heedeungism - Tumblr blog

[heedeungism]

[heedeungism]

when i hear “most men don’t get their first flowers until their funeral” i can’t even hold in my laugh like what do you want me to say to that. am i supposed to feel bad over this? should i start ripping my hair out?

[heedeungism]

[heedeungism]

no rizz. just big bambi eyes and many, many unsettling things to say.

[heedeungism]

where the heart leads, the eyes follow

summary. suddenly, jungwon is everywhere you look and part of every thought you think.

pairing. jungwon x y/n

genre. fluff, classmates to lovers, y/n inner turmoil 👍

word count. 0.9k

released. 03.05.2024

author's note. feedback is appreciated! i need to know how long it takes u guys to write drabbles i feel like i'm doing something wrong 😭😭😭 like why do they take me FOREVER

masterlist

For some godforsaken reason, Yang Jungwon has always been there.

There. Right in your field of vision. Running the school festival's concession stand when you were craving funnel cake. Next to Nishimura Riki on the soccer field when your eyes dart to him, yet also next to Sim Jaeyun when they land on him next. Conveniently seated two columns to your left in your economics class, so when you turn to speak to your friends, you're forced to see a head of midnight hair.

It's irritating. A nuisance.

You hate how Jungwon is somehow always there, because when he is, he's the only one in the room you ever see.

His presence is permanent and permeating; it causes unfilled lesson notes and empty documents to stare up at you every class, begging for your attention while you beg for your attention to stray for once. To not leave a question set half-finished because he just carded a hand through his hair—to not feel your chest weakly twinge whenever he laughs at something his pretty desk mate said.

At some point, you begin to see Jungwon even on the days he isn't there. Even without a stimulus, you can see the lines of his figure that carve out the definition of his shoulders and the sharp inner corners of his cat-like eyes. Your brain is more familiar with the sight and thought of Jungwon than not, including him in an infinite number of mental paintings and films, as if he was as customary in your life as the changing seasons.

Life was better before this bullshit, you think in exasperation.

You hate how the subject at the forefront of your thoughts was just some boy—how he manages to seemingly go about his life so effortlessly while confusion, turmoil, fear settles in your gut.

What's going on? Is this some twisted joke? Why is he always there—

"Y/N?"

His voice comes from behind your open locker door.

You've never heard his voice this close before.

Your name sounds like honey dripping off his tongue, and yet you don't know what to think of it. The rapid beating in your chest and the uncomfortable churn of your stomach are giving you mixed signals.

Cautiously, you close the locker shut. Your voice comes out in a weak exhale.

"Jungwon."

A serene smile appears on his lips. "I wanted to say congratulations. If anyone deserved to speak at the district gala, it's you."

You blink slowly. "District gala?"

"Yeah! You got it, didn't you?"

That doesn't make any logical sense.

Sure, you'd wanted to represent your school and speak in front of the district's administration—but that opportunity has only ever rightfully belonged to one person, and he's standing right in front of you.

"I-I thought you were speaking at the gala."

Jungwon tilts his head at you in a way that makes you feel like your knees could give out. "Pretty sure the name the principal just said over the PA system sounded a lot like yours and nothing like mine," he teases, leaning against the locker next to yours.

Silence falls over the two of you while your gaze is trained on a floor tile, the process of digesting the fact that you'd be giving a speech at the district gala significantly slowed down by Jungwon's looming presence. He looks down at you, a fond speckle in his eye, before he speaks again.

"You can say no, but I have a favour to ask," he says softly. "I have a few parts of my original speech that I really want to make heard. I was wondering if you'd be willing to include them on my behalf?"

He's clutching a small piece of folded paper in between his slender fingers, holding it out for you to take.

You're sure you take way too long to react, shakily reaching out to take the paper from him. Your skin is set aflame when your fingers brush against his.

Trying to pinpoint the emotion Yang Jungwon evokes in you has led you to feel a billion different ones in the process, each one more conflicting than the last—

—and yet, in this moment, you let down your defences.

Letting yourself fall into the sea of stars behind his irises.

Four months later, you're walking up to the stage's wooden podium, over the top of which you're greeted by an auditorium of three hundred different faces.

There's amazement, and then there's anxiety. It manifests in the dry gulp you take and the tightened grip of your hands on the sides of the podium. Your eyes frantically dart around for something to focus on, searching, searching—

Jungwon.

