Metaphysical Graffiti.

ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰᵉⁿ ⁱ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵃᵗ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᴵ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ ʸᵒᵘ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ

[1-49]

⾕ est. Lynn; twenties. she/her ⁝ ⌗ mlist. 1’49 CLUB ›

─────────   𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙴𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙿𝙸𝚂𝙼

tender feelings͏ : 천사 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 : ͏some angels ͏will bite your lip

🎬 A movement. A flickering form. Emergent. A new geometry. External. Seeking. The internal. A breathing voyage. Sentient. Alive. An opening. A new field. A new movement.

ᴀ ᴏɴᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴛʏ-ɴɪɴᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ

[1-49]

i turn one year old actively writing a fic lol

[1-49]

with only your mouth

╰► two broken-hearted strangers meet on a rainless night in late May and casually make something out of it.

─────────────pairing : f! reader × jaehyun ⁝ tags : romance ! little hurt / comfort situation; fluff. cigarettes mentioned , break-ups too; soft! charged lol. w. c. 11k. a complete drag! then im the type i am, sorry!

i love him, it’s all. cutiiee. also listen, for a true dark-haired jae enthusiast i sure find my way back here.. but this bnw pic uh! the la vlog? save me!! actually, i need him. at my house. so i could pet him. endlessly! :') soo fine mmmmh !

Flashes of lightning briefly turn night into day; the thunder ’s so loud, he feels it as much as he hears it. It all still brings back memories of that day. The agony just before it begins to rain, as though there’s a tangle of pain stuck a bit down his throat. This weighty strain on his sternum, this hard ‘reach for air,’ bearly some spare for his lungs… This—this itchiness in his eyes that’s gotten so point that a tear could be shed in a heartbeat…

… almost. Because it won’t. Because the desert rarely meets rain.

Inevitably, rain alone isn’t enough to cleanse a sand-kissed eye. Still, rather—perhaps, there’s no other choice but to adapt, adjust, or let go, but miserably so, so far he’s never truly let go in the same way today ’s rain never truly arrives. It all makes him hurt even more… The easier to give up belief, the far more difficult it’s to pick all the pieces back up. Merely stitched wounds that sore incessantly ─────── as there ’s no use in treating them, they damn near rip back open every. other. day.

But today’s all-hang-on: “Screw it!” He’s been staying low for weeks due an inner opinion bullshitting it’s safer to isolate himself, so things now are in a different gear.

Just hardly any growth in a safe zone, yeah?

Jaehyun gets if he is to overcome, he’s to push for new limits. The sooner, the better… though he’s been at his own pace. So fuck it, really… if it’s not going to rain, the only or at least the least useful way he can exploit this stubborn night is to use its cooling winds to rid his mind and body of negativity.

A drive down a parched road and into the city. A Friday, on a late evening, in late May, ‘WHEN HE’S DOING IT!’ It’s as though, all week, he’s been pressured into ‘try and wind down’s by frens in the chats of his phone—individuals who seem a bit obviously-oblivious of his insatiable desire to slack off, travel back in time, and relive memories, sort of… unconditionally. Both voluntarily and destructively, the mind of a preoccupied yearner. 

Driving with these lil troubles, he finally lines up the car in the car park guarded by aged shrubs and steps outside for a moment of solitude. Only to find himself surrounded by back alleys and the saturated echo of club music & people who are nothing like him... Jaehyun’s unlike any, therefore he’s unique. But at what cost? So many places he doesn’t belong these days.

Only lonely, the night’s bitterness is all the way set into the cold asphalt curb, at the back of some of the clubs his friends promised him party, but is instead where he finds himself a place at…

A flash flood of euphoria goes in and out of the back door he’s focused on. He knows it’s one of the ways in; he knows he’s waited on, but his legs… Just aren’t making the fucking move, man! or… it’s really his fucking mind(?) At times, it seems as though he’ll always stay in this ‘state,’ motionless. Trapped in his past and current emotions… Like neither in his dreams, nor in, what is so far been, ‘weeks’ reality can he escape what happened…

Jaehyun sighs, pushing his crashed boots into the alley’s street and spreads his warm palms back onto the cool sidewalk, annoyed with himself for failing to get his thoughts straight in line before returning home. Seems the car will stay be the only thing he can line up correctly. 

Actually, staying actual- to the ‘yes’ he promised his friends- would have been the ideal option here… And maybe the few beers would have def dulled, these now, ‘trying’ effects, yet—

…here he is, staring up at a jet nightsky with a few ‘clubbers’ upsetting his desired scape for tranquility. 

Like a poisonous vapor the scent of nicotine sits on the air, imitating the tainted atmosphere of ‘that’ night; and the only change now… he hates cigarettes. Still, like clockwork, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the lighter. However dull the reason, or having no reason at all, he always has it on him. That he keeps all those memories in the flick of a lighter… Well, is something he just won’t acknowledge… They-

They continue to burn him as he flicks the chrome zippo on-&-off and back on again. 

[Flick… Flick]

“Would you?”

He looks away from the flame and straight at the standing stranger, perhaps, at this moment, too audacious to exclusively trespass into the private space he shares with his memories... What he’s met instead is a cigarette stuck between feeble fingers in an outstretched hand as he raises his head for the whole image.

A ‘Please’ swells through shy, bitten lips, brows knitted in a beg and sorrowful eyes. The foot stomping may be a result of nervousness or the cool current; it’s up to option. 

Somewhat unprepared for any company, Jaehyun does a tiny head shake, ‘shaking everything to the side,’ and stands up to help the shivering figure in front... you. Mans could have lit the cig right from where he was sitting, but it’s as though a tide urges him onwards; something beyond him draws him to his feet.

“...Sure,” he answers. “Yeah,” his attention flickering from the cigarette to you. 

—

‘Some voice…’ you think, 

much richer than any other voice you’ve ever heard; it feels like a new experience. Or you feel so, as it sends a buncha bubbles through your stomach immediately. Paired with his eyes? What a deep alchemy… Still, if you have to make a guess, he’s dealing with something, and the eyes are his windows. Although… 

although he manages... With what little is left of him, he’s communicating his empathy into you, prioritizing your need at the moment over his worries and seeming genuinely wanting to find himself useful.

The fierce lines of his face you walked in on give way to something so far removed from the concept of mystery and unapproachability as two shy creases take form on either side of the cheeks. However, all of the changes they do to his face are hardly the result of him being polite, making you calculate how much damage it could do to get a complete smile from him. 

And so, unfortunately so, under all the crushing weight of his aura, your metrics flow too fast to catch, and the fucked calculation leads you into an even frustrated smile. 

And so, even if short the moment, he lays dominance all over your nerves. 

Your lips, which have curved corners and are a gullible victim of his dimples, are his easy target. The way he’s zeroed in so passionately sort of pulls the curtain, on the prospect, of the times, and the things possible, when he’s not shy... That brisk, tempting possibility... That—

The thought alone burns you across the skin. All in and out.

Eventually, he flicks his lighter toward the cigarette that was all this time waiting on your lips, snuggled between your fingers like a promise of pleasure waiting to be realized. 

—

Jaehyun’s all about the spectacle until you draw in that first breath; then...then his eyes shift from the smoke to yours. ‘An intimacy that’s been all-too-well-lived turns into a distant blur…’ She’s nowhere in his thoughts; it’s like he’s ambiguously hit a revamp you—

You are a curious distraction…

—

You take a slow drag off the cigarette, & it’s only when you’ve suck in all its bad, your closest find ‘damageful,’ that you start to expect he won’t be one more to judge you... Because he can’t, can he? He must be a smoker too. That’s why he’s out here. That—that’s why he has a lighter on him to begin with! He—

He…

...He seems a bit too wound up for someone who should instead be… unwinding. Anyhow, 

odds still place him present at the scene. 

Secluded backstreet, separating a row of nightclubs??

Huh, definitely not a place one just lands at. Or perhaps he has come here with a purpose, but ‘that vision’ has shattered right in front of his eyes(?) your hard guess... But if you must come to something, it’s like the club wasn’t his choice; may as well wish he had never made it choice at all. He—

He’s unexpected, or at least you didn’t expect his effort on you… even—even if it was really you who set the wheels in motion, and—

And not to go on-and-on-and-on about the fact that… that he… he’s gorgeous! All-around gorgeous, a rare smashing attraction! A thousand astounding sensations might take over if—if you refrained from holding back. If—

if you allowed yourself to take him in more deeply. Just—

Well, just because…

The more his stellar, silken face burns through your headspace, the more overwhelmed you get by the way he stands in your presence. His masculine fragrance streams all over, making you feen for a chance, for a 

The feeling stupefies you... And the only way you run over it is by tearing your eyes away from him and sitting down close to where he used to sit. It’s just—

It’s JUST that he sits back, too, which you didn’t think he would!

“Thanks,” you offer, guiltily pleasuring yourself with another sweet glance at him before wandering back to the cluster of smokers for distraction.

“Mhhmmm,” he hums, “Should be careful with those, no? ...Then I don’t wanna come off as a parent, or an older sibling, listing you the risks. It’s a choice, yeah?”

Interesting… You frown sweetly, “You don’t smoke?”

He sways his head side to side, his lips forming into a ‘delectable shape.’

Right, you’re unsure what to make of it… Is he flirting without realizing or? 

Still, having nothing to grasp, you bite your smile and gesture by raising your chin in question to the object he’s still flipping between his fingers. 

“Then what’s with the lighter?”

Likewise, he… he tries to stifle the smile in advance, only it goes beyond his control. His lips stretch, baring more of his teeth. 

“What’s wrong with carrying a lighter?”

“I don’t know,” you rasp, tilting cutely, “other than maybe if-if you smoke!? If not,” you arch a brow, “I’m allowed to assume you’re an arsonist... Actually… there’s really no plausible, god-sounding excuse for carrying a lighter if you don’t smoke.”

He chuckles, bobbing his head slightly, “Fair,” keeping focus on his boots as they form intangible figures, legs extended on the concrete, half of his trousers scrubbing the dust the desert must have carried from a great distance; which! not to say, but he obviously doesn’t mind… 

This beauty thinks for a moment. He measures his thoughts for a bit and even manages to hide another small smile. The memory about it might be too sweet... or the idea, or

He bends himself forward a little, softly rubbing his cheek against his shoulder and then slowly trailing it down his arm, looking at you from a complete wrong angle... A ruinous one! Where his disarmingly dark eyes are all that remains, and his lashes kiss a couple of times enough to inflict their harm. He may give a cuddly kitten, but it’s just... His eyes at moments... 

at moments they bear the flash of a wildcat. Then in eventually murmurs from behind his leather-jacketed arm, 

“Though I can promise you I’m neither. It’s just… It’s a gift from someone.”

The confession blows your eyes tiny more than normal but you remain tender, ensuring your response is kind before diving further.

“Great taste,” you comment the lighter stylistic choice. “Someone you care about?”

With an inhaled “Ummmm,” he arches his neck. His fingers delve into his fat hair, and you watch millions of wild strands become tame to his touch. His jawline joins the study of geometry as he looks up at the black sky, or at least the thin line of it that’s visible between the tall clubs. The shape of things now is,

You. Viewing him. Posing in yet another of his wrong angles!

He’s pretty hot! 90°. And it’s like his hotness just magically doubled. Seriously, how many aspects does this guy consist of? What lengths? Cause you’ve seen insane contrasts in the short time he’s given you.

‘Just imagine loving someone just looking at them.’ Yeah, yeah, he’s that kind! Easy!

Though he finally puts you in suspense with his aggressive, compelling eyebrows & deep voice in confession, as he turns, 

“Someone I cared about… Yes.”

Lingering traces of burn perhaps, in the use of past tense… So, it’s the first time you truly, really pause and not only to think of something nice this time, but also to try to understand the stance of his words.

‘Taking in more poison,’ taking time, you tap the cigarette off ash,

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but—

“If you carry things on you that are someone’s or… serve a reminder, it’s— It’s likely they—they’re still very much a part of you. It’s simple sense, no?” 

Taken off, whether by your loud choice to be so direct this early into knowing him, or liking the fact, his brows lift and his mouth falls open, his tongue reaching his farthest tooth…

His reaction to you is so clear that you instantly gnaw your teeth into your lower lip and grow your eyes wide with a silently innocent ‘I’m sorry.’ However, that doesn’t stop you from being a further jerk… Silent nod to being a flirty one at that, thus your inability to control your smile…

“Yeah, sorry to be the one telling you this but—you also seem as if you’re still under their wraps, like... like, completely.”

“Ummmmm,” he’s reduced to his bobbing again; his lips pushed together as if he were trying to understand, or-or had already done so… 

A very much- intricate line… Stretched time of a tender ‘hum-wave’ in which you find yourself all… all fuzzy, and—and then… 

then a little bit nervous… of the depth his ocean carries, and… and then the—

the washed-off, unvoiced question before your feet of whether you’re a swimmer, and if so, if good enough because…

The currents… 

Yes, the currents!!

He takes in a deep look at you, making sure your eyes are on a deeper, different network than the one they were on before, as he asks, “How can you tell?”

With a frail sigh, your shoulders drop; perhaps you dove in an inappropriately private place(?) Taking another moment, you inhale another drag, snuff the cig off the concrete, and hug your legs.

Truth is, he’s already soaked you in his voice; might as well let yourself drown in advance. 

As it was really you! It was you who flirted with his shoreline… dipping your toes… messing up the sand… here… and then there… then going in... So, the sweeping tide—is what this is now.

“I don’t know, I just— I can.”

Right… You’ve been—hell, still are—where he’s now... so of course you can. You recognize it. And it isn’t a pretty place. 

“Woah…” he scoffs, his tongue turning roughly around as if he can’t believe the candid burn. & more than is a question for you, he murmurs to himself, “Really?” Then he looks back at you, “Do I look that miserable?”

Crazy, right? Really, impossible! How can he be miserable!?? And where on earth did that ‘choice-word’ just come from? 

‘Miserable…’ 

It just—It just seems so out of essence for someone like him. It doesn’t make sense. It-It just doesn’t... It just doesn’t happen for people like him!

But, hell, if it did, how does that word function in its meaning? How does that work? How does a badness like him end up miserable!?

If it’s to you, he exists at a level above whatever that word is. He isn’t coming in touch, even. That word... its close synonyms... and all its implications aren’t allowed to meet him! He’s the case’s antonym because… Because being miserable is a state saved for someone like you and the rest of ya buncha losers.

The most attractive man you’ve ever met—what the hell—even seen!!—and that’s on: far from being an overstatement!

All this time, all you’ve been doing is... so badly denying his badness—you’re so very much well aware of—space! You weren’t making room for his dangerously shaped lips, his lazy blinks, or his overall reserved charm to take root. Because—because all you’ve been trying to do is be patient. Be respectful, more like. Be civil, maybe just- be playful a touch; that’s really all. You’ve been—

...you’ve been robbing your eyes of him. Really, just devouring a few glances, when all he’s made about is… be looked at!

As he’s now… 

…as you’re doing it right now… because he wants you to. Because he’s allowing you. The heck, he may even insist and demand your pair of eyes not be torn apart from his. 

…And it’s when he lets them take full effect—when he’s had the surrounding world go extinct, and he’s taken you to a place where you and he are alone like a dream, and he’s made the silence speak—it’s then that they render you weak against your will. You just know your chest and neck are sort of burning, and there’s this choke you want to break-

but also don’t want to. 

And now that he’s given you the podium, you act accordingly. Or... fairer to say, rather, it’s all your poorly managed—sorta—deprived sensations proving their stupid. But genuinely, you’d go far to defend any babe clawing for a piece of him even in ‘this kinda situation.’ What the hell, sure! Because he... 

He’s a physical materialization of what has, so far, been a fragmented image in your mind. One you haven’t ‘entirely’ imagined since you lacked details. That is, until he now—a tangible specimen of what perfect means for you, and you’re just… you’re becoming hypnotized by his desirability.

But not to forget, the ‘top note’ on all this is him being wound up, and, maybe, a high reach here, but— also heartbroken. Though, then, why’s there no guilt acting as even sort of a base note of conscience!? 

You’re taking him in the way you’d exactly take someone your hormones would normally be flushed about, when perhaps the weight of his hurt is what you should be connecting to at this moment… Perhaps sympathize with his pain a little, huh? 

Uh, you’d whine it all-aloud if you could right now, but swear, it’s him! It’s all of him that gets in the way of all that!!! His flashy, blond mullet he’s placed a little effort in, and has clearly tried to get in place, but there’s that… that one strand that just recklessly won’t cooperate for-for no other reason but the sake of it!

His-his fine fingers he messed with most of the time, toying with that lighter.

His silver ring…

His smooth figure, most judged from those long legs, given the sitting position and-

and that leather jacket.

His looks so dern fine, you pick he’s a model for fun for narrative, and unarguably cover-worthy eye candy. He just lacks the tongue to his canine and a borderline implicit, quirky wink. But-but that’s how it is right now… you don’t doubt the idea, though; the range is there… That ‘made-up poster,’ you already see it in your head.

As for the time being, you break what felt like tearjerker eye contact by denying his eyes once again. Like something flipped the switch to insecure; likely it’s that the stare grew more intimate by the second. Or maybe you just became vulnerable to the conditions? Thankfully went sensitive and-and finally considered his ‘potential’ emotional state? But really, you—

you never intended to pursue anything when you made a move on him, and you—

And—and are only further nervous if your eyes might reveal something about you that you don’t even know what—FUCK, if they haven’t already, but—yeah, whatever that is… When his—

…when his have been everything transparent and listening—with that piece of hair in the way, making him, uh- just as sweet- as sultry. He’d narrow in and soften in habit depending on the pace of the convo and the things he could offer as a response, but other than that, for you—for you his eyes have been everything intimidating.

—

“Miserable?” You get back finally and after all those emotions inside of you have subliminally ‘described’ themselves in your fog of mind…

“No! No!” You follow up with a defense built on a fragile smile, brows up, and eyes that speak in a pout. “You just...”

His giggle comes out loud and endearing. An actual smile; and it’s one of those that you want to obsess over, but it’s not like he didn’t just catch you losing points when you were the one who teased first. Though it’s possible that your clumsy just reeled him in, as his eyes slowly travel down to your lips and... and they wait there.

They wait for your response as he repeats your last words like a hot reminder that you’ve fallen into a brief trance but- must still continue. 

He lets on, “I? …Just?” 

Uh, you hate that! You hate losing! You don’t like what he’s doing, either. It bothers you, where his eyes are at! And the giddy feeling they awake… Except you adore it. You—You don’t, though. Yet you

God, it’s just—it’s just

Whatever! Gulping all of that, you try stay on game. “You do look miserable!”

He smiles and his distracting teeth ease into his bottom lip

and you feel like he’s finally relaxed, and delved into a new world where he…

He knows he’s welcomed.

You don’t know how you know, or what reveals the truth, you just know that you know, and are simply happy to be that place for him. Though it’s gotta be something to do with the air and the way his warm energy winds all around you. Like he’s unafraid to let on that he likes your presence. Like when someone who accepts you as a friend and is easy to understand. 

Much to his ‘miserableness,’ he arches a brow, teasing your change in sentiment, “Suddenly?” 

You hug your knees tighter, assuming the felt sensation down your spine is done on behalf of the wind waltzing.

“Umm... I don’t know... I don’t know... Even if I don’t suppose it’s possible someone like you to end up here... being hurt I mean, but— And-and I’ve no clue the kind of relationship it is, but—but you do have this aura about you, as if you think about her all the time.” You pause on further reflection, then correct yourself. “I’m sorry! Them.”

“Her…” he corrects you in return. “I shouldn’t, though.”

You don’t know if the confession runs through you like a balm or a burn. On one hand he’s admitting he’s a yearner; on the other—you’re a dumb act to feel like this- this quickly but—but needy of that! You’re envying that he has feelings for someone else and wish they were for you instead. Total nutcase nonsense, but it’s where you find yourself being thrown at the moment, in the flux of all these emotions… You’d never have imagined yourself here but—Ah, guess what?

His fingers dig into his hair again and he frowns as he considers it more.

“Why’d you think that someone like me never gets hurt? …Or has it bad?”

“Mhmm…” you think to the sky, “You got me... I’d probably assume, ‘This pretty blondie ‘ss too pretty to be depressed.’ Or at least, that’s the gist of it, for the most part.”

“Mhmmm,” he echoes your song back. “You think I’m—”

You see his question, of course you do! That’s why-

that’s why you rush ahead even before P in ‘pretty’ is pronounced. You can’t get in more shit! Yes, he’s beautiful, but there’s likely a proper time and place for when he’s eventually receiving it for a compliment. 

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to bother you... At all! Or poke my nose in a sensitive spot. I just—I was merely saying how I felt. And-and whether you should or shouldn’t think of her, that’s-that’s something you decide for you… As well the details of her, I—I don’t—

I don’t need to know anything.”

“It’s okay, we’re just talking,” he assures you, letting his adorbs dimple curve like a gentle comma as if demanding you to pause & absorb the cavity it does in his cheek instead. 

And you do, you pause... Ughh, as if you’d want do something else… 

You’d even go as far as to reach & fill ‘it’ in, but again, it remains not your moment.

You suppose it will disappear as swiftly as it’s arrived as if it were a warning to ‘Please, don’t poke my dimple ‘till I’m yours!’ And well... When he’s not, at all!! You two barely scratch surface, so why—WHY are you even feeling this way!!?

Still, he remains here, doesn’t he? He’s equally kept the chat alive and shown no signs of disinterest, so? 

No, why is it hard to believe that maybe he—

“Then, what’s your story?” he asks finally, as if he can sense the group of doubts that suddenly launch a shootout on your lively spirit he was initially introduced to. “I suppose we’re comfortable enough now... Now that—that we know I’m screwed, if I asked and ‘assumed’ something about you too?” Giving off a playful “It’s only fair,” he rubs his chin.

Mmmh-yeah... That’d be just! Only he doesn’t know you got it just as bad... You’re just as fucked! And are just as tragic as he, having an exact tragic night! The only thing about this is you get to be pathetic together; that’s really all there is to it…

“Why are you here?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff at the question; the ugly reaction precedes the achieved warm atmosphere, and the cynic smirk you share is, too, full of something, something not nice either. It’s tinged dark, like dire disbelief mostly aimed at yourself... Hurt has a cascading effect, and your dominoes are all in line, waiting for the first to fall- but

...you’ll pull them back if necessary! Can’t have this moment be defined by your inability to handle past wounds, because—Because this moment belongs to him! Gosh, it belongs to you too! For what’s worth, you deserve it! You deserve some–

Sighing, you ease off the burden as you look up at the sky. “Isn’t it obvious?” And sure, it has its edge again, but it’s also a blade u twist inwards.

“Very… You love to smoke, and you want to do it alone... Out and away from your friends... Isolating... Being one with the elements.”

You turn, “Is that what you’d assume?” & catch that fuckass outline of his side profile as he too seems to have tuned in on the sky.

“Well…” he hesitates, keeping search on the absent stars. “Mostly.” 

As he considers it more, an audible slurp is made by him rolling his lip between his teeth; then he decides, “Yeah, I guess, that’s what I’d assume.”

“Aaand,” you test, “what if I’m not here with friends?”

Oh, wo—The question completely freezes him out as if in a skit, then he shoots you the rapid glance like the antics of the skit’s wackiest hero. His uncomfy smile... his doe eyes…

that exaggerated expression of a scene-stealing shock hitting him as he figures your implication, make you want to reach out and hold him in like a plushie!!!

“I—” he struggles, “I’ll feel uncomfortable if—”

“If I say I’m with a man?” You cut straight, sparing him the thinking. 

It’s YUM... seeing his thick brows knit in a naive: ‘I don’t know... I don’t want to be the person th—’ take on the trip of his corrupt thoughts...

His whiskers turning confident, & his calculated blinks as he’s realizing he holds the advantage?? Then- in with the switch to humor? OH,

“Ah,” he shrugs, “then I got to spend more time with his girlfriend than he is.” 

Yikes! It goes the first pang; your heart flowers. He throws in a silly “I’m sorry” after he—

After he’s teased! And oh, whoa, surprise, it gets no shit done!

You smile, but crap, you’re nervous!

And suddenly, you’ve got your index curled, and your teeth graze the knuckle, and you… You’re inside it: “You’re cute.” 

It takes a heartbeat to set in before you—you realize you called him both pretty and cute in the span of a few lines... How-

how embarrassing... What a—What a—Yeah!  YEAH, you take no second but use the same hand to shy away of what you said, covering your lips. 

“But—uh- Though I’m with friends,” you start, and in mistake! 

Plus recalling ‘the reason’ makes your ‘spirit chip,’ just as it did just moments ago. “Honestly… I couldn’t spend another minute inside, so I got out.”

“Too loud?”

Guiding your fingers to the back of your neck, you try soothe the tension away and begin to ‘put names’ to the motives at hand. 

“Anything, really. Suffocating… Overwhelming… Too Reflective. Toxic even.”

“Oh, wow,” he cuts in, “Too much for you(?)”

Being neither on the line of question nor statement, but sure, it’s a fact, so you force another sad smirk and reason, “Does it show I’m also miserable?”

“A little,” he giggles.

“Mmmmh...” the soft hum smiles of your lips as you nod while your fingers continue on&around your cords, caressing off that extra strain.

“And the cigarettes are your escape?”

“Look, I know many say this, but—I’m really not a regular smoker. I only do it when I’m super nervous... Anxious, or whatever you want to call it. But— That’s something you’d know already, right? That lighter on you proves me you’ve either smoked in the past, or… As you said… It’s been given to you… meaning she smoked. Either way, you’re familiar with the philosophy of smoking, and the types of smokers one way or another.”

He moves his jaw around; perhaps the attitude was once more too blunt(?) And clearly chooses to -totally- overlook the latter part of your comment, which would clearly tie him to his whatever-can-be-called ex girlfriend, he asks, “Why’d you smoke at the moment?”  

“You really want to know?”

He breathes, & it creates a fragile line between his brows. There’s something so… so dangerously real in the way he deeply, “I do.” 

It’s like a love you’ve waited lifetimes for. Like—Like it wants to touch every crooked fold in your being and imprint a sliver of his light on your darkness. Like he’s ripping off the bandage you’ve placed over your heart so…so carefully…

Oh, but you were promised love before, and it’s all a lie. That prospect is a lie! That war is over! Now— Now you rarely believe in stars connecting souls, or-or that a red thread brings strangers together. But—

But

You sigh, “Okay!”

But again,

it bursts in on itself! It-it just keeps feeding on what remains of-of that empty void your past person carved out in your chest with the blade of betrayal. So…

So you have to—you’ve to always give yourself a moment to disentangle ‘their’ memory from your answers…

“I’m… I’m not in the greatest mind space either... And now, the club and everything.”

“Becausee… of someone?”

Uh, you notice the lazy detail in his voice… It’s like he’s giving you all the space you need, that he’s cozy enough to wait until you decide you want to say something again. And it lights you, again, the thought of how long he would if that were the case. 

“Because of someone,” you smile, lazying your way in your response too, “... Yes.”

And for a heartbeat… his-

his smile and eyes tango with yours. And you wish he were closer when he,

“Him?” Then in, slowly and entirely, his eyes move to your lips. “Them?”

Fuck… the distance... Fuck it!

You brain practically shrinks as he lingers down there, on your lips, insensitive; that your bottom one adopts its own heartbeat! You’d pull a smoke, but it’s no time for cigarettes... And he’s figuratively doing nothing. Figuratively doing nothing! He’s breathing. Waiting. But you can’t help but fall victim to that oh,

“Mmmh,” you murmur. “Him.”

“Soo…” he draws conclusion, “We are mutually miserable on this fine night(?)”

A giggle precedes you, “You call this a fine night!??” 

“What’s wrong with it? Other it was supposed to rain, then it didn’t. Then—the temperature just dropped, then— And we… We can’t stop thinking about the people who hurt us! See, it’s all fin—” 

A steal show; 

the sky flashes as anger swallows the ‘dark,’ & the thunderous strike ‘chops’ his ‘fine’ in half. Stroke of electric death or stroke of life, it honestly boils to what you want it to be. Still, in the stillness that follows, you bear the weight, shaken slightly of the cruel breeze that sweeps the entirety of the narrow alley.

“Um, Sorry, what a—” he rises abruptly. “Want to have my jacket?”

“No need to,” you wave your hand. “Thank you, I’m fi—”

OR! duration in which he’s already removed it, stepped in, and is now draping it over your shoulders. The offer—NO, not even being a question of choice apparently, as he’s made it his mission!

You go frantic, just like a deer in the middle of the road, though he’s already made it to your shoulders. The warmth that accompanies his dimpled smile spreads across your face as you look him up…

Pulsating throbs of your heart as ‘your’ two frictions force reaction—his gentle hand taking careful time brushing your bare shoulder. His touch alone is birthing so-many-more goosebumps than the night is; you’re only left hoping he thinks it’s only the temperature.

When-

when he’s letting you know you two are at a temperature of comfort and capability!!!

“—Fine,” you finish. Taking in a gulp, snugging it better, your hair stays caught beneath the leather. & it’s instantly felt… the embrace. Not only from the jacket but from the kindness he’s so far shown you. 

“Thank you,” you do so gently,

because no more is needed… 

...because he’s sat way closer to you than he’s before, and now…

even only whispering will do!

Now…

You’re sat so close, you can catch the roots in the blonde suggest a natural hue that’s perhaps been bleached in a ‘riot’ or a ‘change’ and a ‘move on.’ Though there’s something more out of place, like—

Like the visible manifestation of his, too, perhaps, shyness.

It tones... It colors the porcelain corners of his ears so openly. Involuntary, just as stimuli… Another prospect, you gather; the fact he’s palpably soft-skinned... Likely sensitive in parts of his body that haven’t been ‘lovingly’ ‘rubbed raw by real touch.’ Or…

or a further ‘foretaste’ really, of those times and those things possible when he’s not shy... Of-

of the extent this blush could go… if

Fuck! For what else could exert such dilation but the fact he’s touched you? 

Either he’s blushing because his heart doesn’t have an ego or… Or because he likes you, even if a tiny bit. In any case, this ‘blushing miscommunication’ buys into your heartspace without payment. And you’d shoo him out of there but- 

your excitement escapes the undersurface as you smile to yourself. 

And—

It. doesn’t. go. by. him!! Reaching for ‘what’ you just gatekept, he,

“What?”

Those succulent dimples… 

Denying him your insane thoughts, all… ALL of which involve him, you close your eyes, wave your head and shrug your shoulders underneath the funny, kissing feeling of his jacket. 

“Nothing.” 

And quite the nocturne of buildout, the way the lightning isn’t only in the sky but in the corner of your eye too. Flickering, followed by the roll of another thunder, it crashes boldly, as above, so inside. 

