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thong-in-the-twist · 3 years

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Chapter: Gwangju

//Gong Yoo (Kim Shin) x you

Summary: To atone for his sins he is forced to wander the Earth searching for her before it’s too late.

Prologue: Silla Goryeo Joseon Tamna March 1st

It's been three years since I updated this last. Exactly three years and 9 days, and I'm glad to be posting it. God it’s been so long I no longer remember how I used to format my entries. I don’t even remember my tagging system. A word of warning: modern Korean history is heavily marked with suffering and for the purposes of this story I needed "her" to go through... A lot. But there is only one chapter left, so hopefully, we won't be suffering a lot longer.

***

It was obvious to him that she was going to be reborn immediately. It worked like that for centuries, why this time it would have been different? So he started searching for her immediately, anxious. His land was crying, his people were suffering.

Forests were being cut down to fuel the new age, the industrialization age. Instead, the land was being converted into fields: rice, cereals, cotton. Colonizers were laying new roads, tarmac was flowing down the peninsula so similarly to cold mountain streams. All to fuel the new age, all to feed the great Japanese Empire.

Mines on the peninsula were running day and night, long shafts filled with exploited bodies. Names were being changed to Japanese sounding ones, men were forced to cut their hair, celibate Buddhist monks were forced to marry, kids were banned from learning Korean in schools, papers were censored, farmers forced out of their lands, his people were forced to worship Shinto, and to see the Emperor as a god.

Shamanistic rituals were even scarcer than during the reign of the Lee dynasty. People were no longer openly calling for him, but their thoughts thrown into the ether were reaching him. Pleas and begging, prayers and threats, all were filling his mind and heart. The burden was heavy. Not too heavy to carry, but it seemed harder than the sword he was carrying in his heart. It seemed heavier than the last memories of his other life, than the image of red on white stone.

She found her. Young girl in the seaside village, barely 20 kilometers north from the village where she was born as Binna, centuries ago. The village tree was still alive even if the village itself didn’t exist anymore. Kim Shin didn’t know what happened to it after he saw her sacrifice herself back then. Were it pirates, or wars, or famine that drew people out? There was no way of knowing it.

She was four when he found her. Back in Joseon she would have been found just in time, he’d have two years to convince her parents not to give her away. And then 11 years until she had to be wed. Her village was far off the beaten path. It was far from the capital and far from Japanese shores. People were hardened and down-to-earth but it was a tightly knit community. It was as safe as it could have been in that age and time.

Kim Shin spent his days under the Holy Tree, now surrounded by forest. He remembered the village square and colorful ribbons. He remembered tax collectors and their cart. He remembered Binna’s clothes and hair, and sword splitting her throat open.

Kim Shin visited her house by night. He hid in the shadows, not ready to be seen by her nor her parents. He watched her as she slept in the same room as the rest of her family. He watched her wondering what woman she would grow up to be. He hoped that he’d be able to shield her from any hardship that she was destined to face in her life.

While watching her sleep, he was reminiscing about her previous lives. Her bravery, her tenacity, her pride and her selflessness. The lives that were lived and ended for his people, the lives that were ended for him, the ones that were ended because of him.

Kim Shin was restless. He was used to waiting. He learnt to be patient after centuries of waiting and slowly working towards his goal. And yet, he was restless. Sitting by the Holy Tree he was restless and anxious. Her last life was sacrificed for the country. For this land, and for the people. And here he was waiting idly for her to grow up. She was safe.

The Holy Tree was old but strong, with new springs and bright green leaves. It was magnificent even without ribbons and paper talismans. It was safe, far off the beaten path.

Their people were not.

And yet, he was idly waiting for her to grow up and take away his burden, while sitting under the Holy Tree.

While their people were desperately begging for help.

She was safe. And he had time. He had enough time to present her the liberation of their people as a wedding gift.

And thus, Kim Shin was off once more.

Koreans were fighting on the peninsula, yes, but there were fighting abroad as well. Kim Shin supported the Provisional Government of Republic of Korea in Shanghai, and aided students in Japan. When the empire invaded Manchuria, he was there fighting them off. He pleaded and negotiated with Chinese diplomats for them to move against the assailant before it was too late.

But the Central Kingdom waited too long, they were undecided way beyond what was safe. And thus, the Japanese attacked first.

The war that broke out drained the Korean peninsula even more. They were the ones to bear the brunt of feeding and supplying soldiers. And then, when Kim Shin was sure it couldn’t be worse, European war came to their lands, merging with the already raging Sino-Japanese conflict and bringing more players, more arms and more death into the equation. His people were forced into the Japanese army, forced to fight far away from their home – living and dying in China, Indonesia, Philippines.

He went where they were. It wasn’t their fight. They were farmers, artisans, teachers, workers – they weren’t warriors. He was. Kim Shin was back in the field, once more fighting for his homeland. Once more he took upon himself to be the most faithful agent of death. Immortal and determined, with unfamiliar weapon in his hand, but oh so familiar scent of blood, tears and fear clinging to him. The art of war changed through centuries but principles reminded the same.

But now it was harder to understand the purpose. It was harder to face dying foes. Every soul in his wake had hopes, and dreams, and dedication, and destiny – and yet he was invading the realm of the Divine, deciding who was to live and who was to day. What he did was to slaughter.

But he was also fighting for his compatriots, forced to lay their lives for the occupant. He fought to save them and to bring them back to their land. He helped them escape, he cleared camps, he dealt with Japanese officers.

Japanese defeat was what they were hoping for anyway.

It was in Perek that faced his hardest encampment. It was in Perek that among Japanese officers and soldiers, and his people forced into ranks, he found others. It was in Perek that among male voices he heard female pleas.

It was in broad daylight that he marched through the camp, taking in the tents and appraising layouts and main locations. Where to get food, where to get supplies, where were the blind spots. It was in broad daylight that he heard a plea so similar to one he heard centuries ago in the Song Dynasty’s capital. So earnest and so broken plea of death.

After the first one came another, hurried and repeated like a mantra, like a prayer. And another, and another.

And another.

So familiar. So heartbreaking.

Here, so far from his homeland, he heard her begging for death. For an escape.

But she was safe. She was safe back in her village, on the shores of Eastern Seas. She was safe back in her village, so close to the Holy Tree.

And yet, it was her voice, strung thin and wavering, but unmistakably hers.

A taste of bile invaded his throat as he zeroed on a dilapidated building. Better than a shack only in the name, with dark walls and dirty windows barely containing the horrors inside. His surroundings seemed to disappear, sounds of the encampment dying out, the building his focal point.

He took his time. Waiting itself was horrible, pleas constant, it would have been so easy to just end it. End all of it, all of them, all of the oppressors, just raze the camp to the ground. But he was afraid. Afraid of going inside and seeing that was happening, how they lived. It was easy to guess, and hard to understand. Justified rage was clawing his insides, not only for her, but for all of them. It wasn’t human to do, not that the occupant was ever human.

His fear was their prolonged suffering.

He fulfilled every one of their pleas. Every single one. Some wished for death, some wished for death for their oppressors. Some wished for health, some wished to never remember. Some wished for another chance in life, some wished for one last meeting with assailants and sharp object to meet them with. He did it all.

She wanted a knife. Sharp, and easy to conceal. She found it with glee and fervor. She wanted for her doors to be open and for night to be dark. She wished for rain, heavy and obscuring. She wished for that man to fall. To suffer. To know. To fear. To never forget.

Kim Shin watched her as she sneaked out of her room. He watched her back as she sneaked through the building, chastising himself for ever believing she was safe. It wasn’t even 15 years since he saw her last. He watched her as she found her prey. He watched her as she made sure that man would never do the same thing to another woman ever again.

His screams were muffled by a gag she made out of her sad excuse of a blanket. His blood was mixing with the falling rain, that matted her hair to her face. Her skin was ghostly, blush and looked paper-thin.

Once again he watched her as she raised her blade against herself. She was sure and focused, and emanating finally found peace. She was quick and efficient, and he barely had time to catch her before she fell down. She was smiling when her head hit the cradle of his head and her open eyes were staring lifelessly at the rainy clouds.

Kim Shin sat there in the rain, holding her body, obvious to now quiet whimpers coming from the man laying a few steps away from him. Once more her life was filled with suffering. Was her childhood good? How did she grow up? How long was she here?

He didn’t cry – feeling like he did not deserve to. She wasn’t the only one of his people that went through this, and something was telling him that there were countless more suffering now.

Finding her was important, but making sure that the world she was being born into was better became urgent. Kim Shin knew he couldn’t deal with her suffering. All recent lives he witnessed ended in a tragedy. Queen trying to protect freedom, young girl fighting for it, and the one that saw it in death.

She deserved freedom, all of his people did.

And freedom came with pain, tears and even more death. Foreign powers fought over his land, influencing its growth and stagnation once again. His land was sold and divided even after its occupant lost the war. Both red and blue powers abhorred giving Koreans back their land and their freedoms, forcing their ideologies upon them.

And thus the greatest conflict shook the land once more. June 25th, the day when brother went against his brother. Three years. Three years of fights, civil war raging on the peninsula destroying what was left after 35 years of the occupation.

And even that conflict ended because outside powers decided so. Every death, every lost soul – it was all because foreigners decided to settle their differences right there on Korean soil. The wound left by the war was painful and still suppurating. Peninsula was divided into two, one nation was split and the border between them became a wall that separated families and broke people’s spirit.

He saw fourteen hundred years of conflicts and changes, and ups and downs, but the last hundred years were far the worst he had seen. For the first time in his long life he wasn’t sure how to go about finding her. If he even should. Every time he found her, he lost her just as quickly. She suffered so much.

But if he didn’t search for her, he was sure that the Divine would find another way to punish them. Like giving her knowledge of his existence and urging her to wait for him.

By now Divine schemes were somewhat readable. He’d find her where he’d least expect her – where she was supposedly the safest, yet in the biggest danger. People in the south were struggling, famine and corruption was rampant. North was getting help from other communist states and plotting expansion. And he couldn’t find her.

Just like when he found her on Tamna, she wasn’t here. She wasn’t within the borders of both Korean states. And that’s what horrified him. He looked in China, so many of his compatriots lived there. He looked in Japan among those who stayed after occupation. He searched in South East Asia among those who stayed after the second world war. He visited the United States of America, hoping to find her there. And yet, as if the Divine was shielding her from him, he couldn’t find her.

In Germany he saw the Wall. The Berlin Wall dividing one nation into two. The blue state and red state, just like his homeland, was divided. The Wall was fresh and imposing, newly built. A palpable sign of schism. A knife in a wound, cutting it more open with every breath. It wasn’t as protected as the inter-Korean border was but it served as a reminder of similarly painful division.

As Kim Shin walked by the Wall, on the western side of the border, he heard a cautious ask. Barely audible, fleeting.

The person was asking for a haircut. If he wasn’t over fourteen hundred years old, he’d dismiss it as an auditory illusion. What would be a Korean doing behind the Iron Curtain – asking for a haircut?

Kim Shin knew better. Kim Shin knew: she was there.

Finding his way into the USSR was easier than he thought it to be. As a citizen of the communist, neighboring nation, he was more than welcome. He travelled from Korea, surprised by the sheer numbers of Koreans on the USSR's eastern lands. But the closer he got to Europe the fewer they got. By the time he left Moscow, his head was clear and free of usual prayers. It was in Poland that he heard one more plea – a different voice, exactly the same ask.

Children. Who Kim Shin found were children. From 5 years old to 16. War orphans being cared for by people so vastly different from them.

She was among them, one of the oldest kids, happily chatting in weirdly hard language.

It took him quite long to understand why all the kids kept praying for a haircut. Their hair was neatly kept, just like their clothes, their rooms. There was something of military efficiency in the way they were being brought up, and Kim Shin understood that it was due to a few Korean supervisors that came here with kids.

Kids were cared for, but not exactly loved. That’s why they thought so fondly of getting haircuts. Hairdressers would pat and massage their heads – that was an extent of warmth they were getting.

She and the rest of the kids were sent back to Korea a few months later. She drowned in a river when she tried to escape back to her European orphanage for the third time. Yalu River was her undoing, just like those centuries ago cold waters of the sea took her away.

So much death. So much suffering. What for?

As the North's situation was getting worse, the South started fighting for its economy. Authoritarian governments in both Koreas were similar in goals but different in execution, and slowly their fates were changing. South Korea was coming out of poverty, just as North Korea started spiraling into it.

With newly found resources South Koreans were finally able to think and want – and what they wanted was freedom. Freedom through free choice and democracy. Assassination of general Park, southern dictator, seemed like a perfect opportunity – but before democratic movement could raise its momentum it was brutally squashed.

***

“If we all go, they won’t be able to hold him! We need to get him out!”

Every frantic sentence is met with loud approval. You weren’t surprised when they formed a new government without looking back at people. You weren’t surprised when Chun Doohwan took over KCIA while still holding his position in the Korean Army. Of course he would. Even martial law wasn’t a surprise. But a few hours ago you heard that they arrested Kim Daejung.

Kim was an oppositionist. He was fighting for democracy in your country, and what was more important he was from your region. Rumors said that he was being held on charges of instigating demonstrations.

What a bull…

You were there all because you wanted to be there, and wanted better for your country.

“They are closing the university!” The shout could be heard above the other voices. Suddenly the thirty of you fell silent. You focused on the man that shouted it. You knew his face, you might have seen him once or twice in the library.

“What…?”

“Chun declared universities to be dangerous to society!” The roar that follows is deafening. There is no more “inciting”, all of you immediately walk to the university, gathering other students while marching.

The road leading to the main entrance is long, which gives you a perfect view of army vehicles parked in front of it. Soldiers organizing were also visible, moving with purpose or watching you with caution. Your group wasn’t big. Maybe two hundred souls. You weren’t sure what was the plan – but the goal was clear – to show that you wouldn’t take it lying down. They couldn’t take it all. Freedom, Kim Daejung, universities.

You weren’t sure who threw the first stone. It was all a blur. There was shouting, screams and orders, flying stones and falling batons. The students’ group dispersed only to form back, and to scatter once more but this time closer to the Provincial Office.

This time soldiers were wearing riot gear.

“You know well that I am going back out there!”

Your mother's eyes are filled with tension. The same tension pushes her lips into a thin line drawing her wrinkles out. She won’t back down, but neither will your brother and you.

“Mom, it’s what we have to do. They killed Gyeongcheol,” says Chanhwan. He is a high school senior and his goal was to get into your university.

“His poor mother,” whispers your mother as if against herself. That was something she said every time this was mentioned. Soldiers in riot gear killed Kim Gyeongcheol as he was passing by protesters. It infuriated the city and their protest was gathering momentum, but every person counted.

They needed to pay. For Gyeongcheol and for those who were killed yesterday.

What you wouldn’t tell your mother is the fact that you got guns. Yesterday you raided one of the military warehouses. It wasn’t an usual protest anymore, it was an uprising. Chanhwan told you that he heard that folks were talking about liberating Gwangju and making it into a free city. An official request for help was being drafted to be sent to the US Embassy. A country so enamored with freedom would for sure help you.

Freedom.

That’s what you longed for.

A horn outside let you know that your transport was there. Chanhwan was already out the doors, you stalled a second to grab your mother’s hand.

“Believe in us, mom. We will be back, victorious,” you said with emphasis. The world was yours to take and you wouldn’t hesitate. You run outside, not waiting for her to answer, and jump into the waiting taxi.

What an odd vehicle to be driving to a fight.

City was cordoned off and outside communications were cut. It didn’t scare you off. Nothing could, really.

Taxi was slowly rolling down the street, Chanhwan laying low in the driver's seat. He knew that as soon as he raised his head, he’d be dead. You knew that there were forces on the other end of the street aiming at you with their guns, hidden behind covers.

You and Chanhwan’s friend Sunwoo were slowly creeping along the car, using it as a moving shield. You could see a body that you were tasked with retrieving. You hoped the girl was alive. You all knew that not moving after being shot increased your chances of surviving if you couldn’t move on your own.

Suddenly you heard a loud bang and sounds of automatic fire.

“Run!” yelled Chanhwan and you didn’t need to be told twice. With Sunwoo you lurched forward trying to match Chanhwan’s accelerations. You kept your head low as smoke filled the street. Sunwoo was the first to reach the body.

Dead.

Boy opened back doors and together you pushed the lifeless body inside – not caring for decency you jumped inside as Sunwoo closed doors behind you. You heard him get in and Chanhwan was speeding off.

Girl’s hair smelt of flowers.

A helicopter was flying overhead. You’ve never would have guessed that you’d learn how to make Molotov’s cocktail. But there you were pushing a rag into a bottle. Sunwoo was in the field hospital, chances of saving his leg quite high. Which was more than could be said about many of your friends.

Casualties were high, but you weren’t ready to give up. The uprising cost the city too many lives to be so easily abandoned.

How could your government do that? You didn’t know. But you hoped for those soldiers to spend the rest of their lives knowing that they killed their own.

Chanhwan was on the other side of the street, giving you signs. You focused on him and he started slowly counting down with his fingers. As soon as you saw him countdown to zero, you threw your bottle.

There was an explosion and a sudden yell. You didn’t stay put to see the effect, you needed to escape as fast as possible. On your left you could see a group of fifteen or so students running the other way. There were fires and smoke and it could be hard to realize what was happening.

You lost your footing as you realized that Chanhwan was not running parallel to you. It seemed like eternity as you looked back to see him lying on the corner of the street. You could see his dark uniform jacket slowly dampening with even darker liquid.

It wasn’t conscious. Nor your scream, nor your leap.

The first bullet going through your arm was more surprising than painful. Second one caught your leg, tripping you down, the third one pierced through your clavicle as you fell. You saw smoke, and soldiers moving forward with riot shields, and your brother laying on the street, and an abandoned taxi. You saw another group of students running somewhere to your right.

Pavement was hot from the sun as you fell down. It didn’t hurt, or maybe it was so painful that you couldn’t feel it.

You saw a blue butterfly flying away.

***

Kim Shin forced his way into the fighting city. Through fields and through the army, he walked into the fray. No one knew. A village ten kilometers away? No one knew what was happening in the city. There were rumors, but not one could have prepared him for the riots he saw.

He saw students organizing, he saw local militias forming, he saw field hospitals being erected, he saw taxi and bus drivers using their vehicles to help the cause.

Had he done everything he could? No. Was it resignation? Maybe.

How many times had he seen her fighting? Why every time he saw her she was either suffering or leading a good fight. Why was she always selfless, and always right in the center of a turmoil ailing his nation. Just once couldn’t she be selfish and live?

Seeing her protest against authoritarian government barely half a century after she did the same against occupation filled him with unfamiliar annoyance. Rage. Why her. What did she do to be always reincarnated into such circumstances.

Was it even worth pursuing her?

Was it his atonement for not killing his king eons ago, even when she sacrificed herself. Was she destined to be laying her life for a cause while he watched her do it?

Defiance. That was what stopped him from acting. He could have gone on a rampage. Just like when he was a general, fighting with Gaya’s warriors. It wouldn’t have been hard, decimating troops. Those already stationed in the city, and those that would undoubtedly come to reinforce them.

He felt old. He was old. Looking at the fighting city he felt like it wasn’t his fight.

In the city he saw a foreigner. A foreigner with a camera. Documenting what was happening, what atrocities were committed on Gwangju’s streets.

Instead of watching her die once again he decided to protect the foreigner. To make sure that his recordings would be seen by the world.

As Kim Shin protected the foreigner, he didn’t realize that he could no longer hear prayers.

#gong yoo scenarios #gong yoo imagine #kdrama scenarios #kdrama imagine

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osakaso5 · 3 years

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Everyday Splendor in Olympus Town: Season 2

Episode 1: Hestia

Episode Index

Odysseus: Hey... Dionysus. Don't you think you're drinking a little too heavily? It's only noon, you should really slow down.

Dionysus: Why? I can down 10 bottles no problem. You're the one who needs to live a little and drink some more, Odezeus.

Odysseus: I'm an officer on duty. ...And my name is Odysseus.

Dionysus: You're a policeman, Oddysauce? You must be very diligent to be working this early in the day.

Odysseus: Odysseus.

Hestia: Ahaha, sorry for making you keep company to this drunkard.

Odysseus: It's fine, really. I'm used to this sort of thing...

Hestia: You're such a hard worker. Here's your meat and potato stew meal set.

Odysseus: It looks delicious, as usual!

Hestia: Thank you! I love to cook for people who appreciate my culinary skills as much as you do.

Odysseus: Is bread something that normally comes with meal sets like these? And on a closer look, the side dishes and miso soup seem really... potato heavy.

Dionysus: Master Zauss liked Hestia's stew so much, he bought out every potato field around here~.

Odysseus: Huh!?

Hestia: Ahaha... And because of that, I'll have to keep making potato dishes until my stock runs out. Sorry about that.

Hestia: I know white rice goes better with that meal than potato bread.

Odysseus: I-I'd heard rumors about this, but I didn't think they were true...

Odysseus: I can agree that you're a fantastic cook, Hestia, but buying every potato field in our immediate vicinity is a little much...

Dionysus: Master Zauss tends to fly off the handle when it comes to Hestia or Artymissus.

Odysseus: That doesn't mean he has to hoard every potato supply for himself...

Hestia: It was definitely shocking at first, but I kind of like knowing that someone enjoyed my cooking so much.

Hestia: And it's fun to come up with all these potato dishes.

Odysseus: You're way too nice, Hestia...

Dionysus: True. You should order him to stop, Oddlysus.

Dionysus: I'm worried some scoundrel will take advantage of his kindness.

Hestia: Ahaha. Don't worry. Nobody's ever done bad things to me.

Odysseus: If you're ever in trouble, just call me! At the end of the day, I'm still in charge of maintaining order around here.

Hestia: I hear you've apprehended more people than anyone else. You're a real elite cop.

Odysseus: I'm just a run of the mill street patrol, really.

Dionysus: An elite, huh. Wow! If that's the case, then I should give you some of my very special wine.

Odysseus: Uh... While I appreciate the offer, I'm still on duty, like I said.

Odysseus: Shouldn't you be working, too? I feel like I only ever see you day drinking...

Hestia: Dionysus is a winemaker, so tasting is technically a part of his job, too. It might seem like he does nothing all day, but his wines are truly incredible.

Dionysus: Incredible, he says. Hee hee, thank you.

Hestia: Still, you're right in that he should cut back on the wine, and eat some real food.

Dionysus: Hmm, I guess I'll order some snacks, then.

Hestia: Ah, then how about imo mochi? It's good for your stomach and digestion.

Dionysus: Okay. I'll eat anything you make, Hestia.

Odysseus: ...You're spoiling him rotten...

Dionysus: Hmm? What was that?

Odysseus: Uh... I'm just making sure here, but you did bring your wallet, right?

Dionysus: Wallet..?

Odysseus: You did bring it, right..?

Dionysus: Uh...

Odysseus: You... didn't bring it, did you?

Dionysus: Nope. But that's fine.

Hestia: Come to think of it, I haven't ever seen you with a wallet before.

Odysseus: That can't be true! Who's paying for all his meals, then?

Dionysus: Who DOES pay for my food, again?

Hestia: Dionysus gifts me the wine he makes, so I'm fine letting him eat on the house.

Odysseus: Isn't that kind of a sloppy arrangement!? If Hercules finds out, he'll arrest you for sure.

Odysseus: Not to mention I'm pretty sure Dionysus only brings you wine because he himself wants to drink it.

Dionysus: ...Heh heh heh.

Odysseus: ...And he's cackling about it right in front of us...

Dionysus: Heh... Actually, I heard something incredible. And now, I'm trying to give Hestia a hand.

Hestia: Help me out?

Dionysus: Yeah. I wanted to repay you for everything you've done for me.

Odysseus: Huh... You're more considerate than I thought.

Dioonysus: But of course I am. I loooove Hestia.

Hestia: So, what was the incredible thing you heard about?

Dionysus: Believe it or not, but there's gold hidden somewhere in Olympus Town!

Odysseus & Hestia: Gold!?

Dionysus: A ton of it, buried somewhere deep in the ground. I'll dig it all up and give it to Hestia.

Odysseus: That sounds like an urban legend at best.

Dionysus: What? No way.

Hestia: It might not be real, but I'm still happy you'd do that for me, Dionysus.

