Park Seonghwa Fluff - Tumblr Posts

Seasons came and went; he broke your heart in the icy winter, you learned to fill the hollow in your chest by spring - as the cherry blossoms that reminded you so much of him blossomed - and by the beginnings of summer, you liked to believe you were alright, sort of." god damn writer u pulled my heart with these few sentences this was incredibly heart touching and beautiful wording 🥺❣

“I know I broke your heart but let me put it back together again.”  😭😭😭 this was so cute!! at the same time I'm like hwa please 🤨 don't act like that again! but men will be men as usual haha

how you get the girl - park seonghwa

"say it's been a long six months and you were too afraid to tell her what you want. and that's how it works, that's how you get the girl. and then you say; i want you for worse or for better, i would wait for ever and ever, broke your heart, i'll put it back together, i would wait for ever and ever"

pairing: park seonghwa x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst if you really really squint

word count: 1.8k

warnings: hwa being dumb

author's note: thank you so so so much to @hoonieversed for proofreading this for me, you're literally an angel <3 this is quite literally a brain rot generated by cutting up strawberries while listening to how you get the girl by taylor swift and thinking of seonghwa,,, yeah.

masterlist | navi

Six months since he disappeared from your life leaving a hollow right in your chest. You would be foolish to say that you did not want him anymore even after so long, even when he left without an explanation. 

“I just think we don’t work anymore.”

That was all he had left you with, no more, no less. And what could you do if not let him go? You couldn’t force him to stay with you if that was not what he wanted anymore. It hurt like hell, but you foolishly kept telling yourself that he would be back if he really loved you. Delusion? Perhaps. Some “if you love them, you have to let them go” type bullshit. That was what you chose to believe. What you had to believe to not fall apart.

Seasons came and went; he broke your heart in the icy winter, you learned to fill the hollow in your chest by spring - as the cherry blossoms that reminded you so much of him blossomed - and by the beginnings of summer, you liked to believe you were alright, sort of. Now, you would be lying saying you did not want answers for whatever was on his mind when he broke up with you. You also started hating the part of you that still loved him - that still cared - anyway.

The cashier’s cough pulled you from your thoughts, looking at you expectantly once your eyes focused back on them. Right, you needed to pay. You handed over the cash with a sheepish smile, quickly accepting the change and picking up the bag of groceries. Faced with the automated doors of the supermarket you sighed in surrender; the rain was unforgiving tonight. You made a beeline for your car, muttering curses under your breath for forgetting your umbrella. 

A short car ride later, and another mad-dash under the downpour, and you were in the comfort of your apartment, sighing in relief. After a hot shower, you put together a quick dinner to enjoy on the couch; a little treat to end the horrible week coming now to an end. 

Only, when you turned on the TV, his favorite movie was playing. You let out an exaggerated groan of frustration, more so because, once again, you thought of him. Only the pitter patter of the rain outside gave you small comfort, like it always had. You switched to Netflix quickly, a bitter taste in your mouth upon realizing stupid, trivial things like these could still get a reaction out of you. And it was safe to say that your mood only soured when the doorbell rang, interrupting the near-perfect peace and quiet of your apartment. You sighed, getting up, wondering who it could be so late at night. 

Apparently, the last person you expected it to be.

“Are you insane?” were the first words that left your mouth upon seeing him standing at the entrance, big brown eyes pleading and wet like a dog. Not bad for the first interaction you had with him in six months. 

Seonghwa stood there like a ghost, hair wet and clothes clinging to him as if he had walked under the rain to get there. Had he? You stood there, looking in each other’s eyes, trying to have a silent conversation. 

Are you just going to stand there and not say anything? 

Please, let me in, let me explain. 

Why should I? 

Conflicted, you still cracked the door open a little wider. His eyes lit up for the briefest of moments but he stood his ground, refusing to move until you said so. You jerked your head, motioning him to come in. You couldn’t just turn him away. 

“Hold on” you said, disappearing down the hallway only to emerge a minute later with a big towel and slippers. He silently accepted them, quick to discard his wet shoes and quickly pat his hair down after closing the door behind him.

You stood, stealing glances, not really knowing what to say given the absurdity of the situation. This was not what you had planned for the night in the slightest. Your head was just about to explode with the amount of questions spinning around in it. You thought you’d never see him again.

“I’m sorry for showing up out of the blue,” his voice was quiet and low and you couldn’t help but scoff. “It’s been a long six months and I… I wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” shocked could barely cover what you were feeling right then. He wanted to talk? “Couldn’t you have texted?” 

Seonghwa must have sensed the frustration in your voice, you saw it in the way his shoulders sagged a bit. 

“I was walking by and-” he sighed. “I don’t know, I just wanted to see you.”

Oh, this was rich. 

“Weren’t you the one who suggested not doing that ever again?” you crossed your arms, voice accusatory. You could not believe this in any capacity. You sighed, after all, wasn’t this what you wanted all along? For him to show up and give you answers? Looking back at him and seeing him stand there, a little lost, a little afraid, made your heart twist. You silently led him to the kitchen, where he sat and waited as you fixed up hot tea for the both of you. 

“I was afraid,” he said, still not meeting your eyes, when you set his cup down in front of him. Your eyes widened a bit, not expecting this from him at all. You sat down, suddenly with shaky legs. 

“I was too afraid to tell you what I really wanted,” finally, he looked at you, that familiar look of sadness in his eyes making your heart speed up the littlest bit. “Which I don’t know how translated into me leaving you, I must’ve lost my mind. I’m sorry.”

There was a part of you, the one who had kicked in when he left, that was resisting against it. That was reminding you of all the ways you had grown to be without him, of how you could do it alone. Then there was another, a bigger, part of you pulling at your heart, saying that yes, you could live without him, but you did not want to. 

“I don’t know if sorry will cut it, Seonghwa.” Despite this, you felt yourself giving in, which you still were not sure was a good thing. 

“Don’t you miss it?” he asked, leaning closer. Your breath hitched. “How things used to be when we were together? I do. I miss waking up to you, talking to you, hell, I just miss you.” 

Of course you did, who were you trying to kid. You missed how he always made sure to pack your lunch when he packed his, how he knew to hold you a little tighter when you were stressed beyond belief and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you fell asleep. When you came back home after a long day and found that he had let himself in with his spare key, and was waiting for you with a warm meal ready. And how after, a little tipsy from the wine, he would suggest dancing. How you would not have time to answer that he was already pulling your giggling figure off the chair and into his arms, gently swaying around the kitchen as he sang softly.

He was so attentive, so loving, everything you ever wanted. You missed loving him, being loved by him.

“Why?” you despised the tears burning in your eyes, blurring the sight of his face. A beat of silence. You blinked, letting the tears fall, seeing him in no better condition.

“I was afraid I needed you more than you needed me,” he whispered. Your heart gave a painful tug in your chest, mind racing, asking how could he believe something so untrue. 

Silence hung thick in the room and Seonghwa started doubting his decision of showing up. His heart was beating to the rhythm of the word stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course you wouldn’t want anything to do with him after he broke your heart in such a way, of course you would have nothing to say to him anymore. But something inside him broke, and all that he had kept bottled up for months came pouring out of his mouth in a shaky, stumbling rant.

“I never wanted anyone else but you. I want you for worse or for better, and I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I would wait forever for you. I won’t be the same idiot again. I should’ve talked to you back then and I’ve been kicking myself over it all this time.” 

And there they were, the words you had wanted, yearned, to hear for six months. Big, brown, desperate eyes staring at you and all. In them, you searched the love you were so used to seeing, a soft gasp leaving your lips when you found it. 

“I know I broke your heart but let me put it back together again.” 

You sat, numb, words failing you, as you let your emotions wash over you like a bucket of ice-cold water. There was no doubt in your mind that you still loved him, that you wanted him. Floored by the apology of the century, the wildest dream of anyone wanting their person back, you didn’t notice the hopeful look in his watery eyes vanishing, his shoulders dropping.

“I’ll go,” Seonghwa smiled curtly, beginning to stand. You pulled him back down by the hand, heart beating so loudly in your chest that you were afraid he was going to hear it. 

“I don’t want you to,” his eyes widened upon hearing your words. 

There were a lot of things you knew Park Seonghwa to be, and one of them was being genuine. He had never lied to you, not now, not when he left you. Yes, he should have talked to you, but even then he had acted on what he believed to be the truth. 

“Really?” his voice was barely above a whisper, eyes searching for any indication of the opposite on your face. 

“Seonghwa, you quite literally got the girl,” a small smile tugged at your lips as he still looked at you, lost. “You better know how to keep her this time” 

His wide, beaming smile melted your heart, you had not seen it in a while. You hoped you got to see it forever. You pulled him into you and he happily welcomed you in his arms, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You felt his tears wet your skin, just as yours were his shirt. 

“Please never believe that I don’t need you, Seonghwa,” you whispered against his chest. 

“I promise.” 

Seonghwa knew this hurt he put you both through was all his fault. Of all the mistakes he had ever made, giving you away was his worst one yet. He would never let go of you, never again, not when you were the only thing he had ever gotten right.

Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

🩸 pairing: vampire!gallerist/collector!seonghwa x art historian!gn!reader 🩸 genre: fluff, noir, soulmates, supernatural, strangers(?) to lovers, art nerding 🩸 summary: a post-graduate student specialising in impressionism, you were a regular visitor to the many art galleries in the city. who knew that among the paintings you would encounter your favourite, timeless work of art? 🩸 wordcount: 12.3k 🩸 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of blood, fangs, wounds, suggestive, many pet names (love, darling etc), art theory/history ponderings, time skips, mention of rituals, philosophy, hwa is centuries-old, yearning hwa 🩸 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩸 a/n: happy birthday to @starrysvn!! lheo, ilysm, and i hope you enjoy this little rambling <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🩸 playlist: nfwmb - hozier, who is she? - i monster, keep on loving you - cas, la vie en rose - edith piaf, a l'ombre de nous - pierre barouh, les feuilles mortes / sous le ciel de paris - yves montand, moon over bourbon street / until - sting

‘Love and Pain’ - an enigmatic masterpiece that was painted by Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian artist, in 1895. In vibrant oil paints a dramatic scene interpreted by millions as something more sensual, darker, revealing was immortalised. Perhaps quite literally. You leaned back on one hand, feeling the coolness of the bench located in the middle of the gallery hall, careful to not let the notebook in your hands slip from your lap. ‘Vampire’ - first, it was a label for the woman with the alluring, long red locks that was leaning over her supposed lover, then it turned into a second name for the work. It was comical how Munch himself had initially stated the piece depicted nothing more than a woman kissing the neck of a man, and yet, the tale had told itself. What followed were six versions of this same subject, with a woodcut titled “Vampyr II”, followed by paintings titled ‘Vampire’ and ‘Vampire in the Forest’, and then through common acceptance that this indeed was the ‘submission of a man to the bite of a vampire’, if you were to paraphrase a critic who had been in an astoundingly similar position as you, except without the decades upon decades of other material to refer to. They had been the firstcomers, the initial perceivers to set the tone for society’s consumption of the artwork, the louder of the many voices in the artwork who often had the final say. In some senses, they were your long lost colleagues - they were there to create history, and you were there to study it.

While it was not exactly a part of the movement you had decided to specialise in, you nonetheless would never reject the opportunity to learn more about the stunning world of visual arts, trying to guess how the artist had felt in the moment, what did they see beyond what they presented to the world, how did they translate the heart into brushstrokes. You were taken by all forms of art since you were little - having grown up surrounded by items that were far removed from what you called your air, you were intrigued by anything that was external to your version of ordinary. In your case, it just so happened to be the little private gallery that you had spent almost all of your monthly allowance to visit when you were a school kid - you had been so dedicated, in fact, that the elderly guard who had often also acted as a guide to the visitors had become your first friend in the art world, something of a grandparent figure, and on multiple occasions - when the lack of eyes would allow, simply let you through with a grin and glance out of the entrance doors.

