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macaroonff · 10 days

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Hey!! I really enjoy your writings of Jungwon. May I request a longer writing of him based on the song Love by Keyshia Cole? Just angst, yet heart fluttering, but with a happy ending (if that's possible 😭)

Thank you 💙

Hi anonie, i'm so glad you like reading my works and thanks for requesting! I've been busy so I just saw this ＞﹏＜ .

Woah okay this song is so beautiful like its just so desperate and heart wrenching ugh. I felt like a right person wrong timing trope/ ex lovers would work really well for this, which is what I've tried in this story. I hope you like it!

reunion- y.j.w

↪Pairing: idol Jungwon x gn! reader

↪wc: 2.4k

♪love- keyshia cole

Late evening, a busy Friday, the neon signs of Seoul glow beneath the shadows of its sheer clouds. The streets are packed with people, all of whom walk with urgency. You watch as tides of people sway in and out of the enormous skyscrapers you weren’t used to seeing here. They stood their ground, massive, and haughty, reminding you of how much had changed since the last time you were here.

Ten years ago, before you left Korea in a haste for university in New York.

Your eyes wander past these buildings, all of them stuck to each other side by side until all you saw were buildings running into the horizon. You find your feet dragging along the intersection slowly, massive crowds of people rushing towards you until you reach the other end, where there was a bus stop. You also find yourself in a daze, the unfamiliarity of the streets coming back to hit you as you keep confusing the road signs, and your 'left-and-rights'. The bus stop is also busy, a crowd of office workers holding on to the seats.

You stand to one side, going back to your newfound hobby of “Spot the differences”- differences between the Seoul in your memories and the Seoul of today. Just how Seoul had changed so drastically, you realised you had grown older, a noticeable change in how you carried yourself.

You were no longer a naïve student, excited yet afraid of the future. You were an adult, with experiences that had changed your outlook towards life, realising how much you’d matured over the years.

By now your eyes discover that the glass-like buildings end with one even taller than the rest, adorned with billboards. This building, however, is one you recognise. It was HYBE, the reason you had flown back to Korea.

You’d received mail from them 3 months prior, an invitation to collaborate on a music video. As a rising director, with awards being showered upon you for the last year, you were excited. They were going to debut a new girl group and wanted your unique style incorporated, while you had a chance to diverge into a new format. You had come out late this evening looking for inspiration, anything about the city that aligned with your vision. Your eyes go back to observing your surroundings, stretching your neck as you try to see where the building ends. Your eyes find the massive billboard sitting at the very top, displaying a face you’d gotten so used to knowing.

A face that you tried so hard to erase from your memories.

Like you, he looked extremely different compared to ten years ago. He was unrecognisable. His red hair was framed so perfectly, highlighting his cheekbones compared to his rounder cheeks when he was a teen. Like Seoul, he felt unfamiliar, so different from your memories of him.

You don’t know why it didn’t hit you before. Seoul had become cruel, and unlike your fame, his was explosive. To everyone except you in Seoul, Yang Jungwon was familiar. His and his band’s billboards adorned the road into HYBE, and you’re not sure why you didn’t recognise him earlier. This person you’d grown so used to knowing was now a stranger.

When you first got on board with the project, you were fearful thinking about your path crossing his. You eventually shrug them off, calculating every possibility. He’s a superstar, packed with schedules, touring for all means. He wouldn't be present in any of your meetings. he would merely remain that- a billboard that used to be a memory. Plus you believed that fate, which kept you apart for ten years would not be so unkind to you. Fate always had your side, it wouldn’t betray you.

So why was it, as you’re setting up the cameras next week, and greeting the younger, cheerful girls that you see the man you so hate, get out of his car in the periphery?

You feel your breath hitch, voice trembling slightly. You don’t want to see him. You turn your back towards him, bringing your attention back to the eager girls who don’t notice your predicament, as you focus on the script.

You hear his steps caving in closer, as his solid boots hit the concrete. The only thing louder than which would probably be your pounding heart.