Hestia: And who knows? Maybe that gold does exist.

Dionysus: Yep. And I'll find it for you.

#idolish7 #olympus town #translation #event story

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quirklessidiot · 4 years

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Title: daddy’s first day [coward series au] Pairing: F!Reader x Miya Atsumu Genre: fluff, parents au, slice of life au Synopsis: In which Miya Atsumu takes charge of taking care of the kids for a day Warnings: none!

notes; you don’t need to read coward tbh to read this chapter, its just miya atsumu navigating his life as a daddy hshsshs [side stories are updated every friday] read the series here! [ ss;; one, two, three, four ]

“...Remember that Youta is allergic to shrimps and Yuuto’s got sensitive skin, I have all the medication in case anything happens and Yuuto has his soap in the bathroom in a separate container, just make sure that the water isn’t too cold nor too hot and remind him to wear sunscreen every two hours.” You explain, placing the last of your valuables in your bag “...I’m also on speed dial and you also have the number of their pediatricians on your number 2 speed dial, I also have the food in the tupperware prepared the night before-”

“Y/N, sweetheart, please calm down. I’m not going to kill our kids when you’re gone for the next nine hours.” he frowns at how distrusting you were towards him. okay, he admitted that he may have hated the boys at first but that was before. They were your kids now, that was totally different! They weren’t some random brats on the street! You should have a little faith in him!

“Atsumu, you almost burned down the house while making scrambled eggs.” You expressed, a glint of amusement on your eyes, “Would you like me to call ‘samu-san or Daiki-san?”

He scoffed at the mention of those two men, after ‘samu found out that he was actually an Uncle of those kids, he suddenly had a one hundred sixty degree change of attitude. Of course, Atsumu was happy that you guys got along and the kids seemed to start warming up to him but it seemed like you trusted ‘samu more these days and that daiki too.

“Alright, just help them with their homework and heat up the food okay? I have everything prepared.” You leaned in to give him a quick peck on the temple before leaving. He watches you leave the house in a hurry for work with a frown on his lips.

Married life with you was easy, you were like a superwoman. A great mom, a great co-worker, even a greater wife. How come he couldn’t be as half as good as you? Like be a cool dad to your kids or something? He couldn’t even cook the damn eggs well and there you were, making some Michelin star cuisine while making your kids happy and content and your work life thriving.

“Oh,” Yuuto’s brow is scrunched together as he exits his shared room with his brother, see, that’s what he gets from the kids, awkwardness and insults (mostly insults,really), “You know ever since you came back, ‘kaasan’s always been busy and hasn’t been spending time with us.”

“Yeah.” Youta yawns, scratching his eyes as he exits the room, “You even make bad food, I think you should just keep playin’ volleyball or something.”

Atsumu feels a tick on his forehead, they were definitely his sons that’s for sure.

“I’m trying here.”

Yuuto stifles as chuckle at his father’s reply, wanting to comfort him, he told him a little fact that their ojisan told him recently, “Sure you are, you’re doing a lot better than okaasan, Daiki-ojisan said okaasan didn’t know how to hold us until we were three or four.” the eight year old grinned.

Atsumu grabs a tupperware from the fridge that’s labelled ‘breakfast’ and proceeds to heat it up on the microwave, “I’m sure that’s a lie. Your okaasan seems to do very well now, it’s hard to imagine her messing up.”

He watches them eat their egg rolls and bacon, time flies quick these days. The boys were already eight years old and were getting more and more into volleyball. Youta exclaimed he wanted to be a pro like him while Yuuto wanted to be like you (although he still played volleyball a lot because he had the competitive streak thanks to his father)

“Can we invite Tobio-ojisan on our birthday?” Yuuto asks while Atsumu rolls his eyes, he can’t believe that this kid still idolized that idiot. He beated him thrice already! (okay, Tobio had beated him five times including high school nationals but still)

“Oh also, Shoyou-ojisan then we can play against them!” Youta grins, mouth stuffed with egg rolls. Atsumu grimaces at him then grabs a napkin to wipe off the rice on the side of his lip, “How are you guys not impressed by me?” their father grumbles.

“You’re our otosan.” Yuuto deadpanned.

“Yeah, we see you everyday.” Youta added.

After helping the kids out in the bath (especially Yuuto since apparently he needed a temp check for the water), he had them do their projects and assignments (you had a long list on what they should accomplish today and one of them was a science planetary object)

The thing is though, he wasn’t very good at that.

He ended up having ‘samu on speaker to help the kids as they choked on their laughter because their otosan still thought that Pluto was a planet.

It also didn’t help when their math assignments came up, oh boy, Youta had a problem with one number and when he tried to explain to Atsumu that there was a new way to solve that and that their sensei had told them to solve it that way, he got pissed, “I don’t know that way! Why would they change math? MATH IS MATH!” He screeches at the notebook as if it had done something wrong to him.

Safe to say, Yuuto had a field day as he watched his otosan frustratingly solve the math problem whilst muttering something about how math was complicated and they didn’t need to change up the equations. Youta, on the other hand, had to calm him down and tell him they could just use the old way to solve the problem.

“...I want pizza.”

“Your mom left us dinner.”

“It says here on the note that you have to bake it in the oven.” Yuuto reads out loud, “ ‘Samu-ojisan says that you shouldn’t touch an oven though.”

Atsumu feels like he’s aging quick because of these two kids, how is it that they were such angels to you but little devils towards him? “...when they’re angels, they’re Y/N’s kids but when they become devils, they’re yours.” ‘Samu jokes.

Ah, he felt his forehead tick on that statement. He had some pretty redeeming qualities that he passed on to his kids like his looks and skills in volleyball!

“Otosan, I don’t think you should put the tupperware in the oven.”

“I know what I’m doing here.”

Clearly, he didn’t. He ended up melting the plastic tupperware and having to call for takeout right after. The three of them looked at the melted tupperware and the food spillage in the oven, “Okaasan really likes those tupperwares.” Youta points out.

“I’ll buy her ten new ones.” Atsumu grimaced at the food in the oven, he should clean that and get rid of all the evidence when you come home in an hour. In fact, he should just buy a new oven because he thinks the smell is permanent there, “Wanna watch a movie before you go to bed? I promise I’ll cover for you.”

“You just don’t want us to tell okaasan that you melted her tupperware.” Yuuto pointed out.

“Pffft…” Atsumu laughs, pretending to shake it off, “I would not.”

“Extra scoop of ice cream on Sunday.”

“Yeah!” Youta echoes.

Atsumu narrows his eyes, “Deal.”

They ended up sprawling on the couch after putting on their pajamas. The kids sip their milk next to him, after seeing Kageyama drinking loads of it, the boys decided that if a big boy like Kageyama Tobio could drink milk, they could to (Osamu crackles because they didn’t seem to listen to Atsumu lecturing them about the benefits of milk) Halfway through the movie, the kids fell asleep and the blonde feels his eyes shut soon after too.

You come in quietly as you notice the quiet chatter of the TV and the figures of your three boys on the couch, all snuggled together. Your heart immediately softens as soon as you see the domestic scene in front of you. Something you probably never could imagine before, your boys. You take a picture before waking your husband up with a light kiss on the jaw, “You look like you had a fun day.” you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.

“I hate math assignments.” was all he could reply.

You silently chuckled as you picked up Youta, “I’ll put the kids to bed, mind running me a bath?”

“Can I join in?” Atsumu suddenly awakened as soon as he heard what you said, a smirk dancing on his lips, “Save water and all that?”

“Are you really going with me in the tub?” You narrowed your eyes, “Last time we did that together, we ended up having two kids.”

“What’s another two more?”

“Miya Atsumu.”

taglist [officially closed, if you guys want to be removed for the side stories, feel free to tell me hehe ilyasm and thank you once again, coward wouldn’t be possible without all you people + other readers]

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@misosamu @Etherynaw @ryaaaax @allysasteaparty @mikaashi @brownie0food @ph10xy @Chocolaterumble [hi, i can’t seem to tag u guys, i think you need to open your tags uwu]

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu imagine #miya atsumu scenarios #miya atsumu fanfiction #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyu!! fanfics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons

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kozutenshi · 3 years

Text

you were greeted by the golden fields like you usually do as you walked into the home you had come to love. the invitation from his grandma was not new to you. in fact, she always asks you every year.

normally, the thought of being out in the fields for such a long time under the heat of the sun made you feel uncomfortable, especially since it was a weekend, the only tines you can rest from your workload. it was a strange question for outsiders, but for you,

it was totally normal.

"he would like them a lot. i know it!"

PANAGGAGAPAS

— time of the year wherein we harvest the golden grains of rice from the palay.

— it differs and varies every year, but, for our family this 2020, the harvest was last week before the storm hit.

— we call our harvest 'apit', even if it's not rice (corn, root crops, etc. can be applied)

— if the harvest is good, we usually say "mayat ti apit!" (the harvest was good!) and/or "napintas to apit ita!" (the harvest was pretty/great this year!)

— as a child, the bane of my existence are the chickens who wants to take a grain of two from the sacks. we usually chase them with a rock but not actually hurt them. it's fun ngl-

you caught sight of his clean white shirt and unique hair the moment you stood in the gymnasium's doors. it was way past your time to go home but at least, kita was there to accompany you.

"shin-kun!" he looked up to your cheerful greeting before nodding at you, a silent confirmation that you can enter the gym while they cleaned.

"tending to the fields tomorrow, shin-kun?" the twins watched the two of you interact as they cleaned the gym from afar. it wasn't a secret that the two of you were childhood friends but knowing you and knowing kita, it made their brain short circuit from thinking how the two of you had became friends.

and honestly? you also don't remember except for that one memory of seeing him tossing a volleyball repeatedly and asking you to teach him.

after that? no memory of how you became close.

shinsuke knew the moment you asked him to teach you that he would fall for you. when you smiled at him cheerfully and looked at him receiving the ball with sparks in your eyes, he couldn't help but feel proud of himself.

he smiled at you and nodded. "yeah. i'm helping the older ones. it would be a waste if i didn't help them." you nodded at him, a small adoring look on your face as your eyes softened at him. "okay. keep up with the good work! i'll wait for you outside, okay?"

he nodded at you as you ran out of the gym, saying goodbye to everyone and even making suna laugh as you tripped slightly, before his eyes switched to the twins who stood frozen near him, dazed. his eyes, stern and cold, scolded them with no words as they scrambled to get the cleaning done.

sighing, he continued with his work to get home earlier for a good sleep.

shinsuke wiped the sweat off his forehead after setting the sack of grains on the ground. his back ached from crouching down and carrying the sacks of rice still covered in their golden hulls, his hands calloused even with the protective gloves. the sun's heat seared through his clothes as he took a deep breath and reached for hus water.

distantly, he heard laughter. wearing matching farmer hats, he saw your figure walking towards their farming site, along with his sweet grandmother who still kept up with your pace.

"whatever you say, yumie-san."

kita raised a brow at your use of his grandmother's first name, pursing his lips ever subtly.

he wondered how the two of you have gotten close, especially since you don't even go to their home that often anymore, except if it involves parties and gatherings. the elder only laughed and gave kita a side glance.

oh. so it's that.

you watch him sigh as he wordlessly took the food his grandmother was carrying and called for the other workers.

his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the slightly tanned skin underneath the light top. his metallic hair glistened underneath the sun and he looked like he was in deep thought.

you had adored that expression of his even when you were still younger and ignorant of your growing feelings. his lips were a bit pursed, his eyes intensely focusing at a certain space. his eyebrows slightly scrunched before he moved his eyes up, as if he felt your stare on him which you averted immediately.

he watched the workers savor the food with a tiny smile on his face, only to realize that there wasn't any for him left.

he shrugs it off though, opting to take a gulp or two of water. he didn't notice you near him until you tapped his shoulder, an evident embarrassed expression on your face. he chuckles at it and felt himself blush at how cute you had looked.

"i.. made you this."

you gave him the box with the tofu hamburger in it. his eyes lit up as his hunger took over, and the sight of his favorite food made his mouth water. you almost laughed at the look on his face, somehow mirroring that time the both of you were children as he received a gift from you that christmas.

"please take it!"

his grandma smiled as she watched him take it, opening the box covering the treat, his face turning pleased when he took the first bite.

"I like it. thank you so much, n/n."

"no need, shin-kun."

he watched you take your own serving from your own food, narrowing his eyes at the way you press down a part of your pointing finger. "what happened?"

you scratched the back of your head with an embarrassed chuckle. "i just grazed it with the knife, that's all." not thinking, he placed his burger down and took your hand close to his lips, blowing at it like the way he did years ago when you were children, before taking out a band-aid. he wordlessly wrapped it on your finger and placed a kiss to it which made your face feel even warmer.

he realized what he has done, gracefully saying sorry to you for his sudden actions. yumie-san watched as his face and ears turned pink and chuckled as you two shifted on your feet.

you two remind her of penguins for that.

since the lunch time was about to be over, you and his grandma walked back to his home that he shared with the elder, hoping that you'll come back with more tofu burgers later after the harvest finished.

and you did, just briefly there to give him the food, before leaving immediately, your parents calling you through your phone.

yumie kita smiled as you bid farewell to the pair, watching the young boy eat the food you had carefully prepared for him and him only.

"still thinking of not getting married?"

he shifted his eyes towards the grandmother, the question all too familiar yet unlike other times, he couldn't answer immediately.

"too early, o baa-chan. besides, they're not even in a relationship with me."

"I didn't even say anything about who will be it?"

a sly smile crept up her face as he blushed openly to the elder.

"soon. i'm sure you know what i'm talking about."

he sighed, calming himself before quickly turning his attention back to you. he wanted to distract himself from such thoughts but as he watched you disappear from the road you came from, your happy humming reaching his ears, he smiled at the thought of coming home to you every after harvest, and every other days, the thought of you visiting him mid day with bentos in hand, and the way he can hold your hand without reason.

and that's when he knew the answer to the question he long despaired on.

TRAVELLERS: @doodleniella @kenmakodzu @lyzzklm @mfcassandra @oikaw-ugh @seijohlogy @thesecondapplepienation

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mlqcconfessions · 4 years

Note

So i think tumblr sent my ask before I could even tell you what’s on my mind. Lol. Oh well. Let me start over, heyyyy!! So big fan of your blog here. ☺️💙 Never fail to brighten my day. May I ask, how do you think it would be like if MC isn’t a producer but have a different job? (Like say, a medic or whatnot) How will she be able to interact with the guys (and possibly fall in love with them?)

Thanks for the request! Sorry this took so long to answer.

To make things interesting, I gave MC the boys’ occupations (minus Shaw, because he doesn’t have a clear job(?) yet). There may be slight spoilers regarding certain backstories. Also, MC will already be in a relationship with the guys.

Enjoy!

MLQC Headcanon - More Jobs than Barbie

Victor (MC as *police officer*)

Victor wasn’t always supportive of you joining the police force

He was concerned that you would be overworked by the other seniors in the station (but who would dare to, honestly)

But when he saw how passionate you were, he quickly changed his mind

He technically owns a part of the station? (as a part of a partnership with LFG)

Despite his extremely busy schedule as THE CEO of THE LFG, he always finds time to pack you lunch

He won’t hear any excuses as to why you had to settle for 3 choux buns today

“Victor, we were trailing a suspect!”

“If you faint on the job, it’s a bother to your co-workers” (he says while feeding you his homemade fried rice)

He was irritated one day when he noticed you came home without your lunch box

“Oh, Tony (bringing back the LEGEND) forgot his, so I shared mine with him”

“........did you now....”

You know that face too well

“Don’t worry! I made him promise to return it tomorrow” (Dummy, that’s not the issue here)

The next day, Victor didn’t leave a lunch box on the table like usual

Maybe it’s because Tony still has my lunch box?

You went to your shift without giving it much thought

Lunchtime came around, but you still didn’t have anything to eat

“MC? Here’s your lunch box” (you turned around to see Tony standing there with your box)

“Ah, thanks!”

“Uh...if you don’t have any plans, do you wanna go eat somewhere?”

“Yeah sure, I didn’t bring food anyways!”

“Who says you don’t have food?”

A chilling voice suddenly appears behind you

“Vi-Victor?” (Tony’s jaw drops in fear)

He’s holding a lunch box you’ve never seen before, stacked with 3 layers of cooking by Souvenir’s finest

He tosses your old lunch box back to Tony

“She won’t be needing this anymore”

Kiro (MC as *neurologist*)

Your work as a scientist was demanding, without a doubt

But it’s not as tiring as answering Kiro’s endless array of questions

“MC! What does this one do?” (Kiro, stop pressing those)

“Will this turn my hair purple?” (Kiro, that’s anesthesia)

“Look at this! My knee is going all bouncy!” (Kiro, put that reflex hammer down)

It’s like setting a kindergartener loose in a zoo

It’s not like you hated him being there when you worked

If anything, it was really adorable (especially when he looked at you so intently with those bright, shining sapphire eyes)

He has his own corner in your lab (he spent 5 days decorating it)

He bought a mini-fridge to hold the sweets, and a pantry for the chips

He doesn’t visit ALL the time, though (and it actually feels lonely without him)

When he has work, he would call beforehand (he says you can eat the cake on the top shelf of the fridge)

Kiro likes taking naps on the couch by your desk

It was originally meant for YOU to use (something about letting your brain rest along with your body)

But he’s the one sleeping in it (Savin has to drag him out when he has a schedule)

Because he’s not authorized to handle the materials in your lab, he just stands close to you while you work

But he INSISTS on wearing a lab coat like yours

“We’re matching, MC! Do I look like a scientist?”

One day he brought stole glasses from his stylist because he wanted to look smarter (gosh he’s precious)

He spends so much time at the center that all the other scientists keep expecting him

Some of them were fans of Kiro, and figured out the way to his heart was by feeding him food

Which was a lie, since the only person he opened his heart to was you

He just doesn’t turn down food

Lucien (MC as *CEO*)

He was always proud to call you his fiancée, especially when you’re running such a huge company as its CEO

Lucien’s job as a neurologist and researcher meant he wasn’t able to be with you for long (and same with you)

You became so lonely that you decided to invest in Lucien’s lab

“MC, are you sure you don’t want to discuss this with Anna and the others?”

“Yeah! I’m just happy I get to see you more often now!”

Lucien laughs softly (What am I going to do with this sunshine)

But that doesn’t mean you’re terrible at your job

If anything, your ability to run one of the biggest companies in Loveland is immeasurable

Before your father passed, he made sure to teach you everything there is to know about entrepreneurship

Thanks to him, and with the help of your trusted employees, you’ve never ran into major problems

You’re happy with your job, and satisfied that you can continue what your father did when he was alive

Plus, you get more time with Lucien

He sometimes visits your office to give reports on how the various projects the lab is working on (it gives you a boost every time)

“Wait, hold that pose!” *click

When he’s reporting, he always changes out of his usual lab coat and into a suit (because he is meeting his “Boss”, after all)

And you take OOTD pictures to save in your hard drive

He never says anything about it

In fact, he enjoys it as much as you do

He loves it even more when your face turns red after Minor walks in on your photoshoot session

“HA HA! Boss, have you been doing this every time Mr. Xu comes?”

You say nothing, and just bury your face on your desk

Lucien doesn’t say anything either, but the smile on his face marginally grows more sinister

Minor senses something is wrong and nearly drops the files he was holding

“We-well, have fun Boss!” (he dashes out the door in an instant)

You look up and see Lucien tidying your messy hair

“What’s wrong with Minor?” (didn’t he bring the files I need to sign?)

“(he tucks your hair behind your ears and smiles) Hmm.... who knows?”

Gavin (MC as *idol*)

He had heard from his sources (Minor) that you graduated Loveland University with a major in the performing arts

He knew you would pursue this field from the beginning

After all, he would listen in on your rehearsals for the plays in high school (he never told you, of course)

He was afraid that you might be uncomfortable if he was there, with all the rumors going around about him

That’s why he never attended any of your plays (he paid no mind to Minor’s constant begging)

Instead he liked sitting on the theater roof, happily drowning himself in your voice (the same voice that saved him that day, when he discovered his Evol)

The day you reunited with him was when you were filming a show outside

He had to do a double-take when he saw you surrounded by cameras and fans (Isn’t that guy getting a little TOO close??)

You actually spotted him too, but pretended not to (you were still caught over the scary rumors about the upperclassman)

But that was nearly a year ago

Now the two of you are in a relationship (something neither of you thought was possible)

He knew you weren’t allowed to date publicly because of scandals, but he still wanted to show off his beautiful “Ginkgo” (which is what your name is saved as on his phone)

The only other person who knows is Minor

He doesn’t go around blabbing about it, but he does tease Gavin any chance he gets

“Hey, Gavin. Guess what I have for you (he hands a limited issue of your exclusive magazine)? There was only 1 copy left, and I got it for you. Now you can go brag to your cop friends”

Gavin promptly yanks the magazine away from Minor, who has an unbelievable grin on his face

“Shut it”

He doesn’t give back the magazine, though

This was such an interesting prompt to write! Thanks to @aliaisreal for the amazing request!

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joontier · 4 years

Text

The King’s Guard | Chapter 4

–> Pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader ; min yoongi x reader

–> Rating: R | Genre: historcal drama, smut, angst, fluff | warnings: explicit language, intense pining, swearing, infidelity, implied dubious consent! (drunk yn, implied coercion), dom! daechwita yoongi, oral male receiving, unprotected sex, v rough sex, choking kink, pain kink, boobie spanking, edging, basically yoongs wanting to fuck yn’s brains out, voyeurism, sweaty sex, jk hates yoongi’s blonde hair with passion

–> Word count: 8.9k

–> A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the araw to my gabby @mintseesaw and tkg enthusiast @dameleia ILYSM BOTH u guys dont know how much i value the support you have given to me and this fic!!! I told yall i was gonna post this tomorrow but here we are BC I AM A: 🤡 Feedback is always appreciated! <3

The King’s Guard - Masterlist || navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 4

“Ugh, what kind of rat is trying to bother me now?” the man mumbles, dragging his poorly-worn, boot clad feet against the soil. It’s far too late in the evening, and he swears to his ancestors he will not hesitate to choke this man to death if all this noise will be for nothing. The banging won’t stop, and the servant finds himself uncharacteristically exerting more energy in quickening his steps as a neighbor shouts about keeping the noise down.

“What in the king’s name do you-“

The man comes face to face with none other than the captain of the royal guards himself who’s already handing him a pouch containing more payment than he will ever receive in his life. “I need you to do something.”

Once Jungkook had told the man of his orders, he turned on his heel, leaving the man to return to his house. With no hurry, the captain heads back to the palace, letting himself drown in his thoughts, reminiscing the past as he kicks a few stray pebbles along the path.

“Jungkook-ah, catch this!” Yoongi pretends to throw the ball in the air as Jungkook lurches forward, looking up. The older boy bends over in laughter, one arm hooked around the ball he ‘supposedly’ threw. Yoongi’s chest beams with pride, and mirth, having fooled his younger brother yet again.

“Hyung! That’s unfair!” Jungkook stomps his foot on the ground, a cloud of smoke dispersing around his feet at the strength of it. Their mother watches with adoration from where she’s preparing their lunch inside their house. Shaking her head at their foolishness, Min Misun continues to add their homegrown herbs onto the chicken stock, occasionally peering at her two sons.

They’ve been arguing more often these days, fighting even over the simplest of things. Misun is well aware though that the alleged ‘despise’ they hold against each other is nothing but playful banter between her two boys. At the end of the day, they know they enjoy each other’s company the most and that they hold the strongest bond between siblings.

They are coming of age soon too, and that endless stream competitiveness coursing through their veins is something brought about by their youth and will remain the same as never anything more than two boys playing around. The two would always make Misun choose her favorite between them, but she’d just shrug them away and tease them incessantly about not telling who her favorite was, much to her sons’ demise. She loved them both equally with all her being.

Quite astonishingly, while one was lacking in something, the other would be extremely good at. Not that they were already good at everything – as their father had taught them a vast majority of things, passing on the importance of being knowledgeable in the many fields of life.

While Yoongi excelled at swordsmanship, Jungkook was an expert at archery. One was unbeatable at field sports while the other genuinely enjoyed games that required more thinking than physical movement. They were polar opposites most times, but when they teamed up together to play (or fight!) against the other boys at the village, they were unbeatable. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses the most and used their unspoken dynamics to their advantage.