And so here you were, many years later, many hard decisions and conversations behind you, regarding artworks with an unprecedented soulful closeness that you had initially thought was unattainable. Had you believed all those who remained outside of the walls of your personal paradise, you would have been immersed in the same cycle that had been drilled into the majority of your family members, except maybe a handful who you had never met for the exact reason that they had chosen something for themselves. But you regarded your dream as the thorned path - undoubtedly more challenging, not immediately fruitful, but in the long run leading to the heaven of your design. What more could you ask for?

It was enjoyable to be alone with the paintings surrounding you, portals to new realms that any visitor could have the pleasure of exploring. And what was even more inspiring, was that in the eye of every beholder was a different universe, and no matter who one would speak to, their version of the painting would be different, even if just slightly. You huffed, amused. When was the last time you had visited a gallery with anyone else? You could not quite recall - it was likely that you had never seeked company from another because you were more than satisfied with the company of the legendary works that were regarding you from the many walls. It was possible to compose oneself, spend limitless time on every piece, study the details, and drift into one’s own musings when there was no one to ground them. This was when you dared to say you got your best work done. Even though you, of course, conducted research within university and ventured out to galleries, museums, collectors or auctions only within professional bounds, the bulk of the thinking process was carried out in times such as this. When it was just you, your notebook and pen, and a new point of focus. However, this time, you could not say you were fully attentive to the painting that you had decided to focus on, as a certain someone was appearing to share your level of interest in ‘Love and Pain’ too. 

A gentleman who could not be much older or younger than you, at most a couple of years, stood off to the right of the bench, unmoving, gaze fixated on the painting. Dressed in a pinstripe navy suit, light blue dress shirt, lacquered dress shoes and a matching navy tie, he was nothing short of being a moving work of art. Hints of a glimmer from his thin framed, elegant silver spectacles gave the man a scholarly aura, while the slicked back dark hair - evidently a lot longer than the styling would suggest, added notes of business, entrepreneurship, perhaps leadership. Nothing was out of place, not a crease, not an exposed thread in sight. Needless to say, your curiosity had been sparked.

Much like you found joy in exploring creations in the realm of the visual arts, you were fond of crafting stories about the people who were strangers in passing. You could not help it; perhaps this affinity for creative internal ramblings had come as a package with studying the degree you had selected, or perhaps this was a naturally occurring guilty pleasure that you simply had not had the chance to entertain before you cut yourself off from expectations and predetermined patterns of thought. But now, you had the full pleasure of wondering, letting your mind travel to lands far away as you took the real life masterpiece in, and pondered why the man could be here, what he could be thinking as he studied Munch’s work, and what resonated with him, and only him. 

There was a melancholia with the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, that much you could decipher in the stranger’s stance. Even then, there was a gentle burning flame within his heart judging by just how dedicated he was to inspecting the artwork. Like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and was attempting to memorise them anew and recognise each change, bit by bit. You suppressed a chuckle, entertaining the possibility of this man finding a kinship with the painting, but chose to set the idea aside for the time being, instead focusing on sketching his emotional landscape. Was the stranger remorseful? Lonely? Perplexed? You could not quite pinpoint the answer, at least not before you noticed the man’s head starting to turn, and soon enough, his eyes were peering into your own.

They were two pools of deep chocolate, an all-consuming shade that, due to the ever so slightly dimmer lights than in the general halls of the gallery, appeared to be approaching a captivating onyx. The gaze that originated from behind the glasses, and glided across the room that was suddenly too small for two struck you, and you could feel heat starting to rise on your face, blush threatening to reveal the effect of the man’s spontaneous act of confidence. Lowering your head, you gave the stranger a sheepish grin, and pretended to make a random note, pen erratically scribbling over a filled page. He continued to regard you with that same unwavering expression, and only when you looked up again did he seem to catch himself and give you a closed-mouth smile, equally as bashful as yours, and crossed his arms. One step, another, and he was right by the painting, though careful to not obstruct your view - instead, he took his time to read the brief paragraph on the information plaque that had been stuck to the wall off to the side of ‘Love and Pain’. With the same familiarity that is common among those grieving, or in a state of existential sorrow. A bittersweetness prevailed in his aura, one that reminded you of autumn - the falling leaves in red and gold, twirling to join a magnificent carpet, but nonetheless, making a departure, albeit a nearly unnoticeable one. Had he seen many fallen leaves? Was he himself approaching the season? You gasped, but even though the sound was barely audible, you caught the stranger making a minuscule turn in response. 

His footsteps were louder than your thoughts, his departure an irrevocably impactful act that left you breathless. You did not know him, and yet you felt as though you had gotten a glimpse at multiple lifetimes, and were part of a moment that was greater than yourself. In the wordless exchange, question after question had found its root, and something told you that you should not dare attempt to craft him a backstory, and choosing to believe in anything but what would be declared by him would be a gross misinterpretation, much like one that was carried out by those who did not wish to reflect on art and look beyond a first impression. For the first time since you had made your initial discovery of the arts, you felt like you were not alone in the gallery, the other visitor’s presence remained so intense that he could be sat right next to you, scrutinising the same painting, entertaining the same thought. Was the woman with the bright tresses indeed what she had been declared to be over the many years she had been introduced to many venues, many variations of public, and finally finding a home on this wall? Did she settle with her lover, or perhaps a carefully selected victim? Would the man have an answer?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ . It was unlike you to retrace your steps a mere few days after a visit and return to the same gallery, amble down the same halls, and seek for a new source of investigative inspiration among the same selection. This obviously did not mean that you would never return, definitely not, that would be almost criminal of you to possess such intentions, but you tended to try to cleanse your palate with alternative movements, contemporary takes and avant garde interpretations between searches which were more directly related to your studies. And yet, for the first time in a while, nothing was stopping you from your return. It felt only natural, and so right. Moreover, you felt no unease when you headed straight towards the section that housed the impressionists. An individual with an unspoken, mysterious mission, you were on the hunt for the creative streak, something that would help you ponder the next section of your hefty dissertation, and you could sense that it had to be somewhere here. And, like always, you were right.

‘Bazille’s Studio’, one of the most famous works painted by the so-called ‘tragic artist’ of the impressionists, Frédéric Bazille in 1870. In fact, it had been a collaboration between him and Édouard Manet, another gifted artist, though more renowned as a figure leading modernism, and depicted a scene of discussion and creative collaboration in the studio that Bazille had shared for a certain period of time with other spectacular figures of the visual arts, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who could also be found in this painting. On the walls were works rejected by the Salon, which at the time had been the one of the most influential, famous art exhibitions in the Western World, administered by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Interestingly, above the piano on the right hung a painting which Bazille had purchased from Monet, potentially hinting at the material ties between them, and the importance the young artist had because of his familial wealth. In a sense, Bazille expressed his support, as well as showed an intimate, platonic scene of the art world where there was a moment of calm, of mutual appreciation, despite the financial troubles and tensions due to character that had been experienced in those walls.

You stepped closer to the painting, trying to detect the transition from Bazille’s to Manet’s hand, the latter of whom painted in the former to take ‘centre stage’, palette in hand. Truly seamless work, though what else could it be? This painting had been a new addition to the permanent collection, and after strenuous, detailed restoration work to give the oil paints their original vibrancy and for impeccable strokes to forget the burden of time, you had the pleasure of seeing it in person. You were an arm’s length away from yet another work essential to history, culture and the arts as a societal colossus.

While it was easy enough to appreciate the technical detail, you found yourself halting to remember the names of all those depicted in the painting, failing to finalise the list in your head. Starting from Bazille, you had determined for yourself the presence of Monet and Manet in his vicinity quickly enough, however where Renoir was, or what were the names of the two other gentlemen in the scene, slipped your mind. You rocked to the side to lean closer to the plaque that was meant to provide you with the information, however you only found the name of the painting, the artist and the medium, much to your misfortune. Clicking your tongue, you returned to studying the faces of each individual, and furrowed your brows in agitated concentration. It was simple to take out your phone and search for the answer, though you knew that just as neutral that action would be, so would be your reaction unless you were to remember, or somebody were to-

A presence to your side caught you off-guard, and you felt a shiver run up your spine. One glance was enough to determine that it was the same man from yesterday, only the outfit revealing a change. Other than that, he had the same impeccable posture and stance, as well as a thoughtful look towards the painting in front of you both. His arms were crossed, though not in a defensive manner; instead they offered an interpretation of philosophy, as though this man was carrying centuries of wisdom with him, history having pummelled down on him and yet needing to support it like Atlas; the titan carrying the world.

Today, he was dressed in a mahogany coloured suit, with a white top underneath and some black boots with thick white rubber soles - quite the transition from last time, when he had been a manifestation of a sleek and pristine office gentleman. Hair, now let down and wavy, neatly framed his face, accentuating the regalness of his features. It was astounding how you were still sure that it would be more likely to find a man of this fashion in a painting, rather than standing beside you. You kept quiet, not wanting to interfere with his musings. Perhaps it was just a silly coincidence that the two of you were at the same place and at the same time again - how else? You did not know him, and you hoped that he did not know you. Though, you truly did not mind his company, and maybe it could serve as your motivation to figure out the rest of the characters in the painting. Once again, your attention returned to the task at hand, but before you could even begin to list off prominent figures of the art world during the era of Impressionism, a deep, honey-like whisper halted you and made you hold your breath. 

“Auguste Renoir is the one seated, Emile Zola, the writer, is on the stairs, Monet, Manet and Bazille are, as you likely know in the centre, and that,” he paused to raise his hand, gesturing in the general direction of the far right of the piece, “is Edmond Maitre. Pianist, art collector, and Bazille’s closest friend.”

“I- uh- thank you. How did you know I was trying to recall? Pardon me, I must look so clueless-” you trailed off, eyes finding the floor, an action which seemed to be your automatic response to being under inspection of the man, though this time, he captured your gaze quickly by stepping closer towards you. Looking up, you found concern and apology in his eyes.

“No! Not at all, I… sorry if I misunderstood and I am sorry for forcing you into such erroneous conclusions,” he gave you an ever so slightly crooked smile, charming, very disarming and so suiting this beautiful stranger, that you were instantly prompted by your instincts to return it, dismissing doubt. 

“You saved me,” you joked, though the phrase contained within itself an unlikely compassion. Two people, alone in the same gallery, sharing a precious dialogue was something to cherish, and with all your might you wanted to make it last.

“Just as you made me regard the painting in a new light, for which I thank you, greatly,” he bowed his head, the smile not leaving his face for a moment. There was a recognition in his gaze, as well as an inexplicable admiration. What did he discover?

“I guess it might be true that no matter how many times you see a painting, every viewing brings something new,”

“Well said. Are you an artist? A critic, perhaps?” He inquired, moving closer to stand level with you, head turned slightly in your direction to spare the occasional glance. You shook your head slowly, wondering if in a retelling of your destiny you could have pursued either of the careers he had mentioned.

“I am in the arts, though rather than looking at the present I remain in the past. Art historian, well, a postgraduate. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh? But that is marvellous, and what are you focusing on?”

“I like to call it the painting in plenair during the turn of the century. I focus mainly on impressionism, though do sometimes stray into its interplay with post-impressionism, modernism and expressionism.”

“Ah, no wonder I have been seeing you here often. Enjoying the new collection?” he asked, eager to hear your opinion. There was excitement in his voice as though you were a renowned expert and were about to bestow upon him a priceless evaluation. And this was without considering the technicality of you having only half-met. Just crossing paths twice in one week.

"Yes, of course… The collection is unlike any other I have seen. I keep wanting to return and stay here for ages." You explained, glancing at the stranger while he nodded along.

"Incredibly happy to hear it. I swear I have seen you around quite often during the past month that the exhibition has been open? Am I correct?" evidently, your rapid blinking was interpreted rather quickly as perplexion, for the man gasped ever so lightly, as if to catch his own speeding thoughts.