He's there, leaning against a far pillar with one hand in the pocket of his dress pants, and the other holding a glass of sparkling juice. There's a delicate, sterling silver charm bracelet wrapped around his wrist, a singular charm of your initial attached to it.

Your eyes flicker down to the near identical one on your own wrist, the charm with his initial glimmering under the chandelier lights.

With a clear of your throat, you redirect your gaze to the audience. Instinctively, it falls again on the boy against the far pillar.

The one with his phone camera pointed at the stage and the prettiest smile on his face.

Jungwon always seems to be there, waiting for your eyes to land on him.

Or maybe, in a room filled with people, he's the only one you've ever looked for.

[heedeungism]

forever lovers.

ᙏ̤̫ ⠀엔하이픈 [ 제이크 ] ♡ female reader & teacher au fluff established relationship (newlyweds) + cw. not-proofread skinship kissing pet-names 0.4k | other

“hello, my love” jake greets your softly, hands delicately grabbing your waist as you stand in front of the kitchen’s counter, his lips finds their way to yours and he sighs— all the weight of his tiring day leaving his body all of sudden.

eyes fluttering open after he pulls away, you greet him back in a whisper-y voice, before going back to cutting the apple you were cutting before; making sure to not cut yourself and putting each piece if the fruit in one of the bowl next to your hands. you ask him, “what did you do today, honey?”

jake smiles at the nickname, it’s not the first time you call him that (and definitely not the last), but your sugarcoated voice added to the nickname, never fails to make his heart fluster, “ah, nothing new,” he sighs. rolling up the sleeve of his buttoned shirt perfectly to show of his forearms, he leans his hips on the furniture you are cutting on while he puts his hands in his pockets, “well.. a student asked me if i had a girlfriend today.”

you chuckle at that, seeing your boyfriend smile grow bigger, you know he is preparing something, “yeah?” your eyes lock and he enthusiastically nods. “what did you say?”

he passes an hand in his hair before readjusting his glasses, standing away from the kitchen’s table and grounding himself next to you, facing your side in a proud manner “i said no; of course!”

you eyes grow wide, a playful smile mirroring your husband’s, you put the knife your are holding down— turning your body to face him, with one hand on your hip and the other one on the furniture next to you, “oh?” you question him, challenging and playful, “and why so?”

he hums, faking a long thinking process— distracting you with his eyes all the way up to the ceiling, he takes a step towards you and wraps his arms around your waist; he pulls you in a smooth and you put your hands on his biceps to ground yourself, “maybe because,” he starts as you take off his glasses, he looks down to you and a smirk appears on his face, “now i have a wife.”

you bite your lower lip, which doesn’t prevent a giggle to be heard. you put your husband’s glasses in the kitchen’s counter and hold his collar— pulling him closer to you, whispering a soft “yes, you do” before kissing him.

taglist reblogged!— husband jake brainrot... ^^'

[heedeungism]

[heedeungism]

I love you ciabatta, I love you injera, I love you tortillas, I love you naan, I love you bagels, I love you pita, I love you fried dough, I love you scallion pancakes, I love you rice balls, I love you zucchini bread,  I love you cinnamon buns, I love you pumpernickel & rye & sourdough, I love you biscuits, I love you english muffins, I love you french toast, I love you papad, I love you noodles, I love you dough

[heedeungism]

[heedeungism]

I am a beautiful woman and I deserve to eat two enormous pastries before 9 am

[heedeungism]

[midnight thoughts: jungwon + the sublime]

synopsis: after an arduous battle, jungwon isn't sure if he's going to make it, but he has to say something before he goes. pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader genre/warnings: spiderwon!au, angst with happy ending / mentions of blood, discussions of death, overall angsty themes but no one actually dies!, lots of confessions of love, and weird inclusion of "the sublime" bc we talked abt it in my eng class, also NOT proofread :,) wc: ~2.4k (haha OOPS) a/n: heyyyy how yall doin :))))) this has been sitting in my drafts forEVER ... and i finished it at 1am b4 my first day of school so be warned for inconsistencies / i liked the first half of this drabble but the second half is not my fave ,, so sorry that i couldn't do you justice spiderwon

yang jungwon never believed in the concept of the sublime. that uncanny mixture of overwhelming fear and unsettling fascination never managed to make an impression on him. especially in his line of work, jungwon is firm in his notion of death: when the time comes, a vast blackness will consume him; the void will leech away his life, and he will cease to exist. there will be no theatrics, no white light, no booming voice or angel song—only a comforting emptiness welcoming him into the dark.