Just like that one time Yoongi found his younger brother getting pushed around by stronger, bigger, and older boys in the marketplace. Yoongi immediately leaves the sack of rice with his mother, running towards the circle they’ve formed around Jungkook. The older sibling pushes his way through the small crowd of boys around their age. Yoongi finds poor Jungkook trembling with fear in the midst of it all, but maintains his head held high, trying his best to appear brave even when he feels his cowardice taking over him. As soon as Yoongi reaches the center, he takes hold of his brother’s hand, dragging him out of the commotion. But definitely not before taking out the biggest one – delivering a punch straight to the boy’s face that had him falling backwards. “Pick on someone your own size,” he told the boy and threatened him with an even more painful punishment if he dared to hurt his brother once more.

Or that one time when it was Yoongi who found himself in trouble, having been accused of stealing a chicken when he was merely passing by the merchant’s stall and the actual thief slammed the chicken against his chest. With Jungkook trailing a few steps behind, seeing the whole fiasco, he placed a foot out to trip the robber. The thief unfortunately stealthily avoided his foot, getting away. He caught a glimpse of his brother concurrently being confronted by the stall owner, and takes another look at the man who was getting farther. Cursing under his breath, Jungkook takes after the robber. The young boy, being blessed with strong legs, catches the thief in no time and dragged him back to the merchant, demanding his brother to be freed from captivity.

A few more moments pass and Jeon Yeongkwan arrives from the forest after having collected firewood all morning. Yeongkwan greets his wife with a kiss, while the children scurry towards their father to greet him with a hug.

As Yeongkwan joins his children in playing, the family’s lone horse starts neighing wildly, signaling someone’s arrival. He immediately ushers his children and Misun inside, telling them to stay quiet until he deems it safe for them to come out.

He’d retrieved his trusty sword he’d kept on the bottom drawer of his closet, he takes cautious steps towards the threshold, warily gripping the weapon in his hands. He hates the fact that he’d have to use this a little too soon after the Great Colonization, but if it means keeping his family from harm’s way, he’d gladly wield it with all his strength.

With the southern city nearest to the neighboring countries, it makes the city most susceptible to colonizers. And just because the turmoil had already ended, it wasn’t enough assurance that there weren’t any foreigners left on their land lurking around to make another attempt to take their lands once more.

Peering from the corner of the brick wall surrounding their house, Yeongkwan watches a nearing horse carrying the city’s emblem. He visibly relaxes at the sight, but remains wary nevertheless. There had been rumors of foreigners impersonating citizens, taking the emblems for themselves and posing as residents of the country, and he could never risk the safety of his family

As the horse draws nearer, he sees the man atop the steed clad in the palace’s uniform. What other reason could bring a palace worker here when he’d already retired from his position as general of the southern army? He’d already made his intentions clear with the king; that he wanted nothing more than to spend his remaining days in a quiet place with his family.

It was a difficult time for the entire country, undoubtedly, and citizens had not fully recuperated from the recent conclusion of the war. Yeongkwan hopes that this man’s arrival doesn’t bring with him news of new trouble. If he was being honest, it had been a great honor to have served the king and to have fought with him side by side, and eventually spared him from death at some point. Yeongkwan loved the south clearly, he was born and raised there after all, but when he had wed Misun and blessed him with two sons, nothing else mattered more to him than his family of four.

Yeongkwan had only joined the army because of the king’s orders that at least one man from each family join the militia – a proclamation nobody in the city could contest. But it was the thought of his family well-being and safety from the colonizers that kept him alive. He’d instantly been promoted to general as the previous man holding the title had been slain in battle, and Yeongkwan was the one who plunged a sword into the colonizer who tried to stab the king at the back. He was grateful for the offer of a high military ranking but had expressed his desire not to continue working for the militia. Gratefully, the king had honored his request after the war had ended.

Now that another palace worker has found himself back to Yeongkwan’s family home, the patriarch can’t help but worry over what might be the cause of this man’s unexpected arrival.

The man pulls at the reigns, definitely making the horse halt its trotting. “Are you Jeon Yeongkwan?” The man hesitates for a moment before giving away his identity. “Yes, that is me. Can I…help you with anything?” He glances at the sword he’d rested against the wall.

The messenger doesn’t say anything, but instead retrieves a scroll from a satchel attached to the horses’ saddle. “To Jeon Yeongkwan, a message from King Daesin, ruler of the south. You have been invited to a private supper with the King tomorrow evening in celebration of the successful cessation of the foreigners from colonizing our country. The rest of your family’s presence will be highly appreciated.”

Yeongkwan nods in acknowledgment, this time truly breathing a sigh of relief. The messenger re-rolls the parchment and places the same on Yeongkwan’s hands and leaves without any other words. Misun approaches her husband as soon as the mysterious man was out of sight, placing a comforting hand at the small of his back. “Who was it?” His two sons likewise approach him.

“The King has invited us for dinner tomorrow evening.”

Misun immediately squeals in excitement, surprising the three boys of the household. “Does that mean we get to see the palace? Oh! We need to get new clothes then? How am I supposed to sew you three new clothes? We only got old ceremonial ones kept in our room but I don’t think those will still fit any of you…” She taps her chin subconsciously, deep in thought and worry.

Yeongkwan, absolutely smitten with Misun’s hidden charms and unable to control his adoration for his wife, places a chaste kiss on her cheek, “I think you’ll look beautiful in anything, my love.” Their two sons gag at the sight, passionately cringing at their parents. Yeongkwan chuckles, as Misun hides her reddened cheeks in the crook of his neck.

“In the near future my sons, when you get to marry the woman you love more than yourself, you’ll understand.”

Misun had worked on their clothes all night, and by the time she finished, the sun had already risen. She worries that she might not look presentable enough with the darkening circles under her eyes for having stayed up late, but with her husband’s constant reassurance and praise, he managed to convince Misun that she looked more than presentable.

As they reach the royal hanok, a royal guard knocks on the door once, announcing the arrival of the Jeon family. “Jeonha, former General Jeon Yeongkwan has arrived with his family.” The door opens, revealing a majestic room, one nearly thrice as large as the boys’ shared sleeping quarters.

Yeongkwan kneels to the floor, bowing in courtesy. The two boys continue to marvel at the room, mouths agape as each of their parents tug at their pants to follow suit.

The king of the south rises from his seat, approaching the family he had wanted to meet for so long. “Rise, my old friend.” King Daesin places a hand on Yeongkwan’s shoulder, beckoning him to stand up.

“Are these your boys?” he asks the former general, ruffling Yoongi’s and Jungkook’s hair at the same time. “Fine young men, you are. Just like your dad...A few years back that is,” the king observes, squatting down so he can face them at eye level. Yeongkwan smiles at the king, while the latter lets out an amused chuckle at the former’s sons who are unabashedly staring at the king of the south.

“Jeonha, it is my greatest honor to introduce to you the love of my life, Min Misun.” Yeongkwan steps aside to reveal his wife. Misun bows, letting her knees touch the floor as courtesy. When Misun rises, they meet eyes, and Daesin’s lips part lightly in astonishment.

Misun was definitely a wonder to take in. During the recesses of the war, he had been told of stories of the lady by the husband himself, who claims that there was no other woman in the nation who could compare to his wife. Daesin just wasn’t expecting that Yeongkwan’s stories had not been biased after all.

The king of the south recollects himself and bows curtly to the lady as well. At that point Yeongkwan knew, this was a battle he wasn’t going to win, because what the king wants, the king gets.

As the brothers aged over the years, the two learned to reconcile their differences and bonded over their similarities and strengthened their own abilities. Then came the subject of girls, when the now young men found attraction towards the opposite sex, both spending more time talking over the fairer sex rather than arguing over small things.

“Hyung…”

“Continue your reading, Kook. You know our father’s sentiments about our studies.” Yoongi reprimands, not bothering to spare his little brother a look as he continues to indulge himself in Confucian canon and likewise jotting down his remarks on a separate notebook.

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, but Yoongi beats him to it, again. “And stop painting when you still have three more books to finish.”

The younger boy deflates at his brother’s words. “Hyung, you know how I feel about studying right?”

“Yes, and unless you want to get scolded at by both our parents, I suggest you put that away now and continue it later, when we’re done studying.”

“Fine. I will, but you have to answer my question first.”

Yoongi quickly puts his book and brush down, looking up to face Jungkook. Better to get this over with quickly, than to reply with a snarky comment and eventually exert more energy trying to banter with his brother.

“Have you ever liked a girl?”

The older sibling gets genuinely caught off guard with Jungkook’s query. “Well?” the younger man raises a brow expectantly. There is no escaping this now, Yoongi thinks, pursing his lips as he racks his brain for an answer.

“I-...yes,” Yoongi sighs, accepting his defeat.

“Wait...what?! For real? Well, well, well - I’m surprised some girl managed to soften my perpetually stoic, cold-blooded, ruthless animal of a brother.” Yoongi narrows his eyes. Of course, what was a conversation with Jungkook without his little brother trying to rile him up. Yoongi gets back to Confucius.

“Hyung, hyung,” Jungkook tries to get his attention once more, ceaselessly tugging at his sleeves. If Jungkook literally thinks, that after years of having to deal with this - that he can still annoy him by doing this, well...he’s definitely right.

“What now?”

Yoongi closes his eyes, trying not to release all the pent-up frustration he’d been holding in for years. Once again, Jungkook’s lame methods of trying to divert both of them from focusing on their readings had proven effective.

“Let me guess, you have a thing for Head Court Lady Kyo don’t you?” Jungkook teases, now poking at Yoongi’s sides, who’s desperately trying to keep his ticklishness at bay. “What?! No! The old lady can flirt with whoever she pleases for all I care!” The younger man laughs at Yoongi’s indignant reply.

“Hmm, if it’s not Head Court Lady Kyo that you’re fantasizing about every night, it must be a younger one then? I never took you for someone who’d find girls calling you ‘orabeoni’ quite...arousing,” Jungkook snorts, pouring himself a cup of tea and raising the same right in front of Yoongi’s face. “Well, geonbae to you, hyung. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. We all have our preferences anyways, right orabeoni?” The younger sibling emphasizes his last word with a shrill voice, clutching on Yoongi’s arm and rubbing his face against the silk.

“You’re disgusting Kook. Stop trying to make ridiculous excuses just so you won’t continue your reading,” Yoongi reminds Jungkook once more, though he can’t deny he also got distracted himself. With a deep exhale, Yoongi closes his book and sets aside his readings. They have the rest of the day to finish it anyways.

“Fine, ‘wanna see her?”

Jungkook raises his fists in triumph. “Of course! Let’s see if you have good taste in women.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, momentarily stretching his limbs after having remained seated for so long. “Let me warn you Kook, she’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before so, so…don’t fall in love with her, okay?” He isn’t sure if his tone was serious enough for Jungkook to see right through him, but he prays for the same nonetheless. ‘Because she’s mine. I’ll make her mine,’ comes the final words of Yoongi, voice barely above a whisper. Thankfully, Jungkook doesn’t hear him.

“Honestly, hyung, I doubt we even have similar tastes. Considering you have history with Head Court La-”

“Say her name one more time and I’ll cut off your balls in your sleep.”

That effectively shuts the younger boy up.

The pair traverses halfway across the South’s palace, Yoongi leading Jungkook to the southern princess’ hanok. “Hyung, we aren’t supposed to be here. Didn’t mother specifically tell us to not to go anywhere near the royal families’ private hanoks?”

“Relax. We’ll watch from here, and then you tell me if my girl is anywhere close to your beloved Head Court Lady Kyo.” Yoongi grits through his teeth, taunting Jungkook with a quick raise of his brows.

“Whatever you say, hyung,” the younger one chuckles, this time genuinely curious who’s the mysterious girl who had managed to snatch his brother’s heart.

If only Jungkook had enough guts to tell his brother even half the truth… at the same time, he feared that if he did such a thing, Yoongi wouldn’t have taken him seriously. It wasn’t really that he wasn’t genuinely curious who’s the girl his brother won’t stop daydreaming about, but he too, had grown affections for someone as well, and Jungkook thought if maybe he heard Yoongi speak about his feelings, he would have an inkling of an idea how to handle his own.

The two brothers were nearly inseparable, but with Jungkook’s introverted self and Yoongi’s stoic character, they never really found themselves talking about things on the more serious side. They were close, but not close enough.

Yoongi, being the ‘perfect’ son that he was, used his idle time reading and training as what their parents had strongly reiterated them to do. While Yoongi was busy being the ideal child, Jungkook was out on the fields of the palace, constantly satiating his hunger for the practicality of all things natural instead of reading it from books with Chinese symbols.

Jungkook dislikes reading with great fervour. Actually, most of the other boys his age in the same village share the same sentiments so he can’t seem to figure out why Yoongi keeps on reading.

With Jungkook out enjoying the real world, he’d taken great interest venturing the ins and outs of the Southern palace, particularly the woods by the western gates.

One day, after lunch, the young boy found himself back in the woods by the west gates, this time bringing along his beloved bow and arrow with him. He’d figured this was the best place he could practice his skills in archery. As he was getting ready to target a bird resting on a high branch, Jungkook hears the rustling of leaves nearby, the sound immediately making hide beneath a tree.

He had company. Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, immediately regretting not heeding to his mother’s specific orders. “Never venture near the royal families’ private hanoks.” Her stern voice rings throughout his head. With a deep sigh, he throws his bow and arrow to the side, putting his hands up in surrender as he moves from the trunk of the tree.

He walks forward cautiously with his eyes closed, face twisted in an exaggerated grimace. Jungkook waits for someone to grab him, yet nothing happens. Prying one eye open, he’s surprised to come face to face with a girl, who’s wiping away her tears with the sleeves of her jeogori.

Genuinely astonished at the sight he wasn’t expecting, he takes another step forward, studying her appearance. She was wearing clothes of the finest silk, one that could only have been afforded by nobility. There’s mud all over the bottom of her hanbok though, which probably meant she’d been in the woods for quite some time, and judging by her distraught condition, Jungkook only presumes one thing and one thing alone: she’s lost.

“A-are you okay?”

His question only seems to have driven the girl to cry harder, because she’d gone full-on sobbing, shoulders shaking violently as she cried into her palms. “Hey,” Jungkook hesitantly extends his hand out, unsure of whether he should be touching the girl or not. He settles on patting the girl’s hair lightly from a distance. Albeit the distance being uncomfortable and awkward, Jungkook’s ministrations effectively seems to calm the girl down.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise when the girl surges toward him, enveloping him in a hug. With one of his hands still awkwardly hanging in mid-air, he lets it fall gently back to the girl’s head, continuing his earlier actions. The two stay like that for some time. Jungkook’s arm is starting to get sore, but he can’t seem to bring himself to complain, not when the girl in his arms is still hiccupping her tears away.

“I’m…sorry,” the girl says, pulling away from her embrace. Jungkook wants to tell her she could stay in his arms for as long as she wanted, enjoying the feeling of being someone a stranger could literally, and figuratively lean on.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook repeats, gesturing to a fallen log nearby to make her sit and get some rest. Beside her, Jungkook patiently waits until she’ll give him an answer, genuinely concerned at her condition and what could have possibly led her to the woods all by herself.

The sat there on the log for quite some time, and the girl finally speaks. “I was following a butterfly around home,” the girl says, toying with her skirt. “I thought I was still near where I lived but the next thing I knew, I’m already stuck in the middle of the forest.”

“Did you get lost too?”

Jungkook shakes his head no, and the girl finally faces him. The boy is rendered speechless. Even with a few small traces of mud on her face, this girl seated beside him has got to be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his entire life. Admittedly, he hasn’t seen plenty of girls, but she has got to be on top of the list.

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but holds back. Instead, he retrieves a piece of cloth from the pocket sewn by his mother on his pants. “You’ve got a…um…something…face…I um…” the boy gestures to his face, fingers pointing to a portion of his face and hoping he gets the message across. “Oh!” The girl’s eyes widen in realization. She wipes her face with her soiled sleeves, only adding to the dirt on her face.

The young boy bites his lip, trying to fight the wide grin that etches itself on his face. “Here, let me help you,” Jungkook offers, rising from where he’s seated and nears the girl. Gently, he places a finger to tilt her head up, and tenderly wipes the dried mud off her face.

Every brush of Jungkook’s fingers against her soft skin sends a spark through his veins. He tries his best to focus on the task at hand, but being blessed and cursed with the attention span of a three-year-old, he feels his fingers start to tremble slightly. Plus having to resist just taking your face in his hands, to have and to hold your smooth skin against his palms, his hands start to get all the more clammy.

When their eyes meet, Jungkook feels his heart thudding heavily against his chest, before he finds himself blinking rapidly. He lets out a cough as he looks away, not noticing the blush that mutually spreads across their cheeks.

“What’s your name?” she queries, secretly fanning her face to cool the heat on her cheeks. Jungkook ponders for a moment, remembering his father’s daily reminders of not talking to strangers. He’s thankful his father didn’t mention anything about talking to pretty strangers. He settles on a nickname he’d made up at that moment.

“Call me Kookie.”

Jungkook swipes at his sleeves furiously for the hundredth time. “Will you stop fidgeting?” Yoongi complains, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “Can’t you see? There are insects crawling everywhere! I get it okay! This is my punishment for disturbing your studying. I apologize already!” Jungkook continues swatting at the poor insects who’d been callously flung from the boy’s silk-covered arms.

“Are you even waiting for someone? Or you just brought me here to suffer?”

“Shush it, will you?!” Yoongi huffs, getting annoyed at Jungkook’s nagging. Well if his brother won’t stop irking him, Yoongi decides he might as well have brought him here as punishment. “Shh, here they come!” Yoongi gives a sharp tug at Jungkook’s sleeves, nearly causing the latter to fall into a shrub. The younger teenager follows Yoongi’s line of sight – the now opening doors of the private hanok of the southern princess.

Four rows of court ladies file out, hanboks with shades of turquoise and blue walking in unison as they leave the princess’s quarters. “Keep your eyes open! She’s coming.” Yoongi whispers harshly, placing his two palms around Jungkook’s head to make sure he doesn’t lose focus. “There are so many of them though!”

“Not the court ladies, pabo! Her!”

At the end of the line was the girl Yoongi was pertaining to – she was still young, yet the stance that she held and the aura she gave off was equivalent to that of a queen’s. It was the princess of the south, dressed in her ceremonial clothes: multiple layers of red silk, embedded with the emblem of the south and a dragon imprinted on the back. Her head was adorned with several hairpins of pure gold and rare gems – determinative of your rank in the royal family. It was the princess. Yoongi had a crush on the princess. A girl of a rank way out of their leagues.

The princess of the south was rumored to have this beauty like no other, with the face and wits of no ordinary girl. She was revered as the hidden treasure of the south, someone who could bring two battling nations together as one.

Unfortunately for Jungkook, the princess of the south was also the same girl he’d helped not so long ago, the girl who came crying into his arms when she got lost in the woods, the girl who was the only reason he enjoyed visiting the palace after lunch just so she could tell stories of her daily activities, the same girl who exclusively called him Kookie – the same girl he fell for. Jungkook hears his heart rip into two.

It was you.

“Jeonha, the captain of the royal guards is here to see you.” Not bothering to wait for Yoongi’s permission, Jungkook pushes the guard aside and lets himself inside the guest’s hanok, likewise ordering the southerners to leave them be.

“They’re not your people, Kook. You can’t tell them to do things just like that.”

Jungkook lets a smug grin adorn his face. “You’re right. They’re not just yours, they are our people. So leave, now.” From one corner of the room, the General of the Southern army - Hoseok, remains seated with a steely face as he eyes the younger man, the grip on his own cup of wine tightening. ‘How dare he talk to the king like that?’ Yoongi nods curtly at Hoseok, wordlessly telling them to leave them alone.

“So, are you here to finally give your hyung a proper welcome?” Jungkook remains silent, staring at his brother. The younger man watches as his hyung discards his headband, throwing the black piece of cloth to a nearby table. Jungkook sneers, finally taking in his brother’s appearance. What was with the yellowish hair? What a disgrace to their family - what a disgrace to all of humanity.

He isn’t sure if it’s the jealousy speaking, definitely not used to his brother hogging all the ladies’ attention in the palace. Was there something wrong with having normal black hair? Since when did strange locks become a thing with women? Yoongi speaks, drawing Jungkook back to reality and away from his brother’s golden locks.

“You know, wearing the emblem of the capitol doesn’t instantly make you one of them, Kook,” Yoongi starts, pouring himself a cup of wine. Jungkook disregards his brother’s comment.

“Where is Seokjin?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

Just as Yoongi parts his mouth to say something, the hanok’s door slides open, and a disheveled man enters. “Jeonha,” the man bows from the waist, immediately scurrying to his king. He whispers something to the blonde-haired man, a scowl forming on his face as the man finishes what he has to say.

“My sincerest apologies, Jeonha,” the man bows again, not daring to look at the king of the south. Yoongi has his jaw set at the news brought by this stranger, Jungkook observes, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches his brother. Yoongi nods his head towards the door, once again ordering the man to leave the premises.

Jungkook is tempted to ask what the man reported to Yoongi, but he knows better, definitely sure that his brother wasn’t going to give him anything. “Where is Seokjin?” he repeats, emphasizing each word through gritted teeth.

“What’s it to you anyways? Don’t tell me you’re getting soft for the queen?” Jungkook stops himself from bellowing - it’s far too late to disturb anyone in the palace. “A bit rich coming from you, isn’t it?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow in confusion at his brother’s words. Of course, Yoongi doesn’t know. He was never one to ask about Jungkook’s feelings anyways. The older sibling decides to let go of his brother’s questionable words.

“I have other things do. Excuse me.”

Yoongi walks past his brother, leaving his brother inside the hanok as he searches for something to eat. Jungkook grabs at a near vase, hands tightening around the neck of the ornament in an attempt to control his anger. He intends to smash the China to the ground, but returns the vase back to its place, takes a deep breath, and decides to follow his brother. Just like old times.

“Jeonha,” Hoseok rises abruptly from where he’s seated as he sees his king exit the hanok. “What are we to do now my King?” General Jung questions, pertaining to the man’s report just earlier. Yoongi cards a hand through his hair, fingers stopping just before the ponytail. “I…I’ll think of something.” Anxiety is evident in the king’s voice, so Hoseok decides to say nothing else, quietly trailing behind his king.

As Yoongi vocalizes his intentions of heading to the kitchen, he decides to go the long way round, wanting to pass by your hanok before he grabs something to eat. Yoongi finally reaches the corner of your hanok, surprised to see light flooding onto the wooden pathway. You leave your doors open this late at night?

When the two reach your door, they take a peek inside revealing you dancing around, a vessel in one hand and clothes with the other. There aren’t even any guards around your hanok. “Jeonha, I never knew women of the capitol enjoyed solo drinking sessions as well? You two would seem like a great pair.” Hoseok nudges Yoongi a little too strong, that the king of south bumps against the door, the sound exposing their cover. Yoongi glares at the general who deflates under his king’s stare.

“Who’s there?” Yoongi hears you giggle as you call out and he sees a court lady crane her head to the threshold. “Can I help you with anything, my Sirs?”

“Just passing by, right Jeonha?” Hoseok coughs, side-glancing Yoongi with wide eyes. His king disregards him completely. “What’s your queen doing?” Yoongi turns to Chaeyoung who gulps and takes another look at you who’s busy twirling and swaying gently as you hold the fabric close to your body.

Yoongi takes a closer look, realizing that it wasn’t just any fabric you were clutching onto, but your husband’s royal garments. “Is she okay?”

You’re clearly not okay.

“Am I okay?” you ask yourself, laughing obnoxiously at no one in particular. “I’ll take care of her, you can retire to your quarters now.” The blonde-haired man says to Chaeyoung.

“You can’t make her leave, Yoongi. If you want her to leave, I have to take one of yours as well.” You point a finger towards Hoseok who’s eyes widen at your proposal. “M-me?”

“Do I look like I’m referring to somebody else?”

Yoongi chortles at his general. The amount of skills he had in fighting was on some days…the same amount he lacked up there. Yoongi places a hand on his shoulder and proceeds to give Hoseok a pat on the back. “Go on then. I’ll be alright.” Hoseok sighs, escorting Chaeyoung with him. “Agassi, shall we?”