“I- how do you know? I do believe this is our… second time meeting?” you uttered, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, which, to your disbelief, revealed something akin to fear in the beautiful stranger’s features. Nervously, he adjusted a strand of hair that was threatening to cover his right eye.

“Not quite… you were present at the opening event, right?” he quizzed.

“Indeed, my depar- wait. But how? Respectfully, I am starting to think you know me.” you enunciated with newfound caution, while the man pursed his lips. One second, another passed in near total silence, until a chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. It appeared as though he was mentally scolding himself - his eyes held no malice, instead glinting with hope, that melancholic wisdom, and something unidentifiable, ethereal, supernatural.

“I think it is high time I introduce myself before this gets out of hand. See, in some sense I work here, and most of my days are spent in the gallery or labouring for it-”

“Ah, I see-”

“Park Seonghwa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” with one arm folded behind his back and the other on his chest, he bowed to you like how you imagined princes in the numerous portraits you had studied would bow. And the most enthralling part was how the gesture flowed, and was so befitting. Quickly, you bowed in return, but while raising your head, you froze. It hit you why he would know. And know a lot. And would remember you, and likely anyone and everyone who visited. In a low whisper, you asked:

“Am I… correct in assuming that you are ‘the’ Park Seonghwa?” quickly enough, you realised that it was a mistake to find his eyes again - clearly, you were not ready for the intensity, nor for the intrigue that was contained within them, nor for the fact that he moved another step closer to you, the rubber of his boots dampening any sound produced.

“I never knew that there was a ‘the’ attached to my name. I simply love art.”

“Well that love translated into the creation of what is possibly the greatest gallery in the nation, if not worldwide,”

“Oh you flatter me too much, ah, your name-”

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

“Elated to hear it,” he gleamed, and you swore the room exploded with the illumination of a thousand stars.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, ever so elegant. He was a walking dream. In that smile was concealed a certain something that had been taboo, a well-kept secret until a couple of decades ago, when those like Seonghwa had started to be fully integrated into society, and no longer had to hide, changing identity from one century to another. With that came Seonghwa’s success - you had read in an article that advertised the permanent exhibition a short blurb of his story, and how for many turbulent decades, the man single-handedly collected masterpieces, crafted a meticulous network and introduced genius artists to the world, and the world to the artists. The gallery was a magnum opus for Seonghwa - a presentation of what he had achieved as a collector, as a patron of the arts, and a celebration of his personal culture. 

You could not help but hone in on the fangs, and recall the original reason why it was even possible for Seonghwa to obtain such legendary works and have as much influence as he presently did. It was not spontaneous; submerged in turmoil, he had personally approached artists who, previously abandoned by critics and other prospective buyers, had never considered a future beyond a mysterious tomorrow. Hiding his own true nature, he crafted the tale of a ‘Park’ dynasty, and rose again and again to continue his work. Perhaps, now, some might argue that once he had revealed himself as a vampire the velocity of Seonghwa’s developments had fallen, but you would passionately argue the opposite. It was challenging to believe that any move by this stunning artistic mastermind was not strategic - the announcement had given the gallery more partnerships, more donations, and in turn, an even greater prominence in the community both among professionals and enjoyers. 

“Thank you,” the phrase spilled from your lips inadvertently. It seemed to be the only thing that was reasonable to say in that given moment. You pondered the pains that must have been suffered to make the world that you were consumed by come together, and the painting in front of you, aside from what was contained within the frame,now shined in a new light externally too, possessing its own story, resembling a search for a kindred spirit, a true home. 

Seonghwa remained quiet, the words of gratitude echoing in his heart. It was endearing, encouraging to hear such warmth from you. So, you did know him, at least the parts he had shown to the public - as was expected from someone so deeply ingrained in visual arts and history, but he could not help but identify it as something much greater than mere awareness. The openness with which you had welcomed conversation with him, the kind charm that radiated from you as you engaged in the careful verbal waltz reminded the vampire of times long, long ago when all that existed for him was drive, enamourment and art. Oh, how your eyes glimmered. His heart clenched into near unbearable agony as he read your expressions, and wondered how much you have seen, what have you yet to see, who you were in this temporary life. If only he could ask fate to tell him how much you remembered of who you had been before. 

“No, thank you, for giving this,” he gestured to the gallery around him, graceful hand unfurling as though revealing a delicate flower, “meaning, and reason to exist.”

“I highly doubt I am of much significance, Mister Park,” you responded, a soft smile on your face.

“Would anything hold the same meaning if there was no one to behold it?” he responded. You chose not to answer, catching onto the rhetoricism, “and please, call me Seonghwa. I’d like to say we are to be good friends.”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Sitting across from Seonghwa in the cafe that was located on the top floor, above the main halls of the gallery made you feel strangely serene. Today he had foregone the straighter hair styles that you had begun to get used to, surprising you with a head of tousled, almost curled locks that embodied the world’s softness, though remained to be quite the contrast to the more formal and highly fashionable attire that adorned his stature. A suit, tastefully oversized with a buttoned double breasted jacket that was simultaneously serving as a shirt, the plunging v-shaped neckline revealing perfectly smooth skin, and what you noted to be a solitary freckle right in the centre of his collarbone. The trousers, at least from the glimpse that you had allowed yourself when you had met at the entrance to the cafe were of a loose fit, defining his waist at the top and falling to form an almost skirt-like silhouette should he stand how he usually stood: the echoes of what would be called the ‘third position’ in ballet, more relaxed, but still retaining an elegance that only he could carry. The biggest shock to you, however, was Seonghwa’s choice of shoes - a refreshing point to the visual, he had selected to contrast the formalwear with a pair of limited edition, geometrically intriguing Converses. You could catch a glimpse of one of them from over the edge of the table whenever his slightly shaking leg, positioned over the other, would rock forwards just that tiny bit stronger. 

While the setting was meant to be casual, the circumstances in which you found yourself were nothing short of miraculous. Never in a million years would you have imagined for it to be possible to be sat across the table from, quite possibly, one of the most legendary contributors to art restoration, collection and exhibition. On top of that, Seonghwa was a figure who actively bridged the gap between disparate communities, finding a common language, and using the arts as a salvation. You were in awe, and could not hold back on regarding the handsome vampire as he quietly reported your and his orders to the waiter who had floated to your table.

“Are you sure you do not want anything else?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not wish to exploit your kindness-”

“-Not at all. I hope you do not mind that I… must make a rather unconventional order,” he smiled sheepishly, clearing his throat so as to attempt to hide his doubts, though you were uncertain as to how much of such emotions could possibly be left after what had to have been centuries. 

“An unconventional order is pouring a sugary energy drink into a triple shot espresso and calling it dinner,” you answered, eyes travelling from Seonghwa’s face to the mural on the wall a few tables away that wrapped behind him and to your left, disrupted only by the occasional floor length window that provided city vistas - rather gloomy, compared to the optimistic illumination of the restaurant. Perhaps out of pity, or out of genuine entertainment, Seonghwa chuckled.

“That does sound like an acquired taste, indeed. Thank you,”

“No need. Thank you for inviting me,” you turned back, nodding a polite bow as he softly waved your gesture off.

A silence settled across the table as you waited for your respective drinks. Your hand, had you not consciously restrained yourself, would have probably reached for the phone that you stored in your purse, but now was fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, finding the buttons to stress test the threads that had them sewn tight to the fabric. You were not bored, in fact, far from it. You needed a barrier. The grandeur of this man’s presence was almost overwhelming. He was not a mere individual in a room, he consumed it. Had you just walked in, you were certain that your gaze would still settle on his form. Just like the concrete outside was grey, and the pause retained a divine ambiguity, Seonghwa was unforgettable. In an attempt to calm your clouded thoughts, you studied the mural once more.

“May I inquire into your thoughts on the decor?”

“The choice of ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte’ is wise. I am guessing you were the one to make the decision?” you heard an exhale, and once more your attention was captured.

“Alas, I cannot take full accolades for this. This stemmed from a discussion that a good friend of mine and I had one late night. Seurat just so happened to make an appearance amidst the chatter, and so… this was born,” he gestured at the surroundings. Clearly, the interior was picked carefully to fit the theme of the legendary painting. 

From the colours to the textures and the greenery that had been intricately set up across the restaurant, every detail had a meaning and a place, and did not take away from the spaciousness of the hall. It was breathable, while still giving the illusion that you were stepping into a whimsical impressionist paradise. Perhaps that was another reason why you could not quite contain your disbelief firstly in your encounter, secondly in its progression, and thirdly in your interlocutor’s warmth. 

“Spectacular, truly. I have heard you have an eye for detail, however this surpasses all expectations.”

“Oh? There is more you have heard?” he interjected, leaning closer to you and placing an elbow on the table, simply to rest his head on his hand. While this could potentially be seen as slightly unceremonious, it hinted at well-kept confidence, ownership, control. A healthy undercurrent of motivation that came with indirect praise.

“I-oh y-yeah of course,” you did not mean to stutter, but some part of you was grateful you did, for the smirk that had threatened to burst on Seonghwa’s lips was enough for you to feel ignited to elaborate, “if my memory is not failing me, you were the one to distinguish a reproduction of a piece some time ago, no?”

“Ah- yes. That was a Degas reproduction. I must say, the attempt was sincere, however when I saw the-, hm, you will not be startled, will you?”

“Please,” you urged him to continue, intrigued by the story. 

“When I saw the original, as it was being made and when it had been finalised, it would be shameful of me to not spot a fake,” he fell back into his chair, just in time for the drinks to be served. 

A coffee for you, and a non-descript beverage concealed by a semi-opaque, tall glass for him. Though, you did not need to be a detective to guess what it was that Seonghwa was bringing to his lips, and what he took a tentative sip of. The only mystery that was remaining for you was what ‘type’ he had picked - was it O+? B-? Whatever else? You joined him in the tasting, lifting the mug and indulging in the wonderful aroma of your americano. It did not strike you as necessary to opt for something fancier and lie to yourself - so you settled for your regular order, much to your joy. Familiar taste and the reliability of the caffeine hitting your system painted the scene in more comforting colours, and gradually, you found yourself easing into the dialogue more and more, until life stories, musings and a surprisingly large common ground came pouring. 

You discovered that Seonghwa possessed a unique sensitivity and attunement to those around him. Focused on the emotional experiences, he felt through time and could recount emotions like the memory was from a mere few days, rather than decades ago. He was well-spoken, eloquent, intelligent, polite in every right as he navigated through the linguistic landscape and guided you like a partner in a dance. You were spiralling oh so quickly, intrigue catching up to you and prompting you to sacrifice all of your senses to the man and the pleasantly intoxicating atmosphere he captured you in. He was enchanting, and it was far too easy to give in. 

“May I reveal something?” in a hushed tone, he inquired, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Oh, a little secret?” you raised your eyebrows in jest, lightening the initial seriousness with which Seonghwa uttered the question.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Depends on how you take it. A confession might be more accurate,” he waited for you to take the final sip of your coffee before continuing, unphased by your unwavering focus, “if I were to be honest, I have been meaning to approach you.”

“Pardon?”

“As you know we have a… common awareness of each other thanks to what is housed under this roof, but ever since we first unknowingly crossed paths… I wanted to speak to you.”

Confused, you did not speak, though the words contained an unparalleled affection within them. What could he possibly mean? You chose to refrain from commenting, your hesitation prompting the vampire to continue.

“Do you remember the most recent opening night? Of the exhibition? I believe you were with someone…” he trailed off, hoping you would continue for him.

“Ah, yes, a friend of mine from university. So?”

“This might sound strange but, I distinctly remember you mentioning a name. An artist from the same era, dubbed as L/N Y/N?”

“Goodness, you overheard that? I am so sorry, it is just that said artist has intrigued me for some time, and I was half-hoping to encounter their work. Maybe it is because our names are the same but still….”

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

“To put it softly, yes. I only vaguely recall seeing… maybe one piece in my lifetime, when I was little, and then… nothing. And there is barely any information on the artist online, let alone libraries and archives.”