“Scene 8 involves a fight between you and your supposed boyfriend.” you ramble on, pretending to give them a breakdown of a scene. The girls fiddle about, their eyes shifting between your face and behind your head.

You pause, a good guess as to why.

You hear the girls’ voice getting higher as they bow and introduce themselves. “Please take care of us, sunbaenim,” their leader, Yunah exclaims.

You gulp, feet stuck to the ground. You hear a small chuckle, a sound so familiar it could bring you to tears. “Mm, long time no see,” he replies and you're not sure who exactly he was addressing, despite feeling his eyes on the back of your head.

You can smell his perfume, the same strong woody scent that you had gifted him ten years ago. Everything from his voice to his appearance had changed, yet some things remained the same.

You let out a sigh, straightening your back as you finally face him, a poor attempt at being professional. A poor attempt at pretending like everything was okay. You’re too afraid to even look at him, to even say “hi”. What would you even say?

'Why’d you leave me out of the blue?' or 'why couldn’t you have told me earlier?' All of which were questions that would open up a box locked up in your heart. A box you don’t ever want to open again.

Your eyes eventually find his ones, unblinking, with new intensity reflected back. His expression is undecipherable.

You feel his eyes wander all over your frame, from your hair to your hands, as though he were also trying to take in all of your presence, and everything it meant today. He seemed to be taking it so much better than you, seemingly calm, as though you were the only one shaken by the years past. Like he didn’t even remember you anymore.

You feel your assistant director nudge you out of the ghosting silence. “This is Jungwon, he’ll be our cameo since our actor got hurt this morning.” Your eyes follow as the towering figure bends in a bow.

“Please take good care of me,” you hear him whisper, to which you blink in slight surprise. You remind yourself that it was a greeting, and not a nod to your shared past.

You’d cared plenty for him. Except he ran away. How could you be sure he wasn’t going to do it today?

You nod stiff, before walking away hurriedly towards your monitor. You hear your assistant director apologise on your behalf, as you fiddle with your monitors, checking with the other staff.

Anything to distract yourself with.

You look back at the script, realising that he would be playing the role of the estranged boyfriend. You scoff at the irony.

It was funny how the person you’d written this scene with in mind was the one playing it. It was funny how everything came back full circle just to kick you in the ass.

You’re monitoring the shot of him being pushed away by one of the girls, as she walks out of his life. In what was supposed to be a liberating scene, you don’t know why you now felt pity. It held you back, his remorseful look, his pleading eyes, his figure against the concrete wall.

You stop the cameraman who was about to pan from Jungwon to the girl. His tears you knew were fake wouldn’t stop, and his eyes looked into the camera in desperation. You find your heart stop with the way he looks at you through the screen- pitiful, and upset, yet so, so distant. His hair was wet from the fake rain created, and his lips trembled against the cold breeze. His left hand is on his heart, clutching onto his drenched shirt, as though all of the universe’s pain was consolidated there. But somehow, he still looked so good.

You feel a tear rolling down your cheek, landing on your closed fist, bringing you out of your visceral thoughts. “C..Cut” you finally say, realising how swept up you were in your own emotions. You see him sigh and lean back against the wall, staff running to help him.

“You okay?” you hear your assistant director ask you, seeing your shaken state. You nod to her, gulping down water as you see the boy approach your side.

“Jungwon, your acting was so good it made y/n cry,” your sound director chimes in once he notices your actor stationed at a monitor. The boy doesn’t say anything, choosing to give him a wry smile.

From the corner of your vision, you see his beady eyes following his previous performance, which under normal circumstances you would consider impressive. But both of you knew the bigger performance was pretending to be sane near each other. He leans in closer when the camera zooms in on him, and you feel his breath fanning you ever so slightly as he gasps.

“Woah, I thought we were going to film Iroha walking away,” he says surprised when he sees himself on the monitor for a prolonged time.

“Hmm that was y/n’s call” someone says behind you.