‘This texture’ of his engulfs you, and perhaps you’re here, and nothing else matters, & nothing more needs to be said… or asked, but 

…as some have said, 

‘the arrow endures the bowstring’s tension so that in the release it can become more than itself.’

And curiosity, deeper engagement… energy, all beg to be released…

The minute silence is so still it’s violent;

The right, prolonged stare you both share, taps in the same frequency; your words coming in synchrony:

“What did he do to you?”

“What did she do to yo—”

—

The tides turn a bit; his voice dips a chord darker, a bit provoked but still in appetite, 

“You said you weren’t interested.”

“I know I did, but—” you look to your feet, subdued. His masculine push intertwines with your guilt to tighten your belly, and you have to actually swallow the feel that comes with having a change of heart before you give your voice a gut. 

“...Maybe now I am.”

“What changed?”

You shrug, but you know your reason. Yes, you wanted to know why he’s hurting at any point; it’s just that you want to know now more than you did before.

“Either way,” he reasons, “I asked you first.”

You dwell on it, stuck on the metal manhole right in the middle of the alley road, and it’s like… the more you think over the right words, the more you sense from the edge of your eye like he’s struggling to slim his smile into a serious thinking pout, but- like- like he’s going to be there, and he’s going to smile, no matter what you’ll say.

“I loved him too much,” you ultimately admit, “it scared him away.”

“So… A coward?”

“I mean…” you scoff, “It’s alright... I just had to accept it as it is… It’s fine not to be so equally in love with somebody,” 

somebody being you, 

“and then, actually have the guts to tell them. It’s better that way, I suppose.”

He tilts in a bit- to get you to stop looking at the ground and at him! 

“Was he that way?” 

You come silent. Actually! on second thought, not only did ‘he’ tell you he didn’t love you, but he went on and did the worst thing possible… Taking in ‘his’ shame, which you shouldn’t, you barely mumble, “No, I guess...”

“You guess!?” he reacts impulsively. “So, he cheated on you?”

Again, his plainness goes to where it shouldn’t and you shoot him an irate look before... 

before you take a breath and- 

“Yes.”

“That’s not only a coward, but a jerk.”

Your irate look?? Likely just sharpens. 

You know it does, cause your frown lines etch themselves deeper into your skin, and you’re gritting your teeth.

“Sorry, I—I don’t mean t—I didn’t,” he stutters, “I—um, hurt you, I mean.” 

These, these ‘Why are you frowning at me?’ eyes of his, this-this ‘What did I do?’ 

“I don’t want to make you remember something you—”

“You’re not!” You interrupt… then-then close your eyes and hold your nose.

Temper... temper... Don’t lose your temper! This isn’t exactly fight or flight, and he’s exactly the one to be angry at! It’s- just— talking. Sigh... And rage isn’t exactly evil; it’s grief with nowhere to go… It’s love that’s been… That’s been left in the cold.

And the gap he leaves isn’t loud; it’s just that he.. is… careful. again.

He draws his legs in and rests his elbows on his knees. It’s like he weaves his words in a perceptive, quiet guise before he even-

he even lets them into the air. He is—he’s that considerate… 

“I am… I’m getting to you… or at least some part of you that loved him, or still does.”

[Pang!]

You gulp.

Your heart blushes at the first declare; actually, TF?? ‘I’m getting to you.’ 

!??What-WHAT is that even?

It certainly scratches a part of your brain, as you repeat it. Though you know what he means by it; that he’s probably upsetting you the more he’s reaching, but—

‘Yes! Yes! You’re getting to me!!’

AAAaaa!! and a frown can only last so long till it becomes a smile!!! And biting it again, you wave your head, but uh

Boyish, warm, curious, “What?” 

A slow reprise. You watch him. He watches you. 

“...Nothing.”

It’s everything!

Lovestruck and silly.

A silly game… 

and you’re playing it,

with him.

You’re clenching your fists into the lapels of his jacket, and every skin on your arms prickles. The warmth in your face hasn’t left in over a hot minute… ‘Is this safe?’

His flirtatious quiet and shy, yet toothy smile, makes all feel love. 

So, how—How could that not ensnare you in an awful trap of trying to dissect him and determine what he’s made of and what fuels him!???

“And her?” 

“Her!?” He squints as if trying his memory of the last page you two were on, then, 

“She was—

She was too much. She…

She was everything but mine… Everything else. And— gradually she was starting to shape me into something I’m not. And I simply couldn’t pretend to be the perfect person she wanted me to be, I’m not the type... It began to feel manipulative… the whole thing. Although I only started to realize that— and her intentions… way too late. Because I was too blind falling in love with her.”

You—YOU JUST DON’T SEE IT! So your senses storm: ‘Motherfucker, you’re perfect! What else—What else could she—’  

yet instead,

“Ouch,” you act, placing a hand over your heart to simulate the pain. “Your storys kinda awful too.”

“Kinda,” he hums; his charm melting off his lips like ice cream on a hot summer day right off the cone as he teases in the question, “See why I’m miserable?”

“I can totally see,” you give your ‘honest’ and bring to toy your thumb to cut over your bottom lip as if in deep thought. “She sucked the life out of you... Like—

like you’re desperate! …You’re full of yearning.”

He chuckles, bobbing softly. “Should never forgive her for that.”

“You learn fast.”

He hesitates a bit, flirting and keeping you on the edge, “... I don’t.”

OOOF!

He shouldn’t be there! This blond, chocolate-eye shouldn’t have the authority to wind up in your stomach, but he did just that!! With his fucking voice… And his fucking face… With his fucking

He’s got you to smile for him soo bad! He’s-He’s gotten you so much—

OH, HE’S sending your chemicals outta wack!! Giirl, get up!!

You feel like falling in love with him off of it... his smile. But—his interest is still so irreconcilable!! True, he urged you into a constant giddy chat, and a steady eye contact, but once the silence returns, so does reality… It-it just feels too intimate, too demanding, too—

—

You try pulling from that dream again, getting cozy, hugging your legs more to your chest and resting your chin on your knees.

Wondering if the hot crush would just glide off like everything love-like has glided off on you in the past, you start & ‘try’ shapes on the asphalt.

You set yourself for a little challenge, that’s to ignore him! Just forget he’s there till he decides he’s had it with you, or—or till your friends are finished inside & are ready to go. Just place him out of this scene; pretend he’s invisible; pretend you don’t wish to—

Ah, not only he’s right there with you, he sifts closer, to where your bodies touch, to where

The amber light of the street lamp so delicately falls onto the stream of hot veins along his hand as he reaches down for the ground too… 

However, what his ‘exploration of the shared ground-space’ means is ‘a way to another justified contact.’ This phoney, ‘unaware’ ‘skin meeting skin,’ as his hand occasionally brushes off of yours...

But what’s guilty though, are the risks in the intimacy of imagining his hand on yours… or comparing it to yours... 

Of your palms pressed together. Of his hand on your skin. Of his hand on more of you… And then? 

His hands as plural! 

Of his irradiated touch, and how it melts your mind… 

Really, all cycling back to the thought and the ache for, the time and the place when he’s not—

…when every motion of his fingers perfectly crafts a sin.

And—yeah, yeah—that’s an unfair way to view him right now, but- you’ve also had your two drinks, and he’s been—

It’s so unfair!! because you can’t work more through tonight’s pain with someone like him; it makes you feel bad since he’s hurting too. It’s beyond simply finding comfort in someone’s warmth & serenity, & asking for more emotional depth would be just baseless, because-because

It’s hard to accept, but- 

...you’re just lonely, and he’s the first to touch your loneliness… That doesn’t mean you get to expect things from him, however; you lack that right! He’s merely someone who-

who let you light your cigarette, & the rest is—

NO! It’s really unfair- to think of him in this way- but you SWEAR it’s something in his rude vanilla hair and its uncertain length. Something in that chaotic strand that curves over his forehead forming him a heart shape… In the way his ends flirt with his nape, playing for your pull... Something in his multi-core voice, and the way its notes slip across your skin and sink into your pores.

His collapsing cheekbones…

His vibrating giggles. 

His bruising ears.

The way his eyes would not move from you.

The way he’s kept the spell, locked.

His blueness he’s shared with you. 

His ‘honeyed self’ that’s gotten you more and more ‘stuck’ every time he’s spoken or done something, so now—

You swear all these combine and grind hard!! to give him romance! He could just decide now to stroke a finger down the land of your inner arm, sketching roses, and it’d be just another typical aspect of the

Abruptly,

he peels your hand off of the concrete & gently lays the back of it inside his palm.

His eyes search yours as if to bring your focus on what he’s about to do in advance of his fingertip slowly starting to trace letters on the tender surface of your love line, life line, and fate line in

‘C A N   I   K  I S S   U ?’

The drag is endless…

…then he lifts his puppy eyes to look at you, and the magic felt is telling you so much. 

Caught between being the sweetest angel and the sweet fear of having just made himself vulnerable, you feel like exhaling dandelions each time he blinks, dreading your answer. How come this one wounded creature could be so astonishingly cute!?

This—This stranger whose name you don’t even know and whom you seem to have loved before you met... This-this man of your fantasies, whom you waited for, and now that he has your hand in his—YOU JUST WANT TO YANK HIM IN and embrace eternally. You can stay locked in his dreamy, passionate arms and absorb his artful and phenomenal ways!

Save, you also can be a lil cheeky too! You want him to play the goof a tiny bit more, so you make him wait! 

You make him wait, & the seconds play off of his uncertainty so messily. He’s so fluffy- as you act all confused like you didn’t catch what he just wrote… 

“What!?”

He gnaws on his cheek; he knows you’re about the fun; he lets you. His lips flatten, keeping the giddy, and his fingers curl over your knuckles and intertwine with your hand from behind. 

Charmed, your fingers press over his. With no real distance, ‘you can taste his breath as much as you can feel it…’

His tone drips like a smooth, smoky drink, all whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

You wished it; still, you glance away. You inhale. You take a moment before facing h—

What the hell, “Sure.” 

What could go wrong? You’re probably never going to see him again, so, 

“Why not(?)”

He smirks thru his hot bite and motions forward to kill the gap; the anticipation, however, naturally makes you close your eyes. And it’s what you can only describe as suspense; you just feel him moving, changing the air to a minty breath as you ‘imagine’ his lips open a touch.

You get the complete tingle, and then there’s the complete contact... His nosetip presses against yours in what you assume is ‘last chance permission,’ forcing your eyes open, so you just then find yourself with only one path in sight, one you can’t come back from, one that is his lips, his lips, his thick bottom lip!

And, the only ‘wait’ now, is only him, etching ‘this,’ ‘near his heart,’ and yours too. 

This moment… this bit in the universe… you. Someone new and unfamiliar. 

Because just now, neither of you knows how the other tastes… or the way you’ll individually sigh after you touch each other to your bones.

And, 

he’s not clustering any courage to have a deep feel anymore; his moist lips rest on yours; he knows he’s separated you from anything that doesn’t connect you solely to him.

“What kind of kiss…” he slides his fucked smile over your lips, “do you want it to be?” 

The rush, from your brain- to your throat- to your tongue- to your lips???

Is this looooong wait going to be worth it!??

Yes, a kiss is a sentence.

It’s art... It’s an exploration to discover more than what’s already there. An exploration for something more than this.

…And he’s silly, and the push of your dominoes will be his exact boyish nature.

You shrug, digging your nails into your fist to make sure it’s all real.

“You don’t know?” he teases.

“Just a kiss,” you breathe, “A simple kiss. That’s all I-” 

The rest of your words are lost ag— His lips curl to yours as he enclose over your mouth like a puzzle piece fitting in place and closes slightly to interlock.

The slow, lingering first kiss, right? The one it helps you understand something about the other person, right?

Well, with his honesty and melancholy, that’s the type of kiss he can offer you tonight, to your preference or not. And it’d be your own doing, your own foolishness for falling for such a stranger, mysterious and hurt, thinking he needs to prove something to himself…

—

You don’t need to tell him what you want in a kiss,

your lips take in each other in a fragile way, and they know! The tone is nothing fierce, but soft and uncomplicated. Side these unnerving sounds of breathy sighs and lip-smacking you both carefully lay in each other’s mouths... on purpose. 

Then it’s all about pace;

the angle at which he tilts his head;

the first time he slides down your chin, and you let his upper lip in;

the moment your tongues touch;

his first moan.

And only then, what starts in hesitation swells with possession. 

The untamed of human nature... The notion of being the first, even if you aren’t the first, is... intoxicating. Wanting to show you if not everything he knows how… everything that’s—

...next, he’ll be taking you boldly and without warning close to him.

His fingers trace the edge of your jaw, and you can feel the galaxies ripple beneath his touch. “Do I“ he breathes, his fuller lip dragging across yours, “Do I press harder?”

OR, ‘lips that have built the design, will now tear it!!’

At worst, the lightning goes equally in the sky as the question & you whimper even before you have a chance to react differently! Humiliating, your sensitive boils over,

“Yeahh,” you plead. 

His wet, “Yeah?”

Very…

His teeth serve the introduction, sinking into your bottom lip, and then he slides his hand in, his fingertips dig at the soft skin just behind your ear and his palm locks your cheek. What it really does is, easy coerce you into giving in—helps him pry your mouth open so obscenely so his tongue can reach deeper.

Your ears perk as a hard moan escapes you from someplace disgustingly forgotten, a sound that should drive wild anyone with working hormones...

He’s pure heaven to touch tongues with!

Ensnaring you... softly but aggressively, as the sweetness of lustful saliva lubricates. Likely some of your cig breath catches onto his lungs, as his minty taste contrasts with your ‘occasional’ habit. Or a sensational exchange that feels very used to; you’ve both been here before; felt it; done it, yet not entirely like this, because he—

…kissing a complete stranger—

…exactly kissing him—

He’s got your hot face in his palm, and the frequency, is the rate…

Of having a matching heartbeat, and each heartbeat’s a thunderclap.

Of slutty rising noises as your lips start to feel baked, catching smoke in the fire of his lips. It’s like he’s on a mission to find every weak spot that makes you gasp in his mouth just a little bit harder... a little bit louder, and a little bit more needier… 

And he’s swallowing every sound, believe… Just as his moans escape him in time for your kiss to catch them. The anchor’s getting dripped, chain link after chain link, after- plummeting deep.

The kiss turns hard, like every flash in the sky rages from your arc. Like, fuck, his own need for destruction those couple of months is perhaps now being taken out on you! But you don’t want him—

‘Stop... Oh my god, don’t stop!!’

Bloods races the pleasure center, & your brains beyond dissolved; otherwise, it’d take you a moment to understand your next action…

…The pads of your fingers taking on the cutting of his jaw…

…your nails digging into his face... 

Think-think, trashing a canvas! How dar—

Actually, it’s what tosses you over ecstasy’s edge, the fact you’re touching him where you shouldn—

“Pleease!!”

“Please what?” he smirks against your lips, his voice muffled in deprived hue! JUST unneeded!!

“I don’-don’t know!” You whine, frustrated, stimulated.

Yesss... yes, Do you want it worse? ’cause you got his face tight, and everything slipping out of control could easily get a whole lotta hotter. But-but

you aren’t his, and he-

he isn’t yours, and—

It cuts! Whatever that was, it gets cut. 

Your temple rests against his, and you’ve got your eyes closed, waiting for the embarrassed strain of really, whatever that was, really, to ease before you can face him again. Though-

though you continue to hold his face, even after your eyes meet his again in the dim light. 

...His face structure,

...his face structure, his face structure—and your hand as the measuring tool!

His sleek lips puffed from all the rub, painted in your lip product, looking miserably—

His rosy, now not only ears, but fucking cheeks.

It’s like he’s been through a war; he’s unaware, & you want to giggle, but you bite down. again!

Your thumb and index, however, disappear into something as you hold him. On each side, they sink into the most tender skin, the most tender tender you’ve ever touched, ever known, ever—

The gift-the 

stops your heart…

You-

He chuckles softly at your reaction… infuriating, confusing you-you

“Did you feel something?” 

You-

you take the question for a pause! pulling away for air and waiting for whatevers heavy on your throat to drop... He’s disarranged you! with his mouth; with what he’s crammed and left of him in there, in you; with his dimples, with his—

but you still tug on the corner of your lip and lie. “No?”

Tsk tsk… You play too much... 

Not that it’s a lie, either. It’ll take time to rip ‘either of them’ entirely from your hearts and lives. And the kiss just tested on that; on whether the two of you are still emotionally led by these abusers of your love. People you loved but turned out careless with your hearts. While one didn’t know how to handle so much of it, the other wanted something different entirely, so much they didn’t know what they wanted in the end.

His mouth forms that delectable shape it does, “No?”

You slowly shake your head… Whether you’re lying or not… He—

“Then,” he looks down, his brow lifts rather critically as he spins the ring on his finger, “...that must mean we’re still bound to them.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Mmmmh,” lingers intentionally as he gives the ring another allusive turn and rubs the space near the knuckle. Then slow and deliberate with his words, he tries again; his lashes lazily flick up from the ring at you, following the question’s tempo, “Wanna try again?” 

But damn, if anything, you see his lowered stare as an attack! His submission is almost insulting;

‘We can always try again’ shines over his eyes, like a mirror glaze on a chocolate cake. He’s starved you with his eyes! like you’d never be free of that stare or him ever again.

And your dragging out a simple answer has him stilling inappropriately so close! His breath, everything invasive, harasses your face, persuading your body in ways you can’t escape.

And it all comes to a pinnacle,

as lightning knocks the whole fucking sky out! Forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, and there’s no going back; you feel it; you know it! Your eyes on him, his on yours... Breathing... Watching... Tired of waiting.

No hesitation; no doubt stands in between. The thunder supervenes, demanding you not to veer away, and his hand slides through your hair again, his fingertips digging in at the back of your head like 5 needles so u’d feel the intensity of his claim as he pulls you

You—

you don’t need to answer!

His lips crash against yours, sore, way softer. His tongue slavers, unashamed, pressing eagerly into every nook. A sorta kiss it pulls your breath from your soul. So much lip friction; so much touch; your mouths merge into a dance so slick—slipping and sliding in perfect sync. 

His other arm seamlessly circles you, wrapping around you just below your ribcage and gathers you against him. So much your body overfills with every emotion possible, you start to ball your fists in his shirt, pulling him harder against you as he groans softly, low in his throat. 

So much desperation, as if there is no time for kissing, but he wants you to know that in the future, there will be… A kiss in so much loneliness, like a hand pulling you up out of the water, scooping you up from a place of drowning and into the reckless abundance of air. He—

He’s got your past ‘distresses’ of weeks and weeks disappear!

And your next guttural moan consumes you in shame of itself as his teeth all suddenly fall into the soft skin of your burning neck. Then all quick, replaced by his tongue stabbing over… suckling hard… yet biting again. 

Pain equals pleasure; pleasure is pain; the feeling is…

absolute.

And the idea... of him indulging you there... where all your most vital veins are, one of the tenderest areas, the passage between your head and your heart—taking in your weak skin between his teeth but- ‘enough-precise’ not to leave a bruise, for there’s likely a time and a—

dragging his nose along the slope; licking the perfume across ur collarbone; just making you ache for more, making you need the dampness; making you—

Unmaking you. 

And as he comes up again, ‘shying’ in your hair, nibbling at your earlobe, you’re in much of a hold of a deeeep breath, not able to let it out for shit! All‘s just... CAUGHT! A long ‘fuuuuck,’ would explain you somehow, but you realize you’re still in public, and he’s still a man out of a dream who-

who just appeared from nowhere!

Worse, as it’s like all your fuckass restraint spurs him on!!

“You.. Are…” he leads on, his smile tickling your ear with the worst goosebumps. And it’s just that, a cuntass lead-on! His breath hot in your ear… His dark hue of a voice rubbing your ears- like without worry of kink... when—

“It’s insane… to me… I still haven’t got your name... You make me fight so much for it.”

Or, making your eyes shut-close as something ‘Baby’ convulses across you, and down! He’s not finished with it, but his dirty smirk has!!

OH, fucking, RIGHT! HIS NAME!!! …Your name!

It hits you! And you squeeze your eyes shut harder at the whirlwind of all the sorts ecstatic.

And they stay closed! They stay closed until you feel him tuck some of your hair behind your ear, and you-you jerk at the motion. Really, jerk at the motion!

The no-consent action, even if the most subtle, after all the indelicate you two just did, feels… yeah, you don’t know but— inexplicably… big. Immense. A pause on itself. Like all the anticipation and nerves are finally coming to their end, or maybe… their start(?)

With the ‘stormy’ foreplay, standing at its peak… 

With the breeze fading away, it immediately becomes… warm.

With the lightning and thunder fighting each other out in the darling desert sky… 

And in comes the calm… With the rain,

as small silvery raindrops start to fall on him… on you… on everything all around. 

Your eyes start to blink at the sight of him as the droplets begin to form pace. Looking at his attractive cheeks, now a wreck, and his fuller lips—just evidence of how hot things become… Of what they help create... Of

...Of the rude foreshow, just out of reach... of the times and the places when he’s not—

Right!! Your name!

…Which then he matches with that delectable shape of his mouth you noticed he loves to do,

“Jaehyun.” 

It enkindles your flirty lipbite, easily! And you go and do the same he’s done you—

smoothing his ruffled blond hair and tucking it behind his ear like a cutie!

A timeless beauty... SURE! You see how he could be a muse and how someone would want to write about him unconditionally.

You smile at the thought... then try his name & tune in to the way it sounds when you say it.

“Jae-hyun.” 

Mmm, definitely giving him a pace he can work with… being the bobbing returns. Along his soft hum, along that deep blink... But in the next moment, it’s—

it’s like in the next moment you surprise him. Only it’s just the rain’s fault for getting harder, as you peel his jacket off your shoulders and hand it back as you rise to your feet,

and it’s like he sees no alternative and goes and does the same. 

You get over ‘the hand back’ with the feeling like his fingers scrape past yours in the hopes of gaining more; like so much is communicated only through your eyes and a touch. Yet, you two are at a way-apart distance, like at the beginning when he rose to light your cigarette, and the gap just helps you put into perspective just how bodily-close you were actually to him all this time, just seconds ago.

This sculpt of a man…

that’s getting gradually more drenched… 

And who barely takes half-a-step to be inside your space. again.

By literally pulling you in in a new, unexplored way—his hand grabbing your waist and,

and intentionally or not, driving your top up for a real-skin performance as his fingers roughly meld into you.

Corrupt, is the word. 

So much, it makes you wonder who’s more firm—JUST who’s more insistent, him or the rain.

And at worst, it’s a killer transition—him slightly looming over you; really, Jaehyun’s ‘just-ripped’ cockiness, LOOMING over you. 

He just stares, and smiles, and holds your waist tighter... So much! it makes you wonder what’s going to happen next. 

So much the rain starts to feel heavy on his hair, and as a droplet drips from one of its ends onto your forehead, your lashes flutter in an whole obnoxious bodyshiver...

It trickles down your face-It trickles down your face and it ripples something basic, something primal... But so much, it sends you spiralling faster as his eyes dare down to you.

The sensuality ruins your layers; strokes your tummy, and makes your fingers curl in stress of whether you should reach for him and touch or not.

So much it unnerves you, but it’s the kinda unnerve where is beautiful.

Where now,

is he,

who gets to sit with his thoughts in his little boy grin, and your only fret is, ‘What’s wro—

A reprise, of a sweet reprise, of a—

“What?”

“Nothing,” he smiles, lowering himself down to you; his rain lips hovering in front of your rain lips, “I was just wondering how much I’ll have to fight for something more.”

“Like?”

He smirks, tongue in cheek, “You.”

The whole of you!?

“...A lot.”

“MHHMMM…”

“You like that?” you mess a bit more, in a deep low. 

“Do, you,” he assures you, planting a playful kiss an inch away from your mouth,

cruel on the fact he’s sending your sensations for a run on another mile.

“...Don’t hold back.”

Then pulls just a bit, just as silly rolling his eyes,

“Okay… maybe as long as nothings done behind my back.”

—

Whatever, baby, sure! Let’s make fun on our wounds. Fuck around and find out. Touch, and figure it out.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[1-49]

update:

﹙ also , look away ! i finally summoned the courage to break my silence , & didn’t overthink pressing post ﹚

seriously...ive got no clue who im writing all of this to, or am i just writing it to myself, but im doing it anywayy! truth is, ive kept it quiet for soo long. also not to say, i have to, ultimately accept this s my blog even tho i act/feel like im stranger to it

& nonn too exciting, except it’s my birth month and i feel like i should give myself a little credit bc eventually, someone has to:'-) not to mention ive gone through all the days in the past 9months where i wanted to say or share something... scream over an update or summ but i held back since i hadn’t posted anything. srsly nothing uplifts this fact.

and if anyone was / is ever annoyed by that it’s likely just me! because-at the of the day, all ive done this past entire year is genuinely! really, write.. yeah, ik :/ corny as it sounds, but the fact that nothings complete, or out there yet, is a bit, if not a lot! disheartening, considering the time and effort ive put in;(

but smth ive come to realize prior this blog its things do take time, and i do this for myself, and i do it willingly! so i tend to take careful time creating what will essentially feed my inner reader. im rarely ever satisfied so you can imagine how much smth takes me. also theres this dumb logic i keep to: y say or hint at something i know it won’t be finished for a loong time and ill need a lot more days until i write it?

just an empty promise.& the irony of it, right? as if this entire update isnt in itself that, pointless. but hey-i know im writing

im coming up to a few issues with my next work considering it’s gotten too large and im just somewhat only in the middle

ive been working on this specific work since august 15th. like legit started this whole journey with a single scene in mind & mindfucking to me, i still haven’t gotten to it to write it! i feel so insane sometimes for being so slow and for dragging soo! unnecessary much but then i realize that’s just my style and that this work is beyond me. ive laid out its foundations that way, so it’s how this is going to be.. until itss end... ive got no intention of running the storyline now that ive hit midway.

it’s a continuous input ive done month in and i just love every part of it :') i love that im crating it and i love the process. but im kinda scared of the end. of the day is done and ill have to eventually share it. &once it’s out, it’ll be something that’s so beyond me to control.

ive done works in the past that got labeled& hidden from the tags for readers to engage; & this an ultimate hurt for creator so i think ill feel especially discouraged if this next thing gets the same luck lol given all of its mature themes& overall dark and serious undertones.. yet, it’s not all that... idk :/ it kind of feels conflicting to judge it myself, bc i wasn’t and won’t ever be the proper one to do so; like for example those works then that did got labelled. i never forsee that possibility, but now i do. still... the only thing i can do- is set the warnings properly

though i feel like im writing it in a totally wrong time, and for an unknown (age) audience, tasting wishy-washy waters and themes which may not be as interesting(?)like ive got no grip of how this will go, im writing in uncertainty.

plus the fact it’s already too long.. like i always try tell myself okay, it’s not for everyone! ik that.. this typa fics probs would have done great during covid- when we collectively had extra time to spend in indulging long fanfics- but what do i know... maybe people still enjoy the art of slowburns? then again it’s likely me who’s going to get overwhelmed once it’s time to go thru the entire thing for fixes, cuts and adds but that’s for months in the future!

as for what it seems, ill have to cut the fic in several parts as tumblr won’t allow that many blocks / as for the word count, is expected to reach an insane number by the time im done, as if it’s not crazy already ⸺ though i agree; it be way more digestible if i separated it. & ive got the game down already! parts,chapters, povs... the story is complex, and so i tried my best to divide it properly, and ill try continue to do the same with the rest i write. kinda bugs me that ill have to post it like this- as it’s not series, but it is what it is.

and.. i don’t have a date... im losing it every time i find myself trying to set a deadline⸺i just have this overall projection of the time ill be freer to focus on this work-entirely- beside my irl job, which would be this entire summer to myself to speed up the process... and if so, im aiming at a year old release but let me not get ahead of myself!

i want to talk endlessly about this work.about the inspiration just anything about it... it is genuinely a monster. for example all ive done besides it, the way it came up-and is still forming to be. the way it’s filled my months & my life, but fuck it, eh.. ive succeeded in keeping it shut when i soo badlyy wanted to say smth, so guess ill do just fine

please, im hanging on at least 3 people to give this a go- and experience this fucking work the way ive intended it!! i feel it takes you out on a journey, or it’s how i treat & see it as such.

at last, i want to cheer the brave few that have hit that follow even with all the tumbleweeds over here...You are something!

❤︎

[1-49]

bare sugars

╰► that’s my baby, that’s my sugar, i don’t need no honey on the side . . . that’s unconditiona-nal.

pairing:f!reader × jaehyun ⁝ tags: motel. lotta tension. jae likes to show skin lol history i allude to but never explain sry. short scenario inspired by this teaser photo. diabetes keep away5k

It ’s a place in between places, on the outskirts of some sunbaked-desert town. What began as a hopeful promise, somewhere in the chaos of the last seven days , has faded into obscurity.

When this road trip kicked off, the entire crew was pumped on the : ‘Noones getting ditched! Everyones got to be part of ──── no matter how intense the next adventure gets !!’ Yet, here you are, left behind with the one person you were hoping to dodge.

A velvety, green sofa sets the scene & the honey glow of golden hour falls on wood - panelled walls ─── Lying on his back , Jaehyun rocks yet another one of his 250+ crumpled print tees, retro lettering in : ‘The Grateful Dead.’ Its fabric hiked up , intentionally or not , giving his casual style a little extra edge.

────This specific old shade of blue denim jeans, those grey Calvins, the belt that struggles to keep the outfit together ... His belly that just kind of vacuums in whenever it wants ... A plush land really ... The faux freckles on his cheeks which mimic sunflower seeds, and his hair that shines like a field of gold ...

A babe , though the design guilt he wears in his dark eyes remains as you capture yet another moment with your camera.

The two shy cuties in his cheeks and his keys lying abandoned on the pink carpet. His languid binks & perpetually movey lips. His Converse’s loose laces... The unhurried. The lazy. The slow...

It’s all captured on film & as you pull the camera away from your face, he still keeps an eye on you, not necessarily looking for a reaction but... 

Well, you better... drop that feedback, or things might...

take a turn for the worse... 

And—

And they do... with him tucking his hand under his head & his shirt riding up thoughtlessly even more...

And it’s bad. It’s—It’s like he’s in charge of how you feel and is directing the scene. Like as if he’s your television & there’s no turning him off.

This almost ever so present paradoxical quality to him—a blend of approachability and impenetrability that’s hard to elaborate. Or his lazy attractiveness which simply defies logic: for he’s simultaneously doing nothing and everything, drawing you in completely without lifting a finger.

Or... how these are just a few of the countless reasons why you’ve never asked him to bring you the horizon, or, hell, dared to dream about having him.

