1-49 - Tumblr blog

1-49 · 2 months

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third times’s a charm

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.

Neither 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.

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1-49 · 2 months

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송은석 : Tell the cameraman there’s no good side, they’re both attractive.

❝ your ace, your king, your double diamond. your jack of all trades, your 100 and one shades.

ᴘᴀʀɪɴɢ: actor! song eunseok × actress f!reader.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: romance. on set / gambling undertones as far as the film storyline goes. w.c 5k

two actors fatally ‘meet’ at a ‘casino.’ with the narrative centering round the ‘value of the moment,’ as the story advances, the ‘love on set’ becomes more evident thru the cameras. as the director realizes this early on, all of his retakes serve as both the actors’ main obstacle and unifying force in achieving their individual & character’s goals.

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: slight mutual pinning (?) both are kinda confused; mixed signals, ofc flirting. makeout :) i had MMA Eunseok on mind while writing this... the gloves and all.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: why i feel like everyones on sum Eunseok current rn? as if we re collectively riding that wave? am i not right? am i not!? it’s like homeboy was only getting comfortable up until now. or elsee y are his contents as of lately sooo attacking? idk why, but i feel like this type of situation goes so well w him?

this goes back and forth between the film’s plot and the real* on set setting. hope it’s not confusing

It feels like you’re wearing your seductive velvet dress just to let him down one more time. The never-ending takes of filming this movie and wearing the same clothes don’t help Eunseok at all; in fact, your attire has made him even more confused and hell crazed.

Drama, slash thriller, slash…

“Romance is for the weak,”

reads one of the script’s lines. Of course, there is nothing romantic about the way he has to portray the charismatic rival who must rob the same kingpin as you. You both need to be like loaded guns to figure out who will outsmart who. Without a doubt, this isn’t a game for the weak of heart.

Side from the fact that long shoots and endless days blur together, his constant presence both on and off set also distorts your perception and wounds your judgment. Though you know for a fact that it’s a waste of your time to catch vibes.

As you’re getting started & Eunseok is an A-list hitter, it is also completely out of the question. Moreover, even now, you find it surprising how you were cast for this role, but that was exactly what spurred you on to continue & demonstrate your abilities.

Though the weeks of filming went smoothly, as you 2 approach ‘a’ scene, tension is mounting.

But, now that you’re here, you’re reshooting and pacing around the same set of scenes, over and over. There is a clear build-up in tension and skin ship as the film goes. The way his hands would sometimes tighten around your waist, it seems like an old game. Practically, it’s the same same daily.

It’s as if you have been thrown into a loop for a week. Monday through Saturday, which seems excessively intense because you have to look into his big eyes and act unaffected, just like your character. To pretend that you’re razor-sharp when you two touch and to act as though nothing is happening.

The latest take you took was three hours ago, before your lunch. Venue: the casino.

The casino set is unique in that it has distinct widths and depths, & it’s a character unto itself.

You’re shooting at a real place—a candid gambling place with walls painted in every hue imaginable, which is the main ‘bait’ factor. Nevertheless, the place’s real undercurrent is that it has the power to literally tear apart a person. Here, time and space are merely ideas, and much like love, everyone in the plot keeps playing in the hopes of hitting a jackpot.

On the periphery are the people who have come here to escape reality, vibrant lights, music, drinks, and all things magnetic.

However, the more people indulge in these casino games, the more they immerse themselves in sin. The games have a concentric hierarchy, and the degree of wickedness increases gradually until it reaches the heart of the casino, where the money is kept in bondage and bound with a bloody ribbon.

In essence, the characters you and Eunseok play dance and mingle in the depths of hell.

As you both keep colliding in the games you play, what begins as an individual hunt becomes more focused. It’s the way that your objective in this round is to win jointly by lying. Still, at some point in the round, Eunseok’s character betrays you, but that is currently irrelevant, as you’re currently sitting on his lap.

And doing so, you scan the players in front of you. There are eight of them in total, some of whom have girls sitting on their laps as well. Some kiss, some clink their glasses, and some flirt with the person across. A ton of chips, cards, and cash are spread out across the poker table.

Your character remains silent, just like Eunseok’s does. Distraction is something that neither of you wants. However, the fact that you’re sitting on his lap makes this already a deranged situation.

Players sling remarks about your character around the table in an attempt to break Eunseok’s character’s nerve.