now, however, jungwon lies alone in a familiar back alley; the tips of his fingers are numb from the amount of blood he's lost, and he can hardly lift his head up from the brick wall it's resting on. the palms of his hands are stained a deep crimson as he attempts to stop the river of red spilling from his thigh. jungwon admires the eerily beautiful way in which the body lets go; glinting in the dim street lights, his wounds glitter like rubies in a summer sunset. at this point, succumbing to his injuries seems inevitable, and jungwon thinks there may be some truth to be found in sublimity.

but, he's not ready to die. not yet—not with so many things left undone, so many things left unsaid.

with the little strength he has left, jungwon reaches for his backpack hidden in the nook behind the dumpster. he pulls out his phone and dials a number number he knows by heart; his cold fingers fumble over the screen, and he curses his current lack of dexterity. eventually, though, the machine begins to ring. the sound grates on his ears as he waits with bated breath for you to pick up.

"hello?" you croak, your question laden with sleep, "who is it?"

a breathy chuckle escapes jungwon's lips. he had forgotten how late it was, how you mentioned earlier that you had a calulus exam tomorrow, and just how gorgeous you sounded when you were tired. "sorry, [y/n] ... didn't mean to wake you," jungwon sighs, "just wanted to hear your voice."

"won, seriously?" you scoff, "this couldn't have waited 'til tomorrow? i mean, it's—it's two in the morning ... i was literally just dreaming about acing that calc test."

a dopey grin fastens itself to jungwon's lips as he wills his eyes to stay open. if he falls asleep, he knows there's a possibility that he won't get back up; so, he indulges for a bit, listening to your fatigued grumbling and smiling like an idiot. "honestly, m'not sure if tomorrow's in my cards, [y/n]," he admits, trying to hide how labored his breaths are becoming, "'nd i jus' wanted to hear you one last time."

"yang jungwon, what the hell are you—" jungwon knows exactly when you realize he's in trouble. he knows exactly when you realize he's not messing with you. the abrupt pause, the hitch in your breath, the way you inhale through your teeth—it's almost too obvious. "oh fuck," you continue, "oh shit ... won, where are you? are you hurt? what can i do to help?"

jungwon coughs out a laugh, "'m in the alley off jackson ave, 'nd i think i've bled on every piece of old furniture back here, if that says anything."

your breathing is frantic. jungwon listens to the sound of rustling clothes and the occasional thud of your foot as it hits your bed frame. you're cursing and mumbling and unravelling at the seams, searching for whatever you can that might help you help jungwon. out loud, you go through a list: gauze, neosporin, saline.

"am i missing anything?" you ask, not expecting a response.

"bandages?" jungwon replies.

"bandages!" you exclaim, "i almost forgot the fucking bandages?" there's more noise on the other side of the phone, and jungwon doesn't let himself relax until he hears your window crack open. metal clangs as you rush down the fire escape; he wills the beating of his heart to match the tempo of your feet against the steps. jungwon wills himself to stay alive. and, it's almost as though you can read his mind through the phone. "don't you dare fall asleep, yang jungwon. talk to me about something—anything—just don't fall asleep."

he racks his brain for a topic of conversation; the nerves building in his stomach as he anticipates next week's orgo exam, the cat he rescued from a tree in queensbridge park earlier today, the new thai restaurant that opened up near his apartment building. options race through his mind, but all of jungwon's thoughts lead back to you.

"i love you," jungwon says, abrupt yet resolute.