Of how the four walls and the door close on you and how looking at him strikes you with a funny fear, making you want to melt deep into the contents of the floor.

Oh, to fuck with that...

-

Gently, you adjust the fine black lace along the hem of your brown silk dress; draw in the fluffy cardigan tighter around you; and to escape the perfect features of his perfect face, you walk up to the window. 

Yet, no matter how hard you search for a way out, the four walls of this claustrophobic room offer little in the way of escape. You’re fucking stuck... Counting your fingers anew whenever gets nothing done, and flipping through the channels on the tiny TV does nothing to clear the monotony. The minutes drag on endlessly, and no matter how many board games you play or photos you take, the clock seems to mock you. Each moment drags as if the world has hit the pause button, leaving you with him in this quiet space.

“Uuggh, coome oooon!” You stomp your feet, looking out the window. “The losers promised they’d be back by six!”

Jaehyun blows a bubble that bursts with a loud snap, grinning at you. “Ummm—You realize promises aren’t really being kept here anymore, right?”

Yeah, right... Fuck promises! You told yourself you wouldn’t get attached to him but look at you now...

Rolling your eyes, you glance out the window again, right as he asks,

“Why? Are you hungry?”

And sure, they were supposed to be the ones bringing the food, but it seems their adventure has taken a detour into yet another town at the end of the world; said, ‘This is what happens when you skip out—So, you two sort it out.’

“Some sweets would be nice. But no, um,” you tensely pull at your cardigan’s sleeves, clenching the ends in your fists. “Are they okay? I’m a little nervous.”

Though all he does is just casually burst another ridiculous bubble...“I’m sure they’re fine.”

Right… So next you’re left to watch him scrape bits of pink gum from his lips, and before you know it, a wave of irritation pulls you back to his side.

You’re barely balanced on the edge of the sofa, aiding in his clumsy efforts. Your thumb brushes against his bottom lip, and the air around him gets to your head just instantly, thick with the sugary scent of the sticky residue that you find yourself obliged to help remove... It’s so sugary that it borders on being revolting! Or perhaps it’s your sweet tooth that’s igniting this feeling?

Silly, cause you feed into this quirky theory that butterflies taste like bubblegum, and now that notion takes on a funny twist, well... considering the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

As you pull your fingers away from his lips, a rush of blood roars in his ears and he quickly adds, “Might have something in my bag, let me see.”

And totally! The bag that somehow collected a ton of pendants during this road trip does sit by the sofa, and with Jaehyun lounging back, stretching his arms overhead to grab it, his shirt gets pulled up even higher, & just like that, it becomes the cause for another thing you wish you never said.

Definitely not the sight you were hoping for... The tee hiked up, way above his ribs, exposing a good portion of his slim waist as he giggles, showing off that boyish grin while rummaging through the bag behind... still looking at you.

The eye contact ****

The fcking gum that just so erratically becomes his plaything, getting relentlessly crushed beneath the pressure of his teeth, repeatedly transforming into a sticky mass that fills his mouth, stressing the rugged contours of his strong jawline...

His fucking belly...

The happy trail...

Godsent personal hell!

Your heart is thumping away in your chest and your ribs aren’t exactly doing much to protect it. The stressed thing seems ready to pop like one of his balloons and leave you in an ever-sticker mess...

“Mmmmm...” he hums, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and pulling a handful of candies from the bag behind him. “Let’s see what we have.”

Placing each treat onto his stomach as if the world were about to erupt in a frenzy of sugar-fueled chaos, Jaehyun carefully begins to arrange each piece, making sure they’re spaced out just right and sorted into rational portions in case such an outbreak actually happens. In no time, a vibrant array of treats sprawls across him and his funky-ridden shirt, everything from lollipops, chewy gums, gummy bears, and sour candies, to little chocolates.

Imagine a carnival! The flashy colors are super distracting, and those chocolate bars are practically begging you to grab them. Still, you can’t help but tease him a bit to annoy him, specially since you’ve been going back & forth for the past three days.

“Really,” you pout cynically, “You took this many?? You’re such a…”

With a burst of laughter that is hearty & sweet, Jaehyun sends the poor candies resting on the very sides of his waist to tumble down onto the sofa as if that earthquake had REALLY made its presence felt.

“Mmmmm- Why would I want to spend money on fancy treats? Besides...” He spaces out for a bit... then remarks with a smirk, “My theory is basically sweets are sweets.”

And he tightens his lips to seem all serious, but honestly, it just makes everything worse. The dude doesn’t even lift a finger to be funny; it’s like humour just radically appears around him, and the stuff he comes up with...

Poof! A total goof or a creative thinker? It really just comes down to your mood at the time.

You grimace once more, shaking your head at him, and subtly shift your weight to your legs rather than sitting on the sofa, your body ready to leap away at the slightest hint of contact.

With an adorable, surprised expression his eyes grow round as he stares at you, “What!?” His brows shoot up too in effort to justify himself.

“That piñata was there for everyone to go wild and, umm- grab whatever they could!” Lifting his hands defensively, he pouts, “Not my fault!”

Aaaand that fucking shirt of his?

Isss at it againnnn!@#£%^*

Your mind is reeling as the candy mountain spills over in a fun avalanche.

No, because why go through all that trouble to arrange them perfectly just to wreck it himself!?

Yeah,

anyway, you find nothing to match that, indeed it was up to anyone to snatch whatever they wanted, it just looks like he had deeper pockets than the rest of you idiots to stash all that stuff, that’s all there is to it. So you give in to the urge to ‘screw it,’ let out another eye roll, and grab a tiny bag of gummy bears.

-

As if he’s achieved something, Jaehyun’s hands find their way back beneath his head, and the flirtatious smile continues in his eyes. He just basks in the moment until your frustration—the sting of yet another cheeky defeat—causes you to fumble to open the bag and so all the gummy bears go flying everywhere. 

Add chaos?

Check!

Is he into it? 

Also, check.

The pack is but what that piñata was a few days ago, bleeding in beautiful colors and gushing all things sweet.

“Ugghhh!!” Tossing your head back, you groan dramatically.

And understandably so!!! While Jaehyun?

He beams as he sticks his tongue in his cheek, and snatches the empty bag from your hands. He casually spits his spent pink gum inside it, takes a pair of gummies from his abs, and gently runs them against his lips before sliding them in...

And t

And it’s so fucking frustrating that this guy has no clue about the importance of breaking eye contact! You’re always left searching for a word that’s stronger than ‘insufferable,’ but really, the dude just constantly goes all out with everything. Legit! 

It drives you crazy. He—

Munching on them playfully, Jaehyun thinks for a moment, swallows, & then quirks an eyebrow, smirking,

“Wanna hear what the gummies just whispered into my mouth?”

What the gummies have what??

You shake your head at his nonsense but arch a brow back. Because if you had to be honest, those jelly babies aren’t the only thing looking to spill some secrets in his mouth... So, yeah, you’re JUST listening! As a matter of fact, you’re all tuned in to catch what absurdity he’s about to dish out next.

Pushing his lips together, a bratty shape that just begs to be kissed, he sits with his answer. There’s something very precious and terribly frustrating about how he keeps his responses close like they’re the best puns ever. Then he eventually smiles, “Thank you for releasing us.”

........ Woaah, they’ve at least been honest with him! Which is... cool...

Cool! Great! Awesome! You next!

“Mmm-hmm,” for dummies, some skeptical eyes and a cynical head nod are all you have...

When the magnitude of his languid x menacing should be studied!!!

Really, a quirky cotton candy man! A sugar. A delicate toxic substance.

Like, fuck! He—He’s just- unbeatable. 

That’s an overwhelming amount of power for him to have... Like, that’s too much hot... Too much sweet… It’s no good… 

Like-

Like the doses got all jacked up when he was made... Accidentally spilled too much of each, and now he’s just a walking health risk.

Catch it!

-

The disease spreads just like it always has—quickly and definitely. This earthtone babe just knows exactly how to get under your skin.

So hard to resist... So hard to not take a bite...

It’s just how it goes, you know?

Things...

Eyes...

Fingers...

& before you realise it, your fingertips glide past his jeans, over to his skin, igniting a rush of sensations with each line you draw across his abs.

Inevitably, the air gets charged with an energy... that’s not innocent. You feel the sparks. Not the good kind of sparks, but the sinful ones... The—

-

It’s like a dream at first, experiencing the thrill of someone yearning for your touch so badly.

Jae is every bit as tough as he looks, but the moment your fingers brush against him, that narrative shifts entirely. It feels like he’s been craving your touch, and those days without it have been an unbearable! fucking! stretch!

Gentle, sensual skin, a supremely royal shade of luxury milk. Everything that’s connected with a beautiful sweet, sweet & touching is associated with him. 

He’s just spot on! And your stomach is growling. And you’re looking for a bite to eat...

In fact, you’re so down bad, your sweet tooth’s at an all-time high; honestly, you’d probably go as far as to start licking him right now.

In a straight line? Curved? In any manner that sparks your creativity? Anything real—

...The hot transference from his skin onto your hand? The way he teases his lip!?? The way he shyly and discreetly raises his hips against your touch as if silently pleading for

Thisss baddieee!!

Reading into all these crazy action bits has you all jittery that you completely jump when his hand lands on your bare thigh, right at the lace border.

nononono-

With a gulp, you instantly! rise from the couch. How—Just why did you end up falling back so e

-

Fast, desperation kicks in- just- again like those moments ago... and you’re back to pacing this same motel room, seeking an escape from him. Except every aspect now feels as if it’s been cranked up to ten times the difficulty.

The reddish-brown timber panels on the walls give off tough prison steel, and the pink carpet feels all squishy and weird under your bare feet right when you need a stable solid... All while Jaehyun is- just- there... planted in place, now seated, legs all spread, on the green sofa. There’s really nothing you can do but hope he stays right where he is. 

But! once something’s set in motion, it stays in motion. Like a wildfire racing thru dry lands, fierce and unstoppable. And you just happened to let a match slip past your fingers a heartbeat ago, screwing everything up...

Naturally, he gets up. Also, that belt of his really accomplishes nothing... it’s just there to be there, so he’s just got to pull up his baggy jeans himself before he can even take a step forward.

& what his rising does is kick off a frantic chase as you two whirl around the room in a relentless spiral, & he’s hot on your tail... The very thought of him catching up on you sends dopamine through your veins, making your pulse quicken.

Plus that stunning smile? Plus his unconditional happiness? Well, both make him even more irresistible but both also complicate things for you. The excitement mounts as he approaches in the chase, each heartbeat making the thrill even stronger; that once he abruptly stops, the sprinting exertion takes its toll.

His breath comes in heavier gasps, his cheeks are flushed with a pinch of peach, and his bangs are a tousled mess, dancing around him like dandelion fluff does in the wind. Just a pure, natural and effortless elegance. He’s so incredibly attractive it almost hurts to look at him.

The tension though peaks as his words build to a sharp climax of a fact.

“You-um- You’ve been avoiding me this whole trip.”

...That sinking feeling in your heart like a rock just hit it? Yeah...

Yeah, you wish that voice of his didn’t resonate through your very being, scraping against every nerve ending, but that’s what it always does. It freezes you in place, making you overwhelmed and powerless. 

It’s kind of wild how bringing up a heavy topic during a playful moment can make it feel that much more sincere. With so many choices, he went right for the thing that drives him crazy, and that should show you what’s on his mind... at least-

But, you-you

Instinctively, you pull the same fuzzy cardigan around you, clinging to it as though it were a barrier against him, and softly slide your hand from your sleeve, unveiling a lollipop—the only item you managed to pocket earlier.

And this should sweep everything away, right?

-

“Mhmmmm,” Jaehyun hums, back on trend —

acting like he didn’t just mention something that could spark a whole conversation...

— though this time he picks up the bat resting by the bedstand which at the beginning of the week tore through that heart piñata...

And currently, with the sun set, the moon in the sky, and the desert sky glowing a delicate lilac blue, his eyes narrow and his sly grin comes in the same old style as he twists the knob of the yellow lamp, teasing, “So... a thief, huh?” 

...It’s as if he’s putting you in the spotlight, pointing out your crime, and calling you out for being a naughty girl.

& sure, he’s got you in that tight spot he wants you in, okay? But you still tilt your head and nibble on your lip, still going at it, “Maaybee.”

-

& as you start to walk backwards, everything is still beside your breath and the gentle thud of the bat as he taps it against different surfaces. Only muted noise of what seems to be Spanish drifts in from the neighboring room, but neither of you pays it much mind.

His hands fist around the bat tightly, consumed with angry adrenaline, & veins bulge along his smooth skin, sending filthy pulses up his arms. 

It’s a sight that attracts goosebumps all along & across your skin, igniting a warmth that curls from your legs to your belly. The same very electrifying rush of adrenaline wraps around you as if he’s pulling you into the grip of that wooden bat... 

Hiss, twist, loosen, and turn, just like how his hands manipulate that wood...

And you know... it doesn’t take much to find yourself backed up against that mahogany wall.

At once, ‘trapped’ takes on an even greater weight than what it meant before. You feel twisted and turned in advance, completely taken apart by the sheer passion in his deep brown eyes.

Jaehyun lifts a brow. He’s all about this vibe. That big toothy smile of his. The way he’s locked in on you. The ‘Just a couple of steps away, baby.’

Uh-huh, but what about that horrible, horrible crave you’ve told yourself you CAN’T have!??

The itch sits on your tongue, fruity in flavour—perhaps strawberry or raspberry—you aren’t sure. A tang that lingers in your memory, the same as of candy gum that had been in the air around him earlier and one which grew bolder with each step he took toward you. This sickness makes you wish that your tongue is already wrapped in his, tightening for a deeper inspection. 

Yikes! Please, let’s just avoid that!

-

To drive away the feeling, you look down to your toes in the cotton carpet, shift your weight, and then peel away the wrapper of the lemon lolly, seeking a bitter flavor to replace the trace of his scent.

Then eventually, accept the proximity between you two as it is - as you let your back land against the wall, hoping the tension will melt away. 

Feeling the lolly along your lips, you grimace at the acid but take it...

And as you look down, even in your peripheral view, it’s clear that Jaehyun is still watching you, & you realize he’s focused on your mouth. & after giving the lollipop a couple of spins on your tongue, you proudly look up, thinking you’re good and that you’ve totally neutralized the crave for him...

-

Because the suddenly too sure of itself face?

Your neck, your collars, the hard candy prodding at your cheek?

The sleek brown silk and the intricate black lace trim which ascends higher on your thigh as you shift your weight to one leg, elegantly placing the other in front as you find your stance? And then the glossy black polish on your toenails as you draw them from a point in the carpet, just barely hovering above it, & in a straight line with him... As in ???

Yeah, absolutely not; that’s far from a quiet invite...

No! You’re totally not just ‘asking for it.’

On the spur, the dynamics shift... As you let the lemon hang in your mouth, Jaehyun abruptly brings his bat up & uses it to delicately move a piece of your hair aside, and then the very tip of the bat makes a gentle tap at the heart of your collars.

Your breath catches in your throat, a fragile spectacle he zeroes in on as your cords constrict, and then, with knitted brows you swallow in the sour juice of the sucker. 

Really!?? What more does he want of your sorry soul when you’re just trying to get through each breath?

But no! You certainly didn’t ask for it… Just remember he’s not one to give up when told to quit. So, either pack your things or choose a better design, Sugar.

Though that’s the very thing... You can’t deny the magnetic pull of Jaehyun’s game...

Sure, you’re feeling the heat from your toes to the top of your head, but let’s keep things in check, yeah?

Feeling the groove, as you pull out the lollipop to give your lips a little lick, your eyes wander down to what could be seen as a ‘dangerous tool’, and you smirk.

Jaehyun sucks in on his lip, very slowly, very cheekily. The guy’s clearly amused with you. 

“Are you seriously just going to keep looking at me like that?” you ask eventually, taking a moment before adding, “I’m not a fan of it.”

“Mmmmm,” he gives his hundredth low hum, tilting his back head just so, & flexing that tight jawline that always seems to be up for something... something explicit and offensive.

However you pout and slide the lollipop right back in your mouth.

“Tasty?”

...You had to know that was coming, right? And so, as the duel continues, you shrug, allowing a slight grimace to escape your lips, piquing his curiosity about the taste he’s missing out on.

& it runs like a charm.

As Jaehyun lets his eyelids droop in the slowest blink imaginable, &, in his infamous deep voice, says, “I waaanna taste.”

Nuh-uh, even if you tried to reject, it wouldn’t make a difference since he’s right in your face; his mouth hanging agape, eager for absolutely, really absolutely! anything you might have to offer... Cause, there’s always room for a shift in sentiments, wouldn’t you agree?

Though the ‘weapon’ somewhat still stays pointed at you...

Take notes!

For sure! But being the fantastic person you are you tap into your generous spirit & pull out the candy with a satisfying pop while Jaehyun stares at you, mischief even spilling out of his open mouth.

With only inches between you, you gently slide the bad sugar in, pushing it along his tongue and unconditionally savoring the moment and the view.

-

His slightly downturned, sultry eyes as you still hold onto the other end of the white plastic, & he keeps sucking on the lemon in his mouth.

Those damn sunken cheeks of his. The tiny scratch on his nose from a few days ago which has mostly healed, but you can still see it.

The dense, dark brows in disagreement with his bleached hair with a still lingering odor of ammonium hydroxide... Really, a look born from a reckless bet on a chaotic road trip—a decision that seemed utterly foolish but now is somehow working in his favor...

In a way, it’s even funny how the flashy hair is soooo out there… but it’s there, being just one aspect of him. Still, you have to admit its impact is real. A gutsy choice that jazzes him up a notch. This new arc he’s projecting, where it seems, he’s flirting a bit more with his impulsive side? Yeah...

Somewhere between handsome and creamy tabby cat... He’s just bursting with the most obnoxious playfulness, and he’s paired with a smile that raises up his dimples.

The way he’s making you curious and wild >>>  He’s so sexy, it’s unmatched...

And you understand the gravity of wanting such a fine man! The—

(!) The despite knowing, yet failing... or at least in what you think you know and what you think is better.

-

You’re completely focused on his lips, and in an instant, reality just seems to melt away like it’s under a spell.

Tis a state... A mood! The ninth cloud where you can’t feel the air or the ground... All there is is his insane eyes scrutinizing your reaction to what he does to the lolly, and it’s honestly the worst kind of pressure.

Finished savouring, Jaehyun’s tongue casually circles his sensuous lips, collecting all possible leftover like he’s just finished you in style.

“Ummm…” Scrunching his nose at the flirty, piquant taste, he takes a step back. Mulls over the candy choice; pushes his cooked bangs; and hesitates before he says, “Nah, this isn’t the one... I-um... I bet there’s something better out there... It’s likeee” suppresses smile in advance of saying it, “It’s just on the tip of my tongue.” His brows flatten too, mans serious! “Help me think?”

OH, Sir!

A treat that can out-beat this bittersweet taste? A goodie that packs an even bigger surprise?

Your always rambling mind goes thoughtless, & that burning need to press on drops off like a light switch. The coming panic. Your gotcha moment. You go quiet. It hits you that this is the first time your playful teasing has backfired and that maybe you can’t be bailed out of what’s to come.

Worse, as it’s one of those silences that just hangs in the air, making things feel more tense. Your self-imposed rules about ‘what you think you know’ and ‘what’s better’ dissolved, leaving you fully present and stimulated.

& Jaehyun digs right in, spreading the cavity...

He lifts the bat again, its tip gently pressing into your belly, and it’s like you can almost feel his warmth seep through it, then past the fragile silken fabric to your skin. 

You get so hot. This bizarre ripple from your legs to your tummy as you tightrope between pleasure and unease, joy and hesitation... It’s like you two are finally on the same wavelength, knowing what the other is about to say before the words even come out.

A delicate crease develops between his bushy brows which deepens as he tenderly whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Jae- don’t.” you murmur, your lips curving into a sorrowful pout as you gently shake your head ‘no.’

Needless to say, something nuanced only you and him know...

The result of everything that’s happened...

The ‘this whole trip has messed up the trajectory of our friendship.’

The reason why he chose to hang back today...

The tactics which kicked in since everyone piled into that Jeep truck this morning & sped away. 

The from ‘getting schooled’ in all the board games to the countless Polaroids he let you snap of him, to that little “I’m sorry” hand peck he gave you that had you making the death stare, and the “Don’t ever try to do that again!”

The rude ‘skin-feeding’ masked behind the pretense of a ‘generous’ food provider.

And how you slipped past every move, pushed back, and resisted until he has put you up against this wall... and now ‘the-no-escape’.

Still and all- your pushback’s like a sport. Be afraid of what follows...

-

For Jaehyun gnaws into the very walls of your sensitivity as if sensuality were his chosen medium. Each deliberate motion of the bat becomes a brushstroke in the masterpiece of your downfall...

He glides it along the contours of your waist, teasingly skimming over your curves, trails it down your legs and inners, and even lifts the hem of your dress just enough to make your skin hurt in anticipation.

Then, it finds its way to your stomach yet again, as if to indicate something deep & unexpressed, before tracing a direct path up your sternum, sweeping along your collarbone until he’s made your cardigan slip down your arm, taking the delicate strap of your dress with it...

So much of ‘Jae, don’t,’ huh? Oh, sweetheart… 

-

Certainly, the last thing you hope he avoids is the very thing Jaehyun does...

Trailing the bat along your jawline, ultimately he rests it under your chin... Something something about a ‘clear display of dominance.’ His insane eyes about render you completely motionless as he insists on glancing between your eyes and your lips the way one searches a dictionary for definitions. Again and Again... And then gravity happens...

In an instant, the bat slips from his grasp and tumbles to the floor, making you flinch as his lips finally find their way to your bare shoulder, where seems like he’s achieved something.

Oh, the bite-

An insidious heat stroke as you moan the most promiscuous hiss there is.

“Jaee, we shou—”

“Baby-”

Vibrationssssssssss...

It comes out even more whiny as he gets all of that word muffled against your neck. It roughly cuts into your focus, seeps into your ears, and goes straight to the wrong place.

The very last thing you feel yourself do is slide left against the wall, scraping for any last escape routes, but he just moves in sync with you.

Up to the moment he—

The sound of yearning?

Jaehyun’s palms slamming into the hardwood, spreading out like wings on either side of you, creating a cage of flesh. Brushing off the idea of consent, his hot body presses against yours.

With his hands up, that whimsical teddy bear tee yet again peels from his jeans. It constricts around his arm sleeves, flexing the impressive curve of his biceps. His veins, too, scrumptiously pushed in motivation: ‘All mine! You can’t outrun this, baby. I’m keeping you right where I want you.’

Really, the rest it’s all in your perception—either a trap or a safe spot.

-

A little motel inside a world of sand... you’ve never felt smaller than you do now with him towering over you—not literally, size in drive and ambition.

You watch yourself fade&wilt in his unsettlingly lazy eyes like Valentine’s flower petals from their vase falling onto the white desk dirtied with graphite from pencil shavings and candy wrappers. 

It’s so desertly calm, that your nails accidentally strike a chord in tune as your hands casually fall past his belt buckle...

A beautiful melody that makes his dimples grow deeper, though he still tilts his head, frowning adorably as he perpetually continues to figure things out just for the sake of figuring things out...

Yeah?

Cos, what is the motive here? As your hands do settle gently at the hem of his jeans, fingers teasingly dipping into the softness of his navel?

Hook + Pull = Gravity.

Oh, man, do you make him feel insane things? Cause you’ve been on your guard for the whole day, some goals are hard!

Are you coming ahead of all his sneaky schemes? Are you a baddie too?

Cause now you’re just holding up a higher card like you’ve been doing in every game today. Maybe you... are... on top of your game... The candy of victory is better when it’s hard...

Gravity... Your lips inch closer. 

Your slightly parted lips & that parched swallow might just give Blondie a hint of how desperately you want him to melt on your tongue. And you’re over worrying about it. You even yank at his necklace.

The way his hair falls over your lashes creates a delightful distraction as your noses nearly collide. And the best you can pretend in this intimacy is filthy, “I still haven’t forgiven you.” 

“Ummmmm...”

On brand! Disturbingly sexy hum that flows like honey—a sugary glaze, coating your lips in a deliciously gooey way. You’re hit with the sting & the toxin even before Jaehyun has a chance to consider kissing you or taking any steps. He smiles, he’s just that awful...

“You will.”

-

Alas,

the abrupt grating noise of tires screeching to a stop cuts through the dull ambience outside. A lively group seems to spill out of the truck, loud and as if they’ve just been recharged. A voice you both instantly recognize calls out, saturated with sarcasm and clearly wanting to grab ‘someone’s’ ears. 

“Greeat! We’ve just rolled into ‘Losers Place!’”

-

What a Dullass Bullshit Scenario... for Losers.

Jaehyun scoffs lightly, giving a flimsy half-eye roll, his lips pursed in a way that shows just how unimpressed he is with the moment... Inexplicable urgency drives his body into yours one last time, likely a final act of connection.

He hadn’t even had the chance to pin your hands above your head or hold your jaw in a way that would leave you feeling completely—

There was no pulling of hair, nor did you wrap your arms around his neck to-to—

Nor did your tongue map out the crossroads on his stomach...

Or—

Clear anger paints your temple, too, each line bearing frustration... Just there’s something about keeping it a secret that bodies the danger factor, making everything feel so much more smoky and intense.

& you pout as much, nudging your nose against his as to where you feel all deprived but electrified by simply- just- doing that, softly whispering against his lips, breath all drenched,

“Do you think they know?”

Girlie, Fuck! Do you know what you do to him?

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[1-49]

[1-49]

I'm in love with your writing

glad you love it!! and thanks for letting me know it means a lot ❤︎

[1-49]

burnt orange, #CC5500

╰► A Smoky Night, or an evening that smoulders forever

Visit Original Link

pairing: jaehyun × f!reader

❝ A burnt orange aura reveals high ambition and a strong desire for change, driven by practicality. Individuals with this shade may display a touch of selfishness, pride, or aggression. Its brown tones introduce a negative energy aspect, indicating potential challenges, lack of energy, or feeling stuck.

tags: this my fav type of angst. tense energy laced with pain with an undercurrent in flirting lol. wc. 10k

jaehyun’s too fine & unreadable. lots of messy signals and an overall fogged atmosphere. think both of them are toxic in their individual style lmao.. pining. implied fevered moments.

Whichever burns brighter ─── the orange flame rising from the evening lamp in the corner , or the view through the windows as the sun sets over the horizon ── you dont know. Each affects your feelings, but primarily it ’s the way it all reflects on him. The warm glow that has accumulated in his harsh eyes from both simply signifies that the journey is coming to an end. The day is almost over, and so are you two.

────── Slanderous comments were made, and accusations were traded. There is now nothing left to cling to. The only truth beneath all of Jaehyun’s painfully continuous smoothing and touching of his baseball cap, which he seems to be pulling in despite the fact that it’s already on his head, is his intense anxiety and uneasiness.

There is no longer any chance to salvage this; everything is in terminal decline, so there is no point in saying you’re sorry or taking back what you both said. Moreover, this should be easy to conclude because if there is anything you have learned from him, it’s how to develop stronger character.

... But the truth is very different from your wish that it is simple.

& you hate the truth! You hate finding yourself in this predicament. You hate that there’s no turning around. But the worst part of it all is that you hate that you lo—

His eternally soft hair, which has grown slightly, peeks out from under the cap, concealing the majority of his nape. An intimate place that was once kissed, bruised, and then kissed again—but now, his hair is just pushing you away from all of that.

Even his neck is contributing to the sand pile of memories because his oversized, washed brown shirt is too loose around the collar. His silver oli ball chain necklace, which you used to roll around your finger and play with endlessly, now sits glumly in the hollows of his collarbones. That this person was once a close person to you, it’s now a fever dream.

-

“Please—please stop talking! You-you’re only making this worse!”

“So…” 

Giving room for the raging argument to subside, Jaehyun rubs his jaw, debating what to say next. “...so that’s it? We-we are really doing this? Cause we’ve been here before, an—”

You let out a groan of frustration at his pathetic attempt to stop him from talking more. Of course, it’s easy for him to say that, you think, holding that forsaken question under your breath once again as though you want this, as though it’s simple. The way he poses it too, while wearing nothing but skepticism on his face as if he didn’t see this coming after so many meaningless arguments, angers you even more. He’s beautiful, but at times like this, all you want to do is slap all of that beauty straight out of his face.

But perhaps that’s exactly what’s bothering you—your obsession with his nonchalanc-y, which you used to find sexy, now seems to be eating away at your feelings. Stoic expression, a face, and a clenched jaw is all that’s meeting you, so maybe, finding him attractive during these fights does make you crazy. 

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before answering, realizing that you’re never going to get anywhere by dragging your eyes along every contour on his delicious face anyway. Surely, it has kept you running back to him. A moment of weakness. And for some stupid unknown reason, he has always tasted even better after every fight. How? But also no! Not this time. You promise!

“What do you want from me, Jaehyun!? Since there’s no telling where we’re going, and it’s been like this for months! I think you’ve been under the impression that I’d wait forever, holding on- and on to what you’ve never said and never will. But I’m not trying to do this anymore! I am seriously not! I’m sick of getting only half of you. I’m done playing open cards. I’m done! Whatever this is… it’s-it’s over.”

Jaehyun scowls at you and ceases his pacing in the middle of the room. 

There! Finally, a sign of disturbance. Though you two have been together long enough for you to learn through his impassiveness and all those small, tangible details that guard his innate tender, it’s still difficult to shake an emotion out of him—a real, deep-seated emotion that takes your ‘situationship’ into account.

Simultaneously, perhaps that will help explain why he ‘might even have’ a reason to dislike you, given that you were the only one who witnessed him at his most vulnerable. The only person who truly knows him; nevertheless, he has been growing increasingly aloof lately, so maybe that’s not something he’s into anymore. Maybe all he’s doing is just returning to his former self, the one who existed before the shattered shell you met. And maybe at last he has put his every piece back together and realized that sensitivity is the devil’s bitch and that in this ring, he’s a dog on his own.

Right… Too many ‘maybes’, but he doesn’t give you much to go on for you to consider any other options anyway. 

Instead, he smoothes the cap over his head for the forty-ninth time, then flips it back so the bill is in front of his eyes and covers them slightly. Like this, his jawline adopts an even more defined shape. His lips... 

The aura of mystery he exudes boots right back in. Given the esoteric shadow cast over his cheekbones, he seems even more prepared to walk out of the door at any moment. Or else you can anticipate more of his wicked smiles, lies, and games if he chooses to stay. 

Ironically, he really knows how to wear the cap’s logo, which befits his unserious dead humor. ‘Hysteric’ remains blasted on his head in Times New Roman, but there’s not a trace of hysteria in his character at the moment, as much as you’d like him to have.

