🥵 You NEED to Read This: The Seal Broke, and So Did Everything Else 🥵
📌 New ATEEZ Fanfic — The Breaking of the Seal
You can chat with the main characters of this novel by going through the Delulu link below! You can also enjoy secret and wild conversations, so make sure to try it 🥹💗
This is NOT a drill, ATINY. Your bias is awakening with a centuries-old thirst, and he's claiming his destiny with a raw intensity you won't recover from. 🔥 You need to read this NOW.
🖊️ Member: Hongjoong & Seonghwa
💗 Pairing : Hongjoong x Seonghwa (Honghwa)
⚠️Tropes : PWP (Plot What Plot), Reincarnation AU, First Contact/Instalove, Dubious Consent Elements, Public/Outdoor Sex, Violence/Fighting, Ancient Curse/Sealed Warrior, Dark Aura, Explicit Sexual Content
💭 Genre: Smut / Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Dark Romance / Fantasy AU / Action / High Heat
📄 Summary: When the Seal keeping the descendant of Son Oh Gong (Hongjoong) prisoner is violently broken, his centuries of suppressed desires latch onto the purest soul he finds: the reincarnation of Tripitaka (Seonghwa). Their destinies are entwined in a single, explosive night of misunderstanding, primal lust, and the sudden awakening of ancient enemies.
💫 Excerpt:
"Your taste... I think I'll get addicted," Hongjoong whispered. His hand moved to Seonghwa's zipper, pulling it down and slipping inside his underwear.
we're always one with the ocean. | Hongjoong/Seonghwa
» summary: Hongjoong knows the stories. Has heard every variety across every port of call, in blustery taverns and on the deck of a galleon. He’s witnessed the far-away longing swirl in the depths of idealistic eyes, has heard the hushed whispers threaded with frissons of fear. You cannot answer the call of the sea without knowing even the smallest taste; merfolk are out there, and they yearn for nothing from you save the hunt.
» pairing: Pirate!Hongjoong / Merfolk!Seonghwa
» rating: mature
» content warning for angst, character death, romance, tragedy, introspection
» author's note: shrugs?
» ao3 link
Hongjoong knows the stories. They all do, every sailor worth his salt. Every kind of tale you could imagine; a fantasy, a romance, a joke, a warning. Told over dripping mugs of ale, teeth flashing in the dark; lithe and sensuous bodies that glide through the waves, with laughter like music and hands so soft they feel as seafoam. Raucous laughter and too-sweet descriptions of shining eyes bleeding from the dark, lilting voices carried upon the wind. Something to warm you on lonely nights, swaying together with the waves that beat a constant, staggering drum against the hull of the ship as you try and remember how it felt to hold someone in your arms.
Sometimes, sometimes - the tales are whispered into the gloam of midnight. The waves too steady, unsettling in the juxtaposition to the normally tempestuous rhythm of the sea. When there is a blanket of unease pulled over the crew, shoulders huddled together and nails bitten to the quick, chapped lips forming the words in an almost-reverence. Danger, those tales warn. Fall not for the subtle seduction of sirens who will charm you, smile for you, love you - only to drag you down to the crushing depths for nothing more than sport. The steady-building horror of the silence of the sea, squeezing ‘round your head until nothing remains but the flash of shining eyes and white teeth a little too pointed.
(Not even realizing what a fool you’ve been until the bitter cold of the sea digs deep its relentless claws; not until the darkest desire of your woefully senseless little heart grins with too-sharp teeth, raking and tearing until all that is left of your memory is a silent scream far beneath the waves.)
They are neither soft, nor subtle; as untameable as the sea and twice as cruel.
Hongjoong knows the stories. Has heard every variety across every port of call, in blustery taverns and on the deck of a galleon. He’s witnessed the far-away longing swirl in the depths of idealistic eyes, has heard the hushed whispers threaded with frissons of fear. You cannot answer the call of the sea without knowing even the smallest taste; merfolk are out there, and they yearn for nothing from you save the hunt.
