t-blaq; deep in your eyes; mir/jiyeon.
deep in your eyes.
mblaq/t-ara; mir/jiyeon. nc-17. 1,114 words.
it's just one of those meetings.
•for firequakes, bc i love her forever ok♥
©firequakes
It always starts with hello.
The bass beat of the club music throbs through him, pounding against his back as he escapes the dance floor and throws himself into one of the spare stools next to a girl in a short skirt and a chic leather jacket and heavy eyeliner he just can’t stop looking at. He turns away with effort and smiles at the bartender. “Manhattan,” he gasps out, much less suave than he’d wanted, but he’s still reeling from the dance floor. He peels off his jacket to give himself more breathing room.
The bartender hands over his drink and he hands over his money and that’s when she makes her move. The one next to him, with all the eyeshadow, and the miniskirt, and the legs that she’s turned to face him and crossed. He’s too high to see a flash of panties but he’s sure he could if he stooped down a little. If he weren’t afraid of her razor-sharp glare.
“Hi,” she says, pulling her hair over her shoulder with colored nails. “I like your sunglasses.”
“Thanks,” he wants to say, instead he vomits out, “real men wear sunglasses.”
“Wow,” she giggles as she pulls him forward. She gives him a look, almost shy, almost sultry, almost, almost, but he puts his hands on her waist and that’s it. He crushes their lips together, biting on her bottom lip until she bites on his top one. He’s glad for the foresight of coming to the bar alone because her tongue is already in his mouth by the time he pushes the back door open. She whirls him against the wall and pulls away. The smile she flashes him is hypnotizing, and then she twists her hips against him and he’s can feel himself go hard.
She lifts her arms around his neck and loops her legs around his waist and he crushes her against the wall, kissing her throat, her collarbone, his hands sliding up her smooth thighs and under her skirt, pushing it up. He loops his fingers under her panties and she bites his lip hard in response and slides her legs down his almost naturally until she touches the ground and pulls back just enough to make him want to cry.
“I’m Jiyeon,” she says.
“Chulyong,” he thinks he replies, and wonders why his name has to sound so non-sexy compared to a name like Jiyeon, which could be the sexiest name in the universe as far as he’s concerned. She doesn’t seem to think the same, however, because she slips her hand down his pants and squeezes him through his boxers.
He swallows so hard that he’s afraid he swallowed his tongue, and wouldn’t that be a fun thing to explain to Byunghee later? He forgets his roommates name a second later, when she slips her fingers inside his boxers and grips his dick with one hand and jerks just enough to make him almost scream.
She laughs, and he thinks the world just burst into sparkles, or rainbows, or, shit, he doesn’t even know. Jiyeon’s lips are soft against his neck, her hand is warm in his pants, her entire body weaves against him and all he can do is grip her hips and kiss back because if he doesn’t, if his tongue weren’t in her mouth, he would have screamed half the world awake by now. He’s going to come, and he’s never even done this before, has no idea what to do, and then she takes his glasses off with a finger looped around the bridge and grips them in one hand. The world brightens in a flash, and all he can see is her, her eyes, deep, brown, black, darker than the night time with sunglasses on. He chokes - isn’t that flattering, and his hips buck a little against her and he needs to stop -
“Stop,” he pants, and just when he teeters on the edge, she pulls back, her lips red raw, her skin flushed, her eyes wide.
“Are you okay?” She asks, “Oppa?” Her voice shouldn’t be sexy, but it is, to his ears. It’s smooth and calm, and how can anyone be calm like this, right now, when he’s a mess and he grabs her shoulders and drops his head back and bites his lip hard enough to break his skin when he comes.
“Oh my god,” he gasps, drooping bonelessly against her. She holds him, pats him on the back of the head, threads her fingers through his short hair.
“Oppa, are you okay?” She whispers, and he groans against her, breathing in the musk in her jacket. He feels her smile against his ear, and she pushes him back against the brick wall of the alleyway and pulls his cellphone out of his back pocket. She puts her number in and puts his phone in his hand. He watches her with glazed eyes as she leaves a kiss against the corner of his mouth and steps back.
“Call me in the morning, okay? I’ll give you your sunglasses back.” She puts them on as he walks away, but not without a coy glance that takes everything in him not to follow after her. “Good night, Chulyongie oppa.” She waves, mysterious and coy and childish and cute and sexy and everything he’s ever dreamed, walking away from him - a melted puddle of nothing.
It's just one of those things. A meeting. They always start with hello, and they almost always, always end with good bye. He hates goodbyes. He prefers see ya, or take care, or I'll talk to you later. So he can't help but notice when she doesn't say any of those, and instead ends with "Good night." The start of something, he can't help but think, hope - even want.
He slides down the wall as he calls Byunghee, who answers on the final ring. “You’re drunk already?”
“No,” Chulyong laughs. He didn’t even drink.
“You’re staying at someone else’s tonight?”
“No,” Chulyong’s face breaks into a grin.
“You need to be picked up?”
“Yes,” he breathes. “I’m in no state to walk.”
“You can do it,” Byunghee says, and he can almost hear him rolling his eyes.
“I can’t,” he sighs, happily. “I’m in love.”
There’s the definite click of the dial tone as Byunghee hangs up on him. “Hello?” He frowns. “Hey!” He yells into it. “Indulge me, save me, my heart has been stolen, come on,” he whines at it until Byunghee finds him, and then brings him home. “Her name is Jiyeon, and she has the prettiest eyes, hyung, you have no idea.”
note: this is kind of crack crack crack crack. but then i have a weird sense of humor.
mblaq/t-ara; mir/jiyeon. nc-17. 1,114 words.
it's just one of those meetings.
