scraps no.1: all wound up
(snippets that I tried to make into a fic but they weren't working out. instead of letting my time on writing this go to waste, figured I'd post it. hell why not?)
Pairing: gd/top
Summary: Jiyong mulls over the reasons why.
1005 words~
Maybe it was the fact they he was familiar and slow and oblivious to the things you were always self-conscious about. Oozing of easy going and calm-collectedness when you were busy grinding your teeth, biting your nails, and nearly pulling your hair out. You were pent up rage and stress when things didn’t work out (and things didn’t work out a LOT). But then he’d come and unwind you like a little toy and wrap his fingers around your wrist and ruffle your hair that took the stylist noonas thirty minutes to do. He’d undo all of that with his warm rough hands and gentle murmurs.
Hey, chill out.
Easy for you to say.
No really, it’ll all work out.
And you laughed incredulously, because what did he know? And God, look at those dumb dimples. What makes you so sure?
And he quirked an eyebrow, gaze kept downcast as he continued doodling cats on the lyrics sheet you gave him a while ago to read. And you felt it bubbling in your chest, the annoyance, the sheer frustration, all looking for the quickest way out.
But then he picked you up, winded you like the little insignificant thing you were in his hands. Click. And he let you fall to the floor, wheels turning, grinding fast in so many directions until all the pressure and all the energy released and there was nothing left to move you.
‘cause of you.
Hmmm?
I’m so sure…because it’s you, Ji. Of course it’ll be okay.
And the fucking bastard left you dizzy all the time.
* * * * *
Maybe it was because those late nights when your brain was buzzing and he couldn’t sleep, it was nice sharing cigarettes on the balcony and letting him cheat his diet with a couple spoonfuls of ice cream (shhh, Hwangsoo doesn’t have to know) and putting your head in his lap while his hand idly carded your hair while you both watched X-files or Buffy the Vampire Slayer or whatever random American shows came on at 3 in the morning on Korean television.
* * * * *
He’s the hyung and you’re the dongsaeng, so in all reality, he should’ve took the lead on this. But he didn’t, he was utterly naive, up until the very last second. Even after your foreheads touched, noses bumped, shaking hands grasped onto his arms, he didn’t have a single fucking clue.
You kissed him and he held his breath and your stomach was doing backflips.
Don’t you see? Don’t you get it?
You slipped your tongue into his mouth, and licked his teeth, and sucked on his lip. Everything you couldn’t say, everything you held in for weeks, months, maybe deep down, even years, was finally pouring out of you. You were wide-open and vulnerable, walls broken down, just for him.
Pick me up. Comfort me like you always do.
Your hands were still trembling when he grabbed them and gently pushed you away. His lips were slick and swollen and you were breathing so heavy, as if you were underwater all this time and just came up for your first breath of air. Sweet, fresh air.
…why Jiyong?
And your lungs burned so.
* * * * *
Another day and you laughed it off like it was all just a joke. Don’t worry about it hyung. Just pretend it never happened. Please, because it won’t ever again.
But you weren’t convincing and he was all raised eyebrows and too many too conscious glances. But what could you have said? What could you have possibly done to change anything? So you kept going, kept running. But somewhere along the way you felt as if some screw came loose, some spring wound too tight, and you were pressure and stress and nerves all over again. Just waiting for that someone to come help you, release you.
Except he never came.
* * * * *
You were so angry, so sad, so frustrated, so disappointed, you stayed cooped up in your room or in the studio until songs were literally flowing out of you. YG couldn’t have been happier and you just smiled, relished in the newfound gratification he showered you with.
Kwon Jiyong to G-Dragon. G-fucking-Dragon. You were already an idol but now you were an icon, a brand, a definition of something outside of Big Bang. It was scary and liberating all at the same time, because here you were all on your own when you wanted nothing more than to be right next to him.
And then they dyed your hair blonde and gave you self tanner and made you wear eyeliner and sleeveless shirts and skinny jeans. You didn’t really give a shit until you started to notice he did.
You look really good, he said one day, his messy head of still IRIS-curled hair peaking through your doorframe.
Come inside…over here…sit next to me and ruffle my hair…like you used to…please.
You wanted to say to him. But you just grinned, mumbled a thanks, and he was gone before you could even blink.
It’s okay, nobody had to know Heartbreaker was about him.
* * * * *
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, whatever. You decided you were over him, and you made a show of it all too ungracefully. Inviting girls into your bed and fucking and drinking and smoking until it hurt. They were soft, plush against your rough ridges and easy and willing. With just the crook of your finger they’d follow, expensive heels and dresses discarded like trash onto your floor, the smell of their perfumes and moans forever seeped into the mattress.
Perks of a celebrity, right? Oh, please.
They only reason you fucked as hard as you did, groaned and made them beg as hard as you did was because you knew he was in the next room, just a wall away.
