monster. @taephoon-s - Tumblr Blog

independent, private writing blog for oh taejoon / tj from the wet sand 웻샌드 manhwa. follows canon with some divergences as the story is ongoing & i'll be incorporating headcanons as i go. see trigger warnings before following. affiliated with @paedeul.

#pinned.

i forgot to say i moved tj over on my multi @mindfade

#oops #still keeping this blog tho but :) he there now

kind of want to move tj back to his own blog

#to the 5 followers i have here #but what with recent. developments in the manwha #he calls to me

❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜

an assortment of dialogue prompts, @paedeul.

There's the gentle brush of two fingers over his chest, tracing the skull and crossed blades in a rhythm light enough to put him to sleep. He couldn't possibly sleep right now, however, not with the wakeful body sprawled over the top of him, head pillowed against his racing heart.

“ Yeah? ” he pants, sweat slicking his skin and dampening his hair against his forehead. Taejoon's hand drifts down Youngwoo's spine, fingertips gliding up and down and up again. He's spent, he should get them cleaned up and fed, but he can't will himself to move and disturb the moment. They've always done this, or variations of it. Youngwoo would rest, propped against his chest to listen to his restless heart, and Taejoon would hold him close, ever reluctant to let him go.

“ Two rounds'll do that to a guy, ” he breathes out slowly this time, amused, but nonetheless comforted underneath the weight of Youngwoo's naked body. As his fingers drift, he touches over every bump and ridge of his spine, over the firm muscle and supple skin. He's traced these places a thousand times before, but each time, he finds himself desperate to revisit them. Taejoon lifts his head to kiss the top of Youngwoo's, his free hand lifting to rest underneath his head.

“ Just let me rest my eyes a minute. We can go again, ” and again and again. Out here, with the faint sound of rolling waves against the shore, the soft, warm summer's breeze fluttering the curtains and drifting in through the open window... Yeah. They had all the time in the world.

#paedeul #threads— shin youngwoo.#suggestive /#kind of :')

9-93

soft touches

#hey i still don’t have tags…#😶 this is fine

paedeul

This went against everything Youngwoo had told himself he wanted—a life far from here, away from K35, away from the violence and the ghosts that haunted him. He dreamed of escaping, of leaving it all behind, yet here he was, kissing Taejoon back without hesitation. One hand rested on the back of his neck, the other draped loosely over his shoulder, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. If he left, truly left, he wouldn’t just be walking away from this life—he’d be walking away from the one person who had ever mattered. The one who had sacrificed for him, fought for him, who knew him better than anyone. Could he even survive without him?

Maybe that was why he’d never made real plans to go. Maybe deep down, he never wanted to leave at all. Or perhaps . . . he didn’t want to live that life alone. Maybe he just wanted Taejoon there with him.

You’re mine. The words sent a sharp gasp against Taejoon’s lips, but it wasn’t just the way they were spoken—it was what they meant. More than a claim, more than just two simple words. To Youngwoo, it was a confession. A truth spoken aloud. Maybe he was just caught up in the moment, but Youngwoo felt like his heart might tear from his chest if he didn’t say something back. “ I’m yours. ”

Another kiss. His nails scraped down the back of Taejoon’s head, gripping tight, grounding himself in the sensation of him. “ Yours, ” he breathed again, as if saying it enough times might make it permanent.

Desperation took hold of them both. Fingers fumbled with buttons, grasped at fabric, pulling, tugging—Youngwoo would’ve dragged him straight into the bathtub if he had to. His ankle ached from the movement, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered except this, except Taejoon’s hands on him beneath the water, setting his skin alight, making his breath stutter. Then—the phone rang.

He ignored it, barely even registering the sound over the rush of blood in his ears. “ Taejoon, please, I— ” Another touch, another sharp inhale, another moment stolen between them. And then— The phone rang again.

It was almost devastating to watch Taejoon pull away, to feel the absence of his warmth as he walked across the room. But when Taejoon bent down and picked up Youngwoo’s own phone from where it had been discarded on the ground, his heart dropped. How long could he keep avoiding this? Of course, it was Jo.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut, and with it came the weight of everything he’d failed to mention to Taejoon. The murder. The chase. Jo witnessing it all. He’d shoved it to the back of his mind, ignored the calls and texts, but it was inevitable now.

Friend.

The word almost made him scoff. How fucking heartbreaking it would be for Jo to know that’s all he’d ever be. But Youngwoo saw the look in Taejoon’s eyes and held his gaze, unwavering. He’d meant what he said moments ago. Jo was just . . . temporary. Someone to pass the time with. Sure, he cared about him and wanted him safe, but anything beyond that? No. Moving with him when he left for school? The idea had already begun to bore him after only a few weeks together. It was obvious where his heart belonged. And sooner or later, he’d have to break Jo’s. If he hadn’t already.

“ Just answer it. I don’t care. ” Youngwoo looked away for a moment, exhaling sharply, as if bracing himself. He needed to rip the bandaid off. “ You should know that he witnessed it though. ”

The words left his mouth, and suddenly his heart was racing again. The thought of prison loomed like a shadow at the back of his mind. That wasn’t an option—not again. He’d need protection. And that meant more debt. More chains binding him to this life. “ but I don’t want to talk to him right now, ” he muttered, jaw tight. Because facing Jo meant facing everything. And he wasn’t ready for that.

taephoon-s

Youngwoo's unwavering stare and lack of rush to answer should be of some comfort to him. Yet, as the phone continues to ring out and the name continues to flash on his screen, Taejoon feels... anger. It had been unfathomable to him before, why the man pissed him off so much. That fateful night, when everything went to shit, he had been there to comfort Youngwoo in his stead. Always there, somehow involved. A nobody, with a pretty face and a good home, sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

He should have known they were something more.