You close your eyes, anticipating all the questions he has, but he remains silent. You stare at your AD who understands your queue, rushing everyone for a break. After all these years, you still feel suffocated despite promising to push him out of your memories.

You notice that he doesn’t leave immediately, instead grabbing a chair close to you. His hair falls in front of his eyes as he stares at the grass below you.

“You’ve changed a lot,” he says, his voice hoarse, fingers fidgeting with the pen you were using. You don’t really know how to respond.

After all those years, is that all he was going to say? After ghosting you for months, after removing you from his life so cruelly, you find his audacity baffling.

“Obviously I’ve changed, you’d know earlier if you’d even left me a text,” you reply in spite. You see his fidgeting stop, instead holding it so tight that it digs into his palm.

“I had my reasons,” he whispers. You scoff visibly irritated.

"Don't play with me Jungwon," his name rolls off your tongue just as smoothly as it did so many years ago. More tears threaten to spill, and you're afraid of people observing the two of you, knowing how rumours spread.

You get up in a haste, and walk towards the washrooms. Jungwon follows behind wary, eventually pulling you away from the main set, until you reach a building close by. You stop, with your back against the wall as he gets closer.

"Why would you think I'm playing with you y/n," you hear him say, tears rolling down his big eyes.

You didn't have the energy to ask him anything. Unlike your racing thoughts, the silence surrounding the two of you was comforting. Saying anything meant confronting a truth buried deep in the past.

As though he could understand your distress, he lets out a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry y/n," he finally says, confirming something you've wanted to hear for so long. "I was scared."

The tears from your eyes don't stop either as he continues.

"I had just debuted back then, and my career was on the line."

Your sobs get louder, and you feel pain inching closer to your fears, all stuck in your suffocated heart. So far, you'd guessed the reason as to why he disappeared so abruptly. Hearing it directly from him made it worse. "I loved you, I really did," he says, his hand trying to hold yours, which you shirk away. He pauses.

"I was given an ultimatum," he becomes softer. "I didn't know how to tell you. I knew it would hurt us."

You clench your fists, looking at everything else he could've said.

"It still hurt us didn't it?" you whisper.

You see him nod slowly. You pull yourself off the wall, reaching into your pocket, fetching for tissues. When you find some, you hold some out for him to take. Both of your eyes had become puffy, and it didn't help how obvious it was that there was tension between you. It must've been half an hour since you had left the site, and the others must've noticed your absence.

"Why don't you head on, my AD will continue the shoot" you say, trying to hail a taxi as you walk onto the busy road.

"Please don't run away ," he pulls you back, now pinned against the wall. "Don't leave me again y/n," you feel him lean his head on the wall, next to you. He looks beyond fatigued and instinctively you feel your hands go behind his broad shoulders, rubbing his back.

"I really missed you," he whispers continuously, breaking down in your arms.

"I missed you too Jungwon, so much that I'd even collect your posters just to see your face," you confess. You notice him smile slightly, before he giggles. "I'd never imagine you to do that," he says and you match his laugh, somewhat embarrassed.

For the first time in a long time, Yang Jungwon saw you smile. It was as gorgeous as he remembered it, as inviting as it had always been. Unlike the Seoul that remained so stale, your smile brought life into the city. It brought life into the last ten years that he couldn't find.

Your lips arched into the perfect 'U' and all he wanted to do was feel them on his. His hands go behind your neck as he looks into your eyes. "Can I kiss you," he whispers gently. You don't reply, instead pulling him in as if you desperately waited those 10 years for him to say this.

All these years you didn't realise what you missed, until this fateful kiss. In this moment, it didn't matter what your past was, or what the future would hold. Nothing mattered now, as long as you were wrapped up between his arms, tethered to his lips.

Wahh sorry for the delay guys. I have my finals in less than 2 weeks so I haven't gotten to writing yet 😭

#self reblog

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macaroonff · 10 days

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Breaking up angst hits the worst fr

mend my heart.

IN WHICH, you lie to keep his peace.