"oh god." you suck in an incredulous gasp, "you're delirious. this is—"

"i'm not delirious," he interrupts, voice hauntingly clear. "i know what i'm saying. and, i'm saying that i love you, [y/n] [l/n]."

for a moment, the line crackles with a thick, viscous silence that seeps through the grainy static; it's heavy, almost too real, and jungwon listens to the sound of your shoes slamming against the pavement until you speak again. "okay," you sigh, something unreadable swimming behind your words, "keep talking to me, jungwon."

jungwon takes in a deep breath before speaking again. his whole body is cold now, and if it weren't for the weakness spreading throughout his veins, he's positive his teeth would be chattering. inhaling the concoction of gasoline fumes, freshly dumped trash, and frigid, autumn air, jungwon feels the chill of the reaper creeping up the length of his spine. its spindly fingers beckon him into that same darkness he was once so sure of, once so okay with. but, jungwon can't let himself give in to its temptation. after all, he has someone waiting for him.

"you give me this feeling," jungwon declares in an inexplicable moment of lucidity, "'nd i dunno how to explain it. it's—it's like ... i look at you, and you pull me in. an invisible string, maybe? fate? true love? i'm—i have no idea what to call it. you always make me want to know more, even though i've known you forever. since we were kids, [y/n]—i've felt like this for years. and, i'm sorry. i'm sorry for not telling you earlier, for not telling you when i told you about the whole spiderman thing.

"i'm such an idiot for making you worry. someone who loves you shouldn't do that to you, i shouldn't do that to you. and, god [y/n]—i love you so much. you're this force of nature, you know? drawing me in, even though it's dangerous. and, even though i'm terrified of what the consequences might be, i love you so much that i'm afraid to die without saying it at least once.

"i'm—i'm so sorry for being so stupid, because—" jungwon whispers with a shaky voice, teetering on the edge of consciousness, "i love you, [y/n]. i love you."

jungwon's hearing is fading in and out, and his vision is growing blurry; but, the sounds of your footsteps accompanied by the incessant drone of his phone keeps him from slipping into that overwhelming darkness. you take in a sharp breath, and his head lolls in your direction. jungwon's lips are molded into a mindless, faraway smile; his eyes are misted over, foggy with both pain and fatigue. he's not all there, but he still manages to be cheerful. it astounds you.

rushing over to begin applying all the first aid supplies you managed to stuff into your backpack. wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash gauze bandage, wound-washgauzebandage. the sheer amount of blood that has been leeched from his body makes you dizzy; your head is spinning as you try to calculate just how many pints would be equal to what you've just sopped up. glancing up at your best friend (crush? lover?) you see that his eyes have drooped shut. his skin is pallid, his lips are pale, his neck is craned at an awkward angle as it rests on his shoulder. and, your heart stops because you didn't get to say it back.

"no. no, no, no ... won—jungwon, wake up!" a storm brews in your stomach. it starts as a mellow rain pattering against the lining of your intestines, then becomes a raging tempest as it bubbles up and out of your throat. "please, please, please! i got here in time, i swear—i never cared about the stupid, fucking calc test! i cared about you, i care about you! and, i'm here now, so you can't leave. you can't leave me."

an inhuman shriek claws through your lips, ricocheting against the brick walls that seem to be caving in around you; the weight of the world crashes into your frail shoulders, threatening to crush you. as you inch even closer to jungwon's shrouded figure, your pants are soaked through with a crude mixture of blood and rainwater. you reach out for him and cup his cheek with a trembling hand, and part of you swears his skin is still warm to the touch.

but, hope has no place here.

instead, you cradle his head and heave his body to rest against yours. he is astonishingly heavy; you can feel his muscles ripple beneath the tips of your fingers, but you're already convinced. your best friend is dead. slowly, the cement will absorb his heat, and he will grow cold. as the morning draws nigh, you will be forced to put his mask back on and leave him for someone else to find. then, the news articles will pour in, and the city will have stolen not only his life, but his death as well. tears are wetting his scalp as you bury your nose into his sweat-caked hair. you're gripping at his suit so hard you think the threads might snap, and the throbbing in your head is nothing compared to the agony in your heart.

the wailing doesn't stop until, in your peripherals, you see his finger twitch. sucking a staggering breath through his nose, jungwon cracks open a tired eye to gaze up at you. "i would—" he coughs out with a wince, "i would never leave you."

in your stupor, his voice doesn't register first. his mouth moves, but no sound escapes him; then, the words play over again in your mind while his lips remain closed. seconds melt into minutes, and you float away from your body. a numbness overtakes you as you stare at the scene before you from about five feet away; your fingers are still clutching at the suit fibers, the pajamas you chose earlier tonight are now saturated with blood, and jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing.

snapping back into yourself, you place a weak hand on his chest. steadily, certainly—it rises and falls; the beating of his heart, though shallow and slow, thrums beneath your palm. shifting your stare to his face, you are greeted once again by a familiar, wry smile. jungwon is alive. despite all odds, the boy you love is alive; and, try as you might, you can't really help yourself.

