I Think It Is This One. There Is A Tweet That Stated He Takes 10 A Day. But Be Careful, There Is A Site

Does anybody know what happened to @honeyhypen-deactivated20230613 ??? I miss their works and i cannot read them :(((

[12:56am] park sunghoon

Warnings: profanity, violence, mentions of murder, blood, bit more violence, severe yandere themes.

Bonus! They're both yanderes! Feedback of any kind, rbs and comments preferred♡ enjoy!

"Sunghoon, for the last time," you closed your eyes, a tone dripping of frustration.

"Stop showing up covered in fucking blood, it's getting all over the carpet!"

He stood in the living room wearing an innocent expression drenched in crimson red. "Sorry," he pouted. "But, in my defense, I had good reasons."

"Ugh, who was it this time?" You grabbed his hand, dragging him to the bathroom. You tugged at his shirt to get it in water as quickly as you could.

"It was that guy that wouldn't stop staring at you at the bus stop," he peeled the soaked shirt off, blood still staining his pale skin. "Does the water have to be so cold?" He whined as he filled the bath like you always instructed.

"Sunghoon, I told you he was harmless and, yes, cold water gets blood out," you sighed, going into the room to fetch him clean clothes. "How would you like it if I randomly went out and killed everyone that stared at you?"

He scoffed as he switched the tap off. "What happened to Jay then?"

You stood in the doorway of the bathroom, holding a fresh pair of pj's for him. "I already told you, he moved to some country in South America, he didn't say where."

"Without his watch he never takes off to the point where he has a mark on his wrist? The one you have in your nightstand?"

You rolled your eyes, plopping the clothes on the counter next to the sink. "Fine, he moved closer."

He looked at you one more time. "Fine, he's in a ditch somewhere, now get in," you yelled, giving him a light shove.

He dipped his finger in the water, whimpering at the temperature. "Stop being a bitch and get in before I push you," you folded your arms across your chest. He pouted one more time. "Fine."

He let out a loud cry when he got in, wriggling like a baby. "It's fucking ice cold!" He held himself as he curled into a ball.

"That's what you get for being so goddamn reckless," you said, moving to the cabinet for the shampoo. "How did you get blood in your hair again?"

"Well, it's a funny story," he chuckled, watching the water slowly turn a dark red. "I sort of don't really remember, I just ran at him with a knife and-"

"That's great, hold your breath," you said, closing his ears. He looked at you with saddened eyes as he took a deep breath. You pushed him down, completely submerging him in the water before lifting him back up.

He gasped, shaking his head and pinching his eyes to get some of the water out. You closed your eyes, giggling at his puppy-like mannerisms. "Maybe if you learn your lesson and stop covering yourself in fucking blood," you muttered, squirting a blob of shampoo onto your hand. "Why can't you just be like me? It's obvious I'm better at making your life easier."

"Well, if you're not prepared to get messy for me, then maybe you don't love me as much," he smiled cheekily, smile dropping when he was met with your unamused expression.

"Seems you don't love me enough to not risk jail time," you mumbled, scrubbing the shampoo into his hair, watching it slowly turn pink.

His pout stayed prominent as he watched your concentrated face try blinking away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "Hey," he said softly, grabbing your wrists to stop you. "I'm sorry."

"If you're sorry, you'd stop being so stupid!" You yelled at him, causing him to flinch. "I worked hard for this life, Sunghoon, much harder than you have. I make your life easier, ridding you of people you don't need while you kill anyone that even looks in my direction, I don't even have friends anymore because of you!"

"But you don't need friends, you just need me," he said, cupping your cheeks, squishing your face ever so slightly.

You went back to scrubbing his hair. "You need me a lot more," you dunked your hands in the water, preparing to rinse his hair. "You would've gotten kidnapped that one time if it wasn't for me."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, true."

"And that other time when you left a witness," you shook your hands, going back to closing his ears.

"Good point." He took another deep breath, letting you push him back down into the bathwater, managing to rinse his own hair as you kept his ears closed.

"And recently Jay trying to steal you from me," you said loud enough for him to hear, pinching his ears harder as you slowly grew upset at the thought.

It didn't occur to you that Sunghoon was struggling to come up from the water as you kept your grip strong on his head. He had to physically toss water up to get your attention, to which you flinched from the feeling of water splashed on you.

"Sorry," you let go of his head, letting him come back up, coughing and gasping for air.

"He wasn't trying to steal me," he said hoarsely as he shook his head once more. "He was just trying, and failing, to make me leave you."

"And you thought about it," you said, walking to the cabinet below the sink, reaching for a bucket big enough to fit his clothes in.

"I did not!" He defended himself. He took one of the washcloths, dousing it with liquid soap before scrubbing away the blood on his skin.

"Yes you did, I overheard your conversation," you placed the bucket next to the bath and grabbed the shower head. "You said you'd consider it."

"I just said it so he wouldn't bring it up again," he muttered, continuing to scrub his skin, creating pink foam. "Please don't be mad."

"You still said it," you said with a deadpan expression as you filled the bucket with water. "And I'm mad. And you know what that means."

He stopped his movements, dropping the cloth into the water. "Wait no, you can't punish me!"

You furrowed your eyebrows, holding the shower head over the bucket. "The fuck do you mean I can't? I can, and I fucking will."

"No, come on, please," he tried to bargain. "I didn't mean it, please don't hurt me."

"How else will you learn not to do stupid shit like that?"

He whined, unable to say anything to change your mind. Sure, he loved how hard-headed you were at times, he loved how your stubbornness basically protected him. But he hated it when those two characteristics caused him pain.

"Tears aren't gonna get you out of this," you said, switching the tap off as you watched his eyes well up with tears.

"But, but," he pouted, threatening to explode at any moment.

You put the shower head down, leaving the bathroom to walk to the kitchen. "Stupid fucking Sunghoon," you muttered angrily. "Making me do this." You looked around, finally eyeing the knife block holder. You lifted each one individually, checking to see which one was the sharpest before pulling one of them out.

You made your way back to the bathroom, holding the knife high enough for Sunghoon to see.

"Wait, y/n!" He held his hands up, trying to calm you down. "Don't do this, I swear I wasn't going to leave!"

"It's a pity," you said, completely ignoring him. "I really liked Jay, he was such a sweetheart to me. He bought me several bottles of my favorite perfume, all because I was sad. He even made me a pretty flower crown from daisies he handpicked." You had the very edge of the knife on your fingertip, twirling it slowly.

"Yet he begged you to leave me, and you couldn't say no."

Sunghoon was scared. He was intimidating to others, no one dared to mess with him. Through the years, he feared no one, for everyone was a threat. The only person he ever learned to fear was you, and he had to learn it the hard way.

Sure he was crazy, driven by his extreme love for you. But you were obsessed with him, insane enough to threaten suicide if he even looked at another person.

"You need a reminder," you grabbed his blood-drenched clothes, shoving them into the bucket. "You belong to me, you're never leaving me, not even in death."

