehead against yours, lips brushing slightly against yours.  “I cannot, I must stop. I cannot thieve your honour.” He said, more so trying to convince himself instead of you. You felt his weight shift and he placed a small kiss to your forehead before laying down beside you in a huff. Your insides burned for him, wanted him, no, needed him in a vicious way. You turned to face him, “Jacaerys,” you whined, “I will be fully yours in mere days, why can I not have you now too.” You say almost begging him. He swallowed before facing you. “I crave every inch of you, everything about you pulls me further into a place I won’t be able to climb out of. It isn’t right. Your virtue may be mine to take soon but for now it is yours to keep, we must save it for when we are married.” Your entire body ached in ways you didn’t know it could. You thought of protesting, but Jacaerys is his mother’s son. Once he has decided something it will be. You nodded, feeling your chest rise and fall more steadily. You stole one more kiss against his lips before laying as close to him as you could with a hand across his chest.

‘Five days’, you though. Five days would not be long in any other circumstance, but right now, waiting that long to be touched by Jacaerys felt like torture. As you realised the wetness that had grown between your thighs you had an idea. You turned your head up to look at Jacaerys, his eyes were screwed shut and his mind racing. “You wish to save my virtue, at the cost of leaving your future wife with certain frustrations.” You say with a sweet smile. His eyes open and he scans your face looking for any indication on where you are leading him. Jacaerys half nods his head, not sure on what the correct answer is. “There is a way, we can save my virtue, but still enjoy each other’s company, so to speak.” You say sitting up slightly so he can admire your full form. His face stays slightly confused, brows furrowed, eyes occasionally stealing a look at the thin fabric covering your breasts. Sensing his confusion you continue, “You know, when you’re alone, late at night in your own chambers, longing for someone to touch you.” His eyes widened at your explanation, and he placed a hand over yours that lay on his chest. “Well, it could be just like that between you and me right now, we get to appreciate each other but still protect my virtue.” You explain, looking up at him from beneath your eyelashes, internally begging he’d agree to at least this. The turmoil behind his eyes was evident. He was torn between what was supposed to be right and what felt right.

Instead of a verbal response he leaned up to kiss you once more, just as desperate as before. Feeling a sudden sense of urgency, he started undoing the buttons on his jacket without ever breaking the kiss before tossing it onto the floor. The thin white shirt covered his torso, and you trailed your hands down his chest towards the tie of his trousers before resting on top of his very apparent bulge. He swiftly grabbed your wrist and moved you hand away with a sharp inhale. Worried, you looked into his eyes before he stated, “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if you touched me.” he looked defeated and utterly infatuated with you. You nodded, accepting his boundary before sitting back on your knees, he used his free hand to place on the inside of your knee and motioned to move your thighs apart. Just the sensation of his fingertips on your leg sent burning waves throughout your body. With his other hand holding your wrist he guided your hand between your thighs towards your pussy. You lightly rubbed from your clit to your slit opening and massaged your folds as you watched himself undo his trousers at a painfully slow pace before he pulled them down slightly revealing the cock you had blushed at imagining when alone. It slapped against his stomach, red with desire and leaking a few beads of precum. It was large in a satisfying way that made your pussy clench around nothing. You intently fought the urge to touch him. A soft moan fell from your lips as you began to touch yourself faster at the sight of Jacaerys taking his cock into his hand and slowly running his hand up and down the length. He seemed shocked by your moan, like he had never heard a noise so sweet before. A rather large moan escaped your lips before a flash of panic glazed over Jacaerys’ eyes. With his free hand he guided the back of your head towards his face and enveloped you into yet another desperate kiss, this more needy than the rest. Your lips moved quickly against each other as your fingers moved in short, tight circles across your clit causing a number of moans to stifle the kiss. You broke the kiss, needing to bite your lip, and rested your forehead against his. Jacaerys panted and moaned slightly with each stroke of his cock. His free fingers brushed against your cheek before curling into your hair. The feeling made your core tighten, a desperate ‘Jacaerys’ ridden moan fell from your mouth resulted in a harsh groan from the man beneath you.

“Let me see you,” He said gruffly, “I want to see you when you reach your peak.” Jacaerys was assertive in a voice that came from pure desperation. You nodded before sitting back on your knees and leaning further back so could appreciate all of you. Jacaerys sat up further in the bed leaning back into the cushions pumping his cock quicker at this new sight of you. He occasionally threw his head back in pleasure after taking in the sight of you. Your fingers switching from delving into your pussy and circling your clit, your mouth slightly agape and littering moans around the room, the way your chemise was almost see through letting him see the peaks of your breasts and hardened nipples poking the thin cotton. You were a sight he never wanted to forget. You, right here and now, completely coming undone before him is what he wanted to see every night. “I-I’m so close I cannot hold on anymore Jacaerys.” Your declaration was laden with moans and gasps, yet it affected Jacaerys all the same. “Finish for me, I need to see you, I- show me Y/N.” Jacaerys grunted through his words and that was the only encouragement you needed to allow yourself to topple over the edge. You worked your middle and third finger into your pussy, eyeing Jacaerys’ movement up and down his cock and matching the fast pace, picturing his cock filling you up. You looked up to Jacaerys’ eyes to see them already on your face, watching you. The eye contact was enough to feel the coil inside of you tighten with each thrust of your fingers before it snapped sending a shattering orgasm over your body. A flurry of moans left your lips along with repeating Jacaerys’ name like he might forget it. Jacaerys could not hold out any longer and moaned your name as he finished, white cum leaking from his big cock. A few final slow strokes left him sighing with satisfaction as his head dropped back into the pillows.

You lay on your back, completely spent feeling a wave of tiredness wash over you. The bed dipped beside you as Jacaerys joined you at the end of the bed, grabbing the towel you had hastily flung onto the footboard before. He gently patted the towel against your wet thighs and the wet patch that had formed underneath you before cleaning his stomach off and dropping the towel by the bath. He lay beside you and you rolled onto your side and let your back face him as he pulled you into his grasp. “I wish you could stay, Jacaerys. That was what I was desperate for, but falling asleep in your arms is what I need.” You sigh half solemn. He places long kisses on your back and nape, tickling you slightly. “Four days, then you will be my wife and I will never leave this bed ever again if you so command it.” He said jokingly, but you know you could get him to live in a bed with you if you asked sweetly. Every time your eyes shut, they closed for even longer and Jacaerys noticed. “Y/N,” he whispered. “I must return to my own room before morning.” You sat up slightly and yawned before nodding. Jacaerys collected his jacked off of the floor and walked round to your side of the bed and held out his hand. You took your hand in his and pulled yourself up off of the bed and let him lead you to the door. He opened it a crack and peaked out in both directions before opening the door fully and turning back to you. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” He smiled playfully. You squeezed his hand and placed a small kiss on his lips. You wanted to savour Jacaerys before he was back to being 'your grace'. He tucked a rogue strand of hair behind your ear, “Beautiful.” He whispered, letting his thumb linger on your cheek. You blushed under his tenderness and affection. “Goodnight my Y/N.” he said returning his hands to his sides. “Goodnight Jacaerys.” You said smiling at him, your heart feeling full. You both stole final glances at each other before he rounded the corner into the rest of the castle. You shut the door and sighed, glancing over the strewn bed reminiscing on the events of the night. You blew out the candle on the table beside your bed and snuggled into the sheets. The pillows and blankets still lingered with the smell of Jacaerys. You couldn’t wait to be his wife.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon smut #hotd smut #jacaerys smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader smut #jacaerys targaryen #prince jacaerys #hotd fanfic #jacaerys velaryon x y/n smut #jacaerys imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #asoif #asoif/got #fanfic #smut #jacaerys fluff #fluff smut #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys fanfiction

[eyesxxyou]

❝ rough hands ❞ (rival bands!au)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. rival bands hobie x FTM!reader, conflicting emotions, a lot of sexual tension, a ton of mentions of hobie's hands, tw:pigs cops, being pinned down, fingering, handjob, a lot of bantering, generally just how I think sex withHobie would be, smut with a LOT of plot. the mary janes and the mutts have had a longstanding hatred for one another for years but you can't seem to resist the antics of hobie brown

wc: 4.3k

Fuck.

“They’re good.” Your drummer nudged as you and the rest of your band watched The Mary Janes perform on stage. They were opening for your performance and fuck if they weren't good at it. So much energy, such an art, you couldn't believe how fucking amazing he was on stage. Hobie Brown, the lead singer and guitarist. He was a force to be reckoned with.

You shrugged. “They're alright. Not better than us.” Your eyes narrow as they finish out their final song and Hobie takes a breath, thanking everyone for coming out. The crowd cheers, screams for him and you’re positive you can make them scream louder.

You and your band, The Mutts, move to the side as Hobie and his Mary Janes walk off stage. You catch his gaze, his smile so confident, cool, and carefree. You hate it, hate him. He doesn't say anything to you but you can see it in his eyes and the way he turns from you like he’s better than you. “You and your Mutts try to beat tha’”, his demeanor says as he walks away with his bandmates and you hate him for it.

It was a tough act to follow up. You know it as soon as you walk out on stage after your introduction. The air is hot where Hobie once stood, you can feel his energy still resonating there. You know he’s watching somewhere and you know you have to show him up for the sake of it. Your lips kiss the microphone Hobie once pressed his lips to and you hate that you can taste him there.

The crowd screamed along with the lyrics, music to your ears. How beautiful. Fucking beat that Hobie Brown.

You see him in the crowd with a drink in his hand, sipping away with a smirk on his face like something's fucking funny. If only you could slap it off his beautiful, smug face. You would as soon as you got off stage.

You and your bad breezed through your set. The crowd was alive in a way you’ve never seen before and it broke your heart to have to leave them. You turned your bass around behind your back and took a bow before thanking everyone for being such an amazing crowd for you. You watched Hobie turn and wade his way past people who slapped him on the back and feebly asked for an autograph to make his way backstage. He was undoubtedly coming just to taunt you.

As you and The Mutts came into the backstage lounge area, you departed with. “I’m going to my dressing room. I’ll see you guys in a minute.” Your drummer hummed with approval while your guitarist sent you off with a wave.

You made your way down the back all towards the dressing rooms. You opened the door only to find that Hobie was already there with his drink in hand and an insult already waiting on the tip of his tongue. “Ya slipped up there at the end. Was it cause o’ me? How unprofessional.”

“Hobie, you wouldn' know professionalism if it kicked you in the balls and told you your mother died at the same time. Get outta my face.” You sighed and reached into the pocket of your jacket for a loose lighter and a joint. You placed the joint between your lips, lit it, and took a drag. “You know whoever the club owner gives more money to tonight, he wants them to come back.”

Hobie scoffed. He sat on the mangy, gross couch as the door swung closed and you made your way over to the vanity to fix up your makeup. “O’ course ya only care ‘bout money, ‘ow contraire.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Only if yer there to kiss my arse while I do i’.”

It was usually like this. Your bands never liked each other but between them it was just glares and rough shoulder checks as the other passed. No one went at each other's throats the way you and Hobie did. You two were vicious, brutal, insults that would make the common man cry. But everyone knew better. There was a sort of camaraderie in your hatred for one another. Only you were allowed to hate him. You’d defend him with your life against someone else and in the same breath tell him his music was shit and he needed to quit.

“Either way, I’m getting that money.” Hobie settles, turning away like that’s the end of the matter. Your tongue swipes at your bottom lip before you nip it. “Says the man who plays the guitar like he can't find the clit.” You murmur and take another drag of your joint.

“Oh really?” Hobie began slowly, placing his cup down on the sticky floor before standing to his full height. He made his way over to you at the vanity, his hands grabbing the back of your chair when what he really want was to grip your shoulders, to touch you. “Would’ja like a demonstration? ‘m very good wit’ ma fingers. You know i’.” He looked at you through the mirror, leaning down so his face is next to yours.

You stare at him, search his eyes for a hint of malice or something, anything, but there's nothing but a true and genuine offer. He’d be more than happy to show exactly where your clit is.

Your lips pull into a scowl. “You’re fucking disgusting.” You say it to hide the fact that all you want is his hands on your body and those fingers to play with you the way he plays that guitar of his.

It’s the truth. You hide your burning desire for him behind your hatred, both equally as real as the other. He’s smug, shitty, sly, and sexy. You want to fuck him as much as you want to punch him, some days one more than the other.

Hobie placed his hand on your shoulders, massaging so gently. He tilted his head, placed his lips beside your ear. “Lemme know if ya ever wanna take me up on tha’ offer, dove.”

You stare at him, not sure if you want to kiss him or kill him, maybe a little bit of both. “Suck my dick, Hobie.”

“Sure, bet I can do tha’ better than ya too.”

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me and get out.”

Hobie finally relented, his hand sliding from your shoulders and back to his sides. “Fine. I’m pissin’ off. Don' forge’ ‘bout tha’ party on Saturday. Would be a damn shame if I don’ get a chance t’show ya up ‘gain.” He grabbed his drink and made his way to the door.

You couldn't stand him.

The party was already long going before you and The Mutts arrived. You were one to sniff out a good bottle of booze and went wandering to find it, your body in a perpetual state of compression by people on all sides. You wade through them with ease, leather jackets, spiked hair and all.

A proper punk party would be nothing without shitty beer and a stolen cop car to destroy.

You make your way to the center, all bats and spikes. Someone was on the hood of the car, bashing in the windshield until it completely fell through. You didn't realize it was Hobie until he hopped down from the hood and turned, grabbing the beer from your hand to take a sip. “Took ya long enough to join the party.” It seem he saw you far before you saw him.

“Can I have my shit back?” You snatched the bottle back from him. “Where the fuck did you guys get a cop car without the pigs getting on your asses?” It’s hard doing anything nowadays without the pigs sticking their ugly noses where they don't belong.

Hobie shrugged. “I ain' get i’. ‘m just here to fuck i’ up. Stop askin’ questions, are you joinin’ in or no’?”

Before either of you could do or say anything more, the car behind you was ablaze. Every window shattered, the very windshield wipers mashed through the back window, and now it was on fire. Someone had thrown a molotav cocktail inside of it and the entire thing caught on fire. Now it was a real punk party.

You figured the car would explode any time now, better to walk away before it blows and sears your eyebrows off. You take a swing from your bottle, grimacing at the bitter taste that's more akin to dog piss than anything else. Shitty bear. Proper punk.

You turn, ready to find your mates and maybe a stray joint floating around you can hog for yourself. Out in the distance you can hear the first ‘whoop’ of a police siren. You roll your eyes and finish out the rest of your beer in one gulp. “Are you fucking kidding me? I just got here.” You throw your bottle into the car fire.

The sirens come in blazing and a voice yells out that it's the cops. “Everybody scram!”

You look first for your bandmates but in a hoard like this, you’ll never find them. People are starting to run, yelling for everyone else to take off as well. They push past you while your eyes search frantically among their faces for your mates.

A hand grabs yours. You turn back to find Hobie there attempting to drag you away from where you stand in the mud. You thought he had already left, ran away with the rest of them. He was pulling you with him. “Wha’ the fuck are ya waitin’ for!?”

“My mates-”

You can see the suits approaching. They’re catching people, using batons to beat them down. They’re coming fast and you both know it. You’re panicking and Hobie’s still trying to get you to move your fucking legs.

He moves in front of you and holds your face between his large hands. “I need ya t'do me a favor and run. Ya can't help ya mates if yer dead or in a jail cell.” He pushed your shoulders, made you stumble back, snapped you out of your fixation.

You began to pick up your feet and run away. Your boots splattered in the mud, it stuck, made your feet heavier. You couldn't run as fast as normal. You’re stumbling, staggering, hands hitting the ground before pushing yourself back up. You know you’re going to get caught, it’s only a matter of time.

“I said get down!” That's all you hear before you’re tackled into the mud by an officer. He pins your arms to the Earth and you can hear the rattle of the handcuffs ready to clamp themselves down around your wrists. You try to fight but he holds just enough leverage over you that every elbow thrown was useless.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You fight because your very life depends on it. He’s smashing your face into the dirt rougher than necessary. “You’ve got nothing on me!” You writhed and kicked and screamed until suddenly the weight on you was gone and there was a thump and a grunt, a splatter in the mud.

Hobie was on top of the officer, fighting him, punching him, beating him into unconsciousness. You scrambled to your feet and watched him throw each punch with a grunt, teeth bared, eyes wild. You know if he keeps going he’ll kill the pig, not that you cared but he’d get into far more trouble than it's worth.

“Hobie, Hobie, come on.” You grabbed his hand before he could swing it down again, grabbed it besides all the blood and bruises. “They’re coming. We need to get outta here.” Your eyes plead for him to leave it alone. You couldn't care less about what happens to him, you tell yourself as much at least, but he saved you. It’s only fair and you don't like being indebted to people.

Hobie looked at you, then the cop on the ground, then back at you again. He stood and took your hand with his so gently. “Ma boat is on the dock up the way, come on.” He glanced back for a moment before the two of you began to run hand in hand. Hobie guides you out of the crowd in an entirely separate direction than everyone else. You run even though your feet ache, even though your heart is racing in your chest, even though you feel as though you can't breathe.

You only stop when you reach the dock where Hobie's boat is anchored. He leads you with bruised and battered hands to the canal boat at the end of the dock, a place where the two of you can call up your respective mates and make sure everyone is okay.

You’re covered in mud, wet, cold, shivering while you board Hobie’s boat. You wrap your arms around yourself and rock from heel to toe while Hobie shuffles about on his boat. He opens a door and looks back at you, “Ya comin’?” Your lips curled into a scowl as you let out a scoff. “I’m fine now, thanks. I can catch a cab back home.”

“Ya look like a wet dog. Come on.” 

With a reluctant sigh, you follow him into his boathouse. It’s warm inside, immediately ceasing your shivering. It’s small, cozy, a bit cluttered but it’s not like your flat is any better. You hate to say that you like it but you do, you think it’s great, with his bed in front of a window that overlooks the bay.

You watch Hobie rummage about for clothes and all you can do is stare at his hands, hands that protected you, hands that fought for you, that drew blood for you. He defended you and fuck if it wasn’t hot. “I don’t need your pity.” You cover up the fact that you can feel yourself growing a little weak in the knees. If you hate him a little harder maybe it will make the feeling between your legs go away.

“No’ pity, jus’ bein’ a decent human-fuckin’-bein’,” he corrects you. “Wha’? Ya tink ‘m no’ capable of no good? I saved ya arse and ya sill bein’ a fuckin’ right cunt.” He comes close, he pokes your shoulder so hard that you move back a little, space that he closes once again. 

The adrenaline is still running high. Your heart is still racing in your chest, slamming against your ribcage in a desperate attempt to claw its way out. You eat up the space between the two of you and shove him. “I only act like a cunt because you act like a dickhead!” You shove him again and he stumbles back before coming right back to you.

You breathe heavy, the both of you, staring. You keep glancing at his lips. Why do you keep glancing at his lips? Better question is why he keeps glancing at yours.

It was Hobie who leaned in and kissed you first. You could keep your dignity — keep your sanity — in knowing that you were not the one to make the first move. He kissed you hard and you kissed him back, kissed him harder. Your tongue found his lips and eagerly asked for permission for entrance. You needed him, needed his tongue against yours, need those hands that protected you against your skin.

Hobie parted his lips, let your tongue wander into his supple mouth and find his pierced tongue. It was hot, a little sloppy. You lick into his mouth and he licks into yours, your bodies pressing into the others while your slippery hands tug at each other's clothing. You swallow each breathless moan he sighs into your mouth, his hands sliding beneath your shirt. They’re cold, you shudder under his touch and he likes it. He smiled into the kiss. “Sum wrong?”

“Shut up.” You shudder out as his fingers breeze over you top surgery scars and brush your nipples that harden under his touch. His hands roam where they please, across your chest and down the curve of your back that arches with the tender touches of his fingertips. Your tongue lapped at his bottom lip, teeth nipping softly at the lip ring you spend hours staring at. “Just touch me.”

“Only touch ya?” Hobie teased with the idea. “Some heavy pettin’, yeah?”

“I’m still tryna decide if I wanna fuck you or not.”

Hobie kissed you again, tasting of piss poor beer and mint, a strange but delightful combination. “Dove, ya wanna fuck me. Ya wouldn' be here if ya didn't. Jus’ lemme treat ya good.” His hand pulled at the hem of your shirt and pulled it off of you in one swift motion. Those hands of his, they caressed your waists and hips while his lips traced a path down your neck. “Le's get rid of these clothes before ya make tha’ decision.”

You helped Hobie out of his clothes and he helped you out of yours, every piece of clothing leaving you a little hotter than the last. You trembled under his touch as he eased his hand over the band of your boxers. He slid his hand further south and cupped the mound of your pussy. “Ya ready to take me up on tha’ offer now?”

“I’ll punch you in the face.” You can’t stand his smugness but you can't say you don't like the way he pulls down your underwear then pulls down and pushes you back onto his bed. He pulls them off the rest of the way and tossed them to the side with the rest of your clothes. “Lemme give tha’ demonstration now.” 

Hobie climbed onto the bed with you, on top of you. His hands protected you, his hands now tenderly caress you. His long fingers soothe down your naval and his lips kiss the curves of your scars. His body is pressed between your legs, his cock tapping your clit in just the right way to make you let out a fluttering moan.

Those hands, those hands that defended you, cupped your pussy again and his lips were on yours once more. He wanted to taste it, taste the surprise on your sweet lips when he dipped his long fingers between your supple lips and felt how wet you were. Your love let out a nice, creamy sound as he ran his fingers up and down from your wanton cunt to your aching clit.

You gasped into his mouth and Hobie took it, held it, tasted it, and loved it all in a single breath. He can't help but smile, to kiss you harder while he eased his middle finger into your lovely little cunt while his thumb rubbed circles into your firm clit. “Found ‘im, the lil shit.”

You reached between your two warm bodies, skin against skin in the best way possible, your hand sliding down his chest, his diaphragm, his naval, down to his length which rested on your belly and oozed precum onto you. You gathered up the growing little pool on your fingers and spread it across his throbbing tip, your finger circling his slit the same way he circled your rosebud.

Hobie let out something of a strangled groan into your mouth, fingers pausing for just a moment before resuming their torturous massage. “Yer sum else, y’know tha’?” He slipped his index finger in swiftly, the soft stretch making you hum sweet melodies of pleasure for him. He thumbed at your clit, swollen and pretty and begging for more, while your finger-stuffed cunt takes his fingers like it was always meant to.

You keep playing with his tip, dragging your feathery fingertips across the underside of the head, another sensitive spot that makes him react with another moan, lighter this time.

“I don't wanna have sex with you, Hobie.” You whisper like anything louder would break this precious moment. “But this isn't sex.” Not in your book.

“Hmm? Wha’cha call i’ then?”

“Heavy, heavy petting.”

Hobie can't stop himself from offering you a friendly chuckle. His fingers gently search for that sweet spot where he can get the most out of you, rubbing at your soft, gummy walls in a way that makes you arch your back and shiver. And when he finds that beautiful little spot, that spot that makes you moan his name in his ear, that makes your torture of his cock pause, he abuses it. Every thrust of his fingers, every curl, every rub targets that little soft ridge where your pleasure centers itself.

Your eyes flutter a bit. “Fuck– Hobie~ right– right there.” You tilt your hips in a way that gives him better access and it’s much appreciated. What’s even more appreciated it the way you’re softly jerking off his cockhead. The underside gently rubbing against the soft palm of your hand while your calloused fingers brush against the topside.

His hips rut. He lets out a pant, fingers still pounding away at your eager cunt. You’re both moaning into one another, soft, panting, desperate moans that feed into one another.

Hobie helped you up with a surprising amount of strength. Before you know it, your’re on top of him, his two digits still fucking your eager hole. It’s your turn to rut your hips, your legs straddling his, your hand stroking his tip so softly he might just cum right then and there. 

Hobie let his free hand tenderly stroke over your soft throat, his knuckles still bruised and scabbing over. “Is this alrigh’?” The hand that nearly killed for you is so wonderfully soft for you. They rip at the guitar, they fight, they beat a man unconscious, but they’d never hurt you. You take his hand and settle it on your throat, nodding softly. You trust him, you trust him more than you like him. Punk camaraderie and all that jazz.

Hobie wraps his fingers around your neck, presses his palm against your throat gently, and kisses you again. “Ride ma fingers, yeah?” You nod again, too fucked up to come up with a witty response. You rock your hips, lifting and falling. Your hand holds his on your throat and you moan into his mouth.

Your thumb rubbed his slit and Hobie groaned. “Fuck– yeah~ jus’ like tha’. Ma good boy.” You don't even mind that he called you his because if this is what it felt like to belong to him then maybe you didn't mind it, you didn't mind it at all.

His thumb rubbed the side of your throat, his finger curled each time you fell on them, your creamy juices running down his knuckles and the defined tendons of his hands. “Fuck, messy lil ting.” His thumb rubbed your clit with vigor. You couldn't stand it. You were losing your mind.

“Please, please, please,” you babbled. “‘m gonna cum.” Your hand raced up and down the length of his cock. “You’re gonna cum with me, yeah?” You play with his tip, stroke just the head, and his cock twitches. He’s close too, you can tell.

Hobie chuckled breathlessly. “Cumming together…’ow romantic.” The baritone of his voice makes the feeling within you build. His voice, his hands, his beauty. You kissed him, suckled on his tongue before licking it. It was filthy, disgusting really and you both loved it more than either of you cared to admit.

Your body rolled with the beginnings of your climax, your pussy quivering around his lengthy digits. “Cum for me, cum for me, please.” You wanted it, needed it. Skin against skin, flesh for flesh, two pretty bodies finding the height of pleasure at the same time, together. Punk camaraderie.

Cumming at the same time was quite the intimate experience, something you’d never thought you’d share with the likes of Hobie Brown. But here he was, cumming ribbons against your chest and belly while the rest oozes down your knuckles. You're dripping down his knuckles too, only fair, just as good.

You’re seeing double, he’s seeing stars, you’re both delirious and in need of the other. Sloppy kisses and breezing sighs of relief. Wet fingers slip out of you and hold your waist while he tongues at your mouth.

Your mind felt hazy, you leaned into Hobie and let him embrace you when any other day you would have died before you let him touch you so softly. You’ve shoved each other, pinched, poked, even bit, but never embraced.

“Thank you for protecting me.” You whisper, sheepishly so. You roll off of him and onto his bed. He leaned over and laid down with you, an arm wrapped around you, his hips between your legs. “Couldn' have ya beaten or arrested now. Wha’ would tha’ make me?”

“A proper asshole.”

“A proper asshole.” He echoed. “Lemme get something to clean ya up wit’ then ya can call ya mates.” He turned your head and kissed you once again, tenderly, quickly before getting up and grabbing his underwear or was that yours? He put them on and opened a sliding door to a small bathroom.

Hobie came back, wiping his hand with a wet cloth. He used it to wipe his cum from your chest. He let you clean between your own legs, not wanting to overstep his already overstayed welcome.

“Hobie–” You began while he settled back into bed. You stood up to get whatever underwear was left and put it on. “If we’re doing…this. Let’s keep it between us. You know our mates will lose it.”

He shrugged. “Fine by me. Like ma relationships private anyway.”

“Not a relationship, dickhead.”

“Yeah yeah, whateva.” He sat up and grabbed your hand, pulling you back onto his bed with him. You land right in his hold, your flesh against his, your lips against his as well. You could do this forever.

“Stay the nigh’.” Hobie’s hand brushed your cheek. His gaze was persuasive and you were in no position to decline. You sighed, rolled away from him only to be rolled back.

“I still hate you.”

“‘m sure ya do, love. Sure ya do.”

#hobie smut #hobie x reader #hobie brown #hobie x black!reader #hobie x ftm!reader #hobie x trans!reader #hobie brown my love #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x ftm!reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown smut

[hwaightme]

Panacea

(masterlist)

🌊pairing: poet!seonghwa x doctor!gn!reader 🌊genre: fluff, slice of life, slow burn, healing, strangers to lovers, comfort 🌊summary: what do a poet who lost his inspiration and a cosmetic surgeon who lost their empathy have in common? when you make an escape from the city to a memory-filled cottage on the edge of the world, you meet park seonghwa, a poet who, after growing fatigued of shallow critique and unwanted attention, is on a search for true beauty. you, a surgeon who cannot bear to hear nor assess another patient , abhor its twisted definitions. as the seasons change, storms abate and your paths entangle, you discover a new, unparalleled kind of beauty. 🌊wordcount: 32.8k 🌊warnings/tags: semi-edited, attempts at sijo (forgive me), discussion of beauty standards, mention of surgery/clinics, weather imagery, nightmares, discussion of life and death (jokes relating to death), talk of oc death, urban/rural comparisons, isolation, burnout, philosophy, judgement of media, seaside, cliffs, dialogue + inner thoughts, perspective switching, falling in love, loving another's mind, talk of what is 'real' beauty, food (incl. meat), eating, cooking, implied anxiety, implied impulsive thoughts, sneak into home, lmk if anything else 🌊author's note: happy birthday, seonghwa, wishing for you and for atiny alike to have a cherished panacea and a love brighter than the stars <3 hope you enjoy, all reblogs and notes appreciated~

🌊playlist: 'unreal unearth' and 'unheard' by hozier, 'dark corners and alchemy' + reason to live by mehro, love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey, okinawa by 92914, yeti + village song by paris paloma, exhale inhale by aurora, butterflies by tom odell, house song by searows, cornflower blue by flower face, icarus and apollo by ripto, the view between villages by noah kahan, my love mine all mine + i'm your man by mitski, when i c u by pomme

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

Art. Expression, embodiment, eternity. The world was art. From how the leaves trembled in the wind to how the water rippled, from a heartwarming smile to an earth-shattering glare, everything could be immortalised with an inspired, skilled transition. A perception of the eyes or the heart or the mind could be turned into anything from what might have been virtually nothing. Internal palaces, interpretation, innovation all were crafted and translated through art, onto canvases - trillions of brushstrokes, onto countless pages - trillions of priceless words, onto generations - wisdom and creation passed from one to another, all throughout history, leaving no stone unturned. To study and perceive art was to learn of the beauties of the universe, with beauty being a reflection of both aesthetics and terror. Such was life, and it breathed through the arts. From the beginning of time all the way to the modern era, art was a human’s true loyal companion. And even after the human would pass, art remained, loyal, vigilant, forever telling the tale that was cast onto a medium. One does not create art, one breathes it.

This is exactly why when an artist cannot create, it feels as though air has been knocked out of the lungs, a boulder weighed down on the chest, and the priceless essence of inspiration’s air could not be further away - a lost soul sinking into the hopeless abyss. The world grew darker and darker, until it fell silent. The artist, the art - a relationship of worship and boundless adoration, but also that of treachery and misery. Such was the fate of the one who stepped onto the thorned path of creation. One such humble human who, unlike a myriad of others, stumbled into the realm by accidental interest and longstanding innate passion, and due to the spontaneity and retained connection with the self had achieved relatively impressive success, was none other than Park Seonghwa. The poet. The visionary. The artist. Blessed with the spoken and written word, craftsmanship in rhythm and rhyme, grace in prose, he was a promising rising star in a progressively shallow world. As the consciousness melted into brevity and emotionlessness, he fearlessly dived into what made the soul, picking it apart, analysing it, and pouring the golden threads onto paper. An observer, he loved the colours of nature with all his heart. Every season, every day retained a magnificence for him which he tried to depict and incorporate in his work. Both experimental and traditionally sound, his “studies of daily life miniature wonders”, as he called his poetry, resonated.

But, as known far and wide, resonance brings expectation, and Seonghwa could not escape it either. Invitation after invitation, interviews and talk shows, signings if he was lucky to find a group of those truly interested in his craft; events all came clawing at him, tearing at his energy and soundness of mind until there was barely anything left, and even then, the droplets remaining were only thanks to his suddenly rediscovered harshness, followed by a series of declinations and digital disappearances. He made people feel, and in turn, the people felt like he owed them. The so-called success, or, in other words a nightmarish scrutiny that he could never foresee in the midst of his art, did not come without unrelated commentary either. From his attire to his physique to his facial expressions during public events - and on the occasion someone would recognise him on the street: his neutral, perfectly relaxed face, were all now considered to be public property. He could not breathe. Seonghwa’s hand shuddered whenever he would lift it in an attempt to write, aching, a nervous tremor turning into an earthquake the more he strained himself.

It was an impossible venture. Everywhere Seonghwa looked, everywhere he went, there were eyes and opinions, louder than his mind could ever be. The wind was no longer whistling a melody, returning to an indecipherable cacophony. The strawberries that the poet had purchased in the super store on the way to the edge of nothingness, where he was staying, were no longer sweet, crimson warnings left to rot in a bowl on the windowsill as he scurried from room to room out of fear of being spotted from the outside. There should be no one where he escaped to - an ancient cottage that belonged to a relative whom he had never known, but had spontaneously gotten close to out of necessity - was it a cousin?… leading to a spot where nothing ran, life was but a stillness, obedient to the sun and rain, lifting sorrows with the fog, falling into a slumber with the blanket of the pitch black night. In an effort to avoid the crowds and the rashness of his own potential future actions, Seonghwa had made an escape to what he would call ‘the void’. Forest, barely a hamlet to house civilization in the distance, sea. Infinite expanse of grassland, cliffsides, seagulls ceaselessly patrolling the skies. Within the first few days he had already forgotten where he was, and where he had come from. Such was existence without inspiration and purpose.

Rise and pretend to follow rhythm. One word on a page, floating towards abandonment. Ink drying. Lukewarm tea descending into the mouth of the sink. Swaying tulle, the only reminder that there was movement. Seonghwa collapsed onto the cream-coloured sofa, his dark tresses which had gotten considerably longer over his period of hiding after the astonishing battles with too many opinionated ignoramuses spilling over a throw pillow. He shut his eyes, a dull pressure behind them and of his temples becoming more pronounced. When was the last time he had a truly restful handful of hours of sleep? It would be bold to assume that he could answer that question. He could hear the creaking of the fence gate outside - the construction had a mind of its own, having sagged under its age and the salty air. Now, one of its corners sometimes dragged along the gravel path leading from the cottage out, and to the vistas of a tumultuous seaside. No one in sight except himself, and even then, Seonghwa avoided mirrors, terrified that he, too, would begin to repeat the utterings voiced to him again, and again. Black tar that stuck itself to his brain. He rubbed his temples, pinched the bridge of his nose, massaged his forehead, knowing full well that whatever he was planning to do was futile. There was no cure to this kind of sorrow. Only time. Fatigued from deliberation and heavy dread that plagued him, reducing function to nil, Seonghwa drifted, only the echoes of a suppressed catharsis haunting him.

It was a lulling ripple. Susurration of the shimmering waves, languidly guiding the timid moonlight. As the wind picked up, so did the infinite blanket of deep midnight blue, decorated with threads of pure silver. The whispers soon transformed into a harmony of echoes, filling the air with a chilling premonition. The quietude – the chosen one, to be sacrificed to the orchestration of natural disorder, a cyclical necessity. There was no rule, no need. Only the endless expanse of the living, breathing, turbulent waters. A storm. A roar engulfed the atmosphere, and all that dared oppose the metamorphosis. Imminent destruction of aquatic grace, devolving into a nightmarish, ghoulish madness. Reminiscent of a clamour, the waves crashed against your consciousness, persistently, repeatedly, threatening to tear away at your cranium and pour over into your lungs, taking ownership of your paralysed form.

Seonghwa struggled to catch a single breath, heaving, and yet running on empty, a shallow, superficial hint of oxygen lumped in his oesophagus. An unforgettable burning – his eyes, his nose, his lips, all enslaved by the agonising salt that penetrated their protective membranes and made him shriek as it buried itself in his cooling bloodstream. Seonghwa was losing to the elements, succumbing to the fatigue that was seeping into his aching, overstrained limbs. On the verge of giving up and letting go of the spirit that had driven him to struggle in the first place, he tried to shut his eyes just as he had done to his art, praying he would be let down slowly.

In futility and a sudden moment of clarity, the world went silent once more, only with a soft bubbling to accompany as he descended further and further down into the dark abyss, bidding farewell to the omniscient, looming and cruel sky. He was unsure whether what he was experiencing was a hallucination or a reality, however he distinctly felt gentle arms wrap around him, and pull him close to the body of another being, cradling his drowning form. The young poet allowed himself to relish in the sensation, lest it be the last, ignoring the light that was approaching once more. It was impossible to assume for it to be anything except the path to divinity, and for the trusted guide of the currents to be a guardian angel, carrying him through the sea to his final judgement.

The foreign warmth unwound Seonghwa, and he was in a blissful state of somnolence. Nothing existed except him and the sea that embraced him, sheltered him from the squall above the surface. The state was reminiscent of an embryo, yet to experience the harsh realities, beatific and unaware of what was to come. A mysterious stranger, a figure of grace made of sea foam, erasing his terrors and returning him to the terrestrial realm where he belonged. The sea, bewildered and endeared with his feeble mortality had bestowed mercy upon him - a foreign act, and yet it turned into a saving grace from the treacherous domain. He was not a being of the prejudiced, ravenous ocean. As his back felt the wet sand beneath, and a pressure on his chest, expelling water that was ravaging his lungs grew stronger, he was more confident in his livelihood, despite having lost his breath, his sight, his hearing. Nothing existed except a storm somewhere far from him, and a brutal stinging of salt that consumed the arteries. The liquid trickled from his frozen lips and down his cheeks, absorbed by the grains that were already sneaking into his hair. The pressure was getting more intense, bordering on unbearable. His ribs, subdued by agony, were begging for relief. His mouth opened in a silent scream, a hand shot out into the darkness. A snap. A crashing of a wave.

Seonghwa jolted awake, feeling his chest and looking around. The window, which had previously been left open only a crack, had swung open fully, and the tulle had flown out with what had to be an oncoming gale. A drumming resonated from the inner walls of the house, one which he decisively ignored and let it be consumed by the chaos outside. Leaning over to take a cautious peek, the young man rapidly discovered a downpour that was soaking the thin, white material - a flag begging for forgiveness from nature. He hurried from the sofa, almost stumbling over his feet and the carpet, careful to not slip on the puddle that started to form below the sill, on the aged floorboards. Cursing under his breath, he fought against the creaking wood that was ruthless in wishing to hold the window in place, until, in a final fit of frustration, Seonghwa pulled wildly, nearly tumbling back as the frame slid into its rightful location with a stubborn shake. He hit the curved iron handle back into position, noting how even more of the white paint on the frame had chipped off, and the wood beneath was starting to show signs of potential rot. Since he was merely a guest, though it was nearly approaching half a year that he had been residing in the cottage, he would have to call someone in his family about this, wouldn’t he? A stray finger glided over the damage, and he pondered how long it had been since the wear and tear had started. Who was it that left this cottage to abandon, for people who were virtually strangers to occupy for a temporary retreat?

He placed a hand to his chest, feeling the beating of his erratic heart, not yet calm from the nightmare. Curious, how the sea had crept into his mind so strongly. The guardian and the destroyer of the surrounding grounds. A mirror of the skies with a presentation and strength of its own. Undoubtedly scornful of his hollow presence - an artist who ceased to create. What could be more tragic and distasteful? He pulled at the loosely woven white sweater that hung loosely on his body, pinching the white sleeveless tee underneath when he spotted a speck of dust, or was it a grain of sand? He raised an eyebrow, trying to contain the particle between his fingers but failing to do so as it rolled down until it disappeared against the floor. Right, he had cleaning to do. He shook his head and led himself to the kitchen, where he grabbed rags, a bucket, some supplies to aid him in fixing up the attacked corner of the living room.