"[y/n]?" he croaks, quirking the eyebrow above his less swollen eye, "can you hear—"

"i love you, too."

the utterance dangles precariously in the frigid midnight air. jungwon's lack of response causes your stomach to churn until he relexes further into your frame, huffing out a pained laugh. he lets himself rest for a moment, relishing in the warmth he manages to leech from your skin. "it wasn't ... wasn't supp—supposed to happen like this, you know?" jungwon protests, voice catching on his fatigue and discomfort. "i ... had everything planned—planned out."

"won, you don't—"

baring his teeth, he lifts a hand to hold the one you kept on his chest and barrels through your objection. "i was gonna take you to the met ... gonna take you for a pic—a picnic in central park." jungwon sputters, pressing his forehead against your upper arm, "then, we would swing ... back to your apartment. 'nd, i was gonna tell—tell you. tell you about how i feel."

still supporting his neck with your arm, you move to take his face in your palm once more. jungwon's gaze is sharper than it was just minutes ago—more focused, more alert. the emotions swirling in those deep pools of raw umber are more multitudinous than the stars they reflect. gratitude, torment, joy, defeat, love. bridging the gap that had separated the two of you for so long, you stop just shy of his lips. a dynamic heat emanates from them; jungwon is practically vibrating under your touch, living and breathing.

"are you okay?" you ask, "is this okay?"

jungwon answers by pushing himself up—closing the distance, sharing your breath, connecting your souls. salt and iron dance on his tongue as your tears mingle with his blood. it's a hypnotizing concoction—one that threatens to send him reeling, one that threatens to have him spinning out with no hope of return. fireworks explode behind his eyelids, a myriad of bright reds and vibrant oranges blinds him, and jungwon uses what is left of his strength to grip your wrist; he grounds himself and allows his lungs to burn as he breathes you in.

after a while, however, your parting is instinctual as the lack of oxygen forces you apart—two bodies trying to preserve themselves long enough to meet again. with a labored sigh, jungwon slumps backwards and tucks his chin to catch your gaze. in that moment, he finds himself frozen; his essence is suspended motionless, positively bewitched by you. in the silence, where all he can sense is you, jungwon embraces the ever-present warmth that has flourished within him. it floods his being with a terrifyingly powerful adoration for you. it is nothing like he has ever felt before, and though he is brave enough to confess, this extent of his love for you—it scares him.

however, as your skin glows in the light of the moon and your eyes pool with the desire for a future with him, jungwon digs his feet in and roots your love deep within his heart. he refuses to let this fear grow in its place; instead, he vows to nurture it, to care for it, to protect it. as he lies in your arms, jungwon rejects the sublime once more and chooses for himself.

"i love you, [y/n]," he whispers into your palm.

the world seems to go quiet as it listens for your response.

"i love you, too, jungwon."

[heedeungism]

sunghoon as kento yamazaki

[heedeungism]

kiss prompts

dialogue

"can i kiss you?"

"are you sure about this?"

"close your eyes"

"wanna practise?"

"i really, really want to kiss you right now"

"i think i deserve a kiss"

"if you win, i'll kiss you"

"kiss me again"

"are you wearing chapstick?"

"shut up" (affectionately)

"you'll have to teach me"

"was that okay?"

"woah.."

"you're gonna get lipstick all over me"

"i think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me"

"just follow my lead"

"one more kiss? please?"