“When will it be our turn to have our round with her, at last, exactly when?” Gesturing you both, one of the group members says, perched on the edge of the poker table. “Hm? We may need to take some action because you don’t really share your food here. We may need to bring bad luck to attract her.” The actor laughs narratively, but there is seriousness in the corners of his bright eyes that makes it seem like he is really after you, and there is nothing Eunseok can do about that. It is an amazing acting delivery from him.

And while his remarks are only meant to irritate Eunseok’s character, why does it feel like they also irritate the real Eunseok? Because his leg begins to twitch uncontrollably under you.

In order to stop letting his emotions show and to keep his mind to the job in hand, he needs to snap back into character quickly. He remains to cage you in a respectful manner, though, as his arms aren’t in contact with you because they’re both on the table.

So you have no choice but to put up with the sensation of his breath tickling the back of your neck, and the heat that seeps from his thighs and settles into you.

You feel imprisoned in his cage... On this set.

And, you start to appreciate the little things, like the thicker material covering your flesh, since it seems like your skin is getting uncomfortably slippery under your dress.

Your back is glued to his chest, and his calm demeanor calms you down from the words and deeds of everyone around you—including the real extras from the close-up tables that swarm the set, adding realism to the scene and heightening the atmosphere.

You feel him place his hand on your thigh, something he has never done in previous takes of the scene, but he immediately lifts it. And as he moves his hand, the smooth surface of your dress wrinkles at the drag, making your heart want to leap out of your rib cage.

You lean forward until your elbows rest on the table in an attempt to escape the heat transfer that is becoming too strong between your bodies. More than that, there seems to be an off-energy between you two today that you can’t quite put your finger on. In either case, you’re unable to escape as his hand wraps around your waist and draws you back toward him. Simultaneously, it feels like his cold breath is making love to your throat as it swoops around your neck.

And so, you stay like this… in his arm... until he decides it’s enough, but Eunseok isn’t one to give up easily, so things continue this way. You simply can’t protest because that would ruin the scene.

However, even after going over the same scene several times, it didn’t stick, so the director agreed to let you unwind for the next few hours so that you could focus on the following scene.

And as absurd as it sounds, you might need to expend all of your energy on the next scene. You’ve become tired not just from your long work hours and endlessly repeated dialog lines, but also from being in too much close contact with him. And not to mention that the scene that follows is—

A loud “Action!” comes from somewhere across the room, past the cameras. You’re even deprived of the opportunity to summon all your bravery and take a deep breath. There is nothing you can do about the scene that is already in motion except follow your sync with Eunseok wherever it leads.

This time, the location is a 2nd floor room inside the casino with a glassed view of the floor below where all the ‘magic’ happens. In technical terms, the space you’re in right now is referred to as a ‘control room.’

Control…..

With just the two yellow-toned lamps—one in the corner and one on the metal desk—the room is completely soundproof and somewhat dim. Additionally, the window glass also only sees out but not in, which promises that all intimacy will be trapped inside and not let out.

…. If only you were allowed the right amount of privacy,

but this is a film set, so naturally there are people inside who practically monitor every move you and Eunseok make in great detail.

They… Control…..

His suit jacket, which he had on earlier in the casino, is now draped across the brown leather couch, giving you more intimate time together and expanding his range of motion. And it’s all done purposefully. Everything is a part of the plan, as he’s deliciously in tune with your dress, too.

His glistening velvet suit with diamond motifs fits the ‘rival notion,’ making him an ideal opponent—a fierce equal match for you. This is also reflected in the movie’s concept, which is to give the impression that this is a ‘pair game’ in which both of you are lying in order to get to the big ‘price.’

And all it takes to get there is for you to hurt each other in the process. There are jokes exchanged, teasing remarks, some lighter, some harsher, some even more vulgar, and swear words are thrown around, but neither of your characters ever lets up their confident façade. For they would be falling behind and losing the game if that were to occur.

As you gaze out the window, Eunseok is leisurely leaning against the desk, moving a silver-foil Ace of Hearts card between his black leather-gloved fingers and watching you.

The games themselves give an adrenaline rush, and the lavish, spacious hall downstairs draws in gamblers, but the whole point of the script for him is that you’re a thrill sight and his object of desire. For someone made of steel, your whole sense of appeal lies in the fact that you steal his breath.

The sleek black strapless velvet dress you’re wearing seems to be romanticized by the fake diamonds around the base of your neck. Your smoked eyes and glossed lips are your core points. You don’t long to impress. Your power lies in your strength and independence, but it’s also in elegance, solace, and trance. Another line says, ‘Simplicity is a killer,’ and you certainly are.