•for firequakes, bc i love her forever ok♥
©firequakes
It always starts with hello.
The bass beat of the club music throbs through him, pounding against his back as he escapes the dance floor and throws himself into one of the spare stools next to a girl in a short skirt and a chic leather jacket and heavy eyeliner he just can’t stop looking at. He turns away with effort and smiles at the bartender. “Manhattan,” he gasps out, much less suave than he’d wanted, but he’s still reeling from the dance floor. He peels off his jacket to give himself more breathing room.
The bartender hands over his drink and he hands over his money and that’s when she makes her move. The one next to him, with all the eyeshadow, and the miniskirt, and the legs that she’s turned to face him and crossed. He’s too high to see a flash of panties but he’s sure he could if he stooped down a little. If he weren’t afraid of her razor-sharp glare.
“Hi,” she says, pulling her hair over her shoulder with colored nails. “I like your sunglasses.”
“Thanks,” he wants to say, instead he vomits out, “real men wear sunglasses.”
“Wow,” she giggles as she pulls him forward. She gives him a look, almost shy, almost sultry, almost, almost, but he puts his hands on her waist and that’s it. He crushes their lips together, biting on her bottom lip until she bites on his top one. He’s glad for the foresight of coming to the bar alone because her tongue is already in his mouth by the time he pushes the back door open. She whirls him against the wall and pulls away. The smile she flashes him is hypnotizing, and then she twists her hips against him and he’s can feel himself go hard.
She lifts her arms around his neck and loops her legs around his waist and he crushes her against the wall, kissing her throat, her collarbone, his hands sliding up her smooth thighs and under her skirt, pushing it up. He loops his fingers under her panties and she bites his lip hard in response and slides her legs down his almost naturally until she touches the ground and pulls back just enough to make him want to cry.
“I’m Jiyeon,” she says.
“Chulyong,” he thinks he replies, and wonders why his name has to sound so non-sexy compared to a name like Jiyeon, which could be the sexiest name in the universe as far as he’s concerned. She doesn’t seem to think the same, however, because she slips her hand down his pants and squeezes him through his boxers.
He swallows so hard that he’s afraid he swallowed his tongue, and wouldn’t that be a fun thing to explain to Byunghee later? He forgets his roommates name a second later, when she slips her fingers inside his boxers and grips his dick with one hand and jerks just enough to make him almost scream.
She laughs, and he thinks the world just burst into sparkles, or rainbows, or, shit, he doesn’t even know. Jiyeon’s lips are soft against his neck, her hand is warm in his pants, her entire body weaves against him and all he can do is grip her hips and kiss back because if he doesn’t, if his tongue weren’t in her mouth, he would have screamed half the world awake by now. He’s going to come, and he’s never even done this before, has no idea what to do, and then she takes his glasses off with a finger looped around the bridge and grips them in one hand. The world brightens in a flash, and all he can see is her, her eyes, deep, brown, black, darker than the night time with sunglasses on. He chokes - isn’t that flattering, and his hips buck a little against her and he needs to stop -
“Stop,” he pants, and just when he teeters on the edge, she pulls back, her lips red raw, her skin flushed, her eyes wide.
“Are you okay?” She asks, “Oppa?” Her voice shouldn’t be sexy, but it is, to his ears. It’s smooth and calm, and how can anyone be calm like this, right now, when he’s a mess and he grabs her shoulders and drops his head back and bites his lip hard enough to break his skin when he comes.
“Oh my god,” he gasps, drooping bonelessly against her. She holds him, pats him on the back of the head, threads her fingers through his short hair.
“Oppa, are you okay?” She whispers, and he groans against her, breathing in the musk in her jacket. He feels her smile against his ear, and she pushes him back against the brick wall of the alleyway and pulls his cellphone out of his back pocket. She puts her number in and puts his phone in his hand. He watches her with glazed eyes as she leaves a kiss against the corner of his mouth and steps back.
“Call me in the morning, okay? I’ll give you your sunglasses back.” She puts them on as he walks away, but not without a coy glance that takes everything in him not to follow after her. “Good night, Chulyongie oppa.” She waves, mysterious and coy and childish and cute and sexy and everything he’s ever dreamed, walking away from him - a melted puddle of nothing.
It's just one of those things. A meeting. They always start with hello, and they almost always, always end with good bye. He hates goodbyes. He prefers see ya, or take care, or I'll talk to you later. So he can't help but notice when she doesn't say any of those, and instead ends with "Good night." The start of something, he can't help but think, hope - even want.
He slides down the wall as he calls Byunghee, who answers on the final ring. “You’re drunk already?”
“No,” Chulyong laughs. He didn’t even drink.
“You’re staying at someone else’s tonight?”
“No,” Chulyong’s face breaks into a grin.
“You need to be picked up?”
“Yes,” he breathes. “I’m in no state to walk.”
“You can do it,” Byunghee says, and he can almost hear him rolling his eyes.
“I can’t,” he sighs, happily. “I’m in love.”
There’s the definite click of the dial tone as Byunghee hangs up on him. “Hello?” He frowns. “Hey!” He yells into it. “Indulge me, save me, my heart has been stolen, come on,” he whines at it until Byunghee finds him, and then brings him home. “Her name is Jiyeon, and she has the prettiest eyes, hyung, you have no idea.”
note: this is kind of crack crack crack crack. but then i have a weird sense of humor.