Yoongi finally lets himself inside your hanok, sliding the doors close behind him. He strides towards you, placing a hand over your grip on the vessel of rice wine. “Come on, Jungjeon-mama. That’s enough.”

“Oh, since when did you start addressing me by my title?”

“Would you rather me address you by your name then, __________?” Your name sounds nice falling from his lips, enjoying the way you’re letting him to call you casually like this.

Your grip won’t budge on vessel either, so he resorts to poking your waist, hoping you were just as ticklish as he observed years before back at the southern palace. You let out a giggle that Yoongi concurrently deems music to his ears, and takes advantage of your loosened grip on the vessel. He sets the wine down on the table, now tempted to take a sip for himself.

“Where’s your husband, __________?”

You don’t answer. You aren’t going to give this man anything he asks for despite your intoxicated state. You silently pray that sobriety will soon fall upon you, as you don’t think you’ll be able to stand being in the same room as your unexpected visitor. Strangely, you likewise wish that you could’ve drank just a little more, just so you won’t feel his presence in your room. As you remain silent, busy with your thoughts, the king of the south answers his own question.

“Word spread around here that he’s left to pacify the South,” Yoongi shrugs, taking a step towards you and craning his neck forward, seemingly gauging your reaction even when your back is facing him.

“Well, absolutely no turmoil is going on in the South, else I wouldn’t be here gracing you with my presence. I can personally assure you that fact.”

You feel your stomach drop, getting more sober as you feel him take another step towards you. Seokjin couldn’t have lied to you, or worse, couldn’t have kept anything from you - especially something this big of an issue. On top of that, everybody knew it was the southerners who were causing all the trouble. Or was it now?

“Gracing me with your presence?” you echo, the statement laced with venom on your lips. Letting out a scoff, you turn on your heel to face the obnoxious king of the south.

“I guess nobody told their beloved queen it was the west that was causing all this trouble? Obviously, what better way to alarm the entire country by using the emblem of ‘the traitorous South’ as you people would call us.” Yoongi rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of the wine. “On the bright side, it’s nice to know we still have that certain effect on people, even years after the Great Colonization.”

“Poor girl you are...with an even sadder fate for her husband.” Yoongi pours himself a cup of the wine you’d carried all the way from the kitchen. Your jaw is clenched, gaze set hard on Yoongi who seems the least bit bothered. Sadder fate for your husband?

“Oh right, I’m betting you’re also unaware of the fact that the shortest way from the capitol to the south was through a narrow path through a forest located in the West?”

You’re dumbfounded, secretly wishing Yoongi hadn’t seen the look on your face as he told you about the west, but you couldn’t help it. Surely, he’s trying to take advantage of your drunken state and would attempt to coerce you into something against your will by lying straight to your face.

“Still don’t believe me? Why do you think King Donggeun hasn’t come down from his throne when Crown Prince Baekjoon has already turned of age? Surely, you must have taken notice that the west has least casualties of the ‘uproar’ we had supposedly caused in this country? Not to mention the casualties in their city are not even that significant – in fact, the villages that were attacked were those nearest to the borders of the south and the north, majority of which housed citizens coming from both cities…”

All sorts of emotions boiled inside of you. Yoongi’s revelation felt like a whole log just fell on you, and you were absolutely helpless. You were beyond perplexed, finding the need to rest your behind on the bedside table.

“But, it’s never too late you know… Being the merciful king that I am, I can help your husband. Send him a handful of my men if you must.” You gulp as you look him in the eyes. Yoongi will most certainly not be willing to help your husband just like that, especially when Seokjin has already made proclamations that had definitely brought dishonor to the name of the south. The thought of Seokjin having to face danger all by himself crossed your mind, betraying your thoughts and your heart once more.

The price you will have to pay for Seokjin’s safety will surely to come at a large cost – that you already know. But for your husband, you were willing to have yourself at Yoongi’s disposal, whatever the price may be. You stand up once more, turning away from Yoongi. You presume he isn’t one to give anything for free.

“And at what is the price I have to pay for your assistance, perhaps?” He doesn’t see you gulp.

Yoongi sets his cup of wine down, simultaneously darting his tongue out to moisten his lips. Slowly, he pads over to you until he’s almost pressing into you. Close, but not asserting his certainty of having the upper hand now. “I think you already know what I want, Jungjeon-mama,” Yoongi whispers salaciously, words ghosting against the shell of your ear.

It’s shameful how agonizingly hard he is under his pants – but he couldn’t help it – he finally had you in his arms. This proximity alone shouldn’t have affected him that much, but he couldn’t help it. All those years of pining after you, watching you in secrecy back at the Southern palace as you went about your royal duties, sneaking glances at you when you visited the training grounds where he studied sword fighting.

Tonight he wanted to get himself on you, to fuck you until you won’t even remember your own name when he finishes - this was your payment and it is not for your wish for him to send Seokjin reinforcements.

This was your payment for making him long after you, even after all these years and after all the women he’d met – he still chose you in a heartbeat.

He hated that you had to leave the Southern City, he hated how your stepmother had to treat you so badly, giving you enough reason to run away from the palace, he hates how everything he had done in the past just to get close to you was all in vain. He hates how he ran after you that night, only to see you already in Seokjin’s arms. He hates Seokjin for having married you, being proclaimed as the perfect husband when he could have done a totally better job at it. Yoongi could’ve worshipped the ground you walked on, but yet here you were alone in the palace while your own husband just left you with the responsibility of taking care of the whole nation just like that.

He hates the fact that you’ve completely snatched his heart from the day he first saw you, accompanying your father to the training grounds. You had shot arrows straight into the sack targets with no trouble, easily beating the rest of the boys training in the field. As cliché as it sounds, it had seemed like you shot an arrow through his heart as well.

But most of all, he despises the fact that he loves you. And he hates it all the more that he knows his own brother had fallen for you too.

Snagging your hair between his fingers harshly, you let out a gasp as he makes you look into his eyes. His hands move to discard your robe and wildly grope at your chest. A smirk grazes his lips when he feels your nipples harden under his touch.

He highly doubts that he has the same effect on you as you have on him, but at this point he couldn’t care less. He wanted to get himself off on you, intent on making you feel at least a hint of what he’s felt throughout the years.

Yoongi smashes your lips together, the bittersweet taste of wine on his mouth pressing roughly against your own. He grinds his erection against your lower stomach, effectively causing you to gasp one more time. Taking advantage of your surprise, he closes the distance one more time, slipping his tongue inside your wet cavern.

The king of the south pushes you further towards the bed until the back of your knees hit the edge, instinctively making you sit on your bed.

“Undress me,” he orders, placing his hands on his hips, likewise pulling his top upwards for your convenience. You glare at him through your eyelashes, and returning your eyes to his crotch. As you see his dick twitch beneath the confines of his pants, a smirk etches onto your face. Two can play at this game, and you’re going to make sure he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Languidly, you lightly trace the outline of his dick, watching intently as it twitches one more time you feel a small wet patch near the waistband of his silk pants. You continue trailing the pad of your finger against the smooth fabric.

“I don’t like being teased, princess.”

“The queen doesn’t like being ordered around.”

Sending him another glare, you give in to his whims, pulling his pants down his legs. His cock springs free, standing tall and proud. The pale expanse of Yoongi’s skin is a sharp contrast against the angry, red tip of his dick like it’s begging for your attention.

“Like what you see?” the man says from above. You don’t answer, unwilling to give him the satisfaction he thinks he deserves. Yoongi shivers as you take the base of his cock in your palm. You revel in his responsiveness, loving the way he basically shudders under your touch.

He doesn’t know if he’s going to last as long as he wishes tonight, but he swears to the gods above and to all his ancestors that he was going to try. He hates the fact that this is the only way he was going to have you, that never in a million years would be willing to give yourself to him.

Yoongi is drawn back to reality as you place a light kiss on the bulbous head of his cock, you languidly pepper kisses along his length. Yoongi looks down on you with hooded eyes and a swollen bottom lip that he’d bitten down on for so long.

He taps the tip of his shaft against your lips, coating them with the semi-transparent liquid that’s veiled the tip of his length. With bated breath, he nudges the head against your mouth, urging you to part your lips for him. “Open up, jagiya.”

You comply, letting his dick slowly enter your mouth; he pushes his length inside until he hits the back of your throat. He withdraws and pushes his cock back inside, inhaling sharply as you graze your teeth a little.

“You take my cock so well, princess. Fuck,”

He pushes you roughly to lie on the bed, as his hand busies itself with fisting his cock as he waits for you to get comfortable. “Did I tell you to place your legs on the bed?” Yoongi tsks at you, spanking each of your breasts as punishment.

The king of the south harshly spreads your legs and without warning, Yoongi begins to impale you on his cock at a merciless pace, hands hooking under your ankles to bring your legs to rest against his chest. “You like that being fucked roughly, don’t you jagiya?” He doesn’t give you time to answer as he bends forward, bringing your legs to rest against your chest this time as his hands wrap around your neck. The rings on his fingers are cold against your heated skin, and the way he experiments and pressing his fingers tighter around your throat as he matches it with his pace. The combined pain and pleasure just seems to bring you closer to your high.

“I’m not done with you, ______. Don’t you dare cum just yet.”

He lifts you from the bed with no trouble, and you feel the rippling of his muscles even underneath his top. Without having to pull out of you, Yoongi settles you down on a table with the height just about Yoongi’s thighs so he could enter you at a better angle.

Miraculously, Yoongi slows down his pace, and you’re unsure if it’s in consideration of his or your welfare. This position doesn’t help with your impending orgasm as with every languid roll of Yoongi’s hips he easily hits that particular spot. He toys with your nipple, tweaking and twisting the bud between his calloused fingers. With nowhere to hold onto, your hands shoot up to his arms silk-clad arms digging tiny crescent moons on his skin even with the fabric separating your nails from his skin.

Yoongi was willing to fuck you against every piece of furniture if you’d let him, and if he’d have enough stamina to last for quite some time because the thought of having you writhing under his touch can easily bring him to cum.

Still not satisfied with this position he carries you toward a the wooden foundation in the middle of your room. He needs to have you begging for him, moaning endlessly on his cock.

“Tell me you want this, princess. Tell me you need me.”

He needs to hear it fall from your lips, because he knew this was only ever going to happen once, and he wanted this one moment to forever be engraved in his brain, because he knows you’ll never be his.

“Yes, fuck Yoongi, please,” you mewl, dragging your nails against the pale expanse of Yoongi’s back. As he continues to slam into you, your fingers find purchase on his hair, giving it a harsh tug as a particular thrust hits that sweet sweet spot inside of you.

You momentarily wonder at how Yoongi has managed to hold you up all this time and not lose momentum at all. As if on cue, Yoongi lifts you higher again, the hem of his top brushing against your clit. You were so, so close. You moan loudly at the sensation, letting your head fall onto Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Oh, you liked that princess didn’t you, hmm?”

He pushes you further against the foundation, if that was even possible, and takes one of his hands holding up your ass to transfer to the front, looking for your clit. Yoongi finds your nether bud in no time, and starts rubbing circles with the pad of his thumb.

Shortly after his punishing thrusts and the abuse on your clit, you reach your high, a high-pitched sob piercing throughout the room. Your body continues to tremble with the intensity of your orgasm as he cums inside you, rope after rope of white coating your walls.

Jungkook hears, sees, and feels you moan one more time, the lewd sounds of your fucking still ringing loudly through his ears. With a deep exhale, he turns on his heel, leaving the spot he’d stayed at for the rest of you and Yoongi’s… The captain couldn’t even bring himself to say the words.

Subconsciously, his feet bring him to a familiar hanok he has not visited for a while. He silently slides the doors open and heads to the room of someone he hasn’t paid attention to for the past few days. He takes off his boots and his scabbard, setting them down in a secluded corner of the room.

He spots Haesoo’s sleeping form on the floor. He joins her, hooking an arm around her waist. The young court lady wakes at the action, a scream escaping her lips. Jungkook is quick to place his palm on her mouth, pushing her shoulder backwards so she can properly see him. She relaxes at her realization, turning her body so she could face him.

“What brings you here Captain?”

“I missed you, is all.” What a lie.

“If you really missed me, why won’t you talk to me during the day?”

“You know we can’t, jagiya. Besides, can’t I just visit my favorite girl without having questioned if I really miss her or not?” Lie. Again. One more and Jungkook might just spend the rest of the night challenging himself how many more times he could lie in such a short time span.

Haesoo shies from Jungkook’s gaze, but Jungkook places a finger on her chin and makes her face him again. He inches toward her, lips not meeting just yet, each of their shallow breaths fanning against their faces. Haesoo takes initiative, pressing her lips against Jungkook’s own. The captain easily deepens the kiss, lightly biting on Haesoo’s bottom lip that effectively makes her part them instantly.

Jungkook quickly shuffles to get on top of her, grinding his erection shamelessly against Haesoo’s crotch. She gasps at the sensation, fingers quickly toying with the waistband of his pants.

“You really miss me that much, hmm?”

“Of course, darling.” Another lie. Third time’s the charm right?

Jungkook rips apart the sleeping robe Haesoo has on, his mouth instantly connecting with her breasts, groping and sucking harshly at the hardened nubs. He wasn’t usually this messy and urgent, but he badly needed to cum – painfully hard under his pants only because of you.

The captain doesn’t even bother to prepare Haesoo, plunging himself into her pussy without warning. Jungkook pounds into Haesoo unapologetically, fucking her into oblivion, just as Yoongi did to you earlier. He imagines that it’s you moaning his name right now, chanting his name fervently like a prayer, chest heaving like it was your last day. He wishes that it was his cock buried deep inside your cunt earlier instead of his brother’s and he knew he could have done a far better job at pleasuring you than Yoongi. The captain hooks his palm under Haesoo’s thigh, raising her leg up so he’s hitting her cervix at angle pleasurable to them both.

He’d fucked Haesoo on the floor, he’d fucked her against her closet too, and similar Yoongi, he’s fucking Haesoo against the wall too.

Jungkook ruts into her endlessly, with a silent wish that he flushes you out of his system with every snap of his hips, he wishes that he had never met you in the woods in the first place, he wishes that he didn’t have to join the King’s royal guards, he wishes that he wouldn’t have to see your pretty face the whole day, he wishes that you weren’t desirable at all – that way maybe he and his brother wouldn’t have fallen for the same girl.

He wishes he wasn’t in love with you.

Of course, another lie.

A single tear trickles down his cheek, and he hopes that Haesoo won’t notice with the fine sheen of sweat on his face. He feels his thrusts falter just like his resolve. His chest constricts once more tonight and it’s definitely not because of poor stamina, but because of his emotions overwhelming him.

“I love you,” he whispers breathlessly, resting his head against the wall. Haesoo hears.

“You love me?” Haesoo takes his face in her small palms, pushing his head backwards so she can take a proper look at him. She swipes at another tear that rolls down Jungkook’s cheek.

“Of course, jagiya.” Jungkook sends her a sad smile in her direction.

Maybe if he keeps lying, it’ll all come true at some point. She gives him a lingering kiss this time, resting her forehead against his. “I love you too.”

[taglist] : @aretha170 @strxwberri-milk @vivpurple7 @wheredoiwhaaat25 @hodginss

Korean vocabulary used will be posted on a separate post for easier viewing!

#bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #btsguild #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #bts smut #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #yoongi smut #jungkook smut

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kuriquinn · 4 years

Text

A Tender Harvest [one-shot]

Disclaimer

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994254

Pairing: SasuSaku

Summary: Sakura and Sasuke help a village with their apple harvest, and Sasuke thinks about his relationship with Sakura. The thing about traveling together is it makes it that much easier to fall in love.

Author’s Note: So, I wrote this for the fanzine Seasons like a year or two ago and then completely forgot that it existed? And then I was trying to organize the mess that is my writing files and stumbled upon it again and figured, hey, why not post it? Especially since we’re coming up on Fall again lol. (Also, I don’t want people thinking I’m dead or something. I am working on some stuff for SasuSaku, but the creative juices haven’t been flowing as easily as they used to for this fandom…or, well, any fandom if I’m being honest. Kind of stuck in one of those “I should be writing original stuff” funks that hinders all of my fanfic efforts of late. But I am trying!)

Anyway, so here’s something (sort of) new for your enjoyment!

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Sasuke curses at the sudden lancing pain in his hand and yanks his arm out of the foliage to glare at his palm. In the centre, a wasp sticks to his skin by the stinger, its tiny wings and appendages flailing to remove itself. Sasuke gives a harsh flick of his wrist, dislodging the insect and sending it flying off somewhere near the ground.

He doesn’t kill it; if there is a nest nearby that would attract others, and there are enough of the little pests buzzing around the trees as it is.

It is early October, the hot autumn sun unimpaired except for some light haze and few bulbous white clouds in the distance. Crickets chirp, and the scent of wet earth inundates the air, mingling with sweat and the distant smell of a brush fire.

The little village where Sasuke and Sakura have been staying the last few days has an economy based largely around produce. Their apple trees, vineyards and rice fields require rigorous tending, as the yield is what keeps them from starving during winter months. They plant a lot, which means they harvest a lot, and any extra hands are welcome. Originally, Sakura and Sasuke travelled here because there was a need for a healer, but they chose to stay and help.

That’s a common enough pattern these days. Sakura keeps an ear out for places that need extra medical attention, and Sasuke fills his days with odd work. The routine is also an excellent cover for gathering information. People rarely ask them questions, too thankful for Sakura’s medical skills, and even without them, Sasuke’s arm usually discourages comment. There were enough men and women badly wounded in the war that no one needs to ask.

It also lends credence to his and Sakura’s wandering, since many people’s homes were destroyed by the war; first by the Zetsu army, and then marauders in the aftermath.

And we’ve encountered quite a few of those, too. Some friendly, some…not.

While Sakura makes house calls, he helps in whatever field where they need him. There were initially some who looked uncertain of his ability be useful, but he soon showed that his missing arm was barely a handicap.

Today he works in the apple orchard. It’s fairly large, maybe twenty acres, and there are a hundred or so people working alongside him. Clumps of men and women are scattered throughout, picking and packing apples in large baskets. A similar number of people sit just beyond the orchard, slumped or lying on the ground, or gathered around the few wagons with water. A few children squeeze into the tiny bit of shade provided by the wagons, but in this heat there’s barely any point to it.

The only ones happy in this weather are the wasps, Sasuke decides, frowning at his palm to see if the stinger is still attached. It’s not, but the skin is already beginning to puff up from the venom.

He shrugs it off—it’s not his first injury of the day, and he’s endured much worse in his life—and goes back to twisting the gleaming red fruits off their branches. It’s uncomfortable, but he finds he’s more irritated by the sweat drenching his clothing than the minor wound.

The orchard workers have had to work in shifts because of the rising temperature, and because Sakura insists that everyone who works needs to stay properly hydrated.

Sakura…

Sasuke became aware of her proximity about a half an hour ago, obviously finished with her work in the village and now arrived to help. Since then he has been vaguely conscious of her bringing people water or traipsing into the orchard to retrieve anyone who she thinks looks tired. No one bothers to protest the way she’s taken charge, either, and though it could be her status as a respected healer, he somehow doubts that’s the reason.

He remembers what she was like back in Konoha, carrying out important errands for Kakashi and running the hospital.

As always, on the tail of that thought he experiences a half-second of guilt for having taken one of their village’s most important resources on a mission of indeterminate length. The second half-second he buries that feeling, reminding himself it was her choice.

And he has no intention of admitting it out loud, but he can’t imagine how the past few months would have been without her by his side.

Well. He can imagine; he just doesn’t care to.

A bell rings in the distance, and someone shouts, “Break time! Change shifts!”

There are groans all around—relief from the orchard workers, and resignation from the vicinity of the wagons.

Sasuke ignores the call, intending to finish filling his basket before heading in, but even as he reaches for the next branch, there is a cough from down below.

When he glances down, he is unsurprised to find Sakura there, hands on her hips. “That means you too, Sasuke.”

“I’m almost finished.”

“No, you are finished. The foreman told me you started with the morning crew and didn’t switch out with the rest,” she informs him. “Just because you’re about the greatest shinobi alive, doesn’t mean you can’t get heatstroke. And just because I will take care of you if you get a fever and start throwing up everywhere, doesn’t mean I’ll like it.”

Sasuke’s mouth tugs upward a little.

It’s been an interesting dimension to their travels, Sakura speaking to him so frankly. There were a few days when they first set out together that she was still stuttering and wordlessly following his lead in everything; a few bandit encounters and a shouting match later, she found her backbone again.

Now, the only time he sees her flustered or nervous is because he’s caught her gazing at him, or when she realises she’s said something with unintended innuendo.

“Annoying woman,” he murmurs into the tree, but the words have long since graduated from contempt to affection.

With an affected air of reluctance, he picks up the basket he was filling and raises an eyebrow at her. She grins, and says, “Come on.”

Sasuke trudges after her toward the nearest wagon, sets down his basket, and heads for the water barrels. Children pour it into cups for the workers, some darting among the amassing crowd to pass them out. This is how Sasuke ends up with one of them, and he is quick to put it to his lips.

He takes several slow mouthfuls, to minimize the risk of brain freeze, and takes pleasure in the way the liquid dissolves the dry, gummy feeling in his mouth and throat. The second cup he is offered, he pours over his head, enjoying the sensation of the cold rivulets cutting through his sweat-streaked hair and down his neck.

Sakura lingers nearby, the look on her face conveying an ‘I told you so’, which he patently ignores before joining the line for lunch. The women of the village pass out rice balls and beef skewers; he accepts gratefully, and then he searches out the nearest bit of shade he can.

There’s an old momiji tree several yards away from the larger group of workers, its leaves already turning red and gold, but still providing enough cover from the sun. He heads for that and is unsurprised when Sakura joins him.

As they pass, he notices people shooting them knowing glances or smiling in something like approval. Several young girls whisper conspiratorially. When he was younger, he would have purposely ignored such scrutiny, at times not even realising what the whispers meant. Though he still pretends obliviousness now, he now fully understands the reason for the unspoken interest.

The implication that he and Sakura are more than just travelling companions doesn’t bother him the way it might have before. In fact, he finds odd comfort in the thought. These days, they are on the cusp of something more, something inevitable. They’ll get there eventually, but he finds himself in no great hurry to do so.

Not because he doesn’t care for her—there’s no question that he does.

But too much of his life was spent hurtling from one state to the next, never content with his current existence and always wishing for more. With this—with Sakura—he wants to take his time and experience every moment.

He’s pretty sure Sakura is of the same mind.

As they sit, she sets down the plate she was balancing between her forearms, and two cups. He takes the latter, still more thirsty than hungry, and drinks deep.

Noticing his blink as a bitter taste hits his tongue, Sakura says, “There’s cold tea mixed in. That quenches thirst better than just water alone, and the electrolytes will keep you going.”

“Hm.”

They eat in companionable silence, yet another new quality to their relationship. Part of it is that now Sakura has an appetite that rivals his own and doesn’t like to waste time talking when she could be eating. The rest stems from the indescribably pull that has always existed between them, an ease one only experiences with the most trusted of kindred spirits. Words would mar that somehow, and neither seems willing to do that right away.

It is only when her meal is finished that Sakura reaches into her pack and produces—of course—two bright red apples.

“I may have snuck a few,” she admits with a smile.

Sasuke snorts. “You’re in an apple orchard. I think you could be forgiven.”

She laughs at that and bites into one of the fruits, making a tiny noise of pleasure at the flavour that has Sasuke swallowing uncomfortably. A rivulet of juice drips down her chin, and he finds himself tracking its progression.

Sakura notes his attention before he can look away, and her cheeks darken.

“Sorry!” she says, a little flustered, and puts aside the apple. “You probably want some too, right?”

There is something I want.

The thoughts present themselves unbidden as Sakura digs around in her kit for a knife, and starts to peel the second apple over her empty plate. His cheeks a little warmer than earlier, he looks away and pretends disinterest.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I haven’t even finished my lunch.”

“Then it will be ready when you are,” she quips without stopping.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her carefully dispose of the peel and then cut the apple into eight equal slices. Anyone else would think she was babying him, but he knows this is just her way. She genuinely enjoys doing this. He is, of course, perfectly able to cut up his own fruit, or eat an apple as is. But he doesn’t like apple peels, and never has.