You should know that he witnessed it though.

Taejoon frowns. It can only mean one thing, a conclusion he had come to the moment Youngwoo collapsed through his door with blood on his shoes and panic in his eyes. He answers the call on it's last ring, the phone held to his ear.

“ Joseph Landi, we meet again, ” his sights remain set on Youngwoo as he speaks, the expected pause on the other end offering little amusement for him. Who is this? Where's Ian? Ian. “ You don't remember me? I suppose it was a while back now. Ian is safe with me. No need to fret. I have things under control. All you need to do is go home. Speak to no one else. ”

It's not at all surprising when he's questioned further. He can hear the tremble in Jo's voice as he speaks, the short breaths in between indicate that he's walking briskly. Taejoon steps closer to the bathtub, holding the very man Jo was in search of. He looks down at Youngwoo, then, his hand reaching out to brush over his hair. It's a possessive itch, and he knows it, one not entirely satiated. I'm yours, uttered like a promise to match his own. Jealousy has no place here.

“ Your concern is admirable, but he's sleeping. He was quite shaken when he arrived, ” and his thumb brushes down Youngwoo's temple, sweeping away a drop of water. He has a few calls to make, it would seem. “ Go home. I don't like to repeat myself. You'll hear from me soon, ” And Ian- Taejoon ends the call and pockets Youngwoo's phone. His silence thereafter doesn't linger any longer than necessary, but enough to afford him a moment's thought.

Taejoon sighs, “ he doesn't strike me as the type to keep his mouth shut. Were there any other witnesses? ”

#paedeul #threads— shin youngwoo.#tj's list of hateful reasons is growing

paedeul

To be looked at by Taejoon was to be seen—truly seen. Even in his current state, with his body thrumming from everything going on, Youngwoo couldn’t help the heat that crept up his cheeks under that gaze. There was something in Taejoon’s eyes, something raw, something achingly familiar. Pure adoration, a reflection of his own emotions staring right back at him. And god, he could hardly look away.

Love and desire coursed through his veins, setting every nerve alight with the need for more. The space between them wasn’t nearly close enough—never close enough. He wanted Taejoon out of these clothes, wanted to feel his skin against his own, the warmth of him pressed against every inch of his body. Leaning in, his lips brushed against Taejoon’s as his nails ghosted over the firm muscles beneath his fingertips, savoring the way they tensed under his touch.

“ Yeah, all night, ” he murmured, breathless, before stealing another kiss, deeper this time, hungrier. His fingers fumbled at the buttons of Taejoon’s shirt, impatient and desperate to see more. He never tired of this sight—of him. And he never would. “ This should come off, ” he finally said, voice lower than before.

But before he could even finish with it, Taejoon’s words hit him like a spark to dry kindling. A sound escaped his throat—something needy, something utterly unguarded. His mouth fell open, eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment as the heat surged through him.

“ Ah, yeah, that’s . . . exactly what I was thinking. ”

Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t made it home earlier with the way his thoughts had raced all night. Every touch, every glance, every teasing word had pushed him further and further to the edge, and now, sitting here like this, he could feel the strain in his jeans—tight and unbearable. Fuck. Taejoon knew exactly how to unravel him, and god, it was working.

His blush deepened, creeping up to the tips of his ears as he abandoned the buttons on Taejoon’s shirt. Instead, he reached for his own, tugging it over his head in one swift motion. Too hot. Far too hot to keep anything on.

Hips rolled again, seeking friction, seeking more—desperate in a way he couldn’t bring himself to care about. “ You’re awful, you know that? ” The words came breathless, laced with something far from irritation, chased by the warmth of a kiss. His tongue flicked along Taejoon’s bottom lip, teasing, coaxing, savoring. To think he was already a complete mess and neither of them were out of their pants yet.

taephoon-s

It's a battle to keep his eyes open whenever they find themselves here; the overwhelming desire to close his eyes and revel in the feeling of it, and the desperation to keep them open and witness every expression, every minute detail, that crosses Youngwoo's face in the midst of pleasure. And, fuck, he thinks he could get off simply by hearing those needy whimpers and pleas, the way his mouth falls open and his eyes squeeze shut. Taejoon stares, lips parting, cheeks beginning to flush with the heat and the want to rediscover every part of Youngwoo that sets him alight. He wants him to finish unbuttoning his shirt because it's hot and he wants to feel his hands on him, but he wants him stripped and laid bare for him even more so.

“ Shit, yeah. I know. I'm an evil bastard, ” Taejoon's tongue runs over his teeth as he watches Youngwoo remove his own shirt instead. As it falls away, his eyes track his blush that runs deep, trailing down his neck and kissing the top of his chest like a summer's sunset. “ But you love it, ” the hard line in his pants twitches at the flustered sight of him, full and aching for the man in his lap. With some reluctance, he removes a hand from Youngwoo's pants to grab his face, fingertips curl slightly into his cheeks, palm cupping his jaw and turning his head away to break their kiss.