"Yes, I do, I know I do," he nodded, trying his best to back away even though he was basically trapped. "I know I'm yours, only yours."

You smiled at him, holding your hand out. "Arm. Now."

He knew he had no way out of this. He held his forearm out, letting it rest on the palm of your hand. He turned away, keeping his eyes closed, wincing when the blade began to pierce his skin.

You carefully carved your name into his forearm. It was funny to you how he couldn't handle your punishments as well as he forced you to take his.

"You're such a little bitch," you spat at him, watching him wince in pain. "I landed up unconscious in hospital after you pushed me into a wall and you can't handle this?"

He didn't have any response besides a tiny "it hurts."

"Not as much as me breaking your legs if you ever say something like that again," you threatened. "You know that I'll die if you leave me, do you want me to die, Sunghoon? Is that what you want?"

"No, I would never!" He ripped his arm away from you, causing you to accidentally cut his forearm. "I would rather kill myself than even think of you dying, I love you too much to lose you."

You set the knife down next to you. "You sure you love me?"

"Don't ever question my love for you," he said seriously, not paying attention to the blood dripping from his wound. "If I ever killed you, I'd kill myself so we can continue to be together forever."

"Aww," you smiled happily. "That's probably one of the most romantic things you've ever said to me." You moved away from the bath. "Now get out and get dressed so I can clean that wound and give you more love."

He returned your happy smile, his chest ached with love as his heart felt like it would explode at any moment. He got out of the bath, chasing you out so he could get dressed.

"I don't care if you washed me, leave," he laughed as you argued that you'd basically been staring at him naked for how long already.

His wound wasn't bleeding anymore but it still needed tending to. Before he dried his hair, he quickly grabbed the first aid kit sitting on the counter you two kept within arms reach because of how often you hurt each other.

"Sunghoon, hurry up!" You whined from the bedroom.

"I'm coming!" He smiled to himself as he finished dressing the wound, drying his hair as much as he could before he left the bathroom.

The second he walked into the bedroom, he felt overwhelmed with love when he saw you sitting upright on the bed, waiting for him. The amount of love he had for you was more than the distance of this solar system to every other in the galaxy. He adored you, was obsessed with you, and you were just the same.

He was the love of your life, your entire universe and more. Nothing could ever be more beautiful than him. You felt blessed every day knowing you had him by your side. Your heart threatened to burst every time you saw him, the love and adoration you had for him was immeasurable.

He hopped on the bed next to you, dragging you down with him. "This is nice," he mumbled.

You let out an adorable laugh as you made yourself comfortable, wriggling out of his grasp so you could lay on your side to face him, wanting to get a good look at him.

"I love you," you said sweetly, running a hand through his hair.

"Not as much as I love you," he smiled, scooting himself closer to you, close enough to plant a peck on your lips.

"Try me." You both laughed as you leaned into each other, holding one another while exchanging a soft kiss.

There was no worse combination than crazy and crazy, but you two were the perfect exception.

You two were batshit insane and in love.

wicked games - park seonghwa

tumblr is based of a system of reblogs, not likes. reblog my work.

warnings : smut, short mlm (seongjoong), mentions of homophobia, horror, fantasy, gore, angst, violence, suicidal behaviors, character death, mentions of eating/cooking, mentions of religious figures, angel/demon au, mentions of blood. takes place in various time periods. y/n exists after 2022. futuristic au.

a/n : i spent endless hours sitting in odd positions everywhere in my house for 2 months to write this. moodboard credit to @/baekhvuns

words : 35k

fic playlist : here !

Keep reading

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑; 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 — teaser

pairing: ceo!park jongseong x brother's best friend!fem!reader

genre: arranged/forced marriage, slow burn au, accidental pregnancy, brother's best friend, slight age gap (reader's 22 and jay's 24), angst, fluff and second chance love.

teaser word count: 807

estimated word count: 15k to 17k

release date: late october or early november

summary: Just a year ago, you were forced to marry Park Jongseong, CEO of the Southern Branch, part of the vary famous Park Enterprises. It was all for the sake of your family, a marriage for the benefit of gaining more traction as a company. Jongseong was attentive, caring, sometimes even sweet, but your relationship was more about sex than it was about the marriage itself. At some point, everything got bad, and it was just mere sexual intimacy that anything else, and just when you were close to ending things...you found out you were pregnant.

1st installment for CEOs & ARRANGEMENTS with enha 02z

taglist (open): @iloveoceaneyess @abdiitcryy @chimajeyn @sjakewrld @loves0ft @duolingofanaccount @ufoundme @sunghoons-mole @tobiosbbyghorl @dasa3040 @monkeybabyzz @snowysung @wonyofanclub @prdxinvade @yenqa

Bellie, Belle.

Those were the nicknames that the family gave you, well… Jay gave you that nickname. It started when you started dressing up as Belle from 'The Beauty and The Beast' every single halloween. Jay kept the name to joke around with you, but it soon became a way that they called you to express how dearly they loved you.

"Have you thought about what your grandfather told Sunghoon?" The inquiry you made had caused Jay to get out of his trance. He looked at you with strange eyes, as if he was thinking about what he wanted to answer.

His grandfather had always been skeptical, also a little bit stressful. When the boys were just little kids, he kept talking about how they had to continue the family business. They were just five at the moment, and they didn't understand what he meant. But as they grew older they soon got a hold of the situation.

'Park Enterprises' has been a family business since 1962, exactly founded by Mr. Park, it started as a small office, a business to start technological advancements. Soon, the company grew to be huge, having three different branches in South Korea.

The enterprise had become an empire that had spread around the world. With different sucursals in Italy, U.S, even some countries of Latin America. It was clear that it was a very successful business, a well known name that was stuck to the public's mouth.

No matter what happened, the brothers saw this business as their future responsibility. They wanted to make their family proud, and they were ready for whatever they had to do for the family business, even if it was not what they wanted.

"If my family thinks that it's for the best, then I'll do whatever they want me to do." You looked at him, raising your eyebrows with curiosity and surprise. You always say Jay as a man that was stubborn and obstinate, if he didn't like something he would say it, and he wasn't someone to give in easily.

So, you scoffed. "That sounds so weird coming from you." He raised his head looking at you. Jay knew that somehow you were right. He didn't want to be brainwashed by his family, but that business was his family's pride and joy. He wasn't ready to let them down.

"What do you mean?" Jongseong pretended to be clueless. A sigh escaped your lips.

"Jay, you can't have kids when you are just 17." You stated calmly. "You also can't get married at your age, you are too young."

"They didn't say when they plan to engage me with someone." He muttered under his breath.

You slightly shook your head in disappointment, trying your best to alleviate the bad energy that you had just provoked.

"Also, do you even have an idea of who you want to marry? What exactly do you look for in a girl?"

Jay, then raised his head to look at you. He parted his lips getting ready to start talking, as if he already planned what to say even before you asked the question.