With an anxious swiftness, Seonghwa took down the translucent curtain and wiped the floorboards, the wall, the window sill, sighing at the scenery outside. Steely grey skies and thunderous clouds the colour of smoke and ash, diagonal rain rendering it almost impossible to see the rocky cliffs and hills that otherwise highlighted his vista. Waves took on a hue that was reminiscent of a mixture of emerald and onyx, with thick streaks of foam the colour of melancholy. Rocks, eroded and reshaped by the waters, were splotches of black in the landscape, and the tall grass - golden and green from the tedium of perpetual beatdowns by the sun and the storms, brushstrokes that blended with the speeding droplets. He paused. How marvellous it was, to become one with the sky. A connection to the heavens as it weeped, mourning the mortal motion of the earth. He squeezed the rag feeling the clouds’ tears well up between the digits. Surely, if he had been saved in his dream, there was hope? Seonghwa tilted his head, still, ensnared by the scenery outside, not too dissimilar from what had been his unconscious battle. The sea saved him. His beloved nature, void of humanity, of quotidien illness innate to every being. Those graceful hands, sending him in a spinning dance through the grand depths, a soothing drowning. Blind to the temporary, he had the pleasure of consuming eternal presence. Perhaps this was a sign, and not a horror that he had lived through.

After wiping the last of the moisture and taking the items back to the kitchen, he ambled back to the room. There was nothing stopping the waves. Untouched - not by the fishermen who he would see from time to time, not by the adventurers tourists who wanted to take in the views of the rising sun, not by those who, at least on paper, owned the neighbouring lands. Everyone was subordinate to the sea. Including himself. The dream was a call. It had to have been. He put a palm over the centre of his ribcage, the bone whispering what had unfolded a mere few minutes ago. The intensity of what reminded Seonghwa of an exorcism was nothing short of a twisted blessing. A shy smile crept onto his lips as the cottage took the brunt of another gust of wind and spears of rain and a ghost of a plank somewhere in the house groaned. Or perhaps it was the cottage itself, mumbling a greeting to its waking occupant. Swaying of the history contained within the building, time in every chip of paint, in every brick.

There was not much to fear in the sea’s cradle. In the middle of nowhere, with only himself and the coming autumn to keep him company, Seonghwa sensed the ebbs and flows of his soul start up again. He raised his hand to eye level, stretching it out until the fingers were splayed apart and the palm was flat and facing the floor. Much to his unexpected delight, it remained steady, obedient, attuned to his present musings. His legs led the way, guiding him to a door that was located almost under the stairs. With a click of the handle, the room he had made his office and study was revealed. An antique lacquered mahogany table, much too large for the space available, had been a formidable foe for the last few months, and now, was shining a different colour. Seonghwa ran a hand over the intricate detailing of its edges as he pushed the matching chair back. Glanced up, took in the scenery on the other side of the window - much smaller than the one he had fought against, but allowing him to behold the memorable landscape nonetheless.

Gingerly, he pulled at the iron hook of the top drawer, revealing a black, leather bound notebook and a pen - his favourite, from the little shop down the street where he lived in the city. Glossy chrome silver, ergonomic, and made to be a medium for the arts. Seonghwa noted the dryness in his throat, and adjusted the collar of his sweater absent-mindedly. It was easy, right? Just pick up the pen, take out the book and open it, sit down and- and what next? He paused, hand hovering over his tools. What was next, indeed? Flutters of ideas like fragile butterflies suspended in the mind palace, wishing for transition into the world of the living. Could he do it? Upon asking himself the question, he swore he heard the sea roar louder, and the cottage creak in response. With a shake of the head, he decided. Enough was enough. He had to try - it was now or never. He fell into the seat, holding his breath as he clenched the pen, letting it dig into his skin - a lethal blade. A blank page scrutinised him. On instinct, he decorated it with ink, flowing into the barren landscape, introducing himself.

천둥과 회색 바다, 갈매기 울음소리 (the thunder and the grey sea, the crying of seagulls)

폭풍은 심장의 리듬을 만든다 (the storm makes the rhythm of the heart)

입술과 볼에 소금이 행복한 추억이다 (the salt on the lips and cheeks is a happy memory)

The rain was still pouring when Seonghwa woke up again, having resorted to resting his fatigued body on the same sofa rather than carrying it upstairs. It was quieter that way, without the tears pouring directly on the roof above. Having dipped his fingertips back into writing, and dabbling in a more liberal interpretation of sijo, he was spent, as though he had gone through a war, crawled under barbed wire to find his own reflection on the other side. The poet ran a hand through his locks, still messy from the tossing and turning that he had undoubtedly done while asleep - at least this time he had no dreams, even if it was exactly through such a manifestation that he had discovered the urge to try and revive his calling and skill. He checked the time, the antique clock on the other side of the room idly ticking away regardless of what happened around it. Early dawn, and yet the surroundings remained immersed in grey. He stretched, not caring for the wool throw that he had used as his blanket sliding down to pool on his lap. A strain in his neck - he tilted his head to stretch the sleepy, insubordinate muscle, wincing as he seemed to have struck a painful point of tension. It was time to rise with the rainclouds. Seonghwa shuffled into his slippers, the chill creeping across the floor discouraging him from forgoing the action, and grabbed the throw, folding it on reflex.

One foot in front of the other, eyes still half-shut, the walls served as guides towards the staircase, and the wooden handrail was a direct lead that let him doze as he felt for each new elevation. The rain pelted the skylight that shed some light on the stairs, the thrum an intense melody. And to think that it was sunny and warm - the epitome of summer, only a mere few days ago. Well, he said few days, but that was more a liberal interpretation than anything. Stuck on the edge of early spring, the seasons had passed by him at a menacing pace, summer, autumn, winter all blending into one monstrous creature. When he reached the second floor, something prompted him to pause. Seonghwa squinted, focusing on the door at the far end of the corridor, more specifically, the decorative woven carpet that was hanging off a neatly hammered nail right into its centre - ornate, depicting a lighthouse scene that had instantly made the young poet wonder if there was one in the vicinity of the cottage. But it was not the carpet itself that momentarily disturbed him, but rather the angle at which it was hanging. Over the time of Seonghwa being in this property so far, he had already done his fair share of cleaning and adjustments, as one would expect, but not a single time did he see the item move off the centre of the thread that was hooked onto the nail - perhaps only when the door itself was used. Since Seonghwa had selected a room that had windows that looked in the direction of the fence gate and main entrance, rather than to the side and towards the cliffs, he had no need to enter the darkness, only for general upkeep. What had made the item move? Raising an eyebrow, he approached the door, creaking of the floorboards accompanying him. No sound from behind the door. Only the heaving of the house that saw many storms in its day. A chuckle involuntarily escaped him as he adjusted the carpet - he must still be under the impression from the dream, that must be it. Everything was suspicious; but that was how he usually got when he was in the depths of ideation. Sensitive, responsive, one with the world. Patting the rough fabric, he turned, making his way to his quarters.

The decor was simple, minimalist, with echoes of nautical and rustic themes. A tiny model of a sailboat in a bottle, displayed on a slab of wood that must have been cut and taken from the forest nearby. A laundry basket made out of a rope so thick that Seonghwa assumed that it used to be on a ship before settling in the cottage for retirement. White sheets, with a line of pale baby blue chequered fabric running through the very top, marking its direction. Matching chequered pillows - large, soft clouds stuffed to the brim with feathers, perfectly made. The bed had been left untouched by him that night, and remained in suspense. He ran a hand over its edge, feeling the soft fabric. Carefully, he placed the throw at the end of the bed, and turned towards the double wardrobe - well, he was being rather kind to call it that. Not quite a single, not quite a double, the piece which looked to have been made by whoever had been the owner of the land a while back stood proud, without any particular definition. It served its purpose, and was happy to do so. From the carved patterns around the handles to how the doors easily swung open, this piece of furniture was nothing like what he would see in the city. It contained love, care. Was one of a kind. Perhaps that was another issue he would have to take care of, should he return to the metropolis soon - change his interior. There was enough standard decor for him to turn into an automaton. An apartment like everybody else’s. Enough space, but no room to breathe - existing only to live up to or fulfill expectations.

He changed into a pleasant neutrality - in fact, most of the clothing that Seonghwa had brought with him retained a quality of muted bliss. Beige and cream, black, white, shades of grey, a few patterned pieces containing navy, diluted pinks here and there, he wanted to blend into the scenery. Shake with the tall grass. Stretch his arms out and embrace the sky, floating towards it. But for now, a white shirt would have to do. He made a couple of small adjustments while looking at the mirror that hung above the cabinet directly at the end of the bed, flush against the wall, flicking the dangling silver earring that he had left in since yesterday, used to napping with the accessory. A couple of brushes with the comb he kept on said cabinet, and finally, the look was manageable. Knowing he would be careful, Seonghwa decided to wash up before continuing on with his day; more adventuring around the house, down the stairs and off to the side past the kitchen. He stared at his reflection, dismissing the hints of stubble that were beginning to show themselves - as if anyone would care if he scrapped shaving altogether. No one except himself. The rest of the steps he could not skip over, diligence and habit taking back the reins. Routine, but in the house so far removed from places where routine was king, it was reassuring.

Soon enough, there were scrambled eggs on a plate, fork lying to the side, and a steaming cup of black tea in his hand as he flicked through his midnight musings. Not too bad. Certainly not the best. At least not to him. His hand was rash, his thoughts unclear, his rhythm lacking. It had to be better than this; the voice of judgement returned to him and struck him like lightning, only this time, the current of the bubbling waves dampened the effect. Why was it that he began to sound like those he grew up and returned to listening to? So much running, and to return to the same vocalisations? Enough. He set the notebook down, and took a sip of the still hot tea. Clarity, that was what he had to practise. Since he was alone, he had no other opinion to fear, and could work on his reconnection with art to his heart’s content. Seonghwa was lucky enough to not be tied to anything nor anyone in particular, and the continuously rising popularity of the songs he had worked on as a poet and lyricist a little while ago ensured that if need be, he had financial cover.

A stray thought about the outside world passed him. Did he still matter, or was he gradually being forgotten? One wave after another, one artist was bound to surpass another. Such was the harsh reality. His breakfast was cooling as he stared at the pristine table cloth, mulling the notion over. Time ran differently here, that much was certain. Could that mean that out there in the city, centuries had already passed? What was he missing? A mild panic started to rise in his throat, and on instinct he stood up, foregoing the rest of his meal in favour of a stroll within the confines of the walls but not before grabbing the tiny black notebook.

One step, another, and soon he fell into a rhythm, traversing the territories of the kitchen, dining and living room area, ambling into the miniature office space, back out again until he was retracing the same patterns, writing characters on the floor with each footfall. He was ink, combatting resistance to absorption into the primordial canvas, towards artistic immortality. Seonghwa wanted to push himself at first opportunity. He had to write, had to provide the listening curtains and chairs with fresh prose or poetry, whatever came to mind and was reasonable first. He was Park Seonghwa, for goodness sake. It should come easy. The months were just a pause like that when one holds their breath. Each day a microsecond. The shake, starting from deep in his upper arm and trickling lethal poison down to his wrist and fingers, started to give signs of its awakening. No, it could not be! The poet stopped, not dissimilar to how a car would stop at the edge of a cliff. What was happening to him? The book found recluse from his spiritual agony above a fireplace, one of the elements of the house Seonghwa had had no reason to experiment with, not being bothered by the howling cold drafts. Toying with the edge of his sleeve, he succumbed to pensive disorder, eyes locked on the unassuming object.

"Not today then…" the utterance melted into the ambience, "fiendish creature."

Determined creaking of wood and its crash jolted him off the spot, and Seonghwa was almost pulling himself up the stairs. The house was old enough to need repairs, but this could be major, and all the more disastrous if the rain bled in. Heart jumping out of his chest he skipped steps, alarm bells ringing in his ears. He had been submerged in his philosophies for so long that he could have easily missed some more complex deteriorating hazard of the cottage, particularly since he never had to even consider such a thing back in the capital. Maintenance, checks, security… all automatic and managed by someone he would never see, while here, he was the one responsible. He, the pseudo-owner for the coming season, had to see the outcomes, and admonish himself in the mirror should anything go wrong, which was probably one of the reasons why he preferred to not use the object more than necessary. He turned his head side to side, to the skylight, behind him, all for nothing. Only the drizzle, and the decorative carpet, tilted. Like it had been pushed on purpose. He inched towards the door, looking for any shadows that may fall through the crack at the bottom and stretch outwards. Stopping right in front, he put an ear to it, while pretending to adjust the piece of fabric. Nothing, or the house was keeping secrets from him, too. Fed up with the mystery, he yanked the handle, and then gave it a violent twist and push, all to no avail, meeting a secure lock. Did he accidentally lock it the last time he had been in? Seonghwa could not remember, but the curious appearance of this issue was more than inspiring. The storm was playing tricks on the poet again, whispering devious tales in his ears. A late night fog, he descended to the ground floor in search of his weapons to carve the enigma, not hearing the sigh that carelessly escaped through the keyhole.

차가운 강철 바다가 겨울을 삼킨다 (the winter is swallowed by the cold steel sea)

모래는 신성한 행위의 비밀을 간직한다 (the sands hold the secret of the sacred act)

장난꾸러기 봄은 또 무엇을 가져올까 (what else will the mischievous spring bring?)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

It wasn't that you were tired per se, it was just that if you were to spend another day doing what you had been doing, you would make it a personal goal to destroy the world. But you were smarter than acting on the manic rage that lapped at the shoreline of your consciousness, and so you did what any good citizen would do and removed yourself as cleanly as quietly as possible. On paper, there was nothing wrong, and a sabbatical did not seem to be out of order, especially considering the hours you had been putting in for the last few years. Some of your longer-term patients did have to be reshuffled of course, but you did not mind that one bit - they would not be haunting you anymore, at least not for the time period of professionally approved evaporation. There was no greater joy than shoving your identification badge into a drawer and ridding yourself of your scrubs for longer than a few hours. 

Bare essentials in a rucksack and a train ticket was all you needed, and once you arrived at your safe haven, it would be piece of cake to hitch a ride from one of the farmers you had befriended - who knows, maybe this time around you could get on one of the fancy new tractors. When the prospect of returning to your favourite place was feeling more real, you could not help yourself but turn back to your tendencies of being a dreamer. It was always more delightful to live in the clouds to the rhythm of the sun’s rays rather than to a beeping of the heart monitor. You could almost imagine the journey, the beauty of it all.

But that turned out to be the farthest from the washed out reality that was possible. Somewhere around two thirds of the way to your sacred destination, right around the time when a toddler - evidently born and raised in the urbanscape, had finally stopped whining about going to some place where "there was nothing", and dozed off, huge storm clouds started to roll in from the direction of the coast. Just peachy, especially when your destination was a cottage that might as well have its address quoted as 'the sea'. But you were not made of sugar and could stand a couple of angry raindrops on your waterproof jacket, and besides these problems were ones you much preferred to deal with, unlike the constant barrage of everything at once back in the concrete cage. Less yammering, and the words that were exchanged in the country were compact, concise, meaningful. No beating around the bush or claiming ownership of other people's business, so long as you didn't interact too closely. But that was what the distance between the beloved cottage and any more major settlements was for - the most secure barrier of them all was time and energy, and very few would want to waste that on an extra trip that would be entirely fruitless. 

A couple of droplets was an understatement as your soaked clothes were quick to tell you. Thanks to the unusually strong storm for this time of year there was no way for you to get to your asylum easily either. No one was out, and no good person would let even their work dogs out in such weather. You, however… you could not care less about it, or about anything except getting to the cottage for that matter.. Some sacrifices were worth it. And so after getting to the tiny village thanks to the same family with the toddler since it was on the way - the last remotely reliable collection of society before natural and non-human wilderness, through sludge and torrential downpour you tread, practically having to feel your way forward since the downpour painfully obscured your vision. Your feet knew the right path at least, and after you had donated the last of your social supplies to those metropolitan holidaymakers for your own benefit, with every metre you conquered you ended up striding faster and faster. Until you saw the lights. They could only mean two things. Either Old Man Yang came back to life and was perusing his grounds like Old Hamlet, or there was a guest. As much as you wanted the answer to be the former, it was obvious enough that the occupant was somebody else. Not that you were too bothered. You knew this house like the back of your hand, and were aware of how to get in and out pretty much unnoticed. Plus, it would not be the first time you would be doing so. Most people limited themselves to a couple of rooms, fearing that they would be overstepping should they actually ‘make themselves at home’ - a huge advantage for you when it came to climbing in. Little did they know that they would make Old Man cuss them out for their timidness if he were still around.

The first step was to avoid the front gate - a flimsy construction that had been installed without much skill nor effort, and so performed what you would generously call the bare minimum, only just holding itself together. Slanted and chipped, the fencing was in an abysmal state, off-putting, marking anyone who needed to stay at the cottage as truthfully desperate. You smiled bitterly - what a realisation. You continued on your way to the other side of the plot, barely guarded by a bush fence and the occasional appearance of proper stone fence pieces. This was mainly for show, to mark that the owner, or well, previous owner of the house was aware of what was ‘standard practice’ around these parts. Outward aesthetics was something that you had grown to despise over the years, hence why the tongue in cheek mockery of it in this construction spoke to your soul, and made the haven that much more homely. It was good to be back. 

You navigated to the back of the house and ducked to squeeze through the hole on the wall. Much to your fortune, the room that was the speediest to access from a stealthy climb onto the shed located to the side of the building and a couple of shuffles of boxes was empty, though shockingly clean. It was obvious to the naked eye that the bedroom was visited quite regularly, at least to keep things neat and dustless. You nodded to yourself as you took off your shoes and clothes, shoving them in an oversized plastic bag that you had packed, originally for future laundry, now as a way to keep the items from bringing the rain indoors. The cold air hit you in one swoop, sending a series of shivers over your bare body. Hopping to the chest of drawers, you haphazardly went over the contents of each one until you found the towels, wrapping yourself in the largest one and throwing another onto the floorboards, roughly shoving it over to the puddle that still had formed under the bag. Once satisfied with the half-hearted drying, you changed into a fresh and remotely warmer set of clothes and hopped under the covers, drowsy and worn out from the impromptu hike and battering from the violent skies. 

Just as your eyes started getting heavier and heavier, and you were losing yourself in the sound of the rain against the roof - a favourite of yours when it came to forgetting the nonsense you had to work towards back in the capital, the creaking of the footsteps jolted you from the somnolent fall and back to high alert. Was the guest brave enough to venture onto the second floor? Really? You concluded that they were comfortable using one of the other bedrooms, and that they were alone - the latter was a commonality among the guests of Old Man’s home, however, so that conclusion did not take much work. The steps ceased to resound across the corridor right behind the door, leaving shadows through the creak below. You froze and inadvertently held your breath, waiting for the guest’s next move. It was not that you were particularly scared of the potential interaction, but you did not want to deal with the terror that they might experience of having a random stranger appear in a house that was in the middle of nowhere. To a person ‘not in the know’, your presence would be more than horrifying. And so to do the other party, and your sleepiness, a favour, you stayed put.

More shuffling, a tug on the decor on the other side of the door - so sensitive that it probably shifted because of your jumping about, and in what must have been a quarter of an hour, maybe even less, the guest disappeared downstairs. The rain had gotten lighter since the time when you had just arrived. Rustling. Pots and pans clinking against one another. Opening of the fridge - so the stranger was making breakfast. You grinned into the bedsheets and snuggled into the warmth. How you missed this place. Its sounds, its welcoming nature, its beauty that defeated all definitions of the word. There were no standards that you needed to abide by while safely by the sea. No roadblocks, no arguments, no regrets or shame on people’s faces. Perhaps this was another reason why you did not want to interact with the guest - that would mean you having to stare at them, and goodness forbid you would be unable to turn off your work brain and end up micro analysing them. No, you needed to sleep that off. At some point while you were drifting in semi-consciousness the pacing that the stranger had commenced had stopped, and a concerning silence washed over the property. Eyebrows furrowed, you lifted your upper body. When no other sound came, you slid out of the bed, too curious to try falling asleep now. One step, another and you were already turning the door knob, cautious to push the door discreetly. You listened. Creak, sigh, so they were still-

That deep and smooth voice? So the guest was likely male, okay stay calm. You tried to reason, but the phrase kept replaying in your head, and you found yourself being ashamed to admit that, at least from this distance, the tone was more than pleasant. Perhaps you should try introducing yourself - at least to have a conversation. What were you thinking? This was someone who you did not know, someone who could be dangerous, who could attack you - no, not today, not ever. At least not until you were to run out of crackers, apples and water in your bag. Rapidly, you reversed into the living room and without a second thought, shut the door like you normally would. Clearly, you could not think straight after lateral human interaction as almost instantly you heard chaotic shuffling from downstairs. In one last strive to protect yourself you remembered the key to the door that was located on a tiny table set right by the wall to the right. One swipe, one twist, and you launched yourself into the bed in an effort to hide and minimise any movement for when the man arrived. And just in time, because just under quarter of a minute later, the stranger was back, and was attempting to enter the room while you were damning your curiosity. It was comical how the only thought that crossed your mind was the hope that if you were to cross paths with him eventually, that you would not have to cut your getaway short and go back to the heartbreaking world of expectations, regrets and erasure. Perhaps it was selfish to say, but here, in the cottage, you could live for yourself and think for yourself for once and not feel as though you were overstepping.

At some point between then and the moment you realised that the rain had stopped, you had fallen asleep, missing the entirety of the morning. You were gazing at the walls, the light from the window, the silhouette that your items strewn about on the floor, with different eyes. A revival. You were finally home. And that was when your own behaviour hit you; indeed, you were home! No matter who that other person was, you knew the ins and outs of this house better than anyone else, and just listening to the man walk around was enough to make the conclusion that he was definitely a newcomer. Probably was here for some weeks, maybe a month at most, but that was not enough to be aware of the creaks in the stairs or where all of the emergency supplies were located - the shed had been left untouched all this time, as you had spotted out of the corner of your eye. He was being cautious. Not quite living. Well, at least he was being respectful.

You patted the bed and slid out from under the covers with a stretch. The hints of sunshine were protruding through the clouds, transforming the views from your window into an infinite stretch of dewy, silvery green and a glistening and bashful blue, protected by the rolling behemoths of cloud up above. For once, you were looking forward to the coming day. You pushed yourself off the bed and stepped closer, now having the fence that you had recently infiltrated the cottage through in your sight and beyond it - the same gorgeous grassland that broke into a shallow, albeit fragile dockside. Technically, it was still part of a long series of cliffs, revealing limestone and chalk and iron from all ages, but that was a two or three hour walk down the coastline. Here, those titans were friendly pets that you could easily scale and hop down from. Nonetheless, they did a brilliant job in separating the marine from the earthly, reminiscent of the mythical division of the mortal and heavenly realms. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a certain someone treading that legendary midpoint, dressed in a simple shirt and wide, skirt-like trousers. You leaned onto the window sill, well aware that it was not going to do much in helping you discern the details that made up the enigmatic figure, but you were going to pretend like you were confident in your assumptions about the aesthetic appeal.

Dark hair, falling to somewhere close to the shoulders, tall in stature, of a thinner build, or at least that was what you guessed when the figure turned to step closer to the edge. They were holding something in either hand, and whatever it was appeared important, but the distance concealed such tiny details from you. You couldn't quite form a complete picture, but it was easy enough to put two and two together from the silence that currently reigned over the house and the stranger out for a stroll, that this was probably your impromptu housemate. Not too bad, a nice blob in the distance that you could appreciate through the horizon's blur. More importantly, this person with dark hair and a deep voice was giving you control over the ground floor for a short while, and you desperately needed to make use of the resources located there. You laid out a high speed itinerary for yourself and made a dash for the door, counting the seconds that each task took you. This behaviour was something you were unlikely to ever get rid of - your studies, and then your job both permitted you too little time to have the luxury of wasting it. How long could an inhale and exhale take?

It was astonishing just how neat the cottage was - you dared to say that it was the neatest that you had ever seen it - major refurbishment and repair requirements aside. So this guy was detail oriented, clean and homely, huh? You ran a hand over the kitchen counter while passing it to rush to the shower raising your eyebrows at the lack of dust. Damn, you might have underestimated what kind of guest this individual was. Your surprise was not limited to the main living area - the bathroom almost reminded you of the scrub room and theatre with how spotless it was. Not a single timescale stain on the glass or mirror, perfectly arranged decorations, laundry basket and towels. Even the bar of soap was turned to the smaller side so that it would be easier to use and not linger in moisture. Inadvertently, you shivered, almost slamming the bar down and moving to ruffle the towels just the slightest bit so there would be a breath of life in them. You kicked the bath mat slightly off centre, disturbed by its impeccable alignment with the tiles. Oh, this man might become your enemy. This was about to become a crisis. 

One purposefully careless shower later, you had drawn a smiley face on the mirror and were now unceremoniously raiding the kitchen, claiming that you were famished and urgently needed to make the most chaos-inducing meal of all time, which given the available ingredients just so happened to be a monstrous apple pie. You were not sure what exactly provoked you and caused you to ignite the oven with a fire of rage, and channel a palette of negativity into beating butter and sugar, but this was most certainly the most ‘vigorously’ that you had ever made a pie. Whizzing through the stages of making the pastry and sending it away to cool, you took to making the filling, whispering each one of your actions out loud, narrating as though you were back in the operating room. You needed the knife, you needed the cinnamon, you-

Slamming the utensils onto the cutting board, nearly sending a small ceramic bowl flying in the process as your sleeve slipped over its rim, you groaned in disapproval. This was exactly what you were trying to escape from, and yet anything you did was simply returning you to your daily life. Why did your hands, your mind have to live in just one place, erasing the moments when your body as a whole experienced joy? Why was it so easy to retrace the steps back into personal nightmares? Damn your steady hands, your unbreakable focus. To hell with it all. On the verge of throwing the knife at the neighbouring wall, you toyed with the handle. You were tired. So unbelievably tired of the nonsense that had accumulated over your time back in the city. While anyone else would say that you had been lucky to receive what you had - an education in a prestigious university, renowned across the nation, residency in high ranking hospitals, settlement in a private clinic in an expensive district, a career in the medical field that was deemed ‘not too intense nor too gory’... you could not help but wish to burn it all in favour of the paradise that you ran to. 

Your childhood. Carefree, in a small town by the sea. In fact, on a clear day you could see the outlines of it from here - on many occasions you had stood by the fence gate with Old Man, who had taught you how to read the clouds, the forests, spot things no one else could. How he, with his wrinkled, dry hand pointed in the direction of what were your roots. But not your home. You had hugged him tight that day, muttering that it was in the cottage that you were happy. Old Man never forced you to leave. In fact, the room that you were staying in had always been left ready for a guest - you. But of course, in the eyes of everybody else, this was not what was considered successful. Study, take exams, study, do extracurricular activities, fix your pronunciation, change your look, change yourself to be like someone else, for what? To appease others, as you had realised in the middle of your time at medical school. You were a talking piece, a conversation starter. Nothing more. And so, with every opportunity, you stepped farther away from those who had taken your clarity and safe haven.

Old Man died when you were about to graduate university. You found out only two months later. Since then, you were on your own. You clenched your hand into a fist until the knuckles turned white, while tears inadvertently pooled in your eyes before you dabbed at them with the corner of your sweater. Your childhood home did not exist anymore - you checked two summers ago. Deemed too rundown since no one had moved in after your parents made a mad dash for the metropolis, it was now just a bitter memory. At least in the act of honouring the past you were victorious. Your body began to move on its own accord, floating through the instructions, from one step to another, at ease since your thoughts were preoccupied by reminiscence. For a person whose livelihood majorly relied on their hands, you were terrifically remiss about what you subjected them to; some of your colleagues were known to wear gloves almost all hours of the day, others refrained from doing anything physical unless it was lifting a scalpel. To put it simply, this drove you mad. Every single one of them: self-important, unaware, isolated. Let this pie be baked in hellfire for all you-

Mid-spin, just as you were finished with making the filling and were in the process of lining a baking tin with some of the pastry, the front door creaked open, revealing the figure that you had spotted outside of your window, walking alongside the beginnings of what would be a cliff’s edge. You stood still, holding the pie tin, feeling the grooves of its edges, balancing the dough that was still wrapped in clingfilm right in the middle, as though if you were to not move this man would not see you. Heart quickening to a nauseating pace, the intense scrutiny that you were receiving made you want to collapse behind the counter. Before this moment, you had convinced yourself that you had fully adopted a devil may care attitude, and that you were ready for whoever you would encounter, having prepared the humble abode for a you-style reception and to assert who truly was deserving of ownership of this property. But something about this enigmatic persona who, just like you, remained unmoving, echoed the seastorms. A roaring of the waves was contained in his orbs, so dark due to the light being behind the man’s back that you could barely detect the transition from pupil to iris. A nose worthy of being depicted in renaissance paintings, in fact, if you had to pinpoint one way to describe the stranger, is that he reminded you of subjects that graced the walls of art galleries, selected by masters to be immortalised in the artists’ name. Nameless, much like he was to you in this present moment. His lips, ever so slightly parted as if he had been on the verge of saying something to you, only for the aim to fall short of execution, voice drowning in doubt or disgust. The corners of the man’s mouth were gently downturned - not unpleasantly so, but rather giving him an aura of intimidation that intrigued you. Shadows on his face suggested to you that he was unshaven, though, you had to admit that it was not too bad of a look. In fact, an interesting edge of ruggedness that balanced with his longer locks gave the man a new form of allure, and in turn, forced you to keep your eyes on him despite feeling inklings of terror. The scene reminded you of a faceoff between two territorial wolves - whose domain was this? Only time and a match of resolve would tell.

He was the first to break eye contact, sighing and moving to take off his shoes and trench coat. You remained still - a hostile animal that was expecting aggression at any moment. The man was silent, unphased by your ‘out of the blue’ appearance at least outwardly, and you were not certain whether his lack of reaction was something to be taken with gratitude or suspicion. As you inspected his motions, how he stretched out his arm to hang the trench coat on the rack that was hammered to the wall, with the right nail ever so slightly lower than the left, how he ran a hand through his hair, casting shadows over what hinted at months of fatigue. Not quite pallid, but definitely tired skin, holding times of discomfort, sleeplessness. Dark circles under those deep, pensive orbs, cheeks that were somewhere between sunken and youthful. The man stood before you in a white shirt, the colour a last cry to some form of purity and hope. You could guess why he was at the cottage, since it was not too challenging to see your own reflection in the corners of his soul, much like you could sense that he was reading you. He reminded you of an angel who was tired of praying, barely capable of carrying his body. Pressed down by the story that had been written for him, he was likely here for an escape, to drown out the sounds of whatever he was running from. Perhaps you should be friendly, and welcome this lost soul. After all, he could be unaware of where he is nor of what unspoken rules exist around here. The least you could do is make him feel at home-

“You made a mess,” and just like that, all desire to be amiable flew out of the window and into the sea. His curt comment was like a burning cold scalpel, words too familiar to be neutral and well-received. 

Before you could respond, the man was well on his way to the bathroom, and judging by the slam of the door, he was not very pleased to see the rearrangements you had made. No comments followed, however, and instead, the pause was filled by the sound of running water, followed by a muffled mumbling when following a couple of rattles, the pressure inevitably dropped and there was barely a trickle. You shook your head, amused by how this man had been living in this property without the basic knowhow. Clearly, he was one of the many cityfolk who wanted to try his luck while on holiday. Exotic stay to talk about with his glamorous friends, you bet. For him to explain how ‘the bucolic was not even as appealing as literature made it out to be’. Standard. Faceless. You would forget him in no time, especially since he would probably leave before it got less fun and more mundane to stay out in the wilderness. That pretty face should not know harshness. With a huff, you set the tin down onto the counter and set the oven to preheat. With swift, irritated movements, you took to lining the metal with the dough, and in no time shifted to ladling the filling inside, halting to watch the last of the fruity cinnamon remnants dribble from the bowl down to join the rest of the sweet and sour promise.

The man returned when you were in the process of lacing strings of dough together to structure a coherent design. With an embarrassing surgical precision, you focused on the patterns - culinary sutures, almost horrified by the technique that you could not prevent from channelling itself through your body, to your very fingertips especially now that there was an audience. If he wanted to give you a stern talking to, it had quickly dissipated and mid-stride, the stranger was observing you as though you were carrying out a sacred ritual. The spotlight was on you as you demonstrated how to put the flesh back together. Piecing the skin bit by bit so as to ensure minimal scarring, careful now, people come to you to make themselves feel beautiful after all. String by string, the pie was looking more like itself, a recipe book photograph, something worthy of immortalising as the model step before baking. A beeping confirmed that the patient was relaxed, steady, with a perfect heart rate - good, all the readings were steady, now all you needed was to make the final - you felt for the tray finding empty space. Did someone misplace the tools? Panic shot into your nervous system and with a jolt you pushed yourself away from the table, only to find yourself gazing, startled, at someone who you had begun to assume was an intern. The guest, or cohabitant? An eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he took in your state. You clicked your tongue, finally putting two and two together and grabbing the timer behind you, purposefully taking your time so that you would not have to look at your newfound personification of madness for longer than necessary. So much for an introduction; the figure who was still a mystery to you slinked back into the shadows, with only the click of the office door serving as a confirmation that he was real. You rubbed your temples, the distant thrumming of a headache resembling a thunder that crawled over the horizon. Demonstratively, you sprinkled some flour onto a previously clean spot on the wooden countertop, only to automatically reach for the towel and drop the action again. No, it was time to bake. You needed to bake. You needed to make this place feel like home for the next couple of months, even if this peculiar character was going to be sharing it.

When you finally slid the pie into the oven and shut the door, giving it one last look before setting the timer for forty-five minutes, a curiosity crawled from the crevices of your mind and poked at you. Were you really going to avoid that man for your entire stay, assuming he was leaving soon? You had already admitted to yourself that he was objectively… and subjectively attractive. That much you had to give to him. Attitude - you were not quite ready to make judgments about, considering that if it were you in his place, you would have been chasing yourself around the house with a frying pan. It was comical, really; a stranger in a house, baking like they own the place. In spirit you might, to a person not in the know you were the official owner, but to the family who inherited the place you likely were nothing but a pest or an echo of the past that they were trying to forget. At least they did not demolish the cottage yet.

With a side step, you headed in the direction of the couch, but moved on when you noticed more damage than you had been used to on the window off to its side. Running a hand over the edges, it was clear that a certain someone had not shut it properly when nature had played up outside. So you had your tasks being planned out for you; with a grin, you nodded at the prospect. Nothing like good old maintenance of a castle in the sky to do the trick of dissociating you from your own life and responsibilities. All you needed was the right tools, perhaps some wood, and some paint. And then the fence gate could do with some tender love and care… you listed off parts of the house that you wanted to renovate or check on, imagining something greater and better than yourself. You noted the gentle breeze outside, and even though a greyness prevailed, it was far more promising for a brighter day than the performance the clouds had put on yesternight; maybe this autumn would not be too rough, and would show you its beautiful colours. 

You did not see the mysterious guest until it was approximately dinner time. The pie was being kept safe and warm in the oven, and you were idly leafing through an ancient magazine - the remnants of days that you had spent at the cottage back when Old Man was still around. Another thing frozen in time, to be forever beautiful until you were to forget it. The shadowy presence commanded your attention almost immediately, and you lifted your head only to peer into a solemn darkness in the shape of a scowl, etched out on exhausted elegance. The man sighed before crossing his arms, and leaned against one of the few segments of the wall that was not bowing under the weight of framed memories, pins and nails.

Just what was this person thinking? As the clock marked your shared awkwardness with every tick, you grew more self-conscious. Was there something so repulsive about your presence, that the guest, or rather… the present resident, could not bear to function without hostility? Letting the pages fall onto one another, forming a yellowed stack, you rose from your position, having been hunched over the combined kitchen and dinner table. 

“Some pie?”

The words landed somewhere between your two forms, unusually shy, a request so timid and tentative that it might as well have been the wind outside. One tick of the clock, another, and another. It was easy to wonder if you appeared untrustworthy. It must be the way in which your brows were positioned, or how the corners of your mouth naturally curled ever so slightly downwards if you were not paying attention. Or maybe-

“Sure. Thanks.”

That same tone. Words, curt, unforgiving, but a step towards proper introduction. Who knew such coldness could evoke a wave of joy in anyone? As though on command, you hurried to the kitchen, a childish excitement overtaking you as you imagined the reaction he might have to your baking. It was one of the few things that was your safe haven - although you did not indulge in the activity too often, you had experienced the euphoria that came with it enough times to elevate it above the usual hobby. He had to enjoy the apple pie, surely.

As you grabbed the towel to use as makeshift heat protection, and prepared a mat onto which to set down the perfectly warm pie, you noticed the dark haired man match your movements. Narrowly missing your elbow, he navigated the space with calculated reach, and produced cutlery, plates, and a couple of mugs. Without any consultation, his selection of items was soon on the table, and next, the kettle was obediently bubbling up with excitement for another steaming cup of tea. You raised your eyebrows and huffed, balancing the pie in your hands as you walked around the counters and gently set it down. With a nod you confirmed your own satisfaction and gestured to your partner in table-setting to take a seat. He refused, instead remaining standing stock still by the lonely piece of furniture, pupils gliding along wherever you went. 

Those deep eyes, a blended mahogany and sienna, depending on how downcast the lashes appeared to be, remained trained either on you, or were burning holes in the tablecloth as you picked at your respective slices. The wisps of flavour and freshness escaped the filling, an unfathomably lush aroma clinging desperately to the air in the search of a satiated appreciator. But to no avail. No lips uttered a single word of praise, nor did you dare ask for it. It was a habit that you had been forced to break away from come adulthood, not that it had ever given you much satisfaction before the fact. You tried to convince yourself that the culinary feat was as delicious as Old Man had told you it had been, but in the gloom of your company and circumstance, it tasted bland, colourless, miserable. As though you were eating your own forlornness. You rested your fork on the edge of the plate, no longer having the courage to take another bite. 

Just when you were about to give into your impulses and storm out, only pausing to consider if you should permanently borrow the rain coat that was hanging by the front door, the man quietly raised a piece of the dessert to his mouth, not minding your not quite discreet gawking. Savouring every bit of texture, the harmony of ingredients that collaborated to produce the bucolic ideal in gastronomic form, he revelled in the taste of home. You noted the subtle changes in his appearance as he roughly sliced away another bitesize piece with his fork, then another, features relaxing into the experience as though finally after many days if not weeks he saw the sun. You melted into a close-mouthed smile, turning away to let your gaze aimlessly wander across the living room. 

“It’s good.”

“Thank you.”

There it was. Your first exchange. The beginning of something. Or the end. Perhaps both. When you turned back, no longer did his face appear as dangerous, instead sustaining an almost amiable curiosity.

“Why aren’t you eating?” his question held genuine concern as he paused, darting down to your hands and back upwards. 

“I- oh, sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” settling in what you assumed to be the safest option, your trained clinical professionalism you responded and started to hack away at the pie before you. Your choice of words provoked a chuckle - an unexpected sound that echoed in your ears for a little longer than you would have liked.

“Not at all… I think the two of us are even,” ever so enigmatic, your interlocutor responded. You let a slice of apple melt on your tongue, fructose and syrup clouding your nerves over choosing the right way to respond.

“...In?”

“Two people caught adrift in the middle of a storm, unsure of whether to keep holding on, or to let go. Are we not alike?”

Peculiar expression, unsettling, piercing through you and laying you bear until the pie left a bitter aftertaste. But of course, you could not do anything except pass it off as nothing. It was only natural for your self-acknowledged and accepted self-denial. Moreover, how could you two be similar? Obviously from different places, with different visions, the only thing that brought you together was this little cottage by the sea. At the same time, the words planted a seed of curiosity in your mind. Old Man liked to say there existed no coincidences, only well-hidden strings of fate and twists of certainty. You peered at the man again, gaze inadvertently settling on the freckle that was positioned almost perfectly in the middle of his collarbone - even what some of your clients considered to be an imperfection contained balance and elegance. Like hell would anyone ever be able to replicate that. Out of habit, you measured angles, sized up the man sitting opposite- at least you were not giving him the doctor smile yet - staying at the cottage was already doing you some good.

“So…” you began, but the words died away faster than flowers in early spring before you could deliver them, joining the disappearing wisps of heat from the pie.