Though you wish he were, because if he were, it’d mean he still finds significance in this and that he’s prepared to fight. But that’s not the case at all right now; his voice is as calm and collected as ever, lacking any incline.

Bizarrely enough, the thing that, sort of, falls under that statement are, in fact, your nerves. They rave as you watch him. They fry at the edges. You start to sound even more irate as you think he’s not losing anything, while you seem to be the only one.

Though the words are loaded like a gun, you don’t want to come across as foolish or desperate. But as he offers you no other option, you believe that to be the only picture you paint at this point. And you don’t care if it’s an ugly one.

You’re also having a hard time with your thoughts because they seem to go on forever and it takes you a long time to organize them into something to say. So you just take a moment to ignore him and turn your head away from him, giving the fight another breath, but once you’re ready to go again, he’s somehow closer to you. Significantly closer to you, and only you know how dangerous that is.

You go on, continuing to rant, but all you can seem to focus on are his lips and how they shape with each little thing he says. He’s really of little words in deep tones if you must say so, and—

Well-Fuck! You are caught touring his lips again!! 

You’ve no idea how he manages to keep them so balmed and dreamy at all times. Tangerine dusk pours through the windows and contrasts with the same shade of the lamp, making his lips look like melted wax, beckoning you. So sticky, sweet icing-coated, enticing you to lick... Oh, he’s making you sick.

You wave your head, shaking the nasties that have accumulated. Jaehyun doesn’t move an inch. If anything, the fucker knows!

He then makes a move toward you, only this time you’re unsure of whether to regard these steps as your victories or defeats.

As you go on, you find yourself stumbling over your words more and more, observing him removing his cap off of his head once again and running his fingers through his hair, just like he has done countless times before, except this time he doesn’t put it back; instead, he throws it down on the sofa. 

Needless to say, there’s something innately dangerous, something deeply unbalanced and maniacal in the way he tilts his head to one side and slowly brushes his hair back as his jet strands catch inside the gaps of his knuckles. Their drag… The glare he gives you... Working his eyes out in the most possible way to make a wreak out of you... He has to, how could he not? You’re a delight to enjoy.  

A rabid. The charm of his masculinity surges up as he watches you from the tilted angle. Something deep inside of him transfers esoterically inside your soul. You want him to get deeper into your anger, realizing you’re both just as toxic.

You should tell him to walk away! That he has ruined the evening! That—

But then… he’s looking at you like this... with the absolute right amount of fucked up...

and maybe that’s why you can’t escape, 

and maybe that’s exactly why he can’t escape either, as he knows how much you love this. 

It’s sick. Absolutely. Entirely. As it backfires all over again; as it all burns up and the orange bathes in the dull black of his eyes. No doubt, he’s your top choice trouble.

But-But you’ve had enough of that cup! You’ve had enough of trouble! You don’t want more! You—

-

You won’t be shaken. He won’t have an effect on you this time. 

Step by step, you move away from him in an attempt to create a space that he keeps closing. You’re conscious of the fact that your eyes dart all over the place and are never focused on his, which gives away the fact that you aren’t really serious about ending this, but you manage nonetheless.

“Sure,” There’s poison in your voice as you begin your closing argument, oblivious to the fact that it’d become just another rant and soften from its vicious substance. 

“I-I was lonely when I met you, but so were you! I knew you were lonely too. And it worked... Rather somehow…” 

Hesitating, you cast a sidelong glance at your feet, as though trying to remember something, but in the end, failing.

“I don’t know. Maybe we talked more?” Posing the questions to yourself, you pout. “Or? Maybe not? I don’t know. I really don’t know!”

Even though you’re feeling extremely tense, rattled, and frail in your own skin, you look up to him as you proceed. What more is he capable of doing? He’s nothing but a pretty face—It’s your preferred perception. What’s currently more believable. The simpler way out. That he’s not at all complex; and is just as blunt and empty as he wants to make the impression. That the few words birthed from his soft, pouty, supple, unkissed sunkissed lips are nothing but futile, meaningless, and devoid.

However, there appears to be a deep crease developing between his eyebrows, so perhaps your impression of him is inaccurate(?) You aren’t sure why, but all of a sudden you get scared at the possibility that it could mean something. Hell! Looking at him drains you immensely. But-but you-you have t—

“Our fights have stripped us of all our beauty… I’m just left watching you drift farther away.” 

As his brows knit, so do yours. You’re debating whether or not to acknowledge your emotions, but in the end, you do. 

“To be honest, it’s hurting me. But regardless how ugly the experience is, it’s made me realize how much you mean to me. But still… I know that’s not an excuse to stay with you. I tried to play it cool at first because we were never really stable, but— Not anymore!”

“I don’t know... I feel like there’s nothing I can do anymore. And yes! We’ve already had this conversation. It seems that you particularly like bringing up that fact... Except nothing has been fixed since the last time we fought, J. I wouldn’t be so proud to mention it. It’s merely there to serve as a reminder that we are constantly failing. You say it as though there’s some reason we shouldn’t end this right now, and I’m not sure why you’d even bring that up. I really don’t... We’re no fit for each other.”

Your tone rises at ‘That’s the truth!’ implying that you’re still not prepared to think about it and that you don’t want to accept it, for it to only become more painfully sad and subdued in the following affirming, “That’s the truth…” 

You hesitate a moment more before saying the next thing, as it feels like daggers are stabbing into your heart, but you do it nonetheless. Breathing also becomes more difficult as your chest begins to feel constricted, but you force yourself to swallow the fear ball stuck in your throat. Feverous, a shiver of cold runs up your spine as you watch him with your final words. “We failed to save each other. I you… you me.”

With his teeth ground down, Jaehyun rolls his eyes. Your words just feel like a smack. It’s like your attitude has just now put him in a bad mood as if you’re trying your best to leave a permanent crease in between his brows.

You know he’d rather be numb than angry, but the feeling boils within him. You feel that he’s on the verge of just snapping, but he won’t do it outright. In a way, you almost kind of admire that ability of his—to be so patient, as he secretly harbors passive-aggressive tendencies.

Catching a glimpse, you notice his nails scrape through layers of palm flesh as his fingers ball into fists. He continues to clench and unclench them as though he’s encouraging blood flow, but there’s more to the action than that.

And as though he’s suddenly transformed into an animal, he moves his jaw a bit before locking it and pressing his teeth into a dense snarl.

Maybe it aches; maybe he’s in excruciating pain, but he doesn’t show it. The skin collapses in his cheeks, leaving them sunken. His face has the power to kill. It’s deadly... Sexy.

You’re expecting to hear some mean words from him too; and they’re possibly waiting on his lips, hanging in the air between you two like a thread waiting to be cut. 

And so, he finally speaks up. “You’re so easy to give up,” his voice as deeply warm as it can get—contradictory in and of itself, just like he is.

The word choice?? It catches you off guard. Even shocks you. Suddenly? Abruptly and seriously? Just like that!? Of all the words and expressions conceivable, and after you’ve been berating him for so long, all you get back is that? Really!? You find them so unbelievably funny that you can’t help but smirk miserably and accept their presumed grim sarcasm.

Asking rhetorically, you follow their ironic trajectory, “So easy to give up!?” playing it off cynically at first until you’re no longer able to. Then, as you continue, your voice grows huskier; he actually provides the reason for you to do so, encouraging you to take things seriously when he won’t. 

“How am I so easy to give up!? Tell me! Tell me, do I give up easily? Or-uh-do I hold on too long, Jaehyun!? Cause I gave us—This… enough time and realized what I want will never be enough… I need to take care of myself.”

Saying, “You are selfish,” he takes another step. His eyebrow arches subconsciously as he says the word, which is also repulsively beautifully formed by his lips. But what does it mean? What does he mean!??

“Wow,” you’re left sneering and scoffing in disbelief. “And can you blame me!? For wanting to protect myself? For wishing better for myself!? Because you—” In the heat, you even step over a boundary as you take a step towards him too, pointing and pressing your index finger at his chest. “You are so distant! You hardly express what you feel. I can’t get through to you. It’s like I have you but I don’t-really…” Almost as if it had finally drowned in sorrow, your voice becomes faint and gentle. “I’m tired, Jay.” 

Your eyes say the same thing, there’s a sudden despair in them. A vision that perpetually sinks. Eyes of ‘the conquered.’ Glossy. Your tears are asking for permission as you say,  “You-you are like something I can’t really have... And-and every time we have this conversation, you-you love to-to change it,” you feel your lips quiver. “To-to stop it. To—”

“Stop!” Jaehyun interrupts your delirious thoughts as he takes the last step and closes any gap that may exist between you two.

“Don’t!” You shout back at whatever move, aim, or objective he may have. But remain still, resolute, and maintain your ground. Not yet waving the white, even though he’s so close—so excessively, painfully close—that he’s able to feel the quivering waves coming from your body. So awfully close that his scent is gnawing at your nose. It’s insistent, just like his perpetually clenched jawline. His jawbone might shatter from such thightness.

The stimulation all comes in spasms. Your walls crumble on themselves, gripping, tightening, constricting... Your body begins to prepare for a fit of sobbing. Hot. Quaver. Fever. Literally, you writhe in agony under his intimidating breath that seeps beneath your skin and sinks its daggered claws within. However, you gasp for air as your own breath slips from your fingertips. 

Whispery, “I wish I—I could be true…” intimately, “to you, Jeong…” vulnerably, “I really do… But it’s plain to see I’m not the one.”

Silence. 

A profound sense of loss spreads through the room and meditates on the lifeless air. Despite the body closeness, there’s a lingering emptiness that feels like the quiet of a hall on a cold winter night. 

The sun fades to shadows, chasing the sunset away. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, bluish-dark inks the sky. Duplicates of the two of you on the walls due to the lamp’s remaining orange. The only thing left after such a confession is that the ground appears really lovely and that you ought to concentrate on it till he separates and walks away. 

It nearly stops your heart when Jaehyun’s pensive, icy fingers circle around your chin and lift your face to pull you closer.

His slightly black mullet trickles along his earlobes. With a furious look, he rolls his lower lip between his teeth. In thought, though, there’s still resoluteness residing on his face at which you want to scream, ‘SAY SOMETHING TO ME.’

But why? Why would you want more, knowing it’d only prove a disaster and cause more misery? 

Thus, you grab his wrist angrily, forcing him to stop controlling your face and eyes so you can only focus on his. You’ve also had the best teacher in him because he has always been so competitive. Two can therefore grit their teeth at each other.

There’s also a lot of resistance initially due to his strength. You both lose a little bit of balance as he counter-grips your wrist, and you briefly rustle as your bodies come into contact. What matters is that his hand does, in the end, get ripped away from your chin. 

With his empty hands by his sides, Jaehyun gently blinks multiple times, and all of a sudden, everything changes—the energy, the atmosphere... him… you. 

His lips flat into a bread-shaped smile, causing lovley holes to sink at his cheeks. You hear nothing but a cry of help through his tiny, adorable smile, which may indicate that he refuses to offer a piece of his heart because he doesn’t think it’ll be kept unbroken. His almond eyes liquid with anxiety as you expect his voice to soften again and tell you another pretty lie.

Lacking specificity, you ask sharply, “How do you do that?” squinting cynically because you find it incredible. What you’re referring to, though, is the way he transitions between such extreme emotions in such a tranquil, almost graceful, manner. It astounds you. You’d never see him in total distress. He won’t show it. 

A little perplexed, Jaehyun asks, “Do what?” 

There’s no way that he’s oblivious to it, so you feel compelled to lash out once more, but all you do is shake your head a little and roll your eyes, which is the equivalent of ‘nevermind.’ This way, you restrain yourself from repeating the same things over and over. Besides, what would be their point?

A second moment of silence ensues. 

To release some of his tension, Jaehyun lifts his chin and purses his lips, adjusting the loose collar of his shirt, and continues in the same manner, bending his neck side to side while hooking his fingers to his chain necklace and moving it around. 

Not knowing so, or rather so, he’s easily creating very frustrating hypnotism, teasing you in with each twist of his finger around his necklace. His veins are throbbing and protruding, and his tense neck cords are drawing the majority of your attention. His bare neck seems to be begging you to desert your lips on the scent of his perfume. At the same time, if your fingers had a chance, they’d also trace the familiar lines of his collars…..

Yikes! You seem to be clinging again, so Jaehyun bites his smile a couple of times and drags his tongue across his teeth before beaming widely. You shake your head but are unable to resist the invitation to smile yourself when his puffy eyes curve up. His flirty dimples seek your thumbs. This motherfucker…

Altering between hotness and sweetness should be considered a crime. Jail time is due for him. No way are you flirting back.

There seems to be an addiction to space, so proximity is key. But if he gets any closer with this newfound, unfair energy, you fear that you won’t be able to let him go.

In fact, Jaehyun does just that. Being quite competitive, he’d not want to finish second in a game where the person who keeps reaching closer wins.

Naturally, time slows down on itself. And yet more is said now—in the space, between the breaths, and after all those mean words. Could it be that you are becoming a fan of the hushness he so preaches?

His brow lifts again, but this time it’s more like a test, with his slightly blown-out, intrigued eye asking, ‘Why is it so hard for you to believe that I like you?’ It’s playful, but it manipulates you by raising doubts in your mind, making you wonder if he really means, ‘Do I like you?’

Feeling a little roused on the inside, you look at him with the same intensity that he does, and really the only thing separating you two at this moment is your willingness to reach out. 

In spur, eyes, lips, and notions are all involved in the play. Jaehyun’s sensuality is just accelerating on top of your angsts. And every playful bite of his lips telepathically leads you in soft-spoken: Open your eyes; Open the keys; Open the mind. Just senses pleading with you to open them. Sight and smell are relatively easy to cross off the list, but taste and touch are a tad bit more tricky.

Lingering just at the tip of your nose, the weight of his perfume raptures you even more so now than previously. It feels as though you’re allowing him to reclaim control over you by allowing his magic to work.

And it does, elevating you to an unexplainable height. If perfume can offer a little sense of who somebody is, his attests to the warmth of his character. Pricey but never pretentious, you assume there seems to be a depth behind his tendency to favor musky scents. As they settle into the skin of each person differently, they have a unique, layered appeal. This intricacy speaks to Jaehyun in a way that’s similar to him and the various facets that comprise his identity. He’s the mild heat of spring—subtle but all at once intense.

That, plus the fact that you’re tipping more to your toes, more to his nose. Again, balance becomes a wavy thing as you’re beginning to lose to the chemical waves.

You overheat, and there’s this ecstatic tingling in your toes—this burning sensation!! 

Cooling you down, the wooden floor feels surprisingly nice and cold under your feet. Melting. His lips are steering your emotions, making you loathe the remaining distance between you. And finally, finally, losing yourself- as you descend into the depths of his eyes. 

Jaehyun is just smoothly succeeding in wrapping himself around you like the night...

Your crazed heart makes your chest dance to such a heavy rhythm. Your breaths are shallow, and your eyes are—

Pretty malicious, Jaehyun reaches out and slowly runs his knuckles down your cheek as to worsen it all. 

With an even more seductive tone and a teasing smile, he asks softly. “What’s the deal, baby?”

Oh god... 

A long, trembling sigh escapes you.

He knows! He knows he has to do so little... As if the electric vibrations weren’t already enough, he causes more!! Ghoosbumps begin to form houses along your skin. A powerful, uncomfy warmth ascends from your throat and becomes embedded in your cheeks. Well, this is what happens when a person’s voice becomes your favorite auditory hallucination.

A deep, velvety tone, a voice that belongs in a museum. Best when he’s used it to read you. Valentine warm after he’s led you in a song. Carnal, and in shady hues when he whispers. Such a wild thing, how your thoughts won’t stop romanticizing it. It’s all that you want to hear—as if everything ever stemmed from these id-driven impulses—is to ask for only his voice… Only his voice! And you CAN be greedy…

Once he nuzzles your nose and presses his tample against yours, your body sinks. Your closed eyes are a final measure of restrain as his breath mingles with yours. Thoughts race past like speeding cars. How in the world are you supposed to stop them? Your mouth gets clumsy in the end, it betrays you. 

“I-I shouldn’t want you.” You blurt.

Jaehyun smiles in front of your lips and confirms in a flirty, “No-pe.” Just steering your comment in the direction of something good... Because yes, you should—

As you lie, your eyes open. “I really shouldn’t shouldn’t want you!”

Which makes his smile widen even more. His whiskers creasing invisible lines in his cheeks. An artist, indeed... On sinister thought, an angel’s grin.

To say you don’t love him is a lie. To say you love him is an understatement. To say you love him, you can’t. To say you love him now, you arn’t allowed to. It’s basically hell. 

You’re doomed. You’re screwed with this magical person standing in front of you. 

Yes! Exactly! HOW DOES HE DO THAT?

“How can something so wrong feel so right, then?” He tases in a low voice, dragging his nose across your cheek like a scar. It’s irrelevant if he’s referring to ‘this’ thing or himself. The final point is, he does things to you, and he knows it.

You groan a soft “Jaehyun,” with a mixture of protest and pleasure.

Contrarily, Jaehyun puts his hands around your waist and begins climbing. His lips start to brush under your ear and against your neck.

Shit-SHIT- 

Are you going to fall all the way into his hands, or what? 

What the devil kind of communication are you supposed to give? What does he expect you to answer? He’s the most bitter sweet, sweetness, heaven sent—

“You are... so...bad,” you drag as his lips rediscover the most delicate spots on your neck, and his muffled hums and moans accompany each kiss. 

He acts to support the statement that was meant to be the general response to your question, so it gets a little derived and distorted with what he does, and you find yourself tossing your head back.

He ascends back up, rubbing a nasty “Yeah?” in your face and planting a smiley-boyish kiss to the side of your cheek next to your ear. His damp, choked breath on your skin; his whisper filling your ear; his smoky energy... “So are you, babe.”

FUCK. Awful! Foul. But your body listens. Your wants are left twisting up in knots, and you know only one thing will unlace...

But your mouth... 

Your mouth can’t stop sabotaging and pointing out the nonexistent problems, which almost always become problems later on. This might get you the ‘big mouth’ rep but there’s a lot of good coming out that just gets interlaced with some bad.  So, yes. True. You’re bad. But so are you both.

There’s a fireside of warmth he has aroused inside you and your lips are almost touching, but but—

“That’s… That’s why the outline of this is wrong.”

—you’re a little stubborn... so if he thinks your brain can take a backseat and let you be so easygoing, then he’s got it wrong. It’ll take longer.

Jaehyun’s fingertips, though, continue to trace along the length of your arm, calling you his with every line while his nose lightly rubs against yours, prompting you to—

“Is it?” he asks. 

But maybe that’s what gets him. The ‘longer’. The far more difficult route to the goal. The much larger build-up. Love that bites. Love like war... Sometimes necessary quiet like love in a hunt. Love like the end of the world.

They warned you about him…

You breathe out the air you’ve been holding in your lungs and slip away from him. Depressed by his lukewarm replies, you respond coolly, “Of course, that’s how you’d answer.” 

Sincerely, you want to stop; you want to be able to raise your chin, extend your chest, lift your shoulders and project strength, but the situation is so sad that all of its burdens fall upon you, causing you to slouch and feel its full weight once more.

For a hot minute, your tongue stays tied around your throat, as if it were forming an unbreakable noose around your neck. You two exist in this quiet, as all that keeps coming to mind is how beautifully his dark hair frames his face.

And after living in it briefly, you ask quietly, “What happened to you? What happened to us, Jaeh—”

He cuts in, “Oh, come on!” pointing a finger at you disapprovingly and raising his voice a bit, if not for the first time. “Don’t minimize us!” 

However, as he goes on, his mouth mirrors his anguish, almost taking on a very faint, repulsive, sick look as he blurts out the words. It moves in disgust, but it hardly opens at all. Like he’s repelled by what he’s hearing or because he’s speaking back in a similarly offensive way(?) 

“It’s rather insulting and beneath your design... To drive me away... When-when I’m not.”

The comment so easily revolts you back that just—

“I don’t have to drive you away, Jaehyun! You are away by definition... You are so away, you’re unavailable!” 

Fuck!

You pause when the bobbling sensation inside of you rips at your throat, burning your eyes and causing tears to well up like water in a den but other than that you try to hold onto whatever crumb of strength you have left and continue. What does it matter if a hot tear rolls down your cheek and bruises it like a sharp diamond edge?

“I wait for you... I-I fucking watch for you, Jaehyun. The look on your face controls every feeling I have. I can’t fucking breathe because I’m waiting for you. It’s sick! It’s making me sick. I’m sick by it! I’m—I’m sick while all you do is cut my wrists so there’s no love for me- to- reac—” 

Love??? 

Struck that the word left your mouth, you shut your eyes. Stupid! But then again, what did you expect? It can only surface in circumstances this excruciating. And no one has ever said the word up until now. It has never existed in the dictionary you share.

And you may blame your fuzzy vision on the tears that have welled up, or you can blame the small space separating you, but neither of these arguments can discount the fact that the word also takes Jaehyun by surprise and is left doing something to him too.

It’s impossible to miss the red that quickly built up in his ears—it’s not been there all evening. It looks so out of place against his ivory skin. Though nuanced, the action is very telling in itself. Something so intense and visceral that even his mind is powerless to stop it. The slightest clue that only you and he understand its significance and how unsettlingly intimate it is.

Or maybe you’re projecting again? Maybe you just want it to mean something(?) Maybeee… May—

You—You shouldn’t have used that word so carelessly! You— 

In truth, you feel crushed by its weight. You feel like you’re ripped bare in the middle of the room and you can’t dress up your feelings again. But there’s also this bizarre solace in the fact that you don’t have to anymore. As the tears begin, your voice, cadence, and delivery are all off.  As if they haven’t been already... But you can’t stop now; you’re inside the flux.

“Offer me a promise. Some people carry them in their back pockets, Jaehyun, why can’t you? Can’t you just make one?” Imagine how ironic it’s that you look down to the side pockets of his cargo pants, hoping he’ll pull them from there. But zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. As you go, you’re ugly and desperate. “Even-Even if it doesn’t get fulfilled. Even if it’s just a lie. Please, please just-just say something.”

Jaehyun rubs his temple before combing his hair back, at last giving in to this hour-long argument. 

“You know I don’t do that. I have never! I’ve never given false promises and I’ve never lied, even though you enjoy using that against me.” 

You know it carries a lot when he calls your name, “.........., this victim blaming has become so casual that—that I somehow always become the spectacle.”

With each painful heartbeat, those pitiful butterflies that occupy the pit of your stomach evolve into bees that sting. The room keeps closing on you as you cry one of the hottest tears you have ever cried, which, to put it simply, causes you to lose the plot. Your words begin to drag on and on, as if you’re barely sewing them together.

“See, you-you can’t… You aren’t willing. No, it’s pretending that you care. You don’t! And we’ve promised to fix—and-and we haven—”

Right now, everything is flying over your head, and it’s too much to try and process whether by getting closer to you again he’s trying to tell you that he’s won the argument or....... 

but he does. Jaehyun closes your distance from each other.

You keep your eyes at your feet when his tone softens to one of tenderness again, like the aggressive one isn’t his choice and will never be his choice. It’s only you who can’t make the distinction if he’s speaking with pangs just now or just plain—

“You don’t trust me. You’ve never, in fact.”

“I don’t? … I haven’t?”

You suppress a sob, but your body makes it obvious. But you decide to lift your head and confront him; this is what he’s made of you… A mess—from the ‘home’ he’s constructed around himself. What hurts you is every brick he placed there for protection.

You try again, completely torn. Even your voice is defeated. Long-suffering and tender, “How have I not, Jaehyun? How have I not?” 

-

That leaves you staring into the deep brown abyss. His eyes have become very glossy; perhaps he’s tired. Streaks of moonlight gold and fragments of stolen sunsets appear every time the corner light strikes them ‘just right.’ For a moment, you’re grateful that you have a warm place to return to…

However, one minute you’re on fire, the next you’re burned. That’s just how it works. Initially, you believe it to be the dead petals from the dried rose that have fallen onto your candle next to it and caught fire, but it’s actually the entire thing. This entire thing stinks. It stings.

You dab away the tears in your eyes and smother out the flame, which is cutting off the air and the charring stench is making you ill. Whatever, anyway, on a long enough timeline, you’re bound to get burned; everybody is flammable. 

You take a deep swallow and then say what’s already been on your mind for most of the evening. 

“I won’t say anything more... I-I think… you should walk away. You ruined the evening.”

…Right. Enough playing house with each other’s feelings. 

-

Be that as it may, all of the ‘distance’ between you and him can be summed up in a single word that right now just so happens to be on your tongue. It’d also be easier if one of you could say it, but it’s hard to swallow pride when you’re prideful on both sides. 

At first, the way he squints and rolls his tongue suggests that your words have surprised him. But somewhat, gravity shifts quietly, gently. Something heavy, almost out of balance, is in his dark eyes. You think they’re absorbing as they walk from yours down to your lips and back to your eyes again, and perhaps for the last time. Like as if he’s penetrating your doubt with his last seductive stare, the one that touches you without touching. 

Breathing in moisture from abstract feelings, love on fire, and mischief well-hung onto his lips, Jaehyun asks softly, “You want me to leave?”

Your gut is in knots as you rip off a breathy, “You don’t want to stay.”

………

He gives you a deeply mistrusting look and then his thumbs dig into your cheeks as he yanks you tight towards him. 

Not even time for you to—BLANK—you’re in clutches of uncontrollable desire; your heart lunches into your throat. It feels like a ship crashing as your lips meet.

Your impulsory senses too betray every right you spent the entire night fighting for, as your hands rise to his face, grasping it firmly to do the exact same thing Jaehyun is doing to you: keep him in place for you. 

Except for his velvety lips, nothing about the kiss is gentle. Yanking, pulling, and gasping. And the more you hold him in, the more your hands become careless and he makes you bleed as your palms nearly cut at the sharpest, softest edges of his jaw. You’re cut up, down, and in between. 

His tongue thrusts its way inside your mouth, savagely sucking away the transparent nectar that has just about begun to mingle. Fervor and tingling sensations shoot from up your spine and into your head and back down your chest as you moan at the heavy, wet sighs that come from his mouth. The spiraling of your energies is causing your noses to crash constantly. 

Continuous, continuous crashing. He’s a type you want to fully devour simply because he’s too ambitious to just let you get on top of him. It’s a dog-eat-dog right now. Just this insistent, indecent sound of lipsmacking, him cramming his feelings in through the gaps when they allow, his scorching cheeks under your palms, and him crushing you with energy. 

And Jaehyun hardly ever initiates kisses like this on his own. He’s often siding with soft, caressing kisses and daisy touches. So perhaps you do bring out the worst in him? Maybe you do mistake his gentleness for a lack of trust after all. Considering that your attitude during these arguments usually results in this pattern of kissing. 

Still, you’d be pleased to learn just how much he likes them too. How much he enjoys a little dominance race for it only to get so disproportionate and borderline that, by the end, surprisingly, somehow both of you come out same. Just... you’d be surprised to know how much, at his worst, he wants to triumph through passive control but secretly needs more of those who confront and challenge this behavior in him. And that’s either soothing each other’s fire or adding more. And while neither of these are evidence of perfection, love also lacks perfection. So it’s why he’s constantly gatekeeping; it’s safer this way and more easier.  

But here’s you—who constantly likes to demand these rawest gatekeeps out of him—that are his love, feelings, and vulnerability, and those are things that can be unnervingly frail and fracturable, so no wonder you terrify him.  

Things that ought to be handled with care. Which leads you both to the issue of a lack of mutual trust. While your ingrained insecurity makes you not trust him because he’s not cooperating, his ingrained doubt that you can handle those things with care makes him not trust you. Ultimately, the situation stems from a case of miscommunicated love and belief, which allows uncertainty to creep in.

But with the way you fight him in this kiss—in all such kisses, in fact, it’s as if you’re installing faith that you mean to get to the bottom of him,

just as he’s doing the same to you, with the force with which he’s kissing you  

But occasionally—sometimes it might be too late. Possibly too late if you don’t—

You moan, “Jaehyun,” hot, dazed, and frenzied, but trying to let him know it’s gotten so much as your hands stray from his stunning face and move to his chest in an attempt to push him. The kiss is but a bruising power struggle between you, with neither emerging victorious. It feels like a struggle for a final touch—your love on a battlefield. And the gore of it engulfs you as you’re drowning and sinking deeper. 

It’s a kiss that isn’t like the ones either of you’d eventually forget. It’s a bite, greedy, and all too real. And it seems to he’s forgotten how to stop. It carries on and on until you find yourself submerged in his hands as he sinks you to the sofa with his grip on your waist. 

At a sudden, violent fall, the couch gives way to a horrifying screech, and that’s about the only moment he pulls back for you both to catch a breath. In any case, you’re the most you’ve ever been under his possession—in his arms…

Yeah? And what about his waist… being strangled between your knees and in your mercy?

Right... Silence. 

Sat-up Jaehyun is pressing up against yours and his hands are pulling you closer still. However, the loss of balance slightly gives you a tad bit of a domineering look since, from this position, you look down at him, which is what both of you are all about—a hot mess of a dynamic. Something unanalysable.

Opening your eyes to confront Jaehyun’s after what just happened is an obvious fright. 

Certainly, it’d be yet another serial reminder that you’ve completed a full circle and are back at square one, failing yourself. But, as soon as you open your eyes, and you do open your eyes, all that helps give you the impression that now you two are coming in a full cycle is him and his dumbass dimples. Like, ‘Yes, We are so back!’

Yes… they’re very much sooo back. For someone who indeed makes it hard for you to make out if there’s velvet beneath all of that Rock or all rock under that velvety beauty, the majority of the time his dimples do blow away his cover. Their means is to say that he’s one tender being; more so, not everyone is blessed with dimples; this’s not to say that only special people have them, but it’s a fact of life. And he’s been entrusted to carry this gift, and he’s special, and you know this… and—is just—

That he’s made to contradict; it’s just a side quest of the whole scheme. His eyes seem to shimmer with a fleck of flame, one that feels inextinguishable but all the same kittenish and playful. Of course, you can expect him to get naughtier and act more roguish after a kiss like that. It’s as though someone has finally let him in like a cat through a door.

In case your heart wasn’t in a coma before, it is now.

There’s a faint rose on his cheeks, but what’s of explosive color are again his ears. Needless to say, you can also expect him not to want to address that, as it’s yet another cute, sinister way his body is designed to fail his mysterious self.

In the kiss, you were pretty much the worst enemy he has ever had, and now he’s back to being cute and wagging his tail around you. His angel-filled eyes and sinfully intoxicating, sweet lips effortlessly elicit a smile from you, which means he has overpowered your thirsty lips. Except now you do live along the coast surface of his exploited lips, even past them and inside, and that one fact is doing everything it’s supposed to do, turning you hot and bothered.