“Hm, indeed. I guess that makes two of us…”

“Two of us who are searching?”

“That’s right. It brought me happiness to know that I am not alone in this endeavour.”

“Then we can keep searching together.”

While you were positive that you could not conceal your interest, Seonghwa’s did not go unnoticed either. It was of course possible that he was simply well-versed in political correctness, but the burning depth of his pupils told you otherwise. Enthrallment, the discovery of a kindred spirit, recognition, the rekindling of a bond that had existed at some point long ago - all fantasies that played out in your mind as you returned that look with subtle fervour. You wondered how many people he graced with those charms. How many had succumbed to his influence, becoming a marker on his infinite life path, a fleeting second? How many had his lips known, how many had turned into a decadent treat for a genius man with natural peculiarities? While the researcher part of you was perplexed and aching for answers, the you that was caught in the moment simply let it go on, and the feeling of Seonghwa’s leg brushing against yours, and the pride blooming in your chest as he praised the few articles and papers you had published upon having claimed that he ‘knew some things about you too’ preoccupied you in the most magnificent way.

Naturally, you agreed to meet Seonghwa again. On your journey home, in the privacy of the anonymous metro, immersed in the cacophony of deafening rails and the millions travelling to anywhere, you pressed your phone to your racing heart as the vampire, the man, the beguiling Park Seonghwa sent you a message confirming so. Who knew a simple selection of words could be so captivating?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Under the comforting thrum of raindrops on the large umbrella, you walked down the streets of the grey-coloured city, your hand lightly holding onto Seonghwa’s arm while he ensured that both of you were protected from the elements. Despite the dull light and bitterness of the cooling season, Seonghwa appeared radiant, truly timeless with every gesture and stride. The elegant angles of his face that you could tirelessly study stood out against the monotone buildings and overcast skies. His voice drowned out the sound of droplets racing one another to the ground. A miraculous gentleman who appeared in your life much like a portrait, or a landscape - a masterpiece you wanted to explore in every spare moment, and better yet, this masterpiece was equally as open to you as you were to him. 

“...essentially, yes. It is like another nationality. A marker of species isn’t too far isn’t it? Just another line on a stack of documents. Nothing more,” Seonghwa concluded his explanation, pursing his lips for a moment before letting an exhale turned dragon’s breath escape into the afternoon.

“Makes sense. So would that mean there are separate medical papers and treatment too?”

“Well… when regeneration fails us or when a given case is severe enough… yes. Though it is handled by private clinics run by other vampires.”

“There are private clinics?”

“Of course. Often they are connected to donation points too, and that is how we remain on the right side of the law and stay alive,” he nodded to himself, giving you a bittersweet smile when he noticed confusion overtake your gaze. “Blood,” he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, “I mean blood.”

In a nervous stupor, you cleared your throat and focused on a droplet that was hanging onto the edge of the umbrella, right in front of you, all the way until the gentle motion of Seonghwa’s amble provoked its abrupt descent onto the stone under your feet. 

“Ah, yes, I see-”

“If you find this disturbing, we can forget the conversation ever-”

“-I want to know you better, Seonghwa, truly-”

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-” 

With an extraordinary swiftness, you were tugged abruptly by the arm. Not registering your surroundings, you merely went with the inertia, caught off-guard by the proximity of your face to the vampire’s as he held you against him with the arm that you had previously been resting your own on. A hand that you raised on instinct went limp and landed on Seonghwa’s chest, feeling the thick felted wool of his coat. The ringing of a bell, going farther away from you by the second, incessant but at least waking you up from the blur, was enough for you to put two and two together - a cyclist who thought they owned every part of the street, like always. You sighed.

“Reckless… my apologies I did not mean to-” Seonghwa tried to detangle himself, refusing to remain in your personal space for longer than necessary no matter how much he did want to, but his efforts were reduced to nothing when your hand moved to a hold on his upper arm - reassuring, comfortable, accepting.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, “that bike would have definitely run into me…”

“It’s nothing,” a low chuckle echoed in your ears as Seonghwa peered into your pupils, confidence that had previously wavered out of habitual caution now restored, growing into a pride as you continued to hold onto him, “the man was slow enough for there to be no risk of harm. I hope you are not too startled though.”

“Oh? You have super powers too? Do elaborate,” you jested, resuming your walk.

“I would call it more like… being a finely tuned machine. Can’t say I have bad reaction speed. Though I must say, it was a little challenging pulling you out of the way,” there was an evident intent behind the words. However, you were too curious to pay it any mind, instead preferring to find out their meaning live.

“How so?”

“I think this,” dropping his arm, Seonghwa’s hand reached for yours, and without a moment of hesitation, his fingers were intertwining with yours, his palm pressed against yours, “would be better. You know, for safety.” As if you could ever reject him. This was a fact you had established for yourself with an unprecedented certainty. His gallant disposition, attentiveness all confirmed a care for you that was impossible to ignore. 

There was something picturesque about the present after meeting this wonderful, infinite pool of art and humanity. You found yourself leafing through articles, art books and biographies with a more wistful and sentimental perspective, imagining what it would be like if it were you who was immortalised in the thousands of brushstrokes, or if you were on the other side of the canvas, how would you go about depicting the scenes unfolding before your very eyes. Timelessness - a quality shared between the art you so adored, and the man you had encountered and over the weeks, let your intrigue be transformed into a shy flame of infatuation. Perhaps it was the underlying reason why you did not reject his advances, nor cower in fear of his true nature with which he was upfront. The other, of course, was the search for the mysterious artist, an adventure that fuelled many of your dialogues, and prompted you to spend more time in the library and the archives of your university than you had ever done before - to the point where Seonghwa himself had encouraged you to take a break from your intellectual expeditions and step into the world as a casual observer. So, you let yourself drift; it finally hit you, what scenes your once again tranquil stroll reminded you of, and you smiled to yourself as you recalled the intricacies of the not quite commonly discussed representation of the Impressionist movement. 

‘Rue de Paris, temps de pluie’, painted by Gustave Caillebotte; his most famous work. Not quite as widely discussed, despite still technically being created in the Impressionist era, perhaps due to the meandering through form, realism and reliance on stronger lines rather than broad brushstrokes and the study of light. You did find it fascinating how Caillebotte’s passion for photography had seeped into this piece, however. Much like how, in recent days, you could easily find a way to mention Seonghwa in conversation, be it related to the arts or not. From the subjects in the foreground being slightly out of focus while the middle ground was crystal clear, to how the shapes of some passersby were cropped were all characteristic of photos, rather than paintings, making this particular work all the more dear to you. It was a reflection of life, of behaviour and of what had been daily back in the late nineteenth century.

Was it any different from now, aside from those grand, global topics that historians dedicated their lives to studying? If one were to whittle down to the intricacies, the miniatures that ornamented the span of a human existence, was it so terribly far away from what you were born into, and Seonghwa saw develop and had adopted? How people shielded themselves from the rain with umbrellas, and then used them as a tool to isolate themselves from other urbanites who were in a rush to take a day-long route out of their homes… and back again. The latest silhouettes of dress and accessory; the same rush to be with the times as now.

You felt your companion’s arm move, prompting you to let go and leave your hand hovering as though you were awaiting some kind of change. You bit back an unprecedented sliver of disappointment, only to be caught by surprise once again as you felt the hand settle on the small of your back. Cautious, like you were going to melt from any more pressure than the brush of a feather. A quick glance was enough to determine that you were being studied intently for any sign of discomfort - Seonghwa was ready to pull away at any moment, any sigh, and most definitely at any word. A meek smile settled on your lips, and you shyly used an oncoming stranger as an opportunity to affirm the gesture, stepping towards the vampire, and sensing the confidence of his protective measure be solidified. With glee he followed your every tilt and turn, angling away from the passing form that neither of you could focus on. The touch was electric, somehow monumental despite being so common and barely present. Your mind was on fire, pondering what it would be like to put your head on the elegant man’s shoulder, and let yourself be carried away into a terrific fairy tale.

“This really is a rainy day,”

“Seems quite sunny to me,” you respond with sarcasm, realising only after the fact that your phrase still did retain an element of truth within it. 

Sunshine did not have to be literal. It was easy to see, you just needed to return Seonghwa’s gaze, and watch as another spring flower blossomed in the soul of one you had initially assumed to be so cold, so distant. In the darkest winter was a safe haven that you could not help but lean into, and regardless of what you had initially thought, with him, you felt more human, more safe and alive than ever. He listened without fail to your ramblings, and could easily pick up the ball and balance it with his own musings that you could listen to for many lifetimes.

Lifetimes; immortality, the one concept you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. Well, the latter was technically not true, as Seonghwa had elaborated some few days ago: vampires did age, albeit at such a slow pace that to the run of the mill human being, it was impossible to notice, and if they did, it would be someone very close, and only over a matter of decades. Maybe it was this exact inability that made you want to stay and learn all there could be about the gallerist - you thought that would make you feel like you have been living forever. His wisdom was beautiful. The kindness with which he treated you, akin to that of how a spouse treats their long-time sweetheart with a mellow and comfortable affection, was not something you asked for nor expected, but something which he introduced himself with through every action, progressively more amiable when you allowed him to advance.

“Mm, no wonder I can’t quite look at you,” he mused out loud, dramatically looking off into the distance. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what was going to come after his theatrical pause, “your brightness is unparalleled,” Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with your sigh and the way in which you pretended to be annoyed, only to dissolve in a mute giggle. “So, I do suggest we get out of the rain for a moment and stop by that book shop over there, shall we?”

Following his hand, you spotted an antique bookshop a few doors down, marked by an iron sign and ornate shop window decorations that glistened with each hit of the dancing droplets. A warm golden light emanated from the inside, the hue comparable to a summer’s day. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over you, as though you had been in this store before, even though this was quite the distance away from your home, not on any of your usual commutes and in a part of town you barely visited aside from the occasional brisk walk. It had been established over a century ago, sporting a historical plaque and detailing original to the era the date on the sign suggested. Suppressing your internal monologue, you simply nodded, fond of Seonghwa’s excitement as he pushed lightly against your back and walked on ahead. If you were any more of a romantic, you would have assumed that the shop was a representation of his heart, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, at least not when you felt heat rise to your cheeks as he whispered your name, openly planning what you could look for amidst the rare editions together. You and him turned into a ‘we’ so naturally, you barely had time to blink. A new brushstroke on a canvas, brave, bold and bright. Impressionist.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

The hypnotising improvisation on a semi-acoustic guitar, followed by a launch back into the theme of a well-known jazz song had you tapping on the counter, unknowingly following every drum beat. The bar turned cosy music venue that Seonghwa had invited you out to was proving to be every bit a wonder of the world, and paradise inside of the otherwise gloomy city which had been plagued with miserable weather and lack of daylight for atrociously long. The classy establishment was a well known favourite among the vampires residing in the city, especially those aligned with a more bohemian and art-focused lifestyle. Critics, painters, collectors, musicians, poets alike all gathered to share ideas and energy, and reminisce days long gone, while the band - one that had not changed since the bar’s establishment, revived legendary pieces one after another. 

With ease, Seonghwa had ordered your favourite drink, having memorised it after your many outings that had smoothly transitioned into dates and shared nights. He remembered every detail about you, holding each one tenderness. Your lover gazed at you as he ended a conversation with a fellow collector who had recently come to town for a few days, stretching out his hand until it just touched yours, guiding it to lie flat on the counter. Seonghwa’s palm, still retaining a pleasant coolness despite him having had a couple of drinks of his own, was another reassurance that in the buzz of the venue, you still had your person by your side. Feeling his digits tap and then proceed to brush the back of your hand, you hummed in contentment, and let your eyes travel over the beautiful vampire, who leaned back, tempting you just for fun, knowing full well that you were wholly his, and even when you turned to look elsewhere, it was his face you saw in the crowd, it was his voice that rang in your ears, it was his touch that ghosted over your skin. 

