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  1. Tags

    a multitude of first times for hak and yona, through the years.


    // The first time he sees her, he’s 8 years old, she’s 5, and he hates her, the way normal eight year old boys are supposed to hate girls. //

    [written for hakyona week 2017, uploaded in 2020]

  2. 06 May 2021

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  3. 28 Apr 2021

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  4. 21 Apr 2021

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  5. 09 Apr 2021

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  6. 07 Apr 2021

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  7. 05 Apr 2021

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  8. 08 Dec 2020

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  9. 28 Nov 2020

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  10. 26 Nov 2020

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  11. 21 Nov 2020

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  12. 21 Nov 2020

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  13. 16 Nov 2020

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  14. 14 Nov 2020


    Bookmark Notes:

    the progressions... chefs kiss
    children to adults
    hak and yona myo tp

  15. 12 Nov 2020


    Bookmark Notes:

    The first time they actually kiss, it’s kind of forceful.

    Hak is kind of forceful.

    They did what they had to do, they went their separate ways, they stopped the war.

    And yet, she lay in front of them, in front of him, bandaged and banged up, sore from the fighting and tolls of rough travel.

    They’re all huddled up near the campfire, but Yona’s tucked in, inside the tent, not far, just behind them, close enough so that they’re always, always watching.

    “… Hak,” she whispers from inside, softly to the wind but it carries, it will always carry to him, and he shuffles inside less than a moment later.

    He’s crouching beside her, trying to keep his distance, but the tent is low, and his body is too huge. “… Yes, Princess?”

    “… You hardly fit in here,” she says softly, a quiet giggle escaping her throat. It’s been so long since he’s heard that noise, it sounds almost divine to him.

    He doesn’t say anything, he just watches her. They both know this isn’t why she called him inside, this ridiculous small talk - even if she doesn’t know it herself.

    Her fingers inch closer to his, scraping soft circles on the inside of his palms, and his heart constricts painfully. How much more of this will he have to bear?

    “… You’re not being fair, Princess,” he mumbles, unable to keep his eyes on hers. They are transfixed to the way her broken skin plays against the more hardened, calloused insides of his palms.

    “… And what is it that you want, Hak?” Her eyes reflect the clear moonlight as she asks him, the directness piercing his soul.

    What he didn’t expect was the sudden, unexpected anger that coursed through him.

    “You asked me to call you Princess,” he says, voice low, “and everyday, every second I do.” He pauses, now looking directly at her, allowing her to feel his frustration, “And every day, every moment, I am reminded of our previous life,” his hands grip hers, “your previous life, these scars that you should never have had, these wounds that you should never have borne” -

    “Hak,” -

    “I let you get hurt, I let this happen to you,” -

    And before Hak could continue, his hands gripping her shoulders now, she cut short his self - beration, by pressing her lips against his, her broken, chapped lips, weathered under the continuous assault of her teeth, against his larger dry ones, the same ones that have taken up her dreams of late, in the sweeping, consuming motion, that had taken over his dreams since a time he can hardly remember.

    His hands let go of her shoulder, circling around her tiny frame, and gathering her up as close as possible as he can, till her heart beat resonated through the fabric of his dress, his mouth unwilling to let go of her, reluctant to let go of the taste that it has craved since far too long.

    When she does finally pull apart, cheeks flushed and her breathing heavy, he’s forgotten what he was saying but she hasn’t. She hasn’t forgotten his misplaced sense of guilt and the burden that he wants to carry all alone. And she doesn’t have the words for it right now, she hardly ever does, not when it comes to Hak, so she pulls him closer and places her lips on his once more.

  16. 11 Nov 2020

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