The kiss in itself has a strong, lingering aftertaste, just like his scent, and your fingers, nose, waist, and even your knees are the places where you can still feel him. Practically every area of your body has a throbbing pulse—one behind each ear, one on the left side of your neck, one on your right wrist, near veins, inner thighs, arch of your left foot, under your jaw... too many places… You feel like dying. Fuck…

It’s as though the kiss carried his potency, which now floats from neuron to neuron getting lost in your space until it’s drawn you into an empty corner; And you remain there, as sick in the head as you are for him, with your body being hotter than fire for him. You’re losing you again, piece by piece and second by second exactly the way he knew you would. 

For a moment his lips slightly part as if he were going to speak, but he stays silent. You too. Even if you were able to form a thought, it’d be buried in your throat, making it impossible for you to say anything. Rather, you allow this corrupted sensuality to speak for itself as it transmits between your tied bodies.

Your hand trembles a little as you let your fingers approach his face. And when they do land, it’s like touching morning dew; he’s as light as a summer mist. 

Feeling his skin, your eyes follow your fingers with precision as you take in every detail for the thousandth time, like a first time. His silken hair is in disharmony from the makeout so you go to fix that before moving your thumb along his brow to smooth out the mess there too. A plethora of bristly hairs, give or take, submit to your touch. And you look at them as though under a microscope, like a geek with a slight brow fetish, wishing to lick them. You’re obsessed with his eyebrows; if essence is everywhere, it’s also overwhelmingly there too.

But it’s true that you rather concentrate on anything tiny than give Jaehyun your undivided attention… All while he’s watching you and letting you do as you please. Though a heinous smirk does start to flicker across his lips, shifting from one corner to the other, and as soon as you finish adjusting his brow and perhaps are ready to proceed to something else, Jaehyun grabs your wrist, robbing you of your next action.

Bringing your hand lower, and adopting a much comfier, in truth, arrogant position by tilting his head back and resting it on the sofa, he separates your same ‘so generous thumb’, and slowly takes it inside his mouth. 

Heyyyyyyyyyyy—No warning, no fucking not—

You hiss, ready with your “F-” to cuss but bite and swallow the rest of it. Way louder ‘Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!’ stay rippling in your head though, as he takes the finger deeper and deeper and his eyes and lips share the same smile, and 

This m—

The man is too motherfucking happy to stop! That’s what it is. Causing you to frown and tie your brows fucking forever... 

As he coats your thumb in wet, your mouth feels incredibly parched. With every successive push forward to pull you back again, his cheek muscles contract, tense, relax, and hollow out, sucking you in.

Your vision gradually goes haywire, like sugar that has just begun to boil from clear to burnt. With every sensual fluff of his lashes, your heart caramelizes to a deep, rich brown. Between every pull, spit slides, feeling slimy on your skin and sticking like candy. You’re all soft inside, melted and gooey.

Pleasure mounts, and your body is fighting an awful war to stay strong but really it’s giving in. You swear he can feel every nuance of this self-conflict, down to the smallest tingle with each wrap of his tongue round your thumb. All the way down to your pounding heart and bouncing thoughts; All the way—

If it’s of consequence, you know that there’s a hard mental play going on, but now aren’t even in the right frame of mind to consider how much of one. 

Not when his other pair of digits slip beneath your shirt. Not when they trail down your spine like he’s trying to break it, pushing you into an arch. Not when—

You finally manage to drag out your finger from his mouth, sighing and pouting as you say, “J,” ready with something more to say but eventually it gets ripped off your head like anything else. 

Is this beautiful aware of the number of heartbreaks he has caused you?

No—No, can’t! Can’t be thinking about th—you shove aside that thought also and start lowering onto his face and feel his arm wrap tightly around you just below your ribcage, arching you even more into him. Your shirt gets caught in the same way as a theater curtain riding up, exposing more of your skin and he’s the only one seated for the show. A private poetry. 

His fingers graze each hollow space in your ribs, and the rest of the fabrics in between conceive a roughness that drives your skin into tears. The brain-twister is this: Are you tough and resistant, like the denim you wear?

Hmph, definitely not! That success you scripted, though, is over…

Motion generates friction; friction generates heat... your head is filled with smoke. There’s nothing you could possibly use in your head. All it’s made up there now is of abominable thoughts and smoke.

Clinging to his lips by only a few millimeters, you refuse him or yourself to let them come into contact still. Rather let yourself feel his breath on your face and get bruised up because of it. A pain of pleasuring in the company of pain. Yes, this is your self-inflicting prison. This prolonged, delayed intimacy, this sick turn-on... It’s just his rock falling into your heart again, like an ice cube that scuttles past grasping hands and obnoxiously skates into a whisky glass, making a splash out of you. 

Regardless of how crazy or subdued the evening gets, it’s all fucked eventually. It’s fucking messy. However, that’s just the way life is—he’s the only one who has ever told you, ‘It’s okay to be messy, baby… I’m on your side.’ 

Fucking irony… 

Dimly lit, the room is a depressing sight. Little red wine specks cover the couch, appearing to have fallen apart like the holes in some of his shirts. A silver zippo next to an empty ashtray that’s always left with just dust in it. Smudges stain the coffee table, and a pool of melancholy is created at the base of the candle, marking another stain as wax oozes and seeps down the sides. Its honeysuckle scent is so invasive, spreading like a disease in slow motion.

You’re worn down completely and irrevocably. Throwing your head back, a sigh rips from the pit of your stomach. The sound of your ribs snapping in half is like the cozy crackling sound of his record player, taking you back to the vinyl he played for you two weeks ago.

Warm. Pressing at the dip where your collarbones meet, his moist lips feel warm against your skin. And he’s taking his time this time around; his tongue is tamed along your collar line, if not overly lazy. It clings fragilely to your throat, choking you until breathing starts to feel more like a chore than a necessity—until you’re drowning from the carbon dioxide that’s swimming in your veins. 

You pull away for a second just to sail back into the black oily sea of his eyes, saving the sight for later in the week when it’s going to get tough. You both secretly tie to stave off the night for as long as possible but time is a human construct and will spill its numbers on the floor.

Petty, his fingernails dig into your waist on each side, and the tiny, pointy scrapes that pierce your flesh, accidentally trigger your inner underdog.

Mad! You’re not just mad, you’re furious. Angry at having to let him go. Selfish to lose him. You been knew… But, dear god, how are you to do you without him? How are you to subsist without measuring the cosmos in his hands every night before going to bed? And how are you to wake up without his warmth next to you every morning? Or rather that was the idea of you two(?) ​A dream you’ve constructed…

You seem pretty sincere in your uncertainty about what lies ahead for the two of you in the long run. What’s worse, you’re aggressive with it, agressive in your once again glossy eyes and directing them at him to harm him emotionally, physically... psychologically. Then again Jaehyun is repressing his anger internally and handling it as usual. Will deal with it later. He’s so polite with it. Elegant. Or as much as the circumstances permit.

Lightning strikes lightning again, and your entire body starts to tremble as if you’re under a high tide that the ocean has saved for this exact moment. This power he has over you... you call it love. One day, you’ll blink and he’ll be back. And you’ll be sure to wait for that day just like a moon in the sky that waits for nightfall. Is that foolish? It doesn’t concern you because nothing’s fair in love and war anyway. You loved him then, you love him now and you’ll love him forever. But the fact you have to store such lightning in a jar right now is a load of crap.

You dig your finger into his cheeks and lift his jaw in force, causing a slight twitch in your wrist that soon becomes a boiling fit of lust. With a tight jaw and a raised voice, you ask, “What next!!?”

A receipt, please!?

-Double entendres. 

-Double entendres. 

-Double entendres. 

A fleet of insinuations.

What’s next for you two? Where are you headed? But truthfully… For rea—

Smiling lazily in your palm, Jaehyun rolls his lower lip in confidence, and then, all of a sudden, you’re holding bread with scrumptious, detailed dips on both sides.

Feeling a sense of accomplishment in advance of what he’s going to say, his eyes remain fixed on you as he hooks his fingers into the black hair tie that’s been lonesomely hanging around your wrist all this time. Your hand is then gradually forced away from his face so he can take it as he yanks sensually and slowly at it. Dark, luscious flirtation loads every agonizing drag. There’s a crazy calm in his eyes.

‘What’s next?’

The timbre in his voice is enough to smoke you. 

Smirking, “Anything I want.”

A silencer that makes a whisper of the gunshot. A gun which no hunter has it at all… Yeah, there’s not a gun whose sound sounds kind, but there is—

his voice, he

Your face goes momentarily expressionless, and your nostrils flare at the comment. Not only do you not believe what you’re hearing, but you find him puzzling to the point of offense. You give a mild shake, press your lips to your nose in annoyance, and reach over the left side of the couch to retrieve the ‘Hysteric’ cap he tossed earlier, intending to really smack it of his face. 

But when you do swing it, blurting, “Sometimes, I hate both of us,” Jaehyun lets out an adorable laugh and clutching your wrist in time. 

Warming your cheeks, the sun shines straight in your face. His laugh is everything good in this world. In his puffy-eyed smile, comfort springs eternally, much like light. This man alone starts spring. 

He teasingly remarks, “Sometimes…” meaning… not alw— 

His hands reach over your shoulders and he pulls you in again, gathering your hair at the back for ‘no other’ reason than to use that hair tie... 

In the newly created intimacy, his eyes dart over every feature of your face as if he’s soaking it all in like the last golden hours of summer, and in gratitude, his smile gently strokes over each of these details with attractive happiness. He’s a generous artist, and you know this too… Is just—

Quickly, your noses start to collide with every failed attempt he makes to deal with the hair because the more he tries, the more he—

Lip-cuts over cheeks and incessant whines of ‘I can do it. No, you— I can!’s muffled behind ears like long-kept secrets.

“Just give up,” you smile.

“Nuh-uh…” he fights as he tries and tries, “I can’t,” and sporting a damped smile in the bends of your neck. 

To get you where he wants you, every one of his failed ‘hair tie’ attempts is the most phony innocence ever imagined. His lips leave a trail of light, giggly kisses along the ridge of your shoulder, compelling your own hands to work their way up his shoulders, into his nape, and then into his hair. 

Eventually, his hands become less firm and give up, causing his fingers to thread down your hair, yet he still assures you, “Mmmmh… I can do it... 

… For real, though.”

It aches the way he does that! His low voice whispers… Marking you for disaster. A feral panic. The urges his voice alone has conjured up in you long to break free.

Tracing his eyes connect the dots between your goosebumps, your eyes, and your brain, strips you of your body. He’s touching every nerve ending, every inch, and every brainwave. Intimacy is a weird state to be in—too much of it and it ruthlessly takes out everything but the moment. 

The calmness that follows an anxious fury.

The holy restoration of what remains untainted.

You are connected—you and him. Now. Just now, in the history of time itself... 

And if you’re going to kiss him next, it has to unpeel. It needs to undress. It has to lay bare every feeling he fears and strip any hard shell he wears. It has to burn from muscle to bone. A tongue that maps out any doubt, lets it stick to it, and then crushes it under its weight. Exhaust every bad memory. Even so powerful to kill every terrible remembrance. His defenses have to go. They could crawl beneath the sofa and hide there like defeated demons.

Sure, art is hiding behind one pretense or another, but surely it can’t be for all times? 

Hidden feelings, like hidden things, can’t stay hidden, for finding them is where all the whole beauty lies.

You know Jaehyun loves watching you watch him. But sometimes, that’s really difficult. 

You’re at your last grasp for air but still manage to do that; reaching through your hair to his still-tangled hand, you bring it to your lips and gently plant a long kiss on the veiny outer palm.

The unusualness of it; your eyes on his; your mouth there lingering...

Although Jaehyun’s expression suggests it’s something he didn’t expect, it’d be mild to say he’s shocked. When he doesn’t smile for the first time, you want to smile because you find the confusion in his running, empathetic eyes adorable. 

It came with no warning. He had no idea it’d tingle and rush to his center as it does.

Feeling with your other hand on his chest, the ‘silent word of truth’ races his heartbeat.

-

Let’s stop the complications. Let’s do that...

No more wrong, no more selfish, no more too stubborn to keep it a secret…

Let’s

You’re left stroking the space between his thumb and index finger, and in your eyes, this far into the night, your love is the only act of violence. The way he actually robs you of yourself should be studied. Your ‘whole purpose of earlier’ seems to be being yanked out of you and placed neatly in the ‘For later’ compartment.

Jaehyun’s looking at you, aroused in the right place, your head—The smoke’s not cleared, and guess what—he loves to go there,

-

… But perhaps you have your own sneaky way of doing the same…

-

After the hand kiss, his eyes are narrow... wary, like when he can’t read something from a distance. As if he’s in a slump. Spacing out… Comprehending… Perhaps he’s too late to realize...

To help him ‘see’ better, you brush the strands out of his way. Along with the way you subtly rip the corner of your lip, it makes it sound a little shady when you softly ask, “What is it?”

He smiles shyly as he says, “Coome oon,” dragging the word a little and even breaking eye contact, looking downward.

Huh, what is it? Is his shirt print suddenly so interesting!??

Just like he won’t sometimes, you won’t elaborate now either. Not saying anything, the time has come when you get to raise an eyebrow. Getting back his attention, you run a finger down his shirt, feeling the fabric give away to some hard, toned abs. They serve him nothing now...

He’s visibly altered, something you can clearly fucking see.

‘What is it?’ —

The question hangs over him, forcing a deep, deep breath out of him. He then takes hold of your face. His fingertips tap firmly, like an anchor to the sea, landing the skin behind your ear. You can’t be moved by anything other than him. Just-

him.

Flowers sprout from his palm immediately. Their vines snake their way up your legs. And those sweet notes in his voice!?

Nothing quite compares...

“I know you know...”

“Know what… Yun-o?”

-

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[1-49]

Jaehyun, Turn Me Inside - Zero 7 Remix

[1-49]

hotter than your instincts

pairing: f!reader × chanyoung ⁝ tags: nighttime. trains. angst lack of confidence. pining. jealous/obsessive tendencies. 1.3k

No matter how much you come to his mind, you aren’t his. Train in, train out... Night in, night out. The girl who rides the 10 p.m. train every day.

Concrete platforms, tiled walls, and lights that look like they could go out at any time add to the ominous atmosphere. Pretty much just lone winds blowing between entrances at these hours; hardly any trains. It is hard not to notice you in such brutality.

There is nothing more to explain his gradual transition from morning to evening swimming lessons than his intense desire to keep running into you... That he’s taking such a big risk with his serious forte is absurd.

Tonight of all nights, he’s sitting the closest he has ever sat to you, so it seems as though he is most vulnerable to the ‘here we go agains’ and the ‘I won’t give into my own dreams & wishes,’ but he is unable to avoid them. From the other side of the bench , he can sense your breath and imagine your lips meeting his for that fleeting moment before ur head turns to divert attention to the train approaching from the far & opposite platform.

Save for a few shy smiles & acknowledgements of his presence, you never say anything to him. Your eyes never remain locked for longer than necessary, & ur hands never come into contact.

In actuality, though, Chanyoung doesn’t require much since he loves your silence. Seemingly mysterious & cool, but mostly, he loves the way your quietness sounds, just like his.

But then the ‘how could he ever possibly get to yous’ start to creep in, knowing full well that there’s always ‘that’ other guy on the other end of the line. The guy who’s waiting for you and to whom you belong. The guy who stays in your heart forever and always calls to check on you while you’re returning home. The guy who stays on the phone every night to hear about your joys and your sorrows equally.  Anton knows he can’t compete with that.

Watching the last trains of the day pass by while you two sit in silence is strangely soothing—that is, until you get that phone call.

Night in, night out. In those moments, all the subterranean beauty blurs, and his chest gets bruised. His most beautiful smile fades away, and he’s only left to wonder what it would have been like if you were his girlfriend.

Everything feels so empty and miserable when you’re on that nightly-clockwork call with him at 10:10 p.m. and Chanyoung is there, supposed to hold it through.

You’re the reason why he’s clenching his fist so hard inside his hoodie and his nails are digging into his flesh.

Given his adorable and compassionate nature, it’s difficult to envision him harboring negative thoughts. But there it is again, another glimpse of him beating his fist against a concrete wall, because how many phone calls from ‘him’ does Chanyoung really need to count to be certain he will never have a chance with you? 

That you cause his heart to race like a train, and his hands to shake, you will never know. And as he listens to your talk, it is as though he’s running off the tracks.

“Sorry, babe, think my phone’s dying.”

???? He finds it difficult to believe what you are saying, and it almost sounds like something out of his fantasies. A fantasy in which he’s strong enough to control the things that hurt his heart, but in actuality, he isn’t. 

However, you sigh visibly & end the call, looking at your phone’s screen and probably checking the battery... What if tonight is finally the night the universe is on his side?

Your eyes move from your phone to your feet, then to the empty train tunnel, and then to him. It’s unimaginable that you’re now considering him worthy of a cursory glance.

He looks down at his feet shyly, and his bangs start to slide more into his eyes as he fixes his gaze on the floor. If only he had more courage.

But as soon as you announce, “We’ve been taking the same train every day,” out of nowhere, his gaze lifts to meet you right away, and even if he’s surprised, his empathetic eyes stay glazed with hope.

With a smile on his face, he murmurs, “Yes,” the purest, softest ‘yes’ to ever be spoken.

That he likes to think you can love him all raw and exposed is foremost a dream. But a dream that becomes real as it’s written all over his face, and one that, had you not been so blindly in love, would have been so evident.

As he ponders whether to say anything at all or to stay silent, you smile at him.

And because of you, every butterfly he owns is now trying to pull away from his core. He finds himself wishing he had a plan on how to make his dream of you come true, but he is caught unprepared.

You randomly comment, “I like your shirt,” while pointing teasingly at the undershirt he is wearing. But seriously, who puts themselves on their shirt? 

From the tone in your voice, he believes if there had been another choice, you’d prefer his shirt off, not on. Still, it’s a moron nightmare!

“Oh, that...” Chanyoung remarks, along with a little, warm laugh that escapes his fragile, flustered lips as he zips up his hoodie, completely forgetting what his friends at the pool made him wear today after he lost a bet. At least he has your attention, even though the whole thing makes him look like a total fool.

“Cute,” you say as your thumbs poke through the holes in your knit sweater’s sleeve. “Not everyone has a high fashion sense,” you add in response, making another cuteful compliment.

Again, perhaps he’d have known how to react to that if he hadn’t been so bashful and innocent. Therefore, all he responds with is a smile.

The small talk quickly dies down as a result. A new silence descends.

The kind of quiet where your faint smile and your silence hang over him like an anchor, but instead of letting him drown, you ground him.

What if he is only good for this? Sitting on the other end of the bench and yearning for you silently? If he had no competition, though the situation would be ideal.

But this is beyond his control, isn’t it?

Your gaze darts to the departure board as you sort through your forgotten thoughts that never meet the tip of your tongue. The train seems to be running a little over two minutes late. Chanyoung gives you another shy glance through his bangs. And when you pull the raw skin off your lips, continuing the seconds and sucking nervous umm’s between your teeth, you cause his heart to twist between his ribs. You have no mercy!

The train you’re both riding on speeds through the tunnel at this same instant, making matters worse before he has a chance to say anything more—not that he believes he’d have anyway. The sound of thunder rumbles across the tracks, and he opens his mouth to scream, but nothing comes out...

Once more, the train entirely crashes into his dream... Blurry fragments scatter all around.

The train’s engine is huffing and the wheels are churning out a steady rhythm of his ‘please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me,’ as you say an unfazed, “Here he is,” as the train pulls into the platform. To believe you are selfish would be to underestimate his love & kindness for you.

It’s absolutely bizarre—the way, for yet another night in a row, he’s blaming the guy in your phone for everything and the fact that you two aren’t together. You have ruined him in every rational way. His sound ideas and beliefs have long been tainted. Between tenderness & love, the lust of all blurs the boundaries...

As you rise from the bench, the feeling of muscle memory coats him in your toxins—your sweet toxins—an odour he’s so fond of, so impossible to resist.

He is coaxed by you, for you—and despite his intense desire to be close to you, to be in your presence, to laugh and run through these platforms & eerie train halls holding your hand inside his, reality appears to be telling him something quite different. Something he is unwilling to hear, even though he knows it.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[1-49]

hii lynn ! you've probably been seeing my user pop up in your notifications ALOT but it's because I've been binging your works and I'm just so in love with the way you write. everything you've put out is SO good and I can really tell how much you adore sungchan and that he is your muse ❤️

hiii bee!!! love seeing u in my notif!! 🤍 don’t worry!! always thank you, & im just excited whenever i see a feedback cos there is so little. i adore reading how differently people perceive smth that’s been written. & yes!! sungchan.. i just absolutely loveeee his character... that he is physically attractive and talented is such a plus to his personality like he’s literally soo perfect it is sickening. i am obsessed!!

whenever he smiles.. he’s sooo!! i turn fool who’s soo in love basically.

[1-49]

020202 WONBIN

[1-49]

☄︎ hit by luck

pairing: f!reader × chanyoung, sungchan ⁝ tags: rain. tokyo. & love at first sight / fluff. gets lil angsty. wc. 3.1k

note:this has been in my drafts ever since those two pictures dropped, & basically, this whole thing is just an extension of what sorta of mood they inspired. ik it’s kind of late but i love the atmosphere, so im posting it anyway.

All this waiting ──── Holding out for the storm to pass. Stuck in traffic and waiting. Waiting for the bus at a crowded bus stop. 

Since the idiotic weather app on your phone was unable to foresee such a severe downpour, you are without an umbrella. You find yourself standing like a cat caught in the rain after spending a perfect sunny afternoon exploring Tokyo’s streets.

Neithe r the metro nor the two buses that have come & gone are going in your direction. More room and privacy for yourself as the majority of passengers board the buses and lessen the crowded, small, glassed station—for which you are grateful. After trying your luck twice, you are stuck waiting for the third bus. 

The peculiar scent of rain on asphalt fills your nostrils as you accept your bad luck & attempt to take solace in the rain, the foggy lights of the passing traffic & the bright neon signs that give the city its unique flavor. There are a variety of sounds in the street, ranging from soft and loud to melodic and even disorienting. 

You seem like such a loser out in the rain. The end effect of running so fast and not caring where you step is clumps of hair and muddy shoes, followed by ten minutes of waiting. You are glad you didn’t wear too much makeup for today’s walk because you’d have looked like a total wreck. Smugly, you try to adjust your mascara and eyeshadow in your little mirror and pretend it’s fine. 

And so, you concentrate on the raindrops as they land in a specific dip in the pavement, creating tiny air bubbles that rise to the surface like bubbles in a champagne glass. This little world seems to be what fascinates you about Tokyo at the moment, despite its vast size.

That is when the two giants casually stroll into the safe haven you have found in all the fast life.

The two towering frames jostle one another in this terrifying performance that the sky is putting on, laughing at something so ridiculous that you have to wonder how they can do it. The evening sky is practically ripping at its seams, but they do not seem to notice. 

Their laughter is contagious as they battle for space under a transparent umbrella that the taller one is holding. Their bodies are too broad for the protective gear, and they seem to lose simultaneously because most of their opposing shoulders and arms are soaked. For the tiny spaciousness they seek but don’t find, the pair comes across as endearing and humorous. You realize there is beauty in the fact that neither of them seems to mind. They remain upbeat and truly unaffected, which is inspiring.

That they are close friends is highly likely. They are even dressed alike. One is wearing green cargo pants and the other over-dye jeans, both with black upper apparel.

They could be mistaken for twins due to their dangerous synchronicity. Not like born together. Not fused like the two sides of an oyster encasing a precious pearl. However, exactly opposites, much like the two sides of a mirror. Equally stunning, and in their case, the pearl is their friendship. 

The sounds of the city fade, and you feel every nook and cranny in your body thudding as you witness them make the spontaneous decision to wait for a bus.

The ‘polar twins’ resemblance they give off is unfair. 

While the cargo boy’s carefree demeanor gives hours of silly photos and odd Tik Toks, funny videos, and Twitter drama, the headphones hanging around his neck pay close and serious attention to music, which you thoroughly appreciate. This particular aspect of him almost instantly makes you fall in love.

But the taller boy doesn’t fall behind either;

he closes the umbrella as soon as he enters the glassed area. His hand clasped around his brown cashmere cardigan radiates warmth and comfort, and his strikingly bare collarbones radiate needs and dreams. His contradictory aura clouds your judgment and prevents you from making further assumptions about his interests in basketball, games, and literature.

The tip of the umberlla accidentally bumps into your arm when he closes it, revealing his slight clumsiness. 

His regret is evident in his eyebrows even before he says, “Sorry.” His eyes widen with it. Lovely and compassionate, with a hint of mocha. Like there is freshly brewed coffee swirling around inside his crystals.

Sparks shimmer up your arms as you watch and listen to his apology and say that it’s nothing. 

The music boy’s position is to your left, as the ‘clumsy’ guy shifts to your right, which he does not realize until he apologizes.

With obvious happiness, the music boy inserts himself and begins to tease him. “He acts that way all the time, so don’t worry. If his good looks don’t work to get him noticed, he will try playing on his clumsiness.”

You can be sure that the ‘clumsy’ guy is pouting and sulking over the nonsense that was just said, even though your eyes are finally turning to the person who is seeking them.

There is an eternal smile on the face of the goofier of the two. One of those smiles that can break through the clouds and stop the rain. A ray of light, really. He breaks through the barriers of your heart with his quiet voice too. The fact that he can capture your heart with such ease and beauty is just a crime.

They may have looked the same in one frame, but now that they are essentially standing on either side of you, they are starting to show more of their charm. It gets harder to be between two extremely attractive giants as their individuality starts to emerge.

You have a sneaking suspicion that the boy you are looking at is the younger one.

And while the bright colors of the city match his mischievousness, his confidence has a short fuse. This becomes apparent when he stops coming up with new jokes for his friend and stays staring at you for longer than fifty seconds.

Before you know what the two of you are doing, his smile spreads across your face like sunlight does on tulips in the early spring. It’s an inadvertent eye lock until he realizes it’s too much. It really melts your heart to discover that he is a shyer one, and you end up melting right into the rain puddle that is at your feet.

You then take up your previous posture, facing forward. For a brief while, they distracted you from the fact that you were waiting for a bus to the hotel. As you take a big swallow, there is an odd quietness among the three of you. 

You cannot help but wish that some of them would speak up and say something. Why you want this to go on is beyond you, but you want it to. Their bodies radiate a warmth that suffocates you while simultaneously providing warmth against the chilly autumn breeze. This brings you back to the point where you’re mentally cursing your app for tricking you because you were totally unprepared for today’s outing.

‘Soft eyes’, as in literally, hands you the sweather he was holding as soon as he notices that you’re shivering.

It pains you to try to turn down his offer, but you do. 

Still, he refuses to accept it. “You can give it back as soon as one of our buses arrives. Keep it till then.” Ignoring your protests, he carefully places the soft wool in your hands. You have no choice but to comply with his insistence. “Besides, I don’t need it.”

You raise your gaze to him and once more meet his eyes—this time with a smile added.

You remember that when he bumped into you, he was trying to hide a smile so that he could apologize more sincerely, which means you haven’t been a witness to his smile just yet. 

However, his smile has the same profound effect on you as the guy on the other side. You are sure the sun is in his heart too, just as much as it’s in his eyes. His kindness is his beauty. Very soft; almost as soft as a ball of cashmere, or similar to his cardigan’s overly long sleeves as you play with them.

Given their earlier recklessness, you would never have trusted two random boys to be this kind. So gracious as to lay you two of their favorite accessories in your possession. 

One is keeping you warm, and the other, after being prodded to share the song he has been working on, is putting his headphones on you and letting his joy seep through your ears to your bones.

Feeling a little more shy, his breath hits your face, tense and warm as he’s inside. He is pulsing with understanding so as not to invade your personal space while practically failing. As if you couldn’t have done it yourself, he decides to put his headphones on you abruptly. A current is all that is moving him, and not a single conscious brain cell is applying any kind of brake.

The color hits his cheeks when your gaze meets halfway again. He’s being cheeky, though, when he asks, “Are you ready?” while towering over you.

He presses play on the song he composed after you nod with equal enthusiasm.

With the ‘soft guy’ on the right, you’re a little more confident, but when it comes to the ‘shy boy’ in front, you are a complete mess. The prospect that he’s equally as wreaked as you are is the primary cause of your emotions. They are deeply affecting you both, and even though you would prefer to hide in the next bush, you are pursuing each other naively and playfully. 

Your smiles are getting bigger as you gaze at one another, but his is weaker, more fragile, as in ‘until the piece I composed gets your pass, I am afraid.’

You close your eyes because you don’t have enough in you to match that.

The outside world ceases to matter as the ambient composition intensifies and begins to resolve inside you.

You explode at the slightest touch from a ‘soft boy’ who leans in close and tries to listen through your headphones. 

Since he also expressed dissatisfaction over never having heard the music, you try to be understanding and let him into your space too. He was unable to listen to it earlier due to the ‘it is not completed’ statements. This was his chance. And so, you acknowledge that this evening, everything came together to allow the two of you to feel the excitement of being the first to hear something so exquisite.

The storm itself, you can swear, ceased.

Though the sound of life is muffled by the composition in your eardrums, you can somewhat hear three heartbeats pounding in time with the music. It feels as though nothing matters and yet everything has led up to this.

‘Music boy’ watches your reactions as both of you remain silent, neither of you speaking to disturb the bliss. 

This rescue is slow-moving and pleasant compared to Tokyo’s fast life. You find a brief moment of inner tranquility after so much running, fury at the weather, and anger towards the electronic device in your back pocket.

Entirely, you lose yourself in the song, and the way your lashes curl to soften the likely pictures that appear beneath your lids is proof of this. It seems that even in Tokyo, things can come to a stop. 

Like a drop of rain in the countryside, your smile is sincere and pure. That is what he has composed, and that is what this is. He has awakened that within you. 

Clarity and translucence—opposing to the densely scented city air, which is heavy with the smell of burned street meat and motor oil.

As distinct as the boys standing next to you, everything has a raw beauty.

When you turn to face the taller one, you find that your noses are almost in contact because of how close the headphones have brought his face to yours.

His most beautiful features are dripping with admiration as he gives you the thumbs up. Although you find the signal confusing, you nod because you think it is abrupt and cute.

Upon turning to face the musical prodigy as you currently perceive him—you having no prior knowledge of him—he grins more than ever.

With great anticipation, he asks, “And!?”