Hear me, know what you’re missing.
You were sick and you didn’t even care anymore.
Pairing: gd/top
Summary: Jiyong mulls over the reasons why.
1005 words~
Maybe it was the fact they he was familiar and slow and oblivious to the things you were always self-conscious about. Oozing of easy going and calm-collectedness when you were busy grinding your teeth, biting your nails, and nearly pulling your hair out. You were pent up rage and stress when things didn’t work out (and things didn’t work out a LOT). But then he’d come and unwind you like a little toy and wrap his fingers around your wrist and ruffle your hair that took the stylist noonas thirty minutes to do. He’d undo all of that with his warm rough hands and gentle murmurs.
Hey, chill out.
Easy for you to say.
No really, it’ll all work out.
And you laughed incredulously, because what did he know? And God, look at those dumb dimples. What makes you so sure?
And he quirked an eyebrow, gaze kept downcast as he continued doodling cats on the lyrics sheet you gave him a while ago to read. And you felt it bubbling in your chest, the annoyance, the sheer frustration, all looking for the quickest way out.
But then he picked you up, winded you like the little insignificant thing you were in his hands. Click. And he let you fall to the floor, wheels turning, grinding fast in so many directions until all the pressure and all the energy released and there was nothing left to move you.
‘cause of you.
Hmmm?
I’m so sure…because it’s you, Ji. Of course it’ll be okay.
And the fucking bastard left you dizzy all the time.
* * * * *
Maybe it was because those late nights when your brain was buzzing and he couldn’t sleep, it was nice sharing cigarettes on the balcony and letting him cheat his diet with a couple spoonfuls of ice cream (shhh, Hwangsoo doesn’t have to know) and putting your head in his lap while his hand idly carded your hair while you both watched X-files or Buffy the Vampire Slayer or whatever random American shows came on at 3 in the morning on Korean television.
* * * * *
He’s the hyung and you’re the dongsaeng, so in all reality, he should’ve took the lead on this. But he didn’t, he was utterly naive, up until the very last second. Even after your foreheads touched, noses bumped, shaking hands grasped onto his arms, he didn’t have a single fucking clue.
You kissed him and he held his breath and your stomach was doing backflips.
Don’t you see? Don’t you get it?
You slipped your tongue into his mouth, and licked his teeth, and sucked on his lip. Everything you couldn’t say, everything you held in for weeks, months, maybe deep down, even years, was finally pouring out of you. You were wide-open and vulnerable, walls broken down, just for him.
Pick me up. Comfort me like you always do.
Your hands were still trembling when he grabbed them and gently pushed you away. His lips were slick and swollen and you were breathing so heavy, as if you were underwater all this time and just came up for your first breath of air. Sweet, fresh air.
…why Jiyong?
And your lungs burned so.
* * * * *
Another day and you laughed it off like it was all just a joke. Don’t worry about it hyung. Just pretend it never happened. Please, because it won’t ever again.
But you weren’t convincing and he was all raised eyebrows and too many too conscious glances. But what could you have said? What could you have possibly done to change anything? So you kept going, kept running. But somewhere along the way you felt as if some screw came loose, some spring wound too tight, and you were pressure and stress and nerves all over again. Just waiting for that someone to come help you, release you.
Except he never came.
* * * * *
You were so angry, so sad, so frustrated, so disappointed, you stayed cooped up in your room or in the studio until songs were literally flowing out of you. YG couldn’t have been happier and you just smiled, relished in the newfound gratification he showered you with.
Kwon Jiyong to G-Dragon. G-fucking-Dragon. You were already an idol but now you were an icon, a brand, a definition of something outside of Big Bang. It was scary and liberating all at the same time, because here you were all on your own when you wanted nothing more than to be right next to him.
And then they dyed your hair blonde and gave you self tanner and made you wear eyeliner and sleeveless shirts and skinny jeans. You didn’t really give a shit until you started to notice he did.
You look really good, he said one day, his messy head of still IRIS-curled hair peaking through your doorframe.
Come inside…over here…sit next to me and ruffle my hair…like you used to…please.
You wanted to say to him. But you just grinned, mumbled a thanks, and he was gone before you could even blink.
It’s okay, nobody had to know Heartbreaker was about him.
* * * * *
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, whatever. You decided you were over him, and you made a show of it all too ungracefully. Inviting girls into your bed and fucking and drinking and smoking until it hurt. They were soft, plush against your rough ridges and easy and willing. With just the crook of your finger they’d follow, expensive heels and dresses discarded like trash onto your floor, the smell of their perfumes and moans forever seeped into the mattress.
Perks of a celebrity, right? Oh, please.
They only reason you fucked as hard as you did, groaned and made them beg as hard as you did was because you knew he was in the next room, just a wall away.
Hear me, know what you’re missing.
You were sick and you didn’t even care anymore.