He wonders when exactly Sakura noticed that about him.

She holds out the plate of apple slices to him, beaming, and he remembers a similar scene, many years ago. Of her worried and smiling face, her nervous chatter and her hand holding out a plate of apples. And then the clatter as the plate and fruit itself were knocked to the floor.

This time he accepts, forgetting that he hasn’t finished his lunch, and bites into the first slice. The white flesh is sweeter than the apples he usually eats—he prefers them tart and sour—but it’s perfectly in season and tastes good.

Sakura’s lips part in surprise, and the motion causes him to nearly miss as he pops the rest of the fruit into his mouth. Thankfully, she doesn’t appear to see; instead, her eyes flick toward his hand, mouth firming.

Damn. I meant to keep that hidden.

Sakura barely waits for his hand to be empty before taking him by the wrist. “You’re hurt!”

The skin of his forearm and hand is crisscrossed with welts and scratches, as well as several wasp stings from when he was reaching into the trees. He’d forgotten about them, but with her attention, the dull hurts flare to life.

“It’s nothing,” he tells her, trying to take his hand back, but she doesn’t relinquish it.

“You always say it’s nothing. I’ve stopped believing you.”

“I guarantee everyone else working in the orchard has the same thing.”

“And I’ll get to them. But you’re here right now, and knowing you, you’re going to throw yourself back into work right away, so it won’t be until this evening when I get my hands on you again…” He raises an eyebrow at her. Her eyes widen. “That…didn’t come out right…”

He can’t help the slow smirk that pulls at his mouth, and she scowls at him.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, twin spots of rouge flaming even darker across her cheeks but holds his hand closer to her. Green chakra flickers between her fingers, seeping into his muscles and tendons, easing the sharp aching of scraped skin and pulling muscles.

While she heals, her expression relaxes, embarrassment giving way to concentration. He’s noticed that about her: when she uses her medical ninjutsu, everything else appears to fall beyond her awareness.

Still, there’s a tiny smile upon her lips and the fading colour across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones that has nothing to do with the autumn swelter.

When she releases him, she is unabashed and cheerful again. “Better?”

He flexes his fingers, studying the newly healed skin, and nods.

“Thank you.”

Sasuke straightens and reaches for another apple slice, frowning at a mild pinching sensation behind his neck. He hasn’t even rolled his shoulder once to disperse the tension, before Sakura is leaning toward him again, eye filled with concern.

“You’ve strained your neck,” she says, and it sounds accusing, as if she thinks he deliberately kept it from her.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have! I know what that looks like.”

“I haven’t done anything strenuous enough,” he replies, a little indignant because he knows his body’s limits.

“Spending the day with your arm raised overhead and twisting fruit off branches requires different movements than kenjutsu or taijutsu,” she lectures. “If you don’t take care of it now, you’ll regret it tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Stop being so stubborn! Lie down and I’ll fix it for you.”

“No.”

“Sasuke…!”

She is growing annoyed, not understanding the reason for his refusal. He is easier with her lately when it comes to touching or being touched. It’s happened often enough—huddled together in the shelter of a tree when it rains, elbows bumping when they crowd into communal meal halls, or checking each other’s wounds.

If they were alone, he would let her ease the knots from his neck and shoulders, but right now they are in front of an entire village of people. Some of whom are viewing the interchange with blatant interest and amusement, others barely concealing the smiles on their faces.

The back of Sasuke’s neck feels warm. He dislikes such attention.

A look creeps across Sakura’s face, the one that Sasuke knows he will have no recourse against, and he has to act before it fully manifests..

“If you don’t lie down right now…” she begins, her voice rising with each syllable.

“Sakura,” he says, his tone soft but firm in its finality.

Her expression freezes at that, and she blinks, coming back to herself. Then, glancing around, she spots what he has been aware of for a while—the audience of workers pretending not to be observing them.

Her look of surprise is almost comical, and her cheeks flood red once more.

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t going to— not in front of—” she stammers, all apologies and embarrassment and avoiding eye contact. She jumps to her feet, nearly slopping tea over them both. “I have to get back. They, um, probably need help cleaning up, and I have to go out and check on the other workers, and you…well, you’re right…we can, um, your arm…I’ll just…”

He’s enjoying her fluster more than he should and opens his mouth to speak—to say something smooth in delivery or laden with implication—so that it continues.

But she’s biting her lip as if to physically stop herself from stammering, and her eyes are shining just so, even as they dart about trying to avoid his gaze, and as has become a frequent occurrence, Sasuke discovers every word in his vocabulary suddenly vanishing from his brain.

It takes him several seconds longer than he expects to remember at least one.

“Later?” he suggests.

Sakura stops her fidgeting and meets his gaze. This time he doesn’t bother hiding his small smile from her.

That unnameable something passes between them, bolstered by the rustling leaves and dense heat around them.

Then she smiles back, a gentle and pleased upward curve of her lips, and nods. “Right. Um…later.”

She hurries away after that, tripping a few times before her posture straightens and he watches her transform from his Sakura to the no-nonsense, hyper-confident medic and director.

Sasuke finishes his meal and eases to his feet, ready to head back into the orchard. On his way, he passes one of the workers who is staring Sakura with an air of awe.

“Your girl is something,” he says, impressed.

Sasuke considers Sakura once more, as she directs a group of villagers to go around picking up discarded plates and cups.

In his mind’s eye, he sees a skinny girl with long pink locks, hands on her hips and lecturing him or Naruto or Kakashi for some misbehaviour or other. In a blink it’s replaced with the brave kunoichi, bruised and battered, caring for him when he was ill, or holding him back from throwing himself into danger.

A girl who wouldn’t give up on a boy filled with darkness, even when he shoved away what she offered, be it a plate of apples or her heart.

It’s not the first time he wonders what he did to deserve her.

But he doesn’t reveal any of this to the worker. Instead, he shrugs and says with complete certainty, “She is.”

終わり

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I am trying to figure out how to fit this one into the Legacy of Fire series, but it mostly depends on me writing a completely different fic to allow that to happen, so this can exist in the same series as Miso Soup Everyday and You Are Cordially Invited. So for now it’s not part of the series...

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn’t something you’re comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

栗

#kuriquinn #sasusaku #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #blank period #legacy of fire #romance #pre-relationship #fluff #feels #seasons zine piece #naruto fanfiction

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orsuliya · 3 years

Note

Love your blog!! Do you have any headcanons about XiaoQi's backstory?

Oh, thank you! And oh, do I. By the way, we are going by drama!canon, since I like this version of Xiao Qi’s backstory better.

Most peasants won’t travel much during their whole lifetime; some never leave the place of their birth. Xiao Qi’s father was an exception. Nobody knew from whence he came, this scarred and limping, yet strangely cheerful soldier. One day he simply came into the village, announced that he was here to work, should anybody have a task needing some strength and smarts, sat down under the awning and that was that.

Much later, over a third or fourth cup of local spirits, it came out that his maternal grandmother had been born in this area, but even to the eldest villagers her name meant nothing much. Who remembers spilled water after half a century? “Had she been a beauty, that mythical grandmother, then perhaps,” tried the headman, yet received nothing but a quiet laugh. “To my grandfather, she surely was,” said the soldier and that was that.

Even so, once the soldier recommended himself as a tried, conscientious worker, many a family wanted to claim him. He only laughed and went around on his business, remarkably light on his feet despite an old injury, which tended to flare up on cold days. The first winter he spent sleeping with the animals, which bothered him none. The second one he weathered in a faraway homestead, taken in by an elderly couple who felt they could use a strong man around the yard. Every single winter after that he chose to spend in that one homestead and that was that.

Xiao Qi’s mother was the last child born to an elderly couple, long after they lost all hope. There were other children before, but what happened to them, I cannot tell you. A failure to thrive, some villagers said, while other kept turning around from the childless woman, full of fear and superstition.

That last child was no beauty worthy of gracing palace halls, but her mother cared not. “Better to live with a clean face and clean hearth than to wear paint alongside ten concubines”, she used to say every time her daughter got carried away with her girlish dreams. And so the last child went around with a clean face and diligently tended to her hearth, and in due time gave generously of both to a soldier from faraway lands.

Mind you, that soldier would have claimed to prefer her over any concubine from the governor’s mansion, speaking no lie, had she but asked. She never did. Not one to speak much, that last child, although when she spoke, even her wizened father stopped to listen. The soldier loved her all the more for her silence and laughed enough for both of them; he laughed and then he cried, when she could not let out a tear over her parents’ grave.

Barely had the villagers begun to wonder if the soldier’s wife carried in her womb her mother’s curse, when she grew heavy with child and in the very middle of summer gave birth to a boy; three summers later the cradle was full again.

Wealthy or poor, wizened or in prime of life, the plague cares little for such distinctions. Much less the dreadful plague they called beautiful flowers as not to offend the passing goddess and thus avoid incurring her wrath. Some said that this merciless goddess liked the beauty of small children and touched them first of all. Perhaps they spoke the truth after all, for the soldier’s small daughter, innocent and beautiful like the first flower of spring, fell ill before anyone else. Who brought the disease, nobody could say. Maybe the passing trader who came into the house, maybe the autumn winds, that mattered little as the flowers of disease took root on the child’s soft skin.

The soldier, though hardened in battles and wise above his years, stilled and wailed, while his quiet wife marched into the yard, where her little son, but five years of age, kept agitating the geese. She bade him to strip and when she saw him to be clean – as much as any rambunctious child can be – she took him up like a kitten and carried him into the shed. “Stay here, no matter what you hear or see,” said the ever-quiet mother with unusual fire. “I will bring you water and food every day, and knock on the door. When I do, close your eyes and count all your fingers and toes. Then and only then you can open the door. You are a big boy now, so give me your word that you will not leave until I tell you so.”

The boy agreed, swallowing up his confusion and fear, even as his mother closed the door without a single look back. His mother kept her word for twelve whole days; he kept his for fifteen and would have for fifteen more, had the homestead not caught on fire on that fifteenth night. The shed was far enough to stay safe with this particular summer not excessively dry; the flames, however, were seen so far and wide that the nearest neighbour arrived to help before the inferno had time to die out.

The boy, for all that he shared blood with half the families around, had no relative close enough to take him for his own. He was no man, whose strength could be of use, you see, and there were many whispers of a curse running in his line. The homestead was gone and the land went untilled, held by the headman until the boy could claim it for his own; in the meantime he went around from house to house, giving small services in return for rice in his bowl and roof over his head. The headman tried to give the boy a corner of his own, but his wife liked the boy not, too unnerved by his quiet eyes.

And so he went around, welcomed by all for his calm disposition and clever hands, yet loved by none. A motherly hand sometimes took care to repair his torn clothes, a strong palm directed his unlearned one in the fields, yet he found no welcome in lovingly open arms and no careful fingers were eager to play with his tangled hair.

With every summer the boy learned new skills: the first summer he learned to talk again, the second he could go into a shed alone, the third he went out to mind the sheep, the fourth he learned to laugh, bringing his father’s spirit back to life…

…and the fifth summer the village drowned in blood.

Okay, I have no idea what happened later. I cannot quite decide if Xiao Qi spent the intervening years wandering from place to place or not. Maybe he came upon a military camp and just stayed, watching, learning and being so useful that nobody even thought of chasing him away. He probably enlisted early and the very same day got hit – literally and metaphorically – with the full force of Hu Guanglie and his humongous personality. Perhaps an exasperated sergeant Dou was the one to pull the two gangly teenagers apart. Who knows. Certainly not me.

Anyway, I do know one thing. After many, many years Xiao Qi returned to the place of his birth. He found only pastures where his own home had once stood and the village filled with unfamiliar faces speaking a dialect alien to his ears. A few people later recalled a quiet soldier and his lovely wife, who rode around the village on horses of excellent blood, said not a thing to anybody and then disappeared right into the night. Coincidentally, a beggar child who got trounced around a day or two before disappeared that very night. Nobody cared all that much.

Anyway, that’s it for now. I hope you are satisfied, dear Nonnie! I might have sat on your objectively lovely ask a tad too long, but this delay has already been avenged. I now know far too much about childhood amnesia, smallpox in ancient China and the wisdom of not shuffling your asks to the bottom of the stack.

#ask and answer #that was the very last ask in my inbox #what a strange feeling #also I have no idea what happened here #no names or anything because I am awful at names #wait does this mean I should finally make that princess carry list #oooookay #the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #more like XQ parents headcanon time technically

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Past Connections (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Past Connections Rating: PG-13 Length: 2100 Warnings: Mild Angst Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in March 1998. Summary: The second article hits the newstands.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps

PAST CONNECTIONS SPEAK OUT IN DEA SCANDAL

Following the bombshell report The Post released in the March 2nd issue, the DEA came forward with allegedly incriminating documentation purporting a pattern of unsanctioned expenditures, where Javier Peña had filed expense forms on evenings spent with Colombian hookers.

During our investigative reporting, The Post was able to connect with three of the women who had been paid by Peña, using DEA funds, during his time with the DEA in Colombia.

Elena Ramierz, who was willing to go on record using her own name, was forthcoming with information concerning her time with Peña.

“I would not be where I am today, had I not crossed paths with Javi. He was willing to sponsor my immigration request — without asking for anything in return. Javier Peña is one of the only men I worked with who was a genuinely good man. He cared about all of the girls at the brothels and would look out for us. I cannot, however, say the same about other men who abused the systems the DEA willingly put into place.”

When pressed further, Ramirez went into detail painting a picture of the systemic abuses that were encouraged by the DEA, including but not limited to brutalizing sex workers, non-consensual contact, and intentional situations that led to physical and mental harm. These claims were largely substantiated by the other two women who were willing to speak with The Post.

“He hated what he had to do to get information for the DEA. You could see the weight on his shoulders. Despite the brutal situation he was in, he was always kind and gentle with me and the other girls. Whatever picture the DEA is trying to paint him out to be, it’s to hide their own misdeeds.”

At the request of the DEA, The Post also made contact with Lorraine Jackson (neé Davis) who was the former ex-fiancé of Peña. Jackson, who hails from Laredo, Texas, provided details about the nature of her relationship with Peña nearly thirty years ago. Despite the DEA’s insistence that Jackson’s testimony would be detrimental to Peña and Morley’s case against DEA, her statement was to the contrary.

“Look,” Mrs. Jackson stated, “Javier left me at the altar when we were kids. I was angry for a long time. A long time. Even after I got married and started a family with a truly wonderful man. I was still wounded by what Javier did, but it all worked out for the best. I can’t even imagine what life would’ve been like if he’d shown up. Have you met his daughters? They adore him. He’s a good man, despite what happened between us.”

Mrs. Jackson continued, “When the DEA approached me about our relationship, I let my hurt feelings get the best of me. He made a lot of mistakes when he was younger — but didn’t we all? He left, went to college and came back to work for the Sheriff’s Office. He’d closed himself off and frankly, he was an ass. I don’t pretend to know what happened in Colombia, I wasn’t part of his life then, but I could see he had changed when he came home. The DEA wants to paint him out to be a villain in all of this and that’s just not the case.”

The DEA issued a revelatory statement, rebuffing the claims previously printed in The Post.

There is no doubt that Ms. Morley contributed admirable efforts in the war against Pablo Escobar. As the American people have now seen, her records contain multiple instances where she assisted in the apprehension of multiple associates of Escobar’s.

Despite her efforts, during her tenure with the DEA in Colombia and Ms. Morley failed to uphold the standards expected of a DEA field agent. One year after her transfer, she entered into a relationship with a CIA liaison who was an active member of a joint task force formed by the two agencies. It became clearly, early on, that she was not capable of maintaining a professional work environment.

In 1992, when Ms. Morley revealed that she was pregnant, she was immediately placed on desk duty. During a meeting with her direct chain of command, Ms. Morley intentionally concealed the identity of her child’s father. When questioned about Mr. Peña, she blatantly denied that she had any sexual contact with her partner. The following year, when Ms. Morley and Mr. Peña provided the DEA with the truth, we were forced to terminate her employment for her misconduct.

While The Post may attempt to twist this situation into a gender-based discrimination case, it is abundantly clear that both Ms. Morley and Mr. Peña engaged in unethical practices unbefitting of federal agents.

The Post reached out to CIA Agent, Lance Collier, who Ms. Morley was in a relationship from June 1988 to June 1989, clarified that their relationship had been approved by his director prior to its beginning.

Collier was willing to go on record with a statement of his own, “Annie was one of the hardest working agents I’ve ever worked with. During meetings, I repeatedly witnessed her being ignored and silenced by her superiors. They would ultimately use her knowledge under the guise of their own, intentionally undermining her abilities. On numerous occasions, I was also present for meetings where Javier Peña and Steve Murphy would go to bat for their partner. Annie was well aware of the risk and complications related to being a woman in a male dominated field, and despite that she persisted. I have seen men who acted as bad agents against our government still be venerated, so why are they still punishing her for becoming a mother?”

The Post is dedicated to the continued investigation of this scandal.

————

“You’re brooding.” You told Javier as you shut off the stove and grabbed a trivet to sit the pot of wild rice off the burner.

Javier huffed, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the kitchen counter across from you. “I’m not brooding.” He rubbed at the back of his neck before he pushed away from the counter and moved to grab two plates out of the cabinet. “The timing was just less than ideal.”

“I know.” You grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the pan of chicken patties, sitting it on the stovetop. “I wish Vickers had told us how thorough Valerie was going to be in her statement to the paper.”

“It was fucking mortifying, baby. I don’t know how I’m gonna make it through exams next week. Think it’s too late to make it a paper?” He questioned, grabbing the buns and mayonnaise out of the fridge.

“Unfortunately,” You made a face as you shut off the oven and moved to grab a paper plate to cut the tomato on. “It’ll blow over.”

“Not nearly soon enough,” He shook his head. “You know how much I hate looking back on that shit and now everyone knows my business.”

“It was a risk we were both willing to take,” You reminded him. “Say the word and we pull the plug.”

“I’m not pulling the fucking plug, baby. I’m just saying — did my class really need to know about my exploits with hookers in Colombia? I get that it’s tantalizing, but she pushed it too far.”

“Even Elena didn’t realize how far it would go,” You sat the knife down and wiped off your hands on a dishtowel, turning to approach him. “I’m sure the DEA thought they could put a wedge between us — like I didn't know what you got up to.”

“You talked to Elena today?”

You nodded, “I called to thank her. Her word would’ve been enough I think, but having two ‘Jane Smiths’ reaffirm what she was saying? There’s so much bullshit going on, in the pursuit of stopping drugs that has to end. We both know how they abuse those women.” You reached up and brushed your fingers over his cheek, leaning up on your toes to kiss him.

He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him. “Think they’ll try to track down Matias next?”

You let out an incredulous laugh at that, “God, I don’t even know what happened to him.” You admitted, “I doubt they’d be able to track him down.” He had been a sweet young man you’d spent a handful of evenings with in the pursuit of intel nearly a decade ago. “It’s not like you don’t know.”

Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and nodded slowly, “It’s just fucking bullshit. Even if it exonerated us.” He sighed heavily, “I should’ve cancelled class. Standing up there trying to keep on topic — knowing they’ve just read an article with three women who I’ve fucked.”

“Technically five.” You pointed, clarifying when he arched a brow. “Elena, Valerie, and Mia, Lorraine, and myself.”

He made a face, feigning disgust before he released you. “I hadn’t realized the DEA would be so determined to punch below the belt.”

“Because bribing Monica to say you’d fucked her was above the belt?” You pointed out as you moved to grab two buns out of the bag, throwing them on the plates and using a spatula to pick up the chicken patties and place them on each bun.

“Alright, alright. You’re making valid points.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “One day the girls are going to see these articles.”

“Then we’ll explain to them that sex workers deserve more praise and credit than they’re currently afforded.” You stated simply, “And that there’s nothing wrong about being sexually active — like we were, before we got together.” You shrugged.

“You wanna have that conversation with them?”

You shrugged, licking your thumb clean after you got mayonnaise on it, “Sure. It doesn’t bother me.”

Javier pinched at the bridge of his nose for a moment before he started plating up his chicken sandwich, “You got cheese?”

“Hang on,” You headed for the fridge, pulling the door open and rummaging around in the deli drawer. “Swiss or cheddar?”

“Do we have any of the pepperjack left?”

You hummed as you pulled open a drawer below, grabbing the bag of pepperjack cheese. “You’re in luck. I hid it the last time Nadia was here.” You tossed it onto the counter beside him, “That girl loves cheese.”

“Monica wasn’t in class today,” Javier stated, throwing two pieces of cheese onto his chicken patty before topping it off with the bun, “Did you hear from her today? I meant to call but got pulled into meetings.”

“I called her this morning at work,” You told him as you stowed the mayo back in the fridge. “She’s still pretty skittish after everything that happened.” You explained, smiling when you returned to your plate and Javier had scooped up a spoonful of wild rice for you. “Thanks, babe.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Anytime.” Javier gave your ass a playful swat before he headed for the kitchen table. “She’s got office hours with me tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t make a big deal about it,” You cautioned him as you sat down across from him at the table. “Honestly, she seemed fine. She just wanted to skip today.” You took a bite of your sandwich, before washing it down with a swig of beer. “I can’t wait for all of this to be over with.”

“You and me both, baby.” Javier retorted, covering his mouth with his fist as he spoke with his mouth full. “I want them to fucking pay for their bullshit and let us get on with our lives.”

You nodded your head slowly, “Everyone at the P.D. has been so supportive. They’re far from perfect, but they at least recognize what the DEA’s been doing is morally and ethically wrong.”

Javier rocked his jaw slowly as he stared at you across the table, “You still thinking about quitting?”

“All the time,” You admitted with a shrug. “I just want to get through this first. The DEA’s been such a dark shadow for so many years.”

“Once this is over, I feel like we’ll be able to really live.”

“Right?” You agreed with a grin, “Connie thinks we should go on vacation.”

“As soon as this semester’s over.”

You leaned across the table and took his hand into yours, giving it three short squeezes. “There’s a part of me that is stupidly excited about my name finally being attached to yours in the record books. And Steve’s, of course. It’s bizarre to see our lives laid out in the newspaper, but at the same time — I love it.”

“Me too, baby.” Javier grinned at you, “It means no more hiding.”

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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evabellasworld · 3 years

Text

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 26

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

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Summary: When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

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“So, how are we getting inside?” Tori asked, sitting next to Fox in speeder. “Like, what’s the plan?”

Fox turned to her in a blank eye, his brows furrowed. “Do you ever pay attention, Tor? Like, are you always daydreaming whenever you’re being brief about something important?”

“You never even told us,” she crossed her arms as she tapped Dipper’s sleeves, catching the ARC Trooper’s attention. “Dip, please tell me what Commander Fox said about this stealth mission?”

Dipper lifted his shoulders, holding a datapad in his hands. “He only told us that Riyo and I were the ones who will sneak into the Chancellor’s penthouse and grab the files from there. You two were supposed to watch the speeder in case things go wrong.”

Pouting her lips, she focused her gaze towards the view of the city, which was much livelier than last night. There were people pacing up and down the streets, going about with their daily life, while the lights from skyscrapers and houses were lit. Tori couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

There were schoolchildren clad in uniforms rushing towards their classrooms while office workers had their blazers and blouses on, carrying their datapads and briefcases. This was like how it was 6 months ago, before the war came to the capital of the Republic, which the Empire tried to crumble with their iron fists.

As long as they were people fighting for the Republic, then it still exists to Tori, Fox, Riyo, and Dipper. Riyo saw the smiles on the citizen’s faces, which made her lips curled downwards. She enjoys seeing others happy, but somehow, she doesn’t share their sentiments.

Are they really content with their life? The former senator pondered, glancing at the little Rodian boy, who was enjoying his ice-cream underneath the sunny day, which reminded her of home.

Riyo misses the paddy fields on Pantora. Her father used to harvest a massive field of rice, and brought a sack of harvest for the entire family. It wasn’t much, but she enjoyed the rice that was grown just kilometres away from her village home. If her father was lucky, he would also bring some eels, which tasted juicy.

“So once Dipper and I got the files, does that mean we’re leaving Coruscant?” she asked Fox.

“Yes, dear, we’re bringing Senator Amidala with us after this,” Fox affirmed. “We can’t stay here for too long. It’s not safe for all of us here.”