Taejoon hums, his mouth ghosting over Youngwoo's chest, the tip of his tongue encircling a nipple. “ We even make it to the bed in this little fantasy of yours, or did I fuck you on this couch? ” He chuckles lowly, licking over the pink, hardened nub and sealing his lips over it. Any sound, any breath, that graces his ears is like a lyric, and with each ministration he could compose something new. Every time. He could never tire of this.

What he could tire of was jeans.

They will have to revise his wardrobe choices later. Denim was always a restrictive bitch, and the hand stuffed down the back of Youngwoo's pants is afforded little wiggle room. He slides it out and around, releasing Youngwoo's face to both unbutton and unzip. “ Why'd you wear these? ” he sighs, a hot breath puffed against the flushed chest in his face. It's not so much a question he needs answered, as a frustration at their impediment.

Taejoon's fingers cease their futile attempt at removing his pants. Instead, he wraps an arm around Youngwoo's waist and hoists him up briefly, the opposing hand shoving them down until they reach his knees. As he settles back down, he watches, a semi-satisfied curl to his lips.

“ Tell me what you want. ”

#paedeul #threads— shin youngwoo.#i wanna say......#nsfw /#it's light atm but just to be safe fkjdfg

❛ you look like you've got something to say. ❜

an assortment of dialogue prompts, @paedeul.

This little meetup of theirs was analogous to a sneaky link dropping by at three am; Spur of the moment, hidden away from prying eyes in the early hours of the morning. Although, the only pleasure he would be receiving from agreeing to the arrangement is the look of disdain, or thereabouts, on Youngwoo's face upon witnessing his arrival. There's a spark of something, something unspoken, something raw and forbidden, as their eyes meet. Years of history withheld, stomped on by the boots of K35 and then some. A shame that resentment had festered between them instead.

A lazy grin briefly touches his lips, and Taejoon unbuttons his suit-jacket as he finds his seat. Of course it was amusing, countless attempts at working together and they were no closer to an amicable resolution than the last they spoke. Only this time, it had cost a civilian's life. Some hophead ne'er-do-well caught in the crossfire, in the media they had a prosperous life ahead of them.

“ Do I now? ” Taejoon sits directly across from him, his rival. Youngwoo, dressed in all black, sharp and clean-cut. Were he none the wiser, he might have guessed him a model. “ I can play nice. Isn't that why we're here? ” To play nice, enforce some sort of treaty to avoid garnering more attention. The wrong kind, at least. K35 would continue it's downward spiral if they elected to bury this and carry on like before.

His forefinger flicks open the case file in front of him- documents, photos, witness testimonies. Taejoon flips through, catching a few key words before resigning himself to the fact that they were in hot water. The Big Boss would be raking them over the coals come morning if they didn't act fast. “ You're more quiet than usual, ” he observes, settling the file down and propping his fingers under his chin in faux thought.

“ You don't have anything to say? ” his playful mocking lingers between them and then, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, the room empties until it's just the two of them. “ Word is your guy pulled the trigger, and my boys know better than to lie to me. ”

#paedeul #inbox— answered.#rival au rival au rival au riv-

paedeul

How selfish did he have to be? Did he really have to swoop in and tear everything apart? Before now, he had no idea what Taejoon had been caught up in—no clue about the mess with K35. Youngwoo had told him he’d help, that he wouldn’t let him do this alone, and yet . . . Taejoon had made that decision without him. Shut him out. Left him in the dark. But this—this felt right. It felt natural. How was he supposed to guard his heart when Taejoon’s presence made it seem like the stars had aligned, like everything would somehow be okay? It was dangerous, reckless, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.

So goddamn selfish.

He knew exactly what he meant to Taejoon. He knew exactly what would happen when he kissed him—and yet, he did it anyway. And it was intoxicating. The way Taejoon responded with just as much hunger, just as much need, sent fire racing beneath his skin. He was exposed, completely laid bare, and Taejoon could take everything from him. But that was the point, wasn’t it? He wanted this. Wanted to feel Taejoon’s hands on him, his touch branding every inch of his body in a way no one else ever could.

It was dangerous. Reckless. And yet . . . did any of that really matter? If fate had brought them back together, wasn’t this a sign? The circumstances of his return weren’t ideal—far from it—but none of that changed the fact that he was here. That Taejoon had let him back in.

Fingers tangled in Taejoon’s hair, but the usual urge to pull was met with resistance—the new cut. He almost laughed at the realization, but the thought slipped away as quickly as it had come. Instead, when their lips parted, he leaned in again, trailing soft, lingering kisses along Taejoon’s neck. His teeth grazed the skin, biting down just enough to feel the way his name spilled from Taejoon’s lips. The way he said it—it was music, something raw and unfiltered, something meant only for him.

“ Taejoon . . . ” Their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, chests rising and falling in sync, faster now. Was this it?

Cause I’m done letting you go, Taejoon had said. The words echoed in his mind like a lifeline, like a tightrope in the wind—dangerous, fragile. One wrong move, one wrong word, and he was plummeting. But when he pulled back just enough to meet Taejoon’s gaze, he knew. He wouldn’t say no this time.

