✰

[imagesells-blog]

    SONG KI NAM, koreanmade americanborn. 

      when the dust of his rage settles, it leaves behind shards of broken glass speckled across his kitchen floor. it crunches beneath his bare feet and instead of leaving footprints in the sand, he leaves bloodprints on the tile. he loves Him through his spine and with the bite of his teeth to his gums, loves Him with a scream into the stars. 

[assassinxjungkook]

⚔ Lucky ⚔ : Yoongi & Jungkook

[assassinxjungkook]

✄ - - -

He looks up at Yoongi, his eyes still sparkling from the wetness, tears still lacing his lashes. The touch to his face did wonders to calm the pain in his chest, but he’s sure that he might cry again if held. He meets the other’s eyes and his lip quivers again. “A-Are you going to lay down too?” he whispers, biting his bottom lip again.

[imagesells-archive-blog]

The smile that pulls at his lips is softer, just a bit, but it’s still a sardonic ear to ear. Which doesn’t match, not at all, but Yoongi has always been odd anyways. Someone with a tangible need to give affection but also a red-hot desire to tease. To bite, with teeth that permanently have red caked between them. None of his pieces match up—and he’s just a random bunch of puzzle pieces thrown together, pretending to be whole. Or, maybe he does have all the pieces; but that doesn’t change the fact that he has to force them into compliance, bending and breaking so they’ll fit together. “Yeah, you don’t know.” He doesn’t say this kindly, although it’s not rude either. Just a fact. Indisputable. Yoongi leans over the edge of the table—barely, just enough as he can with his leg straight and foot against Jungkook’s crotch. “Nobody knows; except, maybe, God. If they’re real.” And then he leans back, letting the spine of his chair creak. The groaning sound reminds him of branches snapping, only slower—which in turn, reminds him of the time he climbed a tree and a branch snapped underneath his foot. He wasn’t high up, but he still fell, still bleed. Still has the scar on his shoulder.

An exhale bouncing with a near silent laugh is let out, and Yoongi’s head bows lazily to the side as he presses his foot down harder—to remind Jungkook of it’s presence. His eyes are dark, hooded underneath lashes as he stares over the contours of the boy’s face. For a moment, they get stuck on the pretty little blush dusting Jungkook’s cheeks. Every stutter forced through the other’s lips are making his pulse jump, skin break out in a warm hum, and Yoongi thinks maybe something might be wrong with him. Because he shouldn’t be enjoying Jungkook’s short lashes lined with tears, or the sniveling tongue. Yeah, something is seriously fucked-up in his brain—maybe it short-circuited—but then he remembers that he doesn’t care.

Yoongi comes quite close to letting out a groan. “Of course I will.” He likes the way Jungkook stutters. It makes his breath hitch and muscles tense. Jungkook’s wrist is warm in his dry palm, spiny fingers curled around the bones and searing into skin. “No one else but me is allowed to bully you, okay?” And it comes out as a growl, as much more possessive as he meant it to, but it’s okay; he’s already started seeing Jungkook as his a while ago, so he may as well start to make it common knowledge. And it shows—shows in the way he holds Jungkook’s wrist, tugging the boy along with him. Shows in his glass-cut gaze, and the light that glints off when he sets his eyes upon his stepbrother. The way his pulse quickens, skin breaking out into a thrum of flames. Jungkook is his—to tease, to bully, to touch, to comfort, to kiss. Just his. Maybe that’s a little warped—he probably shouldn’t get so much enjoyment from making the younger uncomfortable, on the verge of tears or more—but Yoongi has always been a bit warped, so you know what? Fuck it.

A staggered breath sucked in, let out as an animalistic, husky pant. A wolf in sheep’s skin, except that’s an over exaggeration; because everyone already knows that Yoongi is a predator on the hunt.  What better pray than a timid, little mouse such as Jungkook? But his gait to the bed is slow, leisurely, before he’s sitting down on the edge next to his adorable stepbrother. 

One of index fingers curl around a short lock of inky-black hair. It’s soft—the kind of velvety texture one can only have if they’ve never dyed their hair. His own hair is coarse from the auburn shade. “Oh, I don’t quite know if you’d want me to do that.” Yoongi is still a teenage boy, after all—with the object of his affection amenable in his bed, looking up at him with shiny, doe eyes. And Yoongi has fantasized about this moment, about what he’d do to Jungkook. All of his fingers weave through Jungkook’s hair, palm flat on the boy’s temple, and his breath is really quite strained. Yoongi is thinking again that maybe taking Jungkook to the secluded solace of his bedroom was a bad idea, but for different reasons this time.