“So, what do we do with the files? Padmé did suggested us to show them to the Imperial Senate.”

“I know she did, but the general’s order was to get the senator out of the planet and head back to base. It’s too risky to head into the Senate building. We don’t even know what’s waiting for us down there.”

“Foxy has a point,” Tori agreed. “This planet is under heavy surveillance. If we are caught, then it could compromise not only the location of our base but also the number of our army as well. We’ve lost so many soldiers in battle, and we can’t afford to lose anymore.”

Riyo frowned from their answers, making Fox sighed. “Look, I understand you want to help your friend, and I’m all for it, but we also need to think about us as well. I know it seems selfish, but we can’t always have it all.”

“I understand, dear,” she gave a weak smile. “Let’s hope our plans go smoothly. We don’t want anyone interfering with it.”

Dipper chirped. “Don’t worry about it. By the time the Imps realized it, we would already be long gone by now. I have a good feeling that we will successfully escape from Coruscant with ease.”

“Fingers crossed on that. I really don’t want to be interrogated by the Imperial secret police. From what I heard, no one made it out alive.”

“Speak of the devil, and he will come to you,” Tori scolded Riyo. “We don’t want any sort of trouble during this mission.”

It better not, Fox hoped, as he drove in mid-air, searching for Palpatine’s penthouse through his scope. He had been there many times before, and memorised every single room in his building, including the bathroom. He was in charge of security along with Thorn, which was important for him to know the building schematic. He never said his last goodbyes to Thorn, or spent their last moment together before the latter was gone.

On the other hand, he wasn’t particularly sad that Palpatine died, but if those files mean turning the tide of the war, then he has no other choice. I hope his misdeeds were recorded, so that everyone knows what a terrible man he was.

As Fox noticed the penthouse’s balcony from afar, he slowed down the speeder, driving away from the highway. “We’ll be arriving in 5 minutes,” he informed them. “Get into position.”

“Yes, Commander,” Dipper saluted, as he gave a wink at Riyo, who was clutching her hands together. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this kind of mission before. You’ll befine, Riyo. We believe in you.”

“May the Force be with all of us,” she prayed, as they arrived in front of the lobby, which was on the ground floor. With silence surrounding them, the former senator noticed plenty of overgrown weed between the bricks on the grounds.

No one was inside the apartments, except for the complete void inside. There were people here when the Chancellor was still alive. Did the Empire forced them out as well?

Fox and Tori glanced at them, giving them a nod. “Good luck, and be careful,” Tori said. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

“We will, commander,” Dipper acknowledged, as he gestured to Riyo to follow him inside the abandoned apartment.

As they stepped inside the lobby, both of them noticed the red carpet was torn, covered in fungus. The paint on the walls was peeled off, and the fluorescent lights were hanging on the ceiling, waiting to crash on the floor.

“It looks scary in here,” Riyo commented, glancing at the vacant receptionist counter. “What do you think happened here?”

Dipper observed many blast marks in the room's corner, clicking his tongue. “Whatever it is, I doubt the tenants here left voluntarily,” he replied as he turned towards the lift and pressed the button, much to her bewilderment.

“Are you sure this lift is working?”

Before he could answer, the lift door opened, with the background music playing and the golden lights working. “Well, looks like your question is answered, Ri. After you.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she smiled and walked inside, pressing the button that leads all the way upstairs. “I’m surprised there’s still something working here. I wonder who switched on the power?”

Dipper felt uneasy as they arrived at the penthouse, which was well kept, despite no one living there for months. He felt the cooling air coming from the air-conditioning and the scent of nutmeg lingering, prompting him to draw out his blaster.

“Riyo, I don’t think we’re alone,” he warned her. “Stay closer to me.”

“Alright then,” Riyo bobbed her head, holding a blaster as well. “The files could be in his studies, but we have to be careful not to trigger the sensors.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he took out his Onderonian army knife, as he tiptoed towards the study room, where everything on the bookshelves were arranged in order.

Riyo remembered how the place was. She attended a party in the Chancellor’s penthouse, where many of her colleagues were there, along with close associates. There was champagne and wine, and she only had a sip of the sweet alcohol. She also had some cream puffs at the party, and offered them to Fox, who was in charge of security. He enjoyed the pastry, and Riyo would love to make them for him, when there’s a place to bake, of course.

“The sensors are on the top shelf. Maybe that’s where the files are.”

“Good eye, senator,” Dipper praised. “I’ll disable it for you.”

“Alright,” she took a deep breath, as she wore her rubber gloves, which won’t leave any trace of fingerprints. Riyo never done a stealth mission before, and she will not fail their team.

Stretching his arms, the ARC Trooper flipped the switch behind the small, black sensors, deactivating it. Using his screwdriver on the pocket knife, he slowly removed them from his shelf, tossing them aside. Riyo searched through every file from the bookshelves, starting from the letter ‘A’.

Audits for Coruscant, Audits for Alderaan, Banking Clan accounts, well, that’s a lot of files that start with the letter ‘B’. Bursary Market, Core World populations…

Dipper tapped his foot as Riyo was still searching through the files. He never thought it wouldn’t take long, but he was mistaken. He always thought anything involving paperwork was easy, but it was otherwise. Counting files from ‘A’ to ‘Z’ was quite a challenge for the both of them, and time is not on their sides. Now I understand why Commander Fox hated paperwork so much.

“The Death of the Young twins, Grand Army of the Republic Protocols,” Riyo muttered underneath her breath, wiping her sweat on her forehead. “Project Cyborg, Project Starfleet, wait, I think I found it.”

“You did?” his face lit up. “Can I see?”

“Yeah sure, the file was named The Assassination of Chancellor Palpatine,” she showed him. “It was pretty easy to find it, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, sure,” he groaned, his clammy hands still gripped on his pistol. “I still think this was too easy. I have a funny feeling something bad is going to happen to us soon.”

“We should head to the lift,” Riyo reminded, hiding the files underneath her blazer. “We can’t keep Fox and Tori waiting.”

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potassium-pilot · 3 years

Text

Prompt 11: Preaching to the Choir

Lyse pored over her papers, her least favorite activity as one of two leaders of Ala Mhigo. On a weekly basis, members of the resistance would mingle with the public and guage opinion on performance, particularly what they believe is needed from their government. There would often be a demand for more food, resources for rehoming citizens, and from a more extreme sect, removing non-Ala Mhigan enforcement from their walls. Already, public opinions were dividing, all of them holding different visions of the country they had lost a quarter of a century ago.

When it was in a fight against a common foe, they were united. Now that the foe is gone, what stood to bind them together?

This frustrated the young leader to no end. Before she could torture herself over the politics of Ala Mhigo for any longer, a voice greeted her at her office door.

“Forgive me for intruding, Mistress Hext.”

Aymeric stood in the doorway to greet her. “Lord Commander, I keep telling you this, you can just call me Lyse. ‘Mistress Hext’ makes me feel so old.”

“Ah, forgive me, M— Lyse.”

“Well, what brings you by, Lord Commander? Do you have a complaint to register?”

“No. Believe it or not, I have good tidings.”

Lyse’s eyebrows lifted in intrigue. “Wow, that’s pretty rare! All right, well, what tidings are they?”

He entered the office and retrieved something from his inventory. “I bear a gift from Dia for you. She would have brought it herself, but ‘twould appear some other business has rendered that quite difficult to do.” He held a small, wrapped present in his hand and placed it on her desk.

“Ha”, Lyse started, “You know, not too long ago, Y’shtola, Alisaie, and I were talking about how Dia manages to find time to do anything she does. I’m especially curious after everything they tried to explain to me after their souls were torn from them, mostly because it was hard to understand a word of it, but she was busy, clearly. I have no idea how she would be able to find a gift for me like this. Must be some Warrior of Light secret.”

“Indeed. She attempted to explain her toils in the First to me as well. I’ve seen firsthand what she does to find time, and…well, we’ve argued the point more than once, I’m afraid. Little can stand between her and what she wants, and exhaustion clearly doesn’t affect her much.” Lyse smiled at the thought, then replied, “Would that I had her time management skills. Trying to find any free time right now feels next to impossible.”

“That seems to be a universal truth among leaders of men.”

“Ha, isn’t it? And don’t even get me started on just how much paperwork I’m trying to make a dent in.” Aymeric nodded while she stood up from her chair. “And I can’t even go outside without someone asking me something, or pulling me somewhere, or yelling at me for something I can’t control.” He knew a rant when he saw one. He sat down and sat by to let it happen; not a word was needed from him while she paced back and forth.

“And everyone has something wrong! Be it a housing issue, a food problem, or a medicine problem- chirurgeons are so expensive, Lord Commander. I’m glad the Alliance is helping us, but there’s only so much they can do, and there’s so many mouths to feed and homes to provide and—“ Lyse interrupted her rant by slamming her right hand down on her desk, making Aymeric flinch as the pugilist was more than capable of breaking it in half.

“I want to make my people happy, and I can’t make them happy.”

Aymeric waited a moment, unsure if she was going to continue. When it was clear that she was only capable of bowing her head and keeping her eyes shut, he found his words.

“Rarely do I hear one’s sentiments perfectly echo mine own.”

Lyse reopened her eyes and looked to him.

“As do I, Lyse.”

Hien appeared this time, wearing his trademark smile, and entered the office casually. “You know, if you want for resources, I invite you to contact the Shazenkai in Doma. They’ve been wonderful in their efforts to rebuild the Doman Enclave.”

Lyse smiled back. “What is the Shazenkai? I feel like I should know about this by now if they’ve been so helpful.” Hien shrugged his shoulders and sat in the chair next to Aymeric. “It hasn’t come up in discussion, luckily for you. Simply put, they find people to donate items they don’t need to sell to others at a higher price so they may fund workers. They also use the funding they gain to negotiate with vendors and other important people to trade resources that aid Doma. You may want to consider such a tactic.”

Lyse pondered the suggestion. “That’s all fine and good, but where do I find people willing to donate?”

“Ask Dia. She’s our biggest donor.” Aymeric shot him a quizzical look and asked incredulously, “Really?” Hien returned his own quizzical look and responded, “Yes, Lord Commander. I receive weekly reports from the Shazenkai and every time, she sits at the top of the list of contributors. Without her, we would have no school, market, rice field, paper mill, blacksmith tools…”

Aymeric’s eyebrows lifted and he brought his gaze to the floor in front of him. “Incredible. Here I thought she had only aided Ishgard in such a manner. I’ll have to ask her about this when I get home.” He looked to Lyse himself and said, “I would also encourage you to come into contact with Lord Francel Haillenarte. His knowledge of his own negotiations with vendors and others who have aided in the rebuilding of the Firmament may come of use to you.”

“How did the rebuilding work?” she asked.

“Essentially, after tireless arguments about it, we in the House of Lords and Commons passed a motion to rebuild the Firmament, a living quarter of Ishgard that was unfortunately burned down by heretics after Dia and Estinien defeated Nidhogg. Lord Francel, Dia, and Count de Durendaire managed to secure quite a few resources to aid the endeavour, and helped rehome no small number of former Firmament citizens. During this time, countless adventurers had been recruited to help scavenge resources and create equipment for all to use to aid in rebuilding the Firmament.”

Lyse took a seat back down behind her desk. “These are good suggestions. Would you mind giving the names of these people again later?”

“Of course”, replied Aymeric, with Hien giving a nod. Lyse brought her eyes to Hien and inquired, “Well, what brings you here, Hien?”

“I was wondering if we were still going to the Bismarck for lunch today before the meeting.” Lyse gasped. “I am so sorry, Hien! Yes, we are, I just got so caught up in all of this and— ugh, this is frustrating!”

“Don’t worry yourself so. It’s hard to keep these obligations together, particularly in our positions.” Lyse sighed and complained,“I don’t want my obligations to my friends to be tossed to the side. They’re important to me.”

“Unfortunately, that tends to be the first thing that must go. At the very least, you’re in a great position that those you are socially obligated to are quite understanding”, replied Aymeric. Lyse frowned. “Lord Commander, how do you deal with that? It can’t be easy.”

“I’m afraid my own social obligations tend to be rather limited now that one of my closest friends has left Ishgard to join the Scions, so it tends to be just the occasional drink with Lucia, and whatever time I may spend with Dia when I return home.”

Hien joined in with, “Laying in hiding for five years has limited my own now that I’m no longer bound to the Azim Steppe. It helps little that I tend to leave Doma quite a bit more than I expected to when I took the throne.” Hien smiled at Lyse and said, “I suppose that’s why I enjoy what time I get with you so much.” Lyse smiled back.

“Look at us, talking as though we’ve been at this for years. Well, except maybe for you, Lord Commander. How long have you lead the Temple Knights?” Lyse inquired.

“I started serving as the Lord Commander after the previous perished in the blizzards following the Calamity. That in mind, ‘twas only a few years ago that the new Ishgardian government formed, and I was elected it’s Lord Speaker, the highest level of the House of Lords.”

“Mm, so you’ve been a military leader for a while, but then you were thrown into politics on top of that. I’m glad I have General Aldynn to help with the military; trying to lead both nearly led to the collapse of both here. I don’t know how you do it, Lord Commander”, Lyse turned her focus to Hien, “Nor you, Hien.”

“I have the aid of the Lupin for the military. Politically…I knew what I was destined to do. I’m ready to defend Doma with my life, and I was born ready to lead her.” Lyse looked to the ground.

“I didn’t have that kind of resource.” Lyse let out a sharp breath from her nose. “I was a refugee, and a young one at that. I was five when we left; all I ever knew of Ala Mhigo were stories my sister would tell. No one ever told me that I would take on leadership of it’s resistance, nor of the country for that matter.”

“Those who would seek power search for it all their life while those who avoid it tend to have it foisted upon them”, Aymeric remarked, “I know all too well the suddenness of such a position.”

“Take heart, Lyse. It may not always seem like it, but those who want to help you are nearby”, added Hien. Lyse nodded and smiled gently. “I wish none of us had to be here, that better decisions could have been made before us.”

“One can’t help but feel thankful that the Ascians who caused these problems are no more”, Aymeric reminded the group.

“Agreed”, said Lyse, “and from what I could make of it, with them goes any future calamities, or at least real ones. I think the Scions might have just saved the world, Lord Commander.”

Dia saved the world would be a more accurate statement, thought Aymeric, leaving the sentiment unsaid as ultimately, Lyse was correct. He simply nodded and said, “And I have every hope they’ll do it again.”

“I believe in them, too. In the meantime, I’m just thankful that aside from that creepy Fandaniel, none of the others are trying anything close to what the more leader-y Ascians had done for centuries. They created the Garlean Empire, for gods’ sakes. They’re the reason we left Ala Mhigo.”

“They’re the reason we left Doma”, stated Hien.

“They’re the reason I had to send Dia to kill my own father.” The two looked at Aymeric with wide eyes.

“Er, the details are rather foggy, Lord Commander”, Lyse stated confusedly. “Why would she need to kill him?”

“I bade her to stop my father from summoning the primal Thordan. I had no idea that he would use his own body as a vessel for him.”

“Oh, right…she’s a primal slayer. If your father became a primal…right, that makes sense.”

“You know, for whatever terrible things we experienced at the hands of the Ascians, we all have had Dia there to aid us in more than one way”, Hien pointed out. The other two smiled at him, and Lyse replied, “You’re right. Ala Mhigo would still be in the hands of the Garleans and quite possibly enthralled to Shinryu.”

“Doma as well, and the Shazenkai has much to thank her for in regards to her donations, and I personally do for saving us in our confrontation with Elidibus in Ghymlit”, said Hien.

“If I had a list of all the things I have to thank Dia for, ‘twould be years before I finished” Aymeric exaggerated.

“The Scions would have made little headway on the primal issues without her help. I’m glad we found her when we did. We— I mean, they, have a lot to thank her for as well”, remarked Lyse.

“…especially after she nearly died trying to save that other world”, Aymeric added grimly, folding his arms. The other two nodded.

“If I may be so blunt, Lord Commander, what you have is a mixed blessing”, Hien commented, “None among us can say we have someone to come home to at the end of our day.” Aymeric breathed a laugh through his nose, and replied, “That depends on whether or not Dia’s home by the time I get there. In recent times, I’ve been blessed to see her more, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to the next assignment she receives from the Scions.”

“Still”, Lyse said, “The rest of us have little opportunity to find someone like that. It’s lonely at the top.”

“Halone knows that had I not met Dia before, I would be in such a position with you”, Aymeric replied gratefully. Lyse gave an almost pitiful smile before her eyes widened and she gave a small gasp. “Oh, gods, we’ve been sitting in here for way too long! Sorry to keep you, Lord Commander.”

“Think nothing of it”, Aymeric responded graciously as he rose from his chair, “You may want to open her present sooner rather than later in the case Dia should deign to appear in the meeting.”

Lyse gave a light chuckle. “You make a good point, Lord Commander.” He nodded and exited the office, leaving Hien and Lyse behind.

“Well then, shall we get going?” Hien asked expectantly. Lyse put away her papers in her drawers, and took hold of Dia’s present before placing it in her inventory. “Let’s.”

Lyse clasped her right hand into Hien’s left, and together, they walked out of the office, and into the streets, ready to leave behind their troubles, even if only for a moment.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #aymeric de borel #lyse hext #hien rijin #aymeric x wol #lyse x hien #a writer is never late nor is she early she arrives precisely when she means to #ah well #anyways these three would have a lot to discuss

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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tales of a perfect rhyme

title: tales of a perfect rhyme pairing: son hyunwoo/reader genre: poet!au/painter!au/forbidden love!au/friends!au summary: Sometimes, you’re bad at exactly what you desire to become the most. That’s her case and it also is Hyunwoo’s when they realize that they are not exactly good at the arts they desire. Yet, their youthful personalities and their blossoming love seems enough to stay happy throughout their toughest times, until it is not enough. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor word count: 12,540 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

Without the chirping tone of birds outside her window, what would be of her? Without the sunshine that gleams through it, the smell of fruits lingering in the air—too dulcet, yet too necessary, what would her life be like?

The question does not go through her head often, for her mind remains too busied by the beauty of the winery around her. Her house, on its own, is surrounded by fields and fields of fruits, green and blooming, the peak of existence. The oxygen in her lungs has always been easier to breathe, more lightweight, the reason as to why mischief is the first thing she thinks about when the ashes of sleep are dusted away from her face.

This room has seen her grow up into the woman she is today. With old paintings from her youthful days, running up to her uncle with paint-stained fingertips creating images of the rainbows she’d get to see after every ounce of rain. Some of them are newer—a portrait that said uncle, the owner of the winery, had gifted her for her seventeenth birthday, and clearly…some of her newest pieces of art. Nothing too excellent, mixes of colors a la Pollock, not quite looking for a shape or an imagery, but a feeling instead. One that she always dares to call normality—it may be happiness, just like it may be a routine, but in her thoughts, she knows that whichever way she decides to go, the winery will always be her home.

The paint on her walls is a contrast to her colorful sundress, yellow with daisies on top of it, but the length is not exactly what she is looking for. To anyone that has seen her walk through the streets, or simply riding on her bicycle, they’ve captured a glimpse of her style. The painted sneakers, the fixed dresses, the shirts that end up bleached or died or cut. The itch starts from her soul and ends up on the tips of her fingers, desiring to make a change in her life that can translate through her. She thinks that happiness shall be shown as long as it’s had, and it shall be prided on.

Perhaps, the reason of her happiness may be having breakfast right now and her gloss-coated lips press together while she looks at her reflection in the mirror. A pair of scissors is already going through the edge of the sundress—making it a tad bit shorter, a lesson that she learned when she had her second boyfriend and she felt more confident on her choices of clothing. The thing is…there are days in which she wants to exude the mentality that art is in herself, in a way, that as long as she can create something, her mind may never be dulled.

The fabric is shorter by the time she steps out of her room, not perfect, but sufficiently flowy for her to walk down the set of stairs and approach the cream-colored kitchen. The microwave is buzzing, her uncle’s shaggy head of hair covering the majority of the surface while he leans down to look at the coffee cup that is being heated inside the machine. The old man has done nothing but support her dream, that one memory of her youth that told her to be an artist…even when everyone else had told her that she’s not good at it.

Art is not about being good, she tries to tell herself. It’s about enjoying life in a different way. About feeling and letting others feel.

It will never pay the bills for her, but that’s why the winery exists.

Her attention is caught on someone else, sipping on a colder drink of coffee, then slurping from the spoon hovering over his rice bowl, so heated that a cloud forms on top of the breakfast. One of the winery workers, with golden skin and matted black hair, more often than not faintly moved away from his eyes, to show those small senses of gravity in their chocolate hues. His lips are plumped up, as if he’s always blowing on his meals to eat them—and that may be the case, for one of the few times in which she gets to see Hyunwoo open his mouth is when he is relishing on the taste of her Uncle’s infamous cooking.

Or that’s what the other workers at the winery say; that Hyunwoo is sweet, but too quiet. So eerily quiet that he seems to blend into any wall, any floor, any seat…though, she cannot see it that way. The moment Hyunwoo stepped into that winery, she was very well out of a relationship and promising to the world that love does not exist. She’d said she would never take any other man seriously, and he came in like a gentle breeze. Not a tornado. Not a tsunami, like the soft reminder of his laughter early in the morning, or the looks spared throughout a few months until a friendship started in between the two of them.

Her weight leans forward, staring at Hyunwoo’s eyes when he captures her gaze before jotting her chin forward. “Give me some of that,” She says, making sure that she crosses her arms under her chest, legs extending as a way of capturing his attention. And she has it, shredded glimpses of his interest in his eyes, in the way those lips quirk up and give her a foretaste of that soul that hides underneath his quiet nature. To some, he ruins the mood. For her, he creates it.

“Your uncle made you a plate.” He tells her, though his spoon is already balancing itself on the expanse of his hand, nearing her lips until they part and take a bite of the meal, paired with eggs. When the spoon is once again nearing his plate to scrape some contents off, her eyes trail to the notebook by his side, some words scribbled, others hidden under the blurred lines of a word he may not have liked…and still, Hyunwoo opts to use a pen.

“You got some writing done during the weekend?” And perhaps, a poet-to-be like Hyunwoo should really go for a laptop, and a Word Document at that, but his style is to keep it simple. Hyunwoo may not be the most profound, romantic of men—heck, he may not be one of those rooted poets that grow up to be stars every few years, creating a new wave to be remembered by textbooks, but the relaxed expressions on his features when finally having somewhere in which he can voice out his thoughts and concerns is more than she could ever ask for.

Hyunwoo nods, ready to spurt some knowledge of his endeavors back at home when her Uncle clears his throat, resting the expanse of her plate on the counter, the seat that she would be taking place in right beside her Uncle’s favorite worker. His strength has helped her Uncle endlessly, with carrying the wines, organizing them, making sure that his poor, old bones don’t struggle at the mere weight of his bent knees. “Pull your skirt down and stop fluttering your eyelashes like that.” Her Uncle says, giving her a pointed look when she simply shrugs her shoulders.

“Can’t pull it down, I already cut it.”

“One would think that once you became an adult, you wouldn’t be so…stubborn, but the older…the worse it becomes.” Though, the tiredness in his voice doesn’t dismiss the nostalgia on his tone. Days that were difficult, yet part of her growing-up process. The leather of the seat digs on the back of her thighs when she takes her spoon in between her fingers, her other hand already sneaking to reach for Hyunwoo’s notebook and read over his poems.

Something about him will always be tranquil. Just like wine, he makes her feel—sleepy, a bit heated, ready to embark in her biggest adventure but take it slow while in the process. He swirls on her tongue, intoxicates her, leaves a flutter on the pit of her stomach, a heartbeat against the other to race and see who wins, it brings her to the sky and puts her down on her feet in such a gentle, caring way. “Ah…I’ve heard that before. I’ll settle down eventually.”

Though, while munching on her meal and hearing the utensils on both men’s hands moving with precision to eat as fast as possible before getting to work, her fingers hook on the small, yellow, somewhat bitten pencil that rests in between the pages, scribbling down a note that only Hyunwoo could read.

“When will you write me a poem?” She writes first, on the last line of the one poem she read before drawing an arrow towards the piece of art itself. “Also, you’re improving.”