He couldn’t push him away, couldn’t sabotage the one person who had always understood him. Not again. After the funeral, after everything, he’d thought they’d lost their chance. That there was no time left. But now? Now, they had this. “ I’m sure. ” The words left him soft, quiet—nearly swallowed by the weight of their breathing. His fingers curled tighter around Taejoon as he whispered, “ Don’t let me go. ”

taephoon-s

Taejoon's heavy-lidded stare meets Youngwoo's, and for a split-second, he doubts. He would be reeling him back into the life he wanted to escape from. He would be returning to hell, severing his chance at a new reality; An environment they never had the luxury of flourishing within. However, hearing his name on Youngwoo's tongue makes his sacrifices a distant thought, a speck so insignificant its as if they never happened in the first place. His nose pushes against his cheek, until his lips find Youngwoo's in a searing kiss that signifies everything he could never put into words. I'm sure. He would tear the world apart if Youngwoo wished it. Don't let me go. Never.

“ You're mine, ” it could be a promise, couldn't it? Youngwoo knew his selfishness, that he would never relinquish what's his. “ Say it. ”

The bath water seeps through the front of his dress shirt, the touch of their lips, tongue, the way he tries to loosen the knot of his tie in a bid to undress, it's all desperate, rushed. His greed needs to be fed. Deft fingers forgo removing the tie altogether in favor of unbuttoning his shirt. One, two, three buttons, until—

There's a distant humming sound that only seems to grow louder the longer it goes ignored, cutting through the aroused fog gathering in his brain. Taejoon breaks their kiss to look at the empty doorway, an irritated huff. “ Ignore it— ” It could go to voicemail. The noise disappears as he returns his sights to Youngwoo under him, mouthing at his jawline, his hand underwater sliding down his front to wrap around him.

Then, the ringing starts up again, and Taejoon hisses under his breath. “ For fucks' sake, ” punctuated with him swiftly manoeuvring himself from Youngwoo and the bathtub, a dripping wet mess as he leaves the room to retrieve his phone. Only... it's not his phone. Confused, Taejoon eventually finds a phone face down on the rug in his living room. Youngwoo must have dropped it when he rushed in. The name that shows up as he turns the device to view the screen has his stare hardening, jaw tight.

Jo.

It could only be that punk kid who he had met all those months ago. He watches his name continue to flash across Youngwoo's phone until it goes to voicemail. He could turn the device off and return to Youngwoo, naked in the bath. Continue where they left off. He could toss it in the bin, out the window, pretend he lost it on the journey here. It's maddening, the spiral that runs him down in those few seconds. However, as Jo's name proceeds to light up Youngwoo's phone a third time, Taejoon's mind is made up.

He returns to the bathroom, holding Youngwoo's phone up with Jo's call still waiting to be answered. “ Your friend's been calling you, ” he watches Youngwoo, curious to know his response. 'Friend?' Or on the road to something more. The thought made Taejoon feel ill. His thumb hovers over the screen's slider.

“ He must be worried sick. Shall I do the honours? ”

#paedeul #threads— shin youngwoo.#suggestive /#LIKE ZOINKS

super-nova5045

and just when you think you’re at your absolute lowest a blonde motherfucker comes along and makes everything so much worse

1rstdegrees-deactivated20250329

@taephoon

#LISTEN HERE……. yeah #😭😂

❛ i'm here for business — not pleasure. ❜

an assortment of dialogue prompts, @1rstdegrees.

The terrace above the dessert bar is a quiet spot, shaded, green, just out of the direct public eye while avoiding straying into suspicion. The request for their convening was an unexpected surprise, curious, after so many years to receive word. The drop of bad blood between them could, perhaps, be cleaned up if this business venture served both their interests. Xinyi had always been a tough nut to crack, however, so Taejoon was essentially blind here.

“ You're as serious as ever, ” he snaps the dessert menu shut, a slight disapproving moue on his lips as he sets it down on the table and gestures to the empty seat across from him. His men remain stationed just out of ear-shot if things remained civil, a safety precaution. “ You think I'm trying to butter you up? I'm the ignorant party here. ”

Taejoon's leg raises, ankle resting atop his thigh. His fingers interlock, resting over his stomach as he leans back in his chair. As his eyes slide over Xinyi, he wonders what level of desperation he had to reach to seek him out. If he had the time, he could spend all day theorising; wearing a pleasant enough smile to distract from his compiled, never-ending-stress-list of shit to filter through in the background.

“ So, you didn't come here because you missed me. I can only assume you have a proposition for me, then? ”

#1rstdegrees #inbox— answered.#>:)

paedeul

Nineteen years had felt like both a lifetime and the blink of an eye. Youngwoo still remembered the first time their eyes met, and even now, he didn’t regret walking over, didn’t regret speaking to him. He didn’t regret any of it. They had always been close—inseparable, really—and no matter how much he wanted to run, to leave it all behind, the thought of a world without Taejoon was unimaginable. Leaving the country? No. No, he couldn’t do that. He had to be here. Had to be just a flight away.

But even after forging the fake ID, the battle waged inside his mind. He stayed quiet, arms crossing over his chest to hide the tremor in his hands as he listened to Taejoon speak. Don’t you know me at all?

The words pulled him back, years slipping through his fingers like sand. Of course, he knew him. Better than anyone. And Taejoon knew him just the same. They had seen each other at their worst, stripped down to their rawest, most vulnerable selves. And yet, Youngwoo still blamed himself.

It was almost laughable—how easy it was to take the weight of everything on his own shoulders. Getting involved with David. The drugs. The downward spiral he’d barely clawed his way out of. There was no point in dwelling on it now, but still, the memories clung to him like smoke. Taejoon had picked him up, time and time again, cleaning up a mess that was never his to begin with. And then, there was his ankle—the one thing he’d never forget. The one thing he had forgiven without hesitation. Because how could he not? Even then, even after everything, the thought of losing Taejoon was unthinkable.