Oh well. He guesses the best he can do is try to take it slow—and not go all the way, of course. The hand is free of hair now, curling around a bony shoulder clad in uniform, and gently pushing the boy from his side to his back—before trailing along the younger’s ribecage, hip, thigh, all the way down until it stops at a knee. Then he’s cupping the digits along the soft underside of Jungkook’s knee, except he can’t even feel the skin. Fuckin’ clothes. His spine is curled now, leaning down and uncomfortably crooked with his lips hovering over Jungkook’s pair.

“You see,” he murmurs out, bated and damn near deadly, “if I lay down, I’m not going to be able to control myself at all.” He doesn’t even know if he can control himself right now; but Jungkook doesn’t need to know that.

[imagesells-archive-blog]

When he passed by the elder male, Jaehyun dipped his head into a bow. He'd been looking for him but he had to make sure he didn't look too desperate. "Yoongi-ssi?" He asked, hoping that the other male wasn't too busy to speak.

    he walks with his shoulders hunched, head down, and if that doesn’t scream don’t talk to me!, yoongi doesn’t know what does. the second his name is uttered (with an honorific, which serves to make him completely uncomfortable) his teeth clench just a bit, and he’s letting out a dreary sigh. a sigh loud enough to be heard, that’s for sure. yoongi blinks, slowly; he’s much too tired to have any signs of courtesy. “what?”

[imagesells-archive-blog]

↪tagged by mersereine

lmfao, random as fuck, barely any common genres, and too many songs to list. here you go.

tagging assassinxjungkook, mingott, abelardrichter, aptcryptic, mug40, bvni, tintama, that's all i think??

[imagesells-archive-blog]

░ bruises&nicotine (past) t ✕ y

[mggts]

[...]

[imagesells-archive-blog]

His sleeves are long enough to barely cover his fingertips as he stands. It’s a maroon colored shirt, long sleeved (obviously), and people probably think of him as weird for wearing it in the summer heat. The shade of his shirt matches the black eye blooming on Minjae’s face. His spiny, bony knuckles go lax and his cigarette feathers to the ground—and it’s probably not a good idea to let his still-lit smoke land onto his wooden deck, but he’s too distracted, too utterly baffled at the moment to actually care. Yoongi just guesses that he’ll have to hope his house doesn’t go up in flames. His weight is shifted to his right leg, the wood underneath his bare feet groans. It’s silent at the moment save for that sound, like the calm before a hurricane, and Yoongi has already started bracing himself for the 95.ph winds. 

Really, his first reaction to tears should be for him to console. Wrap Minjae up into a hug and just give her a shoulder to cry on—but Minjae isn’t a her, certainly doesn’t look like a her right now, and Yoongi doesn’t know if he can wrap his arms around the other when there’s a disturbing lack of skirts, bows, long hair, and femininity. Doesn’t know if he can embrace into his arms such machismo. So his first reaction is to just repeat:

—“Minjae.”

It’s not a question this time. Rather, it’s more of a confirmation inside of Yoongi’s own brain. Like he needed to repeat the name, needed to connect the strings. Tie the name to this boy, not girl, in front of him. This is Minjae. This is Minjae. That girl who had a crush on him all those years ago was Minjae. This boy is Minjae too.

Just what the fuck is going on?

Whatever. Yoongi will ask questions about the other’s starling gender transition later. For right now, he’ll settle on asking, “What the— what the fuck happened to you?” And his feet take him forward, fingers curling a gentle but firm grip onto Minjae’s jaw. The younger is the same height as him now. (Actually, taller, just by a little bit, but Yoongi refuses to acknowledge that.)

At the moment, it doesn’t matter whether Minjae is a boy or a girl—Yoongi still finds himself being filled with a bout of rage tinged with his protectiveness. Finds himself hissing, before Minjae can even answer his first question, “Who the hell did this to you?”

[imagesells-archive-blog]

Yoongi, hey Yoongi. Hey, you.

[' blinks, a bit drowsily, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands—like he has paws. there are dark circles underneath his pale lids. ] Yes, Jungkook? [' it's mumbled. ]

[imagesells-archive-blog]

        1. You have a reputation of being quite the poet—fans often take your lyrics more than one way, so do you mind telling us the story behind this album?

    [ Ah, am I? I talk quite mundanely, but my thoughts seem to spiral off into abstract territory when I'm writing. But anyways; this album, 'Baby Teeth', is just a simple memoir of my childhood and adolescent years. ] 

        2. Does that mean we get to learn more about you, Suga, in this album?

    [ All my albums and songs have pieces of myself in them. They're all stories, based off of an experience I've had or emotions I feel. You learn something about me every time you listen to a song by me. Although, this is definitely one of my more personal albums. ] 

       3. Besides yourself, who had a hand in on this album?

    [ A few other people helped in the production. I worked with other artist within my label, such as, Ghoul, Sayuri of Lionhearted, Bunny, and Rand. ]

1.baby teeth, 2.young in fumbling , 3.advisory (ft. Ghoul and Nox), 4.cough syrup (ft. Rand), 5.sunday morning (ft. Bunny), 6.wallflower, 7.cracked pavement, 8.pink eye, 9.vortex (ft. Ghoul), 10.a little slurred, 11.pill popping, 12.urban exploration, 13.bathroom stall (ft. Sayuri of Lionhearted), 14.soon to end, 15.introvert, 16.shark tank, 17.cigarettes do kill

[mersereine-blog]

— RUNAWAY TRAIN: Y + O.