However, beneath it all, only you’re aware of how much of a mess you are because he is currently examining you.

... Still, it’s only acting. Eunseok is merely performing in his role as an actor. And, when acting, one can’t really let one’s true self show. As a result, cameras won’t be able to capture how hot you really feel inside or how confused; all you can hope for is that you don’t mess up your next set of lines.

And it’s that scene in the script where everything has built to a climax, and nothing is held back!

When neither of you can decide what brought you together—your shared dislike or your shared goal—and neither of you can explain the bad cues and inexplicable tension.

Where your personal schemes about who will get the ‘shiny stones’ first are screwed by your shared greed and cynicism.

When you two almost simultaneously blow up each other’s plans.

And wherein, in order to make this work for at least one of you, you have selected a room to talk about the remaining options. In this case, the smarter one will really only be the meaner one.

This finally concludes the exchange of hurtful comments; there will be no more!

The door is the most attractive option, and the room is perfectly silent. However, it simply indicates that the first person out has raised the white flag and signed their lost. It’s impossible for either of you to succumb so easily.

Simultaneously, your character is the first to break the dense silence.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

With a rephrased and pointed question, “Where are you going with this?,” you look up at him then, looking a little disappointed and angry at the same time.

Coolly, Eunseok teases, “I’m trying to figure out if I should call it quits.”

As an actor would, his hair is styled to perfection, and the two hair strands that fall into his eyes and give him a luscious appearance are actually just the result of the tireless efforts of the hair and makeup artists who never stop running after him.

You find yourself ‘out of set’ for a split second, wondering what he’s like by himself. How he appears when he wakes up in the morning, how his hair looks after taking a shower, and how his body is dressed in a baggy, worn-out shirt rather than rich pajamas. However, that’s rather a ‘faraway’ Eunseok.

But the present, Eunseok, does he read you?

“You’re only saying that. But I won’t take the bait from you.” Your character is merely attempting to remind his of how he deceived you during the previous poker round. “In fact, I wish you saw you from my view. You ain’t all that, you know?”

Eunseok’s cool and calm demeanor remains unshaken. In fact, he just keeps on getting cocky. Given that you’re affecting him in ways he doesn’t understand, it’s in his character's self-defense mechanism as a means of continuing to taunt your character.

“Really,” he responds, crossing his gloved hands. His vest lifts at his tiny waist, and he tilts his head to one side in a seductive manner. The tone of his voice has been pre-calculated; every syllable has been worked on in detail. His precision in looking at you, moving, and facial expressions is unparalleled.

“See, I’m good for the ego,” his words come across as too sultry, even though he’s the most soft-spoken he has ever been, “but I’m bad for the soul.”

If you two weren’t in front of the cameras, you’d have closed your eyes and allowed his words to give you goosebumps all over your body, but now isn’t the time to do that.

Not that they aren’t doing it already, either...

They’re actually doing that in real time. His voice, his eyes, and his tongue that digs and crawls at the inside of his cheek.

Just a cold-blooded actor. With every take, this terrifyingly skilled individual sends chills down your spine. You almost get the impression that he’s seriously flirting with you because of how excellently he is delivering his role. Nevertheless, the line is exceedingly thin, and the narrative is already in the script. Is it not?

You protest, looking frustrated, saying, “Your games are endless,” yet still simultaneously approaching him more closely to show that you aren’t afraid of him.

Actually, you and him are on the same level. And to add spice to the situation, you say, “However, this time, we both know that you’re going to lose.”

Waving the metallic Ace of Hearts card in your face, his quick silver tongue catches your attention as it runs along his lips. In an attempt to look impressive and put an end to the questions, Eunseok nonchalantly admits, “I like the games I play.”

Although you must maintain your image and stay in character, all you really want is for all of this to end. You can’t take this and him anymore, like the weeks of filming together have reached a breaking point. You want to scream, ‘Cut!’ to put an end to this suffering, but you can’t fail your dream or let your character down either.

It’s as though you’re developing feelings for someone who isn’t even real. As though you are losing all feeling of reality as you observe him from up close. And because you know what is coming up next, you’re damn sure that Eunseok will take a piece of you with him when the lights go out and the cameras stop rolling, and everything is said and done.

Trouble…

It’s in his perfectly lethal-hued dark eyes. In the way the lamp light hits his eyes that makes him look so enticing, like a glass of whiskey on a thirsty day of never being enough. Intoxicating. Mysterious. Dangerous. A glass of trouble, really, and you’re fastly becoming a growing alcoholic.