“ I can’t… ” Can’t what? Can’t do this? Can’t stand the pain he believed he’d put Taejoon through? No. If he truly wanted to walk away, he would have done it already. And yet, here they were—Taejoon standing before him, heart laid bare, offering something Youngwoo wasn’t sure he deserved. “ We’re just going to eat away at each other again, right? Will this . . . will it even work? ”

His voice wavered, caught between fear and longing. He was running in circles, trying to avoid this, trying to push down the truth clawing at his chest. But he wanted to tell him—God, he wanted to tell him. Every unspoken feeling, every moment he’d kept locked away, every time he had looked at Taejoon and felt something too big to name. Could he even allow himself that? Could he take something for himself in this life that had given them nothing but pain?

Do I have to say the words out loud for you to believe them?

Taejoon’s words cut through the noise in his head, the distance between them shrinking as he stepped forward. And finally, finally, Youngwoo looked up—really looked at him. Maybe this was what he needed. Maybe he just needed to hear it. Needed something to break through his thick fucking skull, to shake loose the doubts that clung to him like a second skin.

“ Say it. ” A whisper. A plea. say it, and maybe, just maybe, he could let himself believe that he was worthy of love.

taephoon-s

It was his fault, wasn't it? Their downfall. His own addiction, his obsession, to selfishly keep Youngwoo all the while, expecting that he would stay by way of his unrelenting guilty conscience. A neverending debt to be owed. It was fucked up, and Taejoon knew that... in the beginning. Somewhere along the line his desire for power and wealth had muddied that which he already had. He had been clinging to their foundation for years, only to watch it all crumble away by his own hands.

They could never be public. Secret trysts were all they were afforded back then. Hell, even now. Yet, people knew. They had to have known. It was easier for him to mask it on the outside, living under the illusion that it would calm the storm within; bury those feelings deep down and focus on the task at hand. The end goal. Power. Money. Honour. And then...

We're just going to eat away at each other again.

That persistent sickness climbs up his throat, a bile on the back of his tongue like a demon in wait. It's only then that he recognises it to be what he's spent nearly two decades burying. Guilt. Shame. Longing.

When Youngwoo whispers a familiar plea, Taejoon is startled into silence. His burgeoning confidence seconds ago slips in an instant, and he suddenly remembers this moment ten years ago. Drunk, in some dingy club bathroom. Say it. That same demon holding his tongue, the words choked back out of fear.

Coward.

He couldn't have known how fantastically he had failed in those few significant seconds. He knows better now. He has to.

“ I've— ... Shit, ” he breathes out slowly, his heart ready to burst out of his chest. He could confess everything right now, but then what? Would Youngwoo even want him anymore? He doesn't know how to love in the traditional sense, but nothing about them was traditional.

“ I didn't grow up learning how to do this shit any more than you did, ” he starts, unintentionally irritated. Flustered. He wasn't going to deceive him with flowery words and promises, that's never been their language. But they have been long-since beyond passionate affairs and yearning glances. “ I've... I've loved you. Like a best friend, family... more than that, ” he rubs his thumb between his brows, taking the moment to break eye contact and look at the floor. It is more than that. “ I thought I could ignore it... forget about it, but I can't. Got a lot of regrets, but my biggest regret is not telling you sooner that... ”

Taejoon sucks in a sharp breath, forcing his gaze to return to Youngwoo, “ ...that I'm in love with you. I have been since we were kids. I never said anything because I guess I'm a fucking coward. I was afraid of what it all meant... Scared that that'd be the end of us. So, I fucked us up in other ways. I tied you to me because I couldn't let you go. ” He's absolutely terrified. How can he not be? The possibility of rejection lingered at the forefront of his mind as it has done since they stepped beyond friendship all those years ago. If this is to be their end, he'll lock up his heart until his death, and he'll know Jason was right. Dead bastard.

#paedeul #threads— shin youngwoo.#THIS IS FINE

paedeul

“ You didn’t hear me? ” Even through the haze of alcohol, he didn’t believe that for a second. Not one bit. He knew Oh Taejoon too well by now but even then he’d give in, give him whatever he wanted. A quiet chuckle left him as he leaned in, lips tracing the ink on Taejoon’s neck. His tongue flicked out, dragging along the warm skin, tasting him. He hummed, momentarily distracted, savoring the moment, the heat between them. Then, his hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, and he couldn’t suppress the grin that curled at his lips as he leaned back slightly.

Ah. He was supposed to be saying something, wasn’t he? “ I love you. ” A whisper against his ear, followed by a lingering kiss just beneath it. “ Today, tomorrow . . . ” Another kiss, this time along the sharp edge of his jaw. “ I love you. ”

A pause, a breath—then his lips met Taejoon’s, sealing the words with something deeper. “ I love you. ” The words left him breathless, his heart beating just a little too fast, the alcohol making it all the more intoxicating. He leaned back just enough, looping an arm around Taejoon’s neck, anchoring himself against him, unwilling to let any distance creep between them. His lips curled into a lazy smile.

“ Did you hear me that time? ” The room tilted, just slightly, and he blinked a few times, trying to steady himself. He felt both exhausted and wide awake all at once, his body sluggish from the alcohol, yet every nerve was alight with awareness. But it wasn’t just the liquor.