The pencil glides from her fingertips for him to take, and she swears she sees his expression lighten up, cheeks filled with food when he writes some words of his own. “What do you want me to write about?”

The action repeats itself, sparing one glance at her Uncle, too lost in the news displayed on the television to pay attention to her. “Whatever I make you feel.”

His response reads: “I can’t.”

She voices her thoughts out, speaking in a hushed voice while looking at him. Hyunwoo’s trembling expression turns towards her Uncle, but she knows that the old man is not what is stopping him—if anything, her Uncle would be over the moon if she got to date Hyunwoo, more seriously past this flirty relationship they hold. Instead, she basks on his presence, his manly scent, the way his white t-shirt hugs his body, jeans cladding his thick legs. “Why? Do I make you that speechless?” She counterparts, quirking an eyebrow when Hyunwoo chuckles and shakes his head.

“I just need time to think about it.” He whispers. “I’m not that good of a poet, yet.”

“You write about the winery, though. The trees, the fruits, the people here. Why not me?”

Why not her? Why not the woman that has promised herself that she’d capture his gaze and practically make it impossible to tear it away from her? To have Hyunwoo has always seemed holy, in a way, almost like getting an angel sent directly to her…all memories of the past few years merging into one single thought: that it has never happened. Without a lot of trying, and with a lot of work to do on the winery and on their preferred choices of art…it never happened. “It will happen someday.”

Though, she can only pucker her lips up, taking another bite of her meal before leaning back on her seat, arms crossed over her chest as a way to release the stress that is pent-up inside of her. Maybe, Hyunwoo would not see her a muse—that one person that takes every single breath away from his lungs, even in a place filled with trees. Or that one person who clouds his mind, even in his dreams, creating images of what-could-have-been’s that he can only fantasize about. “I won’t get younger at the pace you’re going.” The only sound she receives is his chuckle, shaking his head at her antics. This counts another day of a failed try of getting to be his muse, or simply to see more of a glimpse of interest from him. Not surprising, though somehow digging on her chest, she stands up from her seat after a few quick bites of her meal, doing her best to finish the rice before she continues on with her day.

Not without wrapping her fingers around his shoulder to speak into his ear:

“You’re lucky wine gets better with the passage of time.”

###

The trees wave against each other, dancing with the wind, singing their lonesome blues with every movement of their leaves. Instead, she finds the happiness in them—in the hope that the Sun glares down onto their existences, in the way animals seem to be happy around the winery and in the workers, too, not only Hyunwoo but everyone else, as well. Though, if she’s honest with herself, she wishes she could be a good artist, for painting Hyunwoo should be the best benefit for a person of artistic desire.

He’s far away, like he always is. So close, yet so far away when the day is welcomed into their lives. Another day in which she has to smile to hide the absolute adoration behind her eyes and another shrug of her shoulders when her uncle asks anything about Hyunwoo and herself. There’s nothing, she says, and it may be like that—if it was not for the way he smiles at her when he looks up from his position at picking up the sweetened violet grapes, because those eyes scream for her to finally settle down.

For him.

With him.

To have him.

The concept had always been foreign to her—settling down. There are too many beautiful people in this world; too many lips to taste; too many nights to remember. Plenty of times had she heard the words whore or slut used to describe her around the city, small in comparison to the ones in other countries…and she’d say that the concept is so…antique. Perhaps, she could image the word escaping the lips of a sexist man trying to sound remotely attractive while also demolishing the amount of things a woman can do…or, something easier, it’s the word that people use when they can’t understand the complexity of dating. Or maybe, she just sees it from the other end of the spectrum.

But Hyunwoo did not see her like some cheap woman who would much rather have her legs opened than her mind, because that’s not the case…and it will never be for him. The beige hat to shelter him from the sun moves a bit with the wind when his fingers stretch to wave at her, a gentle smile on his features—one that reads have a nice day, instead of the usual this is just a pleasantry before we have sex and have to pretend we don’t know each other after. And surely, with any other man she would have gotten tired…she would have simply said that not a lot of people are made for kissing and telling.

But this is Hyunwoo, the one man that saw her as an artist, as the glide of her brush against a canvas that reads…nonsensical matters. No one sees her art as worthy. No one but Hyunwoo.

When she stares back at the canvas, right after sending a wave back, she realizes that what she does is not art. If she had to conceptualize it, she’d go past Van Gogh or Pollock, past whatever The Louvre could show—that’s the history of art, but it happened way before all those people that crafted the popular side of art. Why is it that people had forgotten that they are art themselves? Art that when described, when coming to life, could be beautiful just like how it could be utterly disgusting. In her eyes, there will never be enough museums and art history books that would ever be able to help her become the artist that would showcase something to the world that matches what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

Her fingers hook around her sketchbook, moving away from the living room of the house while the flapping of wings dulls after two seconds of its initiation, her parrot resting on her shoulder. It may be a bit movie-esque, and Hyunwoo has compared her to a pirate countless times, but nature exists within her…and Hyunwoo is the tranquility that matches her softened heart. A heart that has prickled edges, too much intelligence for its own good, but that can become warm at the mere sight of him.

Art goes past colors—past the damned lines that she does in the name of showing what it is that goes through her head, past what she could ever comprehend, perhaps more understood by an expert…but she can give a name to what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

The caress of fingertips over someone’s back. Traced over lines, bumps, love handles, marks, reddened spots, moles—softly, gently, chilling, relaxing, yet so intimate. It can be done wrongly, when asking for a massage after a long day to someone who is not interested, for example; just like it can be the most miniscule of gestures that breathe out an ‘I love you’. Hyunwoo, with his voice alone, makes her feel like a teenager that has gotten her waist grabbed for the first time—not with a pull to make her feel uncomfortable, but with gentleness, the steps in between them taken far too slowly, too meticulously.

But…she’s not the type to get scared about what her uncle may think if Hyunwoo ends up dating her.

So, what is it that stops her?

Hyunwoo is kneeling down, the fabric of his pants dirtied by mud, his white tank top showing his glowing sweaty skin in the faintest golden color. With a raise of his eyebrow and a stare from the corner of his eye, he says: “Isn’t that my favorite pirate?”

Her fingers move at their own accord with her little pencil, too worn out that it creates the faintest of lines. She starts with the shape of his face—oval, with small eyes that glisten immensely, one more closed than the other as if deep in thought; his lips, plump, asking for a kiss, making her beg mentally to have him speak more. He doesn’t speak enough for how delicious his voice is to hear. “Depends. Jack Sparrow is not on your list?”

“Not when you exist.”

“Smooth.” She replies, looking at her sketch and furrowing her eyebrows. Realism is not her forte—but what is, really? Deep in this whole nonsensical heartbreaker stance that she has created for her, lost in a never-ending summer, she has tried to cover that insecure part of herself. The one woman that never grew up as a talented individual—that loved art, but was never good at it. Hyunwoo is the same with poetry, though he’s far more talented at other stuff around the winery, and an exquisite wine preparator. “I tried to draw you, but it looks like the lovechild of…a goblin and yourself, actually.”

“I wanna see.” He says, knees creaking when he stands up, nearing her body and making her pet parrot fly away. Sunny, an odd name for a parrot…but it just happened to stick around in between the staff at the winery.

Pressing the sketchbook to her chest, she looks into his eyes. “No. I’m shy.”

“You read my poems all the time—” Hyunwoo starts before squinting his eyes, smiling at her when tilting his head to the side to inspect her features. “Wait, did you just say that you are shy?”

For a woman who claims to love sex, casual dating and never getting too attached to anyone—for people are just that, equals, individuals supposed to coexist with each other to get to the end-line, she has definitely gotten attached to Hyunwoo. She’d say, even, he’s the cause of her abrupt stop in dating around. “I mean, I can be shy about things.” She starts, a shrug given by her shoulders. “Much more when those things look like shit.”

“Is it the first time that you’ve tried drawing me?” He asks, and she finds herself speechless.

“Depends.”

“Stop saying depends—”

“Would you think it’s silly of me if I had tried drawing you before?”

Twirling around after his response, a smile crept up on her features when she hears him say: “I’d think it’s sweet.” He tells her, the creaking of grass under his boots sounding behind her, holding her sketchbook to her chest, her dress moving with every movement she gives.

“I never do you justice, though.” She answers, trying to get away from him simply to tease—to have him chasing, following, at the edge of his seat for every word she says. Hyunwoo is a man that has, at least, a vast majority of the people in the city head over heels for him, and to see his quiet persona crumble into a bashful beam at her presence boosts her ego, truthfully—and gives her hope, if anything. For what? Only God would know.

“Don’t look down on your art.”

“We both know it’s not art.”

At that moment, he takes her by the wrist, turning her around until the expanse of his wide and toned chest connects with hers. Eyes to eyes, lips to lips, and when he breathes out an answer, she swears the air has sent her a kiss from him her way. “I’ll give you something and you give me your sketchbook to see how you drew me.”

Her eyes roam his features before scoffing. “Money?”

“I don’t have money, you know that.”

“Ah, a kiss?” Trying her luck, Hyunwoo raises an eyebrow, chuckling at her words.

“Not when all the workers are looking at us.”

“I’ve done worse—”

“I know,” Hyunwoo indicates. “But I’m not one of your worse moments.”

“Right, you’re the best.” She mumbles, knowing that losing him would probably hurt her as much as a blade digging into her sternum, towards her heart, dissipating to the rest of her body—electrifying her with one last breath. His fingers slip into the pocket of his baggy jeans, getting a small notepad out before putting it on her hold, snatching her sketchbook away from her hands just in time to open it.

Her eyes flicker towards the opened notepad, reading pages and pages of a supposed ‘her’. The poems are short, far too small for them to be thought-out pieces, but…they exude the kind of love that is simplistic, softened, all around a bit immature. “You know?” Hyunwoo answers, ripping the page away from her sketchbook before giving it back to her. “I’m going to keep this.”

“I’ll only keep this if the ‘her’ in the poems is me.”

Hyunwoo gives a few steps away from her, walking backwards as he speaks. “…Wouldn’t you want to know.”

The world shines brighter for a second, in the way it falls over his body and clads him in the shape of her daydreams. Where they stand will always be the reason of her reminiscing, something that shall never be taken away from her. “I do,” She adds, arms crossed, rushing towards where he is. “Because I’m the perfect rhyme for anything you think about.” She teases, knowing fully well that Hyunwoo’s mind will always be a mystery to her—but she knows there is attraction, this magnetism in between them that keeps them close, much more when he halters his steps, hands ending up on top of her uncovered arms.

A rhyme is more than tunes that sound the same. A rhyme needs profoundness, meaning, history after history behind syllables that match. “…You’re not wrong.” Hyunwoo breathes out, the wind blowing a bit on his hat, his hand reaching up to keep it in place. “Just, read the poems, don’t overthink it.”

“I won’t.”

And he leaves, blocking the noise of the birds with his steps, with the hum on his voice as he relishes on the sound of his favorite song of the week. For some reason, she feels like dancing when seeing his back depart from her and when her fingers feel the glide of the sheets of paper against her fingertips.

Her.

She’s ‘her’.

Unnamed, she shall remain—like a song that he heard on the radio, learned from one listen, and will never be able to find. But she’s there. Oh God, she’s there, settled, waiting for a smile from him, a rhyme to fit her, a moment that is not fleeting. For a chance to make Son Hyunwoo fall in love with her, and have a future with him.

But she’s not a woman to call a ‘forever’.

###

“Is this the apple wine you guys prepared this week?”

Hyunwoo has his hands crossed over his body, the light of the storage room of the winery barely powerful enough to cast down on his softened features. He quirks one of his eyebrows, a habit of his, and turns to look at her after humming. He has listened to her, she knows, but maybe he needs some confirmation, smiling at her before turning to the pristine shelves that showcase years and years of wines, all of different tastes. “Ah, yes,” He initiates. “It’s not fermented completely, well, not yet. I had to go over the recipe time and time again with your uncle—been a long time since he last prepared one of those.”

They’re not tipsy, but they’re alone. The sound of music is in the background, soft, steady, some jazz that relaxes them into—probably—sharing a drink or two. The door is locked, everyone is back at home and her uncle is certain that they’re adding the labelled stickers to the bottles to send them off to a store tomorrow. That, however, is only halfway done by the time she started to inspect the shelves. “Do you think it’s good?”

“It may taste a bit like cider, I believe.” But he doesn’t give much of an answer, instead taking another sticker and a bottle, lining it up perfectly before sighing. “Why?”

“Ooh, why must you think there is a reason behind me asking?”

“Because you’re you.”

“I’m the company’s publicist.” She defends herself—even when the title is not paired with a degree, it damn right fits her. She has done everything and anything to take the company to social media, exploiting it to getting more clients, more stores to buy their products—and of course, a few pictures that entice anyone to try their wines. “I need to know if what I’m selling is good.”

Hyunwoo chuckles, dragging a seat until he is seated in front of the spacious, glassed table where the newest bottles were placed, fresh out of fermentation. “So, you want to try the apple wine?”

“I want to try it with you.” She corrects, already looking for a switch to clear the room with more lights, smiling to herself at the sight of the city from the small windows. “It’s Friday night, Hyunwoo. And even on Friday nights, you’re always stuck here.”

Though, he can only give a soft answer. “I know.”

But why?

Why?

Why is someone like him just so given to the winery?

Her hand touches his shoulder, softly, gently, dragging her fingernails over the expanse of his t-shirt to ask: “Why?” Because she’s not one to stay with her curiousness, the questions that overtake her even at the peak of the night.

“Just because.”

“I don’t get it.” She skips the conversation, moving around until she is in front of him on the chair. His legs are extended, parted, fingers wrapped around a bottle of wine and she actually takes it from him and places it on the desk, getting lost in his eyes the more she speaks. He’d never see the poetry of him. “You’re a dancer, Hyunwoo. You’re meant to be in some club, dancing the night away with some girl—”

“I have you,” Hyunwoo replies, though they’re not a serious matter—much less have they voiced out their clear ministrations, what unites them. Their start had been simple, for Hyunwoo is a dancer, took years of classes just like her, artists that found love in some other shape of art…and ended up not being good at it. Their only choice was to get better together. “…And that wine really is calling for me.”

Slipping her fingertips on the bottle that had captured their attention, she uses a utensil to open it, grabbing two glasses with quickened movements. “I knew you’d end up trying it!”

“You always make me try new things.”

“Because you’re a boring grandpa, sometimes.” She answers, passing the glass down to him, surprised when his arm wraps around her waist, bringing her down to settle her weight down on his thigh, her knees pressed to his, his eyes staring directly into her soul after taking a sip of the wine. She follows his actions, sighing in delight. “This is good.”

“It is.” He answers, smiling at her with that glint behind his eyes. “At least, I’m good at something. Wines, you know.”

She blinks at that, letting her hands roam his face, learning every aspect of him—of the lips she has gotten to kiss a handful of times, never too profound, as if afraid of falling. But Hyunwoo is a ticking bomb, he’s waiting to grab her by the hand and drag her into the depths of bliss that is…being around him. “You’re good at everything, Hyunwoo.” She replies, leaning closer until her shoulder is against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. “Just because you weren’t good at poetry from the beginning doesn’t mean you’re bad at it.”

“I just don’t get it,” Hyunwoo mumbles. “Poetry? Someone like me shouldn’t even be rhyming stuff.”

“Oh yeah, sure, let yourself get carried away by the supposed stigma of society that says that buff men can’t be sensitive or have a braincell sometimes.” She huffs out her answer, looking into his eyes and seeing the adoration in them, his silent stance speaking more than his words ever could. “We’re dancers—of course you’d end up liking poetry. You’ve danced to poetry, without knowing,” And her smile expands in a grin when she remembers that one night in which they did go out to dance, the night of their first kiss, the reason as to why Hyunwoo never disappeared from her brain. Hips snug together, arms slotted in fitted ways; two souls conjoining. “It’s music. Hyunwoo, if there’s anyone that does music justice in this world it’s you.” She takes a sip of her drink just at the same time that he does, the dulcet taste sticking to her tongue, begging to be taken away by him. By his kiss. “The difference is that music sticks to our brains—the lyricism of it is meant to be remembered, but poetry sticks to the soul. Let your soul speak, if it’s about the winery or about me, just let it have a voice. It’s getting better, I promise.”

His arm tightens around her waist, leaning forward until his lips press to hers softly, carefully, as if he’s afraid he’ll be caught, and he may. When Hyunwoo pulls away, his legs parting even more in the process. “You’re a doll, you know that?”

“I try to be for gods on legs just like yourself.” She replies, leaning her weight back before closing her eyes at the warmth of him. “Hyunwoo…”

“Yes?”

“We’ll make it someday.” She says, trying to sway into his heart, surprised to feel his breathing stopping for a moment, as if taken off guard. “You, as a poet. Me, as an artist.”

“I don’t think so—”

“That’s what dreams are for, aren’t they?” She replies. “It’s not for thinking, it’s for imagining, dummy.”

And she may imagine that, someday, her fingers may hook around a brush just at the same time that he reads over a book. Just at the same time that they grow away from that winery and turn into the exact persona that no one would have ever imagined them to be. And more than that, together, to be exact.

But that’s what dreams are for.

###

“Do you like Hyunwoo?”

Taking care of children may probably be one of the things she likes the least—but someone at the winery had brought their daughter to work today, and having children close to alcoholic drinks may not be the best of ideas. Hence, while seated in front of her canvas, in front of the window that sometimes shows the figure of Son Hyunwoo—just like now—, she wonders why the child that could not even braid her hair a few minutes ago now is intelligent enough to guess that she likes Hyunwoo.

Seojin swings her legs back and forth, seated on a chair right beside her, and she turns to look at her briefly, a smile on her features. “Maybe,” She answers, earning a big beam from the seven-year-old child. Once returning to her painting, a mess of colors and emotions that she cannot explain—too much green and yellow, currently, perhaps inspired by Sunny, hanging around the living room, she voices more of her thoughts out. “Why do you think I like him?”

“Because you look at him like how my mom looks at my dada.” Seojin replies smartly, moving the little baby hairs away from her face to look at the man that is kneeling down in front of the greeneries to pick up some fruits. “Hyunwoo looks like a prince.”

“He does.”

Curiousness overtakes her. “Then, why isn’t he your prince?”

Simple, she believes, the answer slips her tongue just when she stares away from her canvas, twirling her brush in between her fingers when Hyunwoo becomes a clear shadow that passes through the window, embarking a trip towards her heart. She had been touched by too many people, in love plenty of those, she had gotten drunk far more than a princess could ever tell, made mistakes that were horrendous, tainted her soul in distrust. That’s not something a princess does, or a doll, like Hyunwoo calls her sometimes. “Because I’m not a princess.” She answers, shrugging her shoulders just when she creates another line of the canvas, quickened and interrupted by Seojin voicing out her concerns.

“But you like him…if you like the prince, that makes you a princess.” Seojin speaks quickly, standing up from her spot and getting in the way with her canvas, the tips of her messy hair—still in a braid—getting scattered with a bit of paint. She does her best to take the small towel that hangs from her shoulder to clear the brown strands, but Seojin is not paying attention. “Why don’t you make him your boyfriend?”

Because it may be a bit crazy—a bit too out of what she normally does, simply date around and wait until it is over. It may mean love and part of her just fears what that could mean, or if Hyunwoo would even want something like that, for he had not voiced it out either. “I’m afraid he’d say no.”

“You’re pretty, though.”

“It takes more than being pretty to get a man like him.” She tells her, only to widen her eyes when Seojin rushes towards the entrance of the house.

“Of course not, you’re nice and cute, what else does he want?!” Seojin fires back, too overexcited when she opens the door with swinging motions, not helped by the strong wind that almost closes it again. “I’m going to tell him—”

“Seojin, no!” But Seojin moves too fast, already running to the left to go to the field in which Hyunwoo is working at. Without knowing, she stands up quickly, letting her brush fall on the floor just as she feels her heart racing at the mere words that Seojin had brought to life innocently. Someone’s half, a story to tell, a tale to finish—a fairytale, one that she has never lived, never got the chance to have with the people that she liked.

The wind moves her hair, her dress, crazy just as she wonders through the fields, hearing the giggles that escape Seojin’s lips. Just when she picks up her steps, the heels of her boots digging deeper into the grass, she watches Hyunwoo kneel down in front of Seojin, putting his ear closer to her lips just when she mumbles something to him. Slowing down her steps as she nears them, she’s met by Hyunwoo’s stare that trails up her legs and towards her features, giving her a piece of his heart in a smile.

She has never been this nervous—not when seated on his lap, not when kissing him, not when she promises herself that Hyunwoo is the reason behind her solitude these past few months, afraid of getting her heart broken, but also needing more of him. Her fingers slot with each other, trying to look for leverage, just when Seojin lifts her hands in the air, happiness overflowing. “She likes you!”

“Seojin, I asked you not to go out running like that.” She scolds softly, letting out a sigh at her last word, only to watch Hyunwoo nearing her.

“She came here to tell me a secret.” He says.

“We both know it’s not a secret.” She replies, wary of the small eyes that are staring at them as they speak. Hyunwoo is having the time of his life with this, his broad chest shaking with laughter. “You’re not even good with children, stop pretending you are now—”

“I’m not.”

“Hyunwoo—”

His fingers go through his hair, the strands curving to cup his face softly, caressing it with the twirl of his bags. Parted, showcasing his forehead that creases a bit when he speaks. “But, I like you, too.” He tells her, speaking nonchalantly, albeit laughing a bit to himself. Perhaps, the people around—ahem, Seojin—may be the reason behind his nervousness. “What if we settle this with a date? Friday?”

“…As if you were not going to spend your Friday night with me already.” She answers, her voice cut short when a set of plucked, small flowers flies in the air and falls on top of them. The extended hands and the huff that came from Seojin is enough of a reason to showcase that she must have plucked some flowers, thrown it at them as some sort of celebration.

“You’re so cute together!”

“Ah, Seojin, don’t pluck the flowers like that. That hurts them.” Scolding, she starts, only to hear Hyunwoo muffling his laughter when she kneels down and picks Seojin up on her hands, the weight making her puff her cheeks out. “I’ll take her inside before she starts telling people that I like you.”

“No one knows?!” Seojin voices out, only to have her hand pressing down on her small mouth.

“And no one will know, Seojin.”

Turning around, she feels Hyunwoo’s eyes on her form and she swears she hears his laughter, the promise of an endless love and a date that may be the start of her doom.

###

Living in the moment, that had always been her mantra. And what a way to live in the moment, it is, to be held in Hyunwoo’s arms.

Never had anyone taken her breath away, in a way that her chest constricts and still, she can’t have enough oxygen inside of her. But he does. Of course, it is the man that is dancing the night away with her that is doing so—the only person in this entire town that could have her thinking of a house in a hill, with not so immaculate decorations but homely ones instead, of walking barefoot on the tiles to reach him, wrap her arms around him as he downs his first cup of coffee of the day. But he does. Son Hyunwoo does, absentmindedly perhaps, simply by smiling at her, by holding her closer and dipping her into the dance floor, as if she’s a feather and he’s a bird—meant to coexist together.

Because, once every few moons, someone like her falls in love…and it is so slow and calculated in its process that she is surprised by her patience, by her abstinence in having him, but Hyunwoo is worth it. He’s worth waiting a million years, the slow music around them in the romance themed Friday night, paired with lighted up hearts in pink shapes is everything she could have never imagined happening. But here’s Hyunwoo, a predicament, the one stone in her road that had her falling and she’d go back and do it again if she had to.

…She had never been one to learn from her mistakes, after all, and if Hyunwoo is one…

This is the greatest fucking mistake of her life.

Her fingers wrap around the edge of his collar, opened buttons welcoming his taut chest that she traces with the tip of her index finger. “Showing some cleavage here, I see.” She says, sending a toothy grin that she can’t imagine herself giving to anyone but him—one of those that show her gums, make her seem a bit childish, and yet speak of nothing but excitement. “We’re twinning, then.”

Hyunwoo’s smile falters, his eyes flickering down to the neckline of her dress before laughing at his own antics. His cheeks are tainted pink, or maybe the lights are deceiving her, but it’s a nice color to match his beige button down and that rosiness of his lips that she will probably dare test later on the night. Probably meaning…certainly, as long as he’s into it. “You talk a lot.”

“And you talk too little.”