The bustier from Alexander McQueen, the gorgeous flowy shirt with ruffles and cuts so tastefully sewn and executed, the statement necklace that was worthy of being displayed at a gallery and must be the envy of many, the high heeled boots that were concealed by elegant trousers - Seonghwa was your favourite work of art, and you could never deny it. Each one of his gestures was worthy of marvel, and the care with which he approached everything - even the tending to the items which he painstakingly selected and matched for tonight made your heart skip a beat. It was boggling how each garment and accessory was either an original, or a one of a kind piece. But at the same time, you did not expect anything less of Seonghwa.

He must be impossible to depict in paintings, you concluded, shamelessly staring at your lover’s face, from the shape of his nose, to the plushness of his lips, to the waviness of his night-like inky locks. You bet many had tried, but judging by the lacking evidence in the art world, they must have failed, miserably, to create something more immortal and invincible than the model and muse. You understood them, and Seonghwa gave no signs of being perturbed. 

“So, was that the intent behind our spontaneous trip to this bar tonight?” you gestured at your surroundings, taking another sip from your ornate glass. A sharp exhale accompanied a contrasting soft answer:

“Not at all,I had the business sorted a couple of days ago, and tonight was a lucky crossing of paths to secure the deal,” cryptic as ever, Seonghwa only alluded to the matter at hand.

The matter, or how he had referred to it as ‘business’ was a particular artwork that he had been hunting, by the elusive artist you had been investigating, first in your lonesome, and then joining forces with Seonghwa. Apparently, one of the pieces, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, had been kept safe in the private collection of a ‘Mister Kim’, at least that was how he had been initially introduced to you. Until you put two and two together, and when the very well dressed and styled character had entered the bar and made a beeline towards your partner in artistic musings and romance, recognised the man as a world-famous designer and fashion icon, Kim Hongjoong. And of course, another vampire and kind soul in one. 

Their conversation had happened outside of your earshot; whether it was on purpose or just so happened to unfold that way was for your ruminations to determine, but you did overhear enough to figure out that this was a portrait, a never seen work, and was completed by the artist who as it had turned out had been closer with Seonghwa than you had initially thought. 

“Seems to be very important, and not just in a ‘collector’ sense…” you trailed off, watching as the ice in your drink cracked, “is this why you were interested, you know, back then?”

“If I were to be honest, darling, I was, and still am, a lot more interested in you. The artist was something of an excuse to get a conversation going. And I do hope,” Seonghwa turned and sauntered towards you, “this conversation does not end.” 

Even though you were sitting on one of the bar stools, the heels and stance still left him some room to look downwards, and his sultry expression, orbs glinting at you through dark lashes left you transfixed. In moments such as this, you hated to be mortal. There were so many things that you could not possibly know, and no matter how hard you would try to comprehend the vastness of the angelic man’s mind, you would always remain theoretical, and accept the grand majority of intricacies as axiom.

“I hope so too,” your voice barely rose above a whisper as his gloved hand landed on your neck, gliding upwards to caress your jawline.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his thoughts were elsewhere, you were sure of it, and yet, his gaze remained unwavering, “my eternal love”. Lips stained with bittersweet worship, the words stumbled from them to strike you repeatedly in the heart, forcing it to lose its rhythm. He was regarding you like he had stumbled upon a priceless treasure, a divinity, a paradise. Something far from you and from this planet, but by Seonghwa’s careful selection, etched in your features.

Were you the embodiment of something greater for him? You would not consider yourself to be a model example of a human being, neither were you a pretty statue to display in an exhibition. You were you, but Seonghwa kept on convincing you that it was exactly this that had captivated him and showed him a new beginning. Did you wish to believe that? Of course. But a vampire who was hundreds of years old could keep a grand variety of secrets beyond your understanding, even if he were to exclaim them right in front of you and sketch them out. His eternal love - your version of eternity, or his? A life the duration of a butterfly’s abstract dance to the heavens.

“Love?” he called out to you, eyebrows knitted in concern due to your prolonged silence. You had set your drink down, and were staring at the shine of the glossy chrome silver and pearl on Seonghwa’s necklace. “Talk to me, say anything.”

“I- hm. I think I am just tired. Yeah, that must be it. Tired so I am overthinking, no worries. I’ll just be right here and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you tilted your head, noting how Seonghwa immediately straightened out, and instead of attempting to tower over you stepped over to the side to set a protective hand over yours.

“This is a majority vampire bar, full of unfamiliar individuals, this whole deal with the artwork is up in the air and-”

“First of all, I don’t care. Second, you are here with me. And third, I want to trust in the fact that you would not do anything foolish nor harmful. Am I right in my evaluation?” you uttered, still not quite able to look into Seonghwa’s infinite pools of brilliant sienna and dark brown.

“I- I am honoured, but that still does not detract from the fact that we can go get some air and come back. Shall we?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. Hell, need to. Let us have a quick wander?”

“...I’d like that.”

In no time, the winter air hit your cheeks and you were wrapping yourself as tightly as you could in your oversized coat. In your ears the pleasant sound of the vampire’s heels rang out, echoed by the stunning road onto which you were spat out by the heavy black front door of the bar. Warm-toned streetlights liberally decorated the sidewalks and painted the night in honey, gold and copper accents. Reflections of an artificial summer in the puddles and winter chill. Downright magical. Seonghwa seeked out your hand, holding it tight and guiding it into the pocket of his own coat, smirking when you raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

You were certain that you were walking through a landscape painting, every element captured by your vision falling into its rightful place, harmonising with the rest. The mumbling and music was long gone, only to be replaced by conversation of other late city explorers and the occasional rumbling of a car lazily rolling past. 

“Pissarro.”

“Hm?” Seonghwa kept looking ahead, but squeezed your hand to ask for you to continue.

“Boulevard Montmartre at Night. Painted in 1897, no?” you pointed at the surroundings with a tilt of the chin.

“Ah, indeed! Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, thanks to you I got to see the original, so how could I not make the visual analogy?” you nudged his shoulder, earning a chuckle.

The painting was the only example of a landscape at night from the artist Camille Pissarro, making it all the more special despite it being part of a series of 14 views of the same location. Snow, rain, fog, morning, varying seasons, but only one glimmering night. It was one of the works that Seonghwa had managed to provide for your studies, resulting in a more than impressive academic outcome. Like Pissarro kept on painting the vista, your lover kept on giving, never asking for anything more than for you to share your hours with him, something you did not need to be prompted to do anyways.

“...I’m sorry I cannot reveal more than I do, at least not just yet,” he apologised, as though what he was committing was the greatest crime known to humanity and the supernatural.

As you looked up at the starry night sky, you swore you had heard these words before, uttered by the same voice, the same fingers interlocked with yours. A stabbing sensation in your cranium made you gasp, but you regained your composure quickly enough to not make it a priority for either of you. At the same time, Seonghwa’s expression altered to a semblance of… hope? Longing? You could not pinpoint it, but one of the many glowing dots above you clearly landed in his shining orbs, and he eagerly waited.

Waited for longer than you could realise in your present state.

On their own accord, your lips moved, forcing out a subconscious acknowledgement, previously suppressed. You swore the phrase belonged to another being, but it was as refreshing as the breeze tousling Seonghwa’s locks.

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-” vision growing hazy, you reached to the vampire for support, which he readily provided, “I- too.”

One blink - oil paints decorated your hands, and those alluring eyes were staring back at you from a canvas. Another blink - Seonghwa was repeating your name, pressing his cheek against yours as he shielded you from falling into darkness with his strong arms.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Your office was inviting and offered a secure haven: a collection of neutral and wooden tones, with dashes of greenery to relax the eyes. From a potted ivy plant settled on the top of a large wall-length shelving unit to an indoor palm tree enjoying the rays in its designated corner, the room was a miniature paradise. You ran your hands over the thick birch desk, cautiously avoiding the stack of documents you had arranged for yourself to go through this day. Artwork restoration reports, contracts, exhibition plans for years to come… everything you thought you would never see, and yet it was right here in your palms.

Time moved slower, or at least that was how you began to perceive it now that it was in abundance. A fountain that did not cease to bestow gifts upon you - again, something you would have never imagined prior to the curious series of events that were your previous life unfolding the way they did. One fateful meeting, and you were a changed person, staring into the horizon and labelling it as a continuation rather than as a termination of all you could achieve. The world was your oyster, and loving dedication was the price. But when the price was so sweet, and so easy, who were you to say no? If you had to pick a concern, it would be the bandages and binding on your right arm; friction from the sleeve of the turtleneck and blazer you had worn today applying uncomfortable pressure to the delicate wound concealed within. 

You stood up from the leatherbound office chair, adjusting your clothes and stepping to the window behind you to look out at the garden belonging to the gallery - a recent expansion. Grand, regal, and as the papers had emphasised, now returned to its rightful owner. You wondered just how much of the city had belonged to vampires at least for a portion of time, and you had no doubt that you would be making more discoveries soon, but for the time being, you were happy with the re-acquisition, or as Seonghwa had called it: your ‘turning’ gift. A particularly strong shift of the arm made you wince, and your other hand shot to nurse your sore arm.

“I’m so sorry darling, does it still hurt?” Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had slipped into the office, and immediately rushed towards you, concern painting his beautiful face through furrowed brows and a tiny scowl.

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

“Let’s not disregard ailments, shall we?” your partner gingerly lifted your arm, and after gaining permission through a few lethargic nods, pushed the sleeve upwards to reveal the bandages, “I- really, we need to apply the ointment again, that must be it-”

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

“My love-” Seonghwa paused his ramblings to stare back at you, puzzled, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Literally just a bite, isn’t it?” you smiled, the action instantly being mirrored, albeit with a tinge of remaining worry.

“Mm, perhaps I am overreacting, I can’t help it,” your thoughts were numbed by the silken touch of his lips on the back of your hand, wool against cotton as he pulled you into an embrace, “it should heal well once you get used to your new form, I am sure of it,” his tresses tickled your nose, but you ignored it, instead letting your head fall against him.

You stood almost completely still aside from the rocking side to side that was habitual for you both. A lulling motion, one that either of you revealed only to each other. A secret reserved for intimate, loving moments such as this. You shook your head in amusement and buried your nose in Seonghwa’s sweater, inhaling the aroma of his sweet perfume, recalling ‘Love and Pain’ - the painting that had marked the tightening of the invisible string tying you together. Or was it? Coincidentally, on the wall behind your lover was the real inception of your union, one that you had forgotten from one lifetime to the next. A portrait. The one that Seonghwa had been chasing, and what had been his decades-long mission came to an end.

Signed with your own hand, were initials of your name and the year of completion of the painting. None other than the beloved collector and muse, Park Seonghwa, who had posed for you, or rather a version of you, and ever since then, you were the only one on his mind. You had been the master both of the arts and of his fate.

“Please, I am embarrassed…” your partner mumbled, settling for futile attempts to position you in such a way that you would be looking out at the garden, but to no avail. Poking him playfully at the side, you induce a halt, and question him:

“What is there to be embarrassed about? That’s you. Painted by me.”

“Exactly. And you have it in your office, of all places.”

“Well I can’t exactly have you, in the flesh, on display all the time and I would like a work of art around here-”

“Shh-”

“Don’t shush me, Park. Be grateful I don’t keep the sketches out too.”

In all honesty, He would not mind if you did. You could do anything, and the vampire would adore and honour it. Whether it was in your blood or in his nature, he had never regretted almost losing himself in your favour. In your last life, he had gone against all rules set up by vampires, playing against what he swore was the devil in order to have the sliver of a chance to start again and, this time not lose you. Had his plan not succeeded, it was highly probable that he would have been erased from this planet too. But he would rather call himself a masochist than be law-abiding when it came to you.

“Next, you’ll be threatening me with a showcase of just my face-”

“What if I do?” you quipped, pulling back to boop his nose with yours, “I think it would look very pretty. Besides, now that I remember my apparent mastery of the visual arts, can’t I be a tiny bit proud, hm?”