“What brings me here? I assume that is the question,” so the delivery was successful. You nodded, attempting to ignore the hint of smugness tugging at the stranger’s lips, “I needed a break. So… I looked for a place. Remembered some relatives, then… ended up here. Yourself?”

“Oh,” you revealed your surprise, the phrases playing back in your head. ‘Relatives’... so Old Man did have someone inherit the property after all?

“Oh?”

“Sorry. You just said, ‘relatives’?”

“Well, yes,” he set his cutlery aside, gracefully picking up the cup of tea to take a sip before continuing, “this cottage is under the name of one of my cousins, however, as you can see… they have no use for it. Hence why I was told I can stay here for as long as I like.”

“Luxurious.”

“Hardly.”

“Limitless time off? A rarity in this day and age,” you sighed, giving a bittersweet smile. 

“Everything is measured by time, be it days or bills. Runs out eventually.”

“That-” you paused, “is true,” it was difficult to admit that the smile you received from your fellow dessert buddy was charming, but there was simply no other way to describe it. Except perhaps ‘dazzling’ would do, but you did not wish to get ahead of yourself and swoon over a man whose name you did not even know. 

“So, dare I ask the same elaboration? What brings you to the edge of the world?”

The clock ticked loudly in your ears, and you swore you could sense the draft creeping across the floorboards and over your feet. The moment was surreal, and not in a million years you would think you would find yourself in a situation such as this. At least not when considering the gruelling cycle you had subscribed to since you were young enough to give up your dreams in favour of others’. You were here because you were re-tracing your steps back to a time when you still had air in your lungs and a fighting spirit that had not been charred by a bleak reality and troubling conventions that society hammered down on everyone without exception. In some sense, for a little while, you did not wish to be yourself, but a version that you kept hidden away.

“I suppose I needed a break too, so I came back to the one place that I know as a paradise.”

“Intriguing. Did you know great uncle Yang?” he followed, tilting his head just a little.

“Yeah. Quite well, actually,” you were curt. Unwilling to share too much, but the man pressed on.

“How?”

“Came ‘round quite often,” you poked at the remnants of your pie slice.

“I wish I could have,” caught off-guard, you lifted your head, perplexed, “I have only heard about how amazing of a man he was. Distance proved to be unconquerable for me, and excuses far too strong to rebuke. Am I correct in assuming that you were closer?”

“Closer… I guess. I… well. I’m from this area. Grandpa, he- him and Old Man Yang were friends so…”

“Is your grandfather from the village-”

“He was… he had resided in a neighbouring house before it got torn down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for bringing the mood down.”

“The mood is how it is - like the weather, sometimes you need a little rain to appreciate the sunshine.”

“A poet, aren’t you?” you half-joked, trying to turn the situation around. The memories were flooding back at a fast pace, and you were struggling to keep up with them. The guest, however, was instead taken aback, as though your jesting was an accidental truth. You raised an eyebrow.

“How did you… do you know me?”

“I feel like we have been apologising back and forth but, really sorry am I supposed to-”

“Oh no! Not at all! It is just that you are right, I am a poet. Job-wise, I mean,” taking notice of the way in which he started to attack the edge of his shirt sleeve.

“It’s cool.”

“Hm?”

“Your job.”

“Ah, it’s just throwing words on a page and hoping they make sense-”

“If that’s what it is then you’re gifted. Hoping is already an art. Hardly anyone does that anymore,” yourself included. Finally, you were more at ease; whether it was with yourself or with the situation at hand, you could not be bothered to decide.

“Thank you… are you in the arts?”

“Maybe some people would consider what I do a sort of art, but at the end of the day it’s far, far from it. Surgeon. Cosmetic.”

“So the science side of beauty?”

“Science and human opinion collided. Thankfully, there’s plenty of nature here for me to rest my eyes,” you gestured around you, suggesting the quietude of the cottage, and absence of any community in the immediate vicinity. The man nodded in understanding, choosing not to comment further. 

“I… I do not think I have introduced myself yet. Park Seonghwa. Though, Seonghwa is absolutely fine seeing as we are friends by circumstance.

“Well, fantastic to meet you, Seonghwa. L/N Y/N. I hope we have great times ahead of us.”

“This time is all ours.”

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

As Seonghwa watched you redo the fence gate, he could not help but wonder if you really were a surgeon or not. Perhaps he was being a little prejudiced, but the image he had held in his mind of doctors and nurses was vastly different to how you carried yourself. Starting from how lacking in enthusiasm your descriptions of what you did were - without an ounce of pride, you simply listed off a couple of facts about your workplace like address, services and your responsibilities, and then returned to pondering housework and searching for tools. Seonghwa had assumed that any cosmetic surgeon working in a private clinic that was located in one of the most coveted and famous neighbourhoods of the capital would have a lot more of a well-meaning snootiness, or at the very least an eagerness to share their experiences. After all, the years of study and training had to be a mark of lifelong dedication, no?

You were anything but delicate with your hands as they aligned wood against wood. However, these same hands were steady, each movement calculated, deliberate, precise. There was not a single bit of power wasted in how you realigned the gate to not sink at the hinges. Tools arranged on a miniature mat did remind Seonghwa of what he had seen in medical dramas - neat operating chambers, every piece of equipment counted and arranged in a very specific order. So far, your actions and habits had been the most telling, making him choose to believe you. It was highly probable that you were exactly like him, hiding from yourself, from your immediate responsibilities - the weight on your shoulders having gotten increasingly overwhelming. It was not as if he had been fully open, heart on sleeve, with you and you were not returning the honesty; both of you had chosen to remain observers, walking in a circle as though there was an unspoken showdown, suspense in which both of you were waiting for something to go wrong. He did not wish to reveal his weaknesses, and neither did you.

In no time at all, you were done with the gate, marking the success by standing up straight and wiping your hands with a towel you nicked from one of the closets that Seonghwa had never yet dared to open. Catching his eye, you smiled and gave a cheerful thumbs up, one which he instinctively returned from his viewing spot by the front door. You picked up the equipment, roughly shoved it into a bag, and upon a quick adjustment of your jeans swiftly made your way back into the house. As you were kicking off your shoes, using your feet to position them in a reasonable spot that was out of the direct way into the house, Seonghwa spotted a little stain on your sweater. It could have been easily avoided with a rolling of the sleeves, however given your determination, it felt intentional. He bit his lower lip, musing the meaning behind your numerous deliberate actions over the last few days.

It was easy enough to notice that out of the two of you, Seonghwa was far more neat and pedantic about maintaining said ‘clean’ environment, while you were all for a freer living situation, not bothering to readjust the bathroom towels, or straighten the chair after pushing it back. Without a shadow of a doubt, you were very much in control of what you were doing - it was obvious. Sometimes, the young poet was sure that you were reminding yourself to not be organised, and only at critical times, such as the maintenance works on the gate, did training and composure characteristic of a highly skilled medical professional shine through. Without any explicit mission or goal, you appeared to be running from order, an act previously unimaginable to Seonghwa, but one he could understand, having been doing what was essentially the opposite. He resisted further moving your shoes when you walked into the living room, and bit back a comment about how you set the tools off to the side on the floor, instead continuing to watch you float to the kitchen to wash your hands. You were refreshed, a little sun in the departure of the cold season, your pink cheeks and grin that was threatening to take over all of your features returning a bashful youthfulness to you - something that he could not spot in the slightest upon first meeting. He did not know you yet, but he could sense that this was much more like the real you than the exhausted shell of a human who was suspicious of everything and everyone.

Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair before crossing his arms and leaning against the arc that separated the kitchen and living room, studying your approach to the window that he had combatted some days ago. You were in your element, fluid, determined. As much as you probably would have hated to hear him say, you were very much a surgeon before an operation, plan in the eyes and stable hands raised in front of you as you assessed your metaphorical patient. Was this a cosmetic procedure? Or a lot more invasive? Terminology he had picked up from perusals of the news and media plagued Seonghwa’s mind as he watched you carefully unlock the window, click your tongue and get to picking at the rotten frame, a replacement sitting patiently under your feet. How and where from - you were not too inclined to reveal all secrets of the cottage, but he could gather that there was some underlying rhythm or internal network of miscellaneous tools and ‘thingamajigs’ that all harmonised to create the cosy domestic paradise he had come to enjoy in his undetermined stay.

It was enthralling how, out of the two of you, you seemed to be more in harmony with the place. Well, perhaps not so strange, considering you were the one who had practically grown up in these walls. And much like Seonghwa could only guess about the inner workings of the house, the same came to you. Without any particular desire to be welcoming or amiable, you were focused on tending to any impending ruin rather than entertaining a stranger. This, however, made the poet all the more intrigued. You had to be running from something, maybe something similar to his own demons. Maybe something much darker. The nature of your work was a double-edged sword, after all. What were you seeing, or decisively ignoring by making this grand escape to the end of the world?

“Right, this should last a while. Seems the winter was pretty harsh this year, so I’ll have to check the rest of the windows too. You know what, maybe the attic as well,” you explained as you stood up straight, wiping your hands with the cloth you had retrieved from the toolkit.

“There is an attic?”

“Uh, yeah. You can get to it from my room.”

“You mean the guest room that you raided?”

“Hardly a guest room when there are no guests here, don’t you think?” you raised an eyebrow, sauntering past him, clearly searching for a way to set your words in stone with a pointed physical gesture.

“Mm, you’re right,” the last thing Seonghwa wanted was trouble on an already stormy horizon.

“Ah… Seonghwa?” you tentatively uttered his name, as if still testing how it sounded.

“That’s right.”

“What were you planning on doing?”

“Huh?”

“Right now.”

“...Probably returning to the office-”

“-ah, so you are going to hole yourself up. Got you,” without giving as much as a second to process or retaliate, you continued, “could you figure out food? If you don’t mind, that is. When I was getting the kit I saw something I wanted to check out. Shouldn’t be long, though.”

“I’ll see what I can put together.”

For what had to be the first time, Seonghwa noted the hint of a genuine smile ghosting over your lips. As you responded with a quick ‘thank you’ and left the cottage once more, already on another mission, he could not help but pause and tilt his head in confusion.

“Well wasn’t that awfully domestic…” The terrifying part was that he was not entirely opposed to the gesture.

Newfound vigour spread over his body and ignited a gentle flame in his heart. With purpose, he moved across from the living room back to the kitchen, beginning his search and preparations. This could also be a chance to get to know you better - your likes and dislikes, any quirks and habits. In turn, he had an opportunity to tell you wordlessly about himself. Brushing loose hair out of his face as he leaned over to grab a cutting board, he exhaled, amused. Care. Expression of care. Soothing waves of comfort and affection in the form of acting to provide some form of relief for another. This was something he had entirely forgotten in the blur of his day to day, and abandoned the possibility of returning to the notion by making an unplanned escape, only to find the lost memory right here, in this cottage. Doing, without wanting something in return except harmless conversation.

Time went by swiftly when it passed with purpose. Mind left unoccupied by hauntings of rhyme and rhythm thanks to a pleasant sense of urgency, Seonghwa could concentrate on making something out of whatever he had found in the cupboards and fridge. Back in the city, particularly towards the last few months before his sudden departure, he rarely cooked, be it due to lack of time or of energy. Instead he relied on restaurants where he had to survive loud company, or takeaway orders which, eventually, had all come to taste the same. Solitude had woken him up, and your appearance was another jolt to the system. Curious, how the mind worked.

The afternoon crawled towards the evening with certainty, and as the horizon turned to a murky grey with the hints of sunset, you returned, tired, but triumphant. Quietly, as though you were old friends who had exhausted all conversation, you made final preparations and dined. The occasional compliment escaped you, much to Seonghwa’s joy, but other than that, he was left to spin stories about you and leave it all up to overly elaborate guesswork. Asking about the shed did not do much, either. Brushing everything off as though the fixes had been but a mere ‘walk in the park’ was your well-measured defence. They could be, compared to whatever you did back in the city. Eventually, Seonghwa mustered the courage to attempt to satiate his curiosity, and left a question hanging in the air.

“Could you… tell me more about yourself?”

“That’s quite broad. What do you want to know?”

“Mm… cutting straight to the chase, huh.”

“I’m not one to enjoy wasting time,” you emphasised, setting down your fork on a cleared plate and leaning back in your chair, clearly in anticipation of an unpleasant interrogation. Seonghwa had to tread with care, but could not help the stirring of his inquisitive nature.

“Right, I figured. Barely arrived and the cottage is already pristine,”

“Hardly. Much work still left to do.”

“Well, give yourself at least some credit-”

“-So, the question?” you interrupted, putting your elbows on the table and tilting your head. No optimism or kindness in your eyes as you regarded Seonghwa. Just what were you thinking he was going to say?

“Ah, yes. Uh… how do I say this… considering we are both in, hm-”

“In the middle of nowhere, you can say that. I won’t take it personally,” you nodded urging him to get to the point.

“Thanks. So, since we are here, I have been thinking if our reasons for being here are in any way similar. Or, if not, just how different,” when you did not respond, or even acknowledge his thoughts, he persisted, “that’s about it… I mean, if you want to talk about it, that is.”

“Not really-”

“Oh! Okay, I- sorry,”

“No, you’re fine. Just because I don’t really want to doesn’t mean I won’t. It’s all part of getting to know a person, isn’t it?” turning to the side, you stared at the freshly redone window. It was holding up well. Beautifully, even. Seonghwa hated to keep making the comparisons, but he could not rid himself of the image of how you could be like professionally. Perhaps this was because this was the only concrete thing he had found out about you, but you were, in his eyes, every bit a representation of the medical field. Just as he assumed you were going to bestow upon him more discoveries, you shot him a side glance, “besides, it’s not like you are an open book either. For all I know you might be on the run from the police.”

“What?” he exclaimed a little too loudly to consider calm.

“I’m just kidding. Or am I?” you quickly raised your eyebrows, clearly finding amusement in Seonghwa’s discomfort, “Anyways… what brings me here… well, I am on a break. I’d like to think it is a well-deserved one.”

“Annual leave?”

“I guess, though, in medicine… is there ever such a thing? We’re not exactly corporate are we.”

Seonghwa finished the last of his meal and took a quick sip of his tea. While you were not looking directly at him, he could feel your scrutiny nonetheless. Suddenly, he felt the need to redo his hair, check his face in the mirror, adjust his clothes - anything to feel more presentable, even though it would not make much of a difference. Cold, but not hostile. Thinking back to how he had greeted you, he cringed. Was this the impression he had inadvertently given? Maybe. Very likely, actually, considering that for the first while he wanted nothing to do with another individual in the house. And now what was he expecting, an immediate shift into being best friends or at least allies? Biting the inside of his cheek, he mumbled:

“Might be foolish on my part, but I suppose I thought clinics would work differently.”

“Oh they do, that’s correct. But since money has to be made, we have to do a bit more negotiation to have a nice, unbroken holiday.”

“Two weeks?”

“See, that’s what employers want. More like four to six. Paid. I did my time in that place and I would say me being away would benefit all of society.”

“You’re making it sound like torture,” with a bitter laugh, you accepted his joke.

“How much would you like me to tell you about what I do? Until you agree?” your tone was flat, unnerving.

The wind was, once again, picking up outside, and whatever patchy thin wisps of cloud had been hovering around the area already disappeared, to be replaced by thick storm bringers, looming, menacing. An all-consuming darkness was rolling across the horizon and right towards the cottage, and Seonghwa could only hope that you really did know what you were doing when it came to mending. Out of habit, he adjusted the shorter strands that fell over his face, and took another sneaky glance at your features. Drumming out some unknown rhythm on the table, your fingers danced across the tablecloth. You were daring him to agree. And who would he be if he did not accept the challenge? Most certainly not an artist.

“I… I suppose you can tell me anything.”

“Heart to heart with a stranger?”

“Sure. If you are okay with that.”

“Then tell me this, Seonghwa,” you turned towards him again, only this time, you did look angered, “are you here because you are an eccentric, or because celebrity life got too much?”

“So you do know me,”

“While I was outside I remembered seeing your face on top searches or something. You sure know how to build up a following.”

“I call that a fluke.”

“Collaborating with a famous singer to write songs for their album is a fluke?”

“We have a mutual friend. Mutual friend reached out to me, said ‘hey you write poetry, how about you help out’ and so I did- hey, wait, why am I defending something normal-”

“I don’t know, but something is making you antsy, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, it’s probably the fact that you are attacking me out of the blue.”

“I am just asking a question.”

“Sounds like you are judging me,”

“Aren’t you judging me?”

“Aren’t we both judging each other?”

“True.”

With a huff, you crossed your arms and looked at your empty plate. Seonghwa followed suit, agitated. Neither of you had particularly good points, but nonetheless managed to bring to light issues that you and him were denying. Without a single word, both Seonghwa and yourself were going through the skeletons that were in the closets of your minds. He cleared his throat.

“It’s the latter. You hit the nail on the head.”

“I see.”

“People might pretend to know one thing or another about lyrics, but no one ever cares to read past that. I’ve had maybe one, two people ask me about my poetry, and none about my post graduate work.”

“Post graduate?”

“Yes.”

“Linguistics? Literature?”

“Something like that.”

A pause. The first few rain droplets hit the roof of the cottage and splattered against the windows facing the shore. It had to be another downpour coming. The clock continued its dedicated beat, and you were an immovable statue, as if you were storing away all he had told you about himself. Though he had not offered a resume to you, of course he wouldn’t, it was probably easy enough for you to put one experience with another, and paint his whole life.

“A scholar,” Seonghwa sharply exhaled, wondering how you had come to this conclusion.

“Trying to be. Probably more accurate to say that I am a poetry nerd who wants to become an academically accredited poetry nerd.”

“Hey, you’re passionate. That’s commendable,” your eyes softened, reminding Seonghwa of how people regarded something fragile. All because of hope? The same hope and inspiration which he had lost and was trying to discover again?

“I should be saying that to you. I mean medical school, and then launching into active practice right after is no easy feat.”

“That… is true.”

“But something’s off?”

“Bingo.”

“And you are running from it.”

“Hm… probably. Actually, you know what let’s call things like they are. That’s right.”

“And this thing is…?” he trailed off, encouraging you. You stared at the view outside the window, shapes now barely distinguishable as the droplets turned into bucketfuls and the streaks across the glass transformed into an unbroken blur. As your gaze settled back on the man sitting across from you, he saw a resemblance between the weather and your expression, and could not look away out of fear that he could miss the ever-changing emotions, musings, revelations that etched themselves on your face, only to disappear in a split second.

“You know…answer me this. I think you are the perfect person to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“What is ‘beauty’?”

“Beauty.”

“Yes. Beauty. What is it?”

“To me, or-”

“Whatever way you want to answer. What is it?”

“A feeling.”

You tilted your head and squinted in response to him. Truth be told, Seonghwa surprised even himself by the speed of his outburst. Feeling. He could not define beauty, and he did not believe that he was in a position to ever do so, but based on the callings of his heart, based on the changes of nature, of how words flowed from pen to paper or how they felt on the tongue and on the lips, he could sense beauty, and he was sure of it.

“Interesting. An artistic answer, I’ll give you that.”

“Were you looking for something else?”

“Something more clinical, potentially. But I like how you put it better. It’s more alive.”

“Are you running from beauty?”

“More like, I don’t know what it is anymore. And so my feet led me to the place where I think it existed. Or as you say, the feeling existed.”

“But… beauty is everywhere, no?” He knew he was being hypocritical, having cursed his own environment - both animate and inanimate, time and time again, but the mantra of any dreamer was the only thing that crossed his mind in this moment.

“Not in a cosmetic surgeon’s office, it’s not. Everyone either walks in there thinking it doesn’t exist, or walks out thinking that way. Aesthetic beauty, visual beauty is such a lie that I sometimes wonder if I see at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love nothing more than to make someone feel like they really are in their own skin, and countless times I have seen people gaining their happiness and their whole lives back after a visit to our clinic... but... beauty. Beauty itself is so, so strange.”

Your voice wavered. Any previously existing hard exterior was but an illusion, and Seonghwa could see the faint glow of a young spirit who wanted to do better for the world, but was beaten down, deciding that it had enough for a long time. In the effort to save it, you came here. To find your so-called muse, your safe space.

“I want to hear more… about this. If you don’t mind.”

“About people putting themselves down?” you sighed, ready to stand up and take your leave.

“No, no! Goodness, no. More about beauty. And what you think of it. And why do you think you ‘lost’ it, in a sense?”

“I’m starting to think we really are on the same boat in the same storm…” you mumbled, glancing at the time, and then rocking in the chair to finally lift yourself up, “... then I say we need more tea.”

“Consider it done.”

Some shuffling, dishwashing, and side glances later, both of you were settled on the edges of the sofa, preferring to find a reason to not stare at one another rather than adopt a position akin to that at a therapist’s office. Neither of you wanted to pretend you held answers to the mind’s mysteries, and neither of you wanted to come off as some complex character. Instead, you slowly but surely began to lay all your cards down on the table as the barley tea cooled in your cups. Seonghwa silently nodded as you elaborated on your frustration with the perfectly in line plates, the crisp and straightened towels, and the spotless counters. Unsettling, inexplicable, but the sensations you experienced when you stared at the lack of chaos were more than real.

“It’s the uniformity that puts me off.”

“So… things being in order, organised, in their places… annoys you?”

“Well… I cannot say it annoys me, because it doesn’t… this goes away after a while. But for the first little bit of time I will probably freak out whenever I see things that look a little too clean.”

“Got it. I shouldn’t clean up messes. See? You have something you find beautiful,” Seonghwa pointed out, a soft smile gracing his lips. As the conversation took on a more abstract, philosophical tone and your dispositions ceased to be so formal, he felt himself relaxing more and more by the second, and decisively taking the lead in conversation.

“Hm. A little chaos couldn’t hurt anyone. But I am sorry though, it must have been unnerving, considering that you are doing the opposite,” you responded, a genuinely apologetic look on your face. So you did notice. You were quick. Or simply very observant. Seonghwa shook his head to try and dismiss the little positive attention, but to no avail, “no really, it is nice to see you feeling at home here. I mean this.”

“This really is your place, isn’t it?” he narrowed his eyes, appearing rather feline as he tilted his head, hair flattening on the back of the sofa.

“It holds a lot of memories.”

“Tell me, did you come here to look for memories, or to change your present?”

“A bit of both. So, like I mentioned. Beauty. It’s sort of been a sore topic for me since I was a kid. Be it to fit a standard visually, or academically, or whatever else. Success was beauty, beauty was success. But there comes a time where, when you hear about beauty a few too many times, it starts to lose meaning,” you stopped for a moment to gather your thoughts and listen to the howling of the wind outside. With a click of the tongue, you continued, “You know how when you repeat a word again and again, it starts to sound and feel weird?”

“Yes.”

“Same with anything. If there is no variation, if there is no real value behind a given repetition, beauty is just some random ‘thing’ that cannot be achieved.”

“Value behind repetition?”

“Yeah. We breathe right?”

“Right.”

“Heart beats, right?”

“Right…” Seonghwa momentarily shut his eyes, focusing on the sensations you were describing, feeling a little more alive.

“Those are all valuable repetitions. And even then, we feel them so differently. But… what is something ‘beautiful’? It could be like you said, a sense. But saying ‘beauty’ this, or ‘beauty’ that… the concept ends up being void of meaning to me.”

“Hm… could it be that… in that context - the context of your job, the context of your day to day, how beauty is presented to you... is something you disagree with?”

“Ah! That, yes, exactly-” setting your cup down on the coffee table, you clapped your hands, happy with the encapsulation.

It felt easier than it should have been to establish something artists chase after and die for. A diagnosis uttered by a ruthless analyst marking the withering of beauty in another’s life. With the presence of a dulled, uninspired eye came the ability to see past mere feeling, and evaluate the essence of what had been plaguing you, and apparently, Seonghwa as well. He was in muted shock, both delighted and horrified by the conclusion. Loss of beauty because of the world in which he lived - how could a poet survive, if not by translating their works to terror? In the blink of an eye, the discourse was abandoned, and Seonghwa found himself floating in his own mind, the dark ocean waves crawling through his ear canals - a deafening roar marking the coming of his nightmares. Ever since he had become interested in poetry, he was fond of what he could experience with his five senses, and then added a sprinkle of inferences with a mystical sixth. Flowing from line to line he felt, and admired what surrounded him in syllables until the world began to darken, and his wrist and brain transformed to lead. In the absence of what he thought was beautiful, was he truly surrounded by something utterly vile? If extrapolating from your conclusions, it could very well be the case.

“...-hwa, Seonghwa-” startled, his eyes darted side to side and then settled on you. He did not realise he was clenching his cup with a white-fisted rage and, embarrassed, set it down beside yours on the table, “what had you so pensive?”

Your worry was charming, the young poet could not deny. How your lips, slightly parted, were waiting on what to say. How even though you were clearly fighting your own battles, you immediately pushed them away. No wonder you were tired. And no wonder Seonghwa felt a resemblance to you. Feeling. And feeling too much. Even when you were clearly burned out from doing so, you were ready to do it again, and again, until you were nothing but a trembling stalk of grass on the cliffside, swaying with current affairs and mundane happenings everyone had to abide by. Going with the flow was something neither of you could settle for, and that was what ended up bringing you together.

“When we think beauty is gone, does it mean there is not even a likeness to it, or does it mean we are not looking hard enough?”

“Mm… good question,” you traced abstract shapes on the pillow you took into your lap, maybe for comfort, maybe to have at least an illusion of a barrier between you and him. Seonghwa kept quiet, picking up the tea and masking his concern, “Since we both ran as soon as we’ve had enough, I think the former. An optimist would probably say the latter but based on what I have seen… I find it damn hard to believe in a happily ever after.”

“Did something happen?”

“Hm… did it?” you echoed, gaze fixed on the floorboards.

“Cleary. I am all ears.”

“You are doing too much.”

“This is the least I can do,” judging by the way you regarded him, being heard was a rare occasion for you, and sent a strange ache into Seonghwa’s heart. How many of your stories were left untold?

“Where do I even start… let’s just say this holiday was not fully on my own volition.”

“That rebellious, huh?”

“That’s what happens when you convince someone to leave the clinic, I fear.”

“You told someone to leave?” perplexed and fascinated, Seonghwa turned to fully face you.

“I mean… when you have a sixteen year old girl sitting there in front of you telling you she has one thing after another to fix and got a giftcard for eyelid surgery from her family… that’s the best option, in my opinion.”

“W-what?!”

“Happens more often than you’d think,” you dismissed his shock with a melancholic coldness, “we try our best to find compromises, best plans, bring happiness into a patient’s life, but when you can clearly see they are being pressured or are at risk of a plethora of other things both physical and mental… I draw the line.”

“You just have your morals set, and want what you feel is best.”

“And that is bad for business. Maybe I’m missing the plot. Maybe I should actually let people carve themselves up however they wish.”

Resigned, you stood up and walked towards the window, each step heavier than the previous one. Seonghwa observed your motions, seeing in you a tired sun that could barely lug itself across the heavens. Wrapped up in smoky grey, your shine slumbered, and you regarded the dull landscape with a matching passivity. For all you cared, at least in this moment in time, the stormy weather could last an eternity. An angered muse on the verge of giving up; an ancient legend on the verge of extinction; a sacrifice in the midst of the bloodbath that was the strive for perfection. A lost voice. You were not the first, and most certainly not the last to suffer this cruel fate and its many variations. In fact, if Seonghwa were to look in the mirror, he knew he would discover in his inky pupils the same resolution. If he were to look into a million faces, they too, would bear the traces of antithesis to childhood dreams. Disillusionment - the bane of existence, and the band to unite it.

He wished he could memorise this scene with every intricate detail remaining intact. The way the light flickered across your face as raindrops strengthened their barrage was downright haunting, and reminiscent of a television’s unsettling static that could make a room glow white. You delicately hugged yourself, lost in thought. Voice barely above a whisper escaped you, a string of apologies as you appeared to allow yourself to feel regret over being your true self around someone who was barely an acquaintance.

“I’m sorry… I… I talked a lot didn’t I? Complete nonsense too. I mean, what the hell is the point of taking something untouchable apart, as if we could ever understand it?” you bit your lower lip. Seonghwa imagined the sea foam decorating the shore, the ebb and flow of the erratic waves while he studied the patterns in your hair. The odd wave, the styling of stubborn locks all amounting to acceptance of its unruliness. Was that not beautiful?

A tender blossom in the earliest spring, wavering and inching its way upwards, filled with hope. A budding, pale green leaf, only just unfurling, tentatively feeling the first breeze, trembling with anxious delight. Seonghwa remained still as he let the progression of scenes dash past him while he gazed at you. Shyly smiling to himself, he greeted his own sleepy heart. It stirred, intrigued by the unpredictable series of events and serendipitous meeting, recalling words that had turned foreign to him not too long ago. While there were millions of characters, thousands of lines and an infinite number of ideas, the root remained a timid secret, one Seonghwa did not wish to explore quite yet. In the absence of beauty, or the stalling of its perception, remembering beauty was more than enough.

“You’re doing well.”

“Hm? You mean, uh, the window?” confused, you pointed at the frame, earning a chuckle from the wistful poet.

“That too, of course, but I meant in general. You are doing well,” before you could speak, he interrupted your doubt, “you are not failing, you are planning ahead. There is only so much we can do, and sometimes, pausing is the only right decision.”

Seonghwa hoped that by saying this out loud, to you, he could take his own advice. But it was never easy to listen to oneself, when he knew of all the noise that stuck to his brain, knew of the taunts and the mazes. It was more simple to wish that the verbal sword could cut through someone else’s worries, and in turn, shine a light on his own and let them evaporate. You grinned; you could have guessed that this was one of his mantras that he tried to learn how to believe in, or there was a sliver of a chance that you agreed. It was beautiful to wait.

구름을 은빛으로 물들이는 눈물 처럼 (like tears that colour the clouds silver)

바다와 하늘을 잇는 수많은 실이 있다 (there are many threads connecting the sea and the sky)

태양이 보이고 당신의 눈에 반사된다 (the sun is visible and reflects in your eyes)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

An oversharer, a wildfire, taken and enchanted by a glimpse of the silver mystical lining. In every storm there was a fair share of this metaphorical metal - hints of hope that anyone stranded could hold onto. To your dismay and horror, you found solace in a stranger… or could you even call Seonghwa by that title anymore? Having poured more from your life’s cup than you had done at catch ups with your city friends, you were terrified of the amiability you possessed, and the open-armed rush of confidence you had experienced when engaged in deep conversation was quickly replaced by fear. What if you were digging your grave? What if you had signed yourself up for demise? It was so unlike you to share so much… and yet it felt so comfortable. You were alive for once, and the cottage was beginning to warm up to you again, voices of more than one echoing off its walls. But how could you know that Seonghwa had good intentions? You could not remember much of what you had seen online, except some tiny excerpts about the title track on which he had worked, but other than that - nothing. You had over-exaggerated your knowledge of his ways and his work as a silly flex of superiority, but… the more you thought about it, the more guilty you felt. You were a liar. A fiend. Seeking company, but writhing like a snake. 

Ever since that first heart to heart, you remained distant, despite Seonghwa’s consistent efforts to get to know you better and better. He was not pushy, kept his jokes lighthearted, but you saw every attempt to learn more about you and your stories as a threat. You were in the same house, but it was as though the walls were closing in just on you. With a violent tug, you forced the towel off the hanger and let it pool on the floor, fleece resembling the perfect sands on faraway islands that you had seen advertised an astonishing number of times, but chose to believe in it being some business-crafted utopia. You could not bear picking the towel up from the ground. No matter how many times you would try to hang it, it would not look conventionally pretty. You tried, you really tried to arrange things how Seonghwa arranged them, be it out of respect or to conform, but your hands would produce something akin to a tremble, and at the last moment, the final product - destruction, was before your eyes. Slowly, you sank to the floor, feeling cold tile. Struggling slightly, you crammed yourself against the wall, and pushed the door a little to leave nothing more than a tiny creak. One last razor cut of light to be a guiding thread back to hollow function.

Leaning against the wall, you found yourself trying to escape your own thoughts, but the more you stared into the darkness, the more futile this race was. Inevitably, you were your own limit. At times, it was a good thing - you could go as far as you could. But other times… it meant falling and falling deep down until you were in the state you were currently in. Hands shaking just enough to send a wave of panic crashing into you, eyelids heavy from questionable and ever-changing sleep. It felt strange, having someone new know of your concerns and information somewhat beyond your day to day. Unlike regular ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’, you had inadvertently let Seonghwa see the root of your worries, and it was astonishingly hard to bear. In the dark looming corners of the bathroom, you could see your reflection. The crumpled towel taunted you, and in a spur of rage, you kicked it, immediately curling back up, arms hugging your legs. What was so hard about sharing your mind? Was it because he looked like he understood? Or was it because you were afraid that he actually did understand, and now you were at his mercy?

Vulnerability - a muse for artists, a disease for those favouring logic and wishing to move through life as an invincible figure. You were in a position where people trusted you, or rather, had to trust you if they wanted a job well done. True, you were not quite senior enough in your career to carry out the more complex procedures, but you had done your fair share of scalpel holding to curse the anxious tremor of your hands at this present moment. The fear was becoming unbearable, and it was all because of some silly conversation about what made things beautiful, and what beauty was. Ridiculous. The words blended with the heavy rainfall outside, and continued to return like the tide, higher and higher each time. It had been quite a number of days since the seemingly simple and friendly talk, and yet it gnawed at you. You wanted out, no, you needed out of this mess. Out of your own head. Old Man would have undoubtedly laughed at you, called you a feral wild and untamed beast, incapable of letting a little sunshine in your life - something of a nickname that you had acquired in the last years of his life, when you were already deep in the river of souls in the capital. But he was not here to reassure you, not here to crack a joke at the right time or to offer you protection. If there was any way you were going to survive your sabbatical, you had to hold tight and keep to yourself for the remainder of the weeks. You were going to pretend you knew his motives, and at any opportunity would tell yourself that you were staring at evil’s beautiful eyes-

Beautiful. No. You shook your head in disapproval. Eyes. Just. Regular. Eyes. In the dim evening lamplight, when you two would silently share the living room, both of you preoccupied with your own version of dawdling, they held little fireflies. Reflections of warm gold and a stunning white on a near onyx sky. Just eyes that you could not read, windows through which you did not want to look in search of a soul. Some part of you hoped that this entrancing vision would remain with you, and you would never have to see him under nauseating fluorescent lights; the scene was a professional instinct, but if there was something which you approached with more aggression than even your own paranoid self-preservation, it was to detach your present, and your continuous. Seonghwa was Seonghwa, and did not need some nobody like you to pretend to know how he should look. You exhaled, a shiver running over your form as the chill from the floor became more noticeable. A poem popped up in your mind, or rather, the few lines that Seonghwa had quoted to you the other night. Something or other about flowers, how they bloomed and wilted. While you could not grasp the exact words, your heart kept the poem safe and whole, with such diligence that it hurt. It was another one of his tries to get you to inch out of your shell. You shut your tired eyes, only to see how the shadows fell across his face as he had turned to you, lips remaining parted when he trailed off, glimmering orbs regarding you so sincerely and gently that you wanted to howl in agony. With a rub of your palm, stopping at your mouth, you wished to wipe the memory physically - your mind was too unwilling to do so. No, Seonghwa had to be some tragic, cruel joke the universe was playing on you. He simultaneously was indescribable and yet so, so simple, but if you were to be tasked to put him into words, you would sooner learn how to fly than to be capable of achieving such a feat. On the tip of your tongue were so many phrases and solutions to mysteries but none clear enough to be whispered into the early dawn. Seonghwa was who he was, and that was what scared you. You could not let him get to you like this. 

Reluctantly, only due to the cold starting to become unbearable, you pushed yourself off the floor, and were once again faced with the task of picking up the pitiful puddle of fabric. With an apparent scowl, you bent forward, lifting the item and throwing it over the hook, determining that this just had to do. No one was going to throw a fit over this - and if Seonghwa was, well, you would just be happy enough to have decided to try and maintain distance. The more evidence or actions to support your desires the better. Cautiously you slid out of the bathroom and made your way down the corridor, avoiding creaky floorboards. Seonghwa was probably still asleep, and you were supposed to be. The early dawn was creeping through the lazily drawn curtains, and painting the floor in a hazy blue and grey. Hints of sunshine, tentative, shy, could be spotted on the very edge of the horizon. Maybe, just maybe, the weather would start looking a little more like spring. One step, another, and you were nearly at the dining table, front door ahead of you. Technically, if you so wished, you could spend the day in solitude; a visit to the nearby village was long overdue and it would almost guarantee an entire day outside of the cottage and away from the man who had taken residence in your brain as if out of spite. In addition, you could run some errands, and that definitely needed an early start. Your mind began to craft an itinerary, happy to abandon worries one by one. The market, the bakery, an obligatory visit to the post office to greet Old Man's and grandpa's friend… much to do. So much to do, in fact, that you only narrowly missed a ghostly figure appearing and stopping right in front of you, and had to rely on its sleepy reflexes to prevent you from colliding head on. You yelped as hands grasped your upper arms, and in an effort to escape you stumbled back.

“Hey, careful-”

That honey-sweet, deep voice forced you to glance at the so-called ghost. Perplexed, you saw none other than Seonghwa, who had been on his way out of the cottage office, stopped by the crossing of your somnolent paths. Dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks, it was evident that he had been awake for at least as long as you, if not more. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you could only stare.

“You… you alright? Sorry if I scared you… it’s just… you know…”

“Oh no, I’m fine just… didn’t think you were awake, is all…” you mumbled, eyes starting to dart in all directions. 

“Yeah, I get that. I didn’t sleep too well so I decided to get an early start to the day… same for you?”

“Sort of,” you were anxious under his burning observation. The shapeless, oversized hoodie that hung over your figure was your only salvation. Subconsciously, one of your hands reached for the opposing upper arm, forming something akin to a barrier between you and Seonghwa. Your legs protested, and you remained rooted to the same spot, only capable of a barely audible mutter: “I was thinking of heading out today. To the village. Will be out for a while.”

“Village? I have not been there yet. May I come with you?” eager, Seonghwa asked, smiling softly.

“Then how did you keep everything stocked up?”

“I’m organised. And visited that one super store that is on the way.”

“That’s even farther than the village?”

“Like I said. On the way.”

“Resourceful,” you knew you were stalling giving an answer to his request, but Seonghwa persisted.

“So… may I come with you?”

With no rain or violent dancing of the ocean waves to save the awkward quietude, you were in a situation no different to the one you were in a mere few minutes ago. Bathed in darkness, wisps of thoughts about the young poet permeating through restless meditation. He styled his hair differently today, you noted - most of it was brushed back, with a few elegant strands remaining over his face, approximately reaching the length of his nose. No wonder the media had clinged onto him; Seonghwa had undeniable appeal, and that on top of what was a unique form of artistry in the world of popular and quick entertainment, he was a dream for any agent, should he have found the limelight exciting. But clearly, he did not wish to risk going blind, and here he was, the muse and the poet in one form, trying to find peace. 

“If I will be a nuisance, then it is okay I can-”

“Why not?” your swift interjection pushed Seonghwa into a long pause.

“Yeah. Why not, indeed. Thank you. Then, hm… may I quickly grab a couple of things? You were planning on leaving now, right?” You nodded, and watched him rush upstairs, revived. 

The response, a little boyish, rough and carefree, brought a hint of a grin to your face. Simple pleasures in life were hard to find, and you had persuaded yourself to not acknowledge them, but you could not deny just how endearing it was to see Seonghwa glowing from the inside because of a couple of words and a trip to do some chores as if it was to be an adventure. You spun on your heels and ambled towards the front door. After throwing the hood over your head, you tugged on a puffer coat which you had rediscovered in one of the wardrobes - it had been a hand-me-down from Old Man when you had none of your clothes which were more suitable for rural life left after a strong push from your parents to forget your days on the shoreline. The coat had been one of the many secrets you shared with Old Man, and had been a small but certain happiness. Smelling like rain storms and sea salt, it was comforting, and still much too big for you. But it felt like home.

