Inked
Title: Inked
Progress: 1/5
Rating: R
Focus: Jonghyun
Summary: They're all bleeding the deepest, darkest ink. They're not yours. They never will be. What you take from them will be taken back and the void inside of you will just grow and grow until it consumes you like a black hole.
Notes: As the reader you're allowed to interpret whoever 'you' is; I wrote this vaguely and with no intention of making it an otp, as it wouldn't fit the series. Perhaps 'you' is a fan. Perhaps 'you' is a victim. Maybe... it's you.
Everything about Kim Jonghyun was also everything about confidence. The way he moved onto the bed, biceps flexing as he held himself up, his smirk knowing all too well where your gaze was drifting. Your eyes aren’t on his own, or even that crooked smile on his lips - you’re too busy sucking in his aura, greedily inhaling it through your nose and mouth because closing one airway would mean you didn’t get your fill.
No, your eyes are busy watching how his collarbones jut out when he shifts over you, your hands are too busy touching the crooks of his elbow as if you’re afraid to touch the veins that are lining the length of his arms, and rightfully so, you know they're swimming with fire. Your eyes watch how the bone in the center of his chest seems to collapse and reappear with every other breath, you watch how his body doesn’t even quake as he pins you beneath him. You’re frozen, you cant move because your body is laden down with the consumption of his aura - his aura that was sweet to the taste but settled like lead in the pit of your stomach.
Suddenly, your eyes are captured by his and its actually hard to look at them - because despite how much of him you have so greedily consumed, there is still power swirling in his eyes. And its not hard for him at all to slot his body between your raised, bent legs, because they are his home, his niche, and where he feels most powerful. In return his slender waist is something to feast on, sharp angles and soft skin under your fingertips, and he knows. He knows you want to devour his hip bones much like his soul had been devoured.
All you can do is touch, and yet he has not even made an effort to touch you. His hands are on either side of your head, his knees pressed into the mattress and he's still hovering over you like some other worldly being.
Because he's higher than you'll ever be.
From his waist to his hair he concedes as you explore, as if he'll never get tired of the awe gleaming in your eyes or the way your mouth won't properly shut. This time his ribs are doing a disappearing act, as he shifts and twists above you, lowering his pelvis to where you really wish he would touch you. You’re out of breath but his lungs aren't even moving and maybe that's what you get for being so greedy in the first place.
The first touch sends a ripple through your body, like a pebble disturbing still water. The second touch is more deliberate and your body is prepared to accept him - he must take back what is his but first he must give you something to replace the empty pit his aura will leave behind. So it's a physical retribution, the type that leaves you sweaty and moaning but hardly renders him useless.
The point of his hips on your inner thighs are bruising and as he takes whats rightfully his you don’t even need to have your eyes open to see him, to see what he looks like - to see that he's driving into you with admirable concentration, that his lips are still curled into a smirk. You don’t need to see the indigo ink dripping down his neck from the back of his head, how it tattoos his skin and bleeds at the same time. You know its there because it's never not. And he knows you see it and fuck it just really satisfies the bastard because you can't escape.
He's still not touching you in any other way but you’re trapped beneath him as he uses your body to take what's his and leave what's his but you’re left with nothing of your own in the end, anyway. You’re left with nothing when he glides off of your body, neither of you fulfilled but neither of you disappointed.
Because you see how his wings shrink, his shoulder blades shifting under his skin. You see this with your eyes and you see him all the way to the edge of the bed....and then you see nothing.
Because that's all you get out of this anyway.
It's all hands free.
web counter
teaser for chapter 2
Progress: 1/5
Rating: R
Focus: Jonghyun
Summary: They're all bleeding the deepest, darkest ink. They're not yours. They never will be. What you take from them will be taken back and the void inside of you will just grow and grow until it consumes you like a black hole.
Notes: As the reader you're allowed to interpret whoever 'you' is; I wrote this vaguely and with no intention of making it an otp, as it wouldn't fit the series. Perhaps 'you' is a fan. Perhaps 'you' is a victim. Maybe... it's you.
Everything about Kim Jonghyun was also everything about confidence. The way he moved onto the bed, biceps flexing as he held himself up, his smirk knowing all too well where your gaze was drifting. Your eyes aren’t on his own, or even that crooked smile on his lips - you’re too busy sucking in his aura, greedily inhaling it through your nose and mouth because closing one airway would mean you didn’t get your fill.
No, your eyes are busy watching how his collarbones jut out when he shifts over you, your hands are too busy touching the crooks of his elbow as if you’re afraid to touch the veins that are lining the length of his arms, and rightfully so, you know they're swimming with fire. Your eyes watch how the bone in the center of his chest seems to collapse and reappear with every other breath, you watch how his body doesn’t even quake as he pins you beneath him. You’re frozen, you cant move because your body is laden down with the consumption of his aura - his aura that was sweet to the taste but settled like lead in the pit of your stomach.
Suddenly, your eyes are captured by his and its actually hard to look at them - because despite how much of him you have so greedily consumed, there is still power swirling in his eyes. And its not hard for him at all to slot his body between your raised, bent legs, because they are his home, his niche, and where he feels most powerful. In return his slender waist is something to feast on, sharp angles and soft skin under your fingertips, and he knows. He knows you want to devour his hip bones much like his soul had been devoured.
All you can do is touch, and yet he has not even made an effort to touch you. His hands are on either side of your head, his knees pressed into the mattress and he's still hovering over you like some other worldly being.
Because he's higher than you'll ever be.
From his waist to his hair he concedes as you explore, as if he'll never get tired of the awe gleaming in your eyes or the way your mouth won't properly shut. This time his ribs are doing a disappearing act, as he shifts and twists above you, lowering his pelvis to where you really wish he would touch you. You’re out of breath but his lungs aren't even moving and maybe that's what you get for being so greedy in the first place.
The first touch sends a ripple through your body, like a pebble disturbing still water. The second touch is more deliberate and your body is prepared to accept him - he must take back what is his but first he must give you something to replace the empty pit his aura will leave behind. So it's a physical retribution, the type that leaves you sweaty and moaning but hardly renders him useless.
The point of his hips on your inner thighs are bruising and as he takes whats rightfully his you don’t even need to have your eyes open to see him, to see what he looks like - to see that he's driving into you with admirable concentration, that his lips are still curled into a smirk. You don’t need to see the indigo ink dripping down his neck from the back of his head, how it tattoos his skin and bleeds at the same time. You know its there because it's never not. And he knows you see it and fuck it just really satisfies the bastard because you can't escape.
He's still not touching you in any other way but you’re trapped beneath him as he uses your body to take what's his and leave what's his but you’re left with nothing of your own in the end, anyway. You’re left with nothing when he glides off of your body, neither of you fulfilled but neither of you disappointed.
Because you see how his wings shrink, his shoulder blades shifting under his skin. You see this with your eyes and you see him all the way to the edge of the bed....and then you see nothing.
Because that's all you get out of this anyway.
It's all hands free.
web counter
teaser for chapter 2