"can we do that again?"

actions / scenarios

hand kisses

neck kisses

cheek kisses

stomach kisses

forehead kisses

thigh kisses

trailing kisses down your lovers body

arms wrapped around your lovers neck

light pecks

smiling while kissing

lifting your lover up

kisses meant to distract

kissing for a dare

goodmorning kisses

goodnight kisses

hello kisses

goodbye kisses

kitchen counter makeouts

kisses while cuddling

soft kisses becoming heated

heated kisses becoming soft

kisses to keep your lover quiet during sex

kisses while sitting in your lovers lap

kisses under mistletoe

leaving love bites on your lover

pulling away to look at eachother, eyes full of love

whispering in-between kisses

lifting up your lover while kissing

messy half asleep kisses

kisses that lead to more than kissing

kissing in the rain

almost kisses that are interrupted by a third party

nervous kisses

staring at your lover's lips before a kiss

hands on your lovers neck while kissing

routine kisses

drunk (mutually / accidental) kisses

kissing your lover as a reward

lazy makeouts

kisses leaving you breathless

heavy breathing with foreheads leaning together

hands in your lovers hair

hands under your lovers clothes

forbidden kisses

pulling your lover in by their collar

pulling your lover in by their tie

hands cupping your lovers cheeks

passionate kissing, pressed up against a wall

being caught kissing

confessing in the heat of the moment, leading to a kiss

luring your lover back to bed with kisses

kisses with a height difference - one leaning down while the other is on their tiptoes

[heedeungism]

@iluanna hIIII 🥰🥰 i am indeed sick in the head for that line 😁 im happy my writing has such an effect 🩷 tho even i was shocked when i wrote that 😭 i blacked out and woke up and that line was written (/j) thank you for reading!! 🩷🩷

prompt: “confessing in the heat of the moment, leading to a kiss” w/ bridgerton!sunghoon includes: kissing, arguments?, branding(in the poetic sense), fem!reader, lowercase

“i do not understand.” you say, voice soft and unsure.

sunghoon huffs out a sigh of frustration, “i do not know how i can make myself clearer.”

he runs a hand through his messy hair, a look unfit for a duke but ever so alluring on him. it was only moments ago that he tossed stones at your window, beckoning you to join him outside, panting like he had run from the danbury estate he had been staying at during his visit all the way here just to speak to you.

your concerns were well placed, he looked rather underdressed for a night out, his coat left behind and with it his sense. seriously, if scandal does not follow this night you are unsure if lady whistledown truly is as all-knowing as she claims.

“do you love me?” he had questioned the moment you had asked what on earth he was thinking, visiting you at such an hour, covering yourself with the soft pink robe your dear sister had gifted you for your birthday. it was indecent but he had regrettably seen you in much less over the years of friendship. though, the childish sleepovers stopped occurring after your 17th, when it finally started sinking in that both of you had duties to your family.

“why are you—“ you nearly ask, instead shaking your head and saying, “you’re flushed, your grace.”

“answer me.” he says—no, he orders. “do you love me?”

“i cannot.” you say, visibly recoiling back into yourself as he steps forward. “you cannot ask me such things, your grace.”

“why do you call me that?” he questions so softly, and when you look up from where you had averted your gaze, you find his centered on you with an emotion foreign to your mind but so familiar to your heart. 

a shaking hand smooths down your dress, and you swallow the nerves down your throat, “it is your title, is it not?”

“you…” he trails off, and you swear you see his jaw shift in the darkness, only illuminated by the far lamps lining the gardens. “apologies for waking you, i will take my leave.”

his change in tone strikes you, “you are cross.”

“i am not.” he denies with a click of his tongue.

shaking your head you step closer, knowing him well enough to know the sound he makes is telling of his lies, “yes, you are. why are you angry?”

“because i burn for you, and you cannot say the same.” he buries his face in his hands the moment the words leave his lips with such unrestrained passion and heartbreak that your chest aches.

you watch him with little control of your breathing, how he runs a hand down his face and shakes his head, the other dropping to his side limply, until finally you find your breath, “you burn…for me?”

he looks at you, and you assume the years of knowing each other, learning feelings from expressions and easing pain through body language, that he sees exactly how you feel about his confession. he continues, stepping close with every word, “there is not a word in this world that can truly express my feelings, but you are the torch that brands my heart.”

“sunghoon.” you exhale, chest moving with your breaths.

“will you answer?” he asks, his body so close now that you feel his warmth. “i do not wish to keep you from sleep any longer.”

a lie. you can tell by the way he exhales so sharply through his nose. from this close, you can see that his pupils are dilated, his eyes lidded.