“I would be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Now, may I put that ointment on you?”

As if you could refuse those sparkling eyes. Promptly following him to the loveseat, which unfortunately for Seonghwa was situated right under the portrait, you sat down and waited. Your partner rushed to the medical cupboard - another new addition installed exclusively to support you as you were getting used to the vampiric nuances in your day to day. With well-practised motions, the required kit was in his hands, and in a blink, set down on the plush cushioning of the miniature sofa. You held back a chuckle as you saw the pout you so loved appear as he focused on unwinding the bandage with utmost care. Before you could feel any hurt, Seonghwa would already let go, or alter the angle at which he was tugging on the material. As soon as the plaster was peeled, you were met with the reason for your eternity and reawakening.

Two deep punctures, still a little irritated, not quite healed, but nevertheless a marking of your future and something you regarded with fondness. Wounds did not hurt when they were merely physical, especially not when you had someone who had bound their immortality to yours to tend to them. Seonghwa bit his lower lip, discontented with the ache as though he could feel it too, and took numerous pauses while cleaning up the wound to glance at you. 

“I’ll be applying the ointment now, tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” you knew it wouldn’t. You had never heard a man be so adamant on checking ingredients at an apothecary before following Seonghwa after your first appointment as a vampire. But just to appease him, you followed this small spoken routine. 

“You know… I was scared,” his voice was barely audible, and he could not look at you.

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

Even before you were aware of Seonghwa, let alone the truth behind the portrait, all the roads still led to the same resolution. The arts, art history. Virtually synonymous, for without creation, there would not be the past, and without the study of the past, there would not be the celebration and respect of creation. Finally, you understood the beauty of evolution that Seonghwa had undergone all while remaining the same vulnerable yet legendary figure, dedicated to his vision of the arts, having recollected your own. 

“So many things could have gone wrong,” Seonghwa’s mind was reeling from the sheer terror of possibility. He had taken advantage of his high social standing as an aristocrat and pulled rank to avoid waiting for any ritual guides to step in - it was not the first time, but still only the second. And both cases were related to you. 

The first time might have been a foolish decision in retrospect, but considering the dire circumstances the extreme solution was the only one. With one foot crossing to the afterlife he was combatting the reapers, and was not going to let go of you even if it meant being pulled in. This time, when you had approached him a number of nights ago with your final agreement to his tentative proposal and kissed his ruminations away, he was ready. Years of study were not going to waste, after all. And yet when he studied the same irises as those from a time long gone, when he held the same hands, his blood ran even colder. What a gambling man he had been back then. The procedure to regift life to you had been risky, and Seonghwa, having never practised those elements of the dark arts bestowed upon his kind, had been taking shot after shot in the dark. How dare he play with your being like that? How dare he hold your existence on a sinful scale?

“But they didn’t.”

No they did not. Your confidence in him had aided considerably, he had to admit. The positioning of his fangs was perfect, and he had memorised all incantations down to the inflections. Second time a charm, but much more anxiety-inducing. Turning was not the same as revival, either. He could not stop himself from imagining the many scenarios of where he would have gone wrong, and cemented your identity only as a name on manuscripts, dissertation, paintings and reports. 

“Even the ritual, what if you did not remember-”

“I would love you just the same. Whether I had all my memories or not. That much I can assure you of. That is why I trusted you in the first place, Seonghwa.”

You did not need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. All you could do was suggest a brighter palette, and be by his side no matter what colour scheme he were to decide on. It was an artist’s duty to know when to set the tools aside and consider a painting finished. The luxury of a collector was to live through many paintings, unify the souls contained in each and sustain a chronology of expression. The keepers, the scholars, made to observe change rather than induce it directly. This was why you were all the more grateful for Seonghwa daring to change your mortal fate not once but twice, risking himself and his image in your favour.

When your partner was satisfied with his medical care, he hummed to notify you and began to clear up, at least until you placed a weak hand on his leather-clad thigh to gain his full attention. He searched for a hint in your features, eyes darting across your face at lightning speed. Relief came when you grinned brightly, whispering sincere gratitude.

Impressionism - the movement and path made by legends. A rejection of traditional practice, a new vision and interpretation of the outside world in the hues of the soul. Light, reality, immediate action. A breath that reset the arts, magnificent and radical for the time, and now, much adored. From its conception to its establishment, you were there to witness and fall in love, and now could look back at the beauty that had bloomed. His irises, your favourite colour. The speckles of various shades, your favourite details. You stared into Seonghwa’s eyes and did not dare blink. Your favourite impression.

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CHAPTER TWO — UNWANTED HOUSEGUEST

lavender blood || park seonghwa

pairing: gn!reader x god of death!seonghwa

word count: 1,713

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taglist ( ask to be + or - )

@vemarkciraptor @girlsbyaespa @storminacloud @etrnalhwa @mingiholic @sugarrimajins @gemjimin @alanniys @teezers99 @bobrouxsky @miriamxsworld @woosmaid @actuallyalien @jackinmyarea @honey-lemon-goose @spicyduck13 @seonghwarizon

i am in no way claiming this to be an accurate representation of ateez/seonghwa or any of the other people i mention in my works—everything is strictly fictional and made to be read and enjoyed. they are merely reference characters. i am also in no way glamorizing or romanticizing anything i mention in my works such as toxic behavior and bodily harm, i won’t tolerate seeing such either. with such said, please don’t hesitate to leave your thoughts!

Keep reading

The MinSanHwa Dorm (pt 1)

pairing: park seonghwa x fem!reader, mentions of san and mingi

word count: 4.2k

tags: fluff, smut, established friendship with san, horror movie night, mentions of ot8

minors DNI !! nsfw & warnings under the cut

warnings: virgin!seonghwa, switch!seonghwa, switch!reader, minor handjob (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), begging, unprotected sex (❌), sex with some clothes still on, overstimulation, aftercare

"Just through here," San said, opening the door to the dorm he shared with Mingi and Seonghwa, the former you hadn't met yet and the latter you had interacted with once or twice when visiting your childhood best friend with his newly dyed blonde hair.

An agreement had been made between yourself and Ateez's management about your visiting conditions, considering your father was recently appointed CEO of a neighbouring entertainment agency with whom KQ had close connections with. Ever since San's debut, seeing him was as rare as seeing family who lived overseas during the holiday season, but now that things had changed you would have the opportunity to see him more frequently.

Being invited over to his dorm, though, was under wraps. Their manager was away on a quick family trip for two days while the boys had a free schedule, so San decided it was the best time to sneak you in to show off where he lived.

The two of you kicked your shoes off at the front as he lead you inside, the hallway light coming on automatically as you entered. "Y/N's here!" San announced, hanging his set of keys on a hook on the wall.

Seonghwa's head popped around the corner as you moved into the shared living and kitchen space. "Hi, nice to see you again," he said with a smile. As it was already almost 11pm, Seonghwa had already finished washing up and looked comfortable in his matching silver pyjama set.

"Nice to see you too," you greeted him warmly.

"Mingi-ah!" San called out, seemingly summoning the taller boy, the tips of his blue black hair damp as he walked out of the bathroom in a plain black t-shirt and grey sweat shorts. "Are you watching the movie with us?" San asked him.

Mingi gave you a smile and small wave before making a disgusted noise at San. "No, I'm not gonna watch a horror movie with you just so you can make fun of me."

San chuckled and patted him on his broad shoulders in passing. "Fine... Pussy."

Mingi grabbed San by the back of his shirt and pulled him into a headlock, the two laughing as you stood in the middle of the dorm a little awkwardly. Seonghwa quickly picked up on it and offered you the bowl of popcorn he was already snacking from.

"Sorry about them." He smiled again.

You thanked him and took a handful, the two of you moving over to the lounge. "It's okay. Trust me, I'm very used to San starting trouble."

San joined the two of you on the lounge after turning off all the lights for the extra effect, opening up Netflix and starting the movie you had decided on earlier that day.

"Why are we even watching this?" Seonghwa asked two minutes in when the eerie atmosphere of the film had already been set. "You get scared easily too."

"Exposure therapy." He shrugged. "I don't get scared that easily-"

The sound of glass breaking in the movie made San jump, cutting off his own sentence. You laughed as Seonghwa chuckled quietly, the blonde-haired idol now going silent as he stole the bowl of popcorn from your lap as you were seated in between them, Seonghwa on your left and San on your right.

You were no stranger to scary movies, likely having more free time to become desensitised to them than San would, so each jump scare in the film hardly had an affect on you. However, being able to watch the movie a lot more calmly than the boys either side of you made you very aware of their movements. San had curled up on the lounge and was just slightly leaning into you, which didn't bother you at all considering you had known him almost your whole life. Seonghwa on the other hand had unconsciously shifted closer, and it wasn't until the end of the film when one of the characters was suddenly taken by the antagonist that Seonghwa's hand flew to your knee in surprise.

He withdrew his hand just as quickly as it happened, his face going red even in the dim light. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly so San wouldn't hear.

"Oh, it's okay!" You whispered back to him, a little surprised yourself.

The movie soon ended and Seonghwa was the one to get up to turn the lights back on, San frozen in his spot. Everyone took a minute to adjust to the light flooding back into the space, you and San standing from the lounge.

"I don't know how I'm gonna sleep tonight." San shivered.

"Aww I can stay with you, if you want?" You teased him. But the look in his eyes was one of genuine fear. "Whatever you want, otherwise I'll just crash here." You patted the top of the lounge.

San mulled over the thought of having you in his bed before he shook it away. "No, I'll be fine. Are you sure you don't want me to order you a cab?"

You shook your head. "You'd rather me travel all the way home at," you searched for the time and found it on a clock hanging on the wall, "1am than have me sleep on your lounge for one night?"

San smiled, realising you had him there. "I'll grab the spare blankets for you," he said before disappearing around the corner to the linen closet.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Seonghwa spoke up, reminding you that he was still there. "I'll be up for a bit but I'll leave you to get some rest."

"Okay, goodnight Seonghwa." You gave him a sweet smile before he retreated into his bedroom, softly closing the door behind him.

"Here you go." San returned with a large blanket and a spare pillow. "Sorry we don't have a spare room for you to stay in."

You chuckled and took the things from him, getting the lounge ready. "No that's okay. I'm just glad to be able to see you more often now."

"Me too." He sighed contentedly. "Though our manager can't know that you stayed the night. I don't know what he'd do to us."

You pressed a finger to your lips. "What are you talking about? I was never here."

He laughed before turning around to head towards his bedroom. "Goodnight!"

"Night, San."

The living space was quiet as you finishing fluffing up your pillow and got yourself comfortable. Though it was no bed, the lounge was nice enough to be able to rest well on. But for some reason your mind remained awake, swimming with thoughts of your day. You felt unusually restless but it wasn't entirely the fact that you were secretly staying the night at your best friend's dorm who happened to be an idol apart of an increasingly popular group. Maybe it was the small movements on the lounge earlier as Seonghwa fidgeted beside you during the movie. Or his tall frame that you felt a little too comfortable beside. Or when he had accidentally reached for your knee, leaving not only him blushing hard from the gesture.

You didn't even know Seonghwa that well yet. The only other members you could consider proper friends besides San was Hongjoong and Wooyoung who were in a completely different dorm shared with Jongho. You had also spoken with Yunho and Yeosang only a few times when visiting San at dance practice when they were around, and Mingi you hadn't encountered at all until tonight. But you'd known Seonghwa to be the most welcoming member so far, despite not having shared a lot of time with him yet.

The very faint sounds of a video game reached you from across the room, seeming to emanate from the bedroom of the very member you were thinking about. He did say he'd be awake for a little longer and San had definitely already passed out by now.

You tip-toed to the door of Seonghwa's bedroom, seeing a faint light leak through at the bottom. You knocked gently and the sounds of the video game quietened before you heard shuffling inside, the door opening a moment later.