PAIRING : jake x reader

GENRE : angst, hurt no comfort

“I think I’m falling out of love with you.”

3 years. Down the drain. Just like that.

What prepares you for a sentence like that?

Nothing. Nothing does.

It's a whisper of betrayal, a dagger concealed within the velvet folds of affection. Each syllable drips with the bitter taste of disillusionment, a venom that seeps into the cracks of your heart, poisoning every beat with the ache of loss.

When those words tumbled from Jake’s lips, they shatter the fragile illusion of security you've built around your love. They unravel the carefully woven tapestry of your shared memories, leaving behind a tangled mess of broken promises and shattered dreams.

You remember the way Jake’s laughter filled the air, warm and infectious, melting away the worries of the world. You recall the softness of his touch, the way his fingers traced patterns across your skin, leaving behind a trail of sparks that ignited a fire within you.

But now? Now, as you replay those memories in your mind, they feel like distant memories of a love that once burned bright but now flickers in the shadows.

“I think I’m falling out of love with you.”

It's a tidal wave of emotion, crashing over you with a force that leaves you gasping for breath. It drags you under, pulling you into the depths of despair, where every breath is a struggle and every heartbeat a reminder of the love you can no longer hold onto.

As those words echo in the caverns of your soul, they leave behind a hollow emptiness, a gaping void where his love used to reside. You reach out, grasping for something, anything, to anchor you to the reality of what he's saying, but there's nothing there, just the cold reminder of his confession ringing in your ears.

You remember the whispered promises exchanged under the moonlight, the stolen glances across crowded rooms that spoke volumes without a single word.

But now? Now, as you cling to those memories like a lifeline, they feel like shards of glass cutting deep into your wounded heart.

“I think I’m falling out of love with you.”

It's a symphony of heartbreak, each note a dagger to your soul, tearing through the delicate fabric of your happiness until there's nothing left but the raw, jagged edges of your pain. And as you stand there, drowning in the wreckage of your love, you can't help but wonder how something so beautiful could end in such agony.

"I think I'm falling out of love with you too"

You whisper just above your breath.

And what prepares you for this?

Nothing. Nothing does.

The admission is a dagger to your own heart.

A deception born out of love and desperation.

A love so deep for him that you’re willing to endure the agony in silence even when it’s devouring you from within.

It’s funny to think that you’re still protecting him after the betrayal your heart feels, the cracks deepening with each second of defeating silence. You know Jake wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing you’re hurt. He may not be in love with you, yeah, but he still loves you, right?

Jake’s expression softens at your words, a flicker of relief passing across his features before he pulls you into a tight embrace. As you cling to him, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you held onto him tight enough you would feel the shattered pieces of your heart mend together.

You would do anything to keep his heart still beating, even if it wasn’t for you.

#recommendation #jake imagines

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macaroonff · 12 days

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Changing my theme to a more spring vibe

It is me macaroon ahshsh just in case you're confused

🌼🌷🌻

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macaroonff · 12 days

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Taste- Lee Minho (Part 2)

Genre: Undercover detective lee know x gang leader y/n; the roaring 20s Paring: Minho x fem! reader Content Warnings: Spice (no smut),mentions of alcohol, inaccurate historical representation, not intended to be factually correct, please forgive any inaccuracies. Word Count: 2.5k words Suggested Songs: Taste- Stray Kids Whatever Lola Wants- Ella Fitzgerald Fall in Love With Swing- Trio Manouche Smooth Operator- Sade

↪click here for part 1.

Refer to this for context regarding specific terms in bold

Lee Minho should've known better, that a woman so beautiful was also secretive. That a woman so wanted in this mysterious club would obviously play hard to get. Did it help that she was also the owner of this place? No it did not.

But what did help was that a set of the smoothest pearls had fallen into his lap, and either on purpose or by accident, you had left him your necklace. Lee Minho couldn't decipher your intent, but at the very least, he found himself an excuse. It was as though petty fate that stopped him before was helping him proceed in this mission.