The narrative he tells you hurts as his words continuously fall from his gorgeous lips and seep into your thoughts and emotions like melted wax.

“The truth is, you can’t get enough of me.” Eunseok’s same eye-level with you decreases as he straightens up from the desk and now gazes a little down at you, imposing a slight dominance. He lifts his gloves, causing some veins in his arms to bulge between where the gloves end and his white rolled dress shirt begins.

Without consent, his gloved fingers begin to crawl upward the inside part of your naked arm, waking goosebumps on their way. The trace is slow and faint, but that is exactly what he wants—for you to disintegrate bit by bit.

“Admit it,” he prompts.

He’s being pretty sadistic and adamant by insisting that you know that he knows how you feel about him; which is precisely the situation, and it leaves you feeling so exposed.

And it’s as if his proximity, presence, and dominance have completely eroded you, your character ‘breaks character’ as it succumbs to his dark charms.

You two are so close that you can understand each other perfectly, even in whispers right now. So you fire back in a private voice, “If I cared more about the truth,” miserable and defeated, “I’d be too aware of who was using who.”

In response, all he does is smirk,

and after making his way to your shoulders, he subtly brushes his thumb along your collarbone. Heat is generated by the tiny friction, and much like a fire match is struck, it ignites sparks in the air.

His hand then moves to brush some hairs away from your face and tuck them behind your ear. The black leather of his glove begins to skim first, then caress your delicate skin and the left side of your face.

His eyes pierce your soul like a knife, so you look from them to his lips, breaking eye-contact. They lust for touch and have a unique, attractive shape.

“Stop!” You voice out in shock at what he’s doing, but do nothing. His gloved fingertips continue to graze your face.

“Wonderfull,” he comments silently.

Your brain is fried...

And while in a daze, you notice that his tie is a little loose around his collar.

For some reason, this makes you feel compelled to tighten it, sealing the last bit of separation between the two of you. Eunseok’s brows furrow in concern as he realizes that this isn’t at all included in the script. Although this is blatant improvisation, the performance must continue as long as the director doesn’t yell cut.

You can understand why his free hand, which lends on your waist, is gripping you so tightly and nervously. He kind of breaks his neck shyly smiling away from you before turning back to face you...

Again, something the scene steps don’t cover.

“It was out of pl—”

‘ace,’ it’s what you attempt to offer as an explanation while the camera is rolling, but you don’t finish saying it... Your mouth stays agape in contrast.

You opened it with an intention, got distracted, and now you hold it open with a fresh thought.

...Him.

Your lip gloss is a mirror of his tiny diamond-studded vest’s sparkle, as are his eyes, which reflect your phoney diamond necklace.

‘How’d you get so pretty?’ Your mind stutters and your body shudders, yet the line is plain to see as it’s painted on your lips—ready to perform, ready to be spoken. How do you allow yourself to say it, though?

But for real, when did his lips become this pretty?

It’s challenging to discern which aspect of yourself feels and which acts. There is a messed-up intersection where your character throbs with the need to kiss his character, and you throb with the need to kiss him.

Can he feel it? Are you obvious? Does anyone in the room have the ability to see right through you, as though you’re a transparent bottle filled with all these bottled wicked wants and needs?

Under the necklace, the skin on your neck contracts, relaxes, and contracts once more.

Your lips begin to quiver as the cold leather finally slides beneath your chin. Lifting it, your eyes are drawn back to meet his. You’re painfully aware that it’ll only take a single kiss to weaken a million truths.

“Fuck,” he utters as he begins to brush your lips, causing the leather to become sticky from the shiny gloss.

Taking back his hand, he starts to rub and then separate his thumb and index finger, examining the degree of stickiness between them. He sighs, “You’re making me want to suggest that we steal those stones together.”

“I’m not stealing any stones with y—”

“I know, I know,” he says, interrupting. “But almost…”

Eunseok looks directly at you and presses his tacky gloved thumb to his lips.....

The flawless pair of strands that get in the way of his eyes symbolize his seriousness while his tongue begins to pick up and taste any bits of whatever is still on his lips…

The intimacy is revolting, but you aren’t even given a chance to die from all the obscenities he’s doing as he continues.

“You are,” his voice becomes quieter as he speaks, “almost making me want to do it.”

His lips draw nearer. His breath is what you inhale.

“Almo—”

As soon as his lips touch yours, the rest of the sentence disappears. Just as your glittery, dark eyeshadow is captured in perfect detail on camera, his splattered letters perfectly entangle in your mouth.