"I'm looking for a girl that is sweet, a girl that looks like an exact representation of the moon, but that her personality is just like the very rays of the sun falling into the ocean waves." He proceeded to stare at you, looking deeply into your eyes, as if he could read your soul. Jay's cat eyes shone from enchantment, anticipation, almost as if he was under a spell.

A spell that you might have put on him, his gaze was enough to make your heart race, and to make your fingers tingle from excitement.

"I want a girl who is intelligent and has a passion for learning. A girl that smells like cinnamon spice and vanilla. I'm looking for a girl whose lips will taste just like an exquisite dessert. And lastly, her eyes have to shine like the moon reflects itself on the water when she looks at what she loves and desires… Just like you, right now."

His last words made you blink in shock, you hadn't noticed how hard you were staring at him. But it seemed that at some point you might have been under the spell that he had been just a few seconds before.

"Sorry, it's just that your description sounded so poetic, I didn't know you could be so romantic." "There are some things that you don't know about me." He smiled.

You cleared your throat before proceeding. "Where have you seen a girl like that, anyway?"

You saw the boy get closer to you, moving his seat right beside you. Then, he moved his hand close to your locks, moving them away from your face.

"It might surprise you, but I'm staring at her right now."

a work by heecyon.

MY FIC RECS & LIBRARY enhypen

library = for me to easily find these smau's whenever I want to read.

♡ — my favorite (i love them all tho)

— SMAU (social media aus/fanfics)

DIMPLE BOY yang jungwon

BOOMERANG sim jaeyun smau — ♡ (complete)

CATCH US DISPATCH lee heeseung (complete)

WHAT'S YOUR NUMBER lee heeseung

SIMP FOR REDACTED sim jaeyun — ♡ (complete)

GUESS WHO kim sunoo — ♡ (complete)

EARFQUAKE yang jungwon — ♡

LOVING YOU yang jungwon — ♡ (complete)

MC ENEMIEZ yang jungwon — ♡ (complete)

JUNGWON'S NOONA enhypen hyung line — ♡

FATE ot7 enhypen + ot5 txt

FAVORITE CRIME park jongseong

LUCID DREAMS sim jaeyun

THE FEELS yang jungwon

RUNAWAY BRIDE park sunghoon — ♡ (complete)

LOVE IS (NOT) EASY nishimura riki

BRO CODE sim jaeyun + park sunghoon

CHOOSE ME! OR NOT? yang jungwon

ASAP maknae line

MY LOVE park sunghoon

WRONG NUMBER lee heeseung

IDOL CRUSH yang jungwon

WISHLIST nishimura riki

POLAROID LOVE yang jungwon

FIESTA yang jungwon — ♡

HEART SHAKER lee heeseung

I-STAN YOU kim sunoo — ♡

FIXED sim jaeyun — ♡

CRUSH sim jaeyun

THANKS TWITTER nishimura riki (complete)

TO MY: LOVER! park sunghoon — ♡ (complete)

BABY FEVER park sunghoon — ♡

HEY PREZ! sim jaeyun — ♡

MISERY BUSINESS park sunghoon — ♡

CRUSH CULTURE park sunghoon — ♡ (complete)

VLIVE CONFESSION park sunghoon — ♡

WE GOT MARRIED park sunghoon — ♡ (complete)

NOT YOUR FAULT park jongseong

PAPER RINGS sim jaeyun — ♡

THE GLIMPSE OF US lee heeseung — ♡

PRETTY U park sunghoon

SOUR GRAPES yang jungwon + kim sunoo — ♡

BACK 2 U sim jaeyun — ♡

PINK DIAMOND kim sunoo

READY TO LOVE park jongseong — ♡

more to be added soon!

This is so cute. I love it.

I TOUCHED A VASE | p.sh

STARRING: potter!Park Sunghoon x florist!fem!reader

RUNTIME: 7.7k

SYNOPSIS: Your relationship with Sunghoon was strictly professional, albeit amicable. He would create beautiful ceramic vases that you'd commission for your display, and you supplied him with a collection of seeds he’d use to grow his own personal garden on his balcony. Sunghoon always felt like the two of you were walking around a glass vase that would break with a single wrong step, but sometimes he feels like he needs to make that first step into finally knocking it over.

GENRE: Romance, some levels of angst, magical realism, soulmates!au

WARNINGS: PG13+ | Slight mentions of familial death

DIRECTOR'S CUT: Another @/dhoya repost because I couldn't let this one go. Made minor changes here and there, and in a way, this was a little bit of a warmup when I initially wrote it like two years ago. I'll be producing shorter works called "short films" which will mostly be my writing warmups to take a break from my longer works. Expect more soon (i.e. Birds of Paradise Sunoo but imo that's gonna be refurbished into a full longfic because there's so much lore). Who knows? This might be refurbished into a longfic someday, but I have my priorities and I'll complete them accordingly before expanding on this one.

COPYRIGHT OROCHXI 2023. DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

The place where Sunghoon feels the most ease is in his studio. The low hums of the pottery wheels reverberated across the vast emptiness of his four white walls as he continued to shape his recent work. A string of sighs escaped his lips as he continued to dirty his fingernails with the smooth batter of clay. He’s shaped a myriad of ceramics, but his fingers can never be satisfied. Did he put too much clay? Was it not enough? Is the shape suitable for the design he thought of painting?

He was always a perfectionist—even more so after meeting you.

Dates were never something he bothered to remember unless they had to do with his job. He was quite terrible with birthdays, but he always had specific exhibitions and showcases etched on the back of his head. Sunghoon has always surrounded himself with the earthy smell of clay to the point where he didn’t bother leaving his studio for trivial matters such as restocking his endless cupboard of instant food. He was a man that breathed his craft to a dangerous degree—and if it meant sacrificing some basic necessities, he didn’t mind.

The same went for romantic partners. He wasn’t too big on love like many artists, and he’d go as far as to say pottery was his first love. Ever since feasting his eyes on the pristine porcelain finish of a Joseon Dynasty vase, he devoted his life to perfecting his skill as a potter that upheld tradition. He was aware of his appearance and charm, considering how many exhibition patrons lined up to say a word or two to him. Some of them caught his eye, but his innate stoicism took over, often dismissing these encounters with a humble smile.

The date was an event that he had tattooed on his upper forearm. 23.12.08. Ironically, it was his own birthday, but that wasn’t the first thing that came into his mind when he looks upon the Korean characters on his arm.

How he hasn’t made a major move since two years of meeting you completely baffled him. After all, he was a smart talker. He was quite confident in his stride, and he carried himself well. It was one of the biggest reasons why he had regulars in his little shop—he won them over with each sales pitch, a cup of warm tea, and an inviting grin. Sure, he often disregarded his patrons as mere customers that would pay his rent, but he knew they thought otherwise.

He wasn’t too sure, but a growing part of him began to convince himself that it was the opposite when it came to you.