Seonghwa blinked at you through his glasses. "Oh Y/N, everything okay?" There was a trace of concern in his voice.

"Oh, yeah! I'm okay. Just can't sleep. What are you playing?" You smiled.

"Animal Crossing," he said before opening the door wider. "Would you like to watch?"

"Sure." You slid past him into the room. "Thank you."

His room was small but was filled to the brim with decorations, mainly Star Wars, on a row of shelves that hugged the left wall, his desk to the right and his bed on the opposite wall. You moved to sit at his desk since his game was set-up on the TV that was at the end of his bed, but as Seonghwa slipped under the covers to sit up in bed, he patted the spot beside him. "You can sit here if you want."

A light flutter brushed past your chest as you took him up on his offer. "Don't blame me if I fall asleep," you joked, opting to sit on top of the covers instead with your back to the head of the bedframe too. Seonghwa chuckled along before continuing his game, excitedly showing off his character and what he had built on his island so far.

You didn't know how much time had passed with the two of you sitting there, quietly chatting and enjoying the game, but at some point you had decided to make yourself a little more comfortable, laying down on top of the covers with your eyes still on the screen.

It wasn't your intention to, but the soft bed beneath you and the comforting sounds from the video game were enough to make you drift off to sleep. You were woken slightly when you felt the bed shift as Seonghwa must've climbed properly under the covers to go to sleep, but your body was so heavy that you didn't have the strength to get yourself up yet.

The second time you were woken up was by Seonghwa turning in his sleep. This time, you fought the urge to close your eyes again, slowly gaining consciousness to the fact that you really did fall asleep on top of Seonghwa's bed.

You slowly blinked awake, adjusting to the dark room before looking to your left to find the idol asleep. And even though the bed covers separated the two of you, Seonghwa had turned towards you in his sleep, your faces so close that you could faintly feel his steady breath on your cheeks.

You couldn't quite put a finger on what it was yet, but there were no warning signals going off in your head that you should take the opportunity to get up and return to the lounge. Your curiosity did, however, make you turn to look at the clock on Seonghwa's desk. You could faintly read the time on it: 4:18AM.

The taller boy stirred again in his sleep and you turned back to look at him, surprised to find his eyes barely open looking right back at you.

"Hey," he said groggily, not minding that you were still around.

"Hi," you said. A comfortable silence fell between you as he blinked himself awake as well. "I should go," you whispered, feeling the pressure in your chest only deepen.

Even in the darkness of his room, you watched as Seonghwa's eyes trailed from your own down to your lips and back up to meet your gaze.

"Stay," he whispered back.

You suddenly became very aware of how close you truly were to him. Your heart picked up its pace, the place in between your legs also growing warm as your mind began to wander. Nothing like that would happen though, not that you didn't want it to. Even though you were best friends with one of the members and would be seeing them more frequently, that didn't guarantee that any of them would actually find you attractive and act on it. That was ridiculous...

Wasn't it?

Seonghwa sat up slowly and pulled back the bed covers. "Here."

What would San think? It's not like you intended to sleep beside, or with, any of his members anyway. The gentleness in Seonghwa's voice also indicated that he wasn't interested in making you uncomfortable, so the decision was completely up to you.

You let a second or two pass before tempting your heart further, climbing under the covers to lay beside Seonghwa. It was much warmer and you hadn't realised how tense you had become from sleeping in the cold air.

"Are you okay?" Seonghwa whispered in the dark.

You nodded, though it was unlikely he could see it. "Just a little cold, that's all."

"Can I...?" He trailed off, letting the air between you hang for a moment. You realised what he was silently asking and you nodded again, making you realise he could in fact see you before he softly wrapped an arm around you, shuffling just a tiny bit closer.

What had led you to be gently held by the friend of your childhood best friend was entirely unknown to you. Your head was racing as you started to warm up immediately from the contact, finding it both nerve-wracking and electrifying all at once.

"Do you think San would mind?" You squeaked out.

Seonghwa gave you a comforting smile. "I don't think San would mind at all."

In the midst of your drowsiness, you found your eyes gently trailing across Seonghwa's features, drinking in the beautiful details of his face before landing on his plump lips. He must've caught you staring as the tip of his tongue darted out to wet them before you locked eyes again.

"Y/N... Can I..."

You swallowed, finding yourself understanding his trailed off sentences more and more. You nodded, your heart now in your throat, before the hand on your back gently squeezed and Seonghwa gently closed the gap of evident tension between the two of you.

You melted immediately into the kiss, his warm hand on your back shooting sparks up your spine. The kiss was soft and so painfully slow, but it answered all of the question marks that had been swimming around in your head that night. His lips were like honey as you drew yourself towards him, your free hand slowly snaking up to rest on his hip. The soft gesture only made Seonghwa pull you closer, tilting his head to allow deeper access to him.

Your mind had seemingly emptied itself of everything else other than this moment as you kissed him gently, blindly finding that tongue of his and stroking your own against it. Seonghwa pulled back, his face red and eyes half-lidded as he asked, "Is this okay?"

Your heart warmed at the continuous questioning for your consent as you gave him a verbal yes, your hands finding the sides of his neck instead as your lips met in the middle again.

Seonghwa's hand on your back physically brought you closer and you found yourself absentmindedly threading your leg in between his, both of your bodies warming up at the contact. Your tongue met his again and a small sigh slipped out of you. Even though the noise was only small, Seonghwa could feel a tent forming in his pants already.

You hardly broke the kiss, breathing heavily through your nose instead as you kept one hand on his neck, the other sliding down to trace against the side of his thigh. A breathy moan left Seonghwa and he pulled away to pause for a moment.

"Sorry," he said, shuddering at the gentle touch.

"Don't be sorry," you whispered. "Let me know if you want me to stop." You said and he nodded.

You kept your eyes on Seonghwa and watched his face contort at the slightest movements. All you were doing was tracing your fingers lightly across the side of his thigh but it made him throb an embarrassing amount. Sliding your hand more to the inner part of his thigh, you brushed your fingers gently across his crotch and he gasped, hiding his face into the pillow.

"Ughhh," he moaned softly, breath heavy as you traced your fingers up and down his length still clothed in two layers. Your fingers found the hem of his pants and you tugged them down, Seonghwa helping you remove them as he also removed his silk shirt, leaving him only in his boxers that were tighter than they were five minutes ago.

"Have you ever been touched before?" You asked, your voice low and quiet as you resumed your position on your side with Seonghwa now lying on his back.

"Only myself sometimes," he admitted, eyes watching the top of the bed covers shift as you found his length again beneath his boxers this time. A longer moan left his lips and he bit them closed to stifle it, eyes shut tight as he lost himself to the pleasure. You dryly stroked him gently and that was enough to make Seonghwa's breathing quicken.

"Y/N... Hmph... It feels so good," he breathed out before your lips found his again, kissing him in tandem with your fingers tracing along his cock. You were only touching him gently, giving him a small taste, before his hands found your hips to stop your movements.

"C-Can I touch you now?" He asked, eyes sparkling as he swallowed back his own pleasure momentarily.

Your cheeks flushed and you nodded, laying yourself down as he shuffled to lay on his side instead. He helped you remove your shorts, leaving you in a plain shirt, sans a bra that you had ditched after the movie, and your pastel flower-patterned underwear.

Seonghwa's tall frame above you made you squeeze your legs together, but he gently pushed them apart, his eyes staying locked on yours as he dipped his hand beneath your underwear to meet the wetness gathered there.

"Fuuuck," you breathed out as he groaned at the contact. His slender fingers simply stroked up and down, hitting your clit every now and then which made you inhale sharply.

"Sorry," he whispered and stopped his movements, scared he might have hurt you.

But you shook your head, your eyes closed at the pleasure that shot through you with each movement. "No, it feels good."

"Okay," he said quietly before continuing, eventually finding your hole and testing the waters by slipping one finger inside all too easily. He pushed it in all the way and your entire body tensed at how incredible it felt with how deep he could go. Seonghwa took the opportunity to meet your open mouth and wrap your lips with his own, fingering you so slowly it only made you ache even more.

Small moans left you as he pleasured you, finding the courage to slip a second inside without needing to be prompted, only making you more crazy for how he was making you feel. You had to take a moment to separate your kiss to catch your breath, feeling your high approaching already. But he pulled his fingers out before he could get you there, absentmindedly wiping them on his bed.

"I-I've never had sex with anyone before," he admitted. "But I really want to."

You blinked at him, eyes slightly wide, not at the confession but at the fact he wanted his first time to be with you. "Are you sure?"

Seonghwa nodded confidently. "Yes. But I don't have any condoms."

You cursed in your head. "Me neither. But I'm on birth control. I can take a pill in the morning too. We'll just be more prepared next time."

A smirk found Seonghwa's lips and you immediately felt flustered from the look he was giving you. "Next time?"

Your face beat red from realising what you had just said, but Seonghwa lent down to cover you with another deep kiss before you could correct yourself. "I like the sound of that," he whispered lowly into your ear before removing your underwear then his own, peppering you with kisses in between.

You rolled Seonghwa onto his back, pushing back the bed covers, and pressed your chest to his, your shirt still on but too busy to do anything about it. One hand found his hair again as your kisses became more desperate and sloppy, the other hand finding his cock between the two of you and lining it up with your entrance. Seonghwa breathed out as his head brushed up against you, and you had to clench your jaw and bury your face into his neck once you actually slid down onto him, his entire length filling you up as you did your best to bottom out.

The air was heavy in his room as you stayed like that for a minute, allowing the both of you to adjust before you moved. Seonghwa's mouth was open with heavy breaths and his eyes were closed, and he looked beautiful in such a state. Feeling your eyes on him, he met yours and gave you a nod to signal he was okay for you to move.

You slid yourself up and down in a smooth, slow motion, causing Seonghwa to inhale sharply and a little more loudly than intended. Your hand rushed to cover his mouth and he did the same, his large hand enveloping yours as you both froze, hoping San next door didn't hear anything. After noting the silence as a good sign, you removed your hand from Seonghwa with a soft giggle, a cheeky smile painting his own features before you slid up and down once more, quickly contorting the features on his face back into pleasure.

"Fuuuck, Y/N... Please..." Seonghwa breathed out, his hands resting on his hips to guide you along.

You groaned into his neck, slowly picking up your pace, hardly able to hold yourself up. "You feel so good, Hwa."

One of Seonghwa's hands moved from your hip to cradle the back of your head, prompting you to look back at him before he connected your lips again. Finding his own pace, Seonghwa met your thrusts from beneath you, doubling the pleasure both of you felt.

Your thighs began to tremble around him as both of your breathing picked up. "Nghh- Keep going, I'm almost..." he pressed his head deeper into the pillow underneath him, his eyes squeezing shut as the words left him entirely. Then Seonghwa tensed, the hand on your head gripping your hair gently as he squeezed your hip with the other, filling you up with his hot load entirely. The look of ecstasy on Seonghwa's face was enough for the fire in your belly to build quickly, the tension within you snapping as your orgasm washed over you in waves. You rode it out, Seonghwa biting his lip to keep himself from crying out at the overstimulation that felt so good at the same time.

You felt slightly dizzy after cumming and so did Seonghwa, leaving the both of you to catch your breath with him still inside of you, the sweat on his chest making your shirt slightly damp. After a minute or so, you finally lifted yourself off of him, forgetting there wasn't a condom and causing his load to spill out of you onto his stomach.

"Fuck," he swore softly, the sight only turning him on again as you were careful to make sure it didn't spill onto his bed. You reached for his bedside table and grabbed a handful of tissues, cleaning the both of you up speedily.

"Are you okay?" You asked him, pulling your damp underwear and shorts back on as you bundled up the used tissues.

"Hm? Yeah," Seonghwa breathed out, drowsiness overcoming him. "Sorry, that was... Wow."

You giggled, moving back over to him as he sat up slightly, handing him his underwear back as you planted a soft kiss to his lips. "I really enjoyed that."