Unsurprisingly, he gives you a desperate kiss with hands that dig into your waist.

The greatest corruption imaginable is a kiss that says, “If you aren’t mine, then I’m making you mine!” A kiss that puts your life and breath in danger. A kiss that tears through the façade and the acting mask, growing ever more dangerously real.

What’s worse is that having spent so much time with him, it’s so evident when he’s unable to pretend. And currently, he surely cannot!

He cannot act as though his lips aren’t needy or that his skin isn’t becoming hotter. Or that when he pulls your body more into his and presses his tongue deeper inside your mouth, his body isn’t trembling just a little bit.

Your hands slip off his shoulders and latch onto this vest, tugging on it just a little bit, even hanging on to it desperately for the life he’s stealing from you.

His heart is pounding beneath your hand, which is hard to comprehend considering that an actor with his level of training shouldn’t even flinch when filming a kissing scene. More so than anyone else, Eunseok exudes an air of magnetism despite being largely composed of steel. The fact that you’re seeing him partially fall apart for the first time is mind-boggling.

It’s truly insane what only a kiss can reveal. And of anything, it isn’t fast. For this is something that you should feel, just as the audience should when it’s their turn.

You whine his character’s name in between kisses, only slightly conscious that you’re still in the heat of filming this scene. However, he just hushes you, nuzzles your nose gently against his, and continues. His low, pretty pants and foul moans layer at your throat, just as yours in his.

Given how far out of script you two are at this point, you’re certain the director has had enough by now and will call it quits at any moment, but that never happens.

It’s gross how much of Eunseok’s tongue encircles yours while his cute nose wrinkles and brushes against yours. It all makes you want him even more. For the worst part, he smiles through it. It’s quite vile since he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You can feel his lips burn from the constant, wild collisions. And his scent seeps into your nostrils. That much is certain: it’ll be difficult to forget this—to forget him.

“Do you—Do you?” he stammers, pressing his lips to yours as he breathes heavily and squeezes your waist so forcefully that you fear his hands will split you in two.

Since it’s an entirely improvised line, he eventually comes up with the right combination of words. “Have you indulged in this fantasy before? Have you—Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

Even though Eunseok’s words are already weighing heavily on your heart and lips, he adds even more bitterness by saying, “You definitely have.” He answers his own question by not even giving you an opportunity to respond.

But then, is it untrue?

Of course not, as you feel the weakness in your knees. You find it somewhat unfair that he has granted himself a space where he’s fusing reality and fiction.

You fight, “It’s—” while making an effort to escape and resist his lips, “It’s just this time,” but it’s mediocre at best.

As you step back away from him, his hands hopelessly slip off your waist and slide back to his side. They appear empty-looking, as though they don’t own anything of value, like something was snatched from their possession.

Now, empty handed, Eunseok is back gripping the metal of the desk. It isn’t like it’s just you who is feeling the effects of those frenzied kisses; he has definitely lost his breath too. His lips are pretty roused and ‘used-looking’, much like after an intense makeout, while the tips of his ears throb as they peek out from under his dark hair.

He somewhat manages to come up with another line even though his fairly strong defensive system is down.

“Then perhaps it’s just been my imagination all those times I thought I felt you thinking about me.”

Your mouth drops open at the same time as the director cries out,

“CUT! Beautiful! Beautiful!” He waves his hands in all directions proudly. “That take was spot-on perfect; we’re done here. I got everything I want here”, he says, tapping the big camera that some other guy is holding, and also exclaiming, “One take. It only took one take!” with excitement. “Excellent improvisation! Reshooting would only sour the spark.” He then successfully clasps his hands and says, “That’s a wrap, everyone!”

You’re left standing in front of Eunseok, glassy-eyed, quite sensitive, and shocked, but optimistic that what the two of you just did is still partially justified by your acting profession.

It looks like he’s blinking more than normal; and blinking is undoubtedly one of the patterns Eunseok exhibits when he’s nervous, which you’ve noticed throughout the months that you’ve been working with him. He also seems to be in denial, with confused lines painted on his temple.

Both him and you stay motionless while looking at each other as the director talks about the scene with a different staff member, his voice only sounding faint and far away in your ear.

“I like a good chase in a scene. To me, that’s everything. The actors must have a compelling chemistry and be aware of their roles. They must have trust in each other and their actions, because making a film is similar to a construction site, it must be built. It’s more than a camera, lights, and action.” Taking off his baseball cap, he gives himself a head stretch. “Trust me… what these two have is lethal.”