His own call came in the form of an all-encompassing desire for freedom. To leave not-quite-home behind and forge a path uniquely his own, surrounded by his family of choice. To stand on a creaking ship and feel the wind, taste the salt-spray air. Chasing rumors and gold and living as he saw fit.
(He’s one of the lucky ones. Too clever by half, good with a cutlass and better with words. He’d clawed from the mud and into the sun with nothing but his smarts, and a half dozen good men who believed in his madness.)
He belongs to the ocean; loves and reveres and respects her as she deserves. Life and death in equal measure, in the ever-changing grasp of a phenomena known to kill men like him with nary a whisper on the wind. There is nothing more beautiful, nothing more damning, than the song of the sea.
Hongjoong knows the stories. He finds himself lured by curiosity, nonetheless.
---
He recognizes the signs; common on moonlit nights when the sea is calm and exhaustion weighs down your bones. Not quite ready to sleep, not when it’s you and the endless sea of stars and the gentle rock of the waves, steady as a heartbeat. The flash of scales just beneath the blue and black, too long and quick to be a fish. Perhaps an otherworldly whisper on the wind, teasing your senses until you’re drawn to the edge, squinting out at the darkness with hands gripping tight enough to the railing that the colour bleeds clean from your knuckles.
(Hongjoong belongs to the ocean. Has mastered her moods, scouted her waters and come out the victor. Surely, even this test he will pass.)
---
The night is calm, even if the crew is not. There is still celebration, still laughter and spilled rum staining the deck. They are victorious, and all the richer for their audacity. An imperial frigate given as offer to the sea, its cargo firmly in the hands of Captain Kim to spill across his crew until they’re drunk on their untouchability.
He grins with them, laughs with them, and takes a sip for every flagon they empty, hawkish eyes ever on the horizon.
Firelight flickers and paints the Treasure in gilded gold, a moonless night their companion as they crest gently over the waves of the southern reaches. Hongjoong leans against the portside railing, wide-brimmed hat tipped low over his brow and lazy grin painting his mouth. He watches silent as his men drink and dance and make merry, Jongho serenading them with his honey-sweet voice and Yunho nothing but bright grins as he stands tall, telling the story of how he’d bested the frigate’s bosun for the sixth time.
(They are home, and family; as surely as the sea that calls out to something buried within his blood.)
Still, he keeps a weather eye. Relaxed as he can force himself to be, as he allows his boys their joyful exuberance. And something tells him, with the hair that stands on the back of his neck, with the shiver running from his spine to his toes - turn around.
(Lured by curiosity, nonetheless.)
He looks, turns his head, just past his right shoulder. Off in the distance and off into the night, there is the flash of scales. Just beneath the depth of blue and black, the shadow passing beneath the waves too long and quick to be a fish.
There’s something in the water, Hongjoong thinks as the lazy grin he wears sharpens like the honed edge of a blade. He throws the last sips of his rum into the sea, watches how it drops like a slurry of rain for half a breath before it settles. A suitable enough offering to his mistress, a flash of humor twitching his smile as he adjusts his hat and reaches into a pocket for the tight and frayed balls of cotton he keeps on hand.
(They don't just sing, he’s been told; though their song is sweeter than the hymns of heaven. They speak, and they convince, and they smile with too-sharp teeth and weave their intricate falsities to drag you down and down and down until all that remains in the blessed quiet of the grave.)
Plugging his ears and taking a breath, he chances a glance at the crew; distracted, daring, they cajole and laugh and challenge one another to another game, another fight. There is joy in their blood, and when Hongjoong is satisfied they will not be taken from him this night, he turns back to watch the water.
And finds not the flash of scales, but a pale face watching him in turn.
Time comes to sudden and startling halt, as all sound and light falls away to nothing. Hongjoong goes utterly still in his boots, breath leaving him in a reedy little gust. He locks eyes with the creature, hand curling over the worn railing until his nails catch on an errant splinter and the shock of pain reminds him to breathe.