[mersereine-blog]

she feels comfortable and wants to express it.

nothing yoongi is doing, with her brushes and playful antics, is making this easier on her. it makes her want to spit out her first careless thought, i like this. the statement would be innocuous, falling from her trembling lips into the air, yet she can’t bring herself to do this. she doesn’t know if it’s confusion about her feelings for yoongi or her sexuality, but she can’t bring herself to three words that could mean anything.  she hates that the soft hand against her cheek makes her want to nuzzle against it with her unmistakable doe-eyed look—the one she sports when she wants a boy to find her cute. she hates that she found it so fucking hot when yoongi brushed a thumb across her lightly glossed lip, she’s used to biting and tugging until her lips are swollen. she hates that yoongi’s grin, lopsided and akin to a smirk, makes her want to pull the other into a kiss. but she’s lying, she doesn’t hate any of this. ocean loves it. and she wants to say it so desperately. with her lower lip caught under her upper, her head is at a slight tilt as she tries to will herself to speak. it’s yoongi. she can say anything to yoongi, right? all she knows is that yoongi is everything she likes. her hand trails down yoongi’s chest with an unmistakable shakiness; she assumes yoongi will think it’s uncertainty, it isn’t. whether she has told her friend or not, become comfortable with it or not, she is no longer uncertain about where to touch, how to, why she wants to. her free hand is tugging the bun free so that it can rest in those pretty dyed strands while she leans in to kiss yoongi again, smiling into the heated pressure. she draws herself away to tell her what she’s thinking, but she doesn’t want to, she wants to tell yoongi with her lips flush against hers. with her hands moving along her body as if they were made to. “nice,” her voice is hoarse from disuse, her lips red and beckoning, “nice.” again, as if it’s the only word she knows in the dictionary. nice. this is nice. whatever we’re doing, it’s nice. and i like this.

[imagesells-archive-blog]

there’s something cute about the way ocean’s lips tremble, trapped around silent letters, and yoongi isn’t used to this round-about air of innocence that the other woman is veiled with at the moment. well, innocent probably isn’t the right word—ocean may look so with those lidded-whimsical eyes, but there’s a wild card stuck in that body of hers.

yoongi doesn’t know how she’d describe ocean, really, but she’s always been the type to categorize people into two boxes; people she likes, and people who piss her off. there’s not much of an in-between. but she definitely likes ocean, or else she wouldn't be here, licking flames into the other's mouth. her spine takes a subtle arch, curling into the light heat of ocean's fingers. the pony-tail holder tugs harshly at a few strands as it’s taken out, making yoongi wrinkle her nose up at the pull, but then she’s smiling against ocean’s lips. letting out a opaque exhale into the other’s mouth.

just a tad harder, yoongi tugs on the soft hair wrapped around her finger. breathy chuckles aren’t at all masked, filling the air in a wispy mist, and her smile-smirk-thing only grows. cheshire and bent, with a hint of tongue peeking out to dap the corner of her lips. the tiers taste sweet, and like ocean.

“nice?” she mumbles, and her lips are just hovering over the other’s. her tone is teasing, of course, because she’s a bit of a bully and likes to pick for her fun. of course, it’s all in good nature. and ocean must not mind it too much, because she’s still choosing to stay in yoongi’s company. “how nice?”

but she doesn’t give much room to answer; presses her lips firmly, but gently, against ocean’s and joshers her tongue along a top lip. ocean has such a pretty mouth, and yoongi will be damned if she doesn’t have her fun with it. 

[mersereine-blog]

— RUNAWAY TRAIN: Y + O.