It was the weight of Taejoon’s hands on him, grounding him, the warmth of his skin seeping into his own. It was the familiar scent of his cologne, the one he’d always loved, the one that clung to him long after they’d parted. It was intoxicating in a way no drink could ever be. And he needed more. Craved it. Craved Taejoon—his touch, his presence, his everything. Maybe the alcohol had lowered his inhibitions, but even sober, he wanted this. Wanted him. In a way he had never wanted anyone else.

Sometimes, he thought it had always been him. No—he knew it. That realization settled deep in his chest, something warm, something undeniable. Finally, he pulled himself from the haze of his own thoughts, a slow smile spreading across his lips once more. “ I’m sorry for making you wait so long . . . ”

His hand drifted downward, fingertips brushing against the hem of Taejoon’s shirt before slipping beneath it. Warm skin met his touch, and his gaze lifted, locking onto Taejoon’s as his fingers traced over firm muscle, slow and deliberate. “ Thought about you all night. ”

taephoon-s

Taejoon leans further back against the couch cushions, his hands immediately returning to Youngwoo's hips as they roll against him as if he's trying to stop him. Rather, encourage him. Yeah. The friction is tantalising, torturous, a slow drag against his lap that then zips up his spine like an electric shock. Coupled with the warm, wet mouth on his throat, there's no stopping the low moan hitching in the back of his throat. “ Fuck— ”

Youngwoo has always known how to get his heart racing, his blood pumping, whether he was aware of it in the moment or not. Granted, all he had to do was look at Taejoon, but when it came to Youngwoo, he's never had much sense of self-control.

Every whispered confession into his skin, I love you, is a spark to set him aflame, each kiss a confirmation, sealed by the lips now as rosy as the rest of him. When they part, breathless, Taejoon stares up at Youngwoo; committing the sight to memory. The adoration that glimmers in his hazel depths is one that has been there from the beginning; Evolved with time, nourished with every second spent together and every heartache when they were apart.

“ Yeah, ” it's a whisper of his own, one that barely makes it past his lips as Youngwoo clings to him. It was akin to tunnel-vision, how everything else in the world slowly disappears, like he's in a trance. There's only Youngwoo. Youngwoo on his lap. Youngwoo smiling down at him. Youngwoo.

Taejoon's lips part and the hand on his abdomen has his hips moving, unable to keep still. Restless. This really is torture.

“ All night? ” he smirks, his fingers hooking under the waistband of Youngwoo's pants. “ You think about my mouth on you? My fingers inside you? ” as he speaks, his fingers tease further under his pants to dig in and squeeze, his grip pulling Youngwoo's hips flush with his in a roll, chasing the friction from before. “ With your coworkers right next to you? Pervert, ” Taejoon chuckles under his breath, teeth bared in a satisfied grin. His head tilts as he leans in to taste him, tongue against his chin, running up until he can bite at his bottom lip. “ That's hot. ”

#paedeul #threads— shin youngwoo.#suggestive /#the silly crazy has kicked in

❛ you treat all your ladies like this? ❜

an assortment of dialogue prompts, @liarstill.

“ What, you don't like Italian? ” It's the ambiguous tone— he can't discern if he's teasing or bothered. He also wasn't acquainted with Morgan's palate as of yet, beyond instant noodles, so call it a work in progress. A few run-ins at the club and "sleepovers" at his place was tantamount to familiar strangers greeting each other whilst passing by in the street. Aside from his wealthy pedigree, Morgan remained a question mark to be looked into later if he so fancied.

Taejoon leans forward and slides a menu across to Morgan. The private table is away from majority of the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, but even still, as the waitstaff enter with wine and appetisers noise filters through. “ Thought girls like you liked to be wined and dined first. I can send you straight up to my room instead, if that's what you'd prefer? ” a grin touches the edges of his lips. The bottle of red he had signalled for earlier is nestled in an ice bucket by their table, and he pours them each a glass.

“ I'm hungry. So, be grateful. ”

#liarstill #inbox— answered.#it's called wine dine (& 69) morgan

valtsv

stabbing as a metaphor for penetration is great but when are we going to talk about pressing down on where someone is wounded to disarm them or just to be cruel while fighting. does nobody else care about the perverse intimacy of knowing exactly where to touch to overpower someone. the grotesque vulnerability of it. especially if you're the one who wounded them in the first place.

#when i’m home tags are on my agenda #and his timeline #BUT YEAH THIS #good fighter dirty fighter etc etc #tbt /

paedeul

Youngwoo hadn’t planned for the night to drag on this long. It was supposed to be one drink—just a quick toast for the boss’s birthday before heading home. But one beer had turned into a few, and then someone ordered shots, and, well… after that, things got a little hazy. He wasn’t even sure when he last let himself drink this much. It was rare—almost unheard of—for him to lose control like this, but here he was, swaying slightly as he fumbled for his keys.

At least he was off work tomorrow. If he wasn’t, he would’ve shut this down before it even started. A vague memory itched at the back of his mind—something about a call, or maybe a few texts. Had he messaged Taejoon? He thinks he did, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he’d said.

Finally managing to jam the key into the lock, he twisted the knob—only to find the door already unlocked. Ah. That could only mean one thing. Swinging the door open, he was met with exactly what he expected. Taejoon. Sitting on the couch, waiting for him, looking far too composed compared to Youngwoo’s current state.