His first meeting with you was when his doorbell rang three times. It was a moody afternoon, and the clouds were grayer than his current concoction of loose clay. He was in the middle of creating the last batch of ceramics for another showcase he was invited to, so he considered anything outside of his work on this particular day an interruption. In times like these, he tuned everything in his environment out—focusing his entirety on nothing but his craft. It was an automatic process of fishing out wet clay and shaping it with the wheel until he gets the shape that he wants. Sometimes it would take a few spins, but it would often take him the whole day to stop himself from overworking the clay—even then, he never went too far. Clay dried out quite quickly, and he was more than willing to sacrifice artistic integrity for efficiency.

He was a quiet worker, so it was natural for him to ignore the doorbell. The shop was usually closed for a long period of time when he was working on a set of exhibition pieces, and today was such a day. However, the doorbell continued to ring until its whiny chimes were replaced with light knocks on the door.

“Hello? I know you’re in there, Park-ssi. Please let me in or these flowers will die.”

His head jerked up in annoyance. He didn’t mind sociability, but he didn’t like disruption in any form.

Despite the mildly aggressive tone, he didn’t hear any malicious intent in the voice outside of his door. For the loud motors of his electric pottery wheel, the voice was audibly loud and clear.

“Come in, the door’s unlocked.”

Sunghoon had a bad habit of keeping the doors to both his shop and studio unlocked. It used to be convenient, but ever since making a name for himself, it became a huge problem. He’d often be met with the pushy demeanor of his so-called “fans” that asked him about his private life more than his work.

The click of the door was completely drowned by the hums of the pottery wheel as he continued to spin his craft. He didn’t bother to look behind him since his priorities lay in perfecting the shape of a vase he was planning to showcase at the exhibit. While he was known for reviving traditional Chinese porcelain pottery, he decided to fuse the intricacies of its painted finish with a futuristic, angular shape. After all, even he found it boring to stick to the same thing—no matter how beautiful a classic, old-fashioned design can be.

After what felt like hours, he took the weight of his foot off of the wheel’s pedal. The quick gears of the wheel’s motors stopped in a second, engulfing the entire empty studio in sheer silence. A satisfied hum escaped his lips as he admired his new vase. It wasn’t anything special, but visualizing how he’d paint it gave him a burst of energy that recharged him instantly.

“That looks like it’s gonna be a nice vase! I’m sure it will look good with these flowers!”

This time, he jerked his head towards the voice, almost dropping what he spent the entire day working on. He couldn’t tell the age of the person in front of him, but there was a unique glow that surrounded you as you held a basket full of flowers tight. At the time, he placed the blame on the marmalade hues of the afternoon skies, but now he begs to differ. Maybe you truly had an innate brilliance to you.

He held his clay-ridden palm in the air before jogging towards the large glass window of the studio. In front of it was a bundle of flattened newspapers laid out with an assortment of plain, ceramic vases that bathed under the spring sun. He made some space for the vase in his hand, and then gently placed it next to a spherical clay sculpture. Once he was done, he haphazardly took his apron off, throwing it on top of a nearby chair.

“My hands are a bit of a mess right now, but who are you, and why are you here?”

He did his best not to touch anything. You placed the basket on a table by the glass window, making sure the sun’s rays hit each petal.

“I’m a florist. A woman named Madame Mo stopped by and told me to deliver these to you since it was your birthday. She said she would’ve done it herself, but her duties as a so-called “socialite” eventually won her over.”

There was a hint of disdain in your voice as you continued to describe Madame Mo—which was something he somewhat empathized with. Madame Mo was someone who was aware of her “old money” privileges amongst the Korean elite, and she had an air of haughtiness to her—as if she could buy Sunghoon whole. He felt bad for her status as a widow and understood—to some degree—her overbearing attraction towards him, but customers were dealt with professionally. It’s not like he’d go for her if the circumstances allowed it, but he would’ve allowed her to at least be his friend.

A drawn-out, monotonous hum escaped his lips. He completely forgot about his own birthday. He also forgot that there was a flower shop near his studio. As if you saw right through him, you tried to stifle a laugh.

“Working on your birthday sure seems tough.” You said, admiring the bouquet that you picked out for him. “I usually take a day off on my birthdays, unless funeral-related orders happen to be on the same day as my anniversary on this planet.”

You gave him a warm smile, and he felt his heart race. He couldn’t wrap a finger around it, but there was a strong magnetism in your presence that pulled him towards you. At the time, he attributed it to your face and occupation—you had the features of a person he’d find extremely attractive, and you were in the same field as him to some degree. Aesthetics were an integral part of both of your occupations, and so he was aware of beauty when he saw it. 

He cleared his throat, finding ways to make you stay. His eyes scanned through a shelf of vases he’s made for himself.

“It’s my birthday, huh?” He mumbled. He already had a scenario in mind—being the idealist that he is. The only thing that bothered him was the execution. Even if he loathed social gatherings and after-parties, he was thankful that they helped him foster his charisma through sheer trial and error.

Your eyes followed where he stared and admired his craft. A sigh of awe echoed in the studio, bouncing off of all the walls that encased his artistic outlet.

“Do you want me to help you transfer the flowers to one of those vases or something?”

His eyes widened as he snapped his head in your direction. You were now beside him, eyeing each vase with a pensive gaze. There was a telepathic wire that connected your brain to his, and it took some time for him to realize that it has always been there from the start.

Nonetheless, things were going the way he pictured it. In a common occurrence, expectations never match up with reality—what unfolded right before his eyes was too good to be true.

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you,” He replied, swallowing a stutter that was emerging from his throat. “Also, can you help me pick a vase? I only make them, so I don’t know what type of flowers can complement the design and whatnot.”

You beamed with an infectious joy that day, which he inferred to as the “artist’s pursuit of happiness”. It was every artist’s pride to share their expertise, skill, and knowledge with any audience, no matter how big or small. He was well aware of this, being a victim of the phenomenon himself.

The two of you stayed in his studio until night. Before you said goodbye, he offered you a glass or two of Chianti from his vast collection of wine in the kitchen cupboard while you sat on his balcony outside of the large glass windows. You suggested ordering a cake as a celebratory gesture, but he gently declined, saying that he wouldn’t be able to finish it on his own. He liked that you were careful whenever you opened the glass sliding door that led to the balcony, with each step memorizing the positions of the drying ceramics laid out right beside the window. He also liked that you wished him a happy birthday throughout your time together, even when you’ve just met him.

Sunghoon never allowed anyone to touch his unfinished work, but that day he let you assist him in firing up the remaining pots he needed to complete his exhibition pieces. Of course, he didn’t tell you this, but what he did tell you was that you had a good eye for color. There was a humility in you accepting his compliment, but he also admired the layered sense of achievement that slipped out of you as you continued to share how anthology naturally broadened your grasp on color theory.

When you said goodbye at his door, he promised to see you at your flower shop the next day—even if he didn’t have any interest in gardening. He doesn’t regret this though, since he’s learned to appreciate growing his own flowers throughout the two years he’s known her.