The longer the director keeps making observations, the more of the ‘real’ Eunseok is in your presence. Adorable, nervous smiles, head turns, and motions; knitted brows that enlarge his eyes even more. It’s as if he has softened his human side, opened his heart, and ‘thrown his metallic armour away.’

Finally, after hearing the comments, he sort of hisses with a ‘Really?’ while tilting his head to the side and putting on a cute, sarcastic look of suspicion.

“Are you okay?” You ask him in a gentle tone, concerned because it appears he’s thinking through and repeating every step of the scene.

He nods, but his face still wears that expression of shock mixed with denial, and a slight, but still noticeable, shy spark in the far back of his ever so silver persona. It seems like he’s coming to terms with everything that just happened, and he’s still quite riding out the wave.

Now that he has had a taste of how you kiss, it’s quite impeccable how you can bite down like an enemy and later be tender to all of those marks like a friend.

You’re high-key giving him so much more to think about—so many more thoughts to deal with than what the sight of you in your dress had already done for him up to this point.

‘Romance’ slash ‘No Control’ slash ‘Trouble!’

So many twists and turns until the conclusion, but the scene is now over.

The drama is done. The ‘acting’?

Done!

You’ll be taking off your makeup and dressing down, but the characters you just played will still exist within the both of you. That despite the fact that it seems like you two will be avoiding dealing with this for the time being, you’re both actors, and currently, the cost of your acting is your sanity.

Starting today, heartthrob actor Eunseok won’t only continue to cause headaches to the millions of girlies who have his posters hung above their beds, but to you as well.

‘.....Nice.’

#riize #eunseok #song eunseok #riize scenarios #riize fanfic #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize fic #riize x y/n #riize fluff #riize suggestive #eunseok x reader #eunseok scenarios #eunseok imagines #eunseok fluff #eunseok fanfic #song eunseok fanfic #riize oneshots

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1-49 · 3 months

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oh I can’t wait

yay! 🤍

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1-49 · 3 months

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took me months to put up the theme... anyway, as for mlist ill come up gradually as ill write in the future ☺️

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1-49 · 3 months

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⾕ est. Lynn twenties. she/her ⁝ ⌗ mlist. RIIZE CLUB ›

tender feelings ͏: ͏제노 ͏moments : some angels will bite your lip

#͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏#blog originally established as of oct’23.#riize #riize masterlist #riize scenarios #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize fluff #riize fanfic #riize x y/n #sungchan #wonbin #anton #lee chaeryeong #sohee #eunseok #seunghan #shotaro #riize fic

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1-49 · 3 months

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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 blown away 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 you can tell the person everything bc 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.

#riize #sungchan #jung sungchan #riize scenarios #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize fanfic #riize fic #riize fluff #riize suggestive #riize angst #sungchan fluff #sungchan imagines #sungchan x you #sungchan angst #sungchan x reader #sungchan scenarios #sungchan fanfic

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1-49 · 4 months

Text

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 meanieee, 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 our 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 and 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 ur 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.

#riize #sungchan #riize scenarios #riize x reader #riize fluff #riize imagines #jung sungchan #riize fanfic #riize fic #sungchan imagines #sungchan x reader #sungchan x you #sungchan scenarios #sungchan x yn #sungchan fanfic #sungchan fluff

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1-49 · 4 months

Text

𝟬.𝟬𝟭 𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝘂𝗻𝗸 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗯𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝘁.

➺ pairing: ballerina f!reader × street dancer osaki shotaro. warnings: none. just fluff & love119. competing. idiots<3; 2k

Sundays are traditionally celebrated by the dance teams at the academy as a day to have fun and appreciate the variety of dance styles. It’s both hit-and-miss. There are those who love them and those who hate them.

It is also a day on which you’re compelled to see the boy with the freaky movements and baggy clothes, week after week. His street style is in contrast to ur grace. His gentle eyes and angelic smile are in tune though, so ure quite confused sometimes.

Even though his movements re timed perfectly, you find his fluidity to be too harsh and precise. Your dance style will always be superior to his... Or so you believe.

The pair game that all of you’ve been delaying for the longest & playing team against team is one of the worst things that could happen this Sunday. But it is finally happening, it’s final! He is your date for this occasion. And it is just so unfortunate that you will be paired with the boy who has been causing you to have an indecisive impression of him for the longest time.