ocean jung had always been a lithe girl, narrow hips and rippling bones; boys would hug her and their arms wrapped so easily around her that, when she was younger, she would get embarrassed about it. when she was with boys, their fingers were cementing themselves into the skin of her hips, burning holes in her. but when she was with yoongi, her hands rarely strayed to hold her hips like that; yoongi didn’t have a hold like that, her fingers played coy games against her waist with familiar comfort. this was new territory. not the kissing, not the touching—those were old news, actions she had committed time and time again, though always with some different, always with someone new. no, what was new and scary and wildly out of her normal territory was that yoongi was painfully obviously a girl. even with her eyes closed, it was more than apparent. her lips might be as soft as a man’s, her cheeks as forgiving, but ocean could feel her femininity through the shape of her hips, the curve of her chest, the way her skin had a supple softness to it; ocean was used to muscle and bone, no give or take. but this was nothing—sex was nothing. having sex with a woman should be no different than having sex with a man, right? they could do everything heterosexual couples ( though she wouldn’t use this term for her and yoongi ) could do—except that there wasn’t always a “tab a” to go into her “slot a” because, well, yoongi didn’t have a “tab a” by nature.  but the general concept was essentially the same, she assumed.   it took ocean a while to disconnect her swimming feelings from sex. first and foremost,  yoongi was her friend. yoongi wasn’t a lover, or a crush. a friend. they were friends with needs, they were friends that can fulfill each others needs. she could trust her friend to take care of her as well—she was experimenting, she needed the guidance. if you asked her, there was nothing wrong with their relationship. she had yoongi on the couch, settled on her lap with her knees pressing down on either side of her legs. there were a pair of arms twined around her thin waist to pull her closer, even though they were skin on skin. she had pulled away from a kiss. she opened her mouth, wanting to explain to yoongi about … something, something about how she enjoyed this and felt comfortable, but for some reason, she couldn’t. 

[imagesells-archive-blog]

the air in her lungs is tinged cherry; sugar, spice, nice, and everything yoongi fucking loves about women. a lock of her hair falls free from her tight bun—yoongi’s dyed-brown strands aren’t long, but they're not short enough to be compared to a boy’s cut, however unfeminine her style may be. yoongi is completely confident, the picture of ease and experience, while ocean is much more hesitant. that’s to be expected though—yoongi is the experiment, after all. and who better to experiment with than a friend?

yoongi wonders if she should feel bad about being so willing to exploit that fact. but she doesn’t. she just arches to meet pink lips and lets her hands fall gently on a tiny waist. sometimes curls her fingers and clenches them against ocean; and her touches are a bit prodding, because yoongi’s always been straightforward. some would say a nail that needs to be hammered down. 

it should be odd, how easy yoongi can transition from friends to fuck buddies (as she’ll so adequately refer to this—whatever this is—as); but she’s always been open with her sexuality, and is used to being used as the trial. no stranger to shy kisses and tittering fingers on her thighs courtesy of girls wondering if they’re really straight—or do i like women as well? well, yoongi can’t say that she minds helping them find their way. she’s just doing them a favor, honestly.

ocean’s breath hits her lips, and the other woman has her tiers parted as if she’s going to talk—but no words come out. a plump bottom lip trembles, barely and like a ghost, and yoongi flits a hand up, letting her thumb smooth over the gloss. cups her palm against the other’s cheek before twirling a lock of hair around her index finger.

yoongi tugs on it—playfully and gently. she wants to know what ocean is going—or trying—to say, but she can’t read minds. there’s a smile on her lips, and it’s soft, but yoongi’s grins always look a little bit like smirks; one corner permanently lifting higher than the other. “what is it?”

[assassinxjungkook]

ƁЄƛƲƬƖƑƲԼ ƊƖƧƛƧƬЄƦ - Yøøиgı & Jυиgκøøκ -

[assassinxjungkook]

Jungkook’s heart races faster, and his chest tightens ever so slightly at the feeling. Now, his chest isn’t really in pain, at least, he doesn’t think so. He simply feels like he needs to breathe — he doesn’t want to breathe, not unless Yoongi is breathing back into him. The tongue swiping along his lips has him shuddering and his grip on the other’s hips tightens, if only barely. A signal, almost a quiet declaration of impatience. Almost, he’s whining because he just wants Yoongi closer, even closer — which means the removal of clothing, and that thought alone almost freezes Jungkook in his tracks (it’s not like he’s afraid, really, it’s just the idea of being shirtless and Yoongi quite possibly seeing him so exposed) — and the laconic, precise whine that leaves his mouth is embarrassing. He can feel the saliva from Yoongi’s tongue painting his lips and barely, a reticent laugh escapes his lips before he’s capturing a plush bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently.

Eyes immediately roam over the expanse of neck in front of him and he’s panting already — fuck, why is he already out of breath? He leans down, lips against neck and Yoongi’s skin is so hot. He presses lips against skin once, twice, three times before nipping lightly, just looking for a reaction. Fingers — bony, determined — run over his shoulders and then he’s sucking in a breath when his shirt is balled up. Yoongi must like him all fussed in general, all ragged, not prim, cut clean — Jungkook’s shirt will have wrinkles until he manages to iron them out — but it’s not like he minds (secretly, if it’s what Yoongi wants, he’ll basically succumb to anything — almost anything, that is). Another bite to pallid skin, harder this time, just enough to see a bit of color painting the skin. Yoongi’s calf almost tugs him closer, then lips are connected again, the whine that leaves Yoongi’s falling onto eager ears. Though ephemeral, it lights Jungkook’s stomach on fire, running hot through his veins.