“Right, so, what exactly are we doing?” Seonghwa’s voice rang out across the room as he approached, having added a wool trench coat and pale scarf of an indistinguishable colour to his ensemble. You chuckled, stepping into your boots and gesturing for him to do the same.

“I was thinking we could hit the shops. Get some fresh produce if it’s been brought in already. That’s essentially the main goal. Oh, if you have anything digital to do, I know a place.”

“Really?”

“You have your phone in your pocket, right?” you pointed at his right hand which was stuffed into the mass of his coat. Seonghwa nodded.

“A standard representative of our generation, aren’t I?”

“I’d do the same if I had something urgent going on,” a flash of pained regret did not go unnoticed by you. Biting his lower lip, he suppressed whatever association he had made.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

Seonghwa shifted his footing to reach around you, and turned the door handle. The early morning yawned out a pleasant chill. Pale green leaves of the shrubbery surrounding the house trembled with excitement, and the gate stood proud, awaiting its next command. Your hand hovered above the wood for a couple of seconds. You turned your head towards the poet.

“It might take us an hour or more to get there, are you fine with that?”

“More than fine. I guessed it wouldn’t be a five minute convenience store trip.”

“Alright then.”

As you embarked on your trek to the village, you decided that the landscape had finally started to take on more springlike hues. Previously barren trees which were bent by years of gales and hurricanes were now dotted with adorable buds of white, pink and green, while the grass that survived the winter was giving way to thriving youth. The Earth was turning, waking up and stretching in its celestial bed, starting to peek out from under its star-patterned blanket. You tugged on the hood and stuffed your hands into the pockets of Old Man’s coat, content with your split-second plan-making. While it was not ideal to have Seonghwa as your quest buddy, you could not exactly see him with the hoodie blocking out your peripherals. Only the crunching of gravel under a second pair of shoes marked his presence. 

The scene was faintly nostalgic, but you could not put a finger on the reason why. As you wordlessly followed the winding road and veered off onto a trail that cut to the village, you simply accepted the comfort. The cherry blossom season must be coming here soon, and then the sun would surely roll out of its bed and the seas would be tranquil. You made a mental note to try to walk past the more residential outskirts to see if the gardens of the brave few still had the fragile flowers - the only marking of this representation of spring in the near vicinity. Gravel gave way to a sparser smattering of pebbles, and soon enough only rocks pressed deep into dirt from years of steps and bicycles were left for you to scrutinise. Occasionally, you caught a glimpse of Seonghwa’s shoes when he took a slightly longer stride - expensive, without a doubt. But even in a landscape that served as the antithesis to cosmopolitan luxury, you had to admit that Seonghwa wore them well. Gingerly, you peeked out from the side of your hood, eyes darting to a random point up ahead as soon as your walking partner’s head began to turn. Your assumption was right - he was every bit the character of a dark and dramatic novel; dressed in all black, halo of pale light gracing his locks. You hated how easy it was to question your morals in his favour, or rather in favour of your wanting to be more carefree and open around him. What other stories would he tell? What soft prose would dance on his lips and tantalise you?

You gasped, hands clenched into fists, pockets tightening as you pressed against the fabric. A surprisingly cold gust of wind hit your face, and you were too slow to react. The hood flew back, allowing your hair to be tousled by the elements. You should stop getting so lost in your thoughts - you reprimanded yourself, and began to reach upwards. Seonghwa slowed down to match your pace, waited, and voicelessly pinched the edge of your hoodie, halting any further movement until you understood his intentions. Too confused by the sudden affection to care, you brushed your fingers through your hair and held it in place, allowing the hood to slide back on without further resistance. 

“Thanks,” you huffed, stuck in an automatic bow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Seonghwa continued to walk, unperturbed, “it seems the wind is picking up again.”

“At least it’s not as cold anymore.”

“Good point. Refreshing. Let’s call it that.”

“Mm. Oh, Seonghwa-”

“Yes?” you paused to breathe, much too affected by the response speed Seonghwa had to his name. After telling yourself that this was his usual self rather than particular attention, you resumed. 

“I have a beanie. If you want it.”

“Pardon?” you met the young man’s perplexed look, and patted the many pockets of the coat until you found the right one. After unclasping the metal button, you revealed the tip of a wool hat. His grin made the pang of embarrassment worthwhile - dazzling, sunny, so very Seonghwa that your heart hurt a little.

“Wind. Hair. All that. You know. Ahem. You get me,” you stumbled over your words, much to what appeared to be Seonghwa’s delight.

“I do. Thank you. I am okay for now,” he stopped you before you could close the pocket again, “but, if you don’t mind I’ll take the beanie. I have pockets too.”

“It’s supposed to stay in this coat.”

“Why?”

“Tradition.”

“Ah. Understood.” 

You regretted your awkward gesture of friendliness, but you had to cancel out his approaches somehow. It would be strange to owe him. Was there such a thing when it came to emotion? Not wanting to dwell on the thought, you made yourself speed up, steps growing heavier against the uneven ground. Seonghwa followed suit, but you could only imagine his face at this moment, probably holding back a laugh, withholding some snarky comment out of sheer pity. That was normally how it was, so when what had to have been at least a couple of minutes passed, you were frustrated. Where was his voice? Could you simply not hear it over the wind? Was he intentionally being quiet?

“Seonghwa?”

“You are speeding along, Y/N, wow-”

“Sorry-”

“I’m just curious,” you slowed back down, allowing Seonghwa to catch up and join you on your side, “why that specific pocket?”

“That’s just how it has been all this time. This coat was passed down to me, and with it came a set of safekeeping and storage rules.”

“Rules?”

“Yep. From what pocket to keep what in, to where to hang it in what season. Couldn’t really do the latter properly but I think the coat held up well enough,” you inspected whatever part of the coat that you could spot from the safety of your hood, and peered to your right when you heard an approving hum.

“Looks like it could survive anything.”

“It probably could, if I’m honest. In my memory alone it survived being thrashed about on a clothing line in what had to have been some crazy strong cyclone and survived being abandoned on the cliffs.”

“How does this even happen?”

“Sometimes I do think Old Man did some things just for laughs, but he always had a fun story to tell and if he had to make some sacrifices for it… maybe it was worth it in the end,” you sighed and finished your philosophising.

“We all set our worths and prices, don’t we?” gradually, your stride turned into an amble, making Seonghwa get ahead. To your surprise, he halted almost immediately, and turned. When he spotted your unease, he furrowed his brows and stepped closer. He was searching for something in your stance, or in your expression - be it a change or a revelation, but clearly whatever you were doing was not enough. In the blink of an eye, he was a lot closer than arm’s reach. Inadvertently, you held your breath.

“What?” the question slipped from you as Seonghwa stretched out his hand, palm upright.

“I think I’ll have the beanie, if you don’t mind.”

“Sounds like you are doing me a favour.”

“I am just appreciating an act of kindness,” he gingerly picked the item from your grasp, “and besides, if you are going to be racing how you are now all the way to the village, my ears might freeze.”

You wanted to wipe the dorky smirk from his face, but even then you appreciated his undeniable charm. The ever-changing palette of expressions on his stunning face fascinated you, reminiscent of the metamorphosis of a flame or silver waters. You would hate to use the exact word which you were running from, so you settled to mutely acknowledge Seonghwa as ‘interesting’. Interesting, and all-consuming. You looked at the horizon, his silhouette still dancing in your vision. It was just because he did not question yet another of the many quirks of Old Man that you still honoured. Had to be. You were simply under the influence of a tiny sliver of positive emotion; nothing to worry about. 

Soon enough, you were met with the main road - or what could be called a road in a rural no-name settlement, and the ghost-like buildings that marked remnants of local life. As more and more people left the place in the hopes of a better life in a bigger, more modern city, only memories and the past remained, sentenced to erode into the earth with every new season. You could recognise the buildings, of course. The colours faded, and the structures grew weary with time, but they were still standing, just like you. Waving with a tired, invisible hand. You trudged along, cursing under your breath when you saw Old Man’s friend’s house up for sale. In other words, eventually up for demolition. This village was surviving and existing until the countdown to its erasure would be completed, rather than hoping that one day, something or someone would breathe new life into it. Boarded up windows and dull grey fences; withering gardens and exhausted roofs that damned every new rainfall. There was no spring here, nor was there a winter.

“Pretty quiet…” Seonghwa commented, taking in the sorrowful and glum surroundings. You could not offer any counter-argument.

“Indeed it is… Maybe because it is an off season…” you caught your own words and exhaled, bemused, “but when is there ‘a season’ in this place?”

“May? October?”

“Could be the case. But then people prefer to go to the tourist town further south, don’t they?”

“More space for us,” with a shrug, Seonghwa responded. It looked almost as if he was reading the village’s history through the cracks and crumbling stone. Eyes travelling from side to side and sometimes stopping to scrutinise something of interest that you could never spot, he looked like he was trying to find and remember every detail, akin to a pre-op examination. 

“The market is down the street.”

“Got it.”

“And then we can stop by the cafe.”

“Can do.”

“You don’t need to?”

“I could, but I don’t have to.”

“Whatever works for you. But I need a nice hot chocolate and the awareness that the world has not exploded yet.”

“Or maybe it did,” Seonghwa added, making you chuckle.

“Or maybe it did. This place certainly has a surreal other-worldly barrenness to it.”

“How appealing.”

“Home sweet home.”

A home you could barely recognise. The deterioration was abhorrent, and truth be told, when you had been on your way to the cottage and managed to catch a ride with a family, you were surprised they had any business in the village. They must have left already. No one in their right mind could survive more than a few days in a place like this, unless this was the lesser of a wide selection of evils. 

Seonghwa remained quiet as you stepped into a tiny two-story building that was called ‘the market’, but was just a reminder of what had been in its place before. The stock was good enough, from fresh produce off by the windows to the refrigerated and frozen goods lined up by the walls, and the cashier who was hunched over a crossword puzzle finally showed that there was some life remaining in the village. You picked up a basket which still possessed  the logo of the superstore nearby - a permanent souvenir, and with Seonghwa in toe, browsed the shelves. Occasionally Seonghwa would stop you to point at an item, or you would exchange a couple of words to debate the necessity of one thing or other, but progressed through the maze fast enough and ended up at the ancient table converted into a register. 

With a vexed huff, the man behind the desk put down his pencil, and began to hammer out the prices on the old cash machine. The buttons creaked in protest, so worn that you could barely see the numbers on their faces. In one swift motion, you produced a canvas bag from another pocket, and signalled to Seonghwa to start packing while you held it open. You tried to avoid brushing your hands against his, and he politely ignored the awkwardness of your movements. Before you could ask for the total, he was already setting a couple of bills down on the counter, shaking his head at you to not argue. You narrowed your eyes, but continued to watch as the cashier counted the money, slammed another few buttons to unlock the register, and produced some change. The door of the shop shook from the wind outside, but he paid it no mind, only caring for the next word that he had to guess for his puzzle. The two of you swiftly departed, Seonghwa striding ahead to stop in front of you and try taking the bag out of your grasp.

“I could have paid, Seonghwa.”

“I could have, too. And I did. What of it?”

“How much do I owe you?”

“We are living together, aren’t we? Consider this to be my household contribution, and this-” using your moment of disorientation he yanked the handles and tightly grabbed the canvas bag, “is just me being nice.”

“You’re making it sound strange.”

“How?” he was jittery, you could tell. The reason was a mystery, but he was awfully chipper compared to even fifteen minutes ago.

“Tell me, are you nervous?” he licked his lips - a habit you had noticed within the first couple of days, and knitted his brows.

“What… what makes you think so?”

“I think I have seen enough of you to catch the gist of how you’re feeling,” you deadpanned, and turned to continue walking towards the cafe, “this village isn’t haunted if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s been ages and as you can see, I’m still alive and kicking.” The joke was not received too well judging by the forlorn tinge to Seonghwa’s disposition, but he did not put up a front or argue. Out of the blue, you heard him grumbling:

“I’m not scared of ghosts…”

“Sure.”

“Hey!”

“What? I believe you!”

“Okay! Fine! Not ghosts but… something like it,” weighing the phrase, Seonghwa wondered how to continue. When you reached the entrance to the cafe you halted, and stood fully facing your partner in existential misery.

“Which is?” 

“...Emails.”

“Can’t blame you. Scary buggers. Right, shall we?” you pointed at the door and tried the handle. It gave in easily and, announced by the sound of wind chimes strung up above the door right by the frame, you entered.

If only there was someone to greet you. You tapped the counter a couple of times and reread the message left on a sheet of paper that had been roughly ripped out of a notebook.

“Stepped out, be back later, for internet leave fee in box. We are not getting any warm drinks today, unfortunately. Owner won’t be back in a while.”

“Didn’t they say they will be back later?”

“The definition of later is warped here. It means they’ll be back later to close up shop.”

“Odd.”

“Not when there are no customers for days on end. I mean, there probably are some, but they are more than likely after the internet and not the coffee.”

You dropped the paper and passed by the dozing barista machine towards the table pressed right against a barren, rusted orange or brown coloured wall - unappealing, but it had been this shade for a s long as your memory would allow you to think back, so at least it had the brand of continuity. The table itself was a little more experimental: instead of a traditional approach with legs, the piece of furniture was a thick converted shelf, positioned high enough to be like a bar. On the far end and somewhat masked by the lack of lighting stood a rickety old monitor from a bygone era, with equally ancient wires protruding out of it and escaping into amateurishly drilled holes in the wall. The keyboard: a black-coloured classic with keys thicker than a finger, was tucked under the monitor, along with a matching mouse. After pulling out the bar stool in front of the makeshift computer station but not sitting down, you lifted a foot to rest on one of the many horizontal metal bars that linked the legs together, and scanned the fees which were written with a shaking hand on a piece of paper, stuck on the wall probably while you were still a kid. 

“Huh, the prices are higher than I remember.”

“Inflation,” Seonghwa offered. He had set down the groceries on the shelf-table, and stood beside you to watch the screen come to life after a couple of attempts to click the power button.

“Seems the economy reaches these parts of the country too. Is fifteen minutes going to be okay?”

“More than-” Seonghwa began to reach into his coat again, only to be stopped by you. 

“Let me take this at least,” you stuffed a couple of bills into the small box that was right next to the computer and detracted your attention back to the almost-complete loading screen.

Finally, the machine went out of its slumber. You looked for a browser engine, chuckling when you saw an outdated logo marking no change from what had to be the last decade, and proceeded to search for the news. After a couple of minutes of navigating from page to page, you concluded that society had not done anything particularly remarkable, nor atrocious. A reassuring kind of ‘boring’, which was more than you could hope for. You stepped away from the stool, gesturing for Seonghwa to take a seat. He hesitated, unwilling to spare as much as a glance to the email login screen.

“Didn’t you say you-”

“Is it strange to say that I am scared?”

“Of?”

“I’m not even sure, to be honest,” he took off the beanie and ran a hand through his hair. Seonghwa was restless, and while he did defeat himself and sit in the chair, a daze took control of him before he could as much as click.

“Are there some things that you hope not to see?”

“Maybe… or… how do I even explain this?”

“How it is. Saying anything is already a start.”

“So you know how- well, of course you know- I appeared on television, and did some other interviews?”

“Uh-huh, and congratulations, by the way,” your earnest commendation was met with a nervous twitch of the lips - not quite reaching joy, but Seonghwa was nonetheless touched.

“Thank you. So, hah- just, after that there have been numerous emails, phone calls, even physical mail, asking the same things and trying to shove the same answers in my mouth. My agent was thrilled initially since it is publicity, and kept on forwarding one opportunity after another but… at some point it hit me that the press do not need me,” he finished typing in his details, but could not bear to click ‘log in’.

“Do not need you?”

“No. What they need is an image that they crafted based on their perception of me. It is true that a person forms their first impression in half a second or something like that, but when representatives of prestigious outlets do not know a single thing about my poetry which, mind you, is my main job, one does begin losing hope.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to see the empty flattery and shallowness, right?”

“Sounds about right.”

You pondered his concern. Everyone deserved sincerity, especially when it came to things that quite literally formed a large part of one’s life. It would not be an overstepping of personal rules to empathise, would it? If there was a person in need, it was another’s duty to help them through difficulties. It was the least you could do. At the same time, you felt like you were falling, and fast, into the grasp of confusing emotions, and the more you studied Seonghwa and thought about his beau- -interesting mind, you wanted to delve into it more. You wished to understand his curves and edges, read the miraculous flame which even in times of difficulty was never extinguished in his dark irises. You stared, and Seonghwa did not mind it. In fact, if anything, he was enjoying your nearly overwhelming concentration on him. Compared to the last few days when you would actively isolate yourself, this was the most time you had spent in such proximity, and toeing the line of a heart to heart. You despised the fact that you understood Seonghwa a little too well, and that, beyond the surface, you two were much the same. For some strange reason, it hurt you to see him distraught or inconvenienced. In this place which bore the traces of both your stories, be it personal or through relatives, you wanted to maintain a safe haven, if not for yourself then for him. There were always bound to be disappointments, and when both of you would inevitably have to return to your humdrum routines and unfounded chaos, they would only amplify. So why not try to cultivate a little happiness here, in the middle of nowhere? You bit the inside of your cheek as a disturbing, but astonishingly serene resolution bloomed in your musings. To hell with your rules and boundaries. Either way your heart was going to ache, but at least like this you could make the cause of it be a little more… poetic.

“Let’s sort through your inbox together, and then we can have a nice and quiet rest of the day,” you leaned over, and clicked the mouse. The screen illuminated both your faces. You tried to ignore just how close yours was to Seonghwa’s. 

He let you take the lead on scanning through the items, only sometimes providing whatever guidance he could offer. As the number decreased, so did his worry, and soon enough, you were exchanging jokes as you deleted or archived more and more emails. Neither of you commented on how your hand which you had set down on the table for a little more balance was pressed against his own, nor how you were practically shoulder to shoulder. Beyond an initial awareness both of you wanted to remain quiet in an effort to preserve this safe space. No rumination, no questions, nothing. Only what felt right. And it just so happened that in the moment when Seonghwa turned to gaze into your eyes, relieved and cheerful, it felt natural to put his hand over yours. And who were you to go against the universe?

“Thank you, Y/N. This was so silly, I really should be able to handle this but… I dare say you are my saviour.”

“Not at all. I just want to help as best as I can,” you felt him softly squeeze your hand. You couldn’t look away.

“It’s the little things. I am very grateful,” you wished you could say something grand or quote something in response, but you were afraid that a medical encyclopaedia would not fit the mood.

“No phone checking today, I think we’ve done enough.”

“Sure, Hwa.”

It was the little things. How his eyes caught the rays of light that slipped into the cafe. How he expressed himself so wholeheartedly and openly. How he wanted to be himself even when so many people were against him. In him you saw an inspiring strength; the spring after a freezing winter. Just like you had helped him with emails, he was unknowingly helping you clean up your struggles and doubts, prodding at neurons and metaphorical cobwebs until problems did not seem quite as monstrous as before. For the first time in a while, you wanted to be okay.

“Home?” The only word that fit the cottage, for you and for him. Seonghwa gleamed in response. 

“Home.”

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

“Let’s go to the cliffs.”

“Sounds suspicious, what are you scheming?” you raised an eyebrow, but, nonetheless, closed the book that was neatly positioned on your lap - the aftermath of you two having grown more relaxed around one another, and you venturing into the office and asking for recommendations from Old Man’s library. Seonghwa was more than happy to offer a couple of titles which he could spot hidden on the shelves, and now could discreetly enjoy the sight of you being fully immersed in one of them.

“I just think we could use a good break,” he crossed his arms and nodded to himself. He did not want to reveal all his plans just yet, but it was hard to remain cryptic when anything to do with a location could raise questions.

“Again, suspicious. What are you on about?” Seonghwa watched you look for the old postcard which you had been using as a bookmark, smiling when you finally discovered it had fallen beside you on the sofa. 

With each day, Seonghwa was getting a chance to see more and more sides of you, and he would not stop it for the world. He found himself grinning like a fool when you would be even the tiniest bit clumsy, endeared by vulnerability that you did not dare show him before. He lost himself in the sound of your voice as you formulated analogies between art and medicine, explaining concepts in such a way that it felt like poetry. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings when, after a day of chores, the two of you would settle down to simply be in each other’s company. As such, with the newfound lightness in his soul, Seonghwa wanted to help you feel at least a fraction similar. 

“Mm… I do want to keep this a surprise, but I get how this sounds like a different type of pact, doesn't it?”

“You can say that again.”

“Okay… hm… if I say, with one hundred percent guarantee we will be getting home safe, in one piece and hopefully feel a lot better, will you agree to satisfy my spontaneous caprice?” You pretended to mull over his request, your pointer finger resting on your chin.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes. Fine.”

His megawatt grin nearly blinded you as he approached you in a couple of steps and reached out his hands towards you. You glanced up and down, amused by his excitement. Seonghwa swore that all his organs flipped in his body as you clasped his hands, palm pressed to palm, and let him lift you off the sofa. When you nearly collided with his chest, he steadied you, shaking his head when a thank you fluttered from your lips. It was a shame that he had to let go. Patiently, he waited by the door as you changed into an outfit more appropriate for the weather; while the days have seen a pleasant rise in temperature to balmy spring, the occasional seaside gust was quick to remind of the earliness of the season. The cherry blossoms must have already bloomed further south, Seonghwa mused. But for once, he did not feel rushed to see them or take obligatory photographs, content with the beauty he was living on the coast of nowhere. He adjusted his cream coloured hat and matching sweater, reaching to flatten the under shirt that started to peek from under the knit collar.

Whether it was on purpose or not, he noticed how you had matched him with your outfit - flared jeans matching his jeans-skirt combination, and a determined selection of beige boots. Seonghwa was, by nature, something of a hopeless romantic, but it was moments such as this that made him both flustered and proud of his nature. As you stepped out of the cottage, bathed in a rejuvenating sunlight, he squinted and made a visor out of his hand to look more closely and try his best to remember the scene. Your head was held higher, your steps were more confident, and when you looked back to check if Seonghwa was following you, you had a mischievous glint in your eyes. He sped up, softly tapped your arm and beamed.

“Right, mystery boy, lead the way. Something tells me that you have a very particular location in mind.”

“That, I do. Spotted it some time ago. You probably know it, but I want to share it with you nonetheless.”

“Well, it would be my first time seeing it with you, wouldn't it?” Your mouth pressed into a fine line before you burst into a giggle after having considered your words for a fraction longer, “Goodness, sorry-”

“I like that,” Seonghwa smirked, enjoying the subtle flirtation.

“Pardon?”

“First time for everything. Quite the celebration, is it not?” When you did not answer, par a joking eye roll, he pointed to the right, elaborating his planned route, in the direction opposite to the village and right by the sea. After a couple of beats of silence, you turned to him.

“Celebration? Seems like you are thinking of something specific.”

“Mm… maybe.”

“Oh… is it your birthday? Oh no I have nothing to-” your face fell.

“No! No, I'm touched that you care this much though, darling,” half in jest, half testing the waters, Seonghwa let the pet name slip. Though it appeared to have been wasted nerves worrying about your reaction, as you did not bat an eye. He looked ahead, “it's in two days.”

“So you aren't much of a birthday enjoyer? Judging by how you are here… and not in the city.”

“There are different ways to celebrate. And, if you don't mind. This is how I would love to celebrate mine.”

You looked magical in the golden rays. With half the sky a hazy white, the other promising a gloomy grey storm, you were his good and evil, his battle.You came to him like nightfall, and made him learn of shimmering sunrises. The speckles of bright light in your irises were downright enchanting, and only grew more captivating as you tilted your head, inadvertently capturing more sunlight. His April wishes, muted prayers for one moment to turn to another, and another after that. He did not dare voice his true perception of you, knowing that the one word to come to his mind was one you did not favour, and as such, stuck to walking onwards, to the cliffs, in anticipation of what he had been hoping to do with you for a considerable amount of time. You did not answer him, instead choosing to study your shoes and continue to follow his footsteps closely. The wind caressed your hair like a loving relative greeting and doting on their favourite child. You hid your hands in your sleeves, fists closing over their edges, in an effort to protect them from getting cold. No attempts have been made to guess what Seonghwa wanted to do, much to his surprise; considering how hostile you two had acted towards each other in the very beginning, this level of trust was akin to the greatest of honours, and reminded him of the unfurling of a flower that had initially been guarded by thick grey leaves, only to reveal a tender yellow white and reddish heart along with a gorgeous adornment of pastel pink petals. Fragile, vulnerable, far from eternal, but because of how temporary their natural perfection was, they were all the more beautiful. Seonghwa looked in the opposite direction from you and scowled, scolding himself. He should not think of the future, at least not just yet. It was all too soon, all too fast, anything could happen and he should not get his hopes up even when his entire being was burning into an enamoured cloud of ash.

The sea glistened, waves showing off magnificent adornments of regal silver and gold, dolled up with white lush fur-like foam. Playfully, they lapped at the shore and urged the two of you to keep going. Rolling hills soon gave way to the cliffs which with every few minutes of your journey grew taller and taller, revealing stunning white chalk faces and decorations of limestone. A number of weeks ago Seonghwa had made it his mission to explore the expanse, thereby finding what had to be the real end of the world. A terrific, breathtaking drop together with violently shaking grassland and treacherous edges, by far the tallest point on the cliffside was nothing short of freeing. With everything he had lived through being forced to stare at his back, and only the sea in front of him, he need not be concerned, at least for a few breaths, with what battles he was yet to face. After a couple of ventures to the cliffs, he found a new perspective, one that had been solidified when he had destiny bring him to you, or you to him. Had there ever been a muse, or was it simply an excuse for him to not try even when he was certain he could not achieve anything? Now, he knew he could fly freely on the wings of his own inspiration and wanted nothing more than for you to feel the same.

As the two of you approached the peak, Seonghwa became a little agitated, concerned with how you were going to react to his proposition which he had planned to utter only once you had arrived. You were quiet, occasionally looking left and right to study the brightening landscape. The steely horizon engulfed the sea, infinite, invincible, and met two pairs of eyes. Two people, who, with time, came to be undefeated. You had not voiced your concerns often, but he had seen them weighing you down, serpents tightening around your throat until you had nothing left to do but to rush out of the cottage under the pretence of ‘needing to check something’, when in fact all you wanted was air. Time and time again he could see how this, and only this place was home to you and was the soothing balm that could heal all wounds. Now as you stood to his right, occupied by your own ponderings, he saw you combine with your surroundings, making one gorgeous painting. You belonged here. Thanks to you, he felt like he did, too. The beginnings of another plan started to take root in his mind as he recalled familial logistics and the cottage, but pushed the matter for a later time; this needed the city and iron resolve. Seonghwa rubbed his hands together and rocked back and forth a couple of times. 

“So,” you began, still observing the waves.

“So,” he mirrored.

“What’s this grand scheme of yours for which we needed to hike up here?”

“Not liking the views?”

“Of course I do. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Okay. Then… how about this,” he took a deep breath, stifling a nervous laugh, and with all he had, yelled at the sea, trying to drown out the sound of the Earth. He screamed with his heart, expelling all its ache and giving it room to mend itself with golden thread. He stretched out his arms and shut his eyes, embracing a better tomorrow.

Taken aback but thrilled, you spontaneously began to laugh. Wholly, without any barriers; your genuine full-body laughter overtook you, and you were half-bent, ecstatic from Seonghwa’s sudden chaos. You cackled until tears started to well up in your eyes and you needed to remind yourself to breathe, and only laughed harder once Seonghwa joined you, him just barely retaining balance and not collapsing on the ground. His shout was still ringing in your ears as you lifted your head and through airy chuckling called out to him.

“Is- is this what- you were- thinking of all- all along?”

“Go on, show me what you’ve got-” he challenged, squeezing the words out between wheezing.

“W-what? Like… right now?”

“No better time than now! Go!” He encouraged you, prayed for you to let your darkness go.

There it was. As the wind picked up and the sea roared, you joined them with your own warrior cry, stretching your arms out much the same as Seonghwa had done. You stared at the sky, squinting only to stop your eyes watering from the laughter and the gusts. He gazed at you with adoration and pride. As soon as he heard your scream start to die down, he recovered and made a beeline towards you, repositioning to face the sea, and poked you.

“On the count of three. One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Together you let joy into your lives, cursing all that had harmed you before, and bravely took on the challenge to exist. There was always going to be trouble, there were always going to be disagreements and so-called ugliness in the world around you, but in your vision, even if just for a flash, there was guaranteed to be beauty, if not in the representations of small but certain happiness, then in the self. As Seonghwa and you shouted again and again at the skies, you knew your next inhale would be the freshest. 

Lightheaded, you searched for his arm, apologising when your own crashed into it. Rapidly, his hand found yours, and Seonghwa, in a moment of what could possibly be foolish courage, intertwined your fingers together. Your eyes widened, and initially he thought he had made a mistake. But doubt evaporated faster than rain on a scalding hot day; you held on tight, lowered your arms, and swung them back and forth, before launching into another cheerful scream. Your hand in his, the perfect match. He had hesitated the last time, back in the cafe, but now he was sure that it was worth the wait. This was his home. His healing. 

돌풍과 절벽에 부딪히는 파도 소리 (Gusts of wind and the sound of waves crashing against cliffs)

새로운 시작을 의미하는 수많은 소리 (The many sounds of a new beginning)

당신의 웃음소리가 가장 크게 들린다 (Your laughter is the loudest)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

You had shooed Seonghwa out of the kitchen as soon as you heard his sleepy, post afternoon nap descent down the stairs. Despite his protests after you had waited until midnight and wished him a happy birthday, which mainly consisted of him worrying over your potential lack of rest and whether anything was necessary, you wanted to try your best. It would have been most certainly easier to follow his advice and treat this day and evening like any other, but that would not have been a representation of you, nor of how you felt towards your friend. Countless times he had given you strength and support that prior to meeting him you could have only imagined. More than that, he never asked for anything in return except your company, and for you to allow yourself to feel happy; such behaviour and way of thinking was rare, so on many occasions you second-guessed or doubted him, but each time you had been proven wrong. Seonghwa was a warm person who left a deep impression on everyone, and most certainly left an everlasting one on you.

As you let meat and seaweed simmer in sesame oil, you laughed at yourself. Had you from a month ago been here with present you, present you would have definitely gotten an earful. Who were you, showing so much kindness to someone who you had not known for a long time? But then again, there were enough people who you had known for a long time who were far from deserving of kindness, and yet you forced yourself to tolerate them anyway. At least in this case, your affection was coming from the heart and not from obligation or some twisted version of filial piety based not on love and respect but on fear and manipulation. Caring for someone was simple when it was the natural thing to do. You twisted your head when you heard more shuffling, and noticed Seonghwa, dressed in loungewear as opposed to the more formal outfit he had chosen to wear on his venture out to the village earlier, speed-sliding across the living room and to his office. You chuckled when he raised his hands in the air and mouthed that ‘he is innocent and does not see anything’. It was easy enough to guess what you were making. Seonghwa could probably guess from the smell alone, but nevertheless he played along and remained patient.

Soon enough, the soup base was in and bubbling away, filling the cottage with mouthwatering fragrance. The home that only you and Seonghwa knew felt complete and was blooming like the gorgeous flora in early April. Threats of a storm had been false alarms and instead a warm sun settled on the magnificent light blue and ultramarine. The occasional white ball of cotton would race across like a tiny woodland rabbit away to wonderland, but nothing could dispel the euphoria that enveloped you. It was simple to imagine the cottage disappearing, but that made every second more precious. For all you knew, in a couple of months the real owners of the property could decide to demolish the priceless history and sell off the land to some magnate for the building of a resort or a private mansion; such an outcome was far too plausible, and you could only clench your teeth and pretend to not be affected. Old Man would have locked himself in this cottage if anyone were to try and destroy it. Now, more than ever, you understood why. The walls had seen decades of history, both of the planet and of the humans who had visited or inhabited the cottage. Tears of sadness and of laughter, bitter love and sweet loss, paradise and purgatory. The cottage, apart from bricks and mortar, was built with memories and the souls of everyone and everything. Wherever you looked, you could recollect something associated with the items in your vision, be it a clock or a creaky floorboard. This, if destroyed, would never be recovered, and would be sacrificed to fading memory. Of course, the human mind was the most powerful when it came to reflecting on the past, but there was only so much it could do when society was as fast paced and as demanding as it was. You did not want to forget, and so wanted to desperately cling to what little you had left of a precious safe haven that had now been fully revived. Wasn't the past always more beautiful when it blended with the present and gained deeper and more vibrant colours?

“Seonghwa! It's ready!”

“Hello I am here-” almost immediately, he rushed out of the office and strode into the kitchen, “did you make seaweed soup? For me?”

“As if you did not guess.”

“Hey, hey, I saw, heard, and said nothing. My goodness, Y/N, I am touched beyond words…”

“It's not too big of a deal, really. I just wanted to make a little something for you and again, wish you a happy birthday,” you attempted to wave him off and stirred the soup once more before turning off the gas and setting the spoon down.

“I hope you don't mind this very forward expression of affection, but may I… hug you?” arms ever so slightly lifted from his sides, Seonghwa waited.

“Woah Seonghwa, so daring,” you teased, “ah come here, birthday boy,” you invited him, heart beating just that little bit faster when he gave you a boxy wide grin and stepped forward to close the space.

Your arms wrapped around his torso, sliding down into a more relaxed position on his waist while his had snaked around you, condoning you from the world. You were careful to not tarnish the impeccable white fabric, but inevitably gave in when you sensed Seonghwa's hand hovering behind your head, as if saying that you could relax into him fully, without any worries. A dazing softness consumed you as your cheek met his shoulder - one last effort to maintain at least a bit of distance between your faces and to hide your quickly blooming blush. He was what you imagined a daydream would be as a person: sweet and comforting, with subtle floral notes and a deep lasting undertone with an indescribable complexity. Honey and the most decadent coffee were the two things that came to mind, but they lacked the original heaviness of the taste and aroma. So heavenly, so surreal, so Seonghwa. Like the setting sun when it hit the waves.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair. You suppressed a shiver. Rocking side to side, you stood in the kitchen, neither of you wanting to disturb this bliss.

“Mm, it’s fine.”

“More than fine.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“Shall we eat?”

“Yes please,” he uttered, but showed no signs of moving. His arms remained where they were; if anything, they were holding onto you with even more determination, as though you were so fragile you had to be protected from even a speck of dust. 

“Are we… uhm, we kind of… need to move to get everything set up.”

“Ah, right,” flustered, Seonhwa detangled himself from you, and rushed to open a cupboard, producing a pair of bowls. A hint of red was visible on his cheeks and the tips of his ears; you were not alone in being a tiny bit shy from the obvious reciprocation.

You had learned each other’s patterns, who tended to move in what order, who reached where, who minded what. The two of you moved in perfect synchrony without trying, following newly acquired instinct. How could you ever not adore the cottage and all the events that led up to now? Not all had been sweet, but without the sour and the atrocious, you would not have been able to experience what you were experiencing as you settled down across from Seonghwa. Or rather, in close proximity to him, since almost instantly, he stood up from his seat and gestured for you to rise again only to take your chair and bring it closer to his side. Accepting your adorable fate, you took your bowl and cutlery and repositioned them.

“There. Now I approve.”

“Wait a second!” you searched in your pockets for an item you had discovered in the midst of your cooking frenzy. Seonghwa was patient, albeit confused, and waited until you produced a box of matches and balanced it on your palm, “not a candle, but you can make a wish!”

“My word, this is, hah- I love it.”

“Perfect. Then, here we go!” 

You took out a match, and struck it against the side of the box, gasping as it burst into flames - luckily not too intensely or you would be short for time. You started to sing while Seonghwa joined you by mouthing the lyrics and accompanying with rhythmic claps. The fire started to move down the match, the tip of it having already burned out. Saved by the final notes you saw Seonghwa briefly closing his eyes. He reached out his hand and softly rested it on your wrist as he blew out the flame right before it reached your fingers. As suddenly as he had touched you, he let go, not too dissimilar from the dancing red and orange flickers which had just been illuminating the birthday table. For good measure you shook the match and excused yourself to dispose of it after running it under some water. After drying your hands, you straightened out the towel without a second thought. The rest of the meal was quiet aside from a phrase here and there. No longer was there a need to fill the pauses. Companionship was enough. Only when you were almost done did Seonghwa address you, gingerly as though he was scared of breaking the calm.

“Again, thank you so much, this is the best birthday I ever had. I even got to make a wish!” he chuckled.

“I highly doubt it, but I’ll accept your kind words.”

“Humble, so humble,” he paused. When you lowered your spoon to give him your undivided attention, you noticed his miniscule pout.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Ah, nothing. Nothing much.”

“About all the birthday wishes you read, right?” you nudged him.

“Hm, there were some…” he recollected.

“And?” you tried, sensing that he was purposefully leaving some things unsaid.

The question hung in the air, a time bomb. Seonghwa bided the seconds he had to himself before he inevitably had to respond by tasting more of the seaweed soup and nodding in approval. You gave him a brief nod and were about to let the matter go for the sake of a celebratory evening, however it seemed that Seonghwa had other plans. He never could lie, you realised. Or speak in half-truths. He was sincere to a fault, but it was one of the many things you had come to like about him. 

“So there is something.”

“Yes.”

‘Say it.”

“I...  I don’t know. It might be a little... sad?” he was careful with his words, evidently not wanting to make a big deal out of whatever was plaguing his mind.

“Go on. Say it. It’s okay,’ something told you that you knew what it was going to be anyways. You pursed your lips, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest.

“I’ll... I’ll have to leave. In a couple of days? Yeah... Hm... I- yeah. in a couple of days,” he fumbled his words and could not face you, instead staring at his own reflection in the soup.

It was bound to happen someday. Your time was not eternal, either. If not today, then you would have had to have this conversation at some point either tomorrow, or the day after that... or could you have pushed it until much later? Would have Seonghwa forgiven you if, on the day of your departure, you would have dropped the news that your sabbatical had run out? If not him, then it would have most certainly been you starting the conversation.

“Oh. Okay,” you mumbled, heart and mind in conflict. This was your fault - had he remained a stranger, you would have had an easier time now. How he had suddenly appeared in your life, he would have disappeared, but now? The inevitable parting was like a high risk, invasive operation which no matter what was going to have aftershocks and side effects.

Seonghwa did not look any better. Misty-eyed and regretful, he inadvertently slumped his shoulders and curled into himself, appearing smaller and more feeble. You wished he did not care, so that it would be easier to learn how to hate him, but you could not ignore how the knuckles of the hand with which he was holding the spoon were turning white. Tentatively, you reached out to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, an action that took him somewhat by surprise judging by how quickly his head turned towards you. His dark eyes bore into yours, shimmering with intense emotion, threatening to overspill. 

You realised: this was it. The crossroads. You were faced with a choice, and it was up to you to decide what was to be the absolute right. You could hold a pause and then resort to exhibiting an astonishingly unperturbed stance; he had his life and his path to follow, you had yours, so what if you had poured your souls out to each other and he had rekindled something which you thought you had lost forever? Or you could take a risk and potentially condemn yourself to hurting, if not for the rest of your life than at least for a long, long time, after which all you had seen and lived through in these few weeks at the cottage would have been the one memory to stick with you no matter what you were to do. You knew that wherever, be it under fluorescent lights, or while planning a correction surgery or attempting to discourage a patient from following a fad, you would see him. You bit the bullet, and, for what had to be the first time, followed your heart. Because tragedy, too, could be beautiful.

“Let’s make the most of what we have left. And then see what the future holds. We are two people who are very alike. Caught adrift in a storm. That is what you told me when we first started getting to know each other, right?”