“I wish I had a better word to describe it, but it is rather majestic. The melody is lovely and seems to pour love and tranquility indefinitely. It made me feel better. Basically, thank you, is all I have to say.”

“It truly did the same for me,” remarks the tall guy, nodding. “You know, he never lets us listen to his music,” he adds, moving in closer to give the younger person a sweet shoulder shake. “This guy!!”

They both laugh it off, just like they did when they walked in beside you. They are unaware that, with those smiles, they have taken everything from you. However, as soon as you peek at the bus in the distance, read aloud your hotel’s street address, and confirm that it is your route, their smiles become lifeless and hollow almost instantly. In the same instant, the hope that they both brought about vanishes. There is a bittersweet sensation. 

Even though you all know the end is near, it seems like no one anticipated it.

All of it comes crashing down: the rain, the hope, the magic, and all three of your desperate sets of eyes that cannot stop staring into each other’s faces. Each microsecond, millisecond, and second matters. Everything was brief at first, then prolonged, and finally just brief again.

“It’s time to return this,” you utter as you remove the cardigan.

Given how chilly the owner’s hands are once you skin-brush them, the wool should feel even warmer in his hands after you return it.

“You must have frozen because of me,” you point out, brows knitted in concern. “I am so sor—”

“No, I am fine, don’t apologize,” he cuts in, unlocking the umbrella as he comes to his senses and accepts the arrival of reality. To protect you from the rain until you board the bus, he says, “Here,” giving you room to move under the umbrella.

Initially, you pout, believing that rejecting him would be best, but eventually, you stop yourself and follow his instructions exactly. It’s time to savor every moment, even if it’s just spending a little time together under an umbrella, before you part ways with them and never see them again.

You remove your headphones and give them back to the cutest prodigy you have ever met. “You should start having more faith in the things you create. That was really beautiful.”

“Thank you!!” The umbrella boy exclaims in his name. “Someone at last to make him begin to realize.”

The younger boy defends himself, smiling, “Shut up.” And, even though he’s well aware that the umbrella was never meant to fit both of them, much less three people, he’s still attempting to squeeze himself under it.

You guys are all biting smiles; there is such innocence and purity to the compressed situation all of you are in. This feeling is far more intense than what you experienced as a teenager witnessing your crash in the hallways. Greater than the scorching feeling you experienced on your first kiss. Which, on the other hand, makes this even more heartbreaking than the first time your heart broke. There is something odd about it all, and it has been a long day at that.

You stay sandwiched between their bodies, which rise on both sides of you as sturdy as a brick wall. You regretfully realize that you cannot be imprisoned between them forever, even though for a brief moment you wish you could.

You can sense the peculiar chemistry has subdued the storm, and it even appears to be stopping the rain. And as it draws near the bus stop, the bus finally lets out its sharp, piercing ‘pissss’ sound.  You’re thinking somewhere in the back of your mind about how this sound is going to become your least favorite sound. The noise that will always bother you the most because it’s ruining something so beautiful.

When you look into their faces, all you see is gold dust smeared in their eyes. “I’m glad our paths crossed,” you eventually admit.

They return with the same admiration, though with a sorrowful smile.

They wait until after you get on the bus. They wait for you to get comfortable, knowing that you will take their side and catch your farewell look out the window.

That is precisely what you do; you approach the first seat with that same thought in mind. Rain cascades down the glass, and the windows are a little foggy and difficult to see through due to the warmth inside.

Inside and around your heart, there is a heavy, funny feeling. You make an effort to clear the fog from the window but the moment feels so so hopeless as the bus starts to move. In actuality, all you’re doing is wiping the mist as you attempt to wave goodbye and get a good look at them for the last time. Still, it’s too late.

All that is left to do is gaze for a brief while at the vanishing landscape, registering absolutely nothing.

Finally, you tilt your head back and sigh at the biggest sigh ever. There is a distant echo of a Japanese woman’s voice coming from the bus radio. When you turn on your phone, the first thing you see is your camera folder. 

It’s inexplicable why you thought it was necessary to take a picture of them with your phone while simultaneously taking one with theirs. You are left puzzled, staring at the most recent two pictures in your folder. 

‘Love is a captured moment,’ you used to say. You get the impression that life is making fun of you.

It becomes really annoying to swipe between the two photos. Their boyfriend vibe is unmatched. Imagination takes over. It seems as though you have never desired anything more. 

You carefully touch the screen to enlarge the images, capturing their faces with your fingertips. The attractive strangers in the photos are names you will never know.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[1-49]

TOURIST GUIDE:The top 7 things you don’t want to be doing when in Paris.

Imagine,

the brightest most perfect winter’s day imaginable. Crisp, chilly, and beautiful. Warm cafés, busy streets, and gentle breezes ──── stellar architecture, metros and museums. If anything, Paris is the most magical place on earth, but having Sungchan there makes it even more so.

That being said,

here is a list of the Top 8 things and situations to look out for, & don’t indulge in when you are in Paris if you don’t want to fall in love. A doomed guide for both tourists and locals, eh.

tags: fluff, love, sure it carries its angst though ⁝ fun concept to approach given i wasn’t going to write a fic nor it fits exactly into headcanon, so yeah. he has made me dizzy with his paris photos im sooo sorry. wc. 3k

Fan fact: The French term ‘Coup de foudre’ describes when someone feels completely blownaway by someone they have recently met. In literal terms, it means lightning strike. If you have been ‘struck by lightning’ in this way, a common feeling is that u can tell the person everything cos they just get you!!

Good luck!

THE CRASH

A stunning stranger seated a short distance away from you in a small cafe is always a threat—but this is not just any stunning stranger. As you converse with your friend, he’s also conversing with his group of friends. Passing phones and a camera make their giggles sound like a good time. 

Every chance you get, you glance at him while speaking with your friend because it’s so tempting to do so. Little sparks shoot out the moment the stare is returned; when your gazes meet halfway; when he’s caught, too, for naively trying to get your attention.

When your friend catches on to the fact that you’re looking at what is behind her rather than her.

When she turns around to reinvestigate the situation and notices that he’s staring in your direction, she instantly understands.

When she gives him a smile and turns back to face you, who moved too slowly to stop her.

The stranger which then believes that you both had a conversation about him.

The friend who first exposed you is also the one who is now pushing you to use the restroom; for if he meets you halfway again, chances are good he’s into you too.

Her point is validated when you find yourself in a small hallway, pretending to scroll through your phone, as he moves toward you.

Scents of rich vanilla, chocolate, coffee, and wine fill the dimly lit secluded part of the café, which has burgundy walls. His physique is too large to fit in the narrow hallway. His eyes and smile translate love. His confession is full of tenderness, affection, & promising good times.

THE ‘NO’ PLAN

It’s already outside of your plan to plan the remainder of your day. Order breaks out. Chaos ensues. What was already set in motion was interrupted by him, a tourist named Sungchan. But a Paris show-off won’t be a show-off without a museum, so there goes that theory. 

In any case, a museum or art gallery is a must, so thirty minutes later, you are showing him around one of the many museums. The grand rooms echo with silence as you hope that the angels are praying for you to make it to the end of the tour. It’s simply so overwhelming to be next to such beauty. You can’t stop thinking how much he fits the scene. 

The line of his nose; his lips; the shadows of his collarbones; the wrinkles of his smile; the flow of your hair; the trickle of his laugh—for all of these, he is worthy of a museum.

So when you finally get your hands on the previously ‘passed-around’ camera, an exhibit of blue curiosities rests on his shoulders. Quickly, you take some pictures of him with the Rothko piece. It’s impossible to determine which is more beautiful—him or the artwork. 

There are repercussions for that, as he leads you to allow him to take a picture of you—his ulterior motive, though, to have a picture of you forever. You’ll be with him no matter what, even after he leaves this city and you behind.

JUST TOURISTY THINGS

Time will separate the two of you, just as a river divides Paris, but as you continue to stroll beside the Seine, where musicians sing of hopeless love and painters craft their works in the open, the issue of time is not a priority. If anything, all the time in the world at this moment is yours.

He grabs your hands and spins the two of you around, his hair brushed with sun-kissed shades of cinnamon brown. Claiming he isn’t immune to music, so you can’t be critical and should just follow his example.

But when the spinning becomes too intense and he feels lightheaded, he tries to steady himself by staring into your eyes for longer than he should. Your proximity scares you, but you’re concerned and ask if he’s okay. 

A smile appears on his face as a result of your concern for him, while a heavenly presence is tipping from his eyes as he’s making a promise that he’s good, if not better than ever.

A smile that inspires hope & makes you believe. A smile that undoubtedly had great power to bring you both to this point. He’s beautiful in every sense. Mentality, personalty, appearance.

He’s even surpassing the Eiffel Tower in terms of beauty with ease!

Your captured images, with him as the subject, create the most ideal postcards, and as you’re showing them to him, it’s when a feeling of sad nostalgia envelops you prior to even parting ways with him. You come to the realization that you desire to spend more time with him, not just one day.

But all you get is one day... 

A magic day... that is gradually starting to turn into a night—and as the two of you walk on the fresh-washed gravel paths through the Luxembourg Gardens, the wind becomes clearer and sharper.

Even the bare trees, which you’re used to seeing against the sky, seem to be feeling the warmth of his touch as he insists on pushing and spreading his fingers inside your palm. His vibrance makes even the leafless trees feel less lonely. He takes your hand in such a way that you aren’t even allowed to give him a warning look. Hand in hand, you have no choice but to chase after him.

NO DESTINATION BACK UP

Does it even matter that he doesn’t know the city? 

The ecstasy you are running on is surley telling you that it’s all about getting lost and  discovering yourself in unfamiliar places—and that’s all because of him.

The startled look in this stranger’s eyes as you two nearly cross a street at a red light due to his rushing… 

As he begins to apologize while biting his lower lip, claiming he didn’t mean to. 

His deer-eyes in the headlights are all that you can focus on really. It’s tempting to say, ‘It’s okay,’ but there is something about his apologetic expression that makes you feel as though he’s completely enclosing you in his gaze. 

His eyes are hugging you while he apologizes. It has been a long time since you felt something like that—felt completely safe. Sincerely, and risk-free. He’s a walking green light. So then, it’s a bit sadistic of you to wish for his apology to last longer. 

But how can you not?

When his hand squeezes yours even harder, and he turns all starry eyes while biting his lip in fear?

Someone you would definitely want to try and fit into your pocket, regardless of his height or width.

CRAMPED SPACES

When the cruelness of the night finally reaches your bones, chasing a tiny, romantic restaurant is the only way to soothe the cold.

The warmth of the atmosphere meshes with his gray cardigan, and you find yourself moving more and more into his comfort zone due to the crowded space, where many are seeking refuge for the same reason as you two. 

His rich scent fills the air around you and his knees keep touching yours due to the close proximity. The wine glass dangles in his hand and his lips become more and more affected, picking up a cherry hue.

His collarbones exhibit every movement of his body, and for whatever reason, you feel an insatiable urge to reach for the soft, grey wool and uncover more.

You’re so invested in this delicate area it’s making you feel absolutely irrational. The constant spreading of his hand through his lush hair and pushing it behind is only adding to your obsession. Regardless of how often he does this, the silky hair flies back into his eyes every time.

He has this habit of dipping his small fork into your chocolate mousse, taking a bite, then flirting while he listens to you talk and plays with the fork, letting the sharp tips sink into his soft lips.

The gesture merely begs for your attention, so in order to stay true to yourself, you greet him by clinking glasses with him. But as soon as his glass touches yours, you have to look him in the eyes again and be so sincere... You lose either way.

This gorgeous person’s natural flirtatious charm can’t be escaped. His focus shifting between your lips and eyes as he attentively listens to you is quite possibly the hottest thing about him. 

And although he insists on practising some French words, he continually mispronounces ‘croissants’ and ‘creme brulee’. He got ‘Bonjour’, ‘Bonsoir’, and ‘baguette’ right, which is worthy of notice; and the greatest reward would be a peck on the cheek, which he hasn’t yet received...

The fork remains sunk in his lips. If there’s one dessert that can be described as the ‘most scrumptious’, it’s him.

UNDERGROUND MISHAPS

Running with him in hand is a somewhat exciting experience. You aren’t sure where he got his stamina, but you’re sprinting down the stairs and will have some downtime when you two board the next metro.

When you reach underground platform though, a sea of tourists waits impatiently to go home or explore the outside world.

His hand carefully slides around your waist as you wait, standing side by side, your chests exploding from all the running. Whether it’s to protect you or keep you to himself, the intent is unclear.

And just as you’re about to look up to give him another warning glance, you realize that you’ve already forgotten how many there were. His adorable facial expressions are the reason you never succeed.

Obviously, the wine has increased his energy—his feelings are in his eyes. 

His features quickly and suddenly take on an emotive tone. A line appears between his brows and a hint of melancholy on his face as recognition dawns. Maybe the effects of the end of the day are finally starting to catch up with him.

You realize that he’s a lot of fun—the type of person who always sees the glass half full but who is also, presumably, grounded enough to realize that something is in the way and the glass isn’t quite enough full. Though he’ll eventually have to face it... saying goodbye to you is probably the biggest treat.

His hand is trembling inside yours...

... whether from anger, sadness, or excitement, it can be all of them or then

“Sungchan,”

You barely have time to finish what you started before he pulls you in and gives you a hug. Metros, come and go. People are walking past you, but he freezes this moment.

His coat’s lapels seem kind enough to part away, giving you more personal space and allowing your ear to fall directly on his heart.

His hand falls effortlessly over your head, as soft as a snowflake as he says, “It’d ruin everything if we said anything. Let’s not.” He carasses your hair and then plants a kiss.

A hug so strong that it keeps you safe from the passing of time. 

However, even this beam of sunshine has a heart, and it rains. Not even he has the complete ability to stop time from passing. The earth orbits, and the leaves dissipate.

Though what he can do is, 

he can certainly seize some of the light in the circumstance as he pulls on your hand once more, making the promise of, “Trust me.”

FALLING IN LOVE

There is definitely a sense of a ‘Trust me’ irony in the situation however, about how you won’t fall in love with him.

He seems to be pointing you in the direction of the photo booth at the end of the platform, which he noticed while your bodies were merging together. 

You’re fairly certain that those will be your favourite, worst-ever photos of the two of you, but the only memory you can physically hug, so you decide not to argue.

Naturally, the cubicle is small, but what do you expect from a metro photo booth?

The sweet giant battles his height and shoulders to enter, and when he does, he just hovers above you, looking down. His palms pressed against two different walls, and his neck bent at an awkward angle because you have taken all the ‘what can hardly be called a’ seat. 

Like it is your fault, right?

With a tongue poke to his cheek and raised brows, he’s subtly advising you to do ‘this one thing.’

Like hell, “I’m not sitting in your lap,” you bat your eyelashes at him. 

“It’s too late to back out. Plus, I don’t think there’s any other way to make this work.”

The goofy grin morphs his whole face into what it would be to stand under the sun; his cheeks rise higher the more he shows teeth. He’s so cute. It melts your heart.

Your mouth stays open in shock as you say, “But it is you who wanted this,” before you endearingly defend yourself. “This was your idea.” How very ‘trust me’ of him. In the end, you accept. “Okay, fine,” you sulk while pouting.

Satisfied, he clicks his tongue. You both knew that you would accept; you just wanted to have some fun, didn’t you?

You eventually create room for him to sit, but when it comes time for you to sit, you hesitate. But then you feel his hands dragging your waist down, and the next thing you know, you’re in his lap. He has lost all patience.

You sigh with annoyance, but even you know it is all a front. 

Now hesitant to move, your back remains pressed against his chest, and you’re even halfway there trying to maintain your balance on your feet instead of lounging comfortably in his lap. However, his back hug is particularly effective because it feels like his palm is pressing deeper into your tummy, encouraging you to relax even more into him.

His thighs radiate unnecessary heat, and his warm breath tickles the side of your neck as his chin rests on your shoulder. He teases you, whispering, “You can face me you know, I don’t bite.”

There is an absolute anarchy, there beneath his palm, in your belly. Not the whispering tone!! 

You tilt your head back (ironically, letting it rest where his shoulder and neck meet), gazing at the near ceiling and mentally calculating the number of seconds until you lose your mind.

He rests with you, for a minute, or two… his heart densely kicking in your back, but you swear it’s a peaceful moment. He’s able to magically stop the flow of time, no matter what!

Perhaps outside of the small world that you two inhabit, the metro passes by for the fifth time, and perhaps the waiting area is swept by cleaners once more while your shoes peek out from under the curtain, threatening to blow your cover.

However, time never really stops—especially in this place, the City of Light, Paris, a city that never sleeps.

“Let—um” His voice cracks for the first time before he finally says, “Uh—Let us take those pictures.”

You shut your eyes, allowing the angst of the situation to have its way with you before turning to face him.

His brows appear flat, and the crack between them is even deeper than it used to be. Even his lips are fuller than they used to be. Or could it simply be the face-to-face intimacy that is causing them to appear in such a way?

All this time, you thought it was just a playful lust, an undeniable attraction, when, in fact, what you’re finding is love—love looking straight into your eyes.

You no longer need to hold it within you. You just admit it, completely aware that nothing will change but that it will undoubtedly have some significance because it’s better to let things out than to hold them inside.

“Sungchan,” you pause for a moment, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Like you haven’t already felt them, he takes your hand and puts it over his heart, allowing you to feel the butterflies surging through his chest. Your lips to your eyes is the route he prefers to travel most. “I don’t want to leave either,” he admits voice light and airy.

As you look at him, every time the photo booth camera flashes a bright light, the butterflies burst rhythmically—because of that, and as much at the magic, and at the calculated touch of a girl who, in the past, had learned to trust no one. Yet, here you are, choosing to trust someone you have just met & won’t see again.

Your hands tremble against his cheeks as you gently cup his face and begin your slow, careful inspection. His tense muscles slowly relax under your touch as you run a finger across the peak of his eyebrow.

You feel an influx of emotions as you begin to understand that this person is an angel. You’re tracing every inch of him into your brain—soaking up every star in his eyes and every mole on his face—because an angel like this can never be met twice...

His greatest quality, you think, even in this kind of ‘damned’ situation, is that he can’t stay serious; a smile lights up his face. The only word that adequately expresses how you feel is wanting to ‘devour’ the damned smile that lingers close to your lips. He’s irresistible.

Cute or sexy are terms that are so confusing with him. You aren’t sure to which he’s supposed to be leaning towards. It’s driving you crazy. He simply can not be defined.

And the more he holds you, the more confident he gets. He started off politely, treating you like a paper bird, and then he abruptly stops apologizing. His lashes start to make out slowly with the narrow look he gives you. His thumb glides over your bottom lip. There is only one meaning to it.

Conversely, the photos taken are sitting in the photo outlet. You whisper, “Sungchan,” gesturing to the pictures and apparently indicating that ‘your work here is done.’ 

His firm grip on your jaw, however, fiercely brings your face into his. His winey breath is coating your lips.

“But,” you knit your brows, “our series of pho—”

His index finger stops your lips from moving mid-sentence. “Let’s make another one.”

“You—you’re getting too comfortable in this,” You stagger over what you are saying as his nose brushes against yours, “for-for well, for something that will never happen again.” 

“That’s exactly why I need those photos,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheeks in response to your somewhat insensitive comment.

“And we—And we,” you keep breaking, “We’ve been her—

“Can I kiss you?” He brutally cuts you off.

His sugary lower lip is already pressed against yours. It no longer interests him what you’re saying. It’s a quiet question, but there is some dangerously real intent behind it.

Yes, but can he beg for a kiss?

Sure,

as if he’s breathing in the air that he knows he’ll be missing out on, his lips remain waiting for a sign before they get messy.

His thumb ignites ‘instant fire’ in every pore on your cheek with each precise circle. It’s more like he is consuming you in advance. 

Your thoughts are numb, and your heart is stuck in your throat. You don’t want to forget any part of it all, and you’re bound to in the high you’re experiencing right now... He was right when he advised it to be documented.

The gaping mouths. The tender lip-stroking. The deep, slow breathing. The hot air exchange.

His teeth clenched in pain. The energy he surrounds you with is so intense.

Your “Fuck!”

& Sungchan’s “Please,”

occur simultaneously.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[1-49]

성찬 : An angel slept on my shoulder, & now it feels like sunrise.

❝ wherein Sungchan wakes you up differently than you are used to.

pairing:f!reader × jung sungchan ⁝ tags: um, he is a meaniee, as in the most adorable, most dreamy. inspo; photographer era sungchan, this pic! (hopefully there will be more of them) ep14 of rize&realize in terms of his styling. wc. 3k

this a sslight reupload from two weeks ago given it got eaten in the tags, sry.

Poets write more about perfect love than toothpaste and alarm clocks, though there are intriguing ways in which morning routines shape our lives.

Already, months of mornings spent waking up to find Sungchan lying next to you──someone u would gladly wake up beside for eternity. 

A comfort, a constant, a habit. Someone whose smile lifts, heals, and puts all you want to hear into words; someone gentle & kind who winces when you try to brush an eyelash away from his cheek. Just a really sweet person who smiles w his eyes &something about it flutters your heart! But that’s only the beginning.

On certain days, you wake up on different sides of the bed; on other mornings, you find yourself waking up next to his warm skin; and on certain days, his schedule demands that you wake up alone.

On this particular day though, you awaken to an odd camera shutter sound. The sound isn’t new to you──you have heard it before , but not this close, this intimate, or this early in the morning.

It takes a few more hearings of the shutter and click sound before you manage to slowly open your eyes & realize that this isn’t a lucid dream. 

He is just lying there beside you, curled in an odd way, holding what you think is a black object, though you cannot quite make out what it is yet due to blurry vision.

You try to reach out to him & get him to take his seemingly favourite new toy off of your face, but all u can manage is a husky, “What are you dooing?” and shut your eyes instantly.

Sungchan pulls back, securing his camera teasingly away from you, and putting more distance between the two.

Gradually adjusting your eyes to the light that has evidently been let through the curtains on purpose, you make another whiny remark, “It’s tooo bright in heere.”

In the most foul, deep tone a person in the morning can have, he cheekily says, “Morning.”

Ouch…

White sheets separate you as you are trying to get a closer look at him by tapping the puffiness of the duvet to discover why he is acting so meanly this early in the day.

There it is—that click again.

The shutter sound reverberates more because of the silence in the room. It loops similarly to how wrinkled sheets do and similarly to how waves do, as he continues to force his finger onto the shutter button.

At this point, you know he is holding a camera; you are just curious about how he got it, since you have never seen it and he has never expressed interest in that kind of thing before.

“You make a perfect subject,” he admits.

Sure, it is too early for him to flirt, but is not something you are unfamiliar with either. He has this ability to ease and comfort even in the most tense situations. Which then also equals the number of times he has flirted with you, even in the most unusual circumstances. 

There is just something about Sungchan that thrives on the abnormality of situations. His level of extrovertism is as high as it gets on your hot-cold scale, making you feel everything from extremes, but you would not trade that for anything. And if that means you are flirting with him at the dentist or while feeding an animal in the zoo, so be it.

And he is being unconventionally alluring once again this morning. No matter how long you have been dating, he still has an insatiable desire when it comes to pushing your boundaries. Specifically, he is manipulating your emotions today from behind that too-small-for-his-hands rectangle thingy.

Burying your face in the pillow, you whine,  “Sungchannn,” since you are actually given something to be upset about in the first place. Why is he like this?

You know he has that ‘trouble’ smile on his face, even though you are not looking at it.

Click.

He takes a little longer to play as he inspects the new toy, looks down at a picture of you on the screen, peers at you through the viewfinder, and then peeks at you over the camera. 

“It feels strange that I can practically touch you through the screen.”

It is too early, you swear, and this time, he is disturbing your tranquillity, but when he goes above and beyond to get your full attention, can you really blame him?

Said into the pillow, you refuse to give up and look at him, so it comes out muffled. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”

“I consider that a compliment,” he taunts.

You instantly lift your head in reaction to the counterattack, intending to bother him even more “Well, yes, when” Despite the bright light coming from the windows, you force yourself to open your eyes. “when—”  

The sight ..… You are only now experiencing it after your drowsy vision has subsided and things are beginning to become more clear.

The ball formed at the end of your throat is hard to swallow. “when—When… you,”  you continue to glitch ── thinking, speaking, looking at him, and moving on are all challenging. 

“Well… yes,” Sungchan continues his ribbing of you. “When…” 

However, you are preoccupied with something else so much that you miss—you...

The fucking sight!

He is bathed in the most dazzling morning light. Someone who, naturally, has reached the pinnacle of confidence is someone who woke up significantly earlier than you and spent time with himself. Having had a great start to the day, worked out, showered, and taken care of himself, he has made the decision to make yours even better.

Propped up on his elbow, the devastation continues the more detail your eyes begin to take in.

The sunlight is skating on his hair. Pulling the camera away from his face, the drowsy light drips from his hair, still damp from the shower.

Golden, golden, golden — ‘the warm sun’ is burning your lips, cheeks, shoulders, and skin. 

Here he is, seemingly creating ‘art’ when in fact he is it. 

Considering that you have not yet experienced a view like this in the morning, the Leica in his hands enhances the rest of what you begin to perceive as his artistic movement. 

Sungchan repeatedly tugs the camera strap in and out of his fingers as he plays with it. Even though your brain has just started working, you can understand the gesture’s flex and meaning.

Additionally, aside from the wet hair, the softness of the white sheets contrasts sharply with the print of the camo pants. It is hard not to be confused by the brutality of his choice.

His faded Diesel hoodie is completely unzipped, displaying his flawlessly squared abs, where the sun also appears to like to hang out. And you think that if he had been naked in bed instead of ‘completely clothed’, it would have seemed more natural. However, here you are.

Although the artwork you are viewing lacks logic, that is precisely the complexity of art.

As you continue to examine him more, your words linger at the back of your throat.

He remains unaffected. The flexing of his hands and abs is in harmony. The low rise of his camos tases the downward curve of his hips, and internally, you lose it a little. His toned physique exudes such an artistic quality. It is something you want to touch, feel, & experience with your hands to appreciate the artistry. But you know that you must go through hell to get there. 

Apparently, you are his subject today, and you are aware of how dead-set Sunghcan can get when he has a goal. You are aware that you must tolerate his shaninagins this morning.

Alongside the obnoxious look, he has got going on──is the most mind-bending smile. It begs the question of how a smile can dig down that deep. All are capable of smiling, and all do smile, and you witness a hundred smiles every day, but none quite like his.

His smile has a subtle twist that gives it the ability to appear both devilishly seductive and angelically sweet. That is very exciting in both senses. It makes you shaky. A smile so intense and alluring that it simultaneously makes you feel afraid and terrified because it conveys how much you are falling for him. And even though you have been falling for a while, it always feels brand-new.

What is it that makes his smile so sincere? Why is it speaking back to you as well? And, why does it tell you what you want to hear?

Your mind is full of feelings. Your heart is full of feelings. There is no logic to you, as he starts to draw nearer, and your heart rate picks up too. You get so vulnerable every time you realize how much power this gentle giant has over you just by being so close.

He poses a question in an effort to highlight the fact that you are staring at him, “Would you like to see them?”

“Se—” you falter, raving deeply with your emotions. Not to say that he has caused you brain damage, but he most certainly has. “See-see what?”

“The pictures, angel.”

“Oh, yes,” you say, waving your head, “the-the pictures.”

An angel? You cannot remember a time when he called you an angel. This is the first instance. Your morning face freezes blankly, and all your efforts to stop the confusion from showing are useless. He finds appeal in it, so he grins.

And now, at a closer range, you can detect the scent of raspberry shampoo in his hair. His lips even; velvety and waxy, glazed in the same balm… The scent is vividly juicy, sweet, and slightly acidic, and it clings to your nostrils, gaining access to your thoughts and making you feel ecstatic.

The tension in your throat finally eases as you swallow it all. Still, it is not like you had a choice. You were forced to do it out of fear.

Fear of him. The fear of being approached by him in an awake state as opposed to a dream. This. The reality. The truth of his hoodie falling off his shoulder and his bare abs being dragged across the sheets...

You let out a sigh. No one could have prepared you for this morning. 

Sungchan eventually tries to show you the photos he took of you on the LCD screen, but you are dying from the close proximity and the raspberry stench. As your itching, agitation, & restlessness increase, you try to cover more of yourself by pulling the sheets.

He picks up on all your signs—your desperation is adorable to him. He still appears naive enough to exploit you, though. “What?” 

“N-nothing,” you respond, a little dizzy. “It’s just that this morning is giving me a really strong kickstart.”

He seems interested in what you just said, as his stare narrows. “Really?” His fluffy smile and curious eyes watch your lips for a reply.

How annoying…

After giving him a side eye, having grown tired of his lure, you turn back to the camera. “Show me.”

The pictures start to speed up one after another, & you aren’t sure how to react because you were the one being photographed without permission, but they are strangely gorgeous. Raw in the sense that perfection is surrounded by flaws.

You can see how he has fed his curiosity by taking a more romantic & delicate approach to your ignorance (you sleeping). There is no denying that the thematic progression perfectly conveys the raw emotions of someone being in love. The subject matter: tender sensuality, body art, and safe spaces.  

Each and every one of photos discloses an intensely private detail about you that only he sees. Deeply asleep & oblivious to everything, including him and his camera, you are rendered completely helpless in those pictures.

Sunghcan looks at you and waits for your response while grinning to himself and twirling his finger around the edge of his lips.

At last, you say, “Um…”

He retracts, “Ummm? Just an umm?”

You make an effort to maintain your modesty and ignore what you consider weak pictures, considering how frail you look in them. “They are fine, I guess.”

“Fine!?” His brows furrow, and he gives a sad little pout. “Baby, no one else gets to see you like this but me.”

“A little possessive, aren’t we?” you flirt back, and naturally, the unintentional provocation is immediate. It works quickly, causing him to leap over you and threaten you with his new gadget.

With his knees bent, he straddles your body, & looks down on you. “Then let us improve them.”

You are still warm and sensitive from your sleep; the last thing you need to do is look at him standing on top of you as if you are viewing some grand statue from below...

And not to mention his low-rise camos and his unzipped hoodie with one sleeve hanging down his arm, exposing his bare shoulder. Incredibly ‘babygirlfied,’ if that makes any sense.

All of it is too much and something you do not need to focus on right now, but you can not really complain, can you? He is as dual-edged as the idea of his contradictory smile. Someone so irresistible.

Still,  

“Sunggchaan,” you object, your hands covering your sleepy face, knowing that your protests never work against his determination anyway. 

Waving the camera, he begins to goof around and document everything in the process. He is gazing at you and frantically pressing the shutter button, and the montage of pictures keeps going. Pretty soon, it is more about the moment than what he is photographing.