Oh god, the way Yoongi’s hips lift up to press against Jungkook’s hand has the male almost cutting his breathing to a halt. Only a fugacious moment, but it’s ineffable. It brings a tingling to his skin and it flips his stomach over to know exactly how eager Yoongi is to do this. It certainly boosts his confidence level, lets him know through and through how much Yoongi adores him.

Pushed back, it’s Jungkook’s turn to whine. He doesn’t want to lose the contact, but with the lights flicked off, he’s moving back. He’s trying not to think about exactly how this is going to happen, because if he does, he’ll get nervous again. He likes to remain somewhat in control with Yoongi, because if he gets nervous, there’s more of a chance that one of them will back out. God, how he doesn’t want to back out. He doesn’t want to end this symphony before the finale — doesn’t want the lilt of Yoongi’s body, the way they so clumsily seem to fit together to be over.

Still making sure to leave his lips just hovering over Yoongi’s, he makes eye contact when the other male’s fingers close around his wrist. A knot in his throat, a short gasp leaving his lips. It’s unexpected, that’s for sure. Even more unexpected is when Yoongi sits up. His heart skips, and at the feeling of his own fingers against Yoongi’s skin, it has him gulping. Before he has time to think, Yoongi’s sweater is off. So much for playing it cool, smooth, like he’d wanted him to take it off. He had, yes, but he wasn’t expecting it so soon. His heart is a cacophonous orchestra in his ears, the thumping and wooshing sounds almost overbearing, but it hardly shows on his face. If Yoongi makes eye contact, he’ll see it — Jungkook’s nerves, the fumbling reflection of a boy who has no idea what he’s doing, but who’s going for it anyway.

His eyes flutter closed at the teeth marring his bottom lip. Nerves dissipate when his eyes close, and the pads of his fingers cautiously roam skin now open to him. Down, counting ribs one by one before brushing down the male’s soft stomach. Frangible, almost as if he’s made of glass. Jungkook barely touches him at first, almost hesitant, and his fingers glide back up, his other hand moving to curl into red locks. Much contrast to the brushes of fingers, he tugs hard at hair. When his fingers roam higher, they brush across a pectoral before settling to trace across a collarbone. Now, he thinks he’s glad the lights are off. Though he wants nothing more than to admire pale skin laid out in front of him, his nerves are jumping in him to keep his eyes closed. He does, tongue lapping out almost tentatively to brush across a top lip. The longer he keeps his eyes closed, the less nervous he is.

As fingers brush back down the middle of Yoongi’s chest, a ragged breath escapes. God he’s in paradise.

[imagesells-archive-blog]

There’s no space between their bodies—just a little, Yoongi feels claustrophobic with a tinge of homophobic, nerves crawling up his throat like spiders and seeping out of his pores, but for some reason he has yet to acknowledge he’s still pulling Jungkook in closer. Soaking up warmth that is alien and so not his own, and smelling a subtle hint of cologne. His forearms are pressed together, resting against the back of Jungkook’s neck, and forcing their lips harder together—there’s an eager curve to his spine, a tug to black, soft strands, and Yoongi is groaning, if just a little bit. He shivers and he’s completely sure that Jungkook can probably feel his body shaking within a cage of arms; and Yoongi’s not quite sure of the reason behind his trembles. Maybe he’s scared. Maybe he’s excited. Maybe he’s both.

Probably both.

For the teeth marring his bottom lip, Yoongi retaliates by nipping Jungkook’s top lip; and it’s not gentle. Far from it. He bites, hard, harshly, like he wants to hurt the younger. Which he does.

The pants tickle. Yoongi writhes, barely, and incessantly tugs at the other’s hair, back arched with one hip rising higher than the other before pressing flat against the mattress. The blanket underneath him is made out of one of those stupid-fucking fabrics that make noises reminiscent of paper rubbing against paper with sand in between every time he moves.  It ticks at his ears. His cheeks are already way too red and Yoongi lets out the faintest of whines before pathetically lulling his head to the side—like he’s trying to hide his face and invite Jungkook in for more at the same time. He pulls at the shirt, too roughly for such a delicate material, not sure if he just wants Jungkook shirtless or if he likes seeing the other ruffled. He doesn’t think he’d mind it: seeing Jungkook almost unraveled and coming undone. Yoongi has always liked things more raw, more real, more true. Almost uses his curled leg to lift his hips up, muscles already clenching for the action, but then he decides against it at the last moment, still hesitant. However, he’s had plenty of time to get used to kissing Jungkook, and his tongue peeks out between make-out-red lips to flick against Jungkook’s pair. He’s hyperaware of everything he’s doing but also completely clueless.