Seonghwa's eyes conveyed a delicate balance of tenderness and nervousness. His gaze, though wrestling with melancholy, flickered with a charming intensity that spoke volumes. His free hand that rested on his leg that he had begun to shake out of unchangeable habit betrayed a subtle tremor, a silent testament to the whirlwind in his mind. Fingers danced nervously, tracing invisible patterns or perhaps echoing poetry that floated in his heart. You could only guess what he was grappling with, but, in the end, when you put your hand over his to abate some of his tension, a reciprocation of your determined decision was undeniable. As he stilled, you observed a serene reassurance. A quiet confidence that spoke of an undeniable care for you, of what could happen to the two of you,  and of how worth it the risk was in the end. His heart beat in harmony with yours, mutual melodies rang out in time to the day rushing past the cottage. You shared a longing that was born out of the fear of what could be lost if words failed. But were words even necessary, when this bouquet of delicate emotions was so unbelievably easy to read? The truth was unwavering, and it, too, was beautiful.

“How does the storm look like to you?” he whispered, turning his hand palm up to clasp yours. You knew what was on his mind, and he was aware of what you wanted, no, needed to say to defeat a part of yourself that was scared to ever feel.

‘Beautiful. So, so beautiful.”

“Could you tell me more about it?”

“Hmm...” you thought for a moment, before pointing to Seonghwa’s shoulder. He nodded, and in no time, your head was resting on him while your fingers tightly intertwined, “...where should I start?”

“Anywhere.“

“You’re a poet and an academic, for goodness’ sake, I’d like some expert advice,” you retorted, your voice remaining light, bright and playful.

“Hardly the latter.”

“That’s what the future is holding for you, isn’t it?” you felt his cheek brush your crown, and smiled to yourself when you heard a low chuckle.

“I sure hope so. Much better than whatever was happening before.”

“It’s all part of the journey.”

“I see someone’s very optimistic!” Seonghwa’s exclamation was void of any malice. Genuinely cheerful and proud of your metamorphosis from a sardonic and grim misanthrope to a hopeful doctor proud of who they and those they loved were, he considered it to be the greatest gift. Laden with meaning and stemming from unfathomable effort, you allowed yourself to flourish and find reasons to live, rather than reasons to not die.

“Maybe because, while there are certain things we cannot change, I have come to realise that there is something sweet about it. Take leaving the cottage for example. Technically, we could stay. But in the long term, it is only going to result in a far from happy ending. So what does that mean for both you and me? We cannot change the fact that we have to leave. However in this we confirm to ourselves and each other that this is not a dream and that our time here... yeah. Yeah,” you cut yourself off, embarrassed by your own words, earning yourself a tiny shoulder nudge and a squeeze of the hand.

“Yeah, what?” Seonghwa’s curiosity was piqued. Too late. No going back for you. You bit your lower lip and inhaled deeply in an effort to stop yourself from cringing.

“Please forgive me for the insane cheesiness, but-”

“Only the highest quality cheese could come from you, don’t you fret.”

“Seonghwa!”

“What? Accept it. Now, as the people say, ‘spill the tea’.”

“A modern poet, truly.”

“Of course, of course, I try my best.”

“Anyways,” you interjected, returning to your train of thought, “ I just wanted to say that I am happy...”

“With what?” you could catch a note of teasing in his tone, but chose to let it go.

“With... this,” you gestured to him, to yourself and then to the surrounding rooms, “this is by far... the best I have felt. In a long, long time.”

“Oh? Someone made you feel this way before?”

“Shush, you get what I mean,” you glared upwards and twisted to lightly slap Seonghwa on his chest, which turned out to be a mistake in the making since he did not miss the chance to capture you fully. And so you were stuck, semi-suspended and essentially at Seonghwa’s mercy with how he was supporting your balance, blinking in surprise at his coy smirk.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. What are you ready to say?”

“Considering how we keep switching topics, I don’t think I can answer anything.”

“Okay, okay, the storm then. What does it mean?”

“What storm?” you furrowed your brows.

“Y/N we just discussed it-”

“Ah, right. Actually, you know what, everything might be linked,” you tried to shuffle to get a better angle and not feel like you were about to topple at any moment, but Seonghwa was not so eager to stop practically cradling you.

“Hm?”

“I mean, the books you recommended, the things you write, hell, even the cottage and you and I... isn't this all like the weather?”

“Curious observation, but yes, I can see where you are coming from. Do go on,”

“If you let me sit down properly, and maybe... finish your soup?” you pointed your chin at the cooling dish.

“Right, sorry, but hey! You too! I see the-”

“Eat, Hwa, then I promise you I will give you a full rundown of my chaotic analogies.”

You were shocked from how speedily he inhaled the soup and then, with a proud look on his face, flung his arm over the back of your chair and announced that his mission was accomplished. As you chewed on the last of the seaweed and ladled the last spoonful of broth, a tiny voice in your head made you want to return to the cliffs and yell louder than before: this conversation, everything that was happening now was because you had accepted that something was beautiful to you. Or rather, instead of connecting beauty to something concrete, you now were comfortable with beauty being an ever-changing continuum. Thanks to what? 

“Okay, I’m done now. So, the storm. We were running from them, weren’t we?” 

“Mhm.”

“But now... I don’t know if you think the same but I dare say those storms are not so spooky anymore,” if only you could have taken a picture then and there to keep in your wallet. The precious glimmering joy visible across every feature was contagious, and your doubt was forgotten.

“Not spooky at all,” you could hear the gears moving in his head as he regarded you.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he sighed and hid his gaze, “...shall we clear the table?”

“Let’s do it.”

He did not miss the chances to brush past you, or to steady himself after reaching across for something by tapping your arm or your waist. Not that you minded, but his amplified affections were dizzying. It was as though he was doing everything in his power to ensure that he would be missed so strongly by you that you would end up snapping and attempting to find him in the big city. That was when it hit you - you did not know where he lived, nor where location-wise he worked, nor his contact details. It had never come up in conversation - neither of you were terribly fond of delving too deep into how life was in the metropolis and had shared what was necessary for the present, and considering that in the weeks you had been here you two were always in close proximity, things like phone numbers or social media details were obsolete. When you finished washing up, dried your hands, and waited for Seonghwa to complete his task of putting the dishes away, you were astonished by your own lack of foresight. You had always been a planner but following your time at the cottage you wanted time to stop.

“Hey may I ask something? Or rather for something?”

“Go on ahead- wow, the sun sure is doing its magic,” you followed Seonghwa’s gaze and stepped after him into the living room. 

The window. A little old thing. The frame was holding up impressively well, and the paint had remained pristine even after you had opened the window a couple of times to let the fresh air in. Beyond it, between the shrubs and above the stone wall was a never ending golden steppe, rippling and rolling in heavenly rays. It was rare to have a day as good as this on this part of the coastline. Leaves shimmered like coins, and the clouds took on yellow, orange and lilac hues, waving from up above.

“Truly.”

“Anyways, as you were saying?” he turned, catching some of the sunlight on his regal form.

“Let me borrow the horrendous phrase for a second... ahem, may I get your number?” Much to your delight and amusement, Seonghwa did not bat an eye, and instead dug in his pocket.

“Ahead of you, but thank you for reminding me. Here. I put down my number, my home address, the publisher’s office... and my private social media if you want to connect on there.”

“How-”

“I want to... hm... I didn’t think that, when I come to actually saying what I want to say, that it would be kind of hard,” cryptic, as ever when he was about to shake you to your core with something profound. You took the piece of paper from him, carefully refolding it after checking the written contents and sliding it into the pocket of your cardigan.

“Time for me to inquire. Whatever do you mean?”

“I want to keep this going.”

“Oh?”

“Interesting thing to wish for after we literally lived together, but... I want to see you. Officially see you. What do you say?”

“Ever the gentleman,” his lopsided grin made you wish you could squeeze his cheeks. Perhaps down the line you could have that privilege, “I accept.”

“You do?”

“I too, really want to see you. Often, I hope,” Seonghwa’s vigorous nodding, paired with his undivided attention was like a thousand suns, brilliant and beyond anything you could put into a sentence. He approached you and peered into what had to be your very soul.

“May I spoil a potential gift? And, sort of, the reason why I need to depart?”

“Go on, I am all ears.”

“You know how,” his pointer fingers hooked around yours, and you were subconsciously pulled to him, “my relatives own this cottage, right?”

“Right,” you were aware, and had accepted it. Such was life.

“Well... I may or may not have gotten in contact with them, and am starting a legal process to put the property up for sale.”

“For sale? Excuse me? Are you mad? It will be- no, I cannot let this, no, they will bulldoze this place into the dirt I-” you began to panic, voice rising higher and blood beginning to boil.

“I did not say to whom the property will be sold.”

“Some mogul or billionaire who does real estate for fun.”

“Are you either of the two?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you a mogul or real estate fiend?”

“I? No?”

“The sale is a formality anyways. The cost will be put down as one won, which I’ll just pass to my cousin with a handshake. Your job, should you wish to be the owner of the cottage, is to sign some papers, and attend some meetings.” 

“Am I dreaming?”

“This place does sometimes give the surreal sensation of floating in space, but I promise you, you are not. In fact, tomorrow we can go to the cafe again and I can show-”

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you thank you thank you-”

“Glad I can help in some way. This is your cottage, after all-”

“I am on cloud nine... how is this- how did you?” you swung your arms, with Seonghwa’s following. 

“Easy. I just mentioned you. That was enough to seal the deal. Old Man talked about you, you know.”

“Oh, I- may I hug you?”

“You do not need to ask me for permission to do that,” you did not need to be told twice. 

Your thoughts were racing. This could not be. You shut your eyes until you saw phosphenes. Opened them again. You were still in Seonghwa’s arms, in that sweet-scented paradise, caressed by a tender flame. All emotions that had been slumbering over the years have fully awoken, and were threatening to come to the surface to rejoice in what could only be called the reclaiming of the self. Your history, your identity that was stored in these four walls was now promised to be yours. Was that not to celebrate?

“Seonghwa… it is your birthday and you are giving me the gift of an infinite number of lifetimes...”

“My gift is seeing you so happy,” you inhaled sharply, and peered at his dark chocolate irises.

“Come on, you cannot be serious.”

“I am more serious than you could imagine. And I hope to keep proving it to you. Day by day. Again, if you let me.”

“I don’t know what to say or do right now. I am a tiny bit overwhelmed... this... this is as if I walked into a magical house, met a magician, and he tapped me on the head with a little wand and here we are, wish granted,”

“I knew I was missing something.”

“What?“

“A wand,” you beamed and floated into bliss, focusing on Seonghwa’s heartbeat, endearingly close to your own both physically, and rhythmically. Right here was beautiful, right this moment was beautiful. The promise and plan was beautiful. But one note of misery remained, one that you were determined to vanquish.

“Seonghwa?”

“Yes?”

“I am a little anxious about something...” he hugged you closer, but instead of it being soothing, it made you want to cry despite the euphoria you were experiencing.

“What is it?”

“What if it goes away?”

“What goes?”

“What if beauty disappears when I go back?” 

You knew it was a silly question, you knew that it was all in your head and that you sounded like an absolute desperate fool while asking this, but it was sickening, a lump in your throat that you could not swallow. The first light of love and of freedom, so pure and so unconditional, was addictive and sweet. You did not want to consider its falsities or ponder potential disillusionment. You threw away even the inklings of paranoid suspicion that Seonghwa, too, could join the ranks of those who laced their kind words with malice or with judgement, and might have wanted to play with your feelings, both romantic and historic. At least right here, right now, you wanted to believe in there being someone who could love in both the presence and absence of beauty, whatever any given individual desired to define it to be. You wanted to know that he was on your team, and that this place really was a key to real life wish-fulfilment. Seonghwa’s hand slowly glided down your back, disappeared, and slid down again. In this perpetual motion he silently offered some stability.

“You know it won’t.”

“How?”

“Because you are you. Your soul is beautiful. And if you ever think that the world around you is starting to strike you like the cold winter months, remember that, now, I am just one call away. Always.”

“But it- goodness, sorry,” you were choked up and had to pause. Seonghwa did not make you hurry, instead, he brushed away the strand of hair that was about to get in your eye, and looked at you as though you were his future.

“Don’t apologise for feeling, my angel.”

‘Stop, Hwa, you’re going to make me bawl in a moment,” you exclaimed with a groan, trying to laugh your concerns away. Seonghwa chuckled, but kept holding onto you, rocking on his legs, swaying side to side like the eternal, unstoppable clock that governed your entangled lives.

“Oh no, we don’t want that, do we?” his voice vibrated across his chest, and in turn, struck your heart like a dozen healing melodies. ‘We’, it was now ‘we’, rather than everyone being left to scramble for salvation, against everybody else who surrounded them. You repeated the word in your mind once, and again, and again, until it turned into wind chimes twirling in a waltz with a serene breeze.

“I’d like to smile more with you.”

“I’d like that too. I never get tired of smiling with you,” you pushed your upper body away by a fraction to admire Seonghwa more.

“I am afraid, Seonghwa. You make me so happy. I- I am so happy. But so, so afraid that all of this will vanish.”

“Y/N,” his hands clasped around you, relaxing - a gentle salvation from all dark secrets the coming months undoubtedly contained, “Beauty shall never vanish. Because love is beautiful. There were times when I have been shaken even by the weakest of winds, and times when my breathing was unbearably heavy. One single comment or event... anything at all could turn a bright summer day into a biting winter. Storms shall always remain, even if we try to bid them farewell...”

He waited for you to steady your breaths before continuing, and upon your brief nod, pressed his forehead against yours. His hair tickled your skin the tiniest bit, but it only made you more aware of him, more connected to him. More loved and seen. 

“Our pasts and our steps through our years brought us towards each other. And... I am... so, so honoured and so happy that a person like me can bring happiness to your life, and can only hope that I can give you as much love. I am stunned by how we do the little things together, how you ask about me, how you, you wonderful angel, give me love for no reason as if it was only natural,” tears welled up in your eyes, only to be caught by Seonghwa’s thumbs and erased before they could form a river, “Maybe my greatest gift is you, and all the little things that make you, you. Because you are here, in my life, and are part of my world, I am learning the feeling of love again. Now,” he noticed your urgency as you were about to interrupt him, and tapped your nose with his own, “Thanks to you, thanks to us, I am finding beauty. I cherish our past, our spectacular present, and pray for our future to exceed eternity.”

“Seonghwa...”

“Spring comes and goes, but I will always ensure that your heart stays warm. If you will let me.”

“If you will let me do the same,” the gap between you grew smaller and smaller, until was a mere memory and you tasted the coffee and honey, the many sunrises and sunsets to come, the sound of the waves and the rustling of the grass on the cliffs.

The cottage, while it was a real place with its many wonders, was more than that. It was a panacea, a safe haven in one’s mind or a world for those whom one loved. The cottage could be anything, could be anyone, could be anywhere.

And that was truly beautiful.

⋆✧.✧⋆

🌊 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @uwuheeseungie @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

enjoyed? were surprised by the snippets of seonghwa's letter? do consider reblogging <3 thank you <3

to join the taglist, send an ask <3

#cromernet #k-labels #kflixnet #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fluff #ateez fluff #seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa x you #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa fluff #seonghwa imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #kpop writing #kpop writers #seonghwa scenarios #ateez au #seonghwa au #ateez #park seonghwa #ateez imagine #ateez headcanons

[tsunami-of-tears]

Mission Accomplished

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 4 (Adventure)

Cazriel x Healer Reader

Summary: Despite the Inner Circle’s best efforts, the throuple continues to fight their affection for each other. To help things along, Rhys sends the group on a fake mission (unbeknownst to them). Of course - everything goes horribly wrong.

Pairing Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.4K

Warnings: angst; violence; injury; animal attack.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Reader

Weeks had passed since the incident with the love potion, and you’d given up on trying to figure out where it came from.

Despite the night of passion, your relationship with Cassian and Azriel remained mostly unchanged, albeit slightly more awkward. You were grateful to still be able to call them your friends - joking around with Cassian and your quiet chats with Azriel were your favourite parts of the day. 

You felt torn. You loved both males equally and didn’t want to come between their longstanding friendship. You didn’t want to have to choose between them. 

Their visits to your clinic had gotten less frequent, but Cassian insisted you needed some basic training. 

“Let me at least teach you some self-defence,” Cassian pouts at you for about the fiftieth time. 

You sigh, but smile as you roll your eyes. “Okay fine, it can’t hurt. But I’m no warrior, and I have no desire to be.” 

“I know, the only thing you’ve slain is my heart,” Cassian jests. “But,” he says, taking on a more serious tone, “I don’t expect you to fight in battle, I want you to be able to defend yourself if Azriel or I’m not around.”

————

Rhysand 

Mor waltzes into the office and throws herself on the plush couch. “Gods… They are even dumber than we thought,” she exclaims. “I really thought the potion would get things moving.”

Rhys runs his hand through his hair. “I know,” he agrees. “I’m sending them on a training exercise. Hopefully some time away will help them figure things out.”

————

Reader

You’re on your first-ever mission for the Night Court, camped deep in the forest of the Illyrian Steppes. 

You’d been informed that there were some Illyrian camps causing trouble in the area. You weren’t sure how your skills would help, but you were on standby in case anyone got injured. 

After a long day of hiking and scouting with little results, you’re setting up camp for the night. You stand over the small campfire, boiling water to sanitise your equipment. 

The loud crack of a branch breaking sounds behind you, followed by a low growl. 

You turn around slowly and find yourself face-to-face with a giant wolf. It’s enormous, towering over you. And those teeth… The sharp canines are exposed as it snarls at you. Your veins chill with fear and a sharp scream rips from your throat. 

You cautiously take a step back from the wolf, narrowly avoiding the fire. You don’t dare break eye contact. You try to stand tall, holding the only thing within reach - a ladle - brandishing it like a sword, like Azriel and Cassian taught you. 

You send a silent prayer to the Mother that one of your friends can save you before you become dinner.

————

Cassian 

Cassian sprints from the other side of the clearing at the sound of your screams, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees you wielding a ladle against the angry beast. The terror in your eyes strikes something deep within him, stoking the golden embers to life inside his chest.

His soul erupts in fury, and the deep need to protect. 

A battle cry sounds from Cassian’s lips as he charges towards the wolf with his knife out.

————

Azriel 

Azriel hears your scream before his shadows alert him of trouble. 

Adrenaline courses through his veins. The only thought in his mind is of saving you.  

He winnows straight to you. Right in front of the wolf. Within a second of his shadows dispersing, Azriel feels something sharp in his left side. 

He looks down and sees a hunting knife sticking out of his side, and a wide-eyed Cassian stepping back in shock.

————

Reader

You feel completely helpless as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. 

One minute, Cassian was hurling his knife towards the creature. The next, Azriel had winnowed right in the path of the blade. 

The wolf turns to look at the two Illyrians, who freeze under its yellow gaze. It huffs out a breath before turning on its heel and prowling back into the forest. 

Azriel shakes his head, hand going straight to the blade protruding from his side, “I can’t believe you stabbed me.”

“You practically winnowed into my knife,” Cassian exclaims. 

“Why didn’t you go for your sword? That knife would’ve bounced right off its hide,” Azriel bristles, irritation growing under his skin. 

You leap right into action, stepping in as the tension between the males starts to rise. “Looks like you did need me here after all,” you say, trying to diffuse the situation. “Azriel, sit on that log. I’ll just gather what I need.” 

Cassian stands back with his arms folded across his chest as you work on removing the blade and patching up the wound. 

“It’s not too deep, look it’s already clotting. It might just be a bit sore tonight, but you’re going to be fine.” You attempt to give Azriel your best reassuring smile. 

————

The rest of the night was strained. Both males were very quiet, only speaking in one-word responses. The silence was stifling, with the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the scraping of cutlery on plates.

Unable to handle the creeping tension any longer, you retire to your tent early, leaving the males to work out whatever issues they have.

————

Cassian 

Azriel could hardly look at Cassian, and Cassian couldn’t bear it. 

His brother was staring into the dwindling fire, as he sharpened his blades. The sharp singing of stone on metal cut through the air between them. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,” Cassian admits. “I was overcome by this need to protect. I was blinded by fear. I had to protect Y/N.” 

Azriel finally looks up from his work, his expression unreadable before returning to sharpening his daggers.

Cassian runs his hand through his hair. He figured Azriel deserved the truth. “Y/N is my mate. The bond snapped when I saw her standing there, holding that damned ladle like it would’ve done anything.” 

Azriel freezes, a mixture of confusion and shock in his eyes. “That’s not possible,” he says softly. 

“It’s the truth, I felt it.” 

“No… The mating bond snapped for me not long after I brought her to the Night Court,” Azriel states.

“How? We can’t both be her mates, can we?”

Azriels gaze is captured by something behind Cassian. Cassian turns to see what his brother is looking at and sees Y/N standing there.

————

Reader

You couldn’t sleep. 

You tossed and turned, replaying the earlier incident over and over in your head. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts by hushed voices outside your tent. The mention of your name grabs your attention, and you still your movements to glean what the males are discussing. 

“Y/N is my mate,” says an exasperated Cassian. 

Your entire world slows on its axis. 

All thoughts eddy from your mind except one - your mate. 

You quietly exit your tent, walking towards the males around the fire, when Azriel’s words stop you in your tracks. 

“The mating bond snapped for me not long after I brought her to the night court.”

Both of them. 

Both males whom you loved with all your heart were your mates. 

Was this the Cauldron’s idea of a cruel joke? 

You walk towards them, your mates, and the glimmering bond between you starts to appear. You can see the two strands coming from your heart, connecting your soul to each of the males before you. 

As if they can feel your presence, they both look up at you. 

“Y/N” Cassian murmurs, your name a prayer against his lips. 

You touch your heart as you feel the deep longing flow down the twin bonds. 

“Both of you?” you whisper.

“It’s rare, but I’ve read about similar occurrences,” Azriel admits, rising to his feet.

“But, how am I supposed to choose?” You say. Tears well in your eyes and your lip quivers at the thought of rejecting either male. 

Cassian and Azriel exchange glances and a small nod. 

“Who said anything about choosing?” Azriel asks.

“I know it’s a lot, you don’t have to decide anything here and now,” Cassian chimes in, reaching for your hand. “We’d be honoured to share you, if you’ll have us both.” Azriel steps forward, taking your other hand in his. “It won’t always be easy, but I’m willing to try for you. Truthfully, there’s no one else I’d rather be bound with,” Azriel finishes, meeting Cassian’s eye. 

The tears that threatened to spill pool over the edge of your lashes. You nod earnestly as you send all your love down the bonds to your mates. 

You pull them into a tight embrace, your bodies fitting together perfectly, like the final piece to a puzzle, the answer to a question you’d been asking your entire life. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Tags ♡ @littlestw01f @impossibelle @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @the-wall-willow @xasael @lilah-asteria @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @therealmoonstone

#poly+acotarweek2024 #poly+acotarweek2024 d4 #poly!acotar #cazriel x reader #acotar #acosf #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar oneshot #acomaf

[slutforitoshi]

sae itoshi - secrets *:･ﾟ✧

ft. best friend’s brother!sae x f!reader, 18+ minors dni

cw: fingering, sexual activity in the same room/couch as someone else, slight dubious consent, orgasm denial

synopsis: how hard could it be to try to hide your most guarded secret from your best friend when the source of it lives with him?

wc: 1.3k (shorter one this time hehe)

A/N: ty for everyone that voted in the poll, it was hella close til the end lol

“i thought you weren’t a movie guy?” rin cocks an eyebrow as his brother weasels himself onto the couch that could barely contain 3 people. there was another one to the side of the room but for some reason sae opted for the empty spot next to you.

“got nothing better to do tonight” he shrugs, and the warmth of his body pressed up against yours is brought to the forefront of your mind. 

movie nights were a weekly tradition between you and your best friend rin, almost as longstanding as your friendship tracing back to your highschool years. as college students now, it was an anticipated study break from the never-ending midterms. 

his older brother sae worked in a nearby city, meaning that rin lived with him rent-free in his way-too-big apartment complete with a 70-inch 4k TV. with how often you were over, you were practically a third tenant. half of the reason was to spend time with rin, and the other half was one of the only secrets you kept from him.

the movie starts, and your eyes are glued to the screen, scared of the color it might bring to your cheeks if you were to give any attention to the pink-haired figure seated to the right of you. the sound of rin’s voice breaks your focus though, “shit, i forgot the popcorn.”

“how could you forget the popcorn?” you respond incredulously without acknowledging that you too had forgotten about it due to some distractions.

rin’s off to the kitchen, leaving only you and the source of those distractions. almost subconsciously your gaze drifts to his features, dimly lit by his small device. although rin resembled him greatly, sae had a more charismatic look. sharp jawline, tall nose bridge, and a permanently stoic expression.

you could never tell what he was thinking let alone feeling. the amount of times you’d seen sae smile had to be limited to the number of fingers on one hand. as he looked up to make eye contact with you however, you could’ve sworn an edge of his lip twitched upwards into what seemed like smirk before you too-quickly turned away.

you remember being attracted to sae from the moment rin introduced him, but it was usually easy enough to hide those feelings since sae was hardly around. but doing so with him positioned right next to you was a challenge you weren’t sure you could overcome.

rin’s return frees you from the thick tension and you’re shoveling popcorn in your mouth in an attempt to fill the pit growing in your stomach.

“hey! we need that to last til the end!” rin yanks the bowl away from you, earning a cold glare.

as the film starts again, the best friends are focused on the screen, completely unaware of the brother’s sinful intentions.

stray fingers approach your right thigh before resting on the inner portions. the touch has your breath hitching, but you don’t dare look away from the tv. 

sae’s thumbs are rubbing light circles as the rest of his fingers wrap tighter around your upper thigh. the ministrations send heat across your body, pooling especially beneath your cotton shorts. 

finally you look over to see sae’s still-expressionless features staring forward, giving not even the slightest hint of his actions. it’s unnerving how much of a mess he was making you while seeming completely unaware. 

the circles continue before his hand shifts upward, resting briefly at the hem of your waistband before dipping under it. the acts concealed under the light blanket made your heart race, and you prayed they stayed unknown to rin.

the first contact with your clit sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you catch the yelp that nearly escapes your throat. you try to mask it as an awkward cough, but the intensity of sae’s teal eyes tells you his orders: stay quiet.

another smirk ghosts sae’s face as he feels the pool of slick gathered at his fingertips. a few light touches and your body was already begging for him.

your mind goes into a haze as he begins circles again, this time around your sensitive bud. the plot of the movie was forgotten at this point, with all your attention consumed by the pleasure coursing through you. you’re biting your lip now in an effort to stay silent, teeth pressing down so hard that any more pressure would bring the taste of iron. 

“how are you guys liking it?” rin suddenly turns to ask, and panic fills you. you give a meek thumbs up, but before he could ask you more sae interjects. 

“it’s better than i expected, but the buildup was slow. by the time any action happened i was already half checked out” he says nonchalantly. it amazed you how he had any recollection of that movie that had been long lost on you. 

“well i heard it gets better” rin replied before turning away again, leaving you to finally be able to breathe. 

the relief isn’t long-lived though, as sae prods two digits at your entrance. your eyes widen at the prospect, but they enter without much resistance. the stretch has your head falling back which was thankfully not noticeable enough for the dark haired boy to notice. 

sae begins to pump slowly, the friction of his fingers dragging against your gummy walls in a way that renders you breathless. 

your loss of composure only encourages him though, and he’s moving with more intention, shaking the blanket slightly at the increased pace. you’re silently chanting curse words as the heat builds, and it’s not long before you’re overlooking the familiar edge. 

the clamping of your walls is a good enough indicator of the progress of your impending orgasm, so sae promptly pulls his digits out. you glare at him in protest of the emptiness, but he barely spares you a glance. it was still a little too early in the movie for him to finish up. 

instead he’s running his fingers achingly slow across your folds, and every time his fingers would catch at the entrance, he would glide past it again, sending a rush of disappointment. the mind-numbing cycle was almost enough for you to throw away your dignity and beg vocally.

before you could say anything though his fingers plunge into you again, this time curling to hit a gummy spot that has you seeing stars. your back is arching slightly against the leather, and sae’s relieved that his brother was still too occupied to notice the erotic expression plastered across your face. it should only be for him to see.

sae’s resting his palm against your clit now, pressing down to produce ecstasy-like friction. you squeeze your eyes shut as the wave finally crashes through you. the orgasm is so powerful, a small moan claws its way past your lips, but is thankfully concealed by a well-timed explosion on screen.

the rest of the movie was spent with you trying desperately to understand what you missed from the movie whilst simultaneously wishing away the color from your cheeks and the heat from your abdomen. sae, although seemingly collected, spent equally as much effort lowering the noticeable tent below his pants. 

as soon as the movie ended though, you’re met with another onslaught of problems: rin’s questions and your positively soiled shorts. 

“oh my gosh i totally forgot i have a meeting tomorrow at 8am” you scramble to make a believable excuse, “can we talk more about the movie on the way to my apartment?”

“actually let me drive you home” a cool voice cuts in, “i have to grab some groceries anyways.”

“...at near midnight?” rin responds in disbelief. 

sae insisted though, and you’re left promising to recap the movie the next day with rin as you entered the passenger seat.

when sae returns empty-handed nearly an hour later though, rin could more or less guess your secret. and sae was promptly banned from sitting next to you for future movie nights (not that it kept you apart otherwise).

#sae #sae smut #sae x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #blue lock #bllk #bllk smut #blue lock smut #blue lock imagines #sae itoshi smut #sae itoshi x reader

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Right after bob’s death, stevo stays at your place because staying at his was too much. Basically just the reader loving on stevo is all. Their relationship doesn’t really matter as long as its clear that they are soulmates in some capacity. I think stevo just needs to let himself be loved. Grief and depression is horrible to go through alone so its great to have someone who gets it with you as you heal you know?

𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓎ℴ𝓊

A/n: This was kinda hard to write, but I definitely needed to

Taglist: @abriefnirvana

Warnings: death, angst to fluff, grief

He wiped the tears away as he got into his car, he breathed a shaky breath as he looked at himself in the car mirror. He was disheveled, with a tangled mop of hair and wrinkled clothes.

Stevo's mind raced with thoughts of where to spend the night. And then it hit him - you were the only other person he wanted to be with right now. You would know what to do now.

Without a second thought, he stepped on the gas pedal and raced towards you as fast as his old car could go.

As he rushed towards your apartment, no matter how hard he tried to stop them, the tears streamed down his cheeks while Bad Religion blared on the radio.

He found himself thinking about Bob. Was he a bad friend for leaving him like that? He felt horrible, but he wasn’t sure about what else to do.

The image stayed in his mind, almost causing a crash as his thoughts raced, his hands acting faster than his head.

Finally, after what felt like the longest drive in history, he reached your place. He looked at a bottle of beer on the side of his door, drinking it as if he was a college kid who had just been dared to. He would need it tonight. Then he laid his eyes on someone outside.

As you were taking out the trash, you saw a small baby cat nearby and smiled. You knelt, and the cat shyly approached you. It rubbed against your leg as you looked into its curious eyes and pet it with care.

He stumbled out of his car door, the sound making you turn your head and the cat also turn its head to him.

“Stevo?” you mumbled to yourself. You recognized the blue hair quickly, and he looked at you. He was…crying?

"Stevo," you said, as you dropped your trash on the floor and hurried towards him. He was crying uncontrollably, and when he saw you, he wrapped his arms around you. You were taken aback by the sudden embrace, but you rubbed his back to give him some sort of comfort. "Oh, Stevo," you whispered softly.

He cried, tears staining your shirt as he buried his head in your shoulder. People came outside when they heard the cries.

“You're the only one I have left.” he cried into your shoulder.

“C’mon, let's go inside, okay?” you weren't sure what had happened, but it made your heart break.

You had been lifelong friends since middle school and stuck together like glue. Despite your longstanding feelings for him, you never told him how you felt in fear of him not having the same feelings.

He thought you were too sweet to him, too nice in this cruel, unjust world.

The little cat watched as you both walked up the stairs. Stevo looked back at its copper eyes and black fur, following his moves like a lucky cat in a store.

You led him inside, his sobs became more quiet and slowed down as he rubbed his eyes with his hand and sat down on a chair at your table. He felt like a loser, a poser. But you were one of the only people he knew wouldn’t judge him.

You shut the door and turned to him. It was silent for a moment while you both stared at each other.

“What happened?” you asked softly, making your way to the chair next to him.

He looked down at the ground while he explained what happened this morning. Bob had died of an overdose, your eyes widened as you listened and looked at him with sadness.

“I’m.. so sorry. Steven.. that’s horrible.” You said once he finished.

Steven. You hadn’t used his real name in ages.

He didn’t know how to respond, he simply just looked down.

“Uhm… you want me to call for you? So you don’t have to? I can tell them what happened so he can get buried, and everything else…”

He looked up now. “You’d do that?”

You nodded and smiled at him.

"Stevo, I am here for you, whether you need anything or want to talk. I’m here for you.”

“Thank you.” he mumbled, feeling himself about to cry again.

You went over to him, he stood up and hugged you again, when you both pulled away you smiled softly and wiped his tears away.

"You can stay for as long as you need, okay?" you spoke softly.

You led him into your room, telling him to chill in there for a second while you called the police. They said they had to question you, but you did not mention Stevo at all, so as long as he didn’t have to, you were fine with it.

You hung up and sighed, rubbing your forehead. You felt horrible for Stevo, who had to see his best friend and roommates dead body in front of him, crying for him.

You entered the room for and climbed into the bed beside him. He gazed at you with red, tired eyes, and wrapped his arms around your body. You reciprocated the gesture, holding him close and not wanting to let go, playing with his hair as he rested his head on your chest.

You kissed the top of his head, and in any situation, he would've questioned the action. But right now it was just what he needed.

He fell asleep quickly in your arms, his eyes heavy. You wished it happened under better circumstances.

#stevo levy #stevo levy x reader #steven levy #steven levy x reader #slc punk x reader #slc punk #matthew lillard #matthew lillard fluff #matthew lillard x reader

[why4anne]

Money Power Glory

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Category: Mafia! au

Part: 2/?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Stalking, drugging, kidnapping

Summary: When you accidentally found yourself in the middle of a mafia show down you had no idea that your life was about to change, forever. For better or for worse.

Masterlist

The days that followed the gala were a whirlwind of emotions and contemplation. Charles Leclerc's unexpected presence in your life had left you in a state of curiosity and caution. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull between you, but the dangers and secrets that lurked beneath the surface still weighed heavily on your mind.

You found yourself torn between the intrigue of Charles's world and the desire to lead a simple and safe life. Yet, as each day passed, you couldn't escape the lingering thoughts of that fateful night and the green eyed man who had played a pivotal role in it.

It was on a quiet evening, you were sitting on the couch in your cozy apartment, when your phone buzzed, breaking the stillness of your thoughts. The message was simple, yet it sent a shiver down your spine: "Meet me at Hotel de Paris tomorrow at 8 PM - Charles."

The message was oddly straight forward and cryptic, but it held an air of urgency that you couldn't ignore. It was an invitation that you knew you couldn't decline, not when you had already been drawn into this intricate web of secrets.

The following evening, you arrived at the luxurious restaurant in the hotel, a charming and dimly lit establishment that overlooked the glamorous heart of Monaco. The atmosphere was serene, a stark contrast to the chaos and danger you had encountered in Monaco as of late.

Charles was already there, seated at a secluded table near the window. His gaze lifted as you entered, and a warm smile graced his lips. He stood, kissing your cheek and pulling out a chair for you, a silent gesture that spoke of both respect and courtesy with an underlying tone of flirtatiousness.

"You came," Charles remarked, his green eyes locked onto yours as you took your seat.

You nodded, your curiosity once again piqued. "Your message left me with no other choice, Charles. What's this about?"

Charles leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur. "I wanted to talk to you, away from the prying eyes of the gala. I felt we needed a more private setting."

“We’re literally in one of the most popular restaurants in all of Monaco. I doubt we will be able to speak privately here.” You pointed out the obvious, but as you looked around you, you noticed that all of the other tables are empty.

“Don’t worry about that, love. I bought out the entire restaurant and the staff have all been paid off, they won’t bother us” He said nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal.

“How is that even possible? This place is booked up for weeks in advance” You were flabbergasted at his confession. How could one person just shut down one of the best restaurants in Monaco?

“I know people” He brushed off the entire situation “Now, we have matters to discuss.”

Your heart raced as he spoke, your apprehension growing with each passing second. "What matters, Charles?"

He sighed, his gaze clouded with a mix of emotions. "The world I live in, Y/N, it's not as simple as it may seem. Monaco may be a paradise, but it's also a web of power, secrets, and danger. I need you to understand that what happened on the night we met was not a one-time occurrence and you being there put you on the map for some very dangerous people, myself included."

The weight of his words settled over you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. "What are you involved in, Charles? You're telling me that our paths crossing put me in danger from god knows what?."

Charles hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "I come from a family with a long history in... certain aspects of Monaco. The incident that night was a result of longstanding conflicts, and I'm afraid those conflicts are far from over."

The air grew heavy with unspoken truths, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were in over your head. The world Charles inhabited was far from the idyllic paradise you had envisioned when you first arrived in Monaco. You thought that you would be living the dream, attending your dream university located in the most luxurious country in the world. Yet, here you were, somehow caught up in criminal activities.

"Y/N, I won't lie to you. Being associated with me can be dangerous. But I’m also the only one who wants to protect you from that danger. I want you to understand the choices you're making."

You swallowed hard, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The allure of Charles's world, mixed with the dangers it presented, left you in a state of uncertainty. "What do you want from me, Charles? Why are you involving me in all of this?"

Charles reached out, his hand gently brushing yours. "I don't want you to be a pawn in a dangerous game, Y/N. I want you to have a choice, a say in how you want to be a part of my life. If you want to walk away, you will be in constant danger. But if you choose to stay, I'll do everything in my power to protect you."

The sincerity in his words was undeniable, and the way he looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and vulnerability, tugged at your heartstrings. You couldn't deny the connection between the two of you, a connection that had brought you into the heart of Monaco's secrets.

"I need time, Charles," you finally admitted, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I need time to process all of this, to understand what I'm getting into."

Charles nodded, a sense of relief in his eyes. "That's all I ask, Y/N. Take all the time you need, and remember that I'm here, waiting for your decision."

Five days later you were yet to notice the black car with the Leclerc monogram parked near your apartment complex. Or the amount of men dressed in black that were present in every place you went. After all, they were trained for this, to stay in the shadows, lurking, never getting caught. 

You had no idea that Charles saying that you have any choice in this matter whatsoever was a big fat lie. He was giving you the illusion of choice and you were about to make the wrong one. 

You liked your life as it were, you were studying in the country of your dreams, at the university you’ve always wanted to attend. You didn’t know what exactly would happen if you agreed to Charles’ terms but you were quite sure that you could kiss goodbye to your current level of freedom. You had made your choice, now it was time to tell Charles. 

‘Can we talk?’ You took up your phone and sent him a message, sitting on the couch as you waited for his response.

‘Tonight, same place and time’ Was all that he sent back. You stared at the screen for longer than you would like to admit. The longer you stare the more you wanted to change your mind, but you knew you had to turn him down. You were not about to live in a sheltered box for the rest of your life, not when you were so close to fulfilling your dreams.

8 PM rolled around faster than you would’ve liked and you felt your pulse starting to pick up the moment you stepped into the lavish restaurant once more. There he sat, in his black suit, his hair perfectly styled and his intense green gaze following your every move. 

“Good evening Y/N” He said as you got close enough, getting up in order to pull out the chair for you. “What is your decision?” He asked once you got seated and had ordered a glass of wine, the expensive kind, per his request. 

“Charles, you’ve been very generous with me and I want to thank you for the offer but I have to decline.” You started, and before he could answer you continued. “I understand that there is a… risk, but I don’t want to live in a bubble. I am living my dream right now and I can’t lose that.” You explained, looking into his green eyes. Yet, you missed how his gaze turned cold, calculating. This was not the answer he wanted and he always gets what he wants.