He searches for you in the crowd with continuous effort, but you seem to have disappeared a long time ago, as though your conversation with him was just another of his delusions. Lee Minho also realises that he's a little tipsy. He's starting to sweat under the warm suit in the crowded room, and he feels his heart rate pick up rapidly. Unlike how he had become tolerant of the alcohol here in Chicago, he wasn't used to this club as an entity, he especially wasn't used to you. For a trained detective like Minho, two minutes was all it took for him to decipher what a person desires, what their intentions are, but you were so hard to read. He had never felt so incompetent, so out of it before. He looks back at the bartender, who had offered him another free drink.

"What do they call her, that flapper?"

"She isn't just any flapper," the man replies with a smirk, "she's the most famous in the city, her stage name is Estelle Vin."

"Is she always that... mysterious? I can't help be drawn to her," Minho confesses foolishly, wanting to gauge the bartender further.

"Hmm, you're not the only one. Do you want me to return those pearls you're holding," the bartender replies.

"Don't worry, I need these as an excuse, if you know what I mean," he flashes a wink, pretending to be a lovesick fool, thouh he wasn't really sure it was pretention on his part. "Thanks for the free drink, I quite enjoyed it."

Lee Minho leaves with a small stumble, feeling the blood rush to his ears, his entire body getting warm. His vision is somewhat blurry, as he pushes his way towards the door he was eyeing before, his hands clutching the pearls close to his chest in his breast-pocket, holding on as though his entire life depended on it, and maybe it did.

He had to duck through the entrance to the dressing rooms, where he found himself standing in a complex maze. There were doors to the right and left of him, and a long corridor leading down. The shabby exterior was deceptive of the space within the club, and he could barely believe that it was just a small, rundown club that it lured people in as. He walks further down the corridor, when a singer comes out of a door on the left. She looks at him, startled by his intrusion. "Who...?How did you enter? It's authorised personals only."

He quickly apologises, and in convoluted sentences that his brain pushed out, explained that he had something to return. "The door was unlocked, and I need to see Ms Vin."

The lights dimmed nearby, signalling that a new performance was about to start. The stranger looks rushed and tries to shoo him away.

"Get out, and stop acting like a stalker. This would ruin your reputation Mr Claude Landry."

Lee Minho's eyebrows furrow in confusion. Why did a singer working here know his surname? He had only disclosed it to Mr Brown and a few other aristocrats. He was sure that most of them were tight-lipped about it, but now he was somewhat alarmed. Of course, as a man of public curiosity, along with him being a foreigner, it may not be as alarming. Maybe a clerk saw him sign it as Landry, and he overruled his previous suspicions. Absorbed in his thoughts, he slowly back away from this new area shrouded in mystery, until he feels the floor under his feet vibrating, as though something heavy was moving below.

"There's no way what I'm feeling is an earthquake now ma'am?" he questions, his suspicions aroused for perhaps the hundredth time in the night.

"I think you've had too much of hooch Mr Landry," the stranger replies.

Sure, he was somewhat intoxicated but there's no way he'd be this gone. He also made sure that the bartender didn't have any chance to spike his drink, which makes him feel fluky. The feeling increases, and he swears he can hear glass shatter below him, although faint. The Whangdoodle from the stage increases their volume as this happens, and Minho finds his ears ringing.

It was at that moment you spring out of your dressing room, almost alarmed. "Why are they so lou-" you exclaim but stop when you notice Minho.

His eyes look into yours, and for a second he feels relieved to see someone he knows, though barely. At least the situation didn't seem as unfamiliar as it did before.

"It's loud isn't it Ms Vin?" he asks, back to his stoic self, as though examining your anxious demeanour.

You hold back a breath, unsure how to answer the question. A new shipment was supposed to arrive today, and they're usually stored in the basement, which unfortunately happened to be right below where you were standing. You'd usually ensure that the entrance to this area was secure, but most of the men had gone to help carry the shipment in, which happened to be in excess today, and you must have left it open when you came back with your head muddled with thoughts of Minho. The fate that usually favoured you, happened to be sabotaging you today.