Since then, he formed an unbroken routine with her. He’d often visit your flower shop to ask for seeds and fertilizers, while you commissioned vases for him to use as a display for your flowers. When he had the time for it, he’d offer to teach you how to make and paint your own vases, while you would return the favor by showing him the art of flower arrangement. It was an almost daily occurrence for him to walk into your shop, even when he had more than enough tools to expand his newfound hobby.

“Didn’t you buy a kilogram of fertilizer yesterday?” You asked one day with a light chuckle while spraying a bouquet of roses with water. He did his best to regain his composure and told you that he forgot. That was the first time you came to his house for the sole purpose of giving him a crash course on gardening. A part of him felt guilty that you offered more than he did when it came to your respective fields, but another part of him took every chance he had to spend time with her. This, in turn, formed a part of his routine with her—where you would visit him to check on the flowers he began growing at the edge of his studio’s balcony.

Some days, you’d come to the studio with a sketchbook, and the two of you would spend your time together in comfortable silence. Ever since you taught him the language of flowers, the two of you began to switch roles in the still-life sessions that you shared together. He would pick which flower he wanted to draw that day, and you matched it up by picking a vase from his array of fine works that would benefit the vast collections of your shop.

Usually, he’d end up eating dinner with you with a glass of wine, often dropping you off at home. The silent walks under the dim street lamps were the best and worst parts of his days with you. While he was able to stay close to you, he would never get the courage to either hold your hand or tell you how he felt. 

He’d religiously invite you to every single showcase he attended, even going as far as to offer you a job to help decorate each venue with your floral prowess. Two years had passed since he first tried to persuade you to come with him to an auction, but you still managed to shy away from these events. 

This was another thing he liked about you.

In fact, there were too many things he liked about you. The way your eyes would shine under the fluorescent lights of his studio; the way your nimble fingers cut the stem off of his flowers; the way your footsteps lightly trudged whenever you drank too much wine—the list would be endless.

Perhaps his status as a renowned potter shaped his personality today, but he’s begun to realize that it wasn’t a good thing regarding his qualms with you. For one, he was too careful. He treated you like fine China, nimbly avoiding hazards that would tip what he currently has with you off and break all that he’s built with you up to now. He was too afraid to ruin the delicate details of everything that made his relationship with you so beautiful—so he left it untouched, only walking around the hypothetical vase between the two of you.

Another thing he dreaded was how difficult you were to read. In the same way that he treated his patrons with charismatic benevolence, you greeted every single customer with a bright, inviting smile. You shared your knowledge of flowers with regulars the same way you taught him how to arrange them in his vases. He knows he’s being selfish, but the idealistic thought of keeping those memories exclusively between the so-called enchanting secrecy that he’s built with you chipped him away with each passing second. The line between his self-doubt and reality was blurred like a piece of clay spinning in his wheel, and he couldn’t step on the pedal to stop it altogether.

This time, it was going to be different. He knew he couldn’t keep on working on the same vase for too long—the clay would be too dry, and he’d just keep on adding more wet clay to the amalgamation until it was too large to handle. Like all his failed attempts, he needed to tip it off and allow it to break before it was too late. Only then would he be able to create a newer, much better vase.

He woke up earlier than usual today, even though he didn’t have anything to do. It was probably around half a year ago, but he’s been gripped with fever dreams that leave him with a temporary level of high body heat. It would often die down later in the day, but the severity of these fevers made him routinely check his temperature the moment he woke up.

Today was an all-time record of 38.5 degrees Celsius.

The haze that came with the heat left his reverie blurry, but your face was always unforgettable. Most of his dreams left him breathless with all the sensations in his mind and body activating all at once, and all of them gave him an indescribable feeling in a vast spectrum of positive emotions. Each dream was also different than the last, but he never seemed to remember exact details other than your sheer presence. All he would remember when he woke up was the afterimage of his silhouette and hers seemingly pacing a vase in the middle, as well as a haunting melody that was distorted by an aging record player. He didn’t know what the song was called, but at this point, he could perfectly hum its tune—which he unconsciously did throughout the day.

This time, he remembered every single detail. It was almost too picturesque, and the entire scene made him wish he could just dive back into his covers and relive his reverie—but alas, he couldn’t live like that. Idealistic trances that came with an eerily deep slumber left him in a state of euphoria, but he wouldn’t trade it off for the exhilaration of meeting you face-to-face. After all, he always prided himself in having an affinity for authenticity.

He quickly got out of bed and darted to his shower room, allowing the ice-cold water to ripple on his skin. He was never one to take a bath in the morning, but ever since his episodes of fever-inducing dreams got worse, he felt that it was a necessary step in regulating his body temperature. Once he was finished, he wiped himself with a large towel and wrapped it around his waist, before visiting his balcony to bask in the morning winds. The season didn’t matter to him—in fact, winters work best with his current condition. Despite being somewhat naked in broad daylight, he never seemed to succumb to a cold. No matter how harsh the winds were, he managed to pull through the teeth-clattering chills. Although behavior like this seemed counter-intuitive, what worked for him worked.  

Ever since he began growing his own flowers, he would always be greeted with the floral notes of his seasonal home garden. While he initially started the hobby as an excuse to see you more often, he began to steadily see the beauty in its meticulous intricacies. Unlike clay, flowers had life in them; a single shard of porcelain can be revived into a postmodern piece for the rich, but a stem stepped in half was practically dead. In the same way, dry clay can be fixed by adding water, flowers had a tiny margin of error when it came to feeding them their necessities.

The marmalade rays of the sun were perfectly aligned with the semi-large pots of flowers that began to bloom with the seasons. you initially picked out a starter set for him, which included marigolds, pansies, and daffodils. After he got tired of their vibrant, yellow hues, he opted for a batch of tulips, carnations, and azaleas.

“Do you know what these flowers mean?” You asked, elegantly cocking your eyebrow at him. You were wearing your shop’s apron, which complemented your figure in his eyes. Perhaps he was too used to donning the same apron each time he met you, or maybe it was the apron itself becoming a part of his renditions of you. 

Of course, he knew what they meant—but he was used to pretending when it came to you. Feigning ignorance was a relatively easy and safe way for him to go around his feelings for you in repeated circles, but it was getting harder and harder for him to continue when the thought of you subjected him to blissful vertigo.

“No,” He answered, maintaining his cool exterior.

“I just wanted to get them since they looked really nice.”

After that, you helped him sow the flower seeds into a bed of soil by his studio’s moderately sized balcony. You gave him a run-through of each flower and its meaning; tulips when they were red meant deep love; carnations when they were dark red signified love and affection; azaleas represented a gentle kind of love. You teased him about it by referencing several people you’d seen at the exhibitions he’d invited you to, and he did his best to restrain himself from proudly dedicating each batch of flowers to you.