He’s given a chance to breath, and for a second, Yoongi considers backing out. Does he really want this? Yes, but that’s his dick thinking. A hand flits up to cover his mouth—he’s laying limp on his back, hair mussed with sweat already beading on his forehead—and lets out a sound similar to a sob against his palm; and he hopes Jungkook doesn’t hear. He hopes the other never catches a sound of Yoongi breaking down and crumbling in on himself—but then again, he thinks the other has already caught on. Does he want this? He hears Jungkook whine, and thinks, yes, yes he really does. Yoongi cracks with the sounds of cymbals crashing barbarically together and thunder snapping and licking at a dead tree, but no one really hears. If a tree falls in an abandoned forest, with no souls about, does it really make any noise?

There are flies buzzing in the back of his throat and in his ear canals. Static and glitching in his brain. There are goose bumps scattered across his torso, but oddly enough, he’s not the slightest bit chilly. His eyes weren’t closed, just squinted into a thin line of lashes that he could barely see through, but now they’re fluttering lazily open. Watching Jungkook’s face. He thinks he sees a bottom lip tremble, but then Jungkook’s expression is hard as steel, and it makes Yoongi wonder if he imagined it. He can’t make anything out of Jungkook’s visage, and that terrifies him more than the promise of what is coming next. He’s more frightened of what the younger thinks of his body than of what they’ll be doing between the sheets tonight; and he thought turning the lights off would help, but then again, it’s not as dark as he would have hoped. He can still blearily see Jungkook and make out the silhouette of his table. He can still see, and so can the younger.

The air he sucks in hiccups, Yoongi sounds like he’s crying, and then his teeth are clenched around a whimper and Jungkook’s bottom lip. Releases the abused tier and gasps into the other’s mouth. Yoongi knows that he’s lithe (skinny), but he certainly doesn’t feel it as Jungkook’s fingers roam over the expanse of skin bared. He feels self-conscious. He feels dumb. He feels like a nervous sinking ship-wreck. His lips are still pressed against Jungkook’s, but the pressure is lighter; and then he’s mumbling against them, repeating the other’s earlier question, but with the bravery of a mouse, “Do I look okay?” He sniffs, and titters his fingers to the front and to the buttons of Jungkook’s shirt—starting to clumsily unbutton before the younger can answer him. 

[chopnskrew]

      The orientation seminars where becoming a drag and it surprised her how it ended so late, she had to cancel a meeting just so she can stay a little longer, because they nagged her to do so. Everything around STC was still fairly new to Allie. She was so used to the blaring music of night clubs and the stuffy dance floor that the sudden serene feeling the hallways gave off creep her out.

      One thing Allie was sure that she would never get used to is being ordered around. As much as she was very open to expanding her experiences. Someone nagging to her 20 hours a day might take a toll on her and so she ended up somewhere isolated. Opening a random door to hopefully something less creepy than the empty hallways, she almost jumped when she heard someone curse. Head whipping to the side to see someone already occupying the abandoned room, the scent of that toxic stick she loves so much lingering in the air.

      “Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t know anybody was in here. I’m just hiding from the other managers… I’m sort of new here so uh yeah.” She wasn’t sure why she suddenly stumbled on her words but being caught and maybe sent back to that annoying place stopped her from being a bit firm than she should.

[imagesells-archive-blog]

      damn near instantly, his tense muscles relax, lenient and boneless—it’s not a manager (he hopes) and she doesn’t seem to mind the smoke wafting through the air. good, he doesn’t have to put out his cigarette then. he ashes into an empty plastic water bottle, and takes another drag before replying, “s’fine—just close the door.” the words ride out on his misty exhale. 

      wait. ‘other managers.’ fuck, fuck, fuck. now his lips are quirked nervously around the filter; it’s not like he’s scared of getting in trouble—still, that doesn’t mean he wants to get caught. he’s already been kicked out of one entertainment company. he doesn’t want that to happen a second time.

      he gulps, but audaciously chances another inhale of toxin. “ah, well, nice to have you, i guess. i’m yoongi—or well, you’d probably better know me as suga.” yoongi lets the remainder of his smoke fall to it’s death in the bottle—there’s enough droplets of water left to cool the cherry. the color left on the tip is ashen, dead-lung black.

      “what’s your name?”

[imagesells-archive-blog]

[ sms ] it's kind of strange to consider you a rival. [ sms ] rival sounds so lame. [ sms ] fitting for you though since you are extremely lame.

[ sms ↪ tina ] excuse you

[ sms ↪ tina ] i am so cool, i give the sun brain freeze

[assassinxjungkook]

[ text ] all icky? what do you mean?

[imagesells-archive-blog]

[ text ] gross and icky. 