Seonghwa searched your eyes and found no trace of a lie. The comfort in that made him smile. "I did too. Can you still sleep here, though?"

"Of course," you said before heading towards his bedroom door anyway. "I'll be right back."

You quietly exited the room and tip-toed to the bathroom, tossing the tissues in the toilet before you used it yourself. After flushing and washing your hands, and splashing some cold water on your hot cheeks, you left the bathroom, almost getting a fright from seeing Mingi standing right in front of you.

You jumped slightly, catching yourself. "Hey, you scared me," you said with a quiet chuckle.

"Sorry." Mingi smiled, passing by you to use the bathroom next.

You decided to stuff some pillows under the blanket on the lounge to make it seem like you were sleeping there, the thought of Mingi hearing the two of you and waking him up dancing past your mind as you re-entered Seonghwa's bedroom. He'd neatly folded his pyjama's on his desk and was back under the covers in his underwear.

"Come here." Seonghwa opened up the covers for you again and you slipped in happily, immediately falling into his warmth as he cuddled you from behind. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Hwa," you whispered, your eyelids feeling heavy as you let your body sink into the bed beneath you, Seonghwa's tall frame enveloping you as you both fell asleep in each other's arms.

Part 2.

hii!! i saw ur ateez bf headcanon on san and mingi,, can u also do for seonghwa and yunho? i love it so much⊂⁠(⁠´⁠･⁠◡⁠･⁠⊂⁠ ⁠)⁠∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠° thank you in advance! have a hreat day!♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Hey there, anon 👋 Thank you for your support, have a lovely day 💕

N/A: I just want to thank you all for the overwhelming amount of love San's and Mingi's headcanons received. The next are going to be Yunho and Wooyoung's version! I'll get to all of them eventually <3

Ateez as boyfriend's - PSH & KHJ headcanon

Yeosang and Jongho's version

Yunho and Wooyoung's version

San and Mingi's version

Ateez Masterlist

Park Seonghwa (박성화)

So, I'm not gonna lie, you had a long way to walk with this one.

It's a known fact Seonghwa is not the best at making friends, he has some insecurities, now, can you imagine if he has to talk to someone he has a crush on?

Of course he needed some Wooyoung magic to get you to talk to him, he was way too shy to approach you first.

There were too many possibilities, you could be in a relationship already or liking someone else already and he couldn't just ask out of nowhere. SO, he befriended you with the pure intention of being just your friend, he did want that, he wanted to close to you and to get to know you better.

But it was harder than he thought.

You two clicked right away, you have similar hobbies and taste for music, it was easy to talk to you, the real problem was he was falling way to fast and way too deep and didn't know that to do with himself.

As your boyfriend, things were so much easier. The heavy weight was lifted of his shoulders and he was able to relax around you.

He'd drop the whole "cool guy persona" he thought he needed to woo your heart over and be more of himself very fast tho, so don't worry about it.

Now, he is used to be the one taking care of everyone and he wholeheartedly doesn't expect anything in return, yet, here you are, taking as much care of him too.

He's mushy in your hands whenever you do it, even if it's subtle like fixing his hair or brushing something off his clothes. Acts of survice it's his main love language, after all.

Also if you cook for him ( or get delivery before he arrives home if you don't cook) he's a goner. Food is a love language on itself, one he is quite fluent.

He'll cook your favorites foods and you better bet he's buying a cook book full of recipes from your home country (he doesn't trust internet recipes to get everything perfect).

He's a very sweet lover in general, he just wants you to know every single day how much he appreciates you and your relationship with him.

Also one of the biggest with petnames!! I see him being more of a classic one, so 자기야 will be his favorite (an equivalent to honey), also darling, just because he'll like the sound of it.

I do believe a big fight will be rare for you both. Mostly because he rather straight up tell you if there's something bothering him and talk through it.

He hates yelling, big fights, hurtful words, it's his nightmare. He doesn't see himself as someone who does that nor he wants to do it.

If a heated discussion were to happen, he'll just hear you out first, although he wants to interrupt from time to time.

After you finish, he tries to calm both you and him first. These situations stress him and nothing good comes out of that.

Then, he'll tell his side and would take what you said in consideration to have an agreement.

If it's serious of course!

Because is it's not?? He's full on taking personally as if you just insulted his mother, but you just said you don't like his favorite flavor of pizza.

And I mean pacing around the room, hands on his hair, asking himself how he was able to date someone with a horrible taste for pizza and so on, until he can't anymore and starts to laugh.

I see him as someone really private in general, so although everyone close to him would know he is a relationship, he wouldn't expose too much of it to his parents nor to the boys in the beginning.

With time, he'll introduce you to both of his families little by little, until you are interacting with them like you always been there.

An important detail! He's still an extravert and he has a lot of energy to spend. It's a wild ride, but he'll appreciate if you match his energy and go with the flow.

Also if you also a lego person or a star wars person? He'll love to share his hobbies with you. Yes, that means movie marathon on his breaks and he'll let you build with him, he just loves you that much.

He rather stay home for safety, but when you two go out, he searches carefully for a quiet and private place, where you can enjoy each others company in peace.

Kim Hongjoong (김홍중)

This dude right here? No problem taking to you at all. He'll be the one starting everything in your relationship without even realizing it.

The funny thing is, he's the type to fall hard, but not fast.

He is the definition of friends to lovers. He may feel something, but he'd brush it off as a fleeing thing. It wasn't.

He was scared to say something because he didn't want to come off like those dudes that befriend a girl because they were interested and she wasn't available for whatever reason. He wasn't trying to wait for an opportunity "to attack" or something like that.

Still, he is not a patient person and he reached his limit quite fast, specially if you don't pick up the hints he's dropping.

I see him being a bit shyer as your boyfriend in the beginning, just because of the change in the dynamics between you two.

He was the one who initiated, yet he still had to remind himself that he WAS allowed to touch you more and express how much you mean to him now, since he was holding some of that in.

But omg, now that you two are together??? He's not holding anything in at this point. Again impacient man, but also because he's falling hard than he thought he would.

We know he's not that much into physical affection, so you waited for the green flag on his side for that and he did realize soon he enjoyed a lot more when it was with you, actually, he craved it.

I can see him sticking to a nickname of yours or the classic 자기야 to call you. I don't see him that into petnames.

He's love language is quality time and acts of service, which is quite ironic since he doesn't have as much time available as he would want to.

Still, he is a dedicated boyfriend. He works his schedule to give you at least 2 hours everyday, sometimes it's easier and you have more time together and other times it's harder and it's less time.

When he is at the studio, he likes to make little productivity sessions with you, so you are able to be close to him and still do your thing as he does his.

(A whole headcanon about this is coming soon!!)

Also, he is passionate about art, any kind of art, especially the one's he creates, so share that with you before anyone else it's his ultimate demonstration of love and trust.

He trusts you to give him honest opinions and takes, but also to be vulnerable with you, to show a more sensitive side of himself, because he knows you'd understand and listen.

We know he's not the greatest at taking care of himself, so if you choose to do that willingly, he's so so thankful.

He does feel bad to give you extra trouble, even he doesn't in your point of view. He tries to be better so you don't have to do as much as you do for him.

I'm so sorry but if you reach a point of really fighting, it's going to be bad.

Like, he usually is good at managing a heated discussion. He knows when he's getting really frustrated and most of time he kinda pauses everything and takes a break from you and the situation. He always comes back to finish it with a lighter heart.

But sometimes he won't do that for multiple reasons, stress, tiredness, etc. If you really want to fight because of something, ok, great, you're are fighting then. That's his mentality, because he's tired of holding back.

He's a stubborn mf, so he'd fight with every fiber of his body and he'd say it whatever it is like he's 100% in the right.

It's like a explosion really. Also he's the type to recall things and throw it in your face. I'm sorry, he's petty like that.

He could be the one apologizing first, but you have to approach him first. Again, stubborn. He'd think he's right, until you start to talk and then reality will hit him like a truck.

He'd make the effort to fix his wrongs as long as you're willing to do the same, so it would work out.

He would also waits longer than Seonghwa to tell more about you to his members and family. He wants to feel like he's 100% secure in your relationship to do that and that for him means time.

The boys would be little shits tho so he gives up little by little. They regret that, because now they'd have to listen Hongjoong talking about you all the time and he doesn't even realize it's too much, but when he does, he keeps going on purpose.

His perfect day it's you two together, although he rather a quiet and secure place like his or your home, or his studio if it's late in the night.

Reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank you for reading! (^o^)

THE 300 FOLLOWERS EVENT

This is my thank you gift for all my lovely readers, who are always so kind to me.

The idea it's that I'd write a fic especially for the reader who requested it. They could decide elements, places, characteristics for the reader and, of course, who they wanted to be in it. I'd be the one choosing what prompts would be in it.

This is the result! Thank you so so much 💕

My Ateez Masterlist

1. PICNIC DATE - PARK SEONGHWA - 882 WORDS - FLUFF

You and Seonghwa went out for a special date you've been planning for a long time now. After such a crazy year, you both deserved a calm day to yourselves.

2. BAKING A HAPPY BIRTHDAY - SONG MINGI - 935 WORDS - FLUFF

Mingi didn't really care for his birthday, but he still got the best present he could ever ask for, you.

3. BETTER THAN WORDS - JEONG WOOYOUNG - 1.315 WORDS - FLUFF

Wooyoung considered himself a very straight to the point kind of person, but what can he do when you make him so damn nervous all the time?

4. DIFFERENT AS BLACK AND WHITE - JEONG YUNHO - 1.376 WORDS - FLUFF/SUGGESTIVE

You both had always been so different from each other, anyone could easily tell, everyone made a point to always comment on it, but you always held the tinniest hope that this wouldn't stop Yunho from liking you someday... the thing is, it never did.

5. WRITEEN IN THE STARS - KIM HONGJOONG - 1.376 WORDS - FLUFF

In a world of soulmates and gifted beings, every time a couple found each other it was a very interesting sight to see. Now it was Hongjoong's turn, and it wasn't going how he expected to be.

[10:23 AM]

"hwa," you whine, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, "come on. we've slept in way too long."

he simply grumbles and pulls you back into a hug, and you sigh in defeat. you've been wiggling for a full minute, it's futile.

"nuh, you're so warm. it's too early," he complains against your shoulder, words muffled from your skin and the slurring that comes naturally when a sleepy boy is trying to convince you not to move.

he's cute as hell, but as much as you both wish it was, that's not a valid excuse for being late to your brunch date with the rest of the boys.

"babe, I'm serious. we're gonna be late," you tell him, but you probably should've considered the lack of shits he gives when he's tired, because he doesn't budge at all.

"two more minutes, love. then you can drag me out of bed, hm?" he bargains.

laughing, you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair and he leans into your touch.

though you'd consider yourself more of a night owl than a morning person, there's always something special about spending moments like these together. light streams in through your blinds - even though they're still closed, the useless things - and brightens the room with a warm yellow glow, and it looks and feels heavenly.

or it did, at least, but the moment is over when you hear someone snoring in your ear.

"alright, that's it. you gave me permission," you say as you finally break free of seonghwa's hold, standing up and reaching for his arm, "so up you get."

with one big tug, you manage to drag him a few centimetres. you suppose it counts as progress, but you ultimately decide to try his legs instead. pulling him towards the end of the bed, you manage to wake him (and startle him, but you don't feel very sorry for it) with your efforts.

"hey, hey," he cries, "I didn't sign up for this!"

your dragging does not cease.

"yes, you literally did! come on, hwa," you laugh as he finally accepts his fate and rolls his way towards you.

sitting up, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into your tummy. your hands go back to playing with his hair, and you can hear him sigh happily. he leans back and looks up at you with a sweet smile.

"alright, I'm up," he says.

you lean down and place a small kiss on the tip of his nose, causing him to giggle as a soft blush warms his cheeks.

"it's about time, sleepyhead."