It was currently the middle of spring. Being an artist, he had an appreciation for all four seasons of the year. His sensitivity to the weather and changes in his surroundings were often reflected in the painted finish of his ceramics—for spring, he’d use finer brushes to bring life to the blue hues of the petals that adorned each vase he made; for summer, he would draw faded clouds that captured the iridescence of the light blue skies; for autumn, he’d experiment with colors and use a warm, gentle palette to accentuate the dead leaves that he often saw strewn around the roads; for winter, he created delicately designed plates that were adorned with snowbells.

He closed his eyes and felt a flurry of cherry blossom petals stick to the moisture of his freshly washed skin. Unlike the maple leaves of fall, he enjoyed the satin finish of each petal as they lightly caressed his exposed body.

As he tightened the towel on his waist, he was met with your figure sitting down on one of the studio’s stools. He did give you the keys to his house, but he didn’t expect you to come this early.

“Good morning! Aren’t you cold?”

Sunghoon greeted you with a gentle smile like he always did. He chalked it up to the orange tint of the rising sun’s rays, but there was an inkling of hope in him that blossomed as soon as your cheeks emitted the warm dyes of the weather. You offered him a steaming cup of coffee, but he politely refused. After all, he had already gotten rid of the heat in his body—he didn’t need another source to add fuel to the fire.

“I do this every morning, it feels nice.”

Your eyes wandered around the blooming pink hues of the potted flowers you helped him tend, which were now covered by a small flurry of cherry blossom petals. Carefully obscuring his barely covered form, you occupied yourself with marveling at the care he’s given them.

There was a look of concern etched on your face at his remark, and he hastily excused himself to his bedroom. Before he was able to leave, you took his hand and pulled him towards her.

“Hold still,”

You turned him around, picking the stray pieces of light pink petals that stuck to his back. A single touch of your fingertip managed to electrify him—which prompted him to exhale in jagged breaths.

“I don’t know if you’re doing this on purpose or not, but wouldn’t it be uncomfortable if you dressed yourself with petals stuck to your body?”

Through his peripheral vision, he saw a pile of cherry blossom petals increasing in size beside him.

“I thought it’d be nice body art.” He replied with a chuckle. It’s been two years now, and yet his heart always leaped whenever you laughed with him.

“Well, you should’ve told me! It would’ve been a nice source of inspiration for your spring-themed collection, and I could’ve helped you pick out which flower petals worked with your skin tone!”

You tapped his shoulder, and he automatically faced you. He noticed and admired the gradual agility in your fingers as you continued to pluck the stray petals off of his chest and neck.

“You know, maybe you’re right about the whole body art thing. This looks gorgeous! They look like scales or some half-human hybrid off of a fantasy novel.”

The palms that firmly held his shoulders were warmer than he was used to. He hummed in response, staring at your focused demeanor. It was the same one he’d see whenever you arranged flowers back at your shop, or when you’d immerse yourself in painting a vase in one of his free lessons for you.

“Love, flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

He reserved pet names for you, despite telling you he had a nickname for each of his friends. The last petal was formally removed from the left side of his collarbone, and you gave his shoulders a soft squeeze.

“Darling, I mean it. Now go get changed before you catch a cold!”

You gave him a light push towards the hallway that led to his bedroom, careful not to exert too much force. He hoisted the towel up one more time, and waved you a quick goodbye. He never dared to ask you if you reserved pet names exclusively for him or not. 

 “So why are you here so early? Don’t you have a shift today?”

Sunghoon was now dressed in his usual garb, and he slowly leaned his body on the elongated table of his studio. He always delved into the smart casual style, and sported a loose cream turtleneck with a checkered suit jacket.

“I took the day off. I thought it’d be nice for you to have a companion since every call we’ve had this month always ends up with me being busy.”

Oh, the things you did to him. He’s perfected the air of nonchalance that surrounded him, but it didn’t mean the beatings of his heart eased by any means.

“I mean, it’s funeral season. I’m pretty sure your services are needed to provide the appropriate flowers for the ceremony.”

Ironically, many deaths occurred in spring. Most of his commissioned urns were requested right before the vernal equinox, and seeing you running around in a sleek, black suit was a sign that spring was here. Today though, you were wearing what you usually wore, albeit a little more fashionable.

“Well, today, there were no funerals scheduled, so I had some liberties in taking the entire day to ourselves. I do have someone I want you to meet though, if that’s okay with you.”

A smile wasn’t appropriate for the conversation topic, but you managed to muster a small one towards your companion. You took the cold cup of coffee you brewed for them and slowly sipped its contents. Sunghoon left his own cup untouched—caffeine was unnecessary when you were in his line of sight.

“Who?”

You placed the mug down as you fidgeted with your seat. You then tapped your finger on your lips and gave him a cheeky wink.

“It’s a surprise!”

Although your playful attitude was refreshing to him, his curiosity won him over. Each plea from him to reveal the mystery guest he was going to see was only met with you doubling down on your secrecy. He eventually gave up, huffing to the side as he crossed his leg on one of the stools.

Timid patterns of your fingernails tapping onto the surface of the ceramic mug filled the air. The ticking of the clock continued to echo across the entire room. you whistled a tune that sounded familiar and unknown at the same time, which made Sunghoon ponder its origin. He wanted to believe that it was the same tune he’s heard in his dream, but such a twist of fate seemed too farfetched. Silence was usually something he didn’t mind when he was with her. Being next to you and feeling your presence was enough for him, and there was a part of him that found earthly comfort in her.

“I,“

You heaved a sigh. He didn’t know what it meant, but what he knew at the moment was how rare it was for him to see you distressed in the slightest. False hope was a deep kick in the brain, and he raveled in the myriads of possibilities that started with the word I from you.

“You?”

On cue, you stood up to occupy the empty stool next to him. Taking a neatly wrapped cloth out of your tote bag, you untied it to reveal shards of porcelain that were all too familiar to him. There were clusters of rich soil and plant roots that stuck on the sharp corners of each shard. His entire body contradicted himself. For one moment, he yearned to get closer to you, and in a second, sudden tremors overwhelmed his nerves, leaving him gasping for a single sliver of air. 

“Please don’t get mad at me, and please believe me when I tell you this, but the first vase we made together accidentally got knocked on the floor while we were cleaning the flower shop in my dreams. It means a lot to me since it’s the first vase we made together, and I was wondering if we could maybe spend time today gluing it back?”

Your breath was audibly jaded. His eyes widened, and his mouth went agape. A sudden sensation froze him, preventing him from moving a single muscle no matter how hard he tried. Shock would be the closest phenomenon he’d describe it, and the layers of self-doubt that he’s built throughout the duration of knowing you began to peel off one by one.

“In your dreams?” He couldn’t hide the astonishment in his voice.

You gave him a slow nod after gulping. He leaned closer to you, lips forming a thin line. There was a visible plea in your gaze, which he returned with curt reassurance. You allowed your body to rest on the table’s surface, using your elbows to support your weight.