The room grows excessively bright as the walls begin to come to life one by one. It explodes with giggles and tickles and pillows thrown around as the peachy tint fills it.

The push-pull, trying-to-resist cat-and-mouse game is an engaging exercise to ensure you are fully motivated & prepared for the day. And it is nonstop movement, much like a workout.

Inside the sheets, then outside of them. Click.

Folded limbs & naive scratches. Click.

Teeth pulling at the strap of your tank top.

Teeth digging into the camera strap... [An artistic moment of reflection.] Click.

Your hand in reach for his camera. Click.

A Backhug. Speaking lip touching earlobe. Secrets spilling. A Promise.

And again, your palm (Click) on his lens.

A groan.

The Leica being thrown onto the bed.

Your wrists being pinned.

Stuck.

Tasting without touch.

Warm lips pressing a kiss against your cheek.

⠀

Finally, he pulls away from you, a photographer who takes his work seriously. He assumes the first position, straddling your body & stopping movement by glaring down at you.

It is just hitting that the constant motions and how you two emoted through the last couple of minutes lead into a new series of super artsy & super candid couple aesthetic—the ultimate romantic declaration.

Despite the camera being in his face, he looks at you over it. There is something so romantic about the prolonged primal eye contact you two share. Following everything is too intimate, beautiful, harsh, and full of passion.

Click.

It is impossible not to tease Sungchan, even though he is made you feel a little tired and increased your dopamine levels. “That is not how you shoot a photograph.”

“Oh, yeah?” He bends down, tongue pocking at his cheek and thumb resting on the delicate column of your throat. “Care to teach me?” 

Pressing slightly, slightly...

the gentle thumb pressure to reduce your airflow is purely psychological.

Love tickles the shallow parts of your spine as his body heat seeps through the sheet that you badly force on yourself to cover your body. You too are fevered, & you have been since opening your eyes.

He observes every inch of your face, for you are his dream girl.

His lashes battle as his damp hair slides into his deer eyes. His breath and the raspberry scent are waiting on your lips. To say that he just imagines a kiss that would stop time and give you another hour of his undivided attention would be an understatement. 

Butterflies start to swarm your whole body, you really want nothing more than to bite into that ivory shoulder!!

His soft pink tongue dances along his teeth as it tries to get your attention.

And while with sweet thoughts, a loving heart, and kind deeds, Sungchan radiates happiness like a sweet puppy, he also doesn’t mind being naughty...

You shy away, smiling—embarrassed by your own ideas. Mean, mean, mean. He is so mean!

This doe giant, the type to hold your face in his hands and say, “Come closer.”

You feeeel insane...

The camera sits on the nightstand, battered but full of memories. Somewhat of an unusual late morning—the city appears blood orange in the distance.

Your skin is being caressed by the gentle amber light of the morning as your legs entwine with his. The material of his pants is rough against your exposed skin, but there is something about the uncomfortability that makes you feel even more sensitive.

Ultimately, the final product is...

Well,

it is all about the mess of unmade bedsheets, uncareful kisses and blurry photos. The birds chirping their morning melody, and your face buried in his neck as you take in a deep breath.

They say a picture encapsulates a moment, but you come to realize that there is no better view than this one,

waking up to Sungchan’s dreamy face in this heaven-like bedroom every day──a safe space where you let him speak and have his way with you. That pictures can document a tiny fraction of those feelings & emotions it feels like bonus.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[1-49]

the category is lips

✶ pairing:f!reader × jung sungchan ⁝ warnings: hygiene?since they’re in public, but he’s always w his finger in his mouth so

“Every time I think about all the girls who have ever touched your lips, I get angry,”

you comment while trailing your finger along the delicate curve of his lips while spreading the remaining vanilla ice cream from the edge of his mouth across. He’s being forced to open his mouth by your excessive fingerplay. Instead of starting to tease, you were only meant to clean up the remnants...

“Yeah?” ── with a foul smirk, Sungchan’s teeth finally slowly bite into your finger. 

His eyes gleam with schemes inspired by the concepts of dark angels. You could say that he does not have any coherent thoughts. His teeth become softer as he bites down.

Seeing him look at you when your finger goes farther, nearly to the point where his lips close it, is unnerving. It is quite obvious & infuriating at the same time, the way his smirk continues to ooze from his eyes. 

The ice cream begins to trickle down the cone to ur hand as the winter sun continues to melt it despite the cold weather. The world does not stop for the people who are passing by, but it does for you two. Given the level of obscenity happening, how could it not?

His tongue coils around your finger, enveloping it in warmth & moisture as it is drawn up to your knuckles and at this moment, you are thinking of nothing but devouring every fucking inch of his mouth... Of biting into his sweet lips, and of bruising him so that everyone would see. Every corner will be explored, and you will savor every feeling. The taste of your chocolate, his vanilla ice cream & even the earlier coffee will all blend together. 

His way of letting it go with an audible pop seems to be a little too passionate...

You observe him as the wind tousles the ends of his caramel hair. Like flames dancing in the breeze, his eyes hold a fire that mirrors ur own. There is this unending ache to feel his lips on your own that you cannot quite comprehend. 

The proper way to compliment him on his lips would, you know, result in seeing his ‘intense with good intentions’ thanks smile────which gives you the sickest feeling in the pit of your stomach and, since you are among those who find it difficult to accept, is evidence that you are in love.

So, it is best if he is not aware of it just yet. It is much safer to flirt than to accept. 

As you watch him lean over & nibble on your ice cream, his lips darken. There are fresh remnants as he smiles, but this time, he uses his tongue to pick up the chocolate.

He nods his head and looks at you intimately, his upper teeth still sunk as he muses over the flavor... “Tasty,” he eventually admits.

All you understand is that there is no getting rid of the sickening sensation in your tummy.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[1-49]

성찬 : Feeling every bit of this neon midnight that has filled my veins.

❝ In which you catch the interest of a handsome stranger at the party, and he embarks on a night-long odyssey in order to validate this* awkward attraction, he strongly believes you both feel.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: romance, some fluff, suggestive; strangers to ? slowburn one-night stand kinda?

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 13k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: +18 i drag a lot in this sry. tiny bit of pinning; real tense and awkward energy; flirting; mixed signals; sungchan is messy; in a sense, he’s both confident yet appears doubtful and insecure at times. stolen kiss ups implied hot moments/dialogue lines. few magic scenes

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: no joke im obsessed with sungchan. this has also progressively made me grow more in love with him he’s so effortlessly lovley & funny, my introvert ass could never! the energy? the personality?? like, no broo stop! i envy him sm. his way with words too...

also any feedback, reblog, or support of any kind will be appreciated. tysm, and enjoy!

A fine night, or so you thought, a showcase of stars in the sky. And while you are admiring the display of lights, in the middle of your peace, you hear the echo of an intruder ──── the sound of someone demanding to get in.

Who would be so brave? Who is willing to leave a party in order to get to you?

U let it pull u closer to the stars, this stranger’s energy that shifts the gears in your head. A stubborn being! Can’t he have a bit of patience? What could possibly be so urgent? What could he possibly be looking to discuss? As far as you know, the rave is inside, not outside.

[22:22] You wish you could describe the magnetic pull you felt just moments ago. 

[20:20] In keeping with the occasion, you took great care to make sure you felt and looked your best for your friend’s celebration. You chose a black outfit in accordance with the principle of seeking style through simple tones. Simple wide pants, a velvety sleeveless top, an open back, and some crystals hanging from your ears are enough elegancy to captivate someone. A desire for someone else’s eyes.

[22:23] Moreover, you are trying to make sense of the situation once you get to the balcony, relieved that no one is there to disturb your peace.

Sungchan’s intention, however, was never to make you uncomfortable. 

[21:45] On the other end of the room, he had already skimmed everything and everyone, not because he was that type of character, but because he was bored and new to the scene, and his inner extrovert was urging him to go find someone to befriend as soon as possible.

The options were plentiful at the scene, and the liquor in his hand resolved through his system a little faster, making him less rational in his decision. That is how your presence from the other side of the room alone helped him—some mysterious, indescribable force drawing him in.

You… 

Sungchan could not figure out why his gaze kept circling the room, passing from one person to the next but always returning to you. He rapidly became solely focused on you. The way you discuss something so profound with your friend makes him think it must be something so interesting and intriguing; the way it has you so invested in the matter undeniably gets him a little curious, secretly wishing to be in the same position your friend enjoys you. Simply put, the indulgence that you are in causes him to become greedy.

The way you smile now and then, the way your teeth graze your perfectly glazed lips, the way your earrings sway—there is just something about you that never ceases to attract his attention.

As a result, he does something about it.

You…

You notice his heated stare at you from afar and across the room—hell-bent, dense, and begging for you.

Sungchan does not immediately offer you a smile, nor does he try to be flirtatious in his gaze, but he absorbs you with such passion, concentration, and keenness that it honestly begins to make you feel super uneasy. You are having trouble reading him. 

Thus, as you start to pay more and more attention to him, things start to gradually work in his favor. This also begins to fill you with an odd sense of thrill, and before you know it, you are champing at the bit.

That tummy twirl as the eye-string between you works like a live-wire. Sungchan, lazily propped against the wall, significantly taller than anyone, and with such a pretty yet tempting set of eyes, and with the intimacy you share with him, easily begins to excite and scare you at the same time.

He possesses a spark that straddles the line between danger and enchantment. And sometimes you try to casually shift your eyesight and abandon the site, but the response you get when you return your gaze, which you always do, is that of a wounded animal.

Such a ‘casual’ face that molds into a hot one, then softens and becomes dear in a matter of minutes that whatever you two exchange quickly involuntary culminates in your breaking. Seeing him with his brows tied and slightly pouting, needy and greedy as to why you would try to wonder and abandon him even for a little, is a sight that makes your tummy clench at nothing.

You wish you were strong enough to respond to his request, whatever it is—like holding his stare until your confidence crumbles and he subdues you, or holding his stare until he is truly bored of you and can move on to the next victim.

And, because you are unprepared for any of this and are getting gagged by the space that is gradually getting more packed, you decide to dip the party in order to get some fresh air flowing through your brain.

[22:22] You are leaning over the metal rail, trying to inhale all of the lost air from earlier, and for a brief moment, you feel yourself again, relieved that you are still holding on to that sliver of confidence you promised yourself before this event even began. But the way this complete stranger was erecting himself around you had almost brought everything you had sworn to a halt.

You consider the view from the balcony to be ‘perfectly splended.’ Neon lights make love and oppose the monotonous yet sparkling dark blue sky above you on a very cold December night.

You shiver as you realize you are skin-naked against the harshness of the cold air. It is icy cold, but you are trying to ignore it for the time being. To your advantage, you try to enjoy the solitude of being alone; the tranquility of falling snow is far more appealing than the warmth of the place inside.

True, the bitter cold could not scold you out of there, so someone else had to. You are irritated when you hear the glass door slide, but you do not turn back because you know this one, whoever it is, is coming for your peace. 

A pair of hands approaches the rail, and in you sight of vision you notice the grip is somewhat firm, but you do not attempt to acknowledge this person’s presence. Not because you are cruel or ignorant, but because you simply do not feel like it right now. Someone disturbed your peace while you were seeking refuge; it is understandable to be agitated.

“Are you not freezing here?”

The ferocity with which this intruder delivers his words reveals that it is not only his hands that are strong but also his sweet, ’somewhat’ deep voice. It is enigmatic that you are not allowing yourself to be more selfish toward him; he craves your attention, and you provide it.

“I do not mind,” you say as you turn to face him and realize it is him.

“Obviously, your skin tells a different story,” he observes.

And who gave his eyes the go-ahead to roam your flesh? He is still an issue, and you can feel his gaze on you even as you try to fix yours on the scene in front of you.

Sungchan, on the other hand, is a little more confident, and from what he can tell, he still has an impact on you. Apart from the irregular breathing and chest rise, his only doubt is whether the way your skin is covered in goosebumps is due to him or the cold weather.

“I just needed a breath of fresh air. I am doing fine.”

“As you say,” he tries to give you the space you seek by shifting his gaze away from you. “Does not the cold bother you at all?”

“I suppose not. It is something I am used to.”

After a few minutes, you bring yourself to ask, breaking the little silence you two have built. Your feeble attempt at small talk, and, of course, regarding the host of the party because you can not think of anything interesting to say right now, it is as if he is taken over your mind and dumbed you down in the process.

“Are you related to Eunseok?”

“Oh,” he says, giving you his first smile, which is as bright as the light reflected off the lake’s surface and warmer and sweeter than a freshly baked apple pie. “Why? Do we look alike?” Honestly, a warm smile that could make the sun feel cold, and it is spilling out of the corners of his deep brown eyes.

Is there a length of time at which his smile should stop being your favorite sight? 

Certainly, no, but—

“Oh, no, no,” you say, backtracking in your head to see if your question was stupid. Finally, you admit, “I am just trying to make small talk.”

“I am aware of that,” he smirks triumphantly, as if he has finally won you over, because being under someone’s influence causes one to doubt and second-guess their statements, and you are doing just that, which he finds absolutely adorable.

You clearly sulk at his victory. “So?”

As a result, his smile broadens even more.

“Eunseok? Eunseok is a friend. A very close one.”

“Ah, I see,” you exhale a sigh of relief. It is even stupid, strange, and awkward that you feel this way, but you do.

“And you? Who is Eunseok to you?”

“May I say, a friend from work? We volunteer together.”

“Mhm,” he hums softly. “Strange, he has never mentioned you.”

“How can you be so certain that he hasn’t when you don’t even know what my name is?” You retort.

You are met with silence. A complete one. 

Perhaps he disliked the tone of your voice and the way you responded.

You are not sure what to make of the situation because seconds are turning into minutes and he has not said or asked anything else besides what you asked. You are worried and perplexed as to why you are still glued to being here when you could simply return inside and enter the warmth of the apartment, but you do not.

Why? What is it that keeps you here? Why are you staying out here in the cold with him?

Sungchan immediately abandons his pursuit of observing the city, the moon, and the thousand snowflakes falling from the sky when you finally turn your entire body his way. He is not interested in them anymore, if he ever was.

You unintentionally and unconsciously bring your hands together to hug yourself, not to express to him how cold you are but as a reaction to being out in the cold for too long and forgetting your coat inside. 

Your earrings flutter in the breeze, teasingly brushing against your neck and shoulders as if they were windchimes, and you are the music for him.

The wind also tangles your hair as it blows through it. Messy in the sense that your ends sometimes stick to your lipgloss and you try to ignore it. Most of his attention, however, is drawn to your delecate collar bones. And you are not wearing a bra underneath that velvet piece of whatever it is you are wearing. So the hug and squeezing on your chest only highlight your prominently hardened, sensitive spots for him.

And whether all of this divine show you are putting on is for him or not, or if it is all unintentional, Sungchan will have to figure it out on his own.

Sure, for the time being, everything is so unintentional, and he is aware of it. Sungchan understands that the cold has a big influence on how you look right now—the allure of it all—but deep down, he still believes that he, to some extent, causes it, that the cold creeps and shivers that linger on your body are brought on by him, and that it is not just the cold night.

And when he sees you like this—the neon lights reflecting off of you, the countless soft flakes landing on your face, some nestling and making a home in your hair, the way your eyes invite, and the little stars beneath them—he realizes how much he has grown dependent on you in such a short period of time.

While the neon dyes around you, he is hooked on your messy appearance. Blurred illumination and twinkling stars in the distance, but you are the star, beaming with lust in a riot of colors, or so he believes.

“Here,” he says, undressing his overdyed denim jacket in the hopes of trapping you within it—within him.

He does not even give you a chance to object. So, “thank you,” you say softly, despite the fact that you are anything but calm at the moment. His warm hands have brushed up against your arms during the process, which is a legitimate reason for your emotions to become agitated. “I did not bring mine,” you add to be more convincing. “I did not think I would be out this long.”

Sungchan grins from behind you, enjoying the intimacy the action has brought. “It is okay,” he says, brushing down the length of your now-covered arms.

His voice, words, breath, and scent rush from your hair to your ears at the same time. They are far too intimidating, but he is so smooth that it is contradictory, forcing you to disintegrate slowly. 

You are trying your hardest not to melt in his arms, but it is a difficult task. You close your eyes for a moment, cursing the thoughts that keep popping into your silly little brain, but this has been such a small gesture—a nice gesture by someone to cover someone. This is perfectly normal. This is not unusual. People frequently go out of their way to cover others who are cold. So everything is okay. This is completely fine. ‘It is fine,’ you tell yourself.

He lines up next to you once you have been wrapped in his scent.

“What is so funny?” you inquire, noticing traces of satisfaction on his face. The majority of them are smug, but it is the bite of his lips to suppress the smile and its reflection in his sweet eyes that perplexes you. He is soooo

“Nothing,” he flirts casually. His eyelid and nose bridge home these tiny, exquisite specks that wink at you, adding to his soft, angelic physiognomy. And this much is true: they are invisible to false gods, but when it comes to you, nobody is more capable of holding onto you than those moles.

“Hmph,” you murmur, cocking your brow. “All right,” you say, only increasing the smile between his bitten lips. Like this, Sungchan is quickly becoming someone who is difficult to be normal about—someone to yearn for.

Mid-eye-flirt, your eyes drop involuntarily, whether due to insecurity or not, but they do. They are on their way to examine his white cotton tee shirt, his broad chest and even longer shoulders, his venied and shivered ivory arms. His neckline too is begging for lips.

You consider his height and how your head would not even reach his shoulders if you were not wearing heels. Perhaps your high will be at his heart level, making it ideal for your ear to check on his heart palpitations. You have gotten so far in your delusion that you are wondering what it is like to kiss someone so tall.

“Sungchan,” he offers playfully, aware that he is destroying a fantasy you are creating in your head.

“Uh,” you remark. Is he reintroducing you to reality? You are extremely embarrassing. You clear your throat and respond with your name.

He begins to softly nod his head, his lips curving once more. The neon is intensifying him in the same way. He looks almost flamboyant against the soft, snowy backdrop that stretches far away.

And, should that be the case, does this signify that your two are now officially flirting?

Considering that the way he looks at you clearly has you sucked in. He wants to arouse your highs and make you fantasize about him even more. And, even if you think this is just another ‘barely even a’ fling, he is powerful and genuine, as well as strangely familiar and gently captivating.

The rest of the background fades away. You cannot feel the air or the ground beneath you; all you can feel is his gaze. Everything dissolves and energizes the ecstatic present, and your constantly rambling mind becomes thoughtless. 

By the time he breaks the intimate, soul-crushing silence again, you know you are captivated by him and you no longer want this to be a fling. This is the first time you have failed at flirting. And you know you cannot be bailed out of what is to come. In fact, 8.2 seconds of eye contact is required for love at first sight to happen. 

“Why are you here?” He asks casually, as if the minutes leading up to this point had not been too private. “Outside by yourself, I mean? You do not like it inside?” 

Now that his jacket is covering you, he has more room to investigate you, which feels like a fair trade for information. Of course, you did not ask for his jacket, and it was he who rushed with it, which is, to say the least, compromising, but here you are.

“I do not know. Not really. All I needed was some fresh air. It became too suffocating in there all at once, so I had to flee.” Given that he was the reason you left the crowded room, your smile appears phony. “It has also been a long time since I had a night out. So many people and everything... Strangely, I like it here even better. Regardless of the cold.”

“Regardless of the cold?” He teases.

“Regardless of the cold,” you say firmly.

“Mhm. I see what you mean. I can say the same thing.”

“But it is you who is freezing in the cold right now,” you say, concerned.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

If only you knew that the cold does not reach him. Being here alone with you is almost everything he does not want to lose.

Unfortunately, such a situation can only last so long. The cold, like the undefined chamisty, will eventually find its way into someone’s bones. You two are complete strangers, neither here nor there, and the atmosphere quickly becomes tense once more. It is borderline hot, cold and awkward. You are both at a loss for what to do next.

And, despite the fact that Sungchan is overjoyed to have you here, spending your precious time on him out of anyone else you could possibly be with, which undoubtedly must mean something, he is aware that he wants more of you, but how does he get there?

Perhaps someone joining you two on the balcony for a smoke can help alleviate the awkwardness that has developed between you two? However, when two more men join you to smoke on the balcony, his only concern becomes protecting you.

For whatever ‘self’ reason, he does not want you to share this space with them. Behaving in a selfish manner, he offers, “Come on, let us go inside. It’s too cold.” Because of the high likelihood that you two will part ways again, even he does not understand his thought process, but his mouth and a strong desire not to share you with anyone may be faster than his brain.

You, on the other hand, naturally accept. As if you could choose. He was the one who offered you the warmth of his jacket, and he is the one who is now freezing in his tee for you. That makes you feel guilty, but not really because his jacket carried the scent that clouded your senses. You admit that whatever you had going on was nice while it lasted.

And you do not let go of his jacket until you are both inside and you are ready to give it back to him. Again, it is not like you want to let go of it. You really do not want to, but you must.

“Thank you for not letting me freeze out there,” you say softly, handing him the overdyed piece of clothing, the dying ember in your eyes almost to the point of yearning. Half hoping he cathes upon it, half believing it is best if he doesn’t. A conflict with yourself.

“You don’t have to thank me. I am glad I could assist.” And as he gently picks it up, he becomes hesitant, as if he does not want to because he will have nothing to bargain with you for.

Sungchan feels like he has already lost you to the mass of people around him, and he feels like he is coming down to being nobody to you again. So he drags on this moment, picking up his jacket, stretching the second as much as he can, and making sure his hands have brushed and touched you irrevocably.

Time passes and the tension dissipates.

[23:13] After an hour, you are still trying to keep up with your few coworkers, who appear to be planning to call it a night and leave. You do not have much of a choice but are thinking about following their decision because Sungchan has not made any further moves towards you.

Simultaneously, this is the point at which you wish things had gone differently, and you consider many different outcomes if the dice had been rolled differently.

What if Sungchan made his move twice—once when he discovered you in the entire room and was determined to have you, and again when he got close to you on the balcony—and this time he was waiting FOR YOU to prove your true intentions and finally admit you are interested in him?

Uh, just when you thought you were going to get away from him, you find yourself wishing for more of him.

However, after witnessing you and your friends bid farewell to Eunseok, Sungchan realizes that it is now or never: lose you or have you. 

He dislikes trusting time and does not want to leave you in the future. To play the ‘if’ game. He wants you now, right now, in the present, and he will be damned if he does not tell you. As a result, he rushes to say his goodbyes, leaving you both on the same elevator.

[23:20] There is him, you, and three of your friends in the elevator, and while your friends are in the front and you are in the back, he makes sure to horn his way in to you. Fortunately for you, your friends are unaware of him and will not tease you, as no one has noticed your short romance tonight except the two strangers on the balcony. And they are also so lost in their heated debate, resulting in nothing but noise to fill the cramped four-wall space.

Even though the ride down is brief, you find yourself wishing it were longer because you cannot quite figure out Sungchan’s motifs. He is difficult to understand, in contrast to how he was at the start of the night when your gazes met across the room, when his intentions were banging on your heart’s door, eager to get in. You are not sure if the mystery he is leaving you is drawing you closer to him or making you more distant. You realize you do not want to lose him, and you tell yourself that there must be a reason he got in the same elevator with you, even if he does not say anything.

Sungchan’s fingers brush against yours at that precise moment, and he begins subtly playing, then slowly intertwining them with his, never compliantly taking your hand in his. The forbidden pleasure of the action takes the edge off—just him doing this, teasing you in front of your friends, teasing you so casually that he does not even address you. He is just doing this nervous dance as you turn to him, observing his side profile and looking for meaning in his actions, all while his gaze is fixed on the door in front of him.

So carefree, until the elevator stops and all of you exit, leaving him casually tagging behind.

And, once again, because he does not say, address, or ask you anything, and it was your friends who drove you here, it is only natural that you return to where you live with them. 

Why hasn’t he asked you whether you want to stay or go with him yet? Is he leaving the door open for you to make the next big move? Is he unaware that you are not a pursuer? Why is he putting you in this awkward position where every thought and notion ends with him?

For better or worse, you decide to work on it, telling your friends that you have forgotten your phone at Eunseok’s and will head up to look for it. And all the while they insist on waiting on you, you persuade them to leave, that you will be fine calling a taxi and that they should not worry because you may have changed your mind and will stay a little longer at the party as well.

What a scumbag lie, but it works in the end. Getting rid of them was probably one of the worst decisions made in tonight’s series, and for what? You are not even sure why.

‘What are you doing?’ ‘What the f—is this?’ You curse under your breath, despite the fact that you appear cold on the outside but are all hot and bothered on the inside. As you make your way back to the elevator entrance, a few more curses escape your lips as you wait for your friends to leave. Once they have left, you retrace your steps, noticing Sungchan standing there, checking his phone.

“What do you want!?” The request comes out a little louder than you expected. But, in your defense, you are only as direct and blunt in your candor because of his mixed signals.

Sungchan, surprised, lifts his face away from the phone, and the screen noticeably lightens and strengthens his features, giving you tunnel vision with the darkness around you and forcing you to focus on his lips whether you like it or not.

To their benefit, he adds his low and deep tone, “What do you mean, what do I want?”

“Don’t—”

Sure, one way to do this is to be playful, deny, and mislead. And he is still doing a fantastic job of it. However, you can only take so much right now. The more he complicates things, the more you want him, and the more you want your answer, no matter how promiscuous the situation makes you appear.

“What were you doing inside messing with my fingers? Why take the same elevator? Why were you looking for a place to stay earlier at the bacony? Your cryptic cues are, to put it mildly, lame.”

“No, you are right,” he says with a smirk that would irritate even a god. “I am usually direct. Maybe I just wanted to take the long way around this time. And I was not doing anything. They just brushed naturally.”

“Sung—” you clench your teeth, trying to recall the rest of his name. “Sung—” but nothing comes to mind right now.

“Chan. SungChan,” he emphasizes. The satisfaction of seeing you lag when you probably want to throw hands with him is clearly visible on his face, and he is powerless to stop it. “What meaning did you find in them? I mean… our fingers touching? Many people will take nothing away from it and will most likely dismiss it.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “You can’t be serious? If you have a question, why just not ask me?”

“I already have. What meaning do you give us?” He speaks slowly, but with assurance and fixation. He is aware of the confidence he is currently displaying, so he might as well make it more lethal. “What do you want me to ask?” 

He would rather you express yourself. You! And, despite the fact that he already has a decent idea of your feelings and desires, he wants you to be more explicit about them. That is why he persists in pressuring you to give in to him. To hook you. To persuade you to ask questions. To convince you that you, too, need him. It is almost as if he is subtly switching roles. And it is he who is being chased this time.

“Oh, it has become what I want now?  you mutter. “I cannot believe it.” Turning around, you plan to start walking away from him. You are done with his nonsense.

But Sungchan’s long arm easily reaches out and firmly grasps your wrist. You pause for a moment, unsure whether you should turn back and acknowledge him, but you do. You cannot help but be annoyed because he will not ask you the question you know he wants to ask. He does not. In fact, he dragged on every opportunity he could have asked you tonight, and it is because of him that you lost your drive back home, and it is because of him—and it—

Is his ego that big? And if he does play, why for so long? How did he turn this into you running after him, which is completely opposite of who he was and what he wanted at the start of the night? It is heinous.

But, once again, the two of you can only take so much in the cold weather.

His warmth, in contrast to the cold, spreads from your wrist up the length of your arm to your neck. Hot that feels oppressive but relieves the chill.

His cheeks are undeniably flushed, and the adorable tip of his nose is irritated red. Your jaws begin to twitch, and his lips follow suit. A cold breath begins to emerge from beneath your noses, and your bodies begin to shake as you begin to burn from within. Such unavoidable conflict lingers on your face, and for a brief moment, he feels sorry for having you freeze out here. Sungchan might have had his games going if it had been a warmer season, but that is not the case right now. Finally, he brings himself to put an end to it all.

“I will give you a ride. You must be freezing.”

“Give me a ride!?” You mock, attempting to shake your wrist free from his grip, but it has no effect. You are so fed up with him.

“You lost your ride home because of me, right? He says it with a cheeky grin, as if he is proud of himself, as if missing your ride because of him is such a big accomplishment. “It is only fair that I do something abo—” It is like rubbing salt into a wou—But-but his intentions are all pure!

“Oh, my god,” you say, disbelievingly looking up at the sky before returning your gaze to him. “You are such a jerk. I never would have guessed you were this bad.”

“Your place, or mine?”

“Your game is awful. I am not sure how many times I have to remind you of—”

“As long as it works.”

You bite your lower lip in frustration while rolling your eyes.

The game is bad, but there are not many alternatives. Your phone is still in your small bag, as it has always been, and your friends have gone. Returning to the party or freezing to death are neither of the options that appeal to you. As a result, you end up in his car as the least bad option.

To put it mildly, the ride to his place is quiet; his grip on the steering wheel appears to be steady and relaxed, whereas you are a fucking mess. You desperately hope you do not come across as such and that what is going on inside does not show on the outside, despite your earlier efforts and utmost failures. It is frustrating because you were the one who persuaded him to respond, and you were the one who stayed with him—without him even asking. 

Therefore, everything that has happened up to this point has been an inaccurate reflection of who you are. You hope the circumstances did not boost his ego even more and make you a lesser version of yourself.

You divert your gaze away from the window by focusing on his side profile while he maintains his gaze on the road. Uh, infuriatingly beautiful! So, you decide, carelessly, to press the ‘imaginary’ pedal even harder, dazzling reality onto the fantasy, oblivious to the consequences and what if they worsen? And all they need is what you are about to say to escalate the situation.

“You do not strike me as the type, you know?” 

“As the type to?” 

Nervous, you rub your thighs. “The perplexing kind. To play games,” you pause. “Your smile is lovely, and your eyes are too sincere. You have the face and energy of someone who can play the cheeky extrovert in charge of the party atmosphere. Someone who is witty while remaining sweet. I think that your current self-presentation does not accurately reflect who you are. To be honest, I think you are terrible at pretending. You are so bad at it that you are losing at your own game.”

He remains unaffected, looking ahead at the road. “Then let us keep pretending. I can keep up the tough guy persona for you if you want.”

“It is not about what I want. Plus, you weren’t like that at first.”

He thrives on your somewhat nice compliment. “Was I someone sweet?”

“Shut up,” you repeat, and neither of you says much else after that.

The bottom line is that he can be anything you need him to be. And you notice it the moment you both enter the elevator, your backs against the opposite walls, the gap between you closing but not closing completely. The silence is still, awkward and sexy. 

In the literal sense, he is a walking contradiction. Why is he staring at you with his head pressed against the elvator’s metal, his stark jaw, neck exposed, and this dense ‘undressing’ look in his eyes, never losing his sweet smily charm in front of you? He is so good at it that you both despise and admire him. He both thrills and terrifies you. 