[assassinxjungkook]

[ text ] well, okay. um…do you want me to come over?

[imagesells-archive-blog]

[ text ] no. i'm all icky. 

[assassinxjungkook]

ƁЄƛƲƬƖƑƲԼ ƊƖƧƛƧƬЄƦ - Yøøиgı & Jυиgκøøκ -

[assassinxjungkook]

Jungkook’s glass still has a bit of wine left in it, and he actually is too nervous to drink it. He does pick the glass up, though, downing the rest of it. He feels weird, leaving anything left in the glass. He likes knowing he isn’t wasting anything. A soft smile spreads on his face and he’s biting his bottom lip, watching Yoongi effortlessly. He wonders if there’s any more wine in the kitchen — maybe they can have some after they’re done, as a reward. Jungkook might even make him eat when it’s all over. Maybe not right after, though. He doubts Yoongi will eat anything right after. He’s guessing it’ll probably be like last time, fear washing through mocha eyes as he sprints to the bathroom, locking himself behind the thin door. Jungkook is prepared, quite much more than last time.

A thought passes through his head he can’t exactly shake, not that he particularly wants to: he might love Yoongi. It’s been a thought running through his mind for quite some time now, and it’s been something he can’t decide a definitive yes or no. Some days it feels like love — not that he knows what it feels like (fluttering stomach, rapid heartbeat, and sweaty palms equal nerves in his mind, not love) — and other days it feels like want (are the two completely different?). His main thought right now is what’s going on in Yoongi’s head, though. The other’s eyes contain some form of nerves, and it’s almost cute to watch eyes flit back and forth subtly, as if he’s doing it unintentionally. Nothing in him wants anything more than he wants to do this. He doesn’t know why he’s so excited, but he is. His nerves are practically on fire with anticipation, hot white streaks going through him at the speed of light.

He wants this.

He wants Yoongi.

The grin has Jungkook pausing, not breathing. Oh god, it’s so cute. He can almost see the incipient stages of acceptance painting Yoongi’s features, the small smile, the glint in his eyes, it’s exciting to say the least. Jungkook does suck in a breath, trying to remain quiet so Yoongi won’t know how much that tiny, really fucking adorable, smile affected him.

Another diminutive whine leaves Jungkook’s mouth when he realizes what Yoongi is doing. He’s messing up his hair that he worked so hard on. Teeth mar the older’s bottom lip, tugging on it harshly before running his tongue over it. Not angrily, per se, but he’s frustrated. Does Yoongi like his hair more fussed, tousled? Less neat? Jungkook makes a note to ask him that after this is all over, laying against him under blankets - provided he doesn’t sleep outside the bathroom again. Yoongi is clinging to him for life and it gives him a sense of pride, knowing he’s the one fueling the blazing fire inside of the other male. The chair hitting the floor doesn’t faze him, and he just keeps pushing.

At the snap of the chair he almost looks back — but it’s much less important than the laugh — small, cute, almost feminine — that leaves the other’s mouth. God, it just makes the urge to kiss him stronger. So, when he does press lips to lips again, the groan that leaves Yoongi’s throat is rewarding. It falls off the other’s tongue, right into Jungkook’s mouth, and the corners of his lips curve up into a smirk. Not a cocky smirk, but it’s still a smile of satisfaction. After trailing up a thigh, his fingers curve around a bony hip. It’s his turn to gasp when a leg hitches itself up over his hip, and he grips harder to the bone beneath his palm.

The light, right. Jungkook is more than okay with the light being off, much to his chagrin at not being able to see Yoongi without clothes, fully bared pale skin. He lifts his head up, panting heavily against slightly parted tiers as his eyes find chocolate ones glinting with excitement. “O-Okay.” he stutters out, gulping down a ragged breath before placing another, more delicate kiss to already semi-puffy lips.

Unfortunately, up off of the bed he gets, going across the room to the light switch and flicking it off. It’s not too dark, still very visible, but Jungkook isn’t paying too much attention to his surroundings. He’s not too familiar with the location of the knocked-down chair, so on his way back he kicks it. His teeth sink into his bottom lip so he doesn’t yelp, and then he’s on the bed again, hovering over Yoongi. He replaces his hand on a hip, squeezing gently, reassuringly, before trailing his fingers up a shirt again. His forehead rests against Yoongi’s, but he hasn’t kissed him again yet. He likes the feeling of Yoongi’s breath hitting his face.

He wants to draw it out, even if for only a little bit.