"Yeah, the band is louder than usual, I should probably check on them."

You locked your door to stop him from entering, and nod at your colleague. She tries to usher Minho back to the main area, and you also try to leave past him. He grabs your hands instead, and you feel his eyes on the back of your head.

"This must be yours," you see your pearls drop from his hands, clinking against his watch.

You only now notice that your neck was bare, putting your hand against it. Another sound erupts from the basement, and you get frantic. You watch as your colleague runs down to the basement to make them aware of how conspicuously loud they were being. Minho is quick to follow her with his eyes, suspicion written all over his face.

In spontaneity, you pull him into the dressing room you had previously locked. It was a last resort to distract him, stupid as it was.

"I... I can wear the necklace here," you say, pulling him closer to you. "Or maybe you'd like to put it on me?" you try flirtatiously hoping to keep his attention on just you. You sit down on the red chair, and remove the makeup from the counter. Luckily for you, Minho seems to appreciate this opportunity just as much as you, walking closer until his hand rests on your naked shoulders. He carefully held your long bob in a fist, placing the cold pearls as delicately as he could around your neck, taking quite some time. As he moves in closer, you feel his warm breath fanning your ear, where you're taken aback by his rapid breathing. You could feel it travel down your spine as he bends to snap it in place. It felt like he was holding himself back, deliberate, careful. Once he's done clasping the necklace, you look at him through the mirror, his eyes focused on you. You see him take your appearance in, and a small gasp leaves his mouth.

"You look beautiful y/n," he says in a deeper voice, taking you by surprise. Because you weren't taken aback by the compliment but by the fact that you had never once given him your real name, and the only thing he could find out was your stage name. Even some of your closest workers were hidden from your real identity.

But you didn't want to confirm this with this stranger, deciding it would be best to feign innocence. You furrow your brows as though it was annoyance. "Who's y/n? Your wife? A lover? A tomato you fell in love with?"

He smirks, "Future wife, maybe. Lover, if we're looking to start from today" he counters, snarky, yet in a weird way seductive. At this point you were beyond alarmed and tried extremely hard to keep yourself grounded to this new predicament.

"What do you mean by we? Besides if you want to address me, then you can call me Estelle."

"Well, are you jealous Estelle? Cause to be honest I'd rather call out your name later instead of y/n. I really hope you aren't y/n."

Who was he? Why did he care so much? Maybe he was mistaken, your name might be popular in France, or wherever he's from. Because there's no way he was referring to you.

You wanted to change the conversation desperately, you absolutely had to. In so many years of hiding behind a façade, it was scary having it disintegrated by a mere stranger.

"I'm not jealous, and don't be creepy, Claude. I don't think you should be here, unless you have more to speculate?"

He says nothing, instead he reaches for his breast-pocket for the umpteenth time, removing his linen handkerchief engraved with C.L and a classic fountain pen with gold borders.

"Time and date, for our next meeting," he asks sweetly, a charming smile painted on his lips.

You take his pen and examine it carefully. "Looks expensive, must be a family heirloom," you ask carelessly.

Minho smiles, as though he had already won this game of deception. Did he actually know your name? No. But he made a somewhat educated guess. Like most of the women of the time, you had tattooed on your back your social security number. As a celebration of autonomy, it had become a popular trend, which you also seemed to have followed. Luckily, for him, he had access to the case of a few bootleggers who were hidden so well that the only thing that could be traced was the social security number on someone's back. The number belonged to y/n l/n. Did it help that the social security number had no pictures? No. But did it help that the numbers on your back were visible to him as he placed the necklace on you? Of course it did. He decided to take a dangerous bet, and observe your reaction.

Beyond your unperturbed expression, he could see a shift in your body language, your fingers clasped onto your necklace tighter for sometime, before you recovered, your confident face wavering and your beautiful eyes shifting away from him . All he had to do was catch you in the act.