“I see…” He finally said, his voice soft as honey, expertly masking his true feelings and intentions. “I understand and respect your choice, I’ll let you live your life on your terms.”  He was lying straight through his teeth, he was not about to let you go that easily. You were his from the moment you stayed with him after he got shot, you just didn’t know it yet.

“Thank you for understanding, Charles” You smiled and placed your hand over the back of his.

“Of course” He nodded and turned his hand upwards, caressing his thumb along yours. “Well, let’s not waste this night on the boring stuff. What do you want to order?” He changed the subject and motioned for one of the waiters to come over with a menu. You happily took the menu and after a while you decided on their famous pasta.

“Good choice” Charles pointed out. “I’ll have the same dish” He told the waiter.

The night went on, the two of you making small talk and getting to know each other. Which seemed unnecessary, seeing as you probably won't see him again after tonight, but still, it was nice. You missed the way his jaw clenched and the geers turned in his head, forming a plan on how to make you agree to let him protect you.

“It was nice meeting you” Charles said as he walked you back to your cab.

“It was nice meeting you too” You smiled and got into the car. “Thank you for the dinner and good luck with everything” 

“The same to you Y/N. If you ever need me, just ask” He reassured you.

“I will” You answered before he closed the door and all you could do was look back at him as the cab drove off into the night. Your eyes meeting for what you assumed would be the last time. Oh, how wrong you were, if he will have it his way, which he always does, you will be in his arms sooner rather than later.

Four months go by and Charles and his world was but a distant memory in the back of your mind. Only resurfacing when you walk by the restaurants where you would meet up. You moved on with your life, going to class, spending time around Monaco, but Charles did not. All he had done since that night four months ago was figuring out a way to make you his. To have you at his side and now he had finally come up with a plan to do just that. 

The sun was setting as you walked along the streets of Monaco on your way back to your apartment. The bag on your shoulder was heavy with coursebooks and notepads but it was nothing you weren’t used to. You would like to say that you’re kicking ass at university but reality was that university was kicking your ass. After barely getting a passing grade on your last exam you’d decided to pull an allnighter in order to catch up. 

The sound of your shoes hitting the asphalt beneath you was the only thing that could be heard in the young night. The sky was painted in a beautiful shade of pink and you smiled to yourself as you decided to put your airpods in and listen to some music in order to romanticize your life a little. You happily strolled along the sidewalk as the music tuned out the outside world and felt a smile spreading on your lips. You didn’t even notice as two masked men appeared from the shadows of an alleyway, too far gone in your own thoughts to pay attention as the two looming figures got closer and closer. 

You didn’t even have time to scream before a hand wrapped itself around your mouth, cutting any and all sound off before anyone could hear your cry for help. Not that anyone would’ve either way, the street was completely dead, not a soul in sight, no one around to save you. 

You thrashed and fought in a trivial attempt to free yourself from the man’s grasp. Your heart was in your throat and the adrenaline was pumping through your veins but he was just too strong for you. 

You fought even harder when you saw the other man pull out a napkin from his pocket, drenching it in some form of liquid.

‘Oh fuck, they’re going to drug me’ You thought in panic as he slowly put it against your mouth and nose. You tried to hold your breath but it only lasted for so long. You took a breath, trying to keep it shallow but you could feel the effects of whatever you’d just breathed in. 

Your vision started to blur around the edges as you fought to remain conscious. Your attempts were for nothing and you could feel yourself slipping into darkness. 

“The target is secure” The man that wasn’t holding you said into an intercom. You felt yourself being picked up and carried away before you fully succumbed to sleep.

‘What the actual fuck just happened?’ Was the last thing you thought before blacking out.

#charles leclerc x reader #money power glory au! #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 #charles leclerc x female reader #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x you #mafia au #Charles Leclerc Mafia #Charles Leclerc Mafia au #mafia! charles leclerc #charles leclerc fic

[smileysuh]

Private Room : Nct 127

🌙 staring. nct 127 x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “A lot has changed,” you admit. “Honestly- I never thought I’d take a break from cam shows once I started- never thought I’d be doing a solo show with a nct 127 private room- but here we are.”

cw/ tw. cam sex, solo cam room, masturbation, use of toys, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise, vibrator, dildo, overstim, etc...

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.6k

🍭 aus. cam girl reader, poly idols, idols sharing a fuck buddy, dirty boy idols, etc...

☀️ mlist + an. cam room directory here - after a long haitus, cam baby is back :) this is the first of 5 new chapters that will be coming out in the next few weeks :) stay tuned for all the angsty forbidden love that cambaby is low key known for

It’s been so long since you last did a cam show that you’re not sure who will even join, and the thought of an unsuccessful evening is what prompts you to message some of your most devoted fans.

Despite being on tour, you’re still in frequent contact with Johnny, Jaehyun and Haechan, so when you suggest a NCT 127 only camroom to the eldest of the three, it takes no time at all for him to run it by all his members and come back to you with a confirmation that eight of nine will tune in for your show.

“Everyone’s excited for another episode of our little cam baby,” Johnny tells you when he calls you before your start time. “The guys are getting a little agitated from our tour lasting so long- and I know Jae and Hyuck miss you-”

“What about you, John?” you toy, enjoying the taste of his legal name on your tongue. “Are you missing me yet?”

“I always miss you, baby.” 

You can hear the grin in his voice, and your heart does summersaults in your chest, the way it always does when you talk to your most longstanding, loyal, and kind dominant. 

“Miss you too,” you admit. “For more than just cam shows- although… well, you know I also miss being on camera with you.”

The last time you’d enjoyed Johnny infront of a live audience, it had been under the watchful eye of got7’s Jinyoung. 

So much has happened since then-

“The guys are eager to hear what you’ve been up to,” Johnny tells you, pulling you from your thoughts. “I think they’ll like it that it’s just all of us- they can ask more personal questions.”

“Personal questions-” you echo, letting out an anxious laugh, “uh oh.”

“You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to,” Johnny assures you. “Remember, you’re running the show, princess.”

“I’m running the show,” you repeat, allowing the words to calm you while you get set up with a tripod and your box of toys.

“That’s my girl,” Johnny’s praise is the cherry on top, and you realize that - while it has been a while since you did a shoq - you’re still going to do just fine. 

All you have to do is be yourself- that’s always worked in the past. 

In fact, a solo cam session with your closest supporters is the perfect avenue to practice radical self love… in all forms. 

“Ok, Johnny I gotta hang up so I can start my show on time-”

“Yeah, no problem-”

“But uh…” you swallow thickly, pausing as you stare at your phone. There’s something itching on the back of your tongue- something you dare not say, so instead, you hit him with; “You’re all in separate hotel rooms during this, or…?”

“Uh huh,” Johnny laughs- “as much as we’re all close as members, I don’t think any of us actually want to watch you while we’re in the same room- we’re not Wayv.”

The mention of their brother group makes you giggle- there’d been a time when a few of the members had been big into your cam show, and they’d ditch practice to huddle in the bathroom and watch you- but 127 is not Wayv. 

“Get on with your show, baby,” Johnny’s smooth voice is always so calming, “I’ll see ya in there.”

“Bye, John.”

“Bye, baby.” 

The line goes dead, and you finish the rest of your set up in record time. Soon, you’re placing your phone in the tripod, sending a private room link off to your 127 group chat, and turning the camera on.

By the time you’ve gone to sit on your bed, adjusting your laptop so you can see the comment section, a handful of idols have already joined.

“Hey guys-” you breathe, eyes skimming through the usernames you know: NiceGuyJohnny, KittyTae, yutAH, Doie, ValentineJae97, HeyChannie-

And then two new users pop into the chat, with names that couldn’t be more diametrically opposed: PuppyBoyWoo and MarcusLee.

“Marcus Lee?” you read out loud, laughing as you lift your eyes to the camera. “I’d thought yutAH was bold but okay Mark, I see you-”

HeyChannie: fucking mark

NiceGuyJohnny: have you never made a fake user profile before markie?

yutAH: this kid

PuppyBoyWoo: what about me? What do you think of my user name?

“Hi Jungwoo, I love your user name- it’s good to see you here,” you smile. “Are you my little puppy boy, Woo?”

PuppyBoyWoo: bark bark bark

HeyChannie: woof woof

HeyChannie has donated $69

yutAH: grrrrrrr

yutAH has donated $69

NiceGuyJohnny has donated $69

PuppyBoyWoo has donated $100

MarcusLee has donated $100

ValentineJae97 has donated $420

God, you’ve missed this, missed how easy it is- 

“How about our resident kitty? You still here, Tae?” you ask, wanting to involve all eight members if possible- 

KittyTae: meow

KittyTae has donated $69

“Now we’re just waiting on you Doyoung-”

Doie has donated $200

“And that makes eight,” you grin. “Too bad Taeil couldn’t join.”

HeyChannie: couldnt? More like WOULDNT

HeryChannie: he’s a good christian boy. Unlike marcus

MarcusLee: hey!

NiceGuyJohnny: we all know Taeil is married to his beauty sleep

Doie: we should probably ALL be asleep right now. We have a flight tomorrow morning

HeyChannie: then LEAVE

HeyChannie: bitch

“Hyuck-” you groan, “I’m never going to take any of my clothes off if you force me to be a moderator- can’t you behave yourself for the next little while? For me?”

HeyChannie has donated $69

HeyChannie: fine. But I won’t be HAPPY about it

“Never needed you to be happy, just needed you to listen and be a good boy for me tonight-” you grin, enjoying the way you can toy with Hyuck with the safe distance between you. 

ValentineJae97: are you into good boys now baby?

ValentineJae97: what else has changed since your last show

“A lot has changed,” you admit. “Honestly- I never thought I’d take a break from cam shows once I started- never thought I’d be doing a solo show with a nct 127 private room- but here we are.” 

PuppyBoyWoo: what’s changed? This is my first show

“Well, for starters-” you lean back against your bed, toying with the fabric of your hoodie, “Got7 left their company- I think Mark would still join a cam room, but his time change is a lot- then, BTS is touring and busy too-”

NiceGuyJohnny: tell them about the job you got baby

“Right, I got a job… briefly.” You laugh at the memory. “I was doing behind the scenes with the Legendary Kingdom stuff- couldn’t really be doing a cam show during all of that. Just… a lot has been going on… I think I’m going to start doing more of these again… but uh…. While you guys are all on tour, I can’t just keep doing nct 127 solo rooms, so there might be some new faces and users popping up too.”

ValentineJae97: like who

yutAH: spill the deets baby

“Are we really here to talk my personal life?” you avoid the question. “I thought you guys wanted a show-”

PuppyBoyWoo: yes

PuppyBoyWoo: please take your shirt off : )

HeyChannie: what he said

HeyChannie: I don’t need to be made jealous while on the last leg of our tour

HeyChannie: I’m going to pretend it’s just us 

Doie: delusional 

“Anyways!” you lift your toy box, showing it to the camera. “Here’s my collection-”

NiceGuyJohnny: *side eye*

“Screw you John-” you groan, hating that he knows you so well, “fine it’s not my whole collection, it’s just what I like best for tonight.” 

HeyChannie: that’s a lot of vibrators baby

“And what about it?” you taunt, picking up one of the black, chordless wands. “Honestly, this is one of my favourites-” while looking down at your toybox, you consider your options. “Part of me had thought I’d let you guys choose what I should use tonight- but after reading the chaos of your chat, I think maybe I should just do my own thing and you guys should be thankful I put up with all your bickering and low donations.”

Doie: low donations-

Doie has donated $200

HeyChannie has donated $69

ValentineJae97 has donated $500

MarcusLee has donated $100

PuppyBoyWoo has donated $100

NiceGuyJohnny has donated $1000

yutAH: you know what? I was going to donate something fun, but after Johnny just slamming money down- I’m not so sure

NiceGuyJohnny: pay the nice cam baby you menace

yutAH has donated $666

KittyTae has donated $100

“I like the sound of donations,” you grin, “think it’s about time I started taking my clothes off, huh?”

You avoid your computer while undressing, although you see the chat blowing up in your periphery. 

After going so long without a show, a slow strip tease is just what you need to feel sexy on camera again. 

Your hoodie is removed first, and then you slowly slide out of your sleeping shorts. The large tshirt covering your form is next, and it leaves you in your bra and panties.

“Should I keep going?” you ask. “I think I wanna hear some coins if I’m going to take any more off.”

Your computer dings a few times, the sound of money making you grin. Ever the tease, you turn your back to the camera, reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra.

You collect your breasts with a hand braced across your front, turning to face the camera at the foot of the bed. “Should I go slow tonight? I know you guys are used to me getting my clothes torn off really quick, but… now that it’s just me, I can tease, right?”

You shift your attention to the computer at your side, skimming the comments there. You’ve got a pretty divided cam room- with Johnny, Jungwoo and Mark being reassuring while Haechan, Yuta and Doyoung are more to the point-

“Are you really that concerned about your bed time, Doie?” you laugh, having not expected this kind of reaction from the stoic man you’re often shocked to see in your cam room at all. With a sigh, you give in, removing your hand from your chest and allowing your breasts to be exposed, nipples hardening with the temperature of your room. “I guess I do need to be mindful of your schedule- gotta catch that flight tomorrow…”

Doie has donated $200

“If you guys are in that much of a rush to see me cum- I guess I might as well start, hmm?” You reach for your favourite vibrator and the sound of coins confirms you’re making the right choice. “But because I’m being rushed- maybe I shouldn’t even take off my panties until I’ve cum at least once.”

You’re enjoying having power- enjoying the ability to tease your cam room and go at your own pace- although you make them think they’re dictating at least some of it.

The vibrator buzzes to life and you bring it down to your panty covered core, groaning at the way the machine feels even through a piece of fabric. “So good…” you say, loud enough for your idols to hear. “Think I’m just going to relax back against my pillow and enjoy this.”

You’ve cum solo enough times to know how to use your toys with an expert hand, and it’s easy enough to get lost in the feeling of your vibrator in the exact spot you like. 

You know how much of a tease this is- you laying flat, breasts exposed, pretty pussy still hidden while you begin to grind down on your toy- moving your hips fluidly-

Sounds begin to slip out of you, moans and whines that are as akin to music as the noise of coins and donations flooding in.

“Fuck, guys-” you groan when you apply more pressure to your clit- “my panties are sticking to me- I’m so wet already-”

You turn your head to the side, eager to read a few of the comments that are coming in on the computer next to you. 

NiceGuyJohnny: take them off

HeyChannie: yeah take them off

PuppyBoyWoo: please take them off

ValentineJae97: you look so pretty baby

ValentineJae97 has donated $100

NiceGuyJohnny: are you close baby? 

ValentineJae97: you can’t cum with your panties on like that

NiceGuyJohnny: yeah- move them to the side for us princess

HeyChannie: miss the look of that pretty fucking pussy

PuppyBoyWoo: bet you’re so pretty

PuppyBoyWoo: just for us

“Should I really take them off?” you ask, already feeling breathless- from the attention, or the vibrations on your clit- you’re not sure. “You guys wanna see my pretty little pussy- all wet and needy-”

The jingling of coins prompts you to reach down and toy with the waistband of your underwear. Jaehyun’s right about the annoyance you feel with panties in the way when you want to cum- and you know that if you get fully naked, you’ll reach your high in no time.

You suppose nct deserves it- suppose that after such a long time without a show, they should get to see you cum, fully, without your panties in the way. 

With a groan, you move your vibrator away, pulling your underwear down before throwing them across the room. 

“There we go-” you sigh, shifting your body closer to the camera at the foot of your bed, “someone better tell me I’m pretty or so help me god-”

ValentineJae97: so pretty

HeyChannie: the prettiest cam baby in the world

MarcusLee: you’re literally perfect

NiceGuyJohnny: gorgeous as always, princess

yutAH: fine as fuck

More moans leave your lips as the vibrator gets direct contact with your clit. Your wet makes it easy for the silicoln head to glide through your pussy lips, and you find yourself getting closer and closer-

“Shit- guys, I’m gonna cum-” you announce for the camera, earning coins a moment later. “Yeah- I’m gonna cum-” you can’t find it in yourself to look at the comment section, too focused on chasing your release as you grind your core harder against the vibrator. “Shit-” 

The tension in your lower abdomen snaps, your orgasm slamming into you and making your toes curl. Gasps and whimpers escape you as you work your way through it- toy never leaving your pussy until you’re a shivering mess, legs closing around your hand-

You groan loudly, reaching your breaking point and turning your vibrator off before tossing it to the side. “That felt so good, fuck, I need a sec-”

You need to take a moment to recuperate, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths while the aftershocks of your orgasm roll through you. 

When you’re able, you turn your head to look at the comment section, skimming through the words of praise and the donations. 

ValentineJae97: you still sound so good when you cum baby

HeyChannie: fuck I miss your pretty pussy like you wouldn’t believe

NiceGuyJohnny: need this tour to be over princess

yutAH: you’re gonna have us all simping by the time this solo room is over

“You guys like the solo?” you ask, eager to hear their opinions on it.

HeyChannie: love the solo

PuppyBoyWoo: so good to be here : )

Doie: solos over watching you get fucked

HeyChannie: solos AND watching you get fucked… by me

yutAH: can’t wait to watch you fuck yourself though

“Yeah? With what though?” You reach for your boy of toys. “How many inches? Six… seven… eight?” 

HeyChannie: eight

yutAH: 8

KittyTae: anything

NiceGuyJohnny: do you have a nine kicking around somewhere?

“A nine?!” you laugh. “Daddy- if I had a nine, would I still need you?”

NiceGuyJohnny: no one fucks like I do princess

NiceGuyJohnny: especially not some stupid toy

“You’re right about that-” you sigh, reaching for a dildo. “Even so, I think I’ll go with a seven incher today- it will give me something to miss about you guys. Plus…” you tease your tongue across the toy, “not everything is about big being better.”

HeyChannie: since when

Doie: oh my god shut up hyuck

HeyChannie: I think we’ve all learned something about the size of doyoungs dick today

“You two better stop fighting,” you groan, bringing the toy to your entrance and teasing it past your clit, “watching you bicker is not a turn on for anyone.”

The chat erupts in laughter and donations, and you draw your attention away from your computer, closing your eyes to focus on the feeling of the cock that you press into your tight hole, testing yourself.

“Fuck- that feels good,” you breathe. “Not the real thing, but… good.” You push the toy further into your pussy, delighted by the way your body reacts and squeezes around it. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but uh… it’s been a little while since I was properly fucked and… I might cum embarrassingly fast on this-”

PuppyBoyWoo: really????

HeyChannie: wanna watch you cum again

“You guys wanna watch me cum? Then I think… maybe the sound of donations might help…”

You love the way your computer dings immediately, and you begin to thrust the toy in and out of your pussy, marveling at how great it feels to be back on cam and chasing an orgasm with your own hands doing the work. 

Gasps and moans begin to escape you, and you lean into them, knowing that a few of the nct members have a thing for audio and the sounds a girl makes when she cums hard.

“Fuck, guys- it’s so deep-” the base of the toy makes contact with your skin each time you thrust it, and it does a perfect job imitating the pretty noise you listen to when you’re getting fucked- you only wish you had a sexy man groaning in your ear. “Shit- I need you guys to come back from tour- I need someone whispering dirty nothings in my ear-”

You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed dirty talk, and doing a solo has made you more aware of the noise in your mind- noise that’s always quieted and drowned out by the men you fuck. 

“Fuck-” you shift against your duvet, feeling the tension rising in the pit of your stomach- your free hand reaches for your vibrator and you announce “need to cum” loud enough for everyone to know what you’re about to do.

A shiver runs through your body when the second toy makes contact with your clit, and the hand thrusting your dildo into you stops momentarily while you let out a loud whine-

“Oh my god-” you begin to fuck yourself even harder, keeping the vibrator directly on your clit. Your legs begin to shake with effort and stimulation, and the dildo slides into you even smoother as you get wetter and wetter-

“Im gonna-” you whimper, biting your lip as the sound of donations floods through your room, “I’m gonna cum- fuck-” as your high hits you, you find the name “daddy-” slipping out of you, and you try to embody your favourite dominant as you overstim yourself, keeping the vibrator on your clit and the toy gliding in and out of your pussy until you’re a shaking, moaning mess.

The vibrator is the first toy you pull away from your core, flipping it off before tossing it to the side. The seven incher stays inside of you, and you wriggle your hips, gasping as the final shocks of your orgasm pass you by.

“Fuck-” you groan, turning your head to the side to read some comments while you slowly come down from your high.

PuppyBoyWoo: who’s daddy? 

HeyChannie: obviously me

ValentineJae97: you wish

Doie: I think you both wish

yutAH: we all know IM oppa

HeyChannie: lol says who

yutAH: Markus

MarcusLee: it’s marcus with a C tho

NiceGuyJohnny: sounded so pretty when you came baby

PuppyBoyWoo: I think I can see who daddy is now

Doie: not haechan 

HeyChannie: im going to put hair removal cream in ur shampoo 

“I thought I said no more fighting-” you laugh, shaking your head at the way nct uses your chat feature. “Also… I think we all know Taeil is daddy.”

It feels safe to smooth over the issue at hand, to divert attention with a bit of comedic relief-

You can’t have it being a known thing that you pick favourites- that when you cum alone, in the safety of your own home, there’s only one man in your thoughts-

“I really liked doing this show for you guys,” you say, swallowing thickly and avoiding the thoughts bubbling inside of you. “Hope the rest of your tour goes well.”

NiceGuyJohnny: are we gonna get to see you on a show again before we get back?

Your heart squeezes in your chest. “Uh… yeah? I mean… maybe?”

NiceGuyJohnny: weren’t you just teasing us about new faces sweetheart?

NiceGuyJohnny: where did this ‘maybe’ come from 

HeyChannie: she’s cute when she gets shy after cumming on cam

HeyChannie has donated $200 

Doie has donated $200

KittyTae: thanks for the show angel

KittyTae has donated $200

PuppyBoyWoo: excited for your next show ;)

MarcusLee has donated $200

PuppyBoyWoo has donated $200

yutAH has donated $200

ValentineJae97: it’s been good seeing you again baby

ValentineJae97 has donated $400

NiceGuyJohnny: get some rest after this princess ;) see you around

NiceGuyJohnny has donated $1000

“Goodnight guys, have a good flight tomorrow morning,” you smile softly, finally pulling your toy from between your legs so you can sit up and grab your phone to turn off the camera.

When the show is off, phone discarded, you take a deep breath.

It’s funny how you can make nearly a years rent in one show- 

Funny how the money still doesn’t do anything for the deep hole in your heart that can only be filled by love.

Interact with those who've cum before

› [nct] NiceGuyJohnny - online

› [got7] PubGMarkT - online

› [got7] beommie - online

› [wayv]  Lucas99 & Hendery99 - online

› [got7] TheJinyoung - online

› [bts] TaeTae - online

› [nct] ValentineJae97 - online

› [nct] HeyChannie - online

› [multi] TheJinyoung & NiceGuyJohnny - online

› [nct] Private Room - now in server

› [svt] GyuGyu97 & Hannie - online

› [atz] Yunhoe - online

› [svt] CherryCheolie - online

Find the cam room directory here

Kofi I Paypal I Tumblr Masterlist

© smileysuh — all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any fic, reaction, or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

✘ general taglist:

general taglist: (send me an ask to join either tag list:)

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae 

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@chogiwapadada - @librarian-stacks - @meowniee

@learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono

✘ nct taglist

@milkyway-vxm - @nctsawrus - @shiningdery - @freezerandfame

@fairieblog - @fairybr3ad - @peachyjaemin - @chemaistry

@sehunniepot

thanks to those who interacted with promos :)

@heavenly-mobo - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @capr1sun

@ryusha-rose - @hyuckhoon - @kosmoreads - @meenjee

@arizejkt19 - @xcharlottemikaelsonx - @allie-mcginn

#nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #camgirl x nct #cam baby #johnny suh #johnny suh smut #mark lee #mark lee smut #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #lee donghyuck smut #lee haechan smut #jeong jaehyun #jeong jaehyun smut #nakamoto yuta #nakamoto yuta smut #jaehyun smut #haechan smut #taeyong smut #kim doyoung #doyoung smut #kim doyoung smut #kim jungwoo #kim jungwoo smut #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #cam baby part 10

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Slam

Following an injury in the field, Bucky goes to check on Steve in the infirmary and confesses his feelings and his fears.

CW: Minor injury, smut, first time. Don’t forget to use lube, folks – unless you’re a super soldier.

Prompts used;

‘Bad Coping Mechanisms’, ‘Mutual Pining’ and ‘Wall Sex’ – Build-a-Bucky Bingo (@buckybarnesevents);

“You Look So Pretty Like This.” and ‘Muscles’ – @stuckybingo;

“I’m Right Where I Belong.” and “You Getting Flustered is One of the Cutest Things I’ve Seen.” – @sebastianstanbingo.

Check it out on AO3 here, or below! Boards at the bottom. Banner by @sarahowritesostucky

Bucky raced through the corridors, the serum’s power flowing through him as his feet pounded the linoleum, heart hammering in his chest.

As soon as the news of Steve’s injury had reached him, he’d been up and running, with fear he hadn’t felt in decades pulsing in his veins. Ever since Steve had been bulked up in the war, Bucky had been able to slowly let go of the terror for Steve’s longevity that had plagued him since he’d met the kid at six years old, scrawny but surprisingly bold – and prone to getting his ass kicked. But the serum Steve had received had made the once-tiny man a hulking mass of muscle and sinew, invulnerable to most things thrown at him, and Bucky had finally been able to relax a little – though he still worried about his childhood friend more than any other member of the team.

Bucky blamed it on their longstanding connection and the camaraderie born from being the only two super soldiers, both displaced from their own time by time in ice (and servitude, in Bucky’s case). It was a miracle they were both here, together, a hundred years in the future and experiencing things they never even dreamt of.

That was it, Bucky argued, when he lay awake at night thinking of the skinny kid from Brooklyn, the strong man he’d grown into. He argued it was appreciation of the smooth curves of muscle that had him fantasising about the water flowing over his back when he’d glimpsed him in the shower after a training session. It was simply concern that had him inspecting his Captain’s bare chest when his suit had been ripped in battle, checking thoroughly for cuts and scrapes.

He'd argued, but it was as he was skidding to a halt and slamming through the infirmary doors that it finally hit him that his argument was a lie.

The sight of Steve lay on the thin medical paper, his back to the doors as Bruce finished stitching a deep wound above his hipbone, had Bucky pausing and panting for breath. It’d been a long time since he’d managed to move so quickly that he was forced to breathe harder, but his strides had barely touched the floor as he’d flown towards his teammate.

“Hey, Buck.”

The Winter Soldier cocked his head sharply, smiling just a little to himself as he saw Steve’s muscles relax minutely. “How did you know it was me?”

“Heard you running. Anyone else would be far more breathless – and definitely couldn’t move so fast.” The grin in Steve’s voice was audible, and Bucky chuckled, moving closer slowly.

“Yeah, well. Nat messaged, and she wasn’t liberal with the details. All I knew was that you’d been hurt.”

“Worried, were you?” Steve’s shoulders trembled as he laughed silently, making Bucky snort as he rounded the table, casting an assessing eye over the shallow lacerations marring the Captain’s bare chest as he took a seat.

“Actually, I was hoping to get here in time to pull the plug,” Bucky quipped, grinning, and Steve rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Your life wouldn’t be worth living without me in it, and you know it,” Steve teased back, lips quirked in a fond smile before he grimaced as the doctor tied off his thread. Buck reached out automatically, squeezing Steve’s hand reassuringly, heat tingling up his palm at the contact. He’d done this dozens of times as a youth, Steve’s fingers clinging desperately to his as the larger boy had carefully cleaned yet another split lip or scraped palm, but it felt different now, with Steve’s palm comparable to his and Bucky’s metal fingers cool against his skin – and Steve’s pulse beginning to pound at the contact.

“I’m all done here,” Bruce murmured, gently pressing an adhesive bandage to the suture line. “Keep it covered and dry for a few days, and the stitches should dissolve in a week or so. You’ll be good as new by then.” The doctor grinned, shaking his head fondly. “If only all of my patients recovered so quickly!”

Steve chuckled obligingly, pulling the edge of his suit a little higher to obscure both bandage and sharp curve of bone. “You’d be out of a job, Dr. Banner. Thanks again,” he added as Bruce rose, receiving a polite inclination of the head for his gratitude.

The boys were left alone, fingers still entwined together, Steve fiddling with the ragged edges of his clothing idly. “I’m gonna have to get a new suit… This one got pretty shredded.”

Bucky laughed, running a palm over the lacerated star hanging over the edge of the table. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got thrown. Road rash sucks,” the Captain replied with a shrug, and groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “But you heard Bruce – I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

James nodded, eventually releasing his friend’s hand with a discreet twitch of his jaw. “Yeah. You were always the strong one.” Steve snorted and raised an eyebrow, considering his fellow soldier pointedly, but Bucky only laughed and shook his head. “Maybe, when we were younger, I could pick up something heavier than you. But you were always so… Tough. You weren’t scared of anything.” He smiled softly, head tilted minutely. “Actually, no. You were scared, but you always stood up for yourself anyway. You never let anyone keep you down or underestimate you. That’s real strength.”

Steve chuckled, his cheeks pinkening minutely as he looked away. “Not always,” he muttered, hands knotting uncertainly in his lap. “There were some things I just… I didn’t fight when the insults and assumptions started flying.”

“The assumptions?” Bucky repeated softly, head cocked. When Steve only shrugged, Bucky leaned forward conspiratorially. “You getting flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

Steve blinked in surprise, his back straightening nervously. “I-I… What?”

Bucky smiled softly, leaning a little closer. “Those assumptions… Do you mean the ones about your sexuality?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, eyeing his friend nervously. “… You heard about that?”

The sergeant arched an eyebrow, head inclined. “Of course, Stevie. You’re my best friend. Besides… We spent a whole lot of time together. It wasn’t just you that they made those assumptions about.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve replied quickly, looking away as guilt creased his features, but Bucky simply chuckled.

“Don’t be. They were right.”

The words sat in the still air for a moment before they collided visibly with the Captain, sending him jerking backwards in shock.

“They- You- … What?” Steve stammered, his eyes widening in shock.

“I’m gay,” Bucky replied easily, shrugging. “Well, no – I’m bisexual. But we both know it’s not the women you were asking about.” Steve’s mouth worked wordlessly, and Bucky smirked. “So? What about you? Were they right about you, too?”

Steve glanced around uncertainly, examining the empty space as if checking for someone hiding in the shadows. “… Why did you come so quickly, Buck?”

“I asked you first.”

“I’m trying to answer. Humour me. Why did you come so quickly?” he repeated, looking down to where his fingers were knotted in his lap.

“Because… Because I care about you?” Bucky offered uncertainly, and Steve nodded, eyes diverted.

“As a friend?” he prompted quietly. Bucky hesitated for a moment, watching as his Captain struggled silently to find the words he was looking for. “… I’m not gay, Buck.” The sergeant blushed minutely, opening his mouth to respond, but Steve held up a hand to stop him. “But I’m not straight, either. I… I’ve only ever wanted to be with – been in love with – one person. After all these years… It’s still only ever been one person.”

Bucky sat silently for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, apprehensive. “Who?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Steve replied, a wry grin quirking at his lips.

Bucky reached out, fingers finding his best friend’s once more, swallowing nervously. “Tell me, Stevie. Please.”

Steve glanced up at last, the brush draining from his cheeks with the sincerity of the moment, ice meeting cerulean in an all-encompassing gaze. “You, Bucky. It’s always been you.”

The words released a feral urgency in his fellow soldier, moving forward to kiss him in a clash of lips and tongues, a low whine escaping the brunette as he tangled his metal fingers in the other’s hair.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Bucky muttered, shifting to trail kisses over the broader man’s jaw, his free hand finding Steve’s hip to pull him closer. “I can’t believe I wasted so much time trying to bury my feelings in drinking and whoring…”

Steve nodded weakly, head instinctively tipping back under his sergeant’s rapturous ministrations. “I-I… I never knew you… I never expected…” He swallowed audibly, hips twitching as his arousal became ever more evident under the skin-tight material of his uniform. Bucky let out a quiet groan of desire, fingers trailing over Steve’s hipbone slowly – but the blond grasped his wrist as his fingertips brushed against his increasingly stiffening length. “Wait.”

Bucky winced, drawing back with a quick, apologetic shake of his head. “I-I’m sorry. We don’t have to, of course, I-”

Steve kissed his lover softly to interrupt him, shaking his head with a smile. “I want to,” he breathed, his fingers finding the back of Bucky’s neck to press their foreheads together. “I’ve just- I… I’ve never…”

Bucky’s face went blank as comprehension dawned, lips parting minutely. “You… Oh.” A smile flickered across his features, and he cupped Steve’s jaw gently. “That’s fine, sweet boy. We go as slow as you like, and do as much or as little as you want. It’s all up to you.”

Steve nodded slowly, then more firmly, and pulled Bucky back to him by the neck of his t-shirt, crushing his lips desperately against the taller man’s.

Buck’s hands were gentle as they explored the Captain’s bare chest, tracing the dips and curves of bone and muscle reverently, mapping each detail and committing every modicum of minutiae to memory – just in case. Steve shivered under his touch, the hand on the back of the sergeant’s neck drawing him closer as he lay back, gasping at the thigh that pressed lightly against his throbbing length.

“Buck, please,” he whispered, tugging gently at the other man’s shirt, purring with delight when the material was shed and dropped to the floor. His hands fumbled with the taller man’s belt, hesitating only minutely before pressing a palm to Bucky’s boxer-clad member and blushing shyly at the relieved groan the motion elicited.

Buck’s lips trailed slowly along jaw and throat, over Steve’s collarbone, proceeding patiently over chest and stomach. Bucky’s knees met the floor as his fingers curled in the waistband of the other man’s underwear. He glanced up to receive clarification, and when he was offered a nod, nervous but sure, he slowly slid Steve’s boxers down, trailing gentle kisses in their wake. When he looked up again to take in his Captain in all his glory, his mouth ran dry, tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. He rocked on his heels for a moment, enjoying the sight for a little longer before falling forward, growling hungrily. His mouth encompassed Steve’s length quickly, eliciting a gasp and a whimper from the soldier pinned to the table, his hands tangling frantically in Bucky’s wild hair.

“I- Oh, Buck, th-that’s so…” Steve trailed off into a desperate moan, his back arching instinctively to press himself deeper. Bucky, in his experience, simply swallowed around his amateur partner’s erratic thrusts to take him into his throat, hands finding his hips to help smoothen his pace, earning a quiet, stammering exclamation for his efforts. The feeling of Bucky’s tongue massaging the underside of his cock as it passed between expert, kiss-flushed lips had him quivering and mewling uselessly until the sergeant pulled back, oceanic eyes dancing with joy. “Good?”

Steve all but sobbed in his pleasure, raising his head to nod weakly. “A-Amazing. Please, honey, Buck… I want… I need…”

“Anything you want, baby boy,” Bucky purred, wrapping a loose, coaxing hand around Steve’s length while he spoke – but unable to keep from leaning in intermittently to pass tongue or lips over the leaking tip, delighting in the gasps and jerks the simple gesture invoked. “You just say the word, and I-”

“I want to make love to you,” Steve interrupted softly, pink tinging his cheeks as he spoke, his twitching cock betraying his enthusiasm. Bucky blinked in surprise before smiling tenderly with an amused shake of his head.

“And here I’d had you pinned as a bottom… What a pleasant surprise,” Bucky breathed, powerless to stop one of his hands from grinding against the straining in his sweatpants desperately, eyes blown wide with lust. “I’ve thought about you fucking me so many times…” He winced minutely, expecting a reprimand from his straight-laced captain for his language, but the blond simply smiled.

“I may be inexperienced, Buck, but I’ve overheard enough sleeping in the room next to Tony’s to expect a little cussing in these situations.”

Bucky simply nodded, standing to pull his shirt over his head, and Steve gulped. He’d seen the brunette in varying degrees of undress on countless occasions, but always he had kept his eyes diverted and downcast, never looking up for fear he would give himself away. But now he could let his gaze roam freely, taking in the curve of the sinew and muscle, of strong arms and well-defined pecs, his expression softening minutely as he took in the puckered ridge of scar where flesh met metal. Bucky shifted self-consciously, raising a hand to rub uncertainly at the marred skin, and Steve pushed himself quickly to his feet, catching the other man’s fingers. “Hey… You’re beautiful, he whispered, dropping his head to pepper kisses along the seam reverently.

Bucky stiffened infinitesimally, relaxation gradually easing the tension in his muscles, a soft sigh escaping parted lips as his eyes closed. “I want you, Steve,” he breathed, fingertips trailing through the short hair adoringly.

Steve could only nod in response, hands fumbling with Bucky’s belt as he dropped to his knees, one flushed, pink lip pulled between his teeth. His breath ghosted over the bulge in the sergeant’s boxers, making the taller man shiver with delight. With a slow, nervous exhale, he wrapped his fingers in Bucky’s waistband, eyes widening minutely as the soldier’s cock was freed at last. Bucky smirked, hand resting gently on Steve’s head, letting out a quiet groan as the barest flick of a tongue passed over his tip. “Please, baby boy, I need you to-”

Bucky’s words were interrupted by his own sharp yelp as Steve clumsily but enthusiastically took him, his inexperience making him gag at the depth, but he recovered to bob his head just as eagerly. The taller man groaned, hand knotting in pale strands, head falling back as he attempted to guide his needy lover into smoother motions, but Steve grasped desperately at his hips, still frantically attempting to take Bucky’s length deeper. “Easy, Stevie,” he breathed, shifting one hand to cup the other man’s jaw tenderly, smiling at the soft whine around his cock. “You really want it deeper, hm?” Steve blinked balefully up at him, tongue still eagerly caressing every inch available, and the sergeant chuckled quietly, gently raising Steve’s chin slightly. “Swallow,” he murmured, pushing forward slowly, using the rhythmic motion of his lover’s obedience to sheath himself fully in Steve’s throat with a shudder. “Fuck, baby boy- so goddamn hot… You look so pretty like this…” His eyes found the other man’s, the pale blue shining with joy, lips parted wide around his cock, and Bucky could have come undone simply at the sight. Steve could only mewl with satisfaction, lashes flickering in pleasure as Bucky rocked his hips, driving his length into his Captain’s throat before drawing back just far enough to let him snatch a breath.

It didn’t take long for the brunette’s muscles to begin to tremble and clench, incensed by the sight of his lover stretched and kneeling before him. The fingers in his hair tensed, and Steve’s eyebrow twitched questioningly. “I-I can’t- I’ll- I can’t hold out,” Bucky stuttered, the rock of his hips become spasmodic – but Steve simply dug his fingers into the other man’s flesh, groaning encouragingly. Bucky hissed with the realisation, free hand joining the first, holding Steve’s head still as his thrusts became more forceful. The feeling of soft whimpers vibrating around his length spurred him on, and he stammered out a quick warning before burying himself deeply, fingernails catching  against scalp as he pinned his submissive Captain against him. “Fuck, Steve- Stevie!”

Steve’s eyes closed in pleasure as his sergeant emptied with a guttural groan, swallowing eagerly, licking his lips as his trembling partner drew back at last. “Thank you,” Bucky breathed, unclenching his hand to smooth the messy blond strands tenderly. Steve opened his eyes to meet his gaze, hesitating only briefly before scrambling to his feet to pin the brunette to the wall, earning a grunt of surprise and a dry gulp.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Cap growled, one hand wrapping lightly around his sergeant’s throat, smiling when a quiet whimper and desperate nod came in response. Bucky groaned as he was turned quickly, hands flat to the wall and ass offered willingly, the Captain’s cock pressing against him teasingly. Steve spat in his palm and slicked his length quickly, one hand steadying himself with his lover’s hip as he lined himself up.

“Please- Please, Stevie, I need you, I want you- please, just-” Bucky moaned needily as Steve pressed inside him roughly, his forehead finding the other man’s metal shoulder as he groaned.