“It might seem unbelievable at first, but it’s true. In my dream, we were together in the shop, dancing to some old hits while cleaning. I think it was around nighttime, since the skies were dark and the shop had the closed sign displayed outside.”

You closed your eyes and began humming the tune whilst dangling your feet to a moderate rhythm. Sunghoon’s eyes began to grow wider, his body stiffening with every second that passed.

“Were we dancing with brooms while that vase was right in the middle?”

It was your turn to exhibit a state of bewilderment. You neatly piled the shards of ceramic back into the cloth, wrapping it in a different knot from when you first brought it in. While doing so, your shaky hands pricked themselves on one of the shards—but the pain didn’t seem to faze you one bit. Your entire body was undergoing stupefaction, and you were solidly upright like a marble statue. You tried to continue talking about your dream, but a mere croak was the only thing that escaped the invisible clasps of your throat. It took all of Sunghoon’s current strength to prevent himself from breaking contact with your dilated eyes.

“Was I the person that knocked the vase over?”

You gave him a firm nod. Placing a hand on your heart, you subjected yourself to a few rounds of deep breaths. He hesitantly took your free hand in his and gave it a firm squeeze.

“You knocked the vase over with the tip of your broom, causing all the soil and flowers to come out. And then, I woke up to the sound of clatter downstairs at the shop. The vase was broken, the flowers we planted together were also on the floor, and I immediately thought of coming here to fix it together. Maybe harvest the flowers on your balcony to regrow them in the repaired vase.”

He felt your fingers curl on the back of his palm, and he returned the gesture with a beaming grin. Your feet were now sporadically dangling on the height between the stool and the studio’s floor.

“Listen, in the end it’s just a vase, and we’ve made a lot of that together.”

He used his eyes to point at the shelf behind them. you follow his gaze, keeping your hand on his. Sure enough, the collection of ceramics he’s made with you was triumphantly displayed on a glass case right next to an endless shelf of failed pottery. Each vase and plate were arranged in chronological order, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him as he continued to stare at your rather quick progress. While you had an eye for color, you didn’t have agile enough fingers to operate a pottery wheel—the same could be said for him. While he was great at drawing flowers on his sketchbook or painting them on the ceramics he crafted, he was initially terrible at soil cultivation and maintaining flower beds. It was the parallel yet extremely complementary nature of your respective skill sets that allowed for such a relationship to blossom in the first place.

He took your hand and led you to the glass case. As your eyes hovered over your earlier works with him, a certain embarrassment began to surface in the form of tinted, rosy cheeks. On the other hand, he did his best to hide the ever-growing pride that consumed him. you averted your gaze from the entire glass case, and he used his thumb to soothe the shakiness of your hand.

“See? I don’t think we should dwell on a single vase for too long. If we glue that vase back together, the crackles are just gonna ruin the glazed finish it once had. There’s also a high chance that water might leak out of the vase since glue doesn’t specifically fix cracks in fragile things.”

The two of you were still in front of the glass case. He felt a strong aura of energy around each vase that was displayed under its glass casing. He took a deep breath as he tried to control the tremors in his body. Taking your other hand in his, he interlocked your fingers with his, feeling a perfect fit. He’s always wanted to do this.

“So, we should make another one by scratch?”

Your voice wavered, as if you were in a hurry. He tried his best to hide his looming dejection. Of course, events like this were too good to be true.

“Well, we already have a fired glazed model from last week. All we need to do now is to paint it.”

Taking his word, a grin lit up your eyes in radiant sparkles. You picked out a cylindrical shape from the batch of dried pots you shaped with him, and he added a mental tally to the chances he’s missed.

By the time the pot was ready, the sunrise that Sunghoon woke up to retained its same hues, save for the presence of a violet trail in the sky. While he added final touches to the intricate designs of the cylindrical pot, you trimmed some flowers from his home garden and arranged them in a lovely, pink bouquet. Each bud wasn’t overcrowded, and you balanced the vibrance of the petals with a fair share of leaves. As an added touch, you placed some fallen cherry blossom petals on the bouquet, giving it a youthful yet transient glow. While waiting for the paint on the pot to dry, he continued to pry your on with the identity of the guest.

“You’ll meet him soon,” You’d often reply, with a gentle smile on your face. He knew he was overthinking, but a part of him insisted that you were going to introduce him to a new significant other. The thought alone to him was extremely ridiculous and downright impossible, but nonetheless, a wave of apprehension continued to float above his head as he waited to finally have his guest revealed.

The tote bag you brought with you was large enough to fit the newly crafted vase, so you carefully wrapped its entire body with excess newspaper before gently placing it in your bag. As for the bouquet, your hand carried it with you.

“What should I bring?” He asked, while turning off the lights in his studio. He gave the flowers on his balcony one last spritz of water before locking the glass sliding door to his balcony.

“You don’t have to bring anything, really.” You patted the side of his shoulder as you said this, whilst securing the ceramic in your tote bag.

He opened the door for her, before leaving himself. Usually, you would say a snarky comment or two about him being a “gentleman” and whatnot, but that youthful manner was replaced with a gentle smile of pure gratitude. He didn’t mind this side of her—in fact, it gave him more reasons to yearn for her. The endless dimensions of your character were as multi-faceted as the endless spirals of his pottery wheel, and he never wanted to lift his foot off of the pedal that unraveled each and every layer of your soul.

The pavement outside the city was lined with fading cherry blossom trees. The spring winds blew eastward, and a flurry of light pink petals would caress your faces with a touch of tenderness. There was a small river beside the pavement, which had a stone bridge perched right in the middle of it all. Sunghoon himself has visited the park countless times, but he limited himself to the bench near the entrance—where he’d have his sketchbook opened to paint still-life watercolor illustrations of the fleeting people that ebbed and flowed with the flows of the river.

You hoisted your tote bag tighter, gripping its strap as you continued to walk. You were approaching a slight inclination that led to a miniature stone bridge that separated the river. He continued to follow you, watching your unwavering, determined figure with awe as you walk past all the greeneries, flowers, and marble headstones that he suddenly felt himself drawn to. 

The entire walk from his studio to the park was in sheer silence. There were many questions that plagued his head, but at the same time, he took note of your secrecy. He couldn’t feel any malice to your slight stoicism and withdrawal. However, the curiosity that continued to consume him persisted.

Before walking away from the bridge, he took a mental note of the location. It was constructed in a typical ancient Korean fashion, which gave him several ideas for his next exhibition. Most of his works centered around floral themes ever since he met you, and he realized the redundancy in his craft. Maybe adding a body of water amidst the flowers he’d often paint would accentuate his vases and pots.

“You know,” you began, keeping your eyes in front of the road. Tall marble slabs began to appear in his line of sight, and he admired each of their craftsmanship. Perhaps, in another life, he would have chosen to become a marble sculptor. There was an allure in the macabre nature of funeral proceedings, and he was sure that each headstone he would produce would harbor an even graver symbolism than the urns that were commissioned to him. 