A slow, lazy grin stretched across his lips, something rare—something toothy—the kind of smile no one else ever got to see. He kicked the door shut behind him, stumbling slightly as he tried to toe off his shoes and shrug out of his jacket without completely losing his balance.

“ Taejoon! Didn’t know you’d be here. ” His voice came out slurred, warmth bleeding into every syllable, as if the alcohol had stripped away every single barrier he usually kept so tightly in place.

“are you drunk ?” @taephoon

His steps were unsteady, a lazy sway in his movements as he crossed the room. Without hesitation, he sank down onto Taejoon’s lap, straddling his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arms draped over broad shoulders, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to feel the familiar strands between his fingertips. A slow grin curled at his lips as he leaned in, pressing his face into the warmth of Taejoon’s neck, breathing him in.

“ I might’ve had a few, ” he murmured, voice thick with intoxication, his breath warm against skin. He smelled good, so damn good—almost as intoxicating as the drinks still burning in his veins. For a moment, he stayed like that, indulging in the warmth, the steady presence he’d been missing the entire night. Then, he pulled back just enough to meet Taejoon’s gaze. “ Missed you, ” he admitted, the words slipping out in a mumble, quiet but real.

His hands slid back, cupping Taejoon’s face with a touch that was both firm and tender. His thumb brushed absently over the scar on his cheek, tracing the familiar ridges as if memorizing them all over again. Then, without hesitation, he closed the space between them, pressing a sloppy, fleeting kiss to Taejoon’s lips—messy, uncoordinated, but full of something raw and unspoken.

His lips lingered just long enough before drifting to Taejoon’s ear, his breath warm, his voice dropping into something quieter, something meant only for him. “ D’ya know that I love you? ”

The words came naturally, slipping out with the same ease they had for the past few weeks—since that night. Saying them aloud felt good, too good, like some kind of relief he hadn’t realized he needed. A soft laugh bubbled up from his chest, the drunkenness unmistakable in his voice, light and almost giddy. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was just the truth spilling out the way it always should have.

taephoon-s

Ping! I miss you. Ping! [ Photo File ] Ping! I need you

As if he needed any further encouragement to swing by his apartment. Letting himself inside and making himself comfortable was easy enough, but waiting for Youngwoo to return home felt like an age when he was already half-hard. So, he spent the time idly flicking through the channels on his television and scrolling on his phone, waiting for a reply. Radio silence. He's of a mind to just get into Youngwoo's bed and go to sleep by the time he hears keys jingling like he was struggling to find the keyhole.

Didn't know...? Taejoon chuckles under his breath before asking the obvious. Youngwoo's flushed cheeks and slurred words are a testament to his inebriation. He must have had quite a lot to drink if he couldn't recall their texts. The dazzling smile and stumbling over his own two feet to reach him on the couch alone would have given him away otherwise. Taejoon slides his phone onto the coffee table, the last message sent by himself over an hour ago telling him to hurry home.

“ Mm, just a few? Nah, ” It took more than a few drinks to render Youngwoo soft and pliable, affectionate even. Taejoon's hands come to rest on the thighs now bracketing his own, a lopsided grin on his face. He wants to pick him up and toss him onto the bed, devour him, but he enjoys this Youngwoo far too much; all pink-cheeked and grinning like he knows something Taejoon doesn't. His fingers ease up to his hips, sliding along the waistband of his pants and tempted to dip further down and under, the breath on his neck and quiet admission against his skin only encouraging a tease. “ Yeah, I know. You really don't remember texting me, huh? You're cute— ”

His words are cut off as Youngwoo kisses him. It's messy and rough, and he can taste the alcohol on his tongue. However, there's an undeniable intensity to it that has Taejoon's skin warm and his pants a little tighter... And then his lips are gone, and Taejoon opens his eyes to a head full of hair and devotion whispered into his ear. I love you. His teeth slide against his bottom lip, and he sighs. Laughs. How many years had it taken them to get here? He would do it all again in a heartbeat.

“ Do I know...? Can't hear you, baby, tell me again, ” He leans in, sliding his tattooed hand up the back of Youngwoo's shirt, feeling the defined muscle there as he kisses just under his jaw. Youngwoo's laughter has him grinning against him. “ Tell me, ” he repeats, a murmur into his skin, breathing in the scent of his cologne. If he could have any one thing, he would settle for hearing Youngwoo say the words again. And again, and again. Every which way he could; In another whisper, a moan, a laugh, a cry. Taejoon runs his tongue against his skin, before biting on the flushed apple of Youngwoo's cheek. “ C'mon. You're killing me. ”

#paedeul #threads— shin youngwoo.#suggestive /#what i don't know #huh #who wrote this #not me

paedeul

Ian pulled out a kitchen chair and sank into it, rolling his ankle a few times with a quiet sigh. Being on his feet for so long had aggravated the old injury, a dull ache settling deep in the joint. His gaze drifted to Taejoon, then to the clothes laid out for him. He shrugged. “ . . . Might’ve worn ‘em once. They’re big on me. ”

The words came with a frown, his fingers idly picking at the fabric. Before, those shirts would’ve fit him just fine, but with the weight he’d lost lately, everything felt too loose, hanging off his frame in a way he wasn’t sure he liked. He didn’t dwell on it long.