“Bucky- Buck, honey, you feel so good…” he grunted, dragging out slowly before slamming home once more. Slowly at first, the movements of his cock inside the taller man felt incredible, the spark of discomfort from the lack of preparation or real lubricant fading quickly until Bucky was rutting back desperately, trying in vain to increase the pace. “Sweet boy, you’re so eager!”

“Yes- God, yes Sir, please, Stevie- Cap, I need you to fuck me, baby boy,” Bucky panted, fingers curling against the plaster. Steve’s fingers found his, pinning his metal hand to the wall either side of his head, while the other wrapped around his already-stiffening cock, stroking him in time as he thrusted harder. Bucky yelped in surprise, back arching. He’d been fucked many times in his life – but never by someone whose strength parallelled his own, his very bones creaking under the strain as Steve pounded against him with bruising ferocity.

Steve was lost in the heat fizzing through his veins; there was nothing but this, the feeling of Bucky wrapped around him, tight and hot, the air full of the scent of sex and the lewd sounds falling from their lips. This was everything he’d ever wanted, and he found his body reacting automatically, knowing just what to do as he drove himself deeper, their hands on the wall creating cracks in the plaster under the power.

“So beautiful – so good, James – I love you,” Steve groaned, fisting his sergeant’s cock faster as he felt his climax approaching, too far gone and too eager to slow down, to take his time in this. Bucky simply whimpered in response, his forehead pressed to the plaster, soft sobs of overwhelming pleasure falling from his lips between pleas and gratitude, rutting  back against each perfect thrust. “Please- Stevie, fuck, just like that- I-I’m going- I-” His spine arched as he came without warning, painting both his lover’s hand and the wall before him, muscles clenching around Steve’s length.

Steve wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist, dragging him against his chest as he fucked him harder still, groaning out a plea for mercy into Bucky’s throat as he finally, blissfully, emptied himself inside his sergeant.

Bucky lay panting with his head on Steven’s chest, sweat-damp and exhausted, his backside bruised, entirely blissful.

“D’you want to get up?” Steve murmured, tracing his fingers gently down his lover’s spine, earning a lazy shake of the head.

“I’m right where he belong,” Bucky whispered in response, pressing a tender kiss to the bare skin under his cheek.

#fanfiction #mine #fandom: marvel #writers on tumblr #writing bingo #rating: e #pwp #stucky smut #bucky barnes x steve rogers #plot what plot #smut #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan bingo #sexy seabass #stucky bingo #build a bucky bingo 2023 #bucky barnes events

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Why The Caged Bird Sings | Chapter 2

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction) Rating: Explicit Relationships Vinsmoke Sanji x F!Reader Characters: Vinsmoke Sanji, Patty, Red Leg Zeff, Original Characters, Strawhat crew. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, minor POV switching. Summary: One night, you were brought to the luxurious Baratie Restaurant Ship, renowned for its exceptional cuisine that your family had been intrigued to sample. A particular blond and comely waiter captured your attention with his charming smile and gentle eyes, but while your beauty and sophistication intrigued him, Sanji also observed the profound nervousness that caused your jaw and body muscles to tense whenever your fiancé made contact with your hand or your parents delivered a humiliating criticism towards you. One dinner at the Baratie soon turned into a recurring event, and then more. As your friendship with Sanji slowly evolved into something that burned from within, you strove to make your longstanding dream come true; freeing yourself from a constricting existence. ------------------------- As Sanji looked at you curiously, the gentle smile never leaving his face, you asked him, "Do you know why the caged bird sings?" He thought about it for a moment before answering, "Because it has a song to give?" You chuckled at his response and shook your head. "You're not entirely wrong, but no."

Divider by firefly-graphics

Trigger Warning: Minor physical abuse and threats included.

Feel free to read this on AO3 if it is more comfortable for you due to its length. I only ask to support me with a like and reblog if you enjoy my work. ☺️

As you made your way back to the island, an oppressive atmosphere of tension enveloped the ship. Your father, unable to look you in the eye, clearly carried a burden of shame due to your actions at the Baratie. Your mother's disappointment and disgust towards your lack of respect for your fiancé were unmistakable and she struggled to conceal them. Moreover, Christopher consistently displayed his disdain for Sanji, derogatorily labeling him as "the nasty waiter".

Your head pounded, the throbbing intensifying with every incessant complaint. Just when you felt like you couldn’t tolerate that situation anymore, Admiral Wheeler stepped in, declaring that it was late and everyone needed rest. Seizing the opportunity, you swiftly escaped to your cabin, firmly shutting the door before Christopher could follow you inside.

Despite your exhaustion, sleep eluded you as thoughts of the Baratie, particularly Sanji's captivating and genuine gaze, consumed your mind. Never before had someone been able to understand your true self with just a single glance like he did. The way he shielded you from Chris' fury at the bar, protecting you, filled your heart with an unfamiliar sense of happiness.

The next day, you formulated a plan to secretly meet up with your friends, using the excuse of going grocery shopping as a cover. As you recounted your experience and encounter with the charming chef from the restaurant, your best friend Mari instantly offered her enthusiastic support, suggesting that she join you to meet him again in the future. While you didn't necessarily object to the idea, you had to decline Mari's offer. You explained that he seemed quite flirtatious, leading you to doubt your chances with someone who likely wasn't interested in committing to a serious relationship. However, Mari quickly dismissed your concerns, stating that if Sanji had an interest in you, it didn't truly matter. Rubio, Marlo, and Rory also encouraged you to end things with Christopher and pursue a job at the Baratie instead.

By that point, your friends had become your chosen family, wholeheartedly embracing you for who you truly were. With them, you experienced a newfound sense of liberation, able to express your unique style through your clothing and jewelry, without the worry of judgment or ridicule. Despite Marlo and Rory being an enstablished couple, you never felt uncomfortable or out of place when you were around them. Instead, they served as an inspiration for the kind of relationship you desired - one marked by the freedom to authentically and unconditionally fall in love, without any sense of obligation.

As the days went by, your life became increasingly suffocating. Countless dinners and business meetings stretched out endlessly, and all you longed for was to release a scream of frustration and vanish, never to return. Gradually, Christopher stopped questioning you and started acting as if nothing had happened. It became clear that as long as he could showcase you like a prized possession, the man was satisfied enough.

Two weeks later, you were taken aback and completely perplexed when your fiancé expressed his desire to have a private date at the Baratie, just the two of you. Considering his dislike for Sanji and your obvious attraction to the chef, this was the last thing you anticipated from Chris.

When you confronted him about his shift in demeanor, he nonchalantly shrugged and explained that the cuisine at the Baratie was unmatched in his opinion. He believed that nothing else could compare now that he had tasted it and simply desired more. In his eyes, Sanji was just an average man with no significant status, and Christopher saw no reason to be bothered by his presence any longer.

What truly unsettled you was Christopher's uncharacteristic restlessness, coupled with his insistence on having a serious conversation with you over dinner. Deep down, a sinking feeling hinted that you already had an inkling of what it might be about, but you fought to suppress those thoughts, reassuring yourself that you could be completely mistaken.

Your friends made a sincere effort to persuade you otherwise, understanding the unease that consumed you at the thought of going to the Baratie alone with a man who might potentially make unwanted advances. Unfortunately, you felt trapped and unable to decline, as your parents had you cornered with their scrutinizing stares.

On the other hand, Mari attempted to find a glimmer of hope amidst your turmoil, suggesting that this unpleasant occurance could present an opportunity to cross paths with Sanji once again. All you had to do was pretend to be exhausted and make sure to keep your distance from Christopher's reach.

Fortunately, Christopher remained silent and somewhat distant throughout the entire journey to the floating establishment, though you could still sense a certain uneasiness emanating from him. His silence allowed you to finally lose yourself in a book you had been struggling to finish for weeks, savoring the invigorating, salty breeze on the ship's deck. As the sun began to set and dinnertime approached, the chilly atmosphere sent a shiver down your spine. Your dress provided little coverage and offered no warmth, but it wasn't a choice you had made personally. Your mother had selected the attire for you, and as she perused your closet, she appeared unusually radiant, humming to herself. It was not a promising sign.

The moment you spotted the restaurant ship in the distance, your heart leapt into your throat. You clung to the hope that Sanji could help you escape your predicament once again, but you knew that such a possibility was unlikely with Christopher by your side and no other means of diversion.

Yet, internally, you scolded yourself for allowing a complete stranger to have such a profound impact on you. You didn't want to develop an attachment to the first attractive man who showed a level of care and kindness that surpassed anything your own father had ever demonstrated. So why were you unable to erase the memory of the cook's smile even after more than 15 days?

You had no desire for a paternal figure in your life, not even in the slightest. Instead, what you truly yearned for was a man who could be your perfect counterpart, someone who could complete you as you completed him. You longed for an equal and a confidant, a lover whom you could trust with every part of yourself and who would willingly open his heart to you in return.

No matter how long you had known Christopher and his father, he was not the person you were seeking.

As you stepped onto the wooden docks, you couldn't help but be captivated by the sight of numerous ships docked in front of the restaurant. Eavesdropping on conversations, you discovered that many people were so enchanted by the exquisite cuisine at the Baratie that they had chosen to extend their stay.

According to Christopher, he had to wait at least 10 days to secure a reservation for the two of you, and even your family encountered difficulties in finding an available table.Sanji had shared with you that the head chef at the Baratie didn't value his culinary creativity, relegating him to serving tables as a form of punishment. If the restaurant's quality was already remarkable even without Sanji in the kitchen, you could only envision how extraordinary it could become if he were given the chance to be a regular chef.

To be honest, the rice that Sanji cooked for you was unbelievably delicious, surpassing everything else on your plate that you had ever tasted.

As you encountered the same fishman at the entrance, he greeted you with utmost courtesy and a friendly smile. Following him down the stairs to a small, circular table at the center, you couldn't help but scan the room in anticipation of catching a glimpse of Sanji. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found, leaving you with a bitter feeling of letdown.

As soon as you both sat down, Christopher promptly felt the need to unbutton the collar of his formal jacket, commenting on how warm the restaurant was with a nervous chuckle. You raised an eyebrow at him, finding the temperature perfectly comfortable and to your liking.

In that moment, it was impossible for you to ignore the fact that something was undeniably amiss. Compared to your previous "dates," Christopher seemed noticeably more preoccupied, his mind seemingly burdened by a specific concern that caused him to sweat profusely.

In a strange way, his peculiar behavior brought a sense of relief, as it kept him from becoming overly affectionate or intrusive. However, a nagging voice in your mind persisted, urging you to escape at once, even if it meant taking control of your parents' ship and leaving him stranded at the Baratie.

Lost in your thoughts, you remained silent as Christopher continued to mutter to himself. However, when you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure from the corner of your eye, you had to verify that your mind wasn't deceiving you.

And there he was, Sanji the cook, placing a tantalizing steak in front of a customer. His face wore a serious and irritated expression, but as he turned, his hands casually tucked into his pants pockets, your eyes met in a deep stare. A knot formed in your stomach as his lips curved into a captivating, flirtatious, and pleasantly surprised smile.

He stood there, motionless, his eyes fixed on you from a distance, and you couldn't help but reciprocate with a smile of your own.

"So, what would you like to eat?" Chris asked, holding the menu in front of you.

With a sense of déjà vu, you reluctantly tore your gaze away from Sanji and shifted your attention to the menu, but a wave of nausea washed over you as Christopher's hand brushed against yours.

Evidently, you had claimed victory far too soon.

"I'm in the mood for some meat tonight.”

You clenched your fists, causing your knuckles to whiten as you tightened your grip on the tablecloth.

"Meat? I thought you didn't want to eat that," he remarked.

You often pondered how oblivious he was to your actions, eventually concluding that even if he did notice, he likely wouldn't care.

"Let me guess. My mother told you it's bad for my health," you responded sardonically.

He scratched the back of his neck and replied, "Heh, well. Yes.”

“What a surprise.”

You glanced around cautiously, hoping to catch another glimpse of Sanji, but he had already disappeared. Meanwhile, Christopher grew increasingly agitated as he checked his pockets, only to release a sigh of relief when he found whatever he had been frantically searching for.

"Is everything alright?" you asked him.

"Hmm? Oh yes, everything is fine," he replied absentmindedly.

Your heart sank as a different waiter approached the table to take your order. This pale, young man wore a shy smile, suggesting that he was a new addition to the staff. However, he exuded a natural confidence and competence that immediately filled you with a comforting sense of warmth.

Just... he wasn't the one you were hoping to see.

Furthermore, Christopher's growing restlessness was beginning to try your patience. He couldn't seem to stay still, constantly fidgeting in his chair and looking around as if he were disoriented. He frequently adjusted the collar of his shirt, which was becoming drenched with his nervous perspiration.

Ignoring him, you drank the refreshing, ice-cold water that the waiter had poured into your glass, feeling your throat parched from your increasing frustration. Suddenly, you wished you had ordered something stronger.

When your food arrived, the enticing aroma of the steak enveloped your senses, causing your mouth to water the moment it was delicately placed in front of you. The rich, creamy sauce that coated it left you longing for more, as if you hadn't eaten in days.

With anticipation, you picked up the polished silverware, prepared to take your first bite. However, your excitement quickly waned when Christopher let out a long, deep sigh and nearly pushed his own plate aside, leaving it untouched.

"That's it. I need to do it now."

Your actions came to a halt, and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "What are you talking about?”

Christopher cleared his throat once again, reaching into his inner pocket. He retrieved a small black velvet box and placed it on the table, sliding it towards you with care. In that moment, it felt as if all color had drained from your face.

"I had planned to do this after dessert, but I can't wait any longer. Can you please open it?" he asked, his voice filled with apprehension.

Your fingers trembled, causing the fork and knife to slip from your grip and clang against the plate. A surge of dread washed over you as you cautiously took the box and opened it, revealing a sparkling ring that seemed overly large and ostentatious, far from your own personal style.

"What your mother mentioned to us two weeks ago got me thinking. We've known each other for quite a while now, haven't we? We shouldn't waste any more time. Let’s get married," he said bluntly.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling your heart pounding in your chest, as if it were about to burst and make you collapse. Deep down, you had a premonition that this was what he had planned all along, which is precisely why you had felt such a strong urge to flee, regretting ever accepting his invitation in the first place.

You didn't need to ponder it because you already knew the answer, and it was one that nobody was going to find satisfying.

"Chris, let me ask you something. Are you genuinely convinced that this would even work out?" you questioned.

"I don't see any reason why it wouldn't," he replied with a shrug.

"We might have known each other for a few years, but you don't even love me," you stated.

"So what? I like you enough to consider you worthy of being a good wife."

You swallowed hard, summoning your courage. "But we have nothing in common. We are complete opposites. How can you even believe that we are meant to be together?”

His expression hardened in a way you had never witnessed before. "Look, I don't see why this is even relevant. All I expect from you is to become the wife I deserve and the mother of my children.”

Hearing that, the pressing need to stand up and storm out of the restaurant overcame you, never wanting to see his face again. "How did we even go from talking about marriage to discussing having children?"

"That's what married couples do, right?"

"So this is all I am to you? A mere trophy to be won? Just an object to put on display and bear your children without any say or consent?" you inquired, seething with resentment and utter disgust.

Christopher's jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened to a degree that sent a shiver down your spine. "This is what you are meant to do. It's the reason why you were promised to me," he stated coldly.

You knew that you were expected to comply, and maybe, if this had happened just a little while ago, you might have accepted his proposal even if it tore you apart inside. But this time, everything felt different.

You felt different.

You closed the box, carefully placing it on the table, and slid it back to him. "I'm sorry. The answer is no.”

In retrospect, you should have anticipated that he wouldn't take it lightly.

"No? NO???" he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and anger. "It's what your parents want too, so you MUST do as they say!" he insisted.

His increasing frustration and sense of entitlement only served to further distance you. As his voice grew louder, you became more self-conscious, aware of the stares from other customers as they turned to look in your direction.

Nervously, you implored Chris to lower his voice. "You won't achieve anything screaming at me, Chris. Please, let's talk about this later," you said, hoping to soothe his frayed nerves.

"Oh, no. Everyone needs to know what a damn bitch you are."

The whispers around you grew more audible, heightening your feelings of embarrassment and mortification.

"Give me a valid reason for not marrying me," he demanded. "Enough with the bullshit!”

Despite feeling intimidated by his unexpected outburst, you refused to allow your determination to crumble.

You knew it was audacious, but you managed to astonish even yourself as all the venom within you poured out without restraint. "I would rather die than marry someone like you."

It took a moment for the events that followed your confession to sink in. Suddenly, your head was forcefully turned to the side, accompanied by a throbbing pain that spread across your cheek and to the corner of your mouth. The room filled with gasps, and as the harsh reality of the situation settled in, you forced yourself to look back at Christopher, gently brushing your already swollen face with your fingertips.

Christopher was panting, trembling with anger. His eyes were filled with nothing but a toxic and malevolent disdain. "Your parents were right. You are such a disappointment.”

You had to concentrate on controlling your own breathing now, but the shock from the slap had rendered you motionless, trapped in the chair, immobilized by fear.

And yet, you allowed yourself to let out another stinging sentence. "I might be a disappointment, but you sure as hell are far from a real man.”

Christopher stood up and seized the edge of the table, flipping it over with a sudden, powerful force. You watched in dismay as the food tumbled down, landing in a chaotic mess of broken glass and ceramic shards.

It was a distressing and painful sight to witness, such a terrible waste.

Christopher was far from finished, especially when it came to you. Before you could even react, he forcefully pulled your hair back, his teeth gritted dangerously close to your face.

"Maybe I should ruin this pretty face of yours. See then if any other man will ever want your pathetic existence in his life.”

Your mouth opened, but no sound emerged. You remained seated, steeling yourself for whatever was about to transpire.

And then, like a beacon of light amidst the darkness, you heard a familiar voice.

"I thought the rules were clear sir: no wasting food, and no fights in the Baratie."

Sanji appeared by your side, his blue eyes emanating a menacing glare, assuming his customary pose with his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Ah, here comes the fancy jerk," Christopher said with an amused grin, letting go of your hair and straightening himself up.

Sanji stood his ground, showing no signs of being affected by the threatening tone of your ex-fiancé. In a firm voice, he cautioned, "I would strongly advise you to step away from her."

Chris let out a boisterous laugh. "What are you, her lapdog?" he sneered. "Perhaps I should teach you some manners. Let's see if you still want to meddle in other people's fucking business.”

In a split second, Christopher retrieved a gun from his holster, but even before he had a chance to point it at Sanji, the cook reacted with lightning speed, moving in a blur. With a quick and fluid motion, Sanji lifted his left leg and expertly kicked the gun out of Christopher's hand, causing it to clatter loudly as it hit the floor. Filled with a mixture of shock and escalating rage, Christopher let out a ferocious growl, launching himself at Sanji with the intention of landing a powerful punch. However, effortlessly evading Christopher's attack, Sanji countered with another forceful kick aimed at his face. The impact was so powerful that it immediately caused the man's nose to start bleeding.

As you looked up, you saw Sanji standing before you once again, his gaze resting on Christopher's pitiful figure. His blond hair partially obscured the left side of his face, while his leg remained slightly elevated as he readjusted his hands in his pants pockets.

In that moment, your breath caught in your throat, leaving you momentarily speechless at the unexpected display of Sanji's strength and agility.

Regaining his composure, Chris charged forward a second time, moving with surprising speed despite his disheveled and worn-out appearance. ”That is no way to deal with a customer!”

"And that is not how you treat a respectable lady, you shithead," Sanji shot back, his irritation evident in his scowl and rising anger in his voice. Any semblance of professional courtesy had long vanished.

As your heart raced with excitement, the sound of Christopher's approaching footsteps sent alarm bells ringing in your mind, erasing any trace of a smile that was about to appear on your face.

"How did you put it? No fights? Well, now you've made it personal.”

After wiping the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, Christopher took on a fighting stance and cracked his knuckles. He continued to taunt Sanji, just as he always did when confronting the pirates he despised so vehemently.

Once again, the cook seemed unimpressed. "You're only going to end up hurting yourself," he said nonchalantly.

If there was one thing you had learned about Chris the hard way, it was that he didn't take kindly to being challenged or disrespected. Sanji's dismissive and mocking manners only served to further ignite his fury, prompting him to charge at your savior with a fierce battle cry.

Despite Christopher's attempts to land blows on Sanji, each one was easily blocked, deflected, or completely avoided by the blond's incredible skills. Sanji's movements focused solely on his legs as he relentlessly unleashed a barrage of kicks to Christopher's head, chest, and abdomen.

You watched the scene in awe, completely captivated by the way Sanji's hair swayed in front of his eyes, only to be brushed back with a quick head movement. He pivoted gracefully, delivering a final, forceful kick that sent Christopher sprawling onto his back. Your ex-fiancé, unwilling to give up, relied on his Marine training, summoning enough resilience to rise to his feet again. However, before he could take another step forward, the sound of a gun being cocked echoed from behind him.

A tall man with a towering chef's hat, dressed in a white cook uniform and sporting an incredibly long braided blond mustache, brought him to an abrupt halt. He pressed the cold barrel of the weapon against the back of Christopher's head.

"That's enough," he commanded. "Get out of my restaurant. Now.”

Christopher's demeanor underwent a sudden and dramatic transformation, shifting from the confidence of a fierce lion to the innocence of a timid mouse. With his hands raised in the air, his current posture stood in stark contrast to his previous aggression.

The man in charge, unmistakably asserting his authority, positioned himself between Christopher and Sanji without lowering his weapon. Upon closer observation, you noticed that his right leg was actually a wooden peg.

"My father won't be pleased with this. This place is nothing but a damn hellhole, and you're no better than those filthy pirates," Christopher proclaimed, his voice dripping with hatred and contempt.

“I said, out!”

The owner's commanding voice resonated with such force that it echoed throughout the entire dining room. The authoritative command seemed to make even Christopher flinch, and just as he was about to turn and leave, his gaze unexpectedly locked onto you one last time.

"You'll pay for this, Y/N," he warned, his words carrying the weight of a vengeful promise.

Without hesitation, Sanji moved towards Christopher, but his path was intercepted by the head chef, who firmly pressed his hand against Sanji's chest, effectively restraining him.

As Christopher picked up his pistol from the floor and hurriedly left, you watched his figure fade away, his fingers clutching a bloodied nose. A profound sense of relief washed over you the moment he disappeared, but the emotional toll left you too drained to even move or rise. Your gaze drifted downward to the ruined food scattered about, and a wave of guilt engulfed you as you acknowledged the wasted efforts.

“Are you all right?”

You were greeted by a calm and soothing voice, tinged with a hint of roughness. As you turned your head, you found the chef leaning slightly over you, attentively examining your face. You could feel your cheek growing warmer and irritatingly swollen.

You managed to muster only a nod and allowed a smile to finally grace your lips. "I apologize for this mess, sir.”

The man placed his hands on his hips, letting out a frustrated sigh as he surveyed the chaos caused by Christopher's rampage. Your attention was drawn to more workers emerging from the kitchen, each carrying brooms, cleaning rugs, and trays to collect the scattered debris.

"Come on, Little Eggplant, take her to the kitchen," the chef instructed Sanji before shifting his attention to the others present. "Get back to your meals, folks. There's nothing to see here.”

The tension in the room was palpable as the customers made an effort to mind their own business but struggled to do so. Some sat in silence, their attention back to their now cold food, while others discreetly stole glances in your direction, seeking reassurance that your condition was not too severe.

As Sanji drew near, he came unexpectedly close to your face. One hand extended towards you, while the other delicately reached out to touch your upper back, conveying a gentle gesture of care. "Can you stand?" he asked softly.

"I think so," you confirmed, lightly brushing his palm with your fingertips as you pushed yourself upright. Your legs felt slightly unsteady, but you had no reason to worry about them giving way because Sanji was there, supporting your waist and guiding you towards the kitchen.

Everything happened so quickly that you were still trying to grasp the full extent of the situation. Rumors had been circulating about the Baratie not being an ordinary restaurant, but rather an establishment managed by a former pirate who had found solace in the Sambas Region. If anything, witnessing the owner's imposing presence and being privy to Sanji's astounding combat prowess only served to deepen your admiration.

As you entered the kitchen through the swinging wooden doors, all the workers inside turned their gaze towards you, their faces showing a mix of surprise and perplexity. They were taken aback by the commotion outside and the presence of a stranger being brought into their workspace.

Sanji guided you to an unoccupied table tucked away in a secluded corner of the room. He invited you to take a seat and made sure to stay by your side until you were comfortably settled. You quietly watched as he removed his black jacket and casually placed it over the back of a nearby chair, revealing his well-defined physique accentuated by the long-sleeved button-up shirt he wore underneath.

He then approached a refrigerator, inspecting its contents and rolling up his sleeves.

You noticed the same pale young man who had taken your orders earlier, repeatedly looking back and forth between you and Sanji. However, he chose not to voice the question that was likely on everyone's mind and quickly returned to stirring the pot in front of him when he briefly made eye contact with you.

That is, until a man with brown skin, short blue hair, and a distinctive stubble decided to step forward. He wiped his hands on the front of his apron and furrowed his eyebrows as he noticed the redness on your cheek. "What happened?" he asked inquisitively.

"It's nothing, Patty. Get back to your work. I'll take care of this," Sanji replied, closing the fridge with something wrapped carefully in tinfoil in his hand.

Patty seemed unsure, but like the others, he chose not to inquire further and let the matter go. You watched as he skillfully diced the carrots and tossed them into the sizzling pan.

When Sanji returned and handed you the frozen leftovers to use as a makeshift ice pack for your cheek, you couldn't help but suppress a mental chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. He apologized for the inconvenience, explaining that their kitchen was not equipped to provide proper medical assistance.

Despite all the chaos and mess, you found Sanji's tenderness to be heartwarming. His gentle touch as he carefully wiped a cloth across the other side of your face, removing a droplet of meat sauce just below your cheekbone, evoked a feeling of care and comfort, surrounding you with a warm embrace.

Neither of you spoke, completely absorbed in a peaceful, tender moment as Sanji meticulously cleansed your skin and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your eye. Feeling your right cheek lightly graze against the cool tinfoil, a slight throb pulsed through, but the refreshing sensation provided immediate relief, easing the pain until it gradually faded into a barely noticeable ache.

The workers diligently carried out their tasks, bustling around the kitchen, cooking, and cleaning surfaces to remove any traces of flour and various ingredients. Patty occasionally took a quick peek in your direction, but he remained focused on his station behind the stove, choosing not to intervene.

After a while, you found it impossible to contain the soft giggle that escaped your lips, quickly blossoming into genuine laughter. Sanji looked at you with a mixture of confusion and amusement, but a smile slowly spread across his face.

“What is it?” He asked curiously.

"It's not exactly romantic for me to be sitting here with a frozen salmon pressed against my face, is it?”

Upon hearing your words, Sanji joined in laughter, not to mock you, but to create a lighthearted atmosphere and demonstrate that he didn't mind at all, as long as you were safe and out of Christopher's reach.

But then, a thought crossed his mind. "How did you know there's fish in there?”

You shrugged lightly in response. "I can smell it through the tinfoil."

"Your sense of smell is quite impressive, madam."

"Y/N, please," you reiterated. "What you did back there was absolutely incredible, by the way.”

And then, like a vessel propelled by a gust of wind, your lips continued to move on their own.

“How is it possible for you to be such an amazing cook, handsome, and even a formidable fighter? It’s way too much at once, it should be illegal.”

Although you were still overwhelmed by the combination of his talents, you inwardly chided yourself for the blunt nature of the comment you made. Your compliments caught Sanji off guard, and you were astonished by your uncharacteristically straightforward words. He glanced down with a bashful smile, chuckling to himself, clearly reveling in the boost to his ego.

"Shit. What am I saying? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to blurt that out loud."

"No need to apologize… Y/N. I like your honesty. Please, feel free to keep it coming."

Sanji's warm smile and gentle blue eyes were the most captivating sights you had ever seen. In his presence, it felt natural for you to express genuine compliments, even though you would normally hesitate to speak so openly without the help of a drink. Perhaps it was the fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins that temporarily allowed you to let go of your usual inhibitions.

As everything flooded back to you, your expression faltered. "Thank you for saving me out there. And I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble.”

"It wasn't your fault," Sanji reassured you kindly.

But you, being compassionate by nature, shook your head. "That idiot was with me, so I should take responsibility for what he did. I was the one who provoked him, anyway," you acknowledged, shouldering a blame that didn't truly belong to you.

"Nah. Anyone with enough common sense would recognize what a bloody knobhead he is."

"He's the absolute worst, truly," you affirmed.

Sanji seemed to became expectant, and a trace of concern flashed in his eyes, as if he was apprehensive about what Christopher might have subjected you to beyond the confines of the Baratie.

In the end, you concluded that it wouldn't be so terrible or inappropriate to reveal the truth of what had taken place. "You see, he actually decided to propose to me tonight," you explained.

He adjusted his posture, straightening his back against the chair. "And you turned him down?"

“I did.”

"You don't love him, do you?"

“As if I ever could.”

It did feel strange to have such a conversation in the bustling kitchen of his restaurant, but with the constant noise of boiling water, sizzling meat, and knives chopping, you doubted that anyone would pay attention to the two of you discussing the unpleasantness of your former fiancé.

Sanji smiled once more, looking at you with fascination and pride. "I must say, you were wrong about one thing.”

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. "About what?"

"Last time you told me that some birds are not meant to fly.”

Your eyes flickered. “Ah, yes. I remember that.”

“And yet, I see a beautiful one spreading its wings right in front of me.”

You blushed slightly, lowering the frozen salmon and running your thumb over the tinfoil covering it. "I suppose. Although I can anticipate a significant backlash coming my way, so I can’t get too comfortable now.”

"You should to stay away from that git."

“It's not just him that I'm worried about."

Sanji waited, expecting further explanation, but this time you simply looked into his eyes without offering any additional information.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and absentmindedly tapped his fingertips against the table. "It's more complicated than that, isn't it?" he asked, sensing that there was more to the story.

You smiled back at him with a hint of sadness. "You have no idea.”

Sanji leaned forward, lightly brushing your left arm with the cloth he was still holding. "My offer still stands, sweetheart. If you ever need any help, you know where to find me," he said, his voice filled with sincerity and a genuine willingness to support you.

Your heart fluttered, and the butterflies in your stomach intensified, swirling in an endless spiral. Although he had gained the reputation of a womanizer, you now realized that Mari had spoken the truth. There was a hidden depth to Sanji beyond his flirtatious demeanor, and you couldn't help but wonder if his charm served as a shield to conceal something tormenting him from within.

You felt an unexplainable pull towards Sanji and the mysterious depths that you could detect in him. However, you were hesitant to fully open up to this kind man, determined to keep your personal struggles separate from others. Despite the tempting offer and the looming dread of what awaited you, you remained resolute in your dedication to handling things in the proper manner, even though deep down, you yearned for the comfort and affection of someone else.

"Thank you, but don't worry about it. I can handle it on my own,” you assured. “Besides, you've already done more than enough for me.”

Unbeknownst to you, you found yourself instinctively leaning towards him, delicately touching his bare wrist. Your cool fingers glided over his warm skin, grazing the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. Sanji glanced down at your hand, and just as you were about to pull away, he flashed another irresistible, captivating smile that was difficult for you to ignore.

"There is one more thing I can do for you.”

"What do you mean?" you asked, sliding your fingers down to rest on the table.

"You couldn’t eat your food, could you?”

You bit your lower lip. "No. The jerk ruined it before I could take a bite."

"Well, I can't have you here at the Baratie with an empty stomach, what kind of man would I be?" he winked. "What would you like to eat? Shall I bring you the same order as before?"

You were surprised by his eagerness as he stood up from the chair and retrieved the white chef uniform that had been casually discarded on an empty counter.

A part of you still craved the tantalizing steak you had missed out on, but you came to the realization that anything prepared by Sanji would be equally exquisite. With a broad grin on your face, you presented the wrapped salmon to him, anticipating the culinary masterpiece he would create.

"It would be a shame not to make the most of this lifesaver fish. I have complete faith in your skills."

Filled with a newfound confidence, he carefully buttoned up his white jacket, unwrapped the leftovers, and selected a freshly cleaned pan from the kitchenware.

“Right away!”

Saying that Zeff was irritated was an understatement. Every now and then, there was that one customer ready to jeopardize everything he had worked so hard for, forcing him and his workers to clean and repair the damages caused. Now, two plates and glasses needed to be replaced with fresh new ones, the food had practically been trampled on the floor and couldn't be salvaged, and the tablecloth required an immediate thorough wash.

He could finally return to the kitchen, only to find Sanji happily cooking something without his specific permission. Their habit of arguing out loud due to Sanji's tendency to improvise dishes and deviate from the menu was a constant source of frustration for Zeff. It led him to repeatedly banish Sanji from any cooking responsibilities and demote him to the role of a waiter, which the young cook despised. And yet, as the stubborn Little Eggplant that he was, Sanji never seemed to learn.

To Zeff, there was nobody as talented as Sanji in his restaurant, but he knew that the sole reason for the young man to stay at the Baratie was the strong sense of obligation he nurtured for the head chef. Zeff wanted Sanji to realize the enormous amount of opportunities he was wasting, and if he had to push him the hard way every day to get it through his head, he was willing to do it for Sanji's own sake.

Zeff was on the verge of unleashing another loud complaint, but the words remained stifled in his mouth as soon as he caught sight of you sitting at the table, tucked away in a remote corner of the kitchen. A shy smile graced your lips as you hugged yourself, appearing delicate and out of place. In your presence, he couldn't bring himself to create a scene, realizing that the only reason Sanji had donned his cook uniform again was to feed you.

Whenever their eyes met, Sanji shot Zeff a threatening look, fully aware of the chef's constant scrutiny on his food preparation. It was evident that he was once again modifying one of his original dishes, but Zeff chose to hold back his reprimand for a later time.

As Sanji returned to the table and placed the plate of salmon in front of you, your face lit up and your smile became much more genuine and carefree. Zeff felt a subtle warmth in his chest the moment he witnessed your satisfaction in finally being able to indulge in the meal that had been denied to you. Zeff remained unwavering in his code of honor, both in the past and in the present, even though he used to find enjoyment in battles and feeling a sense of satisfaction from the blood of his enemies on his boots. He couldn't comprehend any valid justification for the scumbag you had come with to inflict harm upon an innocent person like yourself.

Sanji was expected to return to his duties after tending to your injury, but he instead chose to sit down in front of you and showed no intention of getting up. Zeff couldn't help but roll his eyes at his behavior as he collected the prepared meals and left to serve them to the customers himself.

Sanji had done it again. You hadn't even wanted fish when you arrived at the Baratie, but the meal he prepared was so scrumptious that it completely overshadowed the steak you missed out on. The Salmon Meunière, as he called it, was exquisitely delicate on the palate and unquestionably the most tender and flavorful salmon you had ever experienced. Lightly fried in oil, it was served with a buttery sauce, lemon juice, and parsley. The crispy coating melted on your tongue the moment it touched your taste buds. Sanji explained that while it was originally part of Zeff's restaurant menu, he took the liberty to enhance the recipe with his own personal touch.

The way Sanji could elevate a simple dish into an authentic masterpiece was truly beyond belief.

"I'm telling you, your talents are wasted on waiting tables," you exclaimed, gazing in awe at your now empty plate.

Sanji clicked his tongue and pursed his lips. "The old man wouldn't see it that way," he replied.

"But why? Just because you enjoy being creative with your cooking? If the outcome is this good, he would only gain from it.”

Sanji stared at you in silence, but then he flashed another sweet, captivating smile that instantly made your knees weak. "Do you truly mean that?" he asked, his voice filled with hope and a glimmer of vulnerability.

Hopefully, the blush coloring your cheeks wasn't too noticeable in the dim light of the kitchen. "Of course. And I could tell him as well.”

He chuckled softly. "I appreciate it, but you definitely don't want to see Zeff when he's angry.”

You playfully tapped his hand. "Oh, come on. He can't be worse than my ex.”

Upon hearing that, Sanji was reminded of how your former fiancé had treated you. His gaze shifted back to the right side of your face, which, although no longer as swollen as before, still caused intermittent tingling and twinges of pain.

"Zeff is a man of honor," he replied. "From my personal experience, I can vouch for that.”

You raised an eyebrow as you scrutinized his expression. While his left eye was partially obscured by his hair, the other one shimmered in the gentle glow, captivating your attention.

"Ah, I see now. He's not just your boss, is he? There's something more going on between the two of you.”

Sanji removed the white cloth from his shoulder and delicately placed it on the table. He appeared lost in thought, his jaw tightly clenched with tension. "Well, it's..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.

You didn’t need to let him finish. “Complicated?”

He nodded, a subtle grin playing on his lips. "Very much so," he replied.

Another comfortable silence settled between the two of you once more, and you welcomed it with open arms. The sudden sense of camaraderie and understanding that had developed between Sanji and you was beyond your comprehension, surpassing anything you experienced in your life.

This time, Patty took a step closer, his frustration becoming apparent even in your presence. "Are you returning to work or not?" he demanded.

Sanji took a deep breath, his right hand clenched into a tight fist. "Be quiet, Patty. I'm busy at the moment.”

"Oh, right. Busy. I see that."

Suddenly, a sense of guilt enveloped you for diverting Sanji from his duties. Although none of his colleagues had voiced their concerns, it was clear that Patty's patience had inevitably reached its limit.

And so, you gently brushed your fingertips against his clenched fist, feeling it gradually loosen and relax under your touch. "Hey, it's okay," you whispered. "Don't worry about me. They need you.”

Sanji hesitated, stealing a quick glance at Patty, who stood there with his arms crossed and waited impatiently.

"Go. I'll be fine here," you reassured him.

It took him a moment, but Sanji finally came to terms with what needed to be done, although he seemed much less resistant to the idea than he was with Patty.

"Call me if you need anything," he said, standing up from the chair and unbuttoning his uniform.

As you watched him discard his chef clothes, a twinge of sadness tugged at your heart, seeing him set aside his culinary skills to work as a waiter in the dining hall. Of course, you didn't dare to say anything, maintaining your smile and crossing your hands on the table, the black jacket fluttering behind him as he put it back on and walked away.

When Patty turned to you, all the annoyance he had previously displayed seemed to have completely vanished. "How did you manage that?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "I… simply told him to get back to work.”

Patty let out a small snort. "He would only listen to me if I were an attractive lady," he remarked with a hint of sarcasm, acknowledging Sanji's flirtatious nature.

You laughed wholeheartedly. "I'll take that as a compliment.”

For the first time since you entered the kitchen, you witnessed Patty flash a warm, toothy smile. You remained silent as you watched him skillfully work the pan on the stove, effortlessly cutting more fish, meat, and vegetables as he went. Everyone moved with impressive speed and confidence, yet the atmosphere managed to remain calm and devoid of stress.

For the next hour and a half, you remained there without interfering, meticulously studying your surroundings and observing every action unfolding before your eyes. Contrary to expectations, sitting at the table with nothing to do was surprisingly productive. Patty and the pale young waiter would occasionally check in to see if you needed anything else to eat or drink, but you were still perfectly satisfied and content from the dinner Sanji had prepared for you. The mentioned cook continuously darted back and forth, unwilling to leave you unattended, always ready to crack a joke just to bring a smile to your face.

Somehow, the attention that these perfect strangers were giving you sparked a strong desire to become a part of their world.

As Sanji returned to the kitchen after completing his last task for the day, he was taken aback by what he saw. Instead of finding you waiting for him at the table as he had anticipated, he discovered you standing in front of the sink, diligently washing dishes and polishing glasses. To his astonishment, you were adorned in an apron that somehow complemented your lovely dress and high heels.

Sanji stood frozen, a mix of bewilderment and amusement washing over him as he witnessed you engrossed in a lively conversation with Patty. With neatly stacked plates beside you, it appeared that everyone else had either retired for a well-deserved rest or gathered at the bar for a refreshing drink. Frowning slightly, he couldn't help but smile at how seamlessly you had assimilated into the environment. The stark contrast between the person he had brought to the kitchen and the woman diligently working before him was striking.