He is the night sky made manifest, as pretty and enticing as any treasure of glitter and gold. With milky skin and dark hair that sticks to his neck, falling down to his collarbones. Wide eyes, black as the deepest swirls of night; reflecting the stars on high in tiny pinpricks of silver light that Hongjoong can see even at a distance. And curling artfully over his exposed arms, decorating his naked chest - scales, of opalline silver. They curve over the delicate arch of his neck, follow the trail of high cheekbones and disappear beneath the fall of his hair.
He’s beautiful, like the sea at dusk. Just as dangerous, twice as cruel.
Those wide, dark eyes widen further, too big and bright like the oversized jewels dotted around a woman’s neck. Shell pink lips parting in surprise, before he disappears into the water with a flash of a tail the length of Hongjoong’s entire body, silver and sweet and gone in a breath.
It could have been a moment, it could have been an hour. It takes an hour more, regardless, for Hongjoong to prise his hands from the railing and finally turn his back to the waves.
He tells no one, not wishing to worry nor entice any of the crew. Tells himself to forget, that it was nothing more than a reminder of the bewitching dangers of those ocean denizens that decry him worthy as carrion, without mercy nor warnings. And yet - it puzzles him, like a dream half-remembered. The creature had said nothing, done nothing. Hadn't drawn near, nor woven his song; and still Hongjoong is as unsettled as if he’d been lured by soft voice and softer hands.
Brow furrowing and deep in contemplation, all he remembers in the flash of silver is the queer taste of curiosity. A mystery wrapped in a fetching package; treasure yet to be claimed.
---
The next time Hongjoong sees a flash of silver, he has bitten off more than he can chew.
The Treasure burns, flames eagerly licking up the mast to engulf the mainsail in a spectacular display that turns his heart to ice. It is chaos, utterly; shouting and screaming and the flash of steel in the blood-red sunset. Cannonfire bursts through the air until his ears ring with it, knuckles bleeding white where he grips, desperate to his cutlass and pistol. Bleeding lips split into a snarl, he can smell gunpowder and blood and he’s fairly certain Yeosang is already dead.
There’s no - time, not to consider or mourn or try and gather the shattered pieces of his dismal fucking legacy. His crew, his boys, his heart - they bare their teeth and fight to the last, clawing their way to a victory Hongjoong knows they won't reach.
Not this time.
The spray of the sea mixes with the blood that stains the deck, and he thinks for one quiet, hysterical moment that it’s all rather par for the course, isn't it? The salt in their blood and in the ocean waves is one and the same, and to the sea they will inevitably return.
His vision wavers as he blocks the swing of an officer’s blade, only inches from his face. The fight is fierce, chest heaving from exertion as his boots slip in something slick and his spine slams against the railing of the quarterdeck.
Disoriented, dizzy; Hongjoong blinks the sweat from his eyes and hears plain how his death knell rings - the thunder of a cannon, and the sickening crack that he knows deep in his bones surely must be the main mast.
Time slows to a crawl, as he and the officer both look on in horror as the shrouds snap, one by graceless one. They are treated to the impossible sight of the fluttering sail, burning steadily and falling, nearly gently, as the mast begins to collapse.
His ears still ring. The only sound breaking through the din is the steady and hurried thunder of his heart, its beats steadily counting down. He will die this day, at the hands of mortal men who hate him so, and not from the cold and welcome embrace of the tide. It surges the anger in his veins, righteous and furious to behold. Hongjoong drops his pistol, shot already fired and utterly useless, and grips tight to his blade with both hands to shove it through the spine of the officer who still watches, wide-eyed, as death descends upon them all in one fell swoop.
(Easily distracted. Worthless. Were he part of his crew, Hongjoong would have had him whipped to the bone.)
He nearly bisects the man in his fury, honed edge of his cutlass singing as it glides easily through muscle and bone. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Hongjoong thinks he might be screaming. They have taken his ship, his crew, his life. He will not go quiet.