[imagesells-archive-blog]

For a moment, he stares at the corner of the room. Closes his eyes, and stars are blooming behind the lids, with the fuzz of static in between, and Yoongi feels like he can’t breath. Of course, it’s all in his head. He’s breathing, but he feels like he just ran the mile; over and over, until his lungs are screaming in protest and he's hacking on his spit. It’s hot. It’s so fucking hot. There’s a strain in his spine—arched like an ice-cream spoon, with his hands fumbling in Jungkook’s hair. He can feel Jungkook smiling against his mouth, and Yoongi wonders if the other even knows about the grin-smirk-thing. Yoongi, on the other hand, isn’t grinning; his pearly-whites (except they’re stained with cigarette smoke) (so not florescent white as he’d prefer) are bared, top lip thinned and pulled up as if he’s snarling. He runs his tongue over the layer, before swiping it along Jungkook’s lips. Gross and messy and hot as fuck; with no sort of patience at all. Which, is exactly how he intended for this to be—Yoongi doesn’t want to think. He just wants to feel. All the thinking can be done later. Right now, he’s just going to lap at Jungkook’s mouth and tear at skin. And, god, if he doesn’t feel embarrassed at how lewdly eager he already is. 

His head lulls to the side, making it uncomfortable for air to transit through his esophagus. The hands in Jungkook’s hair slide down, making sure to explore the territory of Jungkook’s shoulders before simply balling his fingers in the fabric of the boy's shirt. A nice, fancy little button-down that outlines his torso—and Yoongi is wrinkling the material with how hard he’s clinging. Sucks his inhale in as a sharp pant, and his head is turned so far to the side that the released carbon dioxide hits his blanket and makes his cheek muggy. Russet eyes covered with pink-pale lids, fluttering like a dream underneath them, and Yoongi’s leg becomes crooked, the back of his calf resting on the backside of Jungkook’s thighs.  Rolls his head to meet the other’s lips again, only to give a keening whine against them. Shivering, and fuck—lifting his hips, zealously pressing against Jungkook’s palm.

Yoongi has to push Jungkook away—if the younger doesn’t turn the lights off now, they’ll procrastinate it forever. And he can’t have it that way; the yellows will just make the moment much more intimate than required.

And it’s suddenly so cold, without the other’s body to warm him. Yoongi could shrivel in on himself, dry like a raisin. He hates raisins. The room is plunged into black—it takes a few seconds for his irises to adjust—but then it’s not as dark as he’d have hoped. There’s unscented lotion and a—- condom ready in wait on his end table. His lungs feel hollow, he flinches slightly at the thump, and then Jungkook is on top of him again; leaving no room for disgust, or early-regret.

Air is chocked inside his throat, let out in a whoosh as he feels calloused finger pads on his skin. Tickling his side, barely there. His tongue is still sticky from wine. He lets his own fingers curls around Jungkook’s wrist; seems somewhere along the line, all the alcohol and caffeine has done it’s job, and then he’s sitting up, just enough. Uses his grip to help Jungkook’s hand up a path, pushing his sweater up all the while. Up, higher, until the fingers are hard and warm against his ribs; and then, he’s pulling the thing off entirely, mussing his hair, and throwing it lazily to the ground.

He bites on the younger’s bottom lip, tugging a bit, and it’s almost challenging. 

[imagesells-archive-blog]

I want the K

5. Earlobe Kiss (this is not proofread at all, i gotta GO TO STINKY MATH THINGS)

{ heat is smoldering, like a sauna, and yoongi thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’d see steam rising if he opens his eyes. his lips are wet, glistening with saliva, and usually he’d find that disgusting, but right now, he doesn’t give a flying fuck. jungkook laps at his bottom lip again, teeth grazing the plump tier; yoongi groans, eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed. it’s weak, his limbs are leaf-shaky, and yoongi is starting to feel lightheaded due to a lack of much-needed oxygen. he breaks the kiss (u g h, there’s a string of spit), lulling his head forward to rest it on jungkook’s bony shoulder. uses his sleeve to wipe his mouth clean before bringing that hand down to massage the slowly budding ache in his thigh—maybe he should get off of jungkook and find a more comfortable position, but he’s so intimately close, and (secret but not so secret) he likes it. and jungkook has started to get handsy—they rest on his lower back, dangerously close to his ass. yoongi likes that too, but he’ll be damned before admitting to it. jungkook squeezes, constricting his fingers, and yoongi gasps; and decides that he really doesn’t want this moment to cool down. spine quivers, and yoongi drags his bottom lip along the side of jungkook’s neck—teeth bared, hissing out an exhale, and completely animalistic. uses those lips to cradle jungkook’s earlobe, uses his mouth to just fucking adore jungkook’s temple. yoongi sucks with just about as much grace as he kisses. (what can he say? he has an utterly filthy mouth.) drags his tongue along the skin, suckling, and smirking just a tad when a soft, breathy moan slips from jungkook’s throat. his teeth scrape, barely, and yoongi feels controlled and in-charge for once. }

—— “do you like that?”

[jung-koook]