Instead, his attention shifted—settling, lingering on Taejoon as he stripped. Even after all this time, after everything, Ian still let himself look. Just for a moment. He traced every muscle, every inked line of Taejoon’s body like it was something only meant for him to see, something that had been his before and—if he let himself be selfish—maybe still was. The clothes Taejoon had brought were laughably small, and under different circumstances, Ian might’ve pointed that out. Might’ve let out a teasing remark, a dry chuckle. But the weight of everything kept him quiet.

So instead, he pushed up from his seat, making his way to the sink to fill a glass with water. His fingers curled around it tightly, grounding himself in the simple action. If not for the rain outside, he would’ve stepped onto the fire escape, lit up a cigarette, let the smoke dull the edge of everything pressing in on him. Instead, he stayed here. With him.

Ian didn’t know what to say. With his back still to Taejoon, he exhaled—a shaky breath that landed somewhere between exhaustion and hesitation. His fingers curled slightly against the edge of the counter, gripping it like it might steady him. What was there to even say? He’d told Taejoon—lied to him—said there was nothing left between them. He’d tried so damn hard to end it, to push him away, to convince himself it was for the best. That if he cut things off now, he wouldn’t have to risk his heart being shattered again.

He’d always been good at protecting himself. But why? They weren’t kids anymore. They weren’t the reckless, impulsive idiots they used to be, and after nearly two decades of knowing each other—of loving each other, in all the ways that counted—how could he keep doing this? Keep shoving Taejoon away, pretending none of it mattered, as if the distance between them hadn’t already eaten him alive?

“ I’m sorry about what I said. I don’t—I don’t . . . ” The words caught in his throat.

It’s been over between us for a while, Taejoon.

He’d said that. He’d watched the hurt settle in Taejoon’s eyes and still let the words slip past his lips like they didn’t mean anything. Like they weren’t a lie so blatant it made him sick. Ian squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled sharply through his nose. Coward. That’s all he was. He had given up, convinced himself it was the right thing to do, when all he’d done was rip out the very thing keeping him tethered. “ I didn’t mean it, Taejoon. ”

Finally, he turned around. And the second his gaze met Taejoon’s, Ian felt the last bit of his control slip. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to do this, to lay himself bare when every instinct told him to keep running. “ I just . . . ” His voice dropped, softer now, almost defeated. “ I’ll only hurt you. ”

He laughed, but it was empty, hollow—devoid of anything close to amusement. “ You’ll be miserable with me. I was trying to—fuck, I don’t know. ” Frustration bled into his words as he dragged a hand through his still-damp hair, breaking eye contact. “ Trying to protect you? Push you away before I ruin everything for good? Like that ever fucking works. ”

This was harder than he thought. Harder than it had any right to be. But Taejoon was still standing there, waiting, not leaving. And for the first time in a long time, Ian wasn’t sure if he wanted to run—or if he just wanted to finally stay.

taephoon-s

Dread returns full force, a nauseating sensation twisting low in his belly, as Youngwoo cuts through the silence. He had seemed so sure of himself in the moment, and Taejoon could still feel the ghost of his thumb dragging over his eye, his cheek as if he had been saying a last goodbye through touch as well; A lingering caress to alleviate the anguish of his words. The end.

Only, they've done this song and dance in so many ways over the years, they never seemed to have an end. Not really. So, why did this feel like life or death?

He meets Youngwoo's gaze and the words that flow are almost unrecognisable. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. You'll be miserable with me. Taejoon's brow furrows. Why did he think he would be the one trying to cling to Youngwoo, begging him not to leave, and not the other way around?

As soon as they break eye contact, Taejoon's gaze drops to the floor. There's some semblance of relief in knowing that he had been right, that Youngwoo hadn't been telling the truth. Or at least, part truth. There were tells over the years, but for the most part, he could never seem to hold his stare when speaking a lie. As if it was too much or too shameful.

“ Nineteen fucking years, ” he starts after a beat, turning his sights to the window once more. “ Nineteen. Long time, isn't it? ” Not really. If he tried hard enough, he could recall the day they met like it was yesterday. His first time in the ring with Youngwoo watching. Their first kiss. “ You think I'm the type of guy that sticks around someone who makes me miserable? Think I'm made of glass? Don't you know me at all? ” Taejoon's gaze slowly returns to Youngwoo, whether he decides to meet it or not.

“ How many times have we fought, picked each other back up, forgave each other when we shouldn't have? ” his fingers curl into his palm, nails biting into his skin. He could feel the sting of his palm after he had slapped Youngwoo, only to then lock him in a room and force him to withdraw; Could envisage his naked, unconscious body hunched over Kim's bathtub so clearly it's as if the scene was playing out in front of him now. He could remember the look in Youngwoo's eyes, the tremble of his own hands, when he sat by his hospital bedside, ready to confess. Ready to lose him forever, for his own selfish actions that were always going to do more harm than good. All in a bid to keep him by his side. What lengths would he go to? He didn't know, not anymore.

They had hurt each other intentionally and unintentionally, and yet still he couldn't fathom living without him, loving anyone else.

Taejoon walks closer until they're an arms' length away from one another and Youngwoo suddenly looks smaller, fragile; a cornered animal choosing to fight this time rather than flee. He should be proud, but all he can think about is what's on the line. What he could lose if he doesn't lay all of his cards out on the table.

“ You already know how I feel. Do I have to say the words out loud for you to believe them? ”

#paedeul #threads— shin youngwoo.#my face the whole time :0

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