“I don’t know if I told you this, but you’re always in my dreams.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Rows of black and grey marble headstones bore Chinese characters. In the corner of each headstone, there were greyscale photos of faces that each told a different story. You were an amazing florist to everyone else, but to him, you are a professional at subjecting his vitals to rigorous gymnastic routines.

“What do you mean?” There was no point in asking this. He predicted the answer to bear an uncanny similarity with his own nightly experiences. There was also a part of him that didn’t feel the need to tell your his side of things—there was always a telepathic connection between them, and some parts of him believed that you already knew he experienced the same phenomenon.

The two of you were approaching a colorful gateway that smelled like paint thinner. The primary colors were flashy, which was almost ironic given the monotony that existed past the gateway. The golden sign shone with the setting sun, and the watchful eyes of the two guardian lions on each side of the gate stalked your every move as the two of you walked inside. While it was his first time entering such a place, your automatic strides juxtaposed his wandering eyes.

“When Madame Mo called me to arrange your birthday bouquet, I began seeing a face that looked exactly like yours. That time we didn’t know each other, so I did my best to memorize your facial features in case I’d forget them when I woke up.”

You stopped in front of a little wooden stall by the entrance. Taking your wallet out, you temporarily handed the bouquet to Sunghoon. you thanked the monk, receiving three thin incense sticks and a candle with a matchbox in return. He offered to continue holding the bouquet, which you apologetically agreed to. you slipped a single incense stick into the breast pocket of Sunghoon’s suit jacket, patting it in place before resuming your stride.

“Anyway, I’d get these crazy fevers whenever I dreamt about you, and I never really remember what I saw in my dreams aside from you and a vase between us. I still don’t know what it means, but maybe he might have the answers.”

He?

Your footsteps came to a halt. The two of you were now in front of a wide, obsidian headstone. Unraveling the cylindrical vase from its newspaper wrapping, you positioned it right next to the headstone. Then, you gently placed the bouquet of flowers inside the vase, using a bucket filled with water nearby to add its contents inside the vase. There was a photo of a man that looked like he was in his late fifties. He had a gentle smile on his face, and he bore a certain resemblance to her.

You took the matchbox and lit the incense sticks. Sunghoon hastily pulled his own stick out of his pocket and used the heat of your two sticks to light his own. The floral notes of the sticks wafted into the air, followed by a spicy undertone that gave your nostrils a light kick. You clasped your hands in prayer, closing your eyes shut. He followed suit, bowing at a slightly steeper angle than her. A few minutes of silence filled the vastness of the cemetery. A soft clap signaled the end of your prayer, and the two of you lifted your heads up in unison.

“Dad, meet Park Sunghoon, the man in my dreams.”

All at once, the suspicion that Sunghoon bore dissipated into thin air. It was now replaced by a tinge of guilt that bore holes in his heart. On cue, he gave the headstone a long, steep bow.

“Dad, you told me that I’d know who my soulmate is if I get a high fever after dreaming of them. Here he is, and I hope you’ll watch us from above.”

Sunghoon continued to keep his head down. The sudden shock of it all was hard to contain. you tapped his shoulder, telling him it was okay to raise his head up now. you waved a quick goodbye to the headstone, before walking back to the gate of the cemetery.

The winds continued to blow eastward, with distant petals of cherry blossoms caressing your cheeks as the two of you walked on.

“I originally wanted to use the vase we first made together, since I’d imagine that held more longevity between us.”

Instead of looking forward, your eyes were now towards him. He kept his hands in his pocket, but he returned eye contact nonetheless. Even if he was extremely satisfied with the outcome, he still didn’t know how to go about it.

“I guess you were right about the vase. It had to break for us to make this new one.”

He nodded in agreement. The two of you shared a smile as you walked past the colorful gates of the cemetery. There was no need for physical contact anymore, as the two of you felt the clays of your hearts spin into one, intricate vase.

—CREDITS: @writingmochi @hyuckworld @petrichor-han @wonvrse @tranquilpetrichor @soobisms @differentchildwombat @chiyuv

I fear this is my type

Au revoir

CHARACTERS |  Levi, Erwin, Hange, Mike, Nanaba, Petra, Kuchel

RELATIONSHIPS | Erwin x Levi, Mike x Nanaba, Petra x Hange

GENRE | Reincarnation, Smut, Romance

IV | Alternate Universe- Reincarnation. Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Romance, Smut, Angst and fluff and smut, French Levi, Student Levi, Writer Erwin, Light angst, Alternate Universe - Coffee shops.

Summary | “Puis-je vous aider ?” That voice, the familiar voice. It rang through his head and brought back memories of the man he had tried to find for so long. He lifted his gaze and was met with the sight of no one other than Levi freaking Ackerman, cleaning a cup, completely oblivious to him.“

Levi.” 

Erwin and Levi meet again in the modern world.Series

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s u m m a r y : there was only one thing you hated more than your restricted life, and that was choi seungcheol—the greatest venetian general who has ever lived. when a marriage is arranged between the two of you, you were sure it would end in bloodshed. however, as you and seungcheol are forced to attend balls and share a few hard truths, you realise you have more in common with the mysterious general than you thought.

c o n t e n t : military commander! seungcheol, noblewoman! artist! mc, artist! minghao, artist! soonyoung who are both annoying (affectionate), cheol and mc absolutely hate each other because i need to see proper e2l, cheol has a scar on his lip (yes this needs a separate warning), this is set in renaissance venice so there will be many artist references, the doge = basically ruler of venice, themes of sexism, constant arguing between mc and cheol, there is fluff, also angst mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out fuelled by hatred, cheol calls you carrissima (which personally i find very hot) fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (only because medieval contraception is horrendous), petnames cheol says some vile things during the deed, slight corruption kink

p l a y l i s t : dangerous woman by ariana grande || war of the hearts by sade || love is stronger than pride by sade || i don’t understand but i luv u by seventeen

t a g l i s t : at the bottom of the fic!

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e : hi hello thank you everyone for waiting for this monster fic!! thank you alice and addy for being the reason i finished this fic, thank you chia for creating a beautiful picture of general! cheol, and greatest thanks to choi seungcheol the man you are </3 i hope you all enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it <33

WHEN THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC DEFEATED THE OTTOMANS ONCE AND FOR ALL, EVERY CITIZEN—BE IT PEASANT OR THE RICHEST ARISTOCRAT—KNEW WHO WAS BEHIND THAT VICTORY.

His name sparked life into the deathly, cramped streets. Whispers and cheers carried along the murky lakes, the rushed streams underneath the city, lapping up to the cobblestoned shore—entering the ears of marketeers, patricians, nuns, prostitutes, everyone. Wherever one went, the commander’s name rang like the dozen church bells, scattered throughout the lake-locked lands.

The buzz in the air was more frantic this afternoon, though, because the victors’ party was finally returning to the state.

Finally returning home.

You, despite your family’s excitement, despite your connections to the man behind the success of it all, could not have cared less.

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