scraps no.2: bella muerte
Pairing: gd/top
Rating: pg-13
Summary: So this is a relationship(?) Told from Seunghyun's POV.
538 words~
gaze into her killing jar
i'd sometimes stare for hours
she even poked the holes so I can breathe -
You were always a romantic. Maybe that was your biggest fault.
The first time you see him, he’s hunched over the bar, his palms holding up his flushed face. His blonde hair falls in matted strands, uneven, tousled. Too long bangs covering his eyes and from here you can’t tell if he’s crying or just sweating. Black wet trails of eyeliner trace down his cheeks, and his shoulders are shaking, and his lips break into a smile. But it’s not genuine; you can tell. But you still hope it’s just sweat.
The second time, it’s raining. And you discover he sure likes his coffee. Your ass hurts because of the wooden seats in this chic cafe, but he’s just asked for his third cup and is probably lighting his sixth cigarette. And suddenly you’re eating your late afternoon lunch as slow as you can. But after the second hour, the rain is still pouring but you’re tired and he’s still reading and you don’t have an umbrella. ‘Fuck it’ you uncharacteristically decide after he looks your way and doesn’t let go, bouncing out of your chair and through the door, a nervous wreck of wasted energy. You walk all the way home and ruin your jacket.
The third time, he smiles at you from across the bar. Not his lips, just his eyes. And it’s enough. A few hours later, after the pleasantries and flirtatious small talk, after the wobbly attempts at dancing, after his ass grinding into your groin and your fingers slipping under his shirt, and after a drunken sloppy kiss, he hugs you, writes his number on your hand in red ink, and says he has to go.
“Okay?” “Okay.”
He kisses your earlobe and says goodnight. And it’s right then and there, at that very moment, that you decide you’re going to make him yours.
Jiyong. Kwon Jiyong. Gee-young~ He has tattoos on his arms, on his back, shoulders, foreign words. You trace them with the tip of your fingers, enjoying the little hairs that raise from the goosebumps, the way his body trembles just the slightest under your touch. “Stop it, it tickles.” But you don’t. “Gee-young,” you say, over and over again. Into his palms, into the crook of his neck, into his lips, his nose, his cheeks, and into his forehead after you climb on top and push away the now even longer bangs.
He’s almost yours.
You share cigarettes and beds now. When you fall asleep, it’s behind him. Arms locked around his slight waist, fingers locked around his. And he sleeps fast and heavy for someone who drinks that much coffee. When you wake up, it’s different though. He’s on top of you, legs tangled, messy hair in your face, the sound of his breathing next to your heart. Funny though. When you fuck, it’s kind of the same too.
He’s yours. (You think.)
Sugar, sex, and cigarette ash. Rum and coke, and tequila. Lemons and ice and rain and sun and the way the light hits his eyes so that they almost seem hazel. This is your life now, you wanted him. You got it. Are you happy?
It's still raining and the coffee is still coming.
a/n: it's nonsensical and short. sorry? also this was just inspired by a certain mcr song if you didn't notice... hope it's tolerable
Rating: pg-13
Summary: So this is a relationship(?) Told from Seunghyun's POV.
538 words~
gaze into her killing jar
i'd sometimes stare for hours
she even poked the holes so I can breathe -
You were always a romantic. Maybe that was your biggest fault.
The first time you see him, he’s hunched over the bar, his palms holding up his flushed face. His blonde hair falls in matted strands, uneven, tousled. Too long bangs covering his eyes and from here you can’t tell if he’s crying or just sweating. Black wet trails of eyeliner trace down his cheeks, and his shoulders are shaking, and his lips break into a smile. But it’s not genuine; you can tell. But you still hope it’s just sweat.
The second time, it’s raining. And you discover he sure likes his coffee. Your ass hurts because of the wooden seats in this chic cafe, but he’s just asked for his third cup and is probably lighting his sixth cigarette. And suddenly you’re eating your late afternoon lunch as slow as you can. But after the second hour, the rain is still pouring but you’re tired and he’s still reading and you don’t have an umbrella. ‘Fuck it’ you uncharacteristically decide after he looks your way and doesn’t let go, bouncing out of your chair and through the door, a nervous wreck of wasted energy. You walk all the way home and ruin your jacket.
The third time, he smiles at you from across the bar. Not his lips, just his eyes. And it’s enough. A few hours later, after the pleasantries and flirtatious small talk, after the wobbly attempts at dancing, after his ass grinding into your groin and your fingers slipping under his shirt, and after a drunken sloppy kiss, he hugs you, writes his number on your hand in red ink, and says he has to go.
“Okay?” “Okay.”
He kisses your earlobe and says goodnight. And it’s right then and there, at that very moment, that you decide you’re going to make him yours.
Jiyong. Kwon Jiyong. Gee-young~ He has tattoos on his arms, on his back, shoulders, foreign words. You trace them with the tip of your fingers, enjoying the little hairs that raise from the goosebumps, the way his body trembles just the slightest under your touch. “Stop it, it tickles.” But you don’t. “Gee-young,” you say, over and over again. Into his palms, into the crook of his neck, into his lips, his nose, his cheeks, and into his forehead after you climb on top and push away the now even longer bangs.
He’s almost yours.
You share cigarettes and beds now. When you fall asleep, it’s behind him. Arms locked around his slight waist, fingers locked around his. And he sleeps fast and heavy for someone who drinks that much coffee. When you wake up, it’s different though. He’s on top of you, legs tangled, messy hair in your face, the sound of his breathing next to your heart. Funny though. When you fuck, it’s kind of the same too.
He’s yours. (You think.)
Sugar, sex, and cigarette ash. Rum and coke, and tequila. Lemons and ice and rain and sun and the way the light hits his eyes so that they almost seem hazel. This is your life now, you wanted him. You got it. Are you happy?
It's still raining and the coffee is still coming.
a/n: it's nonsensical and short. sorry? also this was just inspired by a certain mcr song if you didn't notice... hope it's tolerable