The worn and familiar wood of the deck lurches beneath his feet, but he cannot - look, cannot comprehend. Hongjoong instead blinks the tears from his eyes and looks to his men -
Finding nothing but blood and ash. There are shadows, and the spark of gunfire. Shouts and panic and chaos - the mast buckles one final time, and Hongjoong turns his face heavensward to watch the final fluttering fall of the black flag, sword slipping free of shaking fingers.
And then - he is falling.
Something gripping tight to the back of his coat, and the world shifts on its axis as he tumbles gracelessly over the edge. Hongjoong hits the surface of the sea with wide eyes, with nary a moment to adjust before he is being yanked viciously away. Away, away from his ship, his crew. To run, to die apart from them -
Panic seizes his muscles as his eyes flash, teeth bared in a silent snarl. His breath expels in a flurry of bubbles that dance skyward and now, now there is little comfort to be found that at long last the sea has chosen to take him.
He remembers to move his arms, kick out his legs, fight, damn you -
Arms wrapping around him from behind, cowing and cradling and confining. The flash of silver, and whispered words pressed to the shell of his ear.
“Peace,” the voice croons to him, something nearly aggrieved in the low intonation of his voice, making Hongjoong go still in the embrace of both deceptively strong arms and the crushing weight of the sea. The night sky made manifest, as pretty and enticing as any treasure of glitter and gold - cradling him and hushing him and the glide of opalline scales feels like heaven against Hongjoong’s battered and bruised flesh.
His hands twitch but he complies, chest tightening from the lack of air. His stomach lurches and the frigid water tears at his skin but he listens - the creature’s sweet-sounding voice dipping into his ears like honey. With every whispered word he relaxes, floating gently beneath the waves and able to do naught but watch as his world is torn asunder.
The creature holds him in a bruising grip, not once relenting even as he swims gracefully to circle him. Long tail curling around Hongjoong’s legs, hair a darkened smudge as it floats eerily about his pointed ears. And those eyes, those eyes - they flash in the dark, greedily drinking every last shred of light and shining silver in the dark.
He looks to Hongjoong like he is precious, like he is a naive boy easily lured by a song as sweet as sin. Hands moving to cup his cheeks, pointed claws at the tip of his fingers dragging over his skin until it burns.
“My treasure,” the creature whispers, the words muted but clear even through the water. He presses his mouth to Hongjoong’s, sweet as honeyed ale and very nearly shy. The gentle press of lips, tongue probing Hongjoong to open his mouth and the blessed touch of air fills his lungs; a gift from the curse-singing mouth of his dear and dreadful siren.
He pulls away to lock eyes, and though Hongjoong’s burn from the salt and the exertion still he watches, entranced, as the siren smiles prettily for him, long hair dancing in the waves and opalline scales catching the glow of the far-flung fire that burns his heart, far above on the surface. The light reaches for them, brightening the silt and painting his siren in gold, like the sea at dusk.
Beautiful, Hongjoong thinks, even as the siren’s palms curve, soft as seafoam, over the sides of his neck. Keeping him steady and grounded, lips parting in a grin that does little to hide too-sharp teeth, ducking down until that sinful mouth full of the promise of death can press like a secret against the curve of Hongjoong’s cheek.
“My treasure,” the siren whispers once more, reverent and suffused with musical laughter. Hongjoong’s eyes close of their own volition, air leaving his lungs in a flurry of bubbles; body relaxing to rock with the waves. The last thing he hears is the low and beguiling timbre of his siren’s song, at last gracing his ears before he is pulled down
➸ tags: coffee shop au, comforting & wholesome, barista park seonghwa x artist kim hongjoong, finding your passion, happy ending, psychology, change of live view, rural town setting, social expectations discussions;
➸ hongjoong/seonghwa (ateez);
➸ general audiences, 5.1k words, finished;
“The promise wasn’t what Seonghwa stayed for all those weeks but because he wanted to. For this coffee shop, for his customers—people who gifted him a missing piece.”
Or, a story about finding your place in the world, your passion and sense of belonging; about the powerful words Seonghwa needed to hear his whole life, yet they only caught in the rural coffee shop after he hit twenty-five. That day, the artist appeared before him and let Seonghwa see the world with his eyes.
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