“I’m not a man of words.”

“You’re an action man?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to show you.” And with that, he presses her body closer to his, her hands stopping her ministrations to expand on top of his chest, catching her footing quickly, learned from years of dancing. Her feet move with expertise, along with his, the lingering smell in between them of fruity drinks and dinner. His hand moves on her waist, rest along her hips and sighs heavily, as if nearing their bodies will end of suffocating them but also filling them up with attraction. Past attraction, even, whatever it is that flutters on her chest and has her thinking about the beauty of being held by him instead of simply voicing it out is some magic that she can’t quite explain.

“Ooh, Hyunwoo is talking big.” She wiggles her eyebrows, trying to regain some power and speaking because—damn, it’s what he does. He gets her tongue going, her mind railing, her heart aching simply to have a piece of him. Hyunwoo seems like her future, and she’d be disappointed if this is not some sign from life that the only man that she feels like falling in love for is anything but trouble. “Let me tell you something. I’ll recite a poem to you, Shownu.” The way she spits out the poet name he had come up with has him smiling, nodding along to her words. “Roses are red, violets are blue—”

“Aren’t violets supposed to be, well, violet?”

“Don’t go smart on me now.” She replies, resting her head against his shoulder and looking towards the other couples dancing; some older, some younger, some definitely together for a long time, some learning to fall in love. Where do they fall? Where do an artist and a poet fall more than together? “You know what? I forgot. Thank you. Now, I can’t tell you anything.”

Hyunwoo closes his eyes when he laughs, rubbing his thumbs against her hips before he lowers his head slightly, bending his body in a way in which he can capture her lips in a kiss, though fleeting and soft. “My pleasure to make you speechless, doll.”

She squints at him, taking him by the face with both hands to stare into his eyes. Well, he’s not wrong, for the tip of her tongue is trying to look for words to tell him, for flirtations to whisper in his ears, for more than simple actions to clarify her interest in him, one that is already as clear as water, as the sky, as a glassed window itself. Because…she has talked enough, to other people, to people who did not want her to speak but still pretended to listen, and who would think that someone like her could find love in something as silent as art, and Hyunwoo, himself?

“You’re something else.”

“Good thing?”

“Very good thing.” She complies, leaning forward to press her lips to his, relishing on the taste of him before humming, eyes still closed. “I wish I could tell everyone just how head over heels you have me.”

But she can’t. She can’t turn this relationship serious, because it would not benefit them in the work place—Hyunwoo has more to lose than she ever could, but also because the timing of them will never seem to be right. She has to hold back, not because Hyunwoo is slow in his movements to her heart, but because he’s so skilled in his way there that she’s afraid something else could happen. What if it doesn’t work out? What if he’s indeed a prince, and she ends up running away in fear of the constricting seriousness of the situation?

“I have you head over heels?” He asks, as if he likes to hear her saying such things…and damn, he probably does.

She gasps, contrary to what one would believe. “Of course. Hyunwoo, I’ve been practically into you for the past few months and you still think I’m not head over heels?”

“Why?”

“What?” She asks, watching the way he lowers his lips and kisses her softly, delicately running his tongue on top of her upper lip, her hands trailing down to his neck, grasping softly to feel the pulse in there, Hyunwoo’s arms wrapped around her body entirely by the time he speaks again.

Rare. Of course, it had to be something important if Hyunwoo dares voice it out. “Why don’t you just show me how head over heels you are?”

This is exactly how she finds herself in Hyunwoo’s apartment, how suddenly being friends flashes in the back of her eyelids and reminds her that it has not been months, but years since Hyunwoo has taken up the vast majority of her heart. In the couch that he lays her on to take off his shirt, lips latching to her pulse points, sucking the soul away from her with each flutter of the plumpness of his skin, she had told him about the eleven years she spent in ballet classes and in between chuckles, she had admitted to being kicked out for flirting with the instructor’s son too much. The shirt that is thrown on the floor by the time he leads her to his room, hands expanded on her thighs, reminds her of the night three years ago—New Years’ Eve, when Hyunwoo couldn’t go back home to his parents and his frown was evident. At the time, she had done her best to prepare a meal for everyone at the winery to enjoy, and it was called a coincidence when Hyunwoo’s favorite meals were served on the table.

Or that bed, the background noise of the sheets the one she listens to whenever he calls her, saying how much he misses her—listening to her and sometimes, telling stories of his own. The timing with him will always be off, because she’ll forever be scared of waiting for too long, even when his legs are parting her own, strong muscles resting on each side of her head, his heart pressed to hers, skin to skin. Everyone says that waiting…fuck, waiting is the key to love.

Like waiting for someone to wake up.

Or waiting for someone to come home.

Or waiting for the day in which she believes she’ll have earned his love.

Because Hyunwoo cannot be a love affair—she wouldn’t forgive herself if she gets to taste him once or fifty times, but never forever. It’d be tragic, just like the sighs that leave her lips, the way her nails cling to him, the smile on his face that reads adoration—that sees her as more than a line in his body count, more than a friend: he sees her as art, and that’s all she has ever wanted to be.

Art is complicated, and she finds herself being egotistic, like she has always been. Selfish, in a way. Her hands cling to him, her lips press to his skin, to his neck, wants him to be more of her own, wants for every crevice of his soul to belong to her. When her eyes connect to his, his hair is done a mess, ruffled and ruined just by her, the skin of his neck bathed in sin, Hyunwoo can only reciprocate the kiss that lands on his lips, fervent, needing to have the moment last for an eternity, the one eternity that she has never wished for.

In one kiss, she expects to have her confession be read. She expects Hyunwoo to listen to the silence, like she does with him, but maybe, he doesn’t understand…that one simplistic kiss is screaming at him that she’s falling in love—

No, that she is in love. And it feels like she is floating on the shore of a beach, the tingling sensation matching with the rays of sunshine making her forget that there is a world around her, that there will be repercussions like a broken heart or worse…a fired man.

With one last breath of his name, she hopes the confession fell into his ears, one that reads a single sentence:

I love you.

###

“Where is my book of poems?!”

“What?”

Pulling her gaze away from the break-up app showcased on her phone in between her fingertips, she looks at Hyunwoo practically turning the house upside down in his repertoire to find his notebook. When entering the kitchen, well overdue the time in which he goes back home, the trails of the night seek after him when he lifts whatever surface he can to find that notebook, that damned notebook that she knows means the world to him.

“My notebook. Did you take it?” Hyunwoo asks, eyes shaking, for she knows better than anyone else that, just like her sketchbook, his notebook includes motions of his being that no one should read, or have gotten to read other than herself. His hands are already resting on her arms, as if keeping her in place will resolve the predicament, they’re in, but she simply shakes her head. “Fuck, I swear I left it on this counter earlier—”

Scratching the back of her head, she watches as Hyunwoo moves with anxiousness, for the first time showing a sign on his face that screams…hopelessness. Perhaps, he’s afraid of losing what he had worked so hard for, or he’s afraid that tomorrow morning he’ll wake up to the sound of his poems being read to the daylight, to be showcased as a comedy, when all he has done is try to find a sense to that inner voice of his. “Let me help you.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking around the couches in the living room, under the mat, whichever bump in it inspected by her.

“This is it. I’ve lost it.” The hopelessness in his voice comes soon enough, throwing himself over one of the seats, slumping immediately with his hands softly bounded in front of him.

“You have not, Hyunwoo. I’m here to help you out—”

“It’s not here, and it’s definitely not in my car.” He answers, not even sparing her a glance when she nears him, arms outstretched to hold him in her arms. “Goodbye poetry, goodbye that stupid dream of mine—”

“Your poetry is not hidden in that notebook, it’s in you, Hyunwoo. Stop it.” She replies, taking his face in between her hands before letting her faded lipstick create a shadow on his lips with a gentle kiss. “Don’t say those things.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll shatter this earth if that means getting that notebook back.” After months of this relationship, unknown to the world, three months of absolute joy, she’d do everything to give him the world if she could. “Make that a promise. I won’t ever give up when it comes to you.”

And what’s with this…feeling that tells her that letting go of Hyunwoo will be impossible to her? That she has found it, that thing that her friends had always talked about. That love that goes past summer nights and the heat that comes with forgetfulness, or with winter and its need for warmth—a love that stands even when a train is nearing it, when saying goodbye could be easier than staying. But, she decided to stay—to stay for a long while, as long as he lets her, and so far…it has not been so bad.

If hiding in the storage room every Friday night as a date is excellence, then so be it. If hiding their romance to the eyes of everyone at the winery is what it takes to have Son Hyunwoo, so be it.

“Don’t be scared,” She tells him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nearing his face to her face, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders. “I’ll find it, I promise. I’ll find it.”

“No—”

“I said I’ll find it, and I will.”

Because she’d drop a star from the sky itself if it meant seeing him at peace, like he always is.

Which is why she almost turns the entire house upside down the next day, as if looking under the sofa will get her the precious notebook that her boyfriend is looking for. Sunny is somewhere, flapping its wings and resting on her shoulder as if to help her, and she even skips breakfast to favor finding a part of Hyunwoo’s soul. It’s only when she opens the door to her uncle’s office that she finally gets to see a glimpse of a notebook, seated on top of the mahogany desk her uncle is by, and it’s opened, shown to the world to bare Hyunwoo’s soul.

The weight of the flooring creaks under her, though it is not as loud as the thumping inside her chest when her eyebrows crease, moving with precision to reach for the notebook and plater her hand on top of the pages to cover the peeping eyes of her uncle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She says in between a whisper, hearing how her uncle stops his typing away on the keyboard before continuing, fingertips ushering her hand away so he can look at one of the poetic pieces written by Hyunwoo.

“I’m doing Hyunwoo a favor.”

“He’s been seeking for this notebook since yesterday, Uncle. That’s not helping him—” She tries to grab the fabric away, only to be stopped by a hand that wraps itself around her wrist. The glisten of happiness behind her Uncle’s eyes is clear, the document in front of him bleeding the words of Hyunwoo’s soul—sweet, caring, silent. “Explain.”

Her uncle lowers his glasses, plopping some of the blueberries on a white plate inside his mouth, munching slowly, with precision, patiently like he lives his life when he speaks: “I happened to come across it yesterday afternoon and took the time to read it. My boy has talent.” Her uncle replies, but her mind can only worry about the poems there—the little notes that they had shared in their written conversations when her uncle is in the room, perhaps dusted over with some lines on top of it caused by Hyunwoo’s precaution or if they are easily shown for the world to read. “So, I looked for some poetry contests online and I am mass sending my favorite poems—or a variety of such. The only way I can pay Hyunwoo for the support he has given me the past few years is by letting him go to something bigger than what he has right now.”

Letting him go, why is it that he is the only man that she has never thought of letting go of? His fingers always spread when around them, trapping her hand as if meant to be together forever. Sometimes, she likes to believe she’ll reach older years by his side—that one day she’ll get to see Hyunwoo with gray hairs, and he’d let his fingertips trace her wrinkly cheeks, pinching them with his usual smile on his face. Letting him go to another place, a place in which he’d become a true poet, could mean that he is simply leaving the winery, just like it could mean that he’d have to go anywhere else. Around the world, probably. Somewhere where opportunities for writers are far more fruitful.

She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, speechless, watching as her uncle continues to type and he asks a question, one that she can’t give an answer to because she can’t listen to him. Her ears beep intensely at the mere reminder that Hyunwoo is not a forever, because the title doesn’t exist or perhaps, because it has never been meant for her. His arms will not always wrap around her waist, his sighs won’t always end up on her nape, leaving her with a trail of goosebumps that can only be intensified by a kiss.

Another muse could exist in the far future for him.

And her canvas may consist of darker colors once he is gone.

“I see,” She breathes softly, only to earn a pointed side-eye from her uncle.

“You alright?”

“Kind of.”

“I’m doing this for him. He’s always said how he wants to go somewhere else, travel the world, you know? It would be nice if he got accepted.”

That’s a promise that she has heard in their late-night conversations, a reminder that the tapping of water on the vase will sometime overflow and leave them with the taste of memories. Her fingers try to wrap around the notebook again, but she ponders on the options of badness and wellness, of destroying his future or keeping him to herself. Instead biting down on her tongue, she nods at whatever her uncle said.

“Don’t tell Hyunwoo.”

About what? About the opportunities that will surely start to appear like clouds on his days?

“I won’t.”

And with that, she slips away from the room with a saddened sigh leaving her lips. Positivism lingers with nostalgia, it seems as though there is a goodbye—a piece of her mind that reads with certainty the words:

One day, you will have to let go of him.

Because, if you love him, you let him go, huh?

###

“It’d be cute.”

“What would be?”

“If one day, when we live together, we could hold one of your paintings up as decoration.”

His arm is extended on top of his bed, knees digging onto the mattress, his hand interlocked with hers on top of her abdomen. His body is resting by her side, black sweater riding up his tanned skin, looking at her with a messy hairstyle right after the small nap he had taken the moment they had arrived to his apartment. Hyunwoo is staring at her, she realizes, cheek pressed to his taut muscles, eyes inspecting her reaction when she finally pulls her gaze away from that one movie they had been wanting to watch—the initiation of a good actor, that had both written the script with his best friend, just as he had starred in it. She can remember the name of the actor right now, but it’s not like she cares.

Weeks after Hyunwoo’s stolen notebook issue, she had been the one to deliver it back to him after her uncle had stopped signing up the poems for every contest that he could find online. The life had been returned to Hyunwoo’s gaze, and he seemed to be more tranquil, breathing normally after days of silence that meant no one had read his poetry book. Instead, she’d take up on more working around the winery, trying to distract herself from her muse and on the long run, stopping herself from thinking of the end of something she feels like has just started, even after years of mutual attraction.

She rubs her free hand against her face, a few bumpy stops that she had not tried to conceal with makeup the first thing she touches, and still Hyunwoo looks at her as if she’s the world itself. Her worries may be spurts of non-knowledgeable insecurities, maybe Hyunwoo is the one person that won’t leave her.

“You would want to live with me?” Her voice doesn’t drop flirtatiously, instead she brings their joined hands up to her lips, kissing his knuckles in hopes of one day seeing his finger glisten with a band that calls him her husband. It’s stupid to think in a long run, to imagine Hyunwoo as the man to settle down with her, but he’s the one talking about it.

“Of course.” He says, eyes twinkling when he smiles, his fingers expanding to caress her bottom lip.

“I don’t think my art would be beautiful enough to be in our future home, though.” She replies, voice going through the depths of what their home would like. Tranquil, homely, perhaps with woodened decorations and too many memories—pictures of the people they love, of themselves, perhaps with a pet going around, or some old wines decorating the shelves.

Still playing with her lips, he answers. “Stop it.”

“I mean it.”

“Your art is fine.”

“Ah, I’m not good at it. We both know.” She says, shaking her head before straightening her back, sitting up on the bed and letting her asleep legs crack at her extension. “But what is it that you see in me that has you wanting to live together? That’s a big step.”

Her boyfriend turns around until he is facing the ceiling, their hands pulled away when he crosses his own over his chest. He breathes in softly, a smile plastered on his features, almost dumbly, too many thoughts that he can only voice out in a few words. “Because I love you.”

Oh, that would make sense. For time has taken its sweet years for her to feel as though he’s the only man that will ever love her for who she truly is, past the summery dresses and the faux smiles. “What do you love about me?” She asks, in a mere whisper that has her coming closer to him, as if nearing him will make her remember every part of Hyunwoo, in case she ever dares to forget about him in any day of her life.

“Can I say everything?”

“Yes,” She laughs, trailing her fingers up and down his arm, pecking his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt before resting her nose against the material. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Hyunwoo answers, sparing a glance at the movie before she captures his attention again.

“Your phone has gotten a few notifications. Aren’t you going to check them out?”

With his phone in vibration, he may have not noticed. “Oh yes, I hadn’t noticed.”

Hyunwoo stands up, his physique in clear view for her when he moves towards the bedside table, picking up his phone and squinting at the screen. For a moment, she inspects his room—the one piece of art that is hers and he had hung up there, in belief for her passion, and the little bits of him that rest in memories on every spot, even on the pillows that are now too uncomfortable in comparison to his body. She studies his expression, how a white light washes over his face and he reads, reads until his smile is permanently plastered on his face, until he checks his messages and whatever notification he had gotten before he wraps her up in the biggest of hugs.

Those that take her breath away, that has her chuckling at his strength, pressed down by the weight of his body, feeling every movement of his lips while they press down incessantly on different spots of her face. Her cheeks. Her neck. Up until when he decides that speaking is a necessity, that whatever has overjoyed his chest shall be shared with her.

She’ll never forget that smile—that smile that had warmed her, just like how it had turned her blood cold. Hyunwoo shows her the screen, but it is too close to her eyes for her to inspect more than the big letters. Not necessary to read more, because Hyunwoo speaks with excitement. “You didn’t tell me your uncle had sent my poetry out. I just got an offer of representation and a call to sell my book and get a contract!”

She wishes she could keep him, that she could trap him in her arms and simply tell him to stay there, to let the silence in between them fall into normality, into a sweetened lake that will take them to endless romantic bliss. Instead, she clasps her hands together, because his happiness is hers—and love is about that, giving more than receiving. “Fuck yes, I’m so proud of you! Is it for real?”

“Yes, your uncle just confirmed it!” And his lips slot with hers, in a way that tells her that he really does love her and maybe…he will stay. She will be the culprit of his poems, he will be the outline of the shadows in her paintings and their love shall remain like that. Two rhyming words, they are, joined together by a verse—and not another word could ever compare to the magic the two of them work.

“Let’s celebrate!” She cheers, wrapping her arms around his neck and squealing when he lifts her up from the bed, moving towards the kitchen to what is clearly a night filled with take-out and cheerful conversation.

Waiting for this, for Son Hyunwoo, is the best decision she has ever taken in her life. There is no regretting that.

###

That one hat that she had seen on Hyunwoo’s head plentiful of times is now on top of her hair, caging the memories to her brain the more she paints. Realism is not her forte, she will always say it, but a sigh leaves her lips when she finds herself painting the outline of him—past the muscles, the lips she dares to kiss, the eyes that look for her everywhere and anywhere, but in his soul. Hyunwoo will always be a soul in green—like the greeneries around the winery, where she met him, and the calmness of him is a representation of nature.

Love affairs are supposed to be red, passionate, they are supposed to feel like sex and carnality, they are supposed to be plenty of things…but Hyunwoo is not a love affair. If anything, he is the only man she has ever loved. The brush dimly moves against the canvas, her hair framing her face uncomfortably, but she doesn’t dare move the strands, because there is this vacant voice in the back of her head that is telling her something will happen. The twist of her gut, the taste on the back of her tongue, everything reads fear, like in any occasion she will be moved by her feet, dragged through the ground, given a piece of reality for falling in love.

Hyunwoo is somewhere around the winery, God knows where, speaking to the representative on the phone to state the conditions of the contract he will be signing with the company for the publication of his poems. This makes her nervous, but more so angry at herself.

What a fucking egotistic bitch, she can only tell herself, not because she is envious of what Hyunwoo will surely approach with his talent, but because she is afraid of losing him. Scared that one day Hyunwoo will look at his success and think of her as a loss more than a win. At some point, she lets the brush rest against the canvas for a second longer. A dot. A dot on the figure that is supposed to be her boyfriend…an ending, because dots can mean the finalization of an idea, just like how it can mean the end of a story.

She doesn’t hear footsteps, not even Sunny dares make a noise, tranquil on the windowsill when Hyunwoo lets out a sigh that speaks wonders. It has all the meaning of her world in one single breath that falls deafly, as if he knows there is something deep in her mind bothering her. His lips press to her temple, his eyes dare close to flutter his eyelashes against her skin and when he finally gives her an answer, there are undertones of happiness in his voice:

“They want me to move to New York for the publishing of three poetry books.”

And this is excellent—it’s the best of the best. It’s the opportunity Hyunwoo always wanted and the one that he deserves, but long distance is something that she doesn’t know if she could bear. She could always leave with him, live alongside him like they had always planned—but she’s tied to her uncle’s waist. The poor man, only getting older, needs to be thought about from time to time and the winery cannot be kept together without someone helping him.

So, this means that her dreams are crushed.

This means that leaving is not a choice.

“That’s good, Hyunwoo. Congratulations.” She tells him, putting the brush down and twirling around on her chair, not as excitedly as she used to whenever she wore a flowery dress. Instead, he inspects her features, a small smile grazing his features. The whiteness of the room contrasts his beam, the twinkle in his dark irises when he says:

“We could always leave together. You’d have huge opportunities as an artist there—”

“No, love. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?” His fingers stop playing with hers, trying to look for the certainty of a possibility that has been broken. That, once again, leaves her with the lack of a bound that will never be broken.

“My uncle is not getting older, and you know his health is not the best nowadays. I can’t—I’ve been selfish my own life, I can’t leave him like that.” The affection in her voice must have softened something within him, and Hyunwoo is about to drop the subject, leave the talk for later like he always does, but instead, she continues. “D—Do you think we should break up?”

“What?” Hyunwoo asks, his voice rushed, waiting for her to correct herself.

“You will go live to New York. I will stay here. I don’t know if—” She cuts herself off, looking up to the ceiling and biting down her bottom lip. She has always been the one to break relationships up, but with this one, she can’t do it. Her eyes flicker, her tongue twists and she has to grab his hands stronger for her to gain some power. “I don’t know if it will work, truthfully.”

“Is that what you think?” His eyes flutter with endless blinking, trying to process exactly what she is saying and she feels her heart being ripped when she realizes what is happening—

She is finally speechless.

And in the worst of ways.

“Tell me why.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave, you can’t stay.” She tells him, shaking her head. “And I will never forgive myself if I stop you from being the poet that you always wanted to be.”

And even then, when anger overtakes his features along with disappointment, Hyunwoo is the most beautiful man she has ever met—inside and out. Her fingers trail through his hair, her lips leaning forward to seek a kiss out of him but when they join in the sweet gesture, his lips capture her strongly, as if needing more of her, as if letting go hurts him as much as it hurts her. His soul is trying to engulf hers, to down her in the most gorgeous of memories that started with poems about her, spoken insecurities, healed hearts, too much time to waste and of course, an ending.

His arms wrap around her tightly, her lips unwrapping from his to breathe out against his shoulder, her eyes closing tightly when she repeats: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Love isn’t enough in most situations. This is one of them.

###

Her uncle would have probably loved to see the scenery in front of her.

The bustling city, the flickering lights, the people that join and walk alongside each other, the cars passing by and the extreme comparison to the winery. Perhaps, he would have not liked it as much—but who is she to know. Instead, she tries to make her way towards the café near her hotel room, desperate for her caffeine intake before her visits to the endless museums that she had looked up online. It’s difficult to move, much more when people press to her side, but she manages.

What catches her attention is the old looking library that passes her by as she walks on the sidewalk. The windows are huge, perhaps more than one floor in the place, showcasing the newest of releases or the most classic of pieces. Her feet retract the slightest, smiling at the sign that reads poetry and looking for a certain pen-name that she knows better than her own. The simplistic cover is enough to have her eyes widening, looking around as if caught by destiny—because Hyunwoo is there, by his penname, of course, but he’s there.

With persistence, she moves inside the library, grabbing one of the copies of the book that had caught her attention—the first one, one that she had been too fearful to ever look for, but now blinks at her almost mockingly. Or proudly, really, this would not have happened if only she had been selfish and snatched the notebook away from her uncle’s hands.

Some decisions are good on the long run.

Her fingers flick through the pages, recognizing some of the poems, even tutting at the fact that some of them are edited but his being still is exuded in his art. A little bit after, however, she is surprised to see an outline that she recognizes immensely—that one drawing that she done of Hyunwoo, more of a sketch, that he had kept with him, now plastered on the edge of the first book he released. Years later, and she had never noticed this.

The poem surprises her, the words ‘her’ its title, reminiscent of how she had always wondered if it was her that he was referencing. The more she reads, the more her smile widens…because nothing has been edited, not even a single syllable, and that is enough to press the book to her chest, closing her eyes to match the tightness of her chest.

He will always be the best rhyme for her poems, but it’s time for her to start a new one.

It’s time to let go.

That doesn’t mean she lets go of the memories, buying the book and pressing it to the depths of her purse, pushing the door open to go have her caffeine intake.

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