“i do,” you say. the three simple words that you had said to him countless times yet had never allowed yourself to mean in the way they do now hang on your tongue, your lips parting to speak them out loud yet the duke has grown too impatient to wait.

his hand spears into your hair, pulling you as close as the cloth between your bodies would allow, his lips claiming yours with an intensity you had never experienced. he knew this, and you knew that despite his approach, the hand on your waist remained unmoving as did the one in your hair because he was holding back. 

you had never tasted another’s desire, only fantasized. yet, if this is what it felt like all along you wish he had snuck into the gardens earlier. following his pace was a challenge that you took in stride, sucking in a breath every fleeting moment that he pulled away to change his angle. 

“let me…” he whispers through the fraction of space between you, “court you properly.”

his name leaves your lips and a low groan is what his answer with before claiming their rightful place once again.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[heedeungism]

HIIIIII this made me GIGGLE 🩷🩷🩷 tysm for reading and enjoying!!! i rewrote it like ten times trying to figure out how i wanted it to play out and im so glad its GOOD

🩷🩷

prompt: “confessing in the heat of the moment, leading to a kiss” w/ bridgerton!sunghoon includes: kissing, arguments?, branding(in the poetic sense), fem!reader, lowercase

“i do not understand.” you say, voice soft and unsure.

sunghoon huffs out a sigh of frustration, “i do not know how i can make myself clearer.”

he runs a hand through his messy hair, a look unfit for a duke but ever so alluring on him. it was only moments ago that he tossed stones at your window, beckoning you to join him outside, panting like he had run from the danbury estate he had been staying at during his visit all the way here just to speak to you.

your concerns were well placed, he looked rather underdressed for a night out, his coat left behind and with it his sense. seriously, if scandal does not follow this night you are unsure if lady whistledown truly is as all-knowing as she claims.

“do you love me?” he had questioned the moment you had asked what on earth he was thinking, visiting you at such an hour, covering yourself with the soft pink robe your dear sister had gifted you for your birthday. it was indecent but he had regrettably seen you in much less over the years of friendship. though, the childish sleepovers stopped occurring after your 17th, when it finally started sinking in that both of you had duties to your family.

“why are you—“ you nearly ask, instead shaking your head and saying, “you’re flushed, your grace.”

“answer me.” he says—no, he orders. “do you love me?”

“i cannot.” you say, visibly recoiling back into yourself as he steps forward. “you cannot ask me such things, your grace.”

“why do you call me that?” he questions so softly, and when you look up from where you had averted your gaze, you find his centered on you with an emotion foreign to your mind but so familiar to your heart. 

a shaking hand smooths down your dress, and you swallow the nerves down your throat, “it is your title, is it not?”

“you…” he trails off, and you swear you see his jaw shift in the darkness, only illuminated by the far lamps lining the gardens. “apologies for waking you, i will take my leave.”

his change in tone strikes you, “you are cross.”

“i am not.” he denies with a click of his tongue.

shaking your head you step closer, knowing him well enough to know the sound he makes is telling of his lies, “yes, you are. why are you angry?”

“because i burn for you, and you cannot say the same.” he buries his face in his hands the moment the words leave his lips with such unrestrained passion and heartbreak that your chest aches.

you watch him with little control of your breathing, how he runs a hand down his face and shakes his head, the other dropping to his side limply, until finally you find your breath, “you burn…for me?”

he looks at you, and you assume the years of knowing each other, learning feelings from expressions and easing pain through body language, that he sees exactly how you feel about his confession. he continues, stepping close with every word, “there is not a word in this world that can truly express my feelings, but you are the torch that brands my heart.”

“sunghoon.” you exhale, chest moving with your breaths.

“will you answer?” he asks, his body so close now that you feel his warmth. “i do not wish to keep you from sleep any longer.”

a lie. you can tell by the way he exhales so sharply through his nose. from this close, you can see that his pupils are dilated, his eyes lidded.

“i do,” you say. the three simple words that you had said to him countless times yet had never allowed yourself to mean in the way they do now hang on your tongue, your lips parting to speak them out loud yet the duke has grown too impatient to wait.

his hand spears into your hair, pulling you as close as the cloth between your bodies would allow, his lips claiming yours with an intensity you had never experienced. he knew this, and you knew that despite his approach, the hand on your waist remained unmoving as did the one in your hair because he was holding back. 

you had never tasted another’s desire, only fantasized. yet, if this is what it felt like all along you wish he had snuck into the gardens earlier. following his pace was a challenge that you took in stride, sucking in a breath every fleeting moment that he pulled away to change his angle. 