He smiles shyly at you from across the practice room, and you feel annoyed that you can see yourself smiling back at him thru the reflection of the mirrors. That is just his courteous way of greeting you, following the clatter of applause when your names are announced, and now carrying on with the event is the only choice you have.

Every hand clap causes pressure to build inside your chest. It shouldn’t feel at all like this; however, here he is, a punk wearing clothes that don’t match you & which also create a distinct image from that of ballet.

He makes his way towards the center of the dance floor where you are, step by step. So you close your eyes and allow your mind to filter out all of the noise filling the space. In his presence, you can’t allow yourself to make any mistakes.

As it is a freestyle duet, neither of you knows where it is going, so all you can do is hope it works out well for you both. Being embarrassed in front of everyone is something you wouldn’t want.

The sweet energy that comes from his eyes is easy to be affected by. You understand the importance of meeting someone halfway, particularly when dancing. Despite the stark differences in appearance, your energies must align.

His big-print hoodie contrasts with your sleek-fitting bodice.

Yours is essentially one with your skin to allow you freedom of movement while at the same time enhancing the visual effect of your dance movements. Contrarily, his wide clothes accomplish the same goal in a different way because they permit him to move freely and showcase his unique sense of flair and style.

With your hair up and attention to your posture, you wait for him. Your old shoes are pink in color, worn out, a bit blood-stained, and exhausted. There are heart-shaped band-aids on both of your leg’s injuries.

The boy seems to focus on them before shifting his gaze to you, with a hint of worry visible on his face. It appears that he is aware of the harm that dancing can cause.

Without you realizing it, his cute concern warms the surface of your skin and gradually makes its way to your heart. He might be a little different, but not by much. You are confident that he would relate to you more than your friends, who are overly preoccupied with social media.

Once he is fully in front of you, he bows his head; his large eyes are partially obscured by his beanie. You find it endearing that he is modest enough to cover up one of his greatest features.

While you both anxiously await whatever kind of dancing and music you will have to perform, you bow your head respectfully and advance toward him, the boy whose name you don’t know.

With every movement he makes, his silver earnings sparkle like stars & serve as his only accessory.

You breathe in deeply. You think it would be humiliating if he had to hold your hand and see how nervous you really are because the insides of your hand are so sweaty.

The various dancers around you stop clapping and cheering, and there is a brief pause before the music begins. A moment of silence. A time when it is just the two of you, a moment of absolute connection.

Just your luck, Claude Debussy’s Rêverie, L.68, begins to play.

You are the one in control here, so he can probably tell when you show a little change in confidence. Even so, he beams, his browns dripping with sparks. A little strange considering that he has no knowledge of ballet, you think...

That is, until the two of you strike a graceful starting stance, with pointed feet and flowing arms. You are dressed for the occasion in your ballet shoes, while he is in black Nikes... And until he starts moving his body in time with the melody, you may assume he is being sarcastic rather than sincere.

To your astonishment, with his silhouette concealed by all the loose clothing, he starts to transforms into a true body in motion, just like you. Easily translating sound into action— stepping & bowing—then momentarily, he flies. A perfect, graceful sight.

Your tense muscles are in attempt to match his mental pace. You are devising each step to somewhat resemble his, so the harmony of your individual dances will be the same.

Your ballet teacher has instilled in you the belief that “If it hurts, you are doing it right.”

And indeed, it is painful to match someone whose technique you are not familiar with—you have not even danced with him before. However, he is currently everything that you love—challenges and surprises.

He is the anti-glow, a ball of sunshine, sunk in pools of gray and black polyester. Denying the fine lines on his body that you are certain exist but never see.

Your heart soars straight over cloud nine, as you extend your neck and return to the initial position. By this point, you can be certain that he has some ballet training; if not, he must have had some experience since nothing else could account for his exceptional ballet dancing.

And since all you two have going on is mental chat, you can both telepathically determine that a pair dance would be the show’s biggest highlight. Both of you are progressing in distinct dance styles, but you have one thing in common: you both take things seriously !

When the audience realizes what you were going for, they begin to applaud the choice. The cheering causes the boy’s cheeks to flush. His confidence has never wavered before, but right now.

And now, after all this time of being cold-hearted, you allow his innocent warmth to seep through your exterior barriers of ice. The tips of your eyes gently wrinkle as you make the ‘It’s going to be okay’ motion with your lips. The words of motivation that flow from your mouth are silent, so only he can read them.

It seems that was all he needed to know...

Carried by the bristling atmosphere, he extends his hand.