"You're such a liar Claude." you say out of nowhere. "What are you? A cop? you say also catching him off-guard.

"A cop, those incompetent people with a meagre salary? Of course I'm not, don't be ridiculous darling." he replies slowly.

He watches you smile, a menacing one that pretended to be comforting. "It was a joke, of course you're not a cop, you're big cheese around here," he takes the handkerchief from you, where he sees all you've written on it is "today" with a red lipstick stain on it.

"Today?" he raises an eyebrows in surprise. "Yeah, unless your bank's closed?" you entice.

He smiles and pulls you in swiftly. His unexpectedly rough hand that you would not expect someone rich to have, is on your back, drawing circles as his lips are pushed against yours. You taste the same cheap wine you had offered him towards the back of his tongue, except that it tasted so much better this way. You could taste remnants of the fake plum flavouring, mixed with the scent of your Chanel no 5 parfum taking over all your senses. You feel as his cold fingers trace definitely around your back. "Three" he whispers, "Eight," he continues, moving leftwards, causing goosebumps where he'd left his impression. "One" he continues. You pause for a moment, confused at the numbers he was repeating, until it eventually dawns on you. You push him away worried, your pearls clinking as you move back. "Anything wrong?" he asks innocently. You knew you couldn't directly admit to being a criminal. He wouldn't know just by your social security number, unless he was working with someone important. But he also somehow knew your name.

At this point you knew he wasn't a French Casanova, observing how his supposed "heirloom" had different initials engraved on the pen, L.M., which you were sure didn't belong to a Claude Landry, or that of a real family. It must have been a stolen good bought illegally, or that L.M were his real initials. The only way you could find out was if you played along.

"Nothing, I just needed a breather, your kisses are quite intense," you make a stupid excuse. Despite realising that you weren't yourself around him, you go back to making out with this handsome stranger, his hands going back to where they were until he managed to trace your entire number. He removes his tweed suit, and lifts up your dress until it was hiked far above your thighs, and with every movement the tassels of your dress get tangled up near his zip. You unbutton his cotton shirt, holding the fabric close, revealing his chest which was so much warmer than your hands. A chill blows through the window, and you shiver in between his warm touches. He stops there for a minute, and eyes the bottle of rum on your counter. He lifts you with ease, and places you on the counter, where your social number was reflected in the mirror, as though everything about you had finally been revealed.

"We should make our last toast," he speaks up breathless, sipping out of the bottle, then holding it to your lips. You accept, and gulp down more than you usually do. Something tells you it would be the last time you'd be this delirious, yet so satisfied. It was like with every kiss, he meant to take you down, in more ways than one. His kisses travelled down your body, scattered, frenzied. He kissed as though this was the first and only time he'd be this close to you. Soon you also gave in to the delicate pressure with all your being, overruling your innate intuition, lost in his seduction.

You were so guilty of doing this. Of finding comfort in the way he moaned your name, your real name, in low whispers, something you'd never trust anyone to do. And it didn't matter what secrets he hid when he made you feel this good. Though you were always guilty of lying to others, so was he. In a weird way, for tonight both of you would be equals- equally guilty parties for betraying yourselves.

Similarly, no one would ever fathom how utterly guilty Lee Minho felt with his tongue driven down your throat, enjoying it despite knowing you were a criminal. It was as though he couldn't let go, and for a minute he felt like none of it mattered, and that you were as innocent as your kisses fluttering over his collarbones. For tonight, he'd become the sinner, not you.

The same Lee Minho who hated being drunk during work hours, was beyond pleased, convincing himself that it was just for tonight. For just this night, he'd given into this hedonistic urge, of wanting nothing but a taste of your body, of your attention and your entire world which he would eventually have to destroy tomorrow. But tomorrow was so many kisses, so many secrets and so many bottles of alcohol later. So he continued deluding himself with your moans and soft lips, until he could no longer despise himself for his new intoxication: you.

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macaroonff · 13 days