“let me…” he whispers through the fraction of space between you, “court you properly.”

his name leaves your lips and a low groan is what his answer with before claiming their rightful place once again.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[heedeungism]

fixed the repeating paragraphs! thank you @letters2won !

prompt: “confessing in the heat of the moment, leading to a kiss” w/ bridgerton!sunghoon includes: kissing, arguments?, branding(in the poetic sense), fem!reader, lowercase

“i do not understand.” you say, voice soft and unsure.

sunghoon huffs out a sigh of frustration, “i do not know how i can make myself clearer.”

he runs a hand through his messy hair, a look unfit for a duke but ever so alluring on him. it was only moments ago that he tossed stones at your window, beckoning you to join him outside, panting like he had run from the danbury estate he had been staying at during his visit all the way here just to speak to you.

your concerns were well placed, he looked rather underdressed for a night out, his coat left behind and with it his sense. seriously, if scandal does not follow this night you are unsure if lady whistledown truly is as all-knowing as she claims.

“do you love me?” he had questioned the moment you had asked what on earth he was thinking, visiting you at such an hour, covering yourself with the soft pink robe your dear sister had gifted you for your birthday. it was indecent but he had regrettably seen you in much less over the years of friendship. though, the childish sleepovers stopped occurring after your 17th, when it finally started sinking in that both of you had duties to your family.

“why are you—“ you nearly ask, instead shaking your head and saying, “you’re flushed, your grace.”

“answer me.” he says—no, he orders. “do you love me?”

“i cannot.” you say, visibly recoiling back into yourself as he steps forward. “you cannot ask me such things, your grace.”

“why do you call me that?” he questions so softly, and when you look up from where you had averted your gaze, you find his centered on you with an emotion foreign to your mind but so familiar to your heart. 

a shaking hand smooths down your dress, and you swallow the nerves down your throat, “it is your title, is it not?”

“you…” he trails off, and you swear you see his jaw shift in the darkness, only illuminated by the far lamps lining the gardens. “apologies for waking you, i will take my leave.”

his change in tone strikes you, “you are cross.”

“i am not.” he denies with a click of his tongue.

shaking your head you step closer, knowing him well enough to know the sound he makes is telling of his lies, “yes, you are. why are you angry?”

“because i burn for you, and you cannot say the same.” he buries his face in his hands the moment the words leave his lips with such unrestrained passion and heartbreak that your chest aches.

you watch him with little control of your breathing, how he runs a hand down his face and shakes his head, the other dropping to his side limply, until finally you find your breath, “you burn…for me?”

he looks at you, and you assume the years of knowing each other, learning feelings from expressions and easing pain through body language, that he sees exactly how you feel about his confession. he continues, stepping close with every word, “there is not a word in this world that can truly express my feelings, but you are the torch that brands my heart.”

“sunghoon.” you exhale, chest moving with your breaths.

“will you answer?” he asks, his body so close now that you feel his warmth. “i do not wish to keep you from sleep any longer.”

a lie. you can tell by the way he exhales so sharply through his nose. from this close, you can see that his pupils are dilated, his eyes lidded.

“i do,” you say. the three simple words that you had said to him countless times yet had never allowed yourself to mean in the way they do now hang on your tongue, your lips parting to speak them out loud yet the duke has grown too impatient to wait.

his hand spears into your hair, pulling you as close as the cloth between your bodies would allow, his lips claiming yours with an intensity you had never experienced. he knew this, and you knew that despite his approach, the hand on your waist remained unmoving as did the one in your hair because he was holding back. 

you had never tasted another’s desire, only fantasized. yet, if this is what it felt like all along you wish he had snuck into the gardens earlier. following his pace was a challenge that you took in stride, sucking in a breath every fleeting moment that he pulled away to change his angle. 

“let me…” he whispers through the fraction of space between you, “court you properly.”

his name leaves your lips and a low groan is what his answer with before claiming their rightful place once again.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[heedeungism]

“confessing in the heat of the moment, leading to a kiss” prompt with bridgerton!sunghoon please? found your fic with sunghoon and i loved it sm 🙈

posted ! i hope you enjoy! thank you for requesting! 🩷🩷