Before, you wouldn’t have trusted him with your hand because of how sweaty it would be and what he would think of it, but now you just care about giving the best performance possible, regardless of how vulnerable that makes you to him. All you can hope is that he is competent at keeping secrets.

The confession in his eyes & the gentle smile on his face tell you that he’s ur greatest confidante.

It is the final thing you notice,

before two powerful hands firmly grab your waist. Which simultaneously it feels as though somebody had taken hold of your body and is finally releasing the butterflies that had been imprisoned inside your ribs. Sharing so much with someone is vulnerable and frighteningly intimate. But you decide to put your trust in the partnership.

Because of how close you two remain, your mind keeps filtering out all the chants and roars of everyone around. Although you know in the back of your mind that your friends will make insufferable jokes about the situation you find yourself in, you don’t care as nothing seems more important than the boy right now.

You almost get the impression that this boy just keeps you on your toes. Your heart races every time you look at him with that warm gaze.

Sliding into his arms is like having a fuzzy coat hug you. His tired breath is practically on your lips. Yet proud and shining, your figures blend together despite their contrast.

‘It takes two to tango,’ as you two start to move faster while swaying to the orchestral tune.

You feel as if everybody in the room is watching your every skin, but not him... With roused cheeks his only route are your eyes and lips. You might assume from the way he looks at you that you are the only girl he is continuously thinking about and lusting for.

‘Enough! Enough! Enough!’ Your thoughts are racing, telling you that you can’t allow these emotions to distract you.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, so closely you can read it off his lips.

He doesn’t even need to say what... your inner professional dancer knows, so you smile, well aware of what is about to happen.

There’s a specific rhythm to dancing that only a dancer knows. The thrill of a strong jump, a good pointing of the toes, or the success of a hard spin when they thought they’d run out of luck, but to trust him with them all in the absence of any prior practice is a terrifying test.

Yet, you do! You do...

You let yourself entirely depend on this punk whose name you don’t know. A boy you have only ever seen between dance classes and on Sundays, and someone who makes your emotions explode at the moment. For so long, you have thought of him as a loser—or, more accurately, you haven’t thought about him at all... In this sense, your perception of him was never fully formed.

Up until this point, right now, when you body is raised by his hands.

Up, up, and up you go. Looking up, chin up—hands extended like a wings of an angel.

Then down back you go—to your feet, to his chest. To his pretty face, too shiny eyes, and plump lips.

You lend... safety, but your heart is in danger.

In perfect sync. He sees beyond the here and now, beyond your eyes. Making the most of your mutual closeness as though he would never again have the courage to express his feelings for you in such an honest way.

You stare at him intently. Reaching his orbit in the same manner, and exploring the chocolate of his orbs. Savoring his scent, the drops of sweat dripping from his brow.

But despite everything, you understand that this time the contest is about the race—still the first person to cross the finish line is not necessarily the winner... Because,

“How would you feel if you were to win, and what would happen if you lost?” you whisper. You are competitive by nature; all you are doing is making sure.

Naturally, he shrugs his shoulders, and you find yourself desperate to hear his voice just once.

Last but not least, as the big finish approaches—the double individual spin, you cling to him one last time before you part ways, to execute it on their own.

One less time, you get that perfect sense of unity when your hands entwine. As the ballet performance draws to an end, you keep pouting softly more and more.

And as a result, the boy pulls you until your chest merges with his. In your ear, he whispers, “I receive a date if I land badly.”

Apparently, he is competitive in nature as you are; just a punk who ensures that he gets the better of the situation...

Not every loser is an actual loser.

#riize #shotaro #osaki shotaro #riize fluff #riize x reader #shotaro x reader #shotaro imagines #shotaro fluff #shotaro fanfic #riize x you #riize imagines #riize fic #riize fanfic #riize x y/n #riize scenarios

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1-49 · 4 months

Text

riizeeeeeee, i loveeee youuuuu

#love 119 reminds me a lot of hana & alice ☁️#aesthetic vise. love the vibes. love the song!!

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1-49 · 5 months

Text

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 is 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.

#riize #jung sungchan #sungchan #riize scenarios #riize x reader #riize x y/n #riize drabbles #sungchan x reader #sungchan imagines #sungchan x you #riize fluff #riize suggestive #riize imagines #sungchan scenarios

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1-49 · 5 months

Text

성찬 : Feeling every bit of this neon midnight that has filled my veins.

ᴘᴀʀɪɴɢ: jung sungchan × f!reader

❝ 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.”

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