As Patty caught sight of Sanji standing at the entrance, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Don't blame me. She was the one who insisted.”

You turned your head towards him, greeted Sanji with a beaming smile, and wiped your hands on the apron. "Welcome back," you said cheerfully, your voice filled with warmth and genuine happiness.

"What are you doing, beautiful? " he asked, a playful hint in his voice.

"Sitting over there was starting to give me a cramp in my butt. I thought I could be of use and lend you a hand. It's the least I can do after the trouble Shithead caused.”

Sanji couldn't resist the temptation and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face with a feather-like touch, just as he had done before. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of your eyes. In that moment, as he observed you completely at ease and exuding confidence, Sanji found himself even more engrossed in your presence. The constraints of a snug-fitting dress and uncomfortable shoes were not enough to deter you, as you appeared completely undeterred by your less-than-ideal attire for such tasks.

"I apologize for leaving you here alone. It was never my intention to impose our job on you," he said apologetically.

"You didn't impose anything on me, and technically, I'm not even supposed to be here," you replied. "Truth be told, I was actually having a good time.”

"A good time washing dishes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Most people consider it a boring thing to do, but it’s not that bad to me.”

As usual, the dining hall was filled with a multitude of incredibly beautiful clients, and yet, Sanji couldn't shake off the enchantment of your delightful smile. While women held a special place in Sanji's heart, regardless of their story or background, there was something about you that radiated a unique aura. It compelled him to seek a deeper understanding of your personality and uncover more about your hardships.

As Patty grumbled a few steps away, annoyingly suggesting that the two of you should have a room to yourselves, he folded his stained apron and quietly left, leaving you and Sanji alone in the tranquil ambiance of the empty room.

Sanji felt an overwhelming urge to move closer to where you were standing, finding you the most adorable thing he had ever laid eyes on, especially with the noticeable red tint coloring your cheeks. However, he resisted the temptation, understanding the significance of maintaining a respectful distance.

Finally, it was you who broke the awkward silence by untangling the apron from behind your neck.

"Hey, um...do you mind if I make a quick call?”

Even though a part of him felt let down by your sudden change of topic, clearly an attempt to avoid any potentially embarrassing situation, Sanji didn't mind indulging in a game of playing hard-to-get.

"Of course," he replied. "Zeff keeps a Snail Phone in his office. I could take you there for some privacy, if you'd like.”

“I hate to take advantage of your kindness again, but… yes, please.”

He deeply respected your selflessness and compassion towards others, two qualities that he held in high regard. He couldn’t wait to discover the other hidden facets of your personality.

“Anything for you, Y/N.”

Sanji gently brushed his hand against your back, guiding you out of the kitchen and towards the head chef's private quarters. The contact was pleasant, and he couldn't help but savor the smooth and silky texture of your skin once again.

Deep inside, and yet not buried too far, it was driving him utterly insane.

When you sat at the head chef's desk, the Snail Phone resting on top of it, you struggled to stifle your laughter as you gazed at its appearance. The uncanny resemblance to Zeff, with the braided mustache and tiny chef hat, was truly remarkable to you. The ability for everyone to customize their Snails according to their preferences always filled you with delight and exhilaration.

Once you managed to compose yourself, you dialed the number and calmly waited for your friend to pick up. Outside the closed door, Sanji patiently leaned against the wall, waiting for you to finish.

When Mari's voice came through the other side of the line, her name almost escaped your lips as a shout.

"Y/N? Where are you calling from? I thought you went to the Baratie restaurant with Nutty.”

“Nutty…?”

“Yes, you know. He’s a Nutter. Duh.”

YYou shook your head, exhaling a breath that you hadn't realized you were holding.

“Wait, what’s going on?”

Despite your friends' warnings about the man's unpredictable nature, you had obstinately proceeded without heeding their advice. Now, faced with the undeniable truth of their words, you found yourself unable to express the full extent of their accuracy.

"We came to the Baratie, but let's just say that things didn't go as planned," you replied, attempting to downplay the gravity of the situation.

"I don’t like the sound of that," she muttered, expressing a sense of concern or worry.

And thus, without beating around the bush or wasting time, you revealed, "He proposed to me. With the most flashy, biggest ring I have ever seen. I had to decline.”

"He did what...?" Mari's voice echoed through the room, reaching a volume that made it highly likely that even Sanji could hear it. "And you...you actually did that?”

"What other choice did I have? I can't marry someone like him.”

"Of course you can't, sweetie! The thing is, I never expected you to have the courage to do it. No offense," Mari replied, her tone filled with surprise and admiration.

"None taken.”

"So, what's the plan now? Are you still with him?"

"No, he's gone. Or rather, they made him leave after he-"

"Did he do something to you?”

You paused momentarily, your hand instinctively rising to touch your right cheek, before providing her with a brief yet comprehensive explanation.

Being your best friend, Mari had taken it upon herself to look after you during times when you struggled to take care of yourself. While you never quite mastered the art of physical combat, Mari possessed the ability to defeat any opponent she came across, regardless of their size.

"I'm going to kill him," she declared with determination. “I'll find him and give him a beating that will make him weep and beg for weeks.”

Having a good understanding of her character, you knew that she genuinely meant every word she spoke.

"That's really kind of you, but please don't. It's not worth it," you pleaded.

"Y/N, this is unacceptable. No man should ever treat a woman like that," she expressed, brimming with righteous indignation.

"Believe me, I learned my lesson the hard way," you said, conveying the painful experience you had endured.

Mari let out a deep groan. "So, if he's gone, that means you're still at the Baratie on your own, right?”

"Yes, about that. Is there any chance you guys could come and pick me up?”

"We can definitely get you, no doubt about it. But just keep in mind that even if we leave now, we won't be able to reach the restaurant until tomorrow morning.”

A wave of realization washed over you, causing your grip on the speaker to tighten. It felt like a chilling shower drenching you from head to toe as you suddenly grasped the most crucial detail of all: you were left stranded at the Baratie for the entire night.

While the idea wasn't particularly scary, knowing that you were safer at the Baratie than in your own home, you pondered whether the staff had a spare room on the ship to offer. However, your mind soon drifted back to Sanji, resulting in a stream of inappropriate mental images that you had to forcefully push away.

You were so consumed by your post-traumatic emotions and the flirtatious back-and-forth with Sanji that it hadn't even occurred to you until that precise moment.

"...Right, obviously.”

And then, panic engulfed you.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 3 ->

#one piece #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #sanji x reader #opla fanfiction #sanji vinsmoke

[cool-fancier]

Love Beyond Tradition

Synopsis: A royal ball in South Korea sets the stage for Princess Bada and a villager's secret love. Tradition, friendship, and a compromise weave a tale that defies societal norms.

A/N: princess!Bada , villager!you, complexities of tradition, societal expectations, and the transformative power of love that defies established norms, The Subtle Symphony of Forbidden Love.Im very sorry I did rush it.

Word count:3.8K

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the grand castle as preparations for the royal ball commenced. Princess Bada, adorned in a regal hanbok, felt the weight of tradition press upon her shoulders. The evening held the promise of a potential partner, a match that would align with her royal lineage. Yet, amidst the opulence of the court, a longing for a connection beyond societal expectations lingered in her heart.

The castle gates opened to welcome guests from all corners of the kingdom. Nobles, diplomats, and eligible bachelors entered the ballroom, a sea of vibrant colors and sparkling jewels. In the midst of the regal gathering, a figure caught Bada's eye – you, a person from the village, entering the ballroom with an air of simplicity and authenticity.

Bada's heart skipped a beat as you approached her, bowing politely. "Pleasured to meet you, your majesty," you said, a warm smile gracing your lips.

"The pleasure is mine. What brings you to the royal ball?" Bada asked, intrigued by the genuine charm that emanated from you.

"I heard the most enchanting princess in the kingdom was hosting a ball, and I couldn't resist the chance to witness the magic myself," you replied playfully.

As the night unfolded, you and Bada engaged in conversations that defied the formalities of courtship. The shared anecdotes and laughter wove a connection that surpassed the expectations of the grand event. In the moonlit courtyard, beneath blossoming cherry trees, the connection deepened, and a shared desire for a life beyond royal norms unfolded.

Days turned into weeks, and clandestine meetings between you and Bada continued. The castle walls became the canvas for a love story that blossomed against the tapestry of tradition. However, a shadow loomed over the burgeoning romance – Bada's parents were unaware of the connection between their daughter and a villager.

Bada knew the consequences of revealing the truth to her parents. The longstanding animosity between the royal family and yours was deeply rooted, and any mention of a connection with a villager would meet with stern disapproval. So, Bada kept the burgeoning romance hidden, cherishing stolen moments with you amidst the grandeur of the castle.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the castle walls echoed with the melodies of traditional Korean instruments. Bada, adorned in a hanbok, stood before the mirror in her private chamber, the weight of her secret pressing upon her. The ballroom awaited, and the facade of tradition beckoned.

In the moonlit courtyard, you and Bada strolled beneath the cherry trees, the fragrant blossoms bearing witness to a love that defied societal norms. The evening was filled with shared dreams, laughter, and the acknowledgment of a connection that surpassed the boundaries of birthright.

As the clock struck midnight, the castle gates closed, and the secrets of the night lingered within the grand walls. The clandestine romance continued, a story hidden in the shadows of tradition.

Weeks turned into months, and the court, oblivious to the connection between Princess Bada and a villager, continued with its regal affairs. However, the whispers of courtiers grew louder, the rumors more persistent, and the anticipation of an announcement loomed in the air.

One night, the castle walls echoed with the melodies of a court musician's gayageum. Bada and you found yourselves in the palace gardens, beneath the blossoming cherry trees. The moonlight painted a surreal picture, and the authenticity of your connection shone bright against the darkness.

Amidst the serenity of the moment, a palace servant approached, bearing a message. "Princess Bada, your parents request your presence."

Bada's heart tightened with unease, but she composed herself, nodding to the servant. As she made her way to the grand halls, she exchanged a reassuring glance with you.

In the regal throne room, King Minjoon and Queen Jisoo sat upon their thrones, the weight of their crowns reflecting the burden of royalty. Bada approached with a respectful bow, her eyes betraying a hidden turmoil.

"Sit, my daughter," King Minjoon beckoned, his voice echoing through the grand chamber.

Bada took her seat, her eyes cast downward, aware that a storm was brewing within the walls of the castle.

"Princess," Queen Jisoo began, her tone measured, "we have heard whispers, rumors that circulate through the court."

Bada's heart raced, but she maintained her composure. "Rumors, mother?"

King Minjoon sighed, "The court is abuzz with talk of a connection, a romance that defies tradition. A romance you seem to be entangled in, my dear."

Bada's gaze remained fixed on the ground, the weight of the unspoken truth pressing upon her. She chose her words carefully, "I assure you, yfather, that my focus has always been on the duties befitting a royal princess."

Queen Jisoo, perceptive as ever, continued, "Duties indeed, but not the ones that should involve connections with villagers."

Bada's heart sank as the unspoken truth hung in the air. The parents, despite not knowing the specifics, sensed the unfolding narrative.

King Minjoon spoke with a stern tone, "We have always wanted the best for you, Bada. The future of our kingdom depends on alliances, not connections that tarnish the honor of the royal family."

Bada felt the weight of her duty, her connection with you reduced to a clandestine affair. She nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the expectations that pressed upon her.

"You are a royal princess, Bada. Do not forget the responsibilities that come with your birthright," Queen Jisoo added, her voice carrying the weight of a thousand years of tradition.

With a heavy heart, Bada left the throne room, the echoes of her parents' words lingering in the air. The palace gardens, once a sanctuary of love, now bore witness to the storm that brewed within the grand walls.

— — — — — —

As the days passed, the court continued with its regal affairs, the whispers growing louder. Bada, torn between duty and love, found herself caught in the crossfire of tradition. The secret meetings with you became increasingly scarce, and the castle walls seemed to close in on the clandestine romance.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the palace gates opened to welcome guests for a grand celebration. The whispers of courtiers reached a crescendo as they speculated about the future of Princess Bada and the mysterious villager. The ballroom, adorned in regal splendor, awaited the unfolding drama.

Bada, adorned in a hanbok that bore the weight of tradition, descended the grand staircase. The whispers intensified, the air thick with anticipation. As she reached the ballroom, her eyes scanned the faces, searching for yours. However, the palace guards had been instructed to keep you away, severing the connection that had defied tradition.

In the moonlit courtyard, beneath the blossoming cherry trees, you waited, unaware of the storm that raged within the grand walls. The celebration echoed through the palace, the melodies of traditional Korean instruments masking the secrets that lingered in the air.

Bada, her eyes betraying a hidden turmoil, approached the courtyard. Her hanbok, a symbol of tradition, seemed to suffocate the authenticity that had once defined her connection with you.

"We cannot continue this," Bada whispered, her voice laced with sorrow.

Confusion and concern etched across your face as you asked, "What's happened? Why are you saying this?"

Tears welled in Bada's eyes as she confessed, "My parents know about us. They have forbidden our connection, deeming it unfit for a royal princess."

The weight of her words hung in the air, the moonlit courtyard bearing witness to a love story that crumbled beneath the expectations of tradition.

"They want me to fulfill my duty, to marry someone of noble birth. We can no longer be together," Bada uttered, her voice barely audible over the melodies that echoed through the palace.

As the realization set in, you felt a chasm open within your heart. The love that had defied tradition, the connection that had blossomed in the moonlit courtyard, now faced an insurmountable barrier.

The grand celebration continued within the palace walls, oblivious to the personal drama that unfolded beneath the blossoming cherry trees. Princess Bada and you, entangled in a love story that transcended societal norms, stood at the crossroads of duty and authenticity.

Tears glistened in Bada's eyes as she turned away, leaving the moonlit courtyard behind. The palace gates closed, and the blossoms above seemed to wither, bearing witness to a connection that had defied tradition but succumbed to the weight of royal expectations.

In the tapestry of interconnected lives, the story of Princess Bada and you held threads that reached beyond the boundaries of time. As the moon cast its glow over the palace gardens, the echoes of a love story silenced by the weight of tradition lingered in the air.

— — — — — —

Amidst the complexities of royalty and tradition, another layer of the narrative unfolded – the shared history between your mother and Queen Jisoo. In their younger years, they had been best friends, two souls bound by a friendship that transcended societal norms. However, the weight of tradition had severed their connection, leaving behind a tale of lost camaraderie and unspoken words.

Your mother, aware of the unfolding drama between you and Princess Bada, felt a pang of empathy. She couldn't bear to see her child caught in the crossfire of tradition, love, and duty. Determined to mend the broken threads of friendship, your mother took it upon herself to seek an audience with Queen Jisoo.

One day, as the sun bathed the castle walls in golden hues, your mother approached the grand gates. The palace guards, recognizing her, allowed her entry. The palace, usually a bastion of tradition, became a stage for a heartfelt plea that sought to bridge the chasm between two families.

Queen Jisoo, upon hearing of your mother's arrival, granted her an audience in the regal throne room. The air was thick with the weight of untold stories, the echoes of a friendship lost to the sands of time.

"Jiyeon," your mother began, addressing Queen Jisoo by her given name, "We were once inseparable friends, bound by a connection that withstood the tests of youth. But tradition and the expectations of our families forced us apart."

Queen Jisoo's eyes, a mirror to the past, reflected a mixture of nostalgia and regret. "So much has changed since then, Sora. We live in a world dictated by duty and tradition, where the threads of connection often fray."

Your mother nodded, her voice resonating with sincerity. "I know, Jiyeon, but the story unfolding between our children seems like a cruel repetition of the past. Their connection is genuine, rooted in a love that defies tradition. I implore you to consider the happiness they find in each other."

Queen Jisoo, torn between the expectations of royalty and the memories of a lost friendship, spoke with a hint of vulnerability. "The burdens of my role weigh heavy, Sora. I wish I could change the narrative, but the kingdom demands sacrifices."

"But what about the sacrifice of love? Is it not worth preserving the happiness of our children, despite the dictates of tradition?" your mother questioned, her eyes pleading for understanding.

As the conversation unfolded, the throne room became a canvas for the emotions that had long remained unspoken. Queen Jisoo, torn between duty and the memories of her past, found herself standing at the crossroads of tradition and the authenticity of genuine connection.

Meanwhile, in the village, you were unaware of the conversation unfolding within the palace walls. The blossoming cherry trees, once witness to the love story that unfolded beneath the moonlit courtyard, now seemed to bear the weight of impending separation.

Days turned into weeks, and the conversation between your mother and Queen Jisoo continued. The palace walls echoed with the sentiments of friendship lost and the potential for a connection rediscovered. The court, oblivious to the unfolding drama, continued with its regal affairs, unaware of the undercurrents that shaped the destiny of two families.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the palace gardens, Queen Jisoo sought out Princess Bada. The weight of her conversation with your mother pressed upon her, and the courtyard, once a sanctuary for love, became a stage for a revelation that would alter the course of a love story.

"Bada, my dear," Queen Jisoo began, her voice carrying the weight of a thousand untold stories, "I have had a conversation with Sora, my friend from the past. She spoke of a friendship that transcended tradition, a connection that was severed by the expectations of our families."

Bada's eyes widened in surprise and she thought t herself "My mother and Y/N’s mother were once close?"

Queen Jisoo nodded, a solemn acknowledgment of the past. "Their friendship faced the same challenges we now encounter. It pains me to see history repeating itself."

As the moon ascended in the night sky, Queen Jisoo continued, "I have struggled with the expectations of royalty, with the burden of tradition. But I cannot ignore the genuine connection between you and that villager. Sora made me realize the sacrifices we demand from our children in the name of duty."

Bada's heart raced with hope as she asked, "Does this mean...?"

Queen Jisoo sighed, her eyes reflecting the complexity of her role. "I cannot promise a complete upheaval of tradition, but I am willing to reconsider. Your happiness, Bada, is paramount. I will speak with the council, with the hopes that a compromise can be reached."

The moonlit courtyard, once a witness to heartbreak, now stood as a symbol of potential redemption. As Queen Jisoo left, her silhouette disappeared into the grand halls of the palace, leaving Bada alone beneath the blossoming cherry trees.

The news of Queen Jisoo's reconsideration reached the village, sparking a glimmer of hope within your heart. The whispers of courtiers intensified, and the court itself became a stage for a drama that unfolded against the backdrop of tradition and friendship rediscovered.

Days turned into weeks, and the fate of Princess Bada and you hung in the balance. The palace, a symbol of tradition, awaited the outcome of the deliberations within its walls. The grand halls echoed with the whispers of courtiers, the melodies of traditional Korean instruments serving as the backdrop to a tale that straddled the realms of love and duty.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Queen Jisoo summoned Princess Bada to the regal throne room. The air was charged with anticipation as they approached the grand doors that bore witness to centuries of tradition.

The throne room, usually a bastion of stoic rule, now stood as a stage for a decision that would alter the course of two families. The council, comprised of courtiers and advisors, awaited the words of their queen.

Queen Jisoo, with a measured voice that carried the echoes of the past and the potential for a new future, addressed the assembly. "The expectations of tradition often blind us to the genuine connections that shape our lives. My daughter, Princess Bada, has found such a connection with a villager from our midst."

Gasps and whispers rippled through the assembly, but Queen Jisoo continued, "I have reconsidered the demands of tradition. While I cannot promise a complete departure from the norm, I am willing to explore a compromise that upholds the honor of the royal family while recognizing the authenticity of their connection."

The council, initially resistant to the idea, found themselves caught between the weight of tradition and the winds of change. The deliberations continued, the fate of Princess Bada and you hanging in the balance.

In the village, you were unaware of the unfolding drama within the palace walls. The blossoming cherry trees, a silent witness to the twists of fate, seemed to sway with a newfound hope. Your mother, though hopeful, maintained a cautious optimism, aware that tradition, once deeply entrenched, was not easily swayed.

Days turned into nights, and the grand halls of the palace echoed with the deliberations that shaped the destiny of two families. Queen Jisoo, torn between the expectations of royalty and the rediscovered memories of a lost friendship, found herself standing at the precipice of change.

One evening, as the moon cast its glow over the palace gardens, the doors of the throne room opened to reveal Queen Jisoo and Princess Bada. The assembly hushed, the air thick with anticipation.

Queen Jisoo, with a tone that carried the weight of her decision, addressed the court. "After careful deliberation and consideration, I have decided to explore a compromise that upholds the honor of the royal family while acknowledging the authenticity of Princess Bada's connection."

The assembly, a mixture of courtiers and advisors, absorbed the words with a mixture of surprise and cautious acceptance. The grand halls, once cloaked in the rigid expectations of tradition, seemed to shimmer with the potential for change.

Queen Jisoo turned to Princess Bada, her eyes reflecting a mixture of stern resolve and maternal warmth. "You shall be allowed to continue your connection with this villager, but with certain conditions that align with the honor of our lineage."

Princess Bada's heart soared with gratitude as she bowed to her mother. The court, though hesitant, acknowledged the shift in tradition, recognizing the winds of change that swept through the grand halls.

In the village, the news of the compromise reached your ears. A wave of relief washed over you, the burden of uncertainty lifting. The blossoming cherry trees, once symbols of heartbreak, now seemed to bloom with the promise of a love story redeemed.

Days turned into nights, and the clandestine meetings between you and Princess Bada were no longer shrouded in secrecy. The moonlit courtyard, once witness to heartache, now bore witness to a connection that defied tradition with the tacit approval of the court.

As the news of the compromise spread through the kingdom, the whispers of courtiers evolved into a chorus of acceptance. The grand halls of the palace, once rigid in their adherence to tradition, now echoed with the harmonies of a love story that bridged the gaps between birthright and authenticity.

The court, once divided, embraced the compromise as a step toward a more inclusive future. Queen Jisoo, with a heart that reconciled duty and maternal love, watched as her daughter's happiness unfolded against the backdrop of a changing kingdom.

As the moon cast its glow over the palace gardens, the love story that had defied tradition and rediscovered lost friendships became a cherished tale passed down through generations. The palace, once a bastion of rigidity, transformed into a symbol of progress, a testament to the idea that genuine connection could bridge the gaps that tradition often imposed.

As the seasons unfolded and the kingdom embraced the changing winds of acceptance, the love story of Princess Bada and you became a beacon of hope. The grand halls of the palace, once steeped in rigid tradition, now echoed with the laughter of courtiers who celebrated the union that defied societal norms.

— — — — — — —

One evening, in a grand ceremony that brought together the kingdom, you found yourself donning traditional attire, a hanbok that reflected the richness of the culture that had become an integral part of your journey. The palace, adorned in hues of gold and crimson, seemed to celebrate the culmination of a love story that defied expectations.

In the moonlit courtyard, beneath the blossoming cherry trees that had borne witness to heartbreak and redemption, you waited with a heart full of anticipation. The fragrance of the blossoms mingled with the melodies of traditional Korean instruments, creating a symphony that seemed to serenade the love that had weathered the storm.

As the grand doors of the palace opened, Princess Bada descended the staircase. Her hanbok, a reflection of tradition and the winds of change, shimmered in the moonlight. The courtiers and advisors, once skeptical, now stood witness to a union that transcended birthright.

Bada's eyes, reflecting the journey of love and acceptance, met yours. The connection between you and Princess Bada, once shrouded in secrecy and hidden beneath the weight of tradition, now stood on the precipice of a future embraced by the kingdom.

With each step towards the aisle, Bada's smile grew, mirroring the joy that radiated from your heart. The murmurs of the courtiers hushed, replaced by a collective realization that love, in all its forms, was the true essence of a thriving kingdom.

The moonlit courtyard became a stage for a moment that transcended time. As Bada approached, the symphony of blossoms and music seemed to pause, creating an intimate cocoon around the two of you.

"You look stunning," you whispered as she reached your side.

Bada's eyes sparkled with happiness. "And you look like the person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

The courtiers, caught in the magic of the moment, watched as you and Princess Bada exchanged vows beneath the blossoming cherry trees. The air was filled with promises of love and commitment, a testament to the resilience of a connection that had weathered the storm of tradition.

In the warmth of South Korean moonlight, with the laughter of friends and the promise of a shared future, you and Bada became partners for life. The blossoms above seemed to sway in celebration, casting a fragrant blessing on the union that had rewritten the destiny of a royal princess and a villager.

And so, in the heart of South Korea, where ancient castles stood testament to the dance of tradition and modernity, the love story of Princess Bada and you became a cherished tale passed down through generations. The moonlit courtyard, once witness to heartbreak and redemption, now stood as a symbol of the transformative power of love.

As you and Bada walked hand in hand, surrounded by the melodies of celebration, the echoes of your journey resonated through the palace walls. The courtiers, now supporters of the love that had defied tradition, joined in the festivities, and the kingdom embraced a future that celebrated love in all its forms.

In the grand halls of the palace, where the laughter of courtiers mingled with the melodies of traditional Korean instruments, the union of Princess Bada and you became a story that transcended time. The blossoming cherry trees, once witnesses to the complexities of love, now stood as guardians of a legacy that celebrated the triumph of authenticity over tradition.

And as the celebration continued into the night, you and Bada, bound by love and acceptance, embarked on a journey that promised a future filled with shared dreams, laughter, and the echoes of a love story that had rewritten the destiny of a kingdom steeped in history.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bebe #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x oc #bada lee x y/n #bada lee imagine #bada #bada x reader #bada fanfic #bada lee imagines #lee bada

[bookscandlesnbts]

Jimins Sweet Letter

No, I’m not talking about Letter the song, but the sweet Letter that he wrote for Army, folded up in his pocket (side note: I miss being there) and posted to Weverse. This letter had me crying first thing in the morning once I read the translation because it was as sweet and heartfelt as I imagined it to be. In my opinion, Jimin made a couple things crystal clear in this letter: that he misses us deeply and that he’s very grateful to Jungkook for being with him and supporting him and that Jungkook is doing well. I did giggle and kick my feet a little that half this letter is about Jungkook. 😅 Jimin is just so amazing and inspiring. The other thing that I got from this letter is that Jimin really needs that support from JK. And before you come for me, I absolutely believe Jungkook is receiving equal support from Jimin as well. That’s what you are me, I am you means after all. While Jimin obviously excelled in basic training earning special recognition, I just get the sense that he really misses his old life and never wanted to go. Of course he’s incredibly capable physically hence the award and we know how strong of a person he is to ensure all the hardship he’s had in his career, but he’s still in completely foreign territory. Jimin’s dad posted a couple photos to his cafe’s instagram. He got Jimin flowers a longstanding tradition which I find so sweet. I couldn’t help but notice though that Jimin wasn’t wearing his signature eye smile. Not going to lie…. That broke me. Not seeing the full warmth of his true smile broke my heart. I’m so glad that he will be with Jungkook for the rest of the time and I wish for nothing but the best for them. And all of the other members serving as well too. But Jimin is my “favorite child” and so is Jungkook. I can’t help but stress and miss them the most. 아포방포.

[starsreminisce]

SJM Romance Week Day One First Date

Elain took a deep breath, attempting to focus on the breakfast spread before her. She scooped up a spoonful of fruit, trying to quell the fluttering butterflies in her stomach, but her efforts were futile.

She regretted teasing Lucien by jokingly asking if their outing to the Day Court was a date. What had possessed her to say such a thing, and with such bashfulness that bordered on flirtation? Yet, the mere sight of his half-smirk, a telltale sign that he was up to mischief, was enough to set her heart racing and her cheeks flushing pink.

It had only been a few weeks since they had found themselves engaged in conversation during the Starfall Ball. It felt as though fate had drawn them together, and Elain, lonely for stimulating company, couldn't bring herself to leave his side. From the moment their eyes met, she knew she was captivated.

"I find it fascinating that we, as fae, have our holidays while humans seem to revel in celebrations just for the sake of it," Lucien remarked, his tone casual.

"We weren't privy to your holidays," Elain replied, her stomach knotting with nerves.

"You don't have anything akin to Nynsar or Starfall?" another member of their circle inquired.

Elain smiled faintly, shaking her head. "No, we're not familiar with those."

"I wouldn't expect much from humans," the individual remarked dismissively.

Elain's jaw clenched, but before she could respond diplomatically, Lucien interjected.

"Which perhaps lends more significance to their celebrations," he remarked, his russet eye flashing with intensity. "We celebrate out of obligation, while humans celebrate purely for joy."

"Don't underestimate humans' capacity for using obligation as an excuse for revelry," Elain retorted, meeting his gaze head-on.

A glint danced in Lucien's eyes, a soft hum emanating from his mechanical one. "And yet, their celebrations are undoubtedly more enjoyable than this dull affair."

Elain found herself laughing, unable to stifle the sound as it bubbled up. "And how do you imagine they would celebrate?"

With a smirk, Lucien glanced around conspiratorially. "I imagine the Cavendishes would host a grand ball, much to the chagrin of the Raleighs."

Elain's laughter rang out louder, and she covered her mouth, aware of the two families' longstanding rivalry. As others in the group inquired about the families, Lucien looked to Elain for confirmation, and she eagerly supplied details, finding herself drawn into conversation. Lucien eventually excused himself, passing by Elain with a whispered tease about the upcoming nuptials between Celeste Cavendish and Ambrose Raleigh.

Hooked on his words, Elain seized his wrist, demanding more information. Lucien winked at her mischievously before slipping away.

In the following weeks, their interactions became habitual. Elain would wait for Lucien before his meetings with Rhys, and he would regale her with gossip and stories. Their conversations evolved, delving into personal matters and offering advice on family disputes.

When Lucien mentioned that he wouldn't be meeting with Rhys as usual, Elain couldn't hide her disappointment. She expressed her desire to attend the Day Court, prompting Lucien to offer her company.

"Is this your way of asking for a date?" she teased, her heart racing at the thought.

"Do you want it to be one?" Lucien replied, his smirk sending shivers down her spine.

She felt her pulse quicken, her cheeks flushing. "No, I'm just tired of being cooped up here."

"Then let me remedy that," Lucien's voice lowered, a hint of seduction lacing his words, causing her breath to catch.

And so, she found herself here, getting ready under the guise to roam around Velaris. Feyre was at work in her studio and Rhysand would be overseeing some project in the Illyrian mountains. She paced to calm her nerves but it still did little. She could feel the bond between her and Lucien tighten and stepped outside to greet him… and the pegasus he was stroking the neck.

As Elain approached, her heart leapt at the sight of the majestic pegasus, its wings spread wide as if embracing the sky. "Lucien," she breathed, her voice filled with awe.

The pegasus turned its head towards her, its large, intelligent eyes meeting hers with a knowing gaze. Elain couldn't help but squeal in delight as the horse nuzzled her hand, its warmth and presence grounding her nerves.

"Helion does have a flair for the dramatic," Lucien remarked with a snort, his gaze fond as he stroked the pegasus's neck. "You can imagine my surprise when she showed up at my apartment."

Elain turned to Lucien, surprised by his revelation. "You now reside in Velaris?" she inquired, curious.

"Not entirely," Lucien replied cryptically, evading her question with a small smile.

With a gentle hand, Lucien guided Elain closer to the pegasus. "Here, let me help you up," he offered, his voice warm and reassuring.

As Elain stepped closer, Lucien's strong arms encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the horse's back. She felt a rush of excitement mingled with a sense of security as she settled into the saddle, her pulse quickening at the proximity of Lucien behind her.

With practiced ease, Lucien swung himself up behind her, settling himself comfortably against her back. Despite the chill of the air around them, Elain felt a comforting warmth radiating from his body, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and reassurance.

"You sounded so excited," Lucien commented softly, his breath warm against her ear. "It's infectious."

Elain couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips, her heart fluttering at his words. With Lucien behind her and the pegasus beneath them, she felt a sense of exhilaration and anticipation coursing through her veins as they prepared to take flight.

A gentle nudge from Lucien, the pegasus spread its wings and leaped gracefully into the air. Elain's laughter rang out joyfully as the wind rushed past them, the city of Velaris shrinking below them as they soared higher and higher.

With an equally graceful descent, the pegasus touched down in the courtyard of the Day Court, and Lucien helped Elain dismount, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. As they stood together, facing the magnificent structure before them, Elain felt a sense of wonder and anticipation for the adventures that awaited them within the halls of the Day Court.

But their excitement was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a striking woman adorned in the traditional Day Court attire, her kohl-rimmed eyes flashing with impatience.

“Lord Helion is unable to see you today,” the woman stated sternly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Lucien's expression remained indifferent. “And yet he sends me his pegasus to meet him,” he remarked dryly.

The woman's demeanor softened slightly, though she still appeared unimpressed. “Lord Helion sends his regrets, but you two are free to wander wherever you please,” she replied before turning on her heel and departing.

As the woman disappeared into the bustling courtyard, Elain couldn't help but suppress a coy smile. “If you wanted to ask me on a date, you don’t need all the false pretense,” she teased.

Lucien chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You caught me.”

Elain turned to face the vibrant scenery around them, the sun casting a warm glow over the Day Court. The sea sparkled in the distance, its waves crashing against the shore with a soothing rhythm.

“Since Helion can be a bit of a busybody,” Lucien shrugged, “want to see where I hide from him?”

Without waiting for a response, he hooked his arm through Elain's, and with a graceful twist, they vanished into thin air, reappearing amidst a stunning flower garden. As Elain's gaze wandered across the garden, she marveled at the intricate kaleidoscope of colors and scents that surrounded them. Delicate roses intertwined with exotic orchids, their petals shimmering in the dappled sunlight. Towering sunflowers stood proudly alongside delicate lilies, their golden hues contrasting with the soft pastels of the surrounding blooms.

"It's like a symphony of flowers," Elain breathed, her voice filled with wonder.

Lucien nodded, his eyes alight with pride. "Found this in my youth," he explained. "I believe it was a gift from the then High Lord to his mate."

Elain's gaze softened with understanding as she took in the significance of the garden. "It's a beautiful tribute," she murmured.

"It's different than the Spring Court," Elain observed, her eyes scanning the garden once more. "There seems to be flowers from all parts of the world."

"Indeed," Lucien agreed, gesturing towards a particularly exotic bloom with a flourish. "Spring is wonderful, but it's only limited to the flowers of that season. Here, you'll find blooms from every corner, brought together in harmony."

The air was alive with the hum of bees and the soft rustle of leaves, and a gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blossoms, enveloping them in a cocoon of tranquility. Sunlight filtered through the lush foliage, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the ground below.

Elain felt a sense of peace wash over her as she wandered through the garden, her fingers trailing lightly over the velvety petals of a nearby rose. It was as if time had slowed to a standstill, allowing her to savor every moment in this enchanting sanctuary with Lucien by her side.

As they wandered through the garden, they marveled at each new discovery, losing themselves in the beauty of nature. They walked for hours, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they shared stories and laughter beneath the canopy of blossoms.

Finally, they came upon a majestic tree, its branches spread wide in a welcoming embrace. Beneath its shade, a picnic awaited them, laid out with an array of delicious treats and refreshing drinks.

“Did you plan for this too?” Elain nudged at him, a playful glint in her eyes.

Lucien pursed his lips, a faint smile playing at the corners. “I told you Helion can be a bit of a busybody.”

With a graceful gesture, Lucien invited Elain to take a seat, his eyes soft with affection as he poured her a glass of chilled wine. As they shared their meal amidst the fragrant blooms and dappled sunlight, Elain couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. In this magical garden, with Lucien by her side, she felt as though she had found a piece of paradise.

As hours slipped by, they talked and laughed, basking in each other's company as they watched the sun dip below the horizon. Eventually, as the sky began to darken, Elain turned to him with a curious expression.

“Now what?” she asked, her tone filled with anticipation.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I take you to the river house?”

“That’s it?” Elain replied, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

Lucien hummed thoughtfully. “Well, there is one other place I can take you.”

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Lucien winnowed them away to a small Summer Court city bustling with life. Stalls adorned with colorful banners offered an array of tantalizing foods, the air filled with the mouthwatering scent of grilled meats and freshly baked pastries. A warm summer breeze carried the salty tang of the nearby sea, adding to the festive atmosphere.

“What is all of this?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

Lucien chuckled, his arm wrapped around her waist as he guided her through the bustling crowds. “Welcome to a nighttime festival in the Summer Court,” he explained. “It's a celebration of music, food, and merriment that lasts well into the early hours.”

Elain's eyes widened in wonder as she took in the sights and sounds around her, her curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar surroundings. She felt a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins as she and Lucien wandered from stall to stall. Elain couldn't resist stealing bites of Lucien's food as they went, her laughter mingling with the bustling energy of the crowd. However, Lucien made no attempt to take any of hers, his attention solely focused on her.

In the distance, a towering structure loomed against the night sky, its intricate design illuminated by twinkling lights. Elain's gaze was drawn to it, her curiosity piqued by its imposing presence. "What's that?" she asked, pointing towards the structure.

Lucien followed her gaze, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "That's a ferris wheel," he explained, his tone tinged with nostalgia. "It's a ride that offers a breathtaking view of the city from above."

Elain's eyes sparkled with excitement as she beheld the towering ferris wheel. Eager to experience this new adventure, she turned to Lucien with a radiant smile.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said, her voice filled with gratitude and anticipation.

With a nod of agreement, Lucien led her towards the ferris wheel, their hands intertwined as they joined the queue. As they ascended into the night sky, Elain couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration wash over her. The world seemed to shrink beneath them as they reached the pinnacle, the city spread out below like a glittering tapestry.

As they descended back to earth, Elain turned to Lucien, her heart full with gratitude for the magical evening they had shared.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft with emotion.

Lucien smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting the glow of the city lights. "It was my pleasure," he replied, his gaze tender as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

Feeling emboldened by the magic of the night, Elain leaned in and pressed her lips to Lucien's, a gentle yet electric kiss that spoke volumes of the unspoken feelings between them. As they parted, a dazzling display of fireworks burst into the sky, casting an ethereal glow over their intertwined figures.

Lucien took Elain's hand, his touch sending a shiver down her spine as he led her to a secluded spot high above the bustling city. There, amidst the tranquil stillness, they watched in awe as the fireworks painted the night sky with bursts of color and light, each explosion igniting a fire within them that burned brighter with each passing moment.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they shared stolen glances and lingering touches, the air thicken with anticipation. With every beat of their hearts, the tension between them grew, a palpable energy that crackled in the air like static electricity.

As the final bursts of color dissolved into the night's canvas, leaving behind trails of fleeting beauty, Elain turned to Lucien with a gaze filled with longing. The air was charged, every heartbeat echoing in the silence that enveloped them. Without a word, she leaned in, her movements graceful yet urgent, her lips seeking his with a hunger that mirrored his own.

Their kiss was a symphony of passion and desire, a dance of lips and tongues that ignited a firestorm of emotions within them. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world fading away until there was only the two of them, lost in the intensity of their connection.

They clung to each other, their bodies pressed together as if trying to merge into one, each touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through their veins. The night air was filled with the soft sound of their mingled breaths, the gentle rustle of fabric as they held each other close.

And as they finally pulled away, their lips swollen and tingling with the remnants of their kiss, they were left breathless and wanting more. The weight of their unspoken desires hung heavy in the air, a promise of things to come as they stood together beneath the canopy of stars, their hearts beating as one in the magic of the night.

"Now what?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

Lucien's gaze burned with intensity as he met her eyes. "I take you home," he replied, his voice husky with desire.

"To that apartment you have in Velaris?" Elain teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

"I didn't think you were that kind of female," Lucien chuckled, his tone laced with amusement.

Elain's laughter mingled with the soft hum of the night air. "I would figure being your mate would come with some sort of privilege," she teased back, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"Elain," Lucien said, his half-smirk sending a jolt of anticipation through her veins. "Would you like to come to my apartment for some … tea?"

"Yes," Elain breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'd love that."

With a shared smile that spoke volumes of the unspoken promises and desires between them, they made their way back to the city, their steps light with anticipation for the moments yet to come.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #sjm romance week #sjmromanceweek2024