You have to keep wondering how he manages to be both endearing and seductive. It is peak performance, and it must have taken him a while to get there. It makes you long for him in ways you never imagined possible.

The type to give you a backhug followed by a kiss on your hair while saying, ‘You are mine,’ and then easily transform it into a chokehold while whispering in your ear, ‘Mine!’ 

Someone you would consider kissing or biting. Someone you would consider walking hand in hand with only to have him act disrespectfully later, when you are in a safe place and it is just you and him. Someone who will kiss your temple and then invite you to sit in his lap.

You close your eyes at the culmination of your thoughts. You are certain he can sense your internal temperature,  even if he is not touching you. He is touching you in ways you have not been touched before, and this time it turns into an elevator ride that seems to last forever and you wish it would end as soon as possible. 

[23:48] Stepping into the hallway, you try to pick yourself up and carry on from where you melted. You insert the key into the keyhole of your door and invite him in, but you are really second-guessing yourself and questioning your actions. However, it is too late. It is too late because the moment you close the door behind you, you are trapped against the next wall.

Whether provoked or not, he begins sliding your coat down, his hands coming to grip on your shoulders. 

Dazed and hurried, you search for some sense in his eyes but you cannot find any. This causes you to resent your hasty, ill-considered decisions, and you try to protest, but no words come out of your mouth. When did things begin to move at such a rapid and high rate?

Sungchan, fit and lean, towers above you, cornering you and putting you in a scary situation where your only way out is to scream. His overdye jacket rises with him as he raises his hands and rests them on each side of you on the wall. Your gaze shifts to his tiny waist as a tiny bit of his white tee peals away, revealing some of his hips.

You silently gulp at how quickly everything resolves. Your words and thoughts are both stuck deeper inside your mouth and will not form.

“Look at me,” he says, pointing out your excessive staring at the floor.

“I-I” 

Naturally, you cannot go on because your words are failing you. Should the deep look in his eyes in the elevator forewarn you of what he is about to do?

So, in order to get you to look at him, his fingers grab the thin strap of your top, intending to yank and tear it. Of course he doesn’t, but his strategy proves to work instantly as soon as your eyes meet his.

You start to tremble under the complete hot mess of his deep browns, wondering what would happen if he continued the action. The only thing keeping you from being too exposed and naked for him is the velvet fabric that clings to your body. It gets so hot so fast that you are not sure how it is possible, all while your heart feels like it is about to leap out of your chest. Self-defense kicks in, and you raise your hand to your sternum to keep the material in place just in case.

“What exactly is going on?” You ask, stunned, caged by his hands on both sides of you, and already gone.

“You ask as if you haven’t already calculated the distance between our lips and guessed the flavor of my tongue,” he gruffly replies. “This is everything we both desired from the moment our gazes met across the room.” To make matters worse, he whispers, “Don’t deny it.”

A thought flashes through your mind, as sudden and powerful as a firework reaching the sky, because that is exactly what has been poisoning your mind. That is all you have been able to think about. What would it be like to kiss him? How would his lips taste? Is he the type to smile through the kiss, mocking you because you have given up?

“That—that is completely un—untrue,” you mumble, turning away from him and looking at the door.  But your neck muscles work with you, and is the current exposed line meant to tease him even more?

Sungchan seizes the opportunity, moving in closer, pushing your legs apart, and resting his knee against the wall between them. His figure is far too intimidating, while his lazy smile and curious lips climb your provocative neck to your earshell with a bit of his gut feeling that this is where you break the most. “Do you already regret inviting me?” 

His tone and breath are light and breezy, like soft sunlight peeking through the curtains at dawn, revealing a scent of freshness as they enter your little universe. They are, however, comfortably casual, which makes him attractively persistent at the very entrance of your ear. “I have already altered, if not ruined, your night,”  his lips almost kissing under your ear. “We might as well give in to this absurd affection. What have we got to lose?”

And waiting for an answer, having reached this stage, his instincts and the part of his brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves. He can feel them clenching in his gut as this two coming to three hour-stand-situation has blurred the lines between lovers, strangers with ‘potential’ benefits, and something resembling a budding romance.

As you keep staring at the door while pressed up against the wall, beneath his words, his high and his strength, completely at his mercy, your thoughts are also protesting against being so emotionally fiercely oppressed. They are getting out of hand, to be honest, as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, the desire to not be subdued, or the fear of yet another heartbreak are no longer enough to keep these rising hopes in check.

“Tell me,” he demands softly. Soft-skilled, his hand turns your face to him without your permission. He has no concept of consent, and gently, with doe eyes, he thefts your emotions.

“Sung—Chan,” you scorn in a moan as he holds your jaw in his hands and demands that you see…

“You made an effort to remember my name. I am confident you will remember my face as well.”

“You have a pretty forgettable face,” you lie, maintaining your larger-than-life persona. You. make. him. smile. 

One of those smiles...

‘FUCK!’

Sungchan’s lashes flatter above you, like venom attempting to doom you, as he catches you ‘dream walking’ between his teeth and his thumb, wishing he could push it past your lips and touch your tongue.

“Will you be able to forget a face you ruined?” He eventually asks.

In pain, you furrow your brows. You are at a loss for what to say in response to the nasty compliment-turn question. It is all on you. You were the one who started it. You are such a speck in comparison to him, having concluded that he is extroverted in every way possible.

“Yes or no?” The more he demands, the deeper his voice becomes. “Answer me,” he says, lowering his head so that his nose brushes against yours. As you watch him formulate his question, his eyes close.  “Will you be able to forget someone who intruded on your night in a very honest attempt to—to”

His other hand, which is gripping your waist, tightens. A real physical touch that threatens to melt your left side as you become unconscious of how much your legs rub against his that is between yours. The star details in your eye makeup could be mistaken for tears.

“Seriously,” he says against your lips, his confidence slightly backtracking. “Did I ruin your night?” Adding flaws to himself when he is perfect, “I have been messy and—”

You succumb to his lingering words, losing your voice and forgetting how to breathe, and the closer he comes to you and presses his body against yours, the more sensitive he becomes to the situation. The more he craves it, the more he overthinks, questioning whether he is doing everything correctly. The more he does not want to lose you, the stronger his possessive feelings become.

Obsessed with the idea of making you his even for a single night and oblivious to the idea of consent, he does not waste a second longer and brings his lips to your exposed neck, causing a new wave of warmth to spread out.

You feel your body quiver and break out in a cold sweat. His desperate, awfully warm lips awaken your moans, allowing him to revel in how helpless and breakable you have become this late into the night. And as a reward for his patience, he gets these tasty little audible treats.

“Sungchan,” you mutter in a complete filmic daze, hot all over and clutching his jacket and pulling him even closer to you. “We-we”

He groans into your neck, a whiny protest that caresses your already electrified skin, because he is too far gone, too shallow in his tender need for you, and looking into your eyes now would be too humiliating. All the while, he has to keep his ‘irresistible’ guy impersonation in check, right?

As a result, you are the one who uses force to get him to stop. You give him one last look before pressing your lips against his. You cannot think of anything else but having him smear your gloss all over your face. But before you can even feel his lips violently unite with yours, he pulls back. It is barley a peck. 

So, now, you are not sure if his provocative, melancholy expression is meant to delude you even more or if he is actually thinking. But what this giant really does is count to ten before unleashing his thrust that has been building for some hours.

His big hands seize your face again, but this time he tugs on your bottom lip first, retaining it between his teeth and claiming you before moving on. You realize that even the finest alcohol you have ever tasted has never been this potent. The softest, smoothest, and lightest silk you have ever touched does not compare to his hands on your face.

Sungchan’s sweet scent, taste, and shameless sighs overwhelm all of your senses, culminating in you ghasping in his mouth. In his struggle for dominance, his tongue is selfish, and his hand lands on your waist again and starts to pick up the material, exposing your skin to his touch.

His hand smoothly glides across your bare skin before groping you so hard that you bite him back, giving in to your wild side.

“Ouch!” he hisses, furrowing his brows. He takes a step back and completely releases you.

With him doing this, you finally recognize the coldness of the night for what it is because it hits you all at once, and not literally in the sense that the room is cold, but you feel extreme coldness in the distance he just created. You are aware that you and he are still at the entrance and have made no progress, but you are more concerned that you will be unable to continue due to his most recent halt, which you caused. Everything appeared to be going well; your lips had finally paired and become the same, but you had to go and ruin that.

His hand drops and grips the handle. But only if you knew this was your last chance to let him go—the last time he gains enough control to restrain himself. He hopes this is the last time you think clearly before realizing that if he stays, he will be unable to leave this place without leaving you ‘scarred’ in some way.

The kiss’s spontaneity and rapidity caught you both off guard, blanking your thoughts and leaving your minds so empty that neither of you knows whether staying or leaving is more rational.

In response, Sungchan’s hand presses lightly on the handl—

An aching “Stay!” escapes your used lips as you lose control through a clenched fist.

“Why do you need me here?”  he wonders.

“I don’t know! I suppose I want to remember this kiss, but it was so brief and happened so quickly. It surprised me.”

“I thought you said I had a forgettable face. So, what good is remembering our kiss?”

‘Mean’ you think to yourself. And what better than to offer him a silly stay? “I have a wonderful bottle of wine waiting to be opened,”  you remark as you pick up the coat from the floor and hang it up. “Oh, and you have to meet my fish. One of them looks exactly like you.”

His soft roused pink lips curve into a smile as the corners of his eyes crinkle. Something shifts in you when he laughs. It is as if your heart is swimming in honey. You want to drink it.

“How can a fish suddenly resemble me?”

“See?” you say as you lead him inside. “You are curious, aren’t you?”

“If you accept that we just made out, then fine.”

You return his sarcasm with wide eyes, noticing him softly poking the inside of his cheek and pouting his lips. He is flirting with you a little more confidently now that he has been officially invited into the heart of your privacy, which is your home, and is no longer considered the intruder.

[00:14] In the living room sits the stoic aquarium with his twin fish. The tank emits a cozy neon magenta blue in the middle of the dark room, creating a familiar color atmosphere to the one earlier at the balcony. 

As you two get closer, each of you takes a position on each side of the tank. Sungchan appears to be ecstatic about the fact that you were speaking the truth, that you were housing fish at home, and that you were not lying.

“You weren’t lying,” he says automatically, astounded by the several small creatures flapping their tails gracefully. Each one is unique and divergent. They go about their business, going through their insignificant daily loop. Some even resort to randomly breaking out of the loop by lightly tapping their mouths on the glass.

“Can you spot yourself?” You crack the joke over the glass wall.

He investigates the situation further before declaring, “They are kissing,” his finger pointing to two fish at the tank’s very bottom, partially hidden by the green seaweeds.

“Oh,” you say as you tap the glass to scare them away and get them to stop, “they are not ‘in love’ with each other. Actually, fish are the opposite. They are fighting. I am guessing you assumed one of them was the one who resembled you,” you say, tiptoeing to catch a better glimpse of his face over the tank.

He, on the other hand, is not troubled in the same way. He is tall and imposing. “It wasn’t me if they weren’t kissing... Do fish not kiss?”

“Fish may rub against each other or press their bodies together, but this is not kissing, whereas fish who touch their lips or lock in a passionate kiss are most likely sparring or engaged in battle. When this occurs, they are attempting to injure each other, which can cause severe damage. So, thank you for noticing. I might have to take action on this.”

“But why?”

“Because if you have fish that are engaging in this behavior, you must separate them as soon as possible before they injure or—The-the consequences can be fatal, okay?”

“A kiss that can kill?” he muses, his eyes brightening as he becomes fascinated by the matter.

You sense his intent, as if he had not delivered such a kiss a few minutes ago. Even though it was brief, it served as both bait and, most importantly, a promise.  That is, it could have been much worse had he not broken it. You have no doubt that he withheld his lethal kiss from you.

“Ugh,” you sigh, pointing a finger lovingly at him to correct his misbehavior. “Don’t look fascinated, as this is bad for my fish.”

He grins at your petty, silly threat.

Casually, as the fish swim in unison, unaffected by their monotonous routine, his eyes begin to reflect the contents of the salty tank. He is both close and far. The light enhances his face’s magical mystery, and you notice another tiny mole at the edge of his upper lip as he opens his mouth in delight. It is as if a top secret has been revealed, and you appear to be the lucky recipient. So tiny, yet celestial. Something simple but meaningful. How come you did not notice it sooner? 

Since he is always attracting you so calmly, you eventually come to the conclusion that Sungchan is a true meance. There is a slow-burning beauty about him—a beauty that destroys peace. Soft brown, like the coffee that inks the back of your throat and leaves you asking for more as your mind begins to crack. There is always some bait for you to take—some feature or trait of his that he is constantly working on in order to get you to long. His eyes, his pretty hands, and his towering physique. His broad shoulders, his side profile, and his absolutely stunning nose. 

However, his tiny mole is now attracting your attention back to his lips… And the truth is, the last time you thought about his lips... Well, you got them! Which, once more, is something you can have if you wish it.

He reverberates deep inside your innermost thoughts. ‘What about this killing kiss?’ ‘What about it? Just wh—’ You wish to know!

To clear your mind, you choose to pose a question. “Do you know about the soulmate theory? People say that moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life. Which indicates that you have—”

“I kissed a lot,” he cuts in.

“You have had a lot of kisses,” you point out.

“Then, what is more repulsive to you: me being frequently kissed or me being a promiscuous kisser?”

“How can I be the judge? You must have done a lot of kissing. That is all there is to it.”

“Alright. But I am curious. How would you kiss me if we had to do it all over again? ​If we had to take things slowly?”

“Wh—why are you asking?”

“Because everything up to this point has felt like a high that has caused me to act on impulse. But now that I am standing across from you, this calm and comfortable essence, the soothing sounds of this water tank... You. All of this balancing act of our energies seems to be helping to calm down all of that rush. I want to hold your hand and I want you to think I am cute.”

“Right!” you chuckle at him. “What exactly do you mean, Sungchan? Your eyes tell a very distinct—y-your your smile—” You pause for a moment to examine his sincerity, and you discover no flaws in his truth. “Wait, you ARE serious.”

Different shades of the same cyan and magenta spread across his face, each time so new yet so familiar. He rubs his chin, then runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it. “I am.”

The sweet, calming vibrations that he seems to be floating on top of blend with sensual and suggestive ones in a way that is beyond comprehension. How is it possible for someone to be both extremes at once? Sincerely, there is not a comb in the world that could possibly untangle your knotted feelings at this moment. You have had no idea how terribly screwed you are until this point.

Hence, your gaze returns to the fish, and you can tell by the sudden shift in the air that he is about to say something you wish he hadn’t. You make every effort to get him to stop. “But—”

“Look,” he wins over you; “your ability to completely eliminate my desire to socialize with anyone at a party in favor of creating tunnel vision speaks for itself.” 

He takes a moment to think of what else to say. “And-And we haven’t even gotten to the laughs and the banter, the bad sarcasm, the conversations, or the warmest embrace... The next-day breakfast that culminates in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making, which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in your kitchen while you wear my t-shirt, which fits you far better,”

“Sungch—”

“But that’s THE future. So, then, of course, if I am just a one time guy, I am not kidding when I ask what kind of kiss you want. If you are going to remember or take something from this night, it might as well be something worthwhile.”

At least you should not be held accountable for falling in love because Sungchan is beautiful with his carefully chosen words. And as the chemistry reaches its peak, you realize you can no longer resist it. You tiptoe a little more to get a better look at him without having to look through the glass.  His eyes pierce you with a clarity you have not seen before, and you can feel him pulling you through the glass and water like a magnet.

You cannot put it into words, but something is there. A million thoughts, feelings, hopes, and dreams are exchanged without the use of a single word. You let the magnetism take over. 

And so he smiles as you drown, or is that his coping mechanism for drowning into you as well? 

Really, is there a length of time at which his smile should stop being your favorite sight?

Overcoming the rather tiresome governance of fear, you decide to speak in favor of your ‘lust-ings’, despite the fact that you never intended to spend the night with a guy, let alone invite and bring one home.

“If I had to imagine another kiss, it would be one that happened on the spur of the mome—”

In actuality, everything that has happened so far has happened spontaneously. Startled,   he cutely leans over the glass tank, gripping the top edge with both hands. “Again!?” 

“It seems to suit your personality, and for what it is worth, I think I like it. A kiss where we banter around because I cannot read your cues or antics, which leads to you being unable to take my sarcastic criticism, so you choose to silence me.”

“Is that how you define ‘cute’?”

Sweetly, you continue to enrage him. “You can’t even handle it right now, can you?”

Sungchan squints, attempting to determine if the patterns  of the ‘kiss has already started’ are already there. He lets go of the tank’s glass, crosses his arms, and pouts some more before starting to pull his jacket down, giving the impression of, ‘Sure, it is on... And please, do proceed!’

Yet, refusing to take it off completely, his jacket dangles halfway down his arms. His collarbones and tee collar are in a power struggle. Numerous veins swarm his arms and biceps, screaming for your attention. 

Again, something you have seen before, but is that supposed to make it easier for you to process? And how should you focus on everything at all, appropriately? And what should you do in response when he eventually decides to purposefully bite his lip in slow motion? His sheer beauty alone is giving you headaches, not to mention all of these other details.

To turn the conversation back on track, you give him a soft smile and continue to elaborate on what, in your opinion, is the ideal kiss. 

“You want to stop me from talking because I step on so many of your nerves, and there is not much else you can do but kiss me. You want so bad to grab me and shake me, but all you manage to do is squeeze my face gently between your palms…” You make a small pause before you continue. “The seconds get progressively slower in microseconds as we stare at one another. I successfully count three of your moles while you complete a ten-count. With that, your excitement to punish me dies down. A new need emerges.”

“I imagine a kiss where you don’t even realize how tender your lips are pressed against mine. But then, I bet you don’t even realize how soft your lips are.” A unique sensuality is added to your voice as it becomes increasingly lower pitched while you speak. “Or-r are aware of the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you shut them. It is just ughh—ANYWAY, a kiss where your annoyingly long eyelashes, of which I am very jealous, tickle my cheekbones, and my lipgloss leaves sparkles on your nose. You take hold of my hands and slowly raise me up, letting me step on your toes and offering one of those smiles that you have already given me… while you are ignorant of all these tiny, lovely things about yourself, Sungchan. Is that cute enough for you?”

Your last words cause him to tilt his head back slightly, look up at the ceiling, and take a deep breath. “You are safe as long as this wall of glass keeps us separate. But nothing about anything, not even how I will treat you if you decide to move, is guaranteed. I just know that I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Is that a threat?” You raise a brow.

“Assume anything you like,” he says indifferently. “It can be a threat if that is what you want it to be.”

“Hmph,” you razz him some more, “so you are going back to being the tough guy?” as you take the initial step away from the aquarium. “Might I suggest that ‘you do not seem like the type’? Did you forget, or what?”

“You don’t know me,” he at last asserts, embracing your challenge and making a step too. 

As soon as there is nothing separating you two, dopamine levels peak.

“You do it so effortlessly, I bet.”

Sunghcan gives his lips a quick lick. “You have seen and felt it.”

You answer truthfully, “I have.”

With a notorious smile that matches his innermost feelings, he snatches you without warning and begins to drag you over the couch, which is located in a more central area of the room. His stature is so great that he carries you with your feet elevated, and your ‘let me down’ whine is met with his ‘UH HUH, you are going to have to tell me why you have invited me.’

When he finally gets you both there, he exhales and collapses back onto the couch, holding you in his arms. You are slightly leaning on him with your knees around his waist. 

Quickly adjusting to the seat, Sungchan presents an offensive sight with his head resting on the couch. You are in a situation where you would like to know how to proceed, where to look, or what else to say, but all of those things have been done before. The only thing left to do is to give yourself entirely to him.

Sungchan goes right to work without much delay. His fingers gently dip on both sides of your waist before he applies more pressure.

There is a noticeable tremble in your voice. “W-what are y-you doing?” You manage to ask despite your heart thumping frantically in your throat and feeling like it is going to choke you from his intimidating appearance and the pressure of his hands on your ribs. 

“Act my part?” He says this with such intensity that he cleverly slips one hand past your waist and runs along your backbone, taking advantage of some of the exposed skin on your back.

Feeling tense, your hands start to shake, and you are not sure where to put them other than where his head rests—at the back of the couch. Well, that seems like a safe choice, duh. Or should you touch him back in return? Should—

You truly are clueless, yet all your thoughts can be seen.

So, as you hover over him and look into his eyes, the last thing you hear is his seductive, whispery ‘Come,’ which invites you to close the distance and gives you total control over how to initiate this kiss. His hands press your body against his, and his mysterious, deep tone easily compels you. 

As the heat of the moment engulfs you both, nobody says anything. It is what you two—especially him—had been looking forward to for hours. An earlier thought that was driving him crazy was picturing you exactly as you are in his arms right now, only to find that you are even better—even beautiful—and that your skin is hotter and softer than  he had fantasized.

He suffers from the same consequences of ‘the closeness’ as you do. You can feel his heart hammering against his chest, trying to break free. His steady lashes are growing more disturbed, and his breathing is labored and drawn out. And when your warm lips finally touch his, his brain shuts down completely. Maybe he is just not used to things going slowly. You are killing him subtly now by doing that.

Actually, this whole night was just a slow, steady death. You can taste the sweetness in him even in his mouth, so you can be assured that even though he can be quick at times, there is an unquestionable sweetness to him. The sweetness that translates from the smile he lets out while kissing you. 

Of course, he is skilled at this! He slowly extends his tongue after letting his hums seep into you and the kiss grows deeper.

The sound of the kiss developing into a passionate makeout accentuates the hair at the back of your head. You are completely absorbed by him, lost. And the moment you hear his first pant in your mouth, you scoop his face into your hands. He presses harder against your back as your hands burn from the heat of his cheeks.

You moan, hot yet weak and defenseless, ‘Sung—” polonged “chan,’ meaning to say something but never managing to.

“Mhmm-” As he fills your mouth with his tongue and spreads it farther in an attempt to find more space, the tender kiss seems to turn into something bold and invasive. It quickly descends into sloppy, steamy, wet kissing. A kiss that is actually so strong that it does not matter if you drool or think it is inappropriate.

He holds your waist with one arm while pressing you down onto him, applying pressure to your nape. His jeans quickly became unbearable to be in due to the slight movement causing friction.

Then he begins kissing your jaw. Further down, the dampness of his breath clings to your throat, making you lose consciousness. If it was just his lips the first time, now there are his tongue and teeth as well. He tampers with the strap of the top with his fingers before sliding it down your shoulder. His impatience is evident as his kisses travel down your chest. You are helpless to stop him from becoming needy in his attempts to torture you; all you can do is throw back your head and hope he stays that way the entire night.

In the moment’s trance, he lays you down and hovers over you in a fit of craving. The couch starts to screech because his weight and the pressure he puts on it are too much for it. 

It is at this point that you realize how much you enjoy being placed in a vulnerable situation where you cannot think about leaving because of his arms. The more you watch him, the more attracted he becomes to you, because he can see your thought in the way you look at him. Both of you and him get turned on by it. You love how openly and compulsively possessive he is. 

And… should you love it?

Just looking at him on top of everything makes you feel fucking aroused. Thoughts of how perverse his lip mole is are all over your head. His hair gets in the way of his dazed eyes, whose brown never stops being drenched in the aquarium’s neon blue. 

If the neon fades from him, will everything end?

Feeling a bit annoyed by the question that keeps coming to mind, you find yourself embracing his torso and seeking the comfort of his weight on top of you, biting his shoulder in the process. His writhing gasps are to die for as your teeth and fingernails dig into his white shirt.

Your silent demands are met with Sungchan’s insistence that you look at him. Not to mention that it becomes harder to do that. He is not letting you look anywhere but at him, as his fingers start to lift your top and you feel them drawing damaging figures beneath your belly button, creating such an intensely carnal, gut-wrenching moment as your desires intensify. And there is this throbbing, hot, and silky feeling to your skin, which makes him want to torment you until you lose any control. 

To do that, he grabs a tender spot on your thigh to further expose you and carve out more space for himself. 

As far as clothes go, for a moment, you wish there was nothing at all between you and him. And as you shut your eyes to the idea, Sungchan plants a kiss under your ear, leaving a trail of smiles across your cheek. Oh, how well he reads you. Have faith—he shares your desire.

You too have, unconsciously, contributed to his shirt being half-rid. Squares make up most of his belly, and they end at the bottom of his low-rise jeans. Your fingers smuggle themselves against his most sensitive skin, just beneath the hem of his jeans.

His lips open up, and you try to learn the precise way he hurts by watching and absorbing every move he makes while his eyebrows tighten at your touch. If you push your hand a little further, what should you expect?

He is fiercely competitive, so he rolls his hips into you after becoming enthralled with your fleeting, tender touches.

You cover your eyes in embarrassment at this gesture, but his voice is already there, right in your ear. “Open your eyes.” 

When you shake your head silently, refusing to give in, he grabs your hands and pins them over your head. 

“Open up,” he insists. A honey-like voice turned sour. Sungchan is cruel and hard, with the strangest soft skin, a contradictory scent, and the ability to practically lick your face with his words—a lesson that teaches you to be both tough and tender as well. As a result, you gently release the held fear. Your eyes allow him to be with you without you having to say it out loud.

And although he is too shy to let it on or say it, the subsequent crushing of his hips into you speaks of ‘That is right, baby…’ The following one of ‘Nice and slow,’ and the one right after of ‘I’ll go again... and again... and—’

“Please, don’t—” you cry out. 

His lips are blazing and red is blooming all over his cheeks, but still, Sungchan resists giving in to his shyness. As an alternative, he tightens his hold on your wrists. “Mhmm. Need words.”

“D-don’t—don’t let this end; it’s-it is just too fucking good.” 

“Yeah?” He smiles, releasing your wrists, recognizing that he is actually far too touch-deprived and needs your hands on every part of his body. “You know it is true,” he whispers, stroking your lips with his thumb before your frustration overcomes you and you take in his colossal index and middle fingers in your mouth.

Yeah, you know it is true… You introduce them to your teeth and tongue before you begin to suck. 

And is he really expected to be unaffected by that? When you devour him like that? He hurts for you to suck it so much that he is now in raw pain. No succulent sip should be missed. The taste must be unimaginable in many ways.

His mouth opens with a swear word. “As soon as I saw you, I knew you would find this irresistible.”

As you never really anticipated it this far, you are not sure if you feel the same. But here he is, and here you are, acting as the situation demands, so maybe he is right. Your reciprocal relationship is akin to an electric shockwave, meeting both your needs and your own desires in equal measure. The perfect balance... found in a stranger at a party…

Sungchan decides to reach your vulnerable center, soothing you with deep, heavy, lewd kisses. You have no idea what he needs or wants or if his body is adapting to yours, but you can bet that the ‘Fuck’ he sucks into your lips is real.

“Please,” you beg, raising your hands, only to have him slam them down once more while giving you a serious look as if you might have done him more harm than good. But in reality, you are so fragile under him that you steal his heart. Tears of sweat form at his temple, and you manage to free a hand to give him long, leisurely strokes as you brush his hair out of his eyes.

He says something incoherently like ‘sorry,’ leaning in to plant another kiss while entwining his palms with yours. 

What is he sorry for?

Nothing about his behavior, not even this kiss, matches his hard, deep, grinding hips. The night’s apex remains unaffected, even though the jeans denim is impenetrable. You want to burst at the way he begins to ease up on you, circling back and forth, momentum building, building, holding your fingers intertwined while his other hand rests on your waist to keep you still while he slows down, which intensifies the pain you are experiencing.

Eventually, he looks down at you and stops whatever he is doing, breathing heavily as though he is just finished a mile. You both suffer from this entire action. Needs and thirst are put on hold by him. At last, he gathers his courage to say something, gazing at you through the same wounded eyes that were there when your attention strayed from his way earlier. “I have something to tell you.” 

You reassure him, sensing a weight in his fast blinks, “You don’t have to say it.” He is even quicker to lean his cheek into your palm when you tickle under his chin to soothe him. The touchy-feely, seeking affection he displays pushes you to emphasize what you mean more. “It’s the way you look at me.”

“Isn’t it silly?” He muses with glassy brown eyes that are blown bigger than anyone’s ability to frighten him. “Love at first sight is not something I believe in. No one should, in my opinion.”

“Then, what makes you feel the need to tell me something?”

“I—” His speech falters as he struggles to form a complete sentence before sighing and collapsing next to you onto the overly small sofa.

“Don’t,” you say while squeezing yourself smaller to make more room for him. “Then don’t. You don’t have to say anything.”

“But I am not ready to end this evening,” he fusses, using his finger to tap both of your chests to show how close you two are, “which means I also don’t want what is going on in here to end.”

“I know,”  you say with a smile as you take his hand in yours, study it, and then walk the inward lines as though determining whether the two of you have what it takes. 

He watches you as you watch his hand; if there is anything he wants to hold onto forever, it is this. There is a certain cruciality to the moment. Despite not knowing if you two are a match, you both want this to continue. And so you say, "Nor do I."

“Seriously?” he asks, raising himself up on one elbow with a shocked expression.

You continue to feel and appreciate his hand, ignoring his question. The beauty of his hands is also astounding. “Would you say this is cute?” You mention his earlier observations about cuteness. 

“You remembered.”

“I want to hold your hand and I want you to think I am cute.” You quote him, then tap twice on his nose. “Of course I remember, silly, but it is me holding your hand, not the opposite.”

With his lips heavily affected by all the heavy makeout, Sungchan pouts the biggest pout imaginable.

You draw parallels and say, “I swear, you look like my fish.”

He asks through his giggles, “Who kisses to kill?”

“Right…”

“And…” he is curious, “did it work?”

You sigh mockingly to mimic exhaustion. “A lot of death kisses, yes.”

His heavy arm presses your waist against his body while he tucks his head into your neck in response, seeking to stay.

For the rest of the night, Sunghcahn clings to you, making sure you realize that no one else can touch you or make you feel the way you do right now. Perhaps this is his greed getting the better of him when he realizes that you could have ended up this way with anyone at the party and that, should things change and you decide differently, you could be this way with someone else as early as next week. 

His stomach turns at the thought. Your presence tonight brought to light a more beautiful side to the things that had seemed perfect before, completely changing his life.  It seems he has a great deal left to accomplish and a lot more to prove… as an intruder.

Though as for tonight, it is as if two entirely distinct universes or two distinct parallel lines that had never intersected finally made contact with one another. You two are so in sync—the type of people sensitive to distance.

[An indefinite persistent dream.]

The best thing he could hope to hear next is,  “Mark